{Deux} Passe Et Disparaît

[silencetoreason]

Characters: France and you!
Setting: Floor 1 (the cafeteria), floor 82 (the masked ballroom), floor 45 (the observatory), and floor 5 (the nation trap viewing station floor). The cafeteria and ballroom prompts can be backdated up to May 1st (possibly a tad earlier for the ballroom prompt), so feel free to let me know if you have a specific date in mind.
Format: Starting with action, but I'll match you.
Summary: France delights in the slew of new ingredients in the cafeteria, and sets his sights on making some real meals for both himself and the people in the Tower. Then, he continues his explorations.
Warnings: France being a huge flirt, and talk of worlds being destroyed and all that fun stuff.

Floor 1

[Step into the cafeteria, and you'll find that one man is making it a particularly lively place this month. France constantly has his arms full, be it of ingredients or utensils, and he's always humming some tune or another under his breath. He's absolutely overjoyed that those terrible protein bars are nowhere to be seen, and he moves from one place to another swiftly, like he's afraid the ingredients will be taken from him at any moment.

The dishes he makes are one part recipes he already knows, and one part experimental dishes. Luckily, France has enough culinary skill to make even experiments tasty. He seems to be running with the flower theme, too, decorating the kitchen, his hair, and his plates with flower petals, and incorporating some of the flowers into his food.

As soon as he spots anyone, he offers up what he's made with a smile. His food looks like it's come straight out of a gourmet Parisian restaurant.]

Oi! You there! Comment allez-vous? Care for a bite of real food, hmm? Big brother's made a lot of it!


Floor 82

[He's been exploring a lot recently. His first encounter with the monsters on floor 97 had him a bit apprehensive, but after experimenting with the different stops on the elevator and making sure to be back in his dorm well before nightfall, he's actually made some decent progress. This floor, where a masquerade is constantly taking place, has proven to be one of his favorites. He dances easily, centuries of experience in ballrooms under his belt, twirling around ladies and men alike with all the grace of a noble from Versailles.

It doesn't matter that he doesn't know their names and can't see their faces. It doesn't matter that nobody will recognize him on this floor. France loses himself in the dance, floating around the ballroom like a piece of driftwood through waves, and he can almost pretend that he's back home for a little while.

Though he rarely gets a reply, France greets each new dance partner the same way.]

Oh my, you look lovely! Care for a dance?


Floor 45

[France decides to relax on an innocent-looking floor after a while of exploration. He sits by the windows, staring out at the clouds, and looks lost in thought for a few moments.

That is, until one of the faceless humanoids crawls up and sets its sights on him, at which point France proceeds to freak the fuck out.]

Gyah-!

[He falls backward and away from the window, scrambling into the middle of the room. The creature slams its hand against the window a few times, but it doesn't break the glass. It can't break it, but France doesn't know that, so he cowers near the staircase, eyes locked on the thing.]

No! What is that? Oh, dieu, I hate this place so much..!


Floor 5

[When he decides to wander up the staircase from the cafeteria, he's generally pleased with what he finds. An infirmary. A library. A peaceful lounge, notably free of any abominations from Hell.

He starts to tread more cautiously when he gets to floor 5.

He creeps around the security area, occasionally greeting the drones, but of course, they don't reply. The technology in the room is staggering, and just looking at all the different screens and lights and buttons and dials makes France's head spin. He never was a huge fan of technology. Much to his displeasure, it seemed like everything in the Tower was worlds beyond the technology back at home.

He stops in front of the curious-looking viewing stations. He glances over his shoulder to see if anyone takes note, and when nobody does, he leans over to look inside.

Immediately, he feels like he's just been hit over the head by a ton of bricks.

It's dead. His planet is dead. Every soul, every breath of life, it's all wiped out, gone, from the coastal towns on the Strait of Dover to the little villages that sit in the shadows of the Pyrénées. He can't even attempt to lose himself in denial, because the certainty of it is suffocating him, keeping him rooted to the spot for much longer than he'd like. The viewer pans around the ghastly sight, and it's too much all at once, too much death and destruction, too many questions, because he shouldn't even exist if this is what has become of his country, he's nauseous, he can't breathe, he should be dead-

France uses all of his willpower to rip himself away from the viewer, and he falls to the floor next to it, curling in on himself like a frightened animal. His hands splay over his face, and the first breath he draws in is ragged, tearing through his lungs and burning as if he'd been on the verge of drowning a moment ago. Tears wet his face each time he blinks, and he blinks quite a lot, willing the image of his ruined world out of his head.]

Ah.

[He can't even sob. He's too stunned. He presses the butts of his palms to his cheekbones and keeps his knees drawn to his chest, mouth hanging wide open. He can't bring himself to pretend like he isn't devastated.]

Comments

Floor 82

[alephbet]

[There's one exceptionally fabulous dancer on the floor. Even the tower-provided members of the masquerade make way for the mysterious dancing man. It isn't his style of music, but he sweeps his way across the ballroom anyway.

With a smile, he answers France.]

Absolutely.

[silencetoreason]

[France smiles and clasps the stranger's hand in one of his own, though he hesitates before placing his other one.]

