06. what could death do if thou shouldst depart?

[keepscalm]

Characters: England and you
Setting: Backdated through the month of June; various places in the Tower
Format: Starting action, will match!
Summary: England wakes up following his death, decides to be a nosy asshole, and then remembers what month it is.
Warnings: Mentions of character death, vivisection, surgery, Anglo-American history, gore, violence, language. Will edit for anything further.


Backdated to 6/13 (following his vivisection) - Open; dormitory hallways, floor one, floor two, floor three

[He awakens in his room somewhat sluggishly, blinking his eyes open to the bleary sight of the drab ceiling above him. He feels dreadful. It's as if he's been unconscious for a few days. For all he knows, he has. He could liken himself to the walking dead.

Dead. Walking dead. He died. Nine months -- it was nine now, wasn't it? -- and he finally died. He was killed. Murdered, really. No wonder he's tired. Death by vivisection would exhaust any normal person.

God, he was vivisected. Jason literally hollowed him out until there wasn't enough to keep his body going -- and probably continued after that, too, until there was nothing left at all. All of his vital organs -- pieces that represented his country -- removed from him like nothing more than small trifles. What a way to go.

It doesn't bother him as much as the fact that he'd had an audience does.

Screaming.

The memories of distraught cries flood back to him in a rush that makes him bolt upright. America. His boy, his dear, darling boy, saw Jason do that to him. Zelda, Link, Taiki...everyone. Everyone saw. People he cares about had to watch him die.

England's eyes harden and narrow into a glare. His head is swimming with vertigo, but he hardly notices through the anger that is burning through him. It's a fire he hasn't felt in a long time. Not since he came to the Tower. Probably not even before that. It's a righteous kind of fury that has him throwing aside the covers and swinging his legs out of bed to take him towards his trunk. He retrieves his weapons and his clothes to dress himself with automatic motions.

Resolve. The anger within him thrums with resolve.

England will be making his way to the third floor library via the elevator from the dorms to the ground. Catch him on the way?]

Backdated to 6/15 through 6/25 - Closed; all floors

[Casually puts filler here.]

Backdated to 7/1 - Open; room 1-20, 2-16, dormitory floors, cafeteria

[It's begun.

England is sick.

He hasn't been watching the dates carefully -- there isn't much point to it -- but he knows the months, at least. Not that he'd need to count to know it's the beginning of July. He woke up with a dull ache permeating most of his vital muscles and a cold congesting his sinuses. Not to mention he was disturbed to consciousness in the middle of the night from a shockingly vivid nightmare of being abandoned in the rain, something that's not exactly normal fare when he sleeps.

He'll either be found in his own room, America's room, or the cafeteria, looking restless and downright miserable. Approach him with caution.]

 

Comments

6/13; dormitory hallways, floor one, floor two, floor three [OPEN]

[keepscalm]

6/15 - 6/25; all floors [CLOSED to Jay and Eleanor Lamb]

[keepscalm]

7/1; room 1-20, room 2-16, dormitory floors, cafeteria [OPEN]

[keepscalm]

hallway outside America's room

[colonial]

[America feels--confused, above all else. Disoriented. After the last month it's odd to be back in the Tower, though he hadn't been in the place long enough to get used to it in the first place. He pads away from the elevator once he's gotten a grip on where he is, though, with the intent of finding England.

They'd said England would be here. They'd promised. So soon he's running and half tumbling over his own feet, worked up into almost a panic just at the idea that England might really be gone forever.]

England! Engwand!

[keepscalm]

[He'd eventually migrated from his own room to attempt sleeping in America's, as he'd taken to doing throughout the month of June. He wasn't sure if the effect would be positive or adverse to soothing his nightmares, but he didn't have much time to find out. Screaming that haunted his psyche even in his waking days rung through the hallway outside the room, ensuring that he wouldn't be getting any rest any time soon.

England throws himself out of bed despite the dizziness and pain that accompanies the action, yanking open the door to the room to survey the hallway outside.] America?

[colonial]

[America stumbles to a stop once the door opens, so quickly he tumbles head over heels and has to scramble back to his feet. England's here, he's not dead he's right there!]

Engwand!

[America throws himself at the older nation with more force than necessary in his desperation to reach England.]

[keepscalm]

[Needless to say, in his state, with America's strength, England is knocked right onto the floor by the force of the tiny colony's hug. Pain spikes through him as he hits the ground, but at least his arms are wrapped firmly around America.

He sniffles a little -- purely a side-effect of his congestion, really -- and lets out a bit of a choked laugh.] It's alright. I'm here. I'm fine. See?

[colonial]

[Not really minding the sudden change from vertical to horizonal, America clings to his guardian desperately.]

You're okay! You're okay! You are, right?

[He looks at England's face as if he can discern England's exact physical and mental state just by staring at him.]

[keepscalm]

[Well, no, the truth is that England is actually quite distressed and not okay, overall. And it'll just get worse through the week. It probably shows in how pale he seems -- even more so than usual -- and the dark rings starting to form beneath his eyes. Hopefully America won't notice.

England lifts a hand to smooth back America's hair and smiles.] Yes, perfectly okay.

[colonial]

[America crawls forward more to sit on England's chest and, therefore, get a better look at England's face. A better look, for America at least, seems to involve having his face an inch away from England's.]

Are you sure?

[keepscalm]

[Having America so close to his face makes him feel a little guilty about his white lie, so he concedes:] Well, I do have a bit of a cold. But I'm fine, really.

[Seriously. Totally fine. Absolutely.]

[colonial]

[America pats England on the head, mimicking the way England sometimes does the same to him, and then hops off and tugs on England's arm.]

You should go to bed if you're sick.

