towerofanimus | (no subject)

(no subject)

23:30:00
Silent dormitory rooms are lined with bodies--not dead, just sleeping. Throughout the tower it is pitch black and silent. At the base of the tower, countless shining eyes, watching.

23:45:00
The tower hums to life. Lights blink on in one by one; only the dormitory rooms remain dark. A small army of blank-faced humanoids appear and spend the next ten minutes taking various positions around the tower.

23:59:00
An order given. The dormitory room lights blink on.

00:00:00
You are awake.

00:00:30
You can move.

Begin

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Her voice goes flat when she speaks next, a look of disbelief and scorn lacing her features. He doesn't even look like America. Not even in the slightest. She gave him points for the jacket though. Maybe one point.

"I'm afraid you're not. I'm Canada."

America cocked an eyebrow and looked the woman over--and became aware that said woman was wearing one of the catsuits, which was not a bad look on her--with as much disbelief as she was giving him.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I know what Canada looks like, and you're not him."

Canada was sure what would happen next if this was any sort of America. A loud long argument with nothing settled and America scowling or pouting. She cracked a smile at the thought of this guy pouting and shook her head.

"I have been Canada for as long as I remember. And America is more my height, clearly a girl. But obviously one of us is wrong."

America huffed, just short of a proper pout. "I'm definitely America, so it's gotta be you. Maybe you hit your head or something."

Oh no if he started pouting, she'd start giggling and then he'd pout more. It'd be a vicious cycle. She schooled her expression and sighed softly. Maybe--okay she had no idea herself...

"It--why would I want to remember all of that? It's obvious I'm a nation, yes? I can feel you the same I am sure you can feel me. The burden of proof here is clearly not simply on me."

"Why should I have to prove I'm me?" he said, pouting now. "I dunno why you'd want to pretend to be Caada but I'm definitely America!"

"I--why would I want to pretend to be Canada! Why? So I can be ignored and pushed aside--" She snapped her mouth shut on the beginnings of her rant and glared at the floor. It took a moment to press down her frustration before she swung back to the windows.

"Believe what you want. I'm not trying to prove a thing to you."

"Whatever, pretend to be whoever you want to be, just tell me where the door is so I can go beat up whoever owns this and go home."

"If I knew, I would go home. To America who knows me and England and France. All of whom are girls."

"They're definitely all guys! Like everyone's a guy! Except... I dunno, Russia's got some sisters, and there's the girl who makes chocolate, and that island girl who's related to France I think..."

"...Seychelles, Ukraine, Belarus, Belgium. All boys...Do you live in opposite land?"

"They're definitely girls! Well, Russia's sisters are definitely girls, I mean Belgium is the one with the waffles, right, I think she's a girl... France and England are definitely guys, though."

"...England wears her hair in pigtails sometimes. Has glasses. France likes to wear her hair in a bun a lot. Um...America has little hairclips like mine--only I don't have them here, but she gave them to me. Ah...Russia is a tall woman with a long pink coat that she loves--I think we are opposite."

"Well we can't both be right, that'd be impossible," America declared, apparently making the decision that waking up in a weird tower and being told your world had been destroyed was far more believable than a world where Russia, France, and England were all girls.

Especially England. Those eyebrows must look terrible on a girl. They look pretty terrible on England already.

"Well you get to decide what you believe. Either Norway and I are crazy nations bent on appropriating the identities of nations that are not well known, or I am who I say I am, as you are. Is it so hard to believe I am Canada. I suppose I look nothing like what you imagine."

"It still doesn't make sense," America said, sitting down in a chair in what might have been the most dramatic sitting down in the world up to that point. "This whole thing is stupid."

Certainly the most dramatic one in this world. Canada stayed by the windows, sighing in her long suffering way.

"Stupid or not, it's what is happening."

"Okay, fine, you can be girl Canada if you want," America said, rolling his eyes a bit as he did. "This place is still really weird, and I don't know what's going on, and why are you still wearing that?"

It was king of distracting.

"I--oh...oh where did you get clothes?"

Cue Canada realizing that she is wearing something that shows off every curve in front a male version of America and aaaaa. AAAA FOREVER. Internally.

"The trunk by the bed I woke up in had some of my stuff from back home," he explained, now looking off to one side in a belated attempt at being a gentleman. "Yours didn't have anything?"

Canada crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head before she took that in and indulged in a facepalm.

"O-Oh it has thing from home in it? Really? Oh I didn't...even look."

"Not a whole lot, but yeah. Mine had this in it, and a couple other things."

Like a gun and ammunition, but he wasn't about to advertise that when that might get them taken away or something.

"Not having to wear a catsuit would be wonderful." Canada ran her hands over her sides as if to confirm it was still there before her hands trailed up the collar. She tugged it futilely for a second before she looked away, still flustered.

"Who thought up this stupid outfit," she muttered under her breath.

"I think everyone woke up in those," America said. "...Yeah, and that thing doesn't come off. Trust me, I tried."

His hands were still a bit red from tugging, in fact.

"Yes. I know. I am quite aware that it does not come off..."

Her voice trailed off into slightly miserable silence. If silence can be miserable.