http://champagnedelis.livejournal.com/ (
champagnedelis.livejournal.com) wrote in
towerofanimus2011-08-16 01:45 am
Entry tags:
Le désespoir
Open to all!
Setting: Floor 13
Format: Either~
Summary: Francisca reflects on the blackout and sings a hymn... as goodbye to her world.
Warnings: Angst, potential language
The voices were still whispering in her ears, her memory of the blackout far too keen. Her body still felt weighed down and tired from that far-too-close encounter with the not-England.
But England's voice had been too real.
She'd been trying to believe that England was alive - that this whole Tower business was just an elaborate scheme conjured up by some idiots smoking too much of Pays-Bas' drugs. But... perhaps she was now too tired to even attempt feeling hope.
She'd been strong as Rome and Germania would have expected of her, but even the strongest of defenses would slowly fall under constant fire.
She'd normally avoided this kind of place - too melancholy, too 'holy' for her tastes - but it was an apt setting for what she was about to do.
She moved to the altar, hearing the sudden hush of unheard voices, and took a shuddering breath, staring up at one of the beautifully decorated windows before she haltingly began to sing Pie Jesu, voice pealing out heartbrokenly in the language she'd almost forgotten since her childhood. Her eyes close as hot tears threaten to spill as she continues to sing.
England would have called her a drama-whore for it.
Setting: Floor 13
Format: Either~
Summary: Francisca reflects on the blackout and sings a hymn... as goodbye to her world.
Warnings: Angst, potential language
The voices were still whispering in her ears, her memory of the blackout far too keen. Her body still felt weighed down and tired from that far-too-close encounter with the not-England.
But England's voice had been too real.
She'd been trying to believe that England was alive - that this whole Tower business was just an elaborate scheme conjured up by some idiots smoking too much of Pays-Bas' drugs. But... perhaps she was now too tired to even attempt feeling hope.
She'd been strong as Rome and Germania would have expected of her, but even the strongest of defenses would slowly fall under constant fire.
She'd normally avoided this kind of place - too melancholy, too 'holy' for her tastes - but it was an apt setting for what she was about to do.
She moved to the altar, hearing the sudden hush of unheard voices, and took a shuddering breath, staring up at one of the beautifully decorated windows before she haltingly began to sing Pie Jesu, voice pealing out heartbrokenly in the language she'd almost forgotten since her childhood. Her eyes close as hot tears threaten to spill as she continues to sing.
England would have called her a drama-whore for it.

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He paused a moment, looking thoughtful. "I am sure they could be all fitting in here too... And things are being very quiet here... hard to be hearing anything not being in front, da? It could be making it easier to sleep if someone was being noisy."
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She glanced around the room thoughtfully and replied, "... If we can move seats, perhaps... Though I think it would be a bit scarier at nighttime."
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"Ah, da, da, moving seats would be being good," he replied, and blinked slightly. "Scarier? You are thinking so?"
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She looked around agian, nodded slowly and pressed a bit closer at his side. "... We had 'ghosts' here... I don't know, something about this cathedral-like room makes me think that when it is dark, I wouldn't want to be here..."
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"Ghosts? They are being here?" he replied and frowned a little, shaking his head He hadn't seen any ghosts, though then again he wasn't quite sure they existed. "I suppose that is making sense...."
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"Yes," she answered with a frown. "Well, I'm not sure if they were ghosts or not... but they weren't human... and they were dangerous."
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"That does not sound good.... perhaps... they are what brought us here...? A human could not have been doing it; it would have to be something stronger than nation, da?" he replied, a small frown curving his lips downward.
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"... I refuse to change my name to Francisca Braginsky though."
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