towerofanimus | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Characters: England and all you ~~positively insufferable~~ wonderful people!
Setting: Floor Three
Format: Starting with prose/paragraph/whatever you want to call it, but I'll match.
Summary: Apparently the Shakespeare collections he brought with him aren't enough -- actually finding the library in this godawful place was a small blessing.
Warnings: Language, most likely, gosh England that's so improper (also mild suggestive themes, courtesy of him and fem!France)

The kingdom breathed a minor sigh as he turned the page, away from the inquiries of comedians and further into the tale of one 'Cesario'. A stack of books flanked each side of the open copy of Twelfth Night on the table; one stack for the books he had finished (currently, about three), and a stack for the ones that had not yet been opened.

Getting down to this floor had been a nightmare. England didn't mind stairs -- he was no lazy American, after all -- but this was just ludicrous. The place was a scientific disaster and a magical marvel. He was less disturbed by the physical impossibility than he was by the chance of hostile supernatural figures lingering about. It didn't take a mage adept to realize that a place like this could easily have them, just by looking at the way the tower defied physics and logic.

But at least he'd suffered no loss of limb nor any encounters with anyone he'd rather not meet with on the way down here. And, thus far, he'd had no significant disturbances.

Now all he needed to do was just stop thinking about the damn building and relax enough to enjoy what he was reading.

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Alternate worlds weren't something he questioned the mere existence of -- be they magic or science, they had to exist somehow. England was more confused by the fact that they were intersecting. Generally alternate worlds and times didn't do that, unless you found yourself in ownership of a TARDIS or something.

So, he'll come to terms with it eventually, but being an cynical and jaded nation, he'll have to treat the situation with caution until then. It was hard for him to trust anything in a place where he woke up to learn his world had apparently been destroyed.

The mentions of Spain and France made his lip curl a little, and it wasn't into a smile. "Charming," was all he said on that matter, unwilling to toe over any boundaries that this alternate Canada might have regarding those two.

"Gullible twits, all three of them," the kingdom added, though his tone was matter-of-fact instead of venomous. "I am not denying the existence of your world. I merely hope that you can excuse my skepticism regarding your identity, at least until we have become better acquainted and I can be confident that you are not a trick of the tower." Trust is something that must be earned, after all.

A pause took him briefly, and then he went on with a careful sort of politeness, as if he were worried it would be rejected after everything he had said. "...regardless, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Her eyes lifted heavenwards as he made note of Spain and France, as if asking for divine help in the mess that would surely follow when they all met. Disaster perhaps.

"It's wise to be skeptical. America--my America and I, nearly fell prey to the voice of our England. Your America caught us before it did. He insisted you were dead and gone and so all Englands must be. Either way, this place tricks you in many ways."

She hid a smile behind her hand and nodded, "It's a pleasure to meet you. America's impression was quite helpful in identifying you."

If he noticed her nonverbal response, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he let another perplexed look take over his face. "Dead and gone?" parroted the nation in disbelief. Well...he supposed the assumption made sense. If their world had been destroyed, and everyone with it, and then America found himself here with no sign of England...it was reasonable.

Though it still hurt a little to think of America accepting that fact so easily.

He didn't let his face betray his thoughts, distracting himself instead with a quirk of the eyebrow. "America's impression." This repetition was deadpan, unlike the previous. "I feel as if I should be insulted that any imitation of me by him was actually taken to heart."

She shrugged. Neither she nor Amelia had believed it but--It didn't matter did it. Here he was anyways. Perhaps her own was on her way. She would be so cross at being delayed wouldn't she. The thought made her smile.

"It was not taken to heart so much as insisted it was true. It was fairly accurate...if clearly biased." She tiptoed around the eyebrow issue and shook her head, "He imitated you, I imitated my England. I hoped to distract him."

Edited 2011-09-10 02:40 (UTC)

When no remark arose for his questioning, England let the issue drop. He'd rather not fiddle around with the idea of his own death -- or even the death of any other incarnations of him -- anyways.

