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

;;

[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.

[creme_master]

Francis didn't jolt at the hand in his hair. Somehow, and he could elaborate until his fingers cramped from emptying his thoughts on paper, he'd felt her. Probably had something to do with them essentially being the same person. How he reacts to it though was probably unanticipated; the tears falling steadier than before. He had no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed around his companion. Neither of the had had an easy month.

He is quite good at hiding though, retreating to a haven until the immediate danger passes. It's part of the reason he has spent so much time in bed. Part, not wholly true. She was there though, making sure he'd not eaten a hole through the floor and fallen through. He was lucky to have her.

The man hoped she would forgive him for the lapse of composure.

[i_luv_syrup]

The tower was starting to frighten Matt, People were acting strangely even for themselves. The last he'd seen his various friends it seemed like Paranoia, fear and something close to schizophrenia had appeared in them.

Not to mention he hadn't been able to find France.

In a small way Canada was thankful for his invisibility, taking to wandering silently on floors that people didn't seem to like to lurk. Going up from the aquariums the shadow of someone coming down the stairs made Matt duck into the cathedral. He'd always felt odd in extremely religious settings, as a nation he had so many and the overly christian motifs made him glance around.

The one thing that caught his attention though was France sitting in one of the pews close to the back. From behind Matt wasn't sure if the man was praying or crying, both were equally viable for what was going on.

Without much of a thought Matt moved silently into the pew and sat down beside his former father figure, letting him have his moment before placing a gentle hand on his

[creme_master]

It was a good thing that someone had interrupted his solitude.

It was even better than it had been Mathieu who had avoided the experiment that was driving the Tower's inhabitants stir crazy. Or genuinely crazy rather. Despite the boy's sanity, the floor's tricky silence had quieted his former charge's approach and he jolts under the hand. There is no racing pulse. No gasp of surprise. Just a man sitting up straight with wide eyes that relax soon after.

He can't speak, but he leans back against his touch in a silent hello, feeling the shame creep deep. There'd been a time when Francis had been more worthy of his mentor role. Now reduced to nothing, he couldn't help feeling as if his plight was letting the boy beside him down.

sorry it's a tl;dr tag

[i_luv_syrup]

Matt knew the look on Francis' face, it was of despair, of something that deeply unsettled him for all of the world he had never seen Francis look quite like this. His heart twisted seeing his former father figure so distraught and obviously upset but Matthew didn't know what quite to do

Ain' no thaaang

[creme_master]

He swallowed thickly, hindered not for the first time by the phantom feeling of his heart clenching in his chest, long gone. Tension has settled in along the muscles along his shoulder and back, leaving the man more skittish than he normally was. Numbness had settled in. Apathy. If they had wanted to see how to break the refugees here they'd mastered it after little time.

Mathieu was a stronger man than most believed him, having compassion no matter the hardship and capable hands. Francis gave a quiet shudder, something that sounded like a muffled sob, and leaned in against the boy's side, clamping his eyes closed.