ＥＮＧＬＡＮＤ♛ Arthur Kirkland (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
keepscalm) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-04-15 12:13 pm
keepscalm) wrote in towerofanimus2012-04-15 12:13 pm
05. those hours that with gentle work did frame
Characters: England and you!
Setting: Floors 5, 15, 28, 29, 33, and 35 specified -- wandering to all the other places!
Format: Starting action, will match.
Summary: England explores the new floors, stops by some old ones, and is reminded of a few things he may have been avoiding.
Warnings: Probably language; mentions of aquaphobia, genocide, and alcoholism; potentially England getting drunk and being an idiot; nation woes. Will edit for anything else.
Floor 15
[Sewing? England sure is. He needs a new dress shirt. The ones that came with him to this place are a little dingy and getting noticeably worn, and he prides himself on being presentable, thank you very much.
He's already got the barest minimum of an olive green shirt constructed. It has no pockets, sleeves, buttons, or collar yet. But it's coming along nicely! There are a couple things in a repair pile next to him, too. Maybe he'll fix something else too, if he's asked nicely.]
Floor 28
[Even before he sees any of the floors above this one, England is confident that this is the Tower's best new addition. He immediately feels at home when he finds himself among the instruments, though there is also a rush of awe at just how many of them seem otherworldly. Part of him wants to investigate them close-up, to hear their unique timbres of sound. He doesn't want to risk breaking any of the beautiful instruments out of ignorance, though.
However, most of them he finds very familiar. Particularly when he passes a section of classic string instruments -- and, not too far ahead of those, guitars.
Needless to say, anyone who stumbles upon England on the twenty-eighth floor will find him lounging against the wall, strumming away at the bass plugged into the amplifier next to him and having the gall to actually look content while he does so. Some of the bass lines he's playing are recognisable, to those who know British Invasion bands well.]
Floor 29
[At first, England thinks the twenty-ninth floor is merely a garden, from all the beautiful plants that greet him at the top of the staircase. It isn't until he starts down one of the paths created by the winding hedges that he realises it's a maze (which he discovers he's actually in the center of), and quickly backtracks so as not to get lost. It's a beautiful place, but-- well, he doesn't trust any maze created by this Tower. Perhaps he'll brave it at some point when he has a plan of action and a reliable companion.
For now, he'll just be surveying the exotic plants in the middle of the maze close to the staircase, wondering at how he can't seem to place any of them as being from home.]
Floor 33
[Is it? Is is. Dirt. Honest-to-god dirt that doesn't have murderous plants growing out of it or mutant animals roaming it. And there's a shed over there. A shed that England finds actually has tools.
Yes, he'll be hard at work here on a small area he makes for himself close to the shed, planting seeds for as many kinds of flowers as he could find in the tiny wooden shack's stock. Though he'll also be keeping an eye on the staircase. He doesn't want to get run off the edge of this bizarre floating level.]
Floor 35
[He needed water for his seeds. He didn't expect to find a whole lake full of it not three floors away.
It looks stagnant. Dead. Water shouldn't look dead. Water is supposed to sustain life. England carefully toes the shoreline of the lake for a few feet before he gingerly lowers himself to his knees and rolls up his sleeve. There's a moment of consideration before, with caution, he first submerges his fingers in the water. When nothing bites them, eventually his hand goes with it. And then he's in the water up to his elbow, and noticing that there is suspiciously no muddy silt beneath his fingers even though he should barely be in the shallows. There's far too much depth for being so close to the shore.
He pulls back his arm sharply, reminded of the last time he was anything close to submerged in water in this tower. He aches for the oceans of home. They're a monster he's at least familiar with. This is like staring into the uncanny valley of how he's most afraid of dying.]
Floor 5
[He's always sped past this floor because the Tower workers unnerved him to a degree that he couldn't ever hope to explain. The truth is, England has never noticed the viewfinders in the outer ring. It's curiosity that takes root and finally makes him step away from the staircase so that he can peer through one -- after he surveys the thing to make sure it won't take out his eyes.
What he sees is strangely desolate. He's seen areas look more lively even after thorough bombing. He doesn't understand at first. He just watches, some alien pain gradually creeping up on him as he sees more and more of the wasteland through the viewfinder.
The pain gets worse the longer he looks through the port. Or maybe he just becomes more acutely aware of it. It comes to be so bad that his knuckles go white holding the sides of the device. He feels empty. On the verge of collapsing from the inside out. He feels such overwhelming loss that it eventually brings him to his knees like a blow to the stomach (or an attack on his people).
It stops hurting once he crumples away from the viewfinder, a hand clutching his chest like he's worried his heart will fall clean out of it. The ache is gone, but he feels short of breath regardless, as if the wind has been knocked out of him. He vaguely registers that his eyes are wet.
That was his world. His people-- his history.
Or what was left in its wake.]
Wandering
[Anywhere else that England might be found, he looks investigative -- curious, but cautious in the way he approaches things, especially in the newer floors. It's probably best not to sneak up on him. He's not bothering to hide the knife sheathed in leather at his belt, and surprising someone who's armed and used to danger is likely a pretty bad idea.
Setting: Floors 5, 15, 28, 29, 33, and 35 specified -- wandering to all the other places!
Format: Starting action, will match.
Summary: England explores the new floors, stops by some old ones, and is reminded of a few things he may have been avoiding.
