towerofanimus | (no subject)

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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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America didn't spend a lot of time in the library, except to check the network. That was actually what he was trying to do, except he did get distracted by the comic books. And, carrying a huge stack of them, it didn't even occur to him to check for errant book piles.

That would be why he trips over one of them and ends up sprawled out on the floor amidst novels and comic books.

"Uh...excuse me?"

Luke was a good boy, and didn't raise his voice in libraries. But he'd been hunting for a particular book for what seemed to be the better part of the day- anything to distract him from the whole nonsense of leashes. Of course, it seemed to be in the current ownership of a guy with...quite the sizable brows.

"Do you intend to read that any time soon?" Luke pointed to one of the not-yet-read stack, A Midsummer Night's Dream, before dropping his hand because pointing was rude. "If you are, that's fine. I've just had no luck finding it at all, and..."

The library was the last place England would expect to be disturbed (even though, to be quite honest, he'd gotten used to being disturbed in every kind of place). He really should have been a little more on his guard, but you live and you learn.

Which hopefully England would after he fittingly jumps in his chair at the sound of someone falling, losing his page in Twelfth Night to turn and look towards the source of the noise.

And then promptly go wide-eyed when he realizes what that source is. He should be more exasperated. He really, really should. But remembering that mysterious note's claim that his world had been "destroyed", something in him is happy that not all of it had been.

"Hm?" England's response at this was a quiet hum as he looked up from his book to peer at the child that had addressed him. Familiarity rung in the lilt of the boy's words. So some of his people were in the tower.

He regarded the little boy with polite curiosity before following the line of his finger to the copy of Midsummer. "Ah, you're free to take it, if you'd like," replied the nation with a cordial smile. "I've certainly read it enough times." Following that, he set aside Twelfth Night so he could gently slip Midsummer out from the stack.

Once he'd gotten it out without upsetting the rest of the pile, he held it out to the child. "It's an excellent play," remarked England, voice soft in consideration of his environment. "Have you ever read it before?"

"Who left all these books here?" America whined, ignoring that this was a library, and if books were going to be anywhere this was the best place for them, scrambling to his feet and looking around.

Oh, if it was England, that made sense. Wait, England? America stares back--after months assuming the other nation had died or something, actually seeing him here is a bit of a shock.

Luke took the book graciously, nodding, though clearly curious. "You have?" Read it enough times, he means. The book was quickly thumbed through, as if to check it's validity, before Luke picked his head up once more.

"Ah- yes, with the Professor." The boy wasn't about to admit it'd been a bedtime story one of the nights he'd slept over- that just didn't sound dignified at all. "It has been a while, and I have never had the chance to read it on my own- I've enough free time now that I should be able to with no trouble."

...there wasn't a single trace of scorn in his voice. Not at all, no way.

If England had realized sooner that what he was doing was indeed staring, he wouldn't have done it for so long, as staring is very rude and he wouldn't want to stare at America anyways.

Even though he does for quite a while before his speech functions click back into place. He bristles, clipping out the response, "It's a library. You should have been watching where you were going." After that, he scoffs, looking away to reprimand a little more quietly, "Not that one shouldn't always look where they're going, particularly if they're as prone to making spectacles of themselves as you are."

England allowed himself a quiet chuckle. "Indeed. It's one of my favorites, in fact," he confirmed. Nothing quite captures the whimsy and magic of his folklore as Midsummer does.

He turned in his seat to better face his conversational partner, smile fading to a look of mild intrigue. He didn't miss the subtle vocal cues in the statement, but it was probably best not to pry. So, he instead opted for what seemed to be the less sore of the topics. "The 'professor', hm?" he repeated inquiringly. "You both have good taste, to enjoy the works of William Shakespeare."

"I've been reading a fair bit more since I got here." Luke held the book under one arm, and finally made a one moment signal, and dragged a chair over from a nearby alcove. If the gentleman wasn't shushing him, then discussing literature must have been okay after all.

"Oh, the Professor says it's important to know the classics." Luke plopped down, Midsummer in his lap, putting on his thinking face. "The other one the Professor read me was...Macbeth, I believe. I didn't enjoy that one as much."