He focused his full attention on the other matter in lieu of that. That issue being, of course, sniping at America. Though it was a smidge rude, England averted his eyes from Canada while voicing his next thought; he wasn't so self-conscious as to raise a hand to cover his eyebrows, but he still didn't want them to be seen while he grumbled, "I have a fairly good idea of how he emulated me, then."

But of course, the point of this conversation was not to put him in a bad mood (and why should he be in one, anyways? It was only America being an inconsiderate prannock as usual), it was to get to know this mysterious other-Canada better. "He's easy to distract, at any rate. There are children on this earth more attentive than that stupid git."

"He mussed his hair up. Went on about you scolding him and the like. It's remarkable that he looks more like you than my America looks like England. I resemble her a bit more." Surely she left out what he meant, but she wouldn't have needed the eyebrows to pick it up. Englands...had a manner about them. She tilted her head and nodded.

"He and his citizens tend to be quite alike. Easily excitable with bottomless stomachs. But tell me, what is your Canada like? If you can recall...I know we're a bit forgettable."

Her smile was good natured, she knew the tendencies. She just repeated herself with smiles. It worked easier that way.

"Funny, France always claims that America resembles him more than he resembles me." Though how France could claim that when he was so unsightly and America...wasn't, would forever remain a mystery to England.

It took a stimulus to trigger his memory, usually, but England did recall Canada. He pondered the question briefly. "He's very polite; he took to manner and etiquette sessions better than America ever did," England jibed, though he did amend, "Unless hockey is involved."

He looked back towards the other nation. "I'm not sure he would have approached me as confidently as you did."

She hesitated, unsure of whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. But of course the hockey remark made her smile. She ducked her head and laughed softly.

"I know I am not as close to England as I am to America or France, but I should think he would be able to greet you without hesitance."

She held her arms out, "Perhaps I can meet him one day and see if the versions you all put forth are true."

For all his suspicion, Canada's laughter seemed to be contagious to a degree, and his lips curved in a very small smile. And people claimed he had no sense of humor, hmph.

"Everyone has the capacity to surprise," he half-agreed. It probably depended on the situation in which his Canada was greeting him, he thought, but it seemed silly to dwell on it for too long. "I do believe you'll like him, if you ever do meet him. He's good company, when he makes himself known."

Ah a smile. It reassured that he wasn't something completely foreign to her...Though strange nonetheless.

"I am sure he is. Ah, have you been well since your arrival? You haven't had the misfortune of being assigned a job, have you?"

The smile was fleeting, as England's smiles tended to be in dealings with his fellow nations. Not through any displeasure with Canada, of course, but his smiles always seemed to fall with the weight of weariness after not too long a time.

It did help when they were pushed along by a comment with a strange vibe, though. "I have, thank you," he replied courteously, but it was secondary to the matter of the job. "And I've not been told anything of the like, no. I take it the working conditions here are less than favorable."

Sarcastic understatement? Most definitely.

She gave a helpless shrug, not sure how to put it. Less than favorable. She wanted to laugh again.

"I, myself, have been burned a few times, but being who I am makes them just an inconvenient ...but children are put to work as well. Not all of the jobs are dangerous, but none are pleasant."

Maybe it was just the fact that she was a girl, or maybe it was that despite being of some parallel world, she was still his former colony in a way, but the news of the jobs drew a subdued concern from England. Even though he knew first hand the kind of durability and pain tolerance that nations had...he'd never really be able to squash the protective paternal instinct.

"What is your job, if I may ask?" he inquired instead of pressing about the children. He couldn't expect her to know everything, and it was likely that there wasn't anything he could do about it anyways.

She wasn't sure that she wanted to tell him the particulars of it. If he got a job, he could worry about it himself, but she would be fine with dealing with it alone. Her automatic smile just widened.

"I'm a 'maid'. Laundry and the like. Not as dangerous as many other jobs."

His brow knitted in immediate confusion. How had a maid gone about burning herself -- more than once, at that?

Deciding he didn't want to know the answer, England said instead, "I'm glad that the risks are minimal, then. Nation or not, I'd not want you to get hurt." He didn't mind admitting that, at least not to Canada.

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