New England ☆ America (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
colonial) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-01-30 03:55 am
colonial) wrote in towerofanimus2013-01-30 03:55 am
Entry tags:
[closed] don't turn your back, don't look away
Characters: America and England
Setting: elevator on floor 21
Format: prose
Summary: America's been hiding since he snapped back to normal--and not sleeping in his room. Unfortunately he runs into one of the most dangerous creatures to be exhausted around.
Warnings: don't blink
When the time in America's mind had righted itself and he realized he hadn't even been in the Tower a year, let alone hundreds, he ran into the forest on the island and didn't come out for days and days. It was only his exhaustion that drew him out, remembering England's telling him he had to sleep in his room regularly or else. Exhausted, yawning, he didn't see the statue until he was almost off of the island. By then, of course, he was out of the tree cover and the strange angel was more obvious.
Did someone leave it here? He inched over to it in fits and starts, like it might bite him--which was silly, since it was just a statue--and poked it once. No, it didn't do anything. Just a statue. He turned away from it, returning to the staircase. It was a bit hard, going up the winding staircase exposed to the outside of the Tower, but America took his time.
It was the change in light that alerted him to movement. He turned, caution by now burned into him by the creatures that lived here, and--was the statue on the stairs? Only just, and it had certainly been on the forest island before. Had someone moved it? America looked over at the island for signs of someone or something who picked it up, but he couldn't see anything. Looking back at the statue--were its wings stretched out more? It looked like it had shifted position, but that was silly.
America blinked at the statue and shrieked to see stone teeth and outstretched hands no more than an inch from his face. And, being a child, he'd discovered the game--he had to look at it. He had to look at it or--or what would it do? Would it eat him? Would it be worse? He couldn't look the thing in the eye, instead staring down its open mouth. He wished he could push it off, but he didn't have his strength when he was outside like this. He had to leave.
Then he started carefully scooting backward up the staircase. Back and back and back until he could just barely see it around the curve and he could feel his hands behind him come up on air instead of staircase. He had to jump, and to jump he had to look where he was going, and he started shaking and that wasn't going to help him keep his balance at all. He stood up, staring extra hard at the statue far below--then he turned and jumped and closed his eyes and fell and turned and oh there it was just on the other side of the gap and how was it so fast? Carefully, by half inches he worked his way up the staircase. Another gap, this time one he barely managed to crawl over like some sort of backward spider. Another, and another--and then he was inside again.
The next floor was--was dark. Really dark. So dark you couldn't see anything except the staircase and if--if he fell, if he slipped, what would kill him first, would it be the things below or would that statue swallow him up and he was stuck on the edge between the darkness and the light shivering uncontrollably. He couldn't see the statue now, but there was only one place it could be, and he kept his eyes locked on where the staircase around the outside ended and knew if he slid up into the darkness it would take too long for his eyes to adjust before he could see anything at all.
He sat there for several moments, carefully closing one eye and then the other, before he realized that was what he could do--something England had told him when America bothered him enough about his pirate trips. Then he sat there long enough to start shaking again, keeping one eye covered with both hands for as long as he dared stay still. He inched up and up and up and then it was dark and he uncovered his eye and swallowed another scream at the angel an inch away from his face. The trip up floor thirty-seven's staircase was a terrifying one, with the screeching and breathing and the angel always too close, close enough America balled himself up as much as he could to keep from accidentally touching the thing where he couldn't see.
He proceeded up the rest staircase like that, into floor forty-one. The trip took an hour. Another dark room, but not so unnaturally dark as floor thirty-seven had been, and the elevator's light soothed him a little. He stood up and started stepping back, praying nothing would block his way. The bugs squirmed under and over his feet, in between his toes, but he didn't dare check to see what else might be happening. He didn't stop backing up until he hit the back floor of the elevator and the light was all around him. He pressed the button to the dorms, watching the opening.
As the door began to close, the lights in the elevator flickered once. Then the angel was blocking the door.
America screamed and fell over, scrambling back into a corner and tucking himself in tight. The angel was too big to get around--he couldn't even climb over it. He thought, then, of pushing it over, but then he realized with growing horror his strength had never come back from being outside. The doors were open now, stuck that way because of the statue, and America was out of options. The elevator began to whine, alarm trying to warn a passenger who would not move away from the door.
And so, with the elevator's siren a background to America's ground-up thoughts, he stared at the statue in the doorway and tried not to cry, because if his eyes started watering he wouldn't be able to see at all.
Setting: elevator on floor 21
Format: prose
Summary: America's been hiding since he snapped back to normal--and not sleeping in his room. Unfortunately he runs into one of the most dangerous creatures to be exhausted around.
Warnings: don't blink
When the time in America's mind had righted itself and he realized he hadn't even been in the Tower a year, let alone hundreds, he ran into the forest on the island and didn't come out for days and days. It was only his exhaustion that drew him out, remembering England's telling him he had to sleep in his room regularly or else. Exhausted, yawning, he didn't see the statue until he was almost off of the island. By then, of course, he was out of the tree cover and the strange angel was more obvious.
Did someone leave it here? He inched over to it in fits and starts, like it might bite him--which was silly, since it was just a statue--and poked it once. No, it didn't do anything. Just a statue. He turned away from it, returning to the staircase. It was a bit hard, going up the winding staircase exposed to the outside of the Tower, but America took his time.
It was the change in light that alerted him to movement. He turned, caution by now burned into him by the creatures that lived here, and--was the statue on the stairs? Only just, and it had certainly been on the forest island before. Had someone moved it? America looked over at the island for signs of someone or something who picked it up, but he couldn't see anything. Looking back at the statue--were its wings stretched out more? It looked like it had shifted position, but that was silly.
America blinked at the statue and shrieked to see stone teeth and outstretched hands no more than an inch from his face. And, being a child, he'd discovered the game--he had to look at it. He had to look at it or--or what would it do? Would it eat him? Would it be worse? He couldn't look the thing in the eye, instead staring down its open mouth. He wished he could push it off, but he didn't have his strength when he was outside like this. He had to leave.
Then he started carefully scooting backward up the staircase. Back and back and back until he could just barely see it around the curve and he could feel his hands behind him come up on air instead of staircase. He had to jump, and to jump he had to look where he was going, and he started shaking and that wasn't going to help him keep his balance at all. He stood up, staring extra hard at the statue far below--then he turned and jumped and closed his eyes and fell and turned and oh there it was just on the other side of the gap and how was it so fast? Carefully, by half inches he worked his way up the staircase. Another gap, this time one he barely managed to crawl over like some sort of backward spider. Another, and another--and then he was inside again.
The next floor was--was dark. Really dark. So dark you couldn't see anything except the staircase and if--if he fell, if he slipped, what would kill him first, would it be the things below or would that statue swallow him up and he was stuck on the edge between the darkness and the light shivering uncontrollably. He couldn't see the statue now, but there was only one place it could be, and he kept his eyes locked on where the staircase around the outside ended and knew if he slid up into the darkness it would take too long for his eyes to adjust before he could see anything at all.
He sat there for several moments, carefully closing one eye and then the other, before he realized that was what he could do--something England had told him when America bothered him enough about his pirate trips. Then he sat there long enough to start shaking again, keeping one eye covered with both hands for as long as he dared stay still. He inched up and up and up and then it was dark and he uncovered his eye and swallowed another scream at the angel an inch away from his face. The trip up floor thirty-seven's staircase was a terrifying one, with the screeching and breathing and the angel always too close, close enough America balled himself up as much as he could to keep from accidentally touching the thing where he couldn't see.
He proceeded up the rest staircase like that, into floor forty-one. The trip took an hour. Another dark room, but not so unnaturally dark as floor thirty-seven had been, and the elevator's light soothed him a little. He stood up and started stepping back, praying nothing would block his way. The bugs squirmed under and over his feet, in between his toes, but he didn't dare check to see what else might be happening. He didn't stop backing up until he hit the back floor of the elevator and the light was all around him. He pressed the button to the dorms, watching the opening.
As the door began to close, the lights in the elevator flickered once. Then the angel was blocking the door.
America screamed and fell over, scrambling back into a corner and tucking himself in tight. The angel was too big to get around--he couldn't even climb over it. He thought, then, of pushing it over, but then he realized with growing horror his strength had never come back from being outside. The doors were open now, stuck that way because of the statue, and America was out of options. The elevator began to whine, alarm trying to warn a passenger who would not move away from the door.
And so, with the elevator's siren a background to America's ground-up thoughts, he stared at the statue in the doorway and tried not to cry, because if his eyes started watering he wouldn't be able to see at all.
no subject
"Yeah... I had to go backwards up all the stairs and through that real dark floor with all the monsters and I covered one of my eyes so I could see before I went in but it always got real close and it has really scary teeth even though it's a statue!"
no subject
"I think I know what it is." This statement was accompanied by a careful, backwards pace up the steps. The hand that wasn't holding America came up to draw his knife out of the rudimentary sheath strapped to his belt. "You did very well looking at it, America."
Another step. It was becoming painfully obvious that for every pace he took that put him further away from the monster, he was also bringing them full-circle back to danger. Once they were far enough away, they wouldn't be able to see it at all. It would only take turning a corner to begin the chase.
no subject
"Sometimes I'd play tag like that," America said--he remembered spending time with the children in the nearest town, making up variations on the game to keep interested in it. He wouldn't want to be caught this time, though. "What is it?"
no subject
Of course, the thing was, he wasn't sure what else they could do, at least not this one. They were fairly straightforward at first, but they seemed to get new abilities written into them every episode they appeared in.
He wished he knew if he was dealing with something out of the Blink era or if this was full-on Flesh and Stone madness. He wasn't really fond of the idea of an angel projecting itself into his brain.