towerofanimus | {Deux} Passe Et Disparaît

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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.]

[Such a simplistic way of thinking about things. It's so childish, so distinctly America, and it suddenly strikes France just how little that aspect of his personality has changed over the years. He's still just a child, even a few centuries old.

And if his world is gone, then France will never see that America again.

He swallows a quick-forming lump in his throat and pulls the younger America tighter to his chest. Though his mind is screaming at him to break down, he won't let himself, not with America right here.]

It's true, darling. [In the end, it seems his desire to keep the boy's hopes up win out over his desire to tell (what he thinks is) the truth.] I believe you.

Good. [America convinces himself it's good for France and not also for him, the same way he convinces himself all of his nightmares about home are false.] S-so... So going to this floor is real bad. And you shouldn't do it anymore.

[France rests his cheek on the top of America's head, idly smoothing his hand over his back.]

Oh, trust me, mon chou, I won't be coming back here.

[He tries to make it sound light, almost joking, but there's an edge to his tone that's far too grave for that. He's still trying to get the things he saw out of his head; he has absolutely no desire to get a clearer picture.]

[America is quiet for a little while; it's unusual for him, but there isn't a lot to say about this floor that someone so little can put into words.]

Then--um... Let's go somewhere else.

[France is happy for the suggestion. The silence was beginning to creep up on him, and with an absence of conversation, he was dwelling on the things he saw in the viewfinders again. So it's with a grand flourish that he stands up, America held firmly in his arms.]

A wonderful idea! Where would you like to go?

[He pulls back a bit, and hopes the tear tracks on his face aren't too obvious. The smile he's wearing isn't completely genuine, but if he forces himself to smile, he's sure he'll start to feel happy again before too long.

He's been telling himself that a lot lately.]

I like-- [America pauses. He's fond of the forest on floor thirty-two, but he knows it does something that makes him feel more like a human than a colony, and it makes his strength go away. It probably would be a bad idea to go there after looking at the viewfinders.]

The meadow! It's up higher than this but it's always spring there. [America isn't much for keeping count of the floors.]

The meadow. All right.

[France hasn't been there yet, but he's already walking back toward the staircase, intent on leaving this floor as quickly as possible.]

You're going to have to tell me how to get there, okay? [He pauses for a second, then sighs.] Always spring... That sounds lovely.

[America seems content with being carried for now. He points upward once they get to the stairs, though.] You have to go up from here! Usually I take the elevator and then go from there 'cause it's up a bit from the twentieth floor.

[France chuckles. It's still a little hollow, but his tone is warming up a lot more the farther they get away from the viewing stations.]

Then let's catch the elevator down in the cafeteria, shall we?

[He begins descending the stairs before waiting for a response. He does not feel like walking up 15+ flights of stairs through uncharted territory right now.]

Perhaps we can even get a bite to eat while we're there. I'm sure you've had quite enough of those atrocious protein bars, haven't you, little one?

[Maybe this is his second chance to keep America from ruining his sense of taste. A guy can dream.]

Yes! [America perks up immediately at the mention of food, though he does spare a wary glance back at the viewfinders before they begin descending.] The bars are always really boring and I'm not allowed to go to the restaurant.

[France doesn't spare another glance at the viewfinders. Instead, he keeps his attention on America, one hand holding him up, while with the other, he wags a finger in America's face.]

The bars are always boring? You shouldn't be in bars at all, mon pet- Wait. There are bars here?

[Hel-lo. Color him interested.]

The food bars. [America giggles a little.] There's one've those too, but I don't think there's anything to drink there 'cause I never find England there.

[He says that very matter-of-factly...]

[France's shoulders hunch over abruptly with the force of his barely-stifled laughter. He wasn't expecting to hear that out of little America's mouth, but he's just so sure of himself that France can't help but find it funny.

Somehow, the amusement he feels from that comment mixed with the lingering adrenaline coursing in his system from when he looked through the viewfinders makes something inside him snap. He tries to reply, but he can't, because all of a sudden, he's laughing too hard. He has to stop on the stairs for a second, lest he lose track of where he is and end up falling.]

You're- You- [Try as he might, he can't force out an actual sentence. Giggles overtake him every time, more than there rightfully should be, but he can't stop himself.]

[America looks confused as to why France has suddenly broken into laughter--after all, as far as he knew he only said completely logical and reasonable things--but he can't help but grin a bit. It's better than how sad France had seemed earlier.]

I don't think I said anything that funny. [ADULTS.]

[France takes another minute or two to compose himself as best as he can, gulping down air to quiet his laughter. When he's finished (for the most part), he flashes America an apologetic smile.]

Forgive me. It's just that you seem to have a keen eye for observation, mon chou.

[Translation: kids say the darndest things.]

{Deux} Passe Et Disparaît

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject