Family Ties [Part 63]
Title: Family Ties
Characters (in this chapter): Afghanistan. Seriously, that's it.
Rating: 12
Warnings: The fact I'm a lazy arse and at the same time go into way too much detail over little things?
Summary: Uh, I need to be banned from the kink meme or monsters like this happen? Essentially, Scotland leaves the UK, which gives Northern Ireland an excuse to up and out as well, which leaves England and Wales all alone. Oh yeah, and this somehow leads to World War Three.
Afghanistan was tripping over herself again in her hurry, but she didn't have much of a choice. There were men behind her, and they were hardly friendly, chasing her down the streets of Peshawar. Her only advantage was knowledge of the terrain; having come here so often to visit Pakistan. No matter how many times she called India she got an answering machine in Hindi and English, and that wasn't of any help to her in this situation.
All she had wanted to do was find Pakistan and get out. Why did nothing ever go right for her? First that awful business with the Taliban and now this.
Should she call America?
No no, she'd promised herself that she didn't need to rely on the west any more. She was a big girl who could make her own friends.
Ahh, but who could she turn to when her friends were either captured or not talking to anyone!
She tripped again, sending herself sprawling across the floor, skidding across the sandy ground. She'd put a little distance between herself and her pursuers, and scrambled into an alleyway. Pulling her hijab on tighter, she fished her veil out from inside her pack, changing out of her battle gear and into civilian clothing. Bundling up everything she really needed into a bag, she ditched the heavy pack in the ally and walked out the other side into the street. The crowds were not as heaving with people and business as they usually were, but it was enough for her to slip through and blend in.
But she couldn't stay like this long; her old AK-47 would attract attention eventually and she'd be reported or directly discovered. She had to move quickly to Paki's house, to check for clues.
"Hafa..." she mumbled, moving through the streets as the quantity of people thinned to very few, before stopping outside the door that lead up the many high stories to her friend's apartment house. The shutters on the windows were closed. "Please be safe."
She'd had a key to Pakistan's house for quite some time, though getting it into the lock was harder than she remembered, like it had warped to a nearly different shape. Still, it opened, and she made her way inside. The stairs were dusty, which didn't help the lump in Afghanistan's throat. Pakistan was notoriously tidy.
"Hafa?" she called, receiving no answer. "Hafa, it's Adeeva! Are you in here? Please talk to me!"
Still nothing. Reaching the top of the stairs, she looked in through the door, parting the curtain of beads hung there. They clacked loudly in the silence.
The living room was a mess, pillows everywhere and the dinner table overturned. The television had a hole in the top corner like it'd been blasted at with a shotgun, not Pakistan's usual semi-automatic. This was wrong, this was horribly, horribly wrong.
More searching of the house found blood trails from the living room to Pakistan's bedroom, all the way to the closet, where the doors hung half off the hinges. In the dim light admitted by the slatted blinds and window shutters. Afghanistan could see a large smudge of dried blood on the inside of the closet. In her head she pictured it; Pakistan sitting on the sofa watching TV, being ambushed in her house, someone shooting at her, the Nation running for her bedroom closet and barricading herself in there, leaking blood everywhere. The intruder wrenches open the closet door and...
Afghanistan fell to her knees and wept.
"Hafa, oh, poor Paki..." she sobbed. She was dead, she was surely dead. Sure, they'd disagreed from time to time, but they were friends, truly, deep down. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Allah wouldn't allow such a thing, would he?
The sound of the people outside continued until she'd finished crying. Then it occurred to her. There was no announcement of the dissolution of Pakistan. And the people were carrying on as normal. There hadn't been any shift in power that she had felt (though she was a little oblivious at the best of times). Wasn't that how this worked? Kill a Nation, and their people change. Or was it the other way around, where you signed away the Nation's power and it worked like that, killing them that way. They were symbolic creatures by nature of their being, for whatever reason Allah had put them on this earth, so maybe it was both...
A hard fist landed on the door, making Afghanistan squeak and leap to her feet. What now! Had they found her? Oh no, oh no.
The knocking landed again, a little quieter this time.
Trembling, she got to her feet, grabbed her gun, and went to answer the door.
Notes:
- Pointless side chapter? What pointless side chapter?
- And again, my optimism shines bright that the Taliban will be gone or at least quelled to a dealable level in 10 years. :| Though with all the pointless dilly-dallying it's unlikely. Hush.
- Again, Afghanistan the character was ganked shamelessly from the Afuganisu-tan web comic. Beware, she's extremely cute.
- Peshawar is a city in Pakistan, quite close to the Afghanistan border. It's very old and very pretty and used to be on the Silk Road and the mental images of it being occupied make me a sad Pidge.
- Hafa is Pakistan's name, meaning "gentle rain". England raised her, what can I say (British Raj represent). For the lulz I gave her a last name as well; Jamal, which means "beauty" or "grace".
- Adeeva is Afghanistan's name. I made it up for this. It means "gentle".
- Guess who's at the door! Winner gets an internet cookie.
