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[pixietea.livejournal.com]

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.

Comments

[pixietea.livejournal.com]

England sneered, the expression perhaps a little more bitter than he'd really intended it to be. "Well, I imagine that England has her reasons for choosing that hairstyle," replied the former empire tartly, averting his eyes to thumb along the spine of a collection of sonnets. "And I'm sure that she's absolutely delightful in every other given aspect, as well."

Not that he held anything against his apparent lady-counterpart -- he hadn't even met her, after all -- but it tasted a little sour for America to be putting his trust into these parallels so easily. Or maybe it was less that and more the lack of trust in his own world's England.

Definitely the former, he decided. It was easier that way. "And what of your counterpart, hm? I sincerely hope that she's not as boorish and obnoxious as you."

[fifty]

"I met her a couple times before she left," America said. "She was cool. We were gonna break out of the tower."

It would have been better if she'd been around longer. He couldn't help but hope she would come back. The other option was that she was stuck on her version of destroyed America, after all.

[pixietea.livejournal.com]

Of course an America by any other gender would think of such a foolish plan. Did they even realize that this tower probably existed on an entirely different plane of time and space and thus probably had its own laws of physics (or laws of whatever else it damn well pleased)?

...and yet England couldn't help but admire the spirit behind it, ludicrous and idealistic as it was. "And probably kill the both of you while you were at it," grumbled the kingdom out of obligation to shoot America down, though it was halfhearted at best.