Warnings: Probably language; mentions of aquaphobia, genocide, and alcoholism; potentially England getting drunk and being an idiot; nation woes. Will edit for anything else.
Floor 15
[Sewing? England sure is. He needs a new dress shirt. The ones that came with him to this place are a little dingy and getting noticeably worn, and he prides himself on being presentable, thank you very much.
He's already got the barest minimum of an olive green shirt constructed. It has no pockets, sleeves, buttons, or collar yet. But it's coming along nicely! There are a couple things in a repair pile next to him, too. Maybe he'll fix something else too, if he's asked nicely.]
Floor 28
[Even before he sees any of the floors above this one, England is confident that this is the Tower's best new addition. He immediately feels at home when he finds himself among the instruments, though there is also a rush of awe at just how many of them seem otherworldly. Part of him wants to investigate them close-up, to hear their unique timbres of sound. He doesn't want to risk breaking any of the beautiful instruments out of ignorance, though.
However, most of them he finds very familiar. Particularly when he passes a section of classic string instruments -- and, not too far ahead of those, guitars.
Needless to say, anyone who stumbles upon England on the twenty-eighth floor will find him lounging against the wall, strumming away at the bass plugged into the amplifier next to him and having the gall to actually look content while he does so. Some of the bass lines he's playing are recognisable, to those who know British Invasion bands well.]
Floor 29
[At first, England thinks the twenty-ninth floor is merely a garden, from all the beautiful plants that greet him at the top of the staircase. It isn't until he starts down one of the paths created by the winding hedges that he realises it's a maze (which he discovers he's actually in the center of), and quickly backtracks so as not to get lost. It's a beautiful place, but-- well, he doesn't trust any maze created by this Tower. Perhaps he'll brave it at some point when he has a plan of action and a reliable companion.
For now, he'll just be surveying the exotic plants in the middle of the maze close to the staircase, wondering at how he can't seem to place any of them as being from home.]
Floor 33
[Is it? Is is. Dirt. Honest-to-god dirt that doesn't have murderous plants growing out of it or mutant animals roaming it. And there's a shed over there. A shed that England finds actually has tools.
Yes, he'll be hard at work here on a small area he makes for himself close to the shed, planting seeds for as many kinds of flowers as he could find in the tiny wooden shack's stock. Though he'll also be keeping an eye on the staircase. He doesn't want to get run off the edge of this bizarre floating level.]
Floor 35
[He needed water for his seeds. He didn't expect to find a whole lake full of it not three floors away.
It looks stagnant. Dead. Water shouldn't look dead. Water is supposed to sustain life. England carefully toes the shoreline of the lake for a few feet before he gingerly lowers himself to his knees and rolls up his sleeve. There's a moment of consideration before, with caution, he first submerges his fingers in the water. When nothing bites them, eventually his hand goes with it. And then he's in the water up to his elbow, and noticing that there is suspiciously no muddy silt beneath his fingers even though he should barely be in the shallows. There's far too much depth for being so close to the shore.
He pulls back his arm sharply, reminded of the last time he was anything close to submerged in water in this tower. He aches for the oceans of home. They're a monster he's at least familiar with. This is like staring into the uncanny valley of how he's most afraid of dying.]
Floor 5
[He's always sped past this floor because the Tower workers unnerved him to a degree that he couldn't ever hope to explain. The truth is, England has never noticed the viewfinders in the outer ring. It's curiosity that takes root and finally makes him step away from the staircase so that he can peer through one -- after he surveys the thing to make sure it won't take out his eyes.
What he sees is strangely desolate. He's seen areas look more lively even after thorough bombing. He doesn't understand at first. He just watches, some alien pain gradually creeping up on him as he sees more and more of the wasteland through the viewfinder.
The pain gets worse the longer he looks through the port. Or maybe he just becomes more acutely aware of it. It comes to be so bad that his knuckles go white holding the sides of the device. He feels empty. On the verge of collapsing from the inside out. He feels such overwhelming loss that it eventually brings him to his knees like a blow to the stomach (or an attack on his people).
It stops hurting once he crumples away from the viewfinder, a hand clutching his chest like he's worried his heart will fall clean out of it. The ache is gone, but he feels short of breath regardless, as if the wind has been knocked out of him. He vaguely registers that his eyes are wet.
That was his world. His people-- his history.
Or what was left in its wake.]
Wandering
[Anywhere else that England might be found, he looks investigative -- curious, but cautious in the way he approaches things, especially in the newer floors. It's probably best not to sneak up on him. He's not bothering to hide the knife sheathed in leather at his belt, and surprising someone who's armed and used to danger is likely a pretty bad idea.
no subject
I know my way around a needle and thread, although I don't really have much to do with clothing. Fashion and I have never been the best of friends.
no subject
[He glances briefly to the incomplete article that will eventually be a shirt.] Embroidery is what I favour, but I find enjoyment in most practical applications of sewing.
Not to mention the damn Tower has ruined my clothes on more than one occasion.
no subject
[she chuckles a little] Yeah, I hear you. I haven't gotten sliced up yet but considering how the shit hits the fan almost every day I'm sure it's coming. Suddenly grateful most of my stuff is red already.
no subject
That'll help cut down the frequency at which you'll need to do laundry, I'm sure. You're fortunate that such a fate hasn't befallen you yet.
no subject
It's probably the best luck that I'll ever be graced with for the rest of my existence. Thank god the universe decided to use it on something useful like the amount of time I waste washing my clothes.