For Thine Is; Part One

[animusmods]

Characters: anyone outside of the Tower
Setting: outside
Format: any
Summary: You have been transported out of the Tower, and you must return quickly.
Warnings: psychological horror

It's pitch black here, though the ground is made of dirt and the Tower gleaming in the distance provides at least a sign that light exists somewhere. It's completely silent. It feels as if things might jump out at you--but that's probably your imagination.

Comments

[keepscalm]

[France's histrionics don't do much to pull England out of his alarmed reverie; in fact, they just exacerbate it. England normally couldn't give a toss about France's dramatics, and were England not so engulfed by the primal need to shy away from the pain of that almost-death, it might almost be comforting for France to react so normally. But now that the threat is real, more real than England thinks it's ever been, he doesn't have the patience to deal with France's terror alongside his own.]

—no! [His voice is just as loud, the force of his denial pushing his volume to a ragged shout. There's no forethought to the rejection, only reflex fuelled by a desperate need to survive and sheer anger that France could think to accept his fate so quickly.] Shut up!

[silencetoreason]

[Hearing England direct his vitriol toward him has its usual effect. Anger begins to bubble up under France's hysteria. England is the one who nearly died out here, shouldn't he be the most worried out of all of them? Shouldn't he know what will happen to them if they can't cross the impossible distance that lies between them and the Tower? He grits his teeth and crosses the distance between the two of them in quick strides.]

Shut up? Shut up?! Ta gueule, rotten rosbif! You should know better than anyone what happens out here!

[And there's a flash of real hurt in his eyes when he says that, an emotion he scarcely shows during fights with England. The implication "you nearly died and never told me" hangs in the air, drenched in something like betrayal (which is ridiculous, because he and England have never been the best of friends, but even so, even so--). Tears prick at the corners of France's eyes, born out of exasperation and stress.

He reaches out in a desperate attempt to grab hold of England, though there's no shirt to speak of, just a projection over a wireframe body.]

Don't you? Well, don't you?!