towerofanimus | I don't wanna be me

Entry tags:

I don't wanna be me

Characters: Francisca and anyone who comes by
Setting: Dormitory Room 01-11
Format: Starting prose, will change to match!
Summary: France's been gone 'home' for nearly a month... again. She's not happy.
Warnings: One hysterical French woman - expect some swearing and perhaps some violence. Mentions of attempted suicide.

If she had been anyone else, if she'd still been the human she had been before becoming a nation, things would have been different. To start with, she wouldn't have felt so hollow and dead inside during that month back in the burnt out husk that had once been her homeland. Yet still she'd survived, all that time alone. No food, no water, sleeping only when exhaustion finally forced her to her knees.

No human contact.

She'd given up halfway through that time, going to the battered remains of her town house to find her old sabres still somehow intact. She'd thought of the gleaming steel blade as her salvation and had driven it into her gut, even the stabbing pain somehow numbed with how dead she already felt.

But there had been no blood, and she had lived.

And then she woke up, back in the tower, suddenly suffused with life and sensation flowing through her body... and she'd screamed.

It was too much, far too much after that long time and all she'd wanted to do was die! Being back here meant she would have no rest on her weary soul, she'd only be introduced to more pain, and she hated it.

She took out her rage on the room, wanting to mar the perfect, white, clean Tower. First to go was her bed, flipped into the air by her monstrous strength. The sheets were torn to shreds and flung away from her, her trunk was thrown against a wall, nothing was safe, and she kept screaming as she destroyed the room.

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Upon his return sleep came in fits that were rather unpleasant. What had happened in the month away from the tower haunted him; after the first few nights they had warped into landscapes of a fallen Paris with the beasts of the Tower roaming free. Sleep was no longer his friend.

He'd thought the scream was a product of his dreams at first until the solid thud of something heavy made him jerk awake. France had lay there, trying to calm his heart and figure out what was happening. Another scream made him sit up, sounding all too familiar for his taste and being much too close to ignore further.

They say that gentlemen knock before entering, pushing the door open with a bang. Before him was a distraught other-half and a destroyed room. And all he could do was gawk, because he had felt the same.

Francisca showed no signs of stopping in her destruction, lifting the bed frame and flinging it at the wall, screaming with rage as it didn't so much as dent or leave a crack in the smooth white surface. She threw herself against the wall, screaming still as she beat her fists against it and clawed at it to no avail.

That was his cue to step in. He might lose an eye or whatever limb got to her first but it was a risk worth taking. Besides, her roommates might not enjoy their things being devastated by her rage.

His arms wind tightly around her waist as he draws her in against him, face screwing up slightly in apprehension of the blow she'll deliver.

"Francisca. Stop. Stop. I'm here!"

He says that like it honestly matters, though.

When he first grabbed her, Francisca only shrieked and flailed in his grasp, attempting to get loose as she was convinced it was one of the Tower's machinations.

But then there was that connection, of feeling complete along iwth the familiar warmth and she stopped fighting him, sinking to her knees and screaming into her hands bitterly.

He winced and held her tighter to him when she thrashed against him, ducking out of reach more than once when an arm came his way. The others could make snide comments all they wanted; a frantic France was a force to be recognized. His heart ached for her; he knew what had happened to her without asking. In fact, he didn't want to ask because it reminded him all too well.

France felt rather unhelpful as he settled on his knees before her, taking her hands in his. He doesn't remove them from her face, knowing it'd be a mess, but he pulls her in to settle her head against his chest. Cheek to the top of her head, he shut his eyes and tried to wait it out.

"Destroying your things will not make it any better, I'm afraid" His arms returned around her as he tried to coax her into breathing again. "I wish it did. This place is cursed."

Even though she felt moderately comforted by his familiar presence, she couldn't stop screaming. "I want to destroy this place!" she cried, nails digging into her face as she curled in on herself, muscles tensed and ready to lash out at anything and everything but just barely contained so as not to hurt Francis.

"I hate this place."

[ Hey, woah, lady, this ain't cool! Roommateship don't give you perms to potentially wreck her stuff. ]

H-Hey! Stop that, there are other people's things in here! Go beat up monsters if you're that angry!

[Freezes in her destruction to turn on the girl with obviously crazed eyes.]

What does it matter? THERE'S NO POINT TO ANY OF THIS!

Because some of us have to sleep in here. Some of us have important things in our trunks. Honestly...

But none of it matters anymore, not now when they've already taken EVERYTHING!

[Flings her bed against the wall again, hating that it still wouldn't show any signs of damage.]