Part 64
Characters (in this chapter): Afghanistan. Seriously, that's it.
Rating: 12
Warnings: The fact I'm a lazy arse and at the same time go into way too much detail over little things?
Summary: Uh, I need to be banned from the kink meme or monsters like this happen? Essentially, Scotland leaves the UK, which gives Northern Ireland an excuse to up and out as well, which leaves England and Wales all alone. Oh yeah, and this somehow leads to World War Three.
Afghanistan was tripping over herself again in her hurry, but she didn't have much of a choice. There were men behind her, and they were hardly friendly, chasing her down the streets of Peshawar. Her only advantage was knowledge of the terrain; having come here so often to visit Pakistan. No matter how many times she called India she got an answering machine in Hindi and English, and that wasn't of any help to her in this situation.
All she had wanted to do was find Pakistan and get out. Why did nothing ever go right for her? First that awful business with the Taliban and now this.
Should she call America?
No no, she'd promised herself that she didn't need to rely on the west any more. She was a big girl who could make her own friends.
Ahh, but who could she turn to when her friends were either captured or not talking to anyone!
She tripped again, sending herself sprawling across the floor, skidding across the sandy ground. She'd put a little distance between herself and her pursuers, and scrambled into an alleyway. Pulling her hijab on tighter, she fished her veil out from inside her pack, changing out of her battle gear and into civilian clothing. Bundling up everything she really needed into a bag, she ditched the heavy pack in the ally and walked out the other side into the street. The crowds were not as heaving with people and business as they usually were, but it was enough for her to slip through and blend in.
But she couldn't stay like this long; her old AK-47 would attract attention eventually and she'd be reported or directly discovered. She had to move quickly to Paki's house, to check for clues.
"Hafa..." she mumbled, moving through the streets as the quantity of people thinned to very few, before stopping outside the door that lead up the many high stories to her friend's apartment house. The shutters on the windows were closed. "Please be safe."
She'd had a key to Pakistan's house for quite some time, though getting it into the lock was harder than she remembered, like it had warped to a nearly different shape. Still, it opened, and she made her way inside. The stairs were dusty, which didn't help the lump in Afghanistan's throat. Pakistan was notoriously tidy.
"Hafa?" she called, receiving no answer. "Hafa, it's Adeeva! Are you in here? Please talk to me!"
Still nothing. Reaching the top of the stairs, she looked in through the door, parting the curtain of beads hung there. They clacked loudly in the silence.
The living room was a mess, pillows everywhere and the dinner table overturned. The television had a hole in the top corner like it'd been blasted at with a shotgun, not Pakistan's usual semi-automatic. This was wrong, this was horribly, horribly wrong.
More searching of the house found blood trails from the living room to Pakistan's bedroom, all the way to the closet, where the doors hung half off the hinges. In the dim light admitted by the slatted blinds and window shutters. Afghanistan could see a large smudge of dried blood on the inside of the closet. In her head she pictured it; Pakistan sitting on the sofa watching TV, being ambushed in her house, someone shooting at her, the Nation running for her bedroom closet and barricading herself in there, leaking blood everywhere. The intruder wrenches open the closet door and...
Afghanistan fell to her knees and wept.
"Hafa, oh, poor Paki..." she sobbed. She was dead, she was surely dead. Sure, they'd disagreed from time to time, but they were friends, truly, deep down. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Allah wouldn't allow such a thing, would he?
The sound of the people outside continued until she'd finished crying. Then it occurred to her. There was no announcement of the dissolution of Pakistan. And the people were carrying on as normal. There hadn't been any shift in power that she had felt (though she was a little oblivious at the best of times). Wasn't that how this worked? Kill a Nation, and their people change. Or was it the other way around, where you signed away the Nation's power and it worked like that, killing them that way. They were symbolic creatures by nature of their being, for whatever reason Allah had put them on this earth, so maybe it was both...
A hard fist landed on the door, making Afghanistan squeak and leap to her feet. What now! Had they found her? Oh no, oh no.
The knocking landed again, a little quieter this time.
Trembling, she got to her feet, grabbed her gun, and went to answer the door.
Notes:
- Pointless side chapter? What pointless side chapter?
- And again, my optimism shines bright that the Taliban will be gone or at least quelled to a dealable level in 10 years. :| Though with all the pointless dilly-dallying it's unlikely. Hush.
- Again, Afghanistan the character was ganked shamelessly from the Afuganisu-tan web comic. Beware, she's extremely cute.
- Peshawar is a city in Pakistan, quite close to the Afghanistan border. It's very old and very pretty and used to be on the Silk Road and the mental images of it being occupied make me a sad Pidge.
- Hafa is Pakistan's name, meaning "gentle rain". England raised her, what can I say (British Raj represent). For the lulz I gave her a last name as well; Jamal, which means "beauty" or "grace".
- Adeeva is Afghanistan's name. I made it up for this. It means "gentle".
- Guess who's at the door! Winner gets an internet cookie.
Part 64