[AN AMERICA ENTERS THE BUILDING
And he's completely confused and disoriented, and he's not entirely sure where he is or why he's there or that unexplainable draft he feels. Though glancing down kind of reveals that he's.. kind of in a sailor's fuku.
...okay. What the hell, seriously.]Uhhh... guys? We didn't have some drinking contest or something
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What the fuck are you wearing?
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You! This is your fault, isn't it?! I knew ya were a perv, Iggy, but there's no reason to get me caught up in your fantasies!
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Me?! Why the hell would I have anything to do with that? [He gestures wildly at that outfit. If this were England's fantasy, America would probably not be wearing anything at all.]
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...because you're a perv. [Okay, might need another excuse. He puts his hands on his hips and shifts his weight to one leg, in a feminine pose that would make Poland raise an eyebrow.] And because you, like everyone else, knows how awesome I am!
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[Trailing off, he turns abruptly to stare at the wall. England has only been here for about a week and hasn't been able to figure out what this place is exactly. When he woke up in the hotel, America was in the same room as him. He hasn't yet figured out that this is a different America.]
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[Blame it on his short attention span. He keeps toying with his skirt because seriously? He doesn't mind wearing them. Hell, he enjoys being naked, and getting everyone else ever naked, too, so a skirt is almost there, right?]
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You know very well what. We've only been here a week; don't tell me you've forgotten already!
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Now I know you've been drinking. I just fell asleep on the couch or something at home, that's the only explanation I have to why you're here and I'm wearing-
[Skirt isn't helping the fact that he gets these weird little drafts. He shivers a bit. How do girls wear these things? The way England keeps looking at him isn't helping.]
I want my clothes back.
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I don't have your sodding clothes! They're probably in your room where you left them. [A frown creases his brow as he inclines his head toward a row of rooms down the hall.]
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[Arthur didn't look drunk, so he was... doubtful. But nothing else made sense. He glances down the hall and just... kind of stares.]
But I don't.. have a room.
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[England sighs in exasperation.] Of course you do! Honestly, I knew you were daft, Alfred, but really. Come on. [Gives his hand a tug.]
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[And he's tugged forward, and blushes a bit more, but tugs on his skirt instead. And he'll follow, with a pout on his face.]
I'm not daft! I just don't know how I got here!
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Here. It's right next to mine. [When they get to the door, of the other America's room, it's locked, so England looks up at him, expecting him to be able to unlock it.]
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...It's locked.
[He jiggles it again just to be sure.]
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There's no way in hell you'll fit into my trousers, so it looks like you're stuck in that. [Not that England disapproves. His eyes keep straying to America's legs.]
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...Are you serious?!
[If America had shame, he'd probably be a bit more embarrassed over this. Instead, he pouts more, and sighs, toying with his skirt some.]
If you're implying I'm fat, I'm not. I just wouldn't fit into your pants because you're so short! I might.. have to borrow a pair of underwear though.. this kind of feels weird.
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