Ever since Francis had returned, Jeanne had taken time to walk by Francisca's room every day. She was worried, and understandably upset, that she hasn't seen the woman in weeks... but she was also hopeful. If he came back, that means she would too, right?

It was probably a bad thing, to hope for someone's return to the tower. But she just wanted to make sure that Francisca was okay, that's all. Of course, a brief jolt of fear and panic shot through her when she heard the commotion, and in a flash, her clothes were replaced with her silver sword and armor, and she was running into the room, poised to strike whatever was inside.

... She froze, though, once she took in just what was happening. And then, hesitation quickly disappearing, she entered the room, voice raised so that the nation could (hopefully) hear her over her rage.

"Francisca, stop this!"

Edited 2012-12-17 04:56 (UTC)

Francisca didn't register the young woman's voice, too bent on distraction to be so easily deterred. Enraged that the wall wouldn't show the slightest disfiguration even though her hands were bleeding, she grabbed the bed frame again and began beating it against the smooth surface.

At the sight of blood on the woman's hands, Jeanne knew she couldn't simply stand to the side and call out to her. Seems like a more hands-on approach was necessary here.

During a pause in Francisca's furious beating of the bed frame, the Servant quickly closed in, dropping her sword and clamping both armored hands tightly around her wrists. She's going to put all her strength into stopping the woman's flurry of destruction, and that's certainly saying something - even among Servants, her B-Rank Strength is quite an impressive thing.

"Please, stop!" She repeats, trying to get through to Francisca again. "You're hurting yourself, you must stop this now!"

"UNHAND ME!" she roared, pinning Jeanne against the wall and baring her teeth viciously, all those centuries of carefully groomed manners and ladylike appearances stripped away to leave the territorial creature she'd kept hidden. Her eyes were more animalistic than human in the blind fury they reflected, glaring down at the girl she usually treated so dearly.

Jeanne momentarily saw stars as the back of her head slammed into the wall, but she quickly shook the daze away and grit her teeth. That had hurt, and not just physically. Francisca was one of the last people Jeanne thought would harm her... but she couldn't fault the woman for this. People were prone to doing irrational things when in the grip of anger and frustration. Jeanne just had to snap her out of that harmful state of mind.

"I will not!" She yelled back. Her voice and expression both remained firm in the face of Francisca's ferocity, but there was just a hint of desperation as she spoke, still keeping a firm hold on her. "I cannot allow you to continue this, Francisca! You are hurting yourself and you risk hurting others at this rate... I will stop you if I must, but please, do not make me do that!"

There's a good chance Francisca might not catch the way Jeanne's voice cracked slightly at that last bit, but it's still pretty apparent. She wasn't planning on doing anything that might put her homeland's life in danger, but the thought of having to continue this scuffle wasn't a very pleasant one.

"You!?" she scoffed, sneering in a decidedly ugly way as she goaded Jeanne. "You, a mere human stop me!? YOU FORGET TO WHOM YOU SPEAK!"

On some level she knew she was being harsh and unnecessarily cruel, especially to her beloved Jeanne, who never was and never could be just a 'mere human' to her. She pushed down that sentimentality and slammed her fist into the wall by Jeanne's face, growling, "I would take this place apart with my bare hands if I could, and if it weren't for their God-damned warping of reality, I would... occupants and all!"

"But you, you think to stop me?" She smirks and steps away from the girl, holding her arms out mockingly to expose her body. "Strike me down, oh Servant of God." Her eyes flashed with hurt as she screamed, "WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW!? Send me to the bastard for penance so I might spit in His face!"

To her credit, Jeanne didn't so much as flinch when Francisca punched the wall so close to her head. If the nation had been hoping to frighten or intimidate her with her show of strength, she would be sorely disappointed. In fact, the violence, the yelling, the insulting, the blaspheming... it only served to make Jeanne angrier. But even with this anger, she knew she had to remain calm. If she lashed out just as Francisca was, that wouldn't help anyone at all.

"I do not wish to hurt you! Not if I can help it!" She said, taking a step closer, fists clenched tight. "I only wish to prevent you from doing something you will regret! I want to stop you from completely losing yourself!"

Most other people might think Francisca is a lost cause. But Jeanne, someone who didn't really know how to give up on anything or anyone, knew that was so far from the truth. It had to be...

"Even if you... do not believe in Him anymore..." The words sounded strange coming from her mouth, and she had to pause to fight the twist in her heart at that. Losing your faith, cursing the very God you once believed in... she really can't understand that. "Please... continue to believe in me. I told you when we first met, didn't I? I would do anything in my power to help and protect you."