After the young boy retrieved a chair and sat, England resumed the conversation. "And I as well. I've been reluctant to venture too much, but I fear I've exhausted the reading material in that particular trunk." Old men do get bored sometimes. Though perhaps it was less being bored and more being antsy that led him to the library.

The nation skimmed over the spines in the stack, Macbeth among them. "The professor is correct," he agreed. "A proper gentleman is educated in all matter of classical material."

At that, he glanced more carefully down the line of titles. "Some do find that Shakespeare's tragedies are not as much to their tastes, yes. If you enjoy A Midsummer Night's Dream, I would suggest his comedies and romances instead." He didn't want to babble on by listing off what were comedies as opposed to tragedies, though he would provide the information if the lad wanted it.

"Most people put the books on the shelves or on tables or something," America said, turning to gather his comic books up as if there was nothing weird at all about suddenly seeing England here and nothing in particular he wanted to say to him. "Anyway, what do you need all these books for?"

In all fairness, England had put the books on the table before. He just moved them after he almost knocked them over with his elbow. Not that he was going to regale America with such an embarrassing occurrence.

"How you managed to trip over them is a marvel regardless," he continued with a haughty sniff. "They were well enough out of the way." And now they were all scattered amongst that graphic novel rubbish. He rolled his eyes, reluctantly setting Twelfth Night aside and slipping out of his chair so he could collect the Shakespeare assortment.

"I'm planning to read them, just the same as you plan to do with all of those silly little picture books, I imagine." He settled on his knees and leaned over to grab Hamlet, gingerly flipping through the book for damage before setting it aside. "If you can even consider those material for reading, anyways."

"How long have you been "rescued" for?" Luke, again, didn't bother to reign in his sarcasm, leaning his chin on his fist with a groan. "I've given up on avoiding books from times other than my own, and just began reading whatever struck my fancy." It didn't sit right with him...but time travel wasn't a thing he wanted to think about.

Luke did feel better when the blonde agreed with the professor's say. He remained attentive for the rest of UK's explanation of Shakespeare, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Does Romeo and Juliet count as a romance or a tragedy?"

And then a beat, "Oh! I'm sorry, I've been dreadfully rude. My name's Luke."

The sarcasm was almost endearing. This boy was well on his way to being a true British man. At the question, England's considerable eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not entirely sure, if I am to be honest," he answered after a beat. "For over a week now, I'm certain. Perhaps two." He didn't linger on the mention of "other times", or at least he tried not to. Thankfully the good Doctor had mostly desensitized him to the idea. Mostly.

"Romeo and Juliet is considered a tragedy," the kingdom replied amiably, "But it is a fair question. Generally, the stories leading up to one or more deaths among the protagonists are considered tragedies."

At that, he chuckled. "You're excused; I fear I've been rude in this regard as well." Even though, truthfully, he was trying to gauge whether or not to give this boy his human name or his nation name. "My name is Arthur Kirkland. You may call me whatever you see fit." After his introduction, he inclined his head in echo of a bow. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Luke."

"They're more interesting than these old things," America said, accidentally-on-purpose knocking one of the books farther away with his foot just to make things somewhat more difficult for England.

"Where've you been, anyway? Were you just sitting here the whole time?"

England scowled over at America, shoving ineffectually at the offending foot before he leaned even further to grab the displaced novel. "They're uncultured and juvenile," he countered with a bit more bite than his previous digs, mostly for the book-kicking stunt. "So, a perfect fit for you, at any rate."

The query prompted a slight glare. "Oh? You took note of my absence?" the former empire jeered while he stacked a few more books. "If you're that curious, I just arrived at this place not too long ago. This is the first time I've come to the library." The next comment was delivered in a grumble, mostly to himself, "Bloody weird place..."

"...you've been here that long?" Color Luke surprised. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't be so slackjaw- there's plenty of people I haven't seen yet."

He paused,and nodded a bow as well, tipping the brim of his hat. "Well, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance too, Mr. Kirkland!" For some reason, this guy just...felt like someone one should respect. Which, of course, got him to thinking.

"You sure do know quite a bit about literature. Are you by any chance a professor yourself?" An honestly curious question.

