Let the good times roll.

[creme_master]

Characters: Francis and YOU.
Setting: Dormitories [1-10], Floor 13
Format: EITHER
Summary: In which Francis is a hermit and a lost man.
Warnings: Possible → mentions of surgery/flashbacks, looming possibility of character death thanks to event specifics. Definite → heavy despair

Comments

lame reply is lame.

[vanavanushka]

Ivan had grown more paranoid over the past few days--it had gone from his usual level--untrusting of almost everyone, but willing to believe that there were some levels of trust he could give to some people--to untrusting of everyone--everyone could be a threat to him--to actively paranoid, watching everyone, knowing that they would do something. And finally he was to the point where he was actively attacking the people who got too close.

He didn't know what brought him to the church. Safety perhaps--it certainly wasn't religion. As a country he was orthodox, had religion given back to him. But as Ivan... As Ivan he had never taken it back, instead casting it aside--God was a silly concept to him. There were no Gods for nations--perhaps for man, but not for him. And if there was, then that God was not goodwicked instead.

He saw Francis, saw who it was, stiffening. France had almost always been a friend to him. A role model for him when he was still growing, starting to see Europe for the first real time, and really, he had found at an early age he liked the Frenchman very much, fostering a crush on him, that was rather obvious. Of course, that crush had dimmed throughout time, gone away, but his enjoyment of France's company had never dimmed, never really changed.

This, this was different however. This wasn't Francis, could not be Francis. It was an imposter--a trick the tower played on him. Just like everything else. This was not his friend, nor was it the nation that he had respected. It was just a creature of the tower wearing his face. And Ivan was not happy to see that, and he slid his hand into a pocket, watching the other carefully.

;;

[creme_master]

It had been a long time since the man wept. His guard was down, dangerously so considering the advanced conditions of those that had been spared physical experimentation. The man had no idea that those closest to him (well, the majority for that matter) were being brainwashed to kill those that had been stolen earlier on in the month.

He hadn't seen Russia enter the cathedral. In fact, he was unaware completely thanks to the strange silence that hung over the floor. If he had known what Ivan was thinking at that moment he probably would have agreed, would have said that he was merely a ploy for whatever the tower had in store...

There he was, a blond fish out of water (and lone, in a barrel). Francis pressed his forehead harder against the pew and wiped his face off with a grimace, staying down for another moment before slowly sitting up, pushing the mussed hair off his forehead. Hands returned to the pew, thumb grazing the wood as he stared blankly ahead.

Nope. Not noticing the six foot tall, impossibly paranoid Russian.

Ilu france, I really do. ;;;;;;

[vanavanushka]

Ivan noticed the other wasn't paying any attention to him, wasn't even noticing him. But then, he didn't have to--he was the tower, he had eyes everywhere. He didn't need to take his friend's face as well. Ivan's eyes narrowed, to slits of violet and he sneered a little, leaning in and coming from behind the other in the pew, moving quiet, not that it mattered due to the strange effects of the place, and Ivan pulled out a gun--he could waste a bullet for this, all it would take was one, and his eyes were blazing as he pushed it raised it to the back of the other's head.

"You should be telling me where you are putting moy Frantsiya, da?" And he had on the 'I'm going to fuck your shit up' face that he only wore on a very, very rare occasion, when he was too angry to play.

NU UH.

[creme_master]

France stilled at the press of the gun to his skull; jaw clenching to keep himself from jumping up and running. Shouting out. Anything. He hadn't anticipated anyone bothering him, let alone threatening his life in such a place. He almost wanted to laugh.

He doubted he could make a move for the journal and pen he had taken to carrying with him on the rare occasion he'd venture out. Sudden movements meant a bullet got lodged in his head.

Francis also couldn't speak. The one time he had attempted to speak he'd come to realize it sounded muddled; bit hard to speak when sludge blocked most of his useless airway. The toxicity would cue more of Russia's paranoia.

He couldn't tell him that he was the one that had taught him so much when he was younger. He couldn't reassure him that he was genuine in any matter, and now? Now he was frozen in place because he couldn't use his usual sweet talk to urge Ivan toward sanity.

YEAH HUH

[vanavanushka]

Ivan kept the gun pointed to the back of the other's skull, moving carefully, to press in closer, to push the gun against the back of the other's head, a little hard, eyes narrowed.

"I was asking you simple question, you should be answering, da? I do not like when people are hurting those I care for. Especially not people who chose to wear their face," he was angry, and obviously so, pressing the gun harder into the other's skull, eyes narrowed, watching, finger on the trigger. It was obvious the Russian had snapped, had decided that this was not Francis Bonnefoy, the Republic of France, the man who had been a long time friend, and instead thought this an enemy.

Of course, the lack of words did not help.

:T

[creme_master]

Francis was a man without options. He was still present enough in mind that he knew the rock and the hard place he was oppressed by, quite intimately if he was being honest. There was the will to push forward and live warring against what he was now, literally a shell with the memory of what he had once been.

Perhaps he was right, Ivan. Maybe he was some ploy from the Tower wearing only a face. If the Tower had kicked the Russian's paranoia to the point of jabbing the barrel of a gun against a 'former' friend's skull...

It took going against learned behavior to part hips lips and the blackness was quick to take advantage of such an opportunity, spilling thickly down a pale chin. He refused to wipe it away. If anything, he wanted the man to get his answers before blowing away that once attractive skull of his.

"Look at what the tower has done to us, mimi" The endearment is almost unintelligible and his voice is already wavering from disuse. "Perhaps you would be doing me a favor, pulling the trigger. I am a tired man. Still yours."

The sludge had fallen to the floor, singed a few messy holes clean through without a sound. He fell silent, waiting.

<:C

[vanavanushka]

Ivan hesitated a moment, listening to the words, a tiny frown on his lips. After all, it sounded like France, despite everything that was wrong with him. And by sounding like France, using those words against him, he got a few extra moments to live, if one could call what Francis was doing as living.

And Ivan stared, watching the Parisian, rolling the words around in his head, the paranoia still there, which meant he refused to put the gun down, refused to let the other go.

"I was not asking what you are doing to us," he replied, a tiny frown on his lips, eyes narrowed."And I was not asking to have you using his words, his voice. I am not liking that, and I am getting rid of things I am not liking, da?" He gave a smile then, though lost it soon after. There was another moment when he was quiet, watching the Parisian.

"Perhaps this is being his body? Is that why you are not being able to be answering me?"