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

"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.

"Yours is the same color as mine, that's kinda weird," he said, for lack of anything else to say aside from continuing to quiz her about being Canada. "Well... Do you know how big this place is?"

"Purple? Really." The fact that it matched her eyes made her smile a little. Never mind that it would clash terribly with her clothes.

"I've only been on this floor and the one with the rooms. So no...Hey. Um do you have any scars?"

"Yeah, that's all I've seen too--Huh?" He blinked at her and flustered a bit; admitting he had them was admitting he'd been attacked and those attacks had left a mark--not something he enjoyed doing. "Uh, a couple, I guess..."

He played with his jacket a bit, hand resting over the scar over his heart that Canada had given him--force of habit whenever this particular subject came up.

"Nothing I don't remember getting, if that's what you mean."

Canada's eyes were drawn to the spot and her hand rested on her own scar...Part of her wanted to ask to see, wanted to confirm it with her own eyes, but she looked away, a sad smile playing on her lips. Her manner changed slightly, the lingering doubt dropping away.

"So the male version of me can still leave his mark. Good to know."

"D-don't act smug about it," America said automatically; only Canada would have commented on something like that. And only Canada would have said it like that, really. Because Canada could really be a jerk sometimes even if no one but him noticed.

"Well fine, you're Canada. A Canada, whatever. Now this place makes even less sense."

"I am not being smug, I am commenting on the truth. So you're America. I can't say I woke up expecting to see a male America to be honest. But it's interesting to meet you."

America offered her a hand to shake, in spite of her definite smugness. "I didn't really expect to wake up seeing any of this. This is all really weird."