She grits her teeth at that. Some promise that was. "I know I failed in that... if you want to blame me, then I will accept any and all blame you have to offer. I deserve it. But please, trust my words when I say I will not let them hurt you again!"

"There is nothing to protect anymore, can't you see that?" she spat bitterly. "This," she gestured at herself, "Is all that remains of your precious France. If there is a God, He has left me in this pathetic form and abandoned us to this hell."

"Let them kill me, I'll relish in it."

"If you are all that remain, then that is even more of a reason to protect you!"

Jeanne was still pretty confused over the whole... spirit of the nation thing. But if that's really what her and Francis are, then that means that the nation must still exist for them to be able to exist, right? This is how she chooses to see it, at least. So as long as those two are still alive, she's not going to give up hope.

"I will not let them kill you," Her voice is softer now, devoid of the anger she had experienced just moments ago. "Even if you do not wish for my help, I will still give it."

The energy seemed to leave her body as suddenly as it had come, making her drop to her knees like a puppet with its strings abruptly cut. The sigh that left her lips shuddered, holding more unshed tears in the simple sound as she whispered, "I wish they would kill me and let me be done with it."

Jeanne was quick to close the distance between them, falling to her knees as well. In a flash of light, her armor disappeared, so that when she reached out to Francisca - gentle this time - her hands were unarmored as she laid them on her shoulders.

"Do not say that," She spoke in that same soft tone as before. "Please. It's not just a matter of not giving in and not giving the administrators what they want... I cannot bear to hear someone I care about say such things."

Jeanne frowned a little. She was good with words of inspiration, but not so much with words of comfort. "Death is not a good way out. You cannot wish for it."

Honestly. He thought she were gone. He could have easily checked otherwise, but he had stopped keeping tabs on a lot of people. There were just so many people and his friends came and went so quickly that it became a struggle to know who was here and who wasn't.

But the screaming and the noises was enough for Dave to head to her room. And his first reaction? Definitely to stop her. Because he didn't think she was doing this on her free will. He thought it was these damned clockwork creatures he kept seeing. That he was sure only he could see and were controlling everyone in the tower. He was quick to approach her and he didn't bother to keep his distance, grabbing hold of her arm as strongly as he could. That wasn't much. He was shivering and his hands were cold, but he tried anyways. "Please stop." It was pleading and slightly panicked. Maybe the clockwork creatures would stop controlling her if he asked nicely.

He could no longer rationalize that these things weren't controlling them. They were so clear and he was so sure it was their fault.

Francisca grabbed him by the shirt collar with her free hand, turning to shove him up against the wall with a snarl, so different from her usual self. Before she could actually lash out at him though, she noted that it was Dave, and that he was so, so cold. Still not back to her usual self, she demanded warily, "What's happened to you?"

He was taken aback at the sudden hostility towards him, but it wasn't actually surprising to him. He was slightly expecting it, thinking it was the work of the creatures crawling all over everyone and controlling them.

Dave wasn't scared of her. He was scared of the thing controlling her. The shades hid his expression well, but there was a definite look of fear underneath the tinted plastics. It takes him a moment to try and figure out what she means by that. A lot. Not stuff he really wants to talk about.

But he wasn't even looking at her either. He was looking passed her, at the clockwork creature controlling her. Or at least, the hallucination that he thinks is controlling her and probably staring back at him. He can't tell, which makes the creature even more creepy than if it had a face. "I got sick. It's really fucking cold." He lets his arm drop to his side. "I probably shouldn't have touched you. You'll get sick and it'll fucking suck."

"I don't get sick unless my economy's gone to hell, and considering my entire world is gone, I should be by all rights dead anyway," she answered snappily, putting a hand to his forehead and removing his glasses without letting him protest, looking into his eyes and checking his features for clearer signs on his illness. Her movements were too quick and sharp, clearly withholding the aggravated energy that still wants to destroy things. "You should be in bed."

"I don't think the tower discriminates about who gets sick or not," Dave mumbled out. His hand twitched impulsively. His first reaction was to stop her from removing them, but he had his eyes still concentrated on the clockwork creature behind her. It tugged and pulled at her, and he thought the energy she was exuding was because of it, and not because she was angry.

And he looked so damned scared, because what if the creature tried to make her kill him? The way she moved made it seem that way and the thought of being killed over and over by someone he's grown to care about made him sick to his stomach. It wouldn't be her fault. It would be whatever these things came from. Some product of the tower and his illness. "I don't feel that bad." He's forgotten his physical symptoms in favor of what the illness has warped in his mind.

