(Also, Irish!anon, I am very jealous of your being Irish, because Ireland is amazing. Although it would be even more amazing to be French. I'm from England.)(Hope Arthur doesn't see that second-last statement as a betrayal!) -
“Germany! I don’t want to die. None of us want to die, I’m fairly sure, and it’s all so strange because one moment things were normal and the only person who was possibly going to die was France because England was strangling him but he was probably going to let him go in the end anyway and then suddenly we didn’t have close to forever to live but forty eight hours! And I’d really like some pasta before the Earth explodes but the doors are locked and there’s no way of getting to a kitchen even though I have some pasta in my pockets but there’s no boiling water in here so there’s no point...”
Germany watched Veneziano’s mouth move, and was vaguely aware that he was speaking words. He looked extremely unhappy, which was bad. Germany patted him absentmindedly on the shoulder. He was still wearing the ear plugs, though, and was loath to remove them when everyone else seemed to be so panicked – although, for the most part, they seemed to be calming down, which was a little worrying in of itself, but to question it seemed tantamount to looking a gift horse in the mouth. Probably there was a world pasta shortage, he decided. Something minor, at any rate.
“So I think we’re all going to die hungry which just doesn’t seem very fair at all. We’re all used to planning things in the long term and we all thought we had ages and ages to make things right and now we’re trapped in a room with really boring wallpaper that depresses me – and I don’t think we’ll ever make it out!”
“There there,” mumbled Germany. It seemed to help a little.
-
America sauntered towards England. “So,” he said, clearing his throat. “End of the world, huh?”
“I blame you,” snapped England.
“Hey, how was I supposed to know that Tony would do something like that? I’m really mad at him!”
“Yes, please be good enough to inform him that the annihilation of all native life is not the most effective way to greet a host planet.”
“I did! Or I will. But – I mean, forty eight hours... you could almost say there’s no point.” America met England’s gaze, smiling faintly.
England scowled back. But then relented. “All right – I suppose there is very little time to waste being resentful,” he conceded. “Although what else there is to do is beyond me. I wish we could get out of here- we should be informing our people of this.”
“I suppose it’s better off this way,” said America. “It’s not like there’s anything to be done.”
“Shouldn’t we be organising – I don’t know - nuclear shelters?” England tore a hand through his hair, helplessly.
“Wouldn’t make a difference,” America replied, promptly. “Apparently these missiles are big enough to make the whole planet explode.”
“Wonderful.”
There was a pause in the conversation, in which England wondered whether he was the only one who wanted to eviscerate someone.
“This is really surreal,” offered America.
“Surreal? Not at all!” said England, almost hysterically. “I for one am completely accustomed to being told that I’m going to be obliterated in two days’ time.” He then settled for sarcasm. “Thank you for that highly perceptive insight, America.”
America grinned. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“You’re running out of decent insults,” said America, continuing to smile, slyly. He enjoyed the sequence of banter; it felt companionable, almost sweet.
“Centuries worth of attempting to convey my disdain has taught me this: why bother with originality when ‘idiot’ is so fundamentally appropriate?”
Tony glanced towards the two. Well, _that_ was one thing that was not going to end well, especially not with Molests People in the picture. Tony actually regretted Chronically Repressed, to a certain extent. They had certainly gotten off on the wrong foot. Not that it was wholly Tony’s fault that he had evinced an immediate dislike to the nation – how was he to know that ‘fucking limey’ was not a standard British greeting? Stupid, faulty, ineffectual months of research.
Ahahaha, Tony, honey: Not that it was wholly Tony’s fault that he had evinced an immediate dislike to the nation – how was he to know that ‘fucking limey’ was not a standard British greeting? Stupid, faulty, ineffectual months of research. Good job. OTL
But really, I get the impression England's going to be ripped his hair out of by the roots by the end of this; unless he ends up ripping America's hair out by the roots while they're reconciling their differences? Are there private areas for nations to "make up" in in this scenario? ;D
OMG Ireland, you rock HARD :D And Belgium was really cute (lots of kudos to you for that Oscar Wilde mention!XD)
Ok, your England. Is. The best. I also like the minor USUK hints, I mean, my favourite ship is FrUK, but wth, England's repression is delicious to read in all directionsXD
Germany is still the mospt intelligent person in this storyXD I have a feeling everything will be over before he takes off those headphones, and thus will be the only one spared of confessing his love, or whateverXD
I am unbelievably amused by the fact that things are this chaotic often enough that Germany still hasn't bothered to take out his earplugs. Not to mention that he's given up on ever fixing the chaos; I guess this is how he stays the only sane nation, yeah?
(Greetings, all! Again, thanks for the comments - glad you're still enjoying this. Never fear, FrUK fans - I didn't lie! However, it might take a while before the FrUK actually begins. It's my favourite pairing, but I find it difficult to write FrUK unless I deal with the notorious Anglo-American relationship first - whatever the nature of that is. Blame England. He just generates UST with whoever he talks to. That's what repression does to you. :))
-
Tony began to congratulate himself on a plan well executed. Look at them! They were actually communicating! He felt an almost paternal wave of fondness for the little imbeciles. Look – there was Blind Fool, trying to talk with Short-Tempered; and across the room, seated at the desk, were Pianophile, Frying Pan Warrior and Egocentric, presumably talking things through. Look to the left and there were Scarf Sociopath, Married Married Married and Bra-Challenged: one happy family!
All right, so they were still deeply dysfunctional. Nevertheless – there was discernable improvement. Progress! Peaceful discussion! There was what bordered