[keepscalm]

[England chuckles weakly and sits up when America tugs on him.]

Can't really get to sleep. I tried. Maybe I'm just not tired.

[A lie. He's exhausted. Shh.]

[colonial]

But when you're sick you go to bed! [America tugs more. Of course, has America ever even been sick in his life...]

When in doubt, Floor 3

[capax_infiniti]

[It's another day at the library for Xehanort! This time he's got some random-ass tome from his private collection, written in some sort of swirly-ass alphabet that he follows by running his fingertip along the line and murmuring to himself quietly. A couple of other books are stacked precariously on the side of the table, just ripe to be knocked over by an agitated country who may not be paying that much attention to his surroundings.]

[keepscalm]

I'm okay. Honestly.

[It'll pass. Especially seeing as the America of his day isn't around to exacerbate things.]

I'm more worried about you. Are you okay, lad?

[colonial]

[America nods but continues his tugging.] I didn't get hurt.

[A lot of the others did, but he doesn't want to think about that. And the week after England left was kind of blurry for him, too, but he doesn't want to think about that, either.]

Floor 3!

[dielikeyouwantme]

[Dull is the only word with which Grell could possibly describe the time without William and Ronald. At this point, she thinks she would almost count herself grateful, to see the little Phantomhive brat, again. At least, then, her wandering around the tower would have a point. If anyone asked what she was doing, she could say "avoiding Ciel," and be done with it.

As things stand, she's occupying her nights with hunting monsters, and her days with trawling the library for anything - anything - that can hold her interest, for a little while. So far, she's spent most of her time in the most obscure sections she can find. Today, she thinks she might give up and locate the tower's copy of Shakespeare's works. If, that is, it even has one. It would just figure, if it didn't, and she's making quite a sour face at the prospect, as she steps onto the elevator.

...The elevator that's not as empty as it normally is. She looks England up and down, briefly. He looks downright peeved off, and Grell makes a little hmph sound, in response to her own observation. She would have rather shared her ride with someone pleasant.]

And where are you headed, in such a fuss?





((I hear William Spears told England that Grell, here, was Jack the Ripper. I've been itching to throw her at him, since then.))

floor 3 is where the classy people gather ok

[keepscalm]

[And knock them over he does, especially because England's not even going towards the bookshelves, but toward the desks.

He immediately turns when he hears the sequence of thuds that tip him off to what he's done. Annoyance flashes in his face at the turn of events -- hadn't he admonished America for doing something similar to him when he first came here? -- but he nonetheless apologises:] Sorry.

[And, without looking to see who he's wronged, he kneels to help gather the books.]

[keepscalm]

[England's not much happy about having to wait in the elevator himself, but that's mostly because he doesn't want to burn out on this sudden motivation of his before he can even get started. Not to mention stairs. He'd really like the elevator to stop on every floor, but apparently that's too convenient for their plucky administrators.

Not to mention that the Tower lights aren't even on. Honestly now.

It's not often that he's made to share the elevator when he uses it, so he's not really expecting company. Especially not company that addresses him. Whatever happened to awkwardly avoiding the people you get stuck in elevators with? He's never been much of an extrovert, and he's especially not in the mood to make idle conversation right now.]

The library on the third floor.

[He sounds almost as grumpy as he looks. A gentleman through and through, truly.]

(( ooc| haha, indeed he did! 8> i'm looking forward to this ))

[keepscalm]

[Relief washes through him at the young colony's response.] Thank goodness. I was very worried about you. [He would have been promised a humane death in Dax's group, but America's death in any form isn't a thought he wants to dwell on.]

7/1 - Open; room 1-20, 2-16, dormitory floors, cafeteria

[victory_howl]

Ammy paused in her exploration of the floors, sniffing the air. Then, as if on a whim, she thrust her snout into the crack of a nearby door, nosing it open and sticking her head inside.

The man inside had yellow hair, but he didn't have the distinct features of the Moon Tribe. It seemed there was something wrong with him as well. An illness? She cocked her head at him, staring for a moment.

[moontothetide]

[Issues of other people's health are one of the very few cases where Tara can approach with caution.

She takes a seat at the table across from England, on the mental pretense that it's too crowded to sit anywhere else. It's not, of course, but that's her excuse and she'll keep to it.

Tara takes a peek to see what England is eating before focusing intently on her pile of seafood in the form of Ceviche.]

...kind of funny, w-what they did to the menu.

You, um, y-you know about the soup, right?

[dielikeyouwantme]

Isn't that a funny thing? I'm off to the same place.

[Maybe, Grell thinks, an unpleasant fellow rider isn't as bad as it initially seemed. He's so gruff, and gruffness, in her opinion, begs to be tested. Ruffling people up is awfully fun. Ruffling up angry-looking men is even more fun, to the point where it might be considered one of Grell's favourite pastimes. If he's really dead set on going to the library, he can't just avoid her, either. Forget Shakespeare. This is going to be so much better.]

Books don't usually attack, you know

[She indicates his weapons, as she speaks, in spite of the fact that she's carrying one of her own - her chainsaw.]

[keepscalm]

Then I suppose we'll be keeping company for at least a little while longer, won't we?

[Sigh. Of course when he really wants to be left to his own devices.

And don't let him hear the sentiment to forget Shakespeare. That's basically sacrilege to him.

England casts a glance to the gun in his waistband -- for once, he hasn't bothered to try and hide it. His knife is similarly sheathed, protected but still in plain sight. He's placed them for accessibility. England is clearly ready for a fight.]

It's not the books I'm concerned about. [The monsters don't usually appear on the first three floors, but he knows now that there's no one watching the Tower to ensure otherwise. He isn't taking any chances.]