towerofanimus | (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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Aha, and she knew that blush and snooty lift of the nose. Looks like some things don't change between worlds~ She smiled and gave him another inquisitive look, eyes wide and lashes fluttering as she asked, "Oh? So you have no dirty little sexual interests? No fondness for corsetry, indecent exposure, or perhaps some creative use of your neckties in the bedroom?"

He wanted to go crawl in a hole somewhere and follow Japan's example of becoming a hermit for a few centuries as France began to list off particular "interests" that he may have. A hand flew up to the knot of his tie when she mentioned the last one, and he was sorely tempted to untie it and fling it far, far away from his person.

"N-no!" he choked out. "None! None at all! That's just-- that's absurd, and quite a personal matter regardless!" It was a shame that he was never a good liar when it really counted.

She smiled her full-blown seductress smirk, her voice coming out in a low purr, "Oh but monsieur, surely you know that personal matters of this area are my speciality~?"

Yes, that was an invitation, but she had the feeling he wouldn't take her bait so she slipped back to her sweetly innocent smile. "But if it bothers you so, I will drop the matter."

His brain was going to melt and leak out of his ears, the end. He blushed to his neck, propping an elbow in his palm and raising his opposite hand to futilely cover the lower half of his face. "Surely I must say that I don't," he countered quickly, trying to distance himself from that sultry tone of hers. He...maybe had to admit that it wasn't completely unappealing.

But he had morals and standards, or otherwise had become very good at convincing other people (and himself) that he did. And she was-- it was-- France, for god's sake, what is wrong with him?

"To defer to my preference would be quite appreciated," England managed to tack on. His preference being, of course, that they talk about something else. Almost anything else. Anything else that wasn't the bedroom, really.

Too bad for him that she would change subjects from bedroom antics to the bedroom itself. "How are you finding your lodgings? Tolerable roommates?" she asked.

She hadn't really met her own roommates since she rarely spent time in her room - or any room for that matter.

... Well, except for that one time with Francis but anyway, she quickly discarded the thought with only a slightly pinker tinge coming to her cheeks.

...well, that wasn't so bad. He could do with the bedroom if the antics were just left out. "I haven't really spoken to them much," he admitted, without explanation. France knew he wasn't exactly a social butterfly. "And the rooms themselves are a bit...crowded."

He could see one roommate, maybe even two, but three was a bit much for someone as private as him.

"Though it could be worse," England supplied with a minor shrug.

"But of course - you could have been rooming with Francis and me."

England visibly made a face when Francis' name came up -- but (even though he had far too much pride to do it outright), he felt the need to defend Francisca in that regard. "The latter would be quite impossible, considering that the rooms appear to be gender-segregated."

Francisca chuckled and combed her hair back. "I suppose... Though considering that Francis and I are essentially the same person... Ah well." She batted her lashes at him with a smile. "That's not a problem for you... is it?"

He wouldn't agree, for the mere fact that Francis hated him while Francisca didn't. ...which was definitely a fact. It had to be. Otherwise England might start feeling conflicted, and that just would not do.

"I-- what do you mean?" he prompted with confusion at her question, eyebrows furrowing.