"You look terrible," she growled, taking in his obviously ill features. Shaking her head, she scooped him up in her arms like the child he was, easily cradling him to her and stood. She began to walk, heading for his room, and sizzling with anger at this place, at their so-called caretakers who would subject one of their young charges with an illness like this.

"I don't really do cold weather well. Wasn't the most common thing in Texas most of the time." Dave kept his eyes anywhere that wasn't in her direction. He was stiff, although it would be easy to mistaken that for being cold as he was shivering too. Part of it was because he was cold, but a lot of it was how tense he was from paranoia. He wanted nothing more than to curl up against her warmth, but she was still being controlled. The anger she radiated didn't ease him at all, either. "I can walk myself. I'm not that sick."

"You're sick enough," she snapped, setting him down in his bed. Noticing how he was avoiding looking at her, she sighed and forced herself to calm down, to let go of some of that anger.

"You need to rest," she murmured tiredly, the heat gone from her eyes and voice. She ran a hand over his forehead, smoothing back his fringe so she could get a clearer look at his face. "How long have you been like this?"

He flinched a little at her touch. Chill, Dave. She's not going to hurt yo-oh god it's totally staring at him. It doesn't even need a face but he knows it's looking straight back at him. He just kind of stares at the space near her head with a look of complete apprehension. It takes him a moment to realize she's even speaking to him.

"I don't know. A week? Maybe. I lost track of time," he mumbled out.

At first when he passed by the room Romeo thought that he was seeing more bad things, the vivid visions of violence and people hurting others. But after a few moments he realised this was real and miss France was back, and really mad.

So being Romeo he ran into the room. "Miss France stop please!"

He didn't look well, he was pale and drawn, shivering, his nose was read and he looked tired and scared. He was bundled in his coat and was wearing a hat though his feet were bare. "Please... don't be mad miss!"

The sudden noise made her turn on Romeo with a growl, hands lifted and ready to strike.

But then she saw that it was Romeo, her Romeo, and he was so very ill. The rage didn't dissipate, no, it was too strong to be that easy, but it instead powered her concern, making her movements too forceful as she strode over to the boy and knelt before him, frowning too sharply as she examined his sickly face. "What's happened to you?" she demanded in a tone that refused to accept anything but absolute obedience.

Romeo instantly flinched because even though miss France was one of the nicest adults Romeo knew she was still an adult and over a year in the tower hadn't done anything to dissuade him that adults would hurt him if they had the chance.

So he brought his arm up to shield his face and trembled when she examined his face, "Nothing miss! I'm okay! I just got a bit..."

He trailed off as an image flashed passed his eyes, guns and blood people falling and screaming. His eyes glazed over and his trembling got worse as he stared into the distance with a look of horror on his face.

"... You should be in bed," she growled quietly, clearly displeased with the state Romeo was in and that he was moving around. She took him into her arms far more gently than she would have thought capable in her rage and held him to her, a hand cradling the back of his head to coax it into resting against her neck and shoulder. "I will take you to your room."

She stood with him in her arms and began to walk out of her wrecked room, stroking his back soothingly even though she was bristling more than ever at their captors.

Romeo panicked when she picked him up, because she had been angry and sounded mad and Romeo really wasn't used to being held. He froze in her arms, images of violence flashing past his eyes again.

"I'm sorry miss..." His voice was very very quiet as he tried to make himself as small as possible.

"The only thing you should be sorry about is being out of bed in your condition," she sighed, forcing herself back from the killing edge and letting her emotions slowly cool - it wouldn't do to aggravate Romeo's condition after all.

Once in Romeo's room, she sat in his bed while still holding the boy to her, gently rocking back and forth as she kept rubbing his back. "How long have you been like this, mon cher?"

Romeo curled up still trembling from more than cold. He didn't think miss France was going to hurt him because she was a very nice adult but she was still an adult and he was too tired and week to get away from her.

"A long time miss." Romeo of course still had a child's view of time, behind him were a thousand yesterdays and ahead of him a million tomorrows. It didn't help he couldn't count past twenty nor had any idea how to read time and only a vague idea of the days of the week.

Francisca put him in the bed, coaxing him to lie down before tucking him in properly and running a hand over his forehead to brush his hair back. There's concern and displeasure at his condition marring her features, and she murmurs, "So much for the benevolence of this tower. Have you tried visiting the medical staff?"

Romeo curled up into the bed, Piccolo crawling out of his pocket to curl up next to him. He shook his head, "No miss, they are bad."

"That they are," she muttered, shaking her head and stroking his hair. "Have you at least been eating?"

[Romeo shook his head, his throat hurt and he couldn't swallow the hard nutrient bars.] I'm not hungry miss.

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I don't wanna be me

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