Do you want to lead, or shall I?

[With another man, he always has to make sure to ask first. He prefers leading, but when you live as long as France has, you pick up on both halves of the dance before too long.]

[alephbet]

I'll follow, if that's all right with you.

[Again, not his style.]

[silencetoreason]

All right.

[France sets his other hand on the man's waist, and he begins to lead him through the steps with a relaxed sort of grace. He moves around other dancing couples like they aren't even there, letting the music be his guide. All the while, he's getting a feel for his new partner's style, and adjusting his own steps accordingly.]

[alephbet]

[Aleph is graceful and swift, matching France's steps as if they had come from his own mind. He never makes a misstep, and while he dances he strikes up a conversation.]

Are you well, sir?

floor 5

[colonial]

[America was wandering up from the cafeteria at the time--he never sets foot here if he can help it. But, seeing France, he steps off the staircase and over to the older nation, treading carefully as if he expects the viewfinders to reach out and bite him.

He reaches to touch France's leg lightly--tapping him to get his attention.]

Looking through those things is a bad idea.

[Obvious, really, but America is much quieter than usual, so he's at least trying.]

[silencetoreason]

[France jerks his head up when he feels someone touch his leg. When he sees that it's America, he wants to try to pretend he's okay for his sake, but... That look on his face. The tone of his voice. An unspoken understanding passes through France.

He knows what it's like.]

Am- America.

[France struggles to find his voice. The images of his dead planet flash behind his eyes like a glare from the sun that sticks around too long, and it's difficult to concentrate on holding himself together when he feels so impossibly empty inside.]

Haven't- I haven't- [He's attempting to say, "I haven't seen you in a while," but as soon as the first few words leave his lips, he realizes that he's in no mood for making idle conversation.

America knows what's in those viewfinders somehow, and France hopes to all that's holy that he doesn't know from experience. The thought of a child seeing all of that, especially one as idealistic and happy as America, cuts through him like a knife. Before he's fully aware of what he's doing, France lurches forward with the intent to wrap his arms around the boy and tug him to his chest.]

[colonial]

[America clings to France when France reaches for him--the viewfinders were one of the most frightening things America had come across, and though he'd never really told anyone about looking through them himself, he can still remember the feeling, like he should have been dead, even though it was too big of a feeling for him to understand in anything but his nightmares.]

It's okay. [But he sounds shaky enough about that even he realizes it, so he tries again.] It's okay! We just have to fix it!

[silencetoreason]

[America's idealism has always been a source of either frustration or amusement to France, but today, it just makes his heart sink even worse than before. He so wants to be able to fix things, but he's too downtrodden to even consider that possibility. How can things be fixed, after all, when there's nothing left? To bring an entire dead planet back to life... Even for someone who believes in second chances and rebirth, this is too much.

But he doesn't want to crush America's hopes. France is used to dealing with disappointment at his age, even if he doesn't like it. He can't imagine that America is the same way, no matter how long he's been in the Tower.]

Oh, mon petit. [He brings a hand up to pet America's hair, and rocks the two of them left and right just a little bit, as if America's the one that needs calming.] Yes, I'm- I'm sure we-

[And he breaks off, biting down on his lip to cut off the beginnings of a sob. He's torn between reassuring the young one and not wanting to lie to him.]

[colonial]

[America isn't sure he'll get used to nations so much older than him seeming so sad, even after having seen England that way several times here. There was something especially frightening, to him, to see countries who had seemed so self-assured at home reveal cracks in that image.]

It's true! [America says it with as much conviction as his tiny body can muster, though maybe it's also to convince himself for the thousandth time.] It--it has to be true, so it's true. 'Cause if it's not true, then--

[Then those vast, terrifyingly incomprehensible consequences that had loomed over him ever since he'd found this floor himself might swallow him up whole.]

1

[puppy_lancer]

Wow, that looks good.

[Lancer is positively drooling just looking at France's food. He wasn't the one to make a distinction between "real" food and other things, but man, that looked delicious.]

[silencetoreason]

Ah, it's you.

[France raises the plate insistently, urging Lancer to take it.]

Come, don't be shy. Try it! There's plenty.

[True to his word, if Lancer looks into the kitchen behind France, he'll see food covering almost every surface imaginable. Pots are simmering on the stoves, the walk-in oven is closed and ticking down, and ingredients are laid out over all the counters.]

[puppy_lancer]

Whoa! How long did it take for you to make that?

[Even as he talks, Lancer is picking up a plate and digging in. It's as delicious as it is fancy. For some reason, he almost feels like lamenting the fact that he hasn't eaten anything quite as tasty up until now. As if he had wasted all thirty years of his life.]

[silencetoreason]

I have been working since I woke up.

[The smile on his face is just short of being classified as cocky, and his tone contains a fair dose of pride.]

After all, I've been aching for ingredients like these all month. What kind of a Frenchman would I be if I didn't take advantage of this?

[All the while, he's watching Lancer eat, eager to hear some feedback.]

[puppy_lancer]

I can say this for certain. You put them to better use than any drone could.

[More eating.]

Man, you cook better than anyone else, and some of them are really good at cooking.

[Is this why everything is better if French?]

Floor 1

[emilia_galmar]

[Emilia's slinking around this new place, looking very wary and clutching a pink, frilly umbrella as a weapon. She startles at the French and answers automatically]

ça va- oh, not really, but... you're from France? Sir, how long have you been here?

[silencetoreason]

[Though it barely lasted a second, France picks up on the sound of his language, and he perks up noticeably.]

From France? You could say that.

[He's never sure quite how much to tell strangers about himself. He might as well chat with her a little bit before deciding whether or not to let her know that he's actually the personification of France. She seems jumpy, and a quick glance at her hands where she's clutching the umbrella confirm that it's probably best not to give her more information than she might be able to handle.]

I've been here for about a month now, madame. Et vous?

[emilia_galmar]

Mademoiselle. I woke up here earlier today and I can tell you this was certainly not what I was expecting.

[She relaxes her grip on her umbrella slightly. Having a normal conversation is helping her ground her after all the shocks]

Forgive me for not introducing myself. I'm Emilia Galmar, of Paris, 1895. I don't know if it's normal around here, but it may be that we're from very different times.

[silencetoreason]

[France chuckles.]

Ah, of course, forgive me. The heat has gone to my head, I'm afraid.

[He waves the hand not holding his plate of food around, gesturing to the kitchen that's alight with activity.]

Mademoiselle. I'm Francis Bonnefoy. Very nice to meet you, my dear.

[He smiles and shifts from foot to foot, attempting to find the right words.]

Euhh, it's... I suppose it's normal for that sort of thing to happen in here. [And then he sighs, taking a moment to let that sink in.] 1895? Ahh, what a year...

Floor 45

[wrigurun]

[Wriggle watches from the staircase, giggling slightly at France's reaction. Lately she found people getting scared where there was no immediate danger amusing, it made her feel much bigger than she deserved to be]

What are you yelling about? They're not going to hurt you.

[silencetoreason]

[France is hesitant to turn his gaze away from the sight in front of him, but he does, looking at Wriggle with wide eyes.]

How can you be sure? Look at it...!

[He gestures to the window, where the creature is lingering, pressed against the glass. France takes another step back and grabs onto the staircase.]

What on earth is that thing?

[wrigurun]

Who knows...

[Without hesitation she flies up to the window and lets a number of small lights scatter from her palm. They burst against the window, causing no visible damage but they do startle the creature slightly]

But see? If we can't get out they can't get in.

[silencetoreason]

[The little bursts of light startle France just as much, on-edge as he is already. He bumps his elbow against a stair and bites his lip to keep himself from yelping.]

I... I suppose you're right...

[He takes a cautious step forward, rubbing his arm where he hit it. He cranes his neck to get a better look at the thing, faceless and gangling, but he keeps his distance from the window despite Wriggle's earlier display. You can never be too careful.]

floor 5

[keepscalm]

[England is passing by on the staircase while France is at the viewport, fully intending to keep going as normal. He has no business on this floor. He'd break every one of the viewing mechanisms himself if he thought he could get away with it, but that isn't on his agenda today.

He glances into the room as he passes by, and almost keeps walking, until the shock of bright blonde hair draws his gaze back like the opposite end of a magnet. England squints, and determines shortly thereafter that it's definitely France (he'd recognise that foppish mop anywhere).

The full gravity of what he's seeing doesn't hit him until France hits the floor, at which point England is in motion to rush to his side. He's not sure what he'll say, but he's not really thinking; all he knows is that in all his time here, he's never felt a pain worse than what he felt when he looked into his dead world, and no nation should be made to stand alone under that kind of despair.

He kneels once he's at France's side. Though he gives the elder nation a discerning once-over, he doesn't say anything. There's nothing to say to someone who's just seen his own tomb.]

[silencetoreason]

[It takes France a while to even notice that someone else is there. The things he felt when looking into that viewfinder are lingering like an unwanted fog, enveloping him until all he can see are the still streets of his nation, all he can think about is how he shouldn't be alive. It's only when he draws in a breath and pushes his fingers back through his hair that he sees the figure kneeling next to him.

When he looks at England's face, his breath leaves him in one sharp huff, and he shuffles back on instinct. He's only able to move a few inches before his back hits the viewing station, and he snaps his mouth shut as he stares into those dull green eyes of England's.

Any other time, he might have jumped to his feet and started to spit curses, insist that he was fine and berate England for looking at him with that expression on his face. Showing weakness in front of his age-old rival was practically unheard of, and he'd only allowed himself to do it in a few very special circumstances.

When he lowers a hand and sees out of the corner of his eye how much he's shaking, he figures that this is one of those times.

It takes him a few tries to find his voice, and he opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water (which he supposes he is, in a sense). Perhaps if England was acting normal, making fun of him instead of looking almost concerned, it would be easier for him to speak, but France thinks that he might actually be too queasy to get into a shouting match with England right now.]

You- [He smooths his palm, slicked with tears, over the knee of his pants.] What do you want?

[There's no venom in the question, no bite. France's voice shivers when he talks.]