England nodded. "I have. I stayed in the dormitory for a while, I'm afraid, gathering my bearings." You know, sorting out all the stuff in his trunk, brushing up on his spells, reading, drinking tea. That stuff.

Luke was offered another pleasant smile, though England wasn't really sure how he should answer that question for a moment. "I'm not a professor, no. Simply an avid lover of literature and the English language." He's proud of his culture. Especially old Shakey.

"...I can't blame you. It's best to gain your bearings now than wait for something bad to happen again." And even more bitter sighing. He's going to be forty in about two posts.

"Ah, so a hobby then?" The 'deduction' was met with a proper grin, and Luke leaned back in his chair. "You wouldn't mind if I asked for other suggestions then, would you? I'm running out of ideas, I'm afraid."

"My thoughts exactly," conceded England. Admittedly, some of the time spent "gathering his bearings" had also been making sure his gun and his knife were still in working order. But that wasn't something he really wanted to spring on a child.

His lips quirked in an amused smile. "I suppose you could call it that, yes." It was more like 'an integral part of who he was as a country', but. Hobby worked for now. At the request for suggestions, England took to looking at his assortment again, and delicately began to pluck out the comedies he saw.

"There's nothing that quite captures the same magic that A Midsummer Night's Dream does, I'm afraid," he warned, setting the books aside. "However, there's certainly a selection."

Once he'd picked out three books, he gently slid them across the table to Luke. And then, almost as an afterthought, he added the one he had previously been reading to the stack of recommendations as well. "I would say to start with these," started the Englishman with a smile. "Though I can give you a complete list of all of Shakespeare's comedies, if you would like."

Upon further examination, the stack contained Twelfth Night at the top, then Much Ado About Nothing, followed by The Comedy of Errors and As You Like It.

Canada spent a great deal of time wandering the library, looking for somethign to catch her attention. Her wandering today has left her in this corner of the library, absently looking over the titles, Kumariee trailing just behind.

It took her by complete surprise to see a man she hadn't met before. She tried to at least know people by face and name, if not better...Then she saw...his eyebrows and America's impression sprung to mind. She hid a giggle and stepped closer.

"You must be England."

With the conflict between England's attempts to engross himself in his reading and his alertness of the surroundings of the tower, being addressed caused a somewhat mixed reaction -- especially considering it was by his nation name, in a voice that he did not recognize in the least.

His muscles jumped beneath his skin as he whipped his head to look at the girl in question. He made some kind of effort to not let his eyes look so wide while he looked at her, but considering how alarmed he was, it didn't work as well as he hoped it would.

England's immediate conclusion was that she was a nation. Maybe one he hadn't met before. He couldn't claim to be able to recognize every single one by face. He was certainly well-known, though, so perhaps she was able to piece it together through information from the grapevine.

"And you are?" he returned in a polite voice, trying to banish his suspicion. For all he assumed that he didn't know her, this girl did look awfully familiar somehow...

She held her hands out, trying to show at least that she came in peace and wasn't going to hurt him. Perhaps she should have put more thought into walking up to nations and saying she knew who they were. But a bit of her was pleased she was right.

"You won't recognize me...I'm not from your world. Nor are you my England. I'm Canada. You're from America's world."

"Well it's been like three months," America muttered, gathering comics with a bit more vigor, because they were certainly proper reading material and at least three times better than England's books. "You're not some weird England, are you?"

The library bored Prussia, he usually preferred to lurk in the cathedral or in the forest. But the Library brought it's own interests and entertainment. But once he entered the library and began heading to where most of the historical fiction was kept he stumbled, literally, upon England and his book piles.

"Son-of-a OW, what the hell?!" he grumbled rubbing his shin with his good hand the other wrapped tightly in bandages and in a sling around his neck.

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PAPA COUNTRYYYYY D';

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MY CHILDDDDDD <3

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PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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<3

<3x2

<3x3? ...that looks weird.

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<6 is weirder, arguably.

...that's a very sad, half-collapsed heart.

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...you made it depressing. Congrats.

...I didn't mean to. :C

:C its k bby i forgive you

;n; how can you ever love a wretch like me

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