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towerofanimus2011-11-07 11:41 pm
pixietea.livejournal.com) wrote in towerofanimus2011-11-07 11:41 pm
Entry tags:
a totter'd weed of small worth held
Characters: England and all of you!
Setting: Floor fifteen, the workshop or floor thirteen, the cathedral.
Format: Starting prose. Have action? Will match!
Summary: Everyone has different ways of dealing with stress. England's chief outlets are consumption of tea, and a seam well-sewn.
Warnings: None yet (aside from England having girly hobbies and me writing tl;dr), though as always, most likely language later.
The problem was, he didn't know what to do. Some things didn't even feel right to be doing. In the back of his mind, he kept wondering if the surgery victims were back to normal too; that was a niggling enough thing to be worrying about without him being antsy all the time.
He stared blankly at the uncut fabric, unsure of what to make of it. A shirt was too much measurement and precision than he felt he could deal with at the moment (though he did make note of the possibility for a later pastime and reminded himself to look around the workshop for a sewing machine). And heaven knows he had enough pocket squares lying around (at home, anyways, but they were probably destroyed with the rest of the world now).
Well, he needed to do something with this cloth. So, England reached for the ruler and pencil he had previously put aside, and set to measuring and cutting out a perfect square.
Floor 13;;
He sat somewhere just off the left of the center in the rows of pews, trying to hide himself somewhere inconsequential amongst the invisible masses where none could place him as out of the ordinary. He was alone, of course, but that didn't stop him from feeling like he was being watched-- judged, even.
England could count on one hand how many damns he truly gave about what strangers thought of him. Still, he preferred not to be distracted by scorn while he was trying to make himself relax.
The kingdom pulled the poppy-orange thread taut through the white fabric stretched by his embroidery hoop. His mind was still leaden with thoughts of October's experiments, evident in the way his normally deft fingers were sluggish and lazy with his stitching. Still, he devoted the majority of his attentions to his needlepoint. After a whole month of doing nothing but lie around and feel sorry for everything, he needed to be productive in some aspect.
Setting: Floor fifteen, the workshop or floor thirteen, the cathedral.
Format: Starting prose. Have action? Will match!
Summary: Everyone has different ways of dealing with stress. England's chief outlets are consumption of tea, and a seam well-sewn.
Warnings: None yet (aside from England having girly hobbies and me writing tl;dr), though as always, most likely language later.
Floor 15;;
The nation heaved a sigh as he smoothed the fabric out over the work table. It was nice to have woken up one morning and not felt the pull of hopelessness that had kept him buried beneath the covers for the past month -- to actually have stood up out of the weight that had been dragging him down. He had motivation to do things again.The problem was, he didn't know what to do. Some things didn't even feel right to be doing. In the back of his mind, he kept wondering if the surgery victims were back to normal too; that was a niggling enough thing to be worrying about without him being antsy all the time.
He stared blankly at the uncut fabric, unsure of what to make of it. A shirt was too much measurement and precision than he felt he could deal with at the moment (though he did make note of the possibility for a later pastime and reminded himself to look around the workshop for a sewing machine). And heaven knows he had enough pocket squares lying around (at home, anyways, but they were probably destroyed with the rest of the world now).
Well, he needed to do something with this cloth. So, England reached for the ruler and pencil he had previously put aside, and set to measuring and cutting out a perfect square.
Floor 13;;
He sat somewhere just off the left of the center in the rows of pews, trying to hide himself somewhere inconsequential amongst the invisible masses where none could place him as out of the ordinary. He was alone, of course, but that didn't stop him from feeling like he was being watched-- judged, even.
England could count on one hand how many damns he truly gave about what strangers thought of him. Still, he preferred not to be distracted by scorn while he was trying to make himself relax.
The kingdom pulled the poppy-orange thread taut through the white fabric stretched by his embroidery hoop. His mind was still leaden with thoughts of October's experiments, evident in the way his normally deft fingers were sluggish and lazy with his stitching. Still, he devoted the majority of his attentions to his needlepoint. After a whole month of doing nothing but lie around and feel sorry for everything, he needed to be productive in some aspect.
no subject
Still he nodded and brushed his tears away, "Thank you..." For listening to him, there wasn't many people he could talk to here apart from Sanshi.
"When... when I found my king I was an adult but sometimes I feel like I don't know anything at all, that I am a really bad Kirin... I think Keiki or Enki would have been able to control themselves... even through that..."
no subject
He gave an intent ear as Taiki went on. Did Taiki just say that he was an adult? He looked so young...and he seemed to be acting the part, too.
Well, England certainly wasn't going to question the aging process of another world, especially not now. It's terribly rude to ask about someone's age, after a certain point. "It won't do to compare yourself to anyone else, you know," England started, though his tone was kind. There was a bit of a bitter taste in the advice, though. He didn't exactly practice what he was preaching. "You're Taiki, not either of those two people you said, or anyone else. Just do the best that you are able to do."
no subject
He blinked though and nodded slowly, he was Taiki and not Enki or Keiki even though he looked up to them, because they were older than he was and they taught him things, things that really should come instinctively to him but didn't.
"I'll try not to... I just... wish they were here Keiki was here but he's gone..." Tears filled his eyes again as he whispered, "I miss my king..."
no subject
"It's hard to lose someone," conceded England quietly. "But somewhere out there, I'm sure your friend is missing you, as well."
His chest tightened a little at that -- no one he'd ever lost had missed him. But this wasn't about him. It was about Taiki. "You'll see him again someday, I'm certain. However, all you can do until then is be strong -- and be yourself -- to the best of your ability."
no subject
"I will try," he whispered and managed a tiny smile. The problem of course was he had just been discovering who his self was, and so much of that was tied up with Gyousou that it was difficult to work out how to be himself here.
"Sorry... you must miss people too," he felt bad for his selfishness, everyone would be missing people and sad that they were gone from their worlds.