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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Well, people not noticing Canada wasn't exactly a novel occurrence, but him being mistaken for female garnered an odd look from England. He didn't think Canada resembled a woman. Matthew must have encountered some awfully strange people.

"It may be in your best interests to introduce yourself as Matthew, then," suggested England, "and leave out your true identity. We all know that some humans -- or otherwise -- are not comfortable with the idea of our existence." He sighed a bit in resignation following this, lifting the volume on the table to run a finger over the spine of it.

"Twelfth Night," answered the Englishman, sparing Canada another glance as he did so. He didn't offer further elaboration. His colonies had certainly received enough earfuls of Shakespeare lessons over the years (whether or not they listened was the question), so he expected the title to ring some kind of bell for Canada without explanation.

"Yes, even then they mistake me for the other Canada here. Even though I'm nearly a foot taller than her. But, maybe at some point people will come to like us? ... for all we suffer for them" Matt heaved a soft sigh, it was a waging war he'd found for eons. Some people accepted the fact that they existed and other panicked, he really wished they wouldn't panic.

Moving a little closer to England he peered at the book and nodded. "I always liked As You Like It more than Twelfth Night." he had read some of England's literature growing up in the stuffy old house. Seeing as the option of going outside to play was often frowned upon Matt had to do something else to keep himself entertained.

Well, that was certainly strange. The dear boy really needed to learn to be more assertive outside of the hockey rink. Maybe then people wouldn't mistake his identity so often. "They're only human," England stated, a note of quiet resignation behind the fact. "They are only able to show so much understanding." England had long since come to terms with the fact that some people were just ungrateful, and would stay that way. He would outlive them all anyways.

The kingdom spared just a hint of a smile at Canada's recognition of the title. "A Midsummer Night's Dream has always been my favorite, as you know," he returned pleasantly. "But I derive enjoyment from all of Shakespeare's works."

"I remember, you still talk to your friends?" Matt asked cautiously, just because Matt could maybe kind of see them didn't mean he was going to say a lick about it to anyone else, especially England. People thought Canada was weird enough as was without adding the England brand of crazy into the mix.

England looked a bit surprised at the mention of his friends. He and Canada both knew quite well that England wasn't exactly sociable nor well-liked, and they had only just been talking about Midsummer, so he could only mean England's supernatural companions. Considering how often the subject ended up at the short end of a joke, England half-expected it to turn out that Canada was mocking him. But he humored the question regardless, on the off-chance that he was serious.

"Yes," he answered, though his brow furrowed in minor distress. "...however, the majority of them are not present in this tower. It seems that only flying mint bunny took the journey with me when I was brought here." That had been bothering him to no end, but technically the creatures were "otherworldly" anyways, so England hoped they had escaped the fate the rest of the world presumably fell to.

"Ah, well at least you have someone to talk to right?" it was more than Matt had especially when Kumo was feeling particularily forgetful. He shifted his weight awkwardly, he still never felt quite right talking to Arthur, it was always so formal like the Briton was merely talking to him out of habit or necessity.

But he watched England's expression and continued softly. "I'm sure the others are fine, I don't believe the crap they say about our world being destroyed. Not all of us are here, if the world was gone we would all be here."

England couldn't help but sigh a little bit at that, though whether or not he noticed that he did it out loud is questionable. "That's true," conceded the island nation. The winged rabbit was someone to talk to, yes, and was good company, at that. But she had seemed sadder recently -- probably due to the disappearance of the others. Plus, England wasn't sure how many people here had the sight, if any. He wasn't fond of being thought a madman upon first impression.

He didn't really want to have to play devil's advocate to Canada's optimism, but it was a nagging thought that he couldn't leave unvoiced. "I'm not sure that they save everyone from a world that has been 'destroyed', as they claim," he commented. "I'm inclined to think that it is on an individual basis."

Matt had been trying and his optimism was really the only thing that was holding him up at that moment and to have Arthur shoot him down, to be blunt, hurt. Matt sighed heavily and picked up his little bear, holding the soft animal close to him.

What Matt wanted to do was cry and yell at Arthur like a child, it'd been stressful enough landing here and then having so much information pressed into his head that he was tired and fed up. Instead he gave the English man a level stare.

"Thank you for killing my last piece of optimisim England, you really do try to bring everyone down don't you?" Matt's voice was soft but it carried an edge of steel. Sharp and quick, it was thrown out before Matt could stop himself and in the quiet he felt bad but at the same time he didn't. "I... I think I'll just go before I say something that I'll regret."

England almost thought he imagined Canada lashing out at him for his pessimism, but the cold reality of it made his heart sink when the younger nation apologized. It stung as if he'd been slapped as it was, but to know that Canada actually did say it was salt in the wound.

He was quiet for a moment before lifting Othello from his unread pile, delicately slipping his finger between the pages and the cover to open it up. "You're right," he agreed distantly, his voice reverting to the practiced chill that so often came with the cold mask of indifference that he wore for the rest of the world.

He swallowed, his heart tight in his chest, as he turned the page to begin the story. "My apologies. Perhaps your time would be better spent in someone else's company after all." It hurt to be reminded of the reasons that he wasn't exactly what one would call "popular", but thankfully, England had grown very good at pretending that he didn't care.

"Arthur don't be like that. I just... it's hard okay? Optimism is the only thing I have here." he said quietly and decided it was a lost cause. His chest felt tight and he felt guilty for snapping at England.

He watched the Briton for a moment, or several wondering if he was going to say anything else to his former colony.

Regardless of whether or not it was really called for, Canada was still right. They'd implement a working solution for global warming before England would ever be known for actually trying to lift someone's spirits instead of tearing them down. It wasn't fair for him to dash Canada's hope just because England had long ago given up on it; shooting people down had merely become a reflex after a while.

"...hope away then, lad," he murmured, voice weary but sincere (if not a bit wounded, beyond the surface). "Don't allow me to stop you."

Matt stood there for a few moments quietly, he felt tears of frustration burn at the corners of his eyes. It was so impossible to talk with Arthur, nothing he could say or do was right, nothing.

"And people wonder why I have so many issues." Matt mumbled quietly to himself more of a whisper than a real voice and looked at the ceiling like something would magically tell him how to fix the situation. After finding nothing more than cobwebs the Canadian gave up.

"Sometimes... I really wish you ex-empires would stop to consider someone else's happiness other than your own for just a moment. Just because you've given up doesn't mean the rest of us have." And with that Matt blotted his eyes on his sleeve, making a conscious effort to try to walk away from England.

England really didn't see what more Canada wanted from him -- he hadn't been being sarcastic with his last statements (though he wouldn't blame Matthew if he were to assume that was the case), and he'd already gone and mucked up the conversation enough as it was. England had never been good with feelings, and Canada wasn't a child anymore; England had no idea how to go about fixing this.

Lumping him in with the likes of France and Spain (and, to a lesser extent, Turkey) was enough. His fingers tensed around the pages of the book, but he pursed his lips tightly and remained silent to the words. If that was how Matthew felt, then England wasn't going to bother correcting him. As far as he was concerned, the conversation had gone far enough.

And so, he flipped the page, hoping more to convince himself of this point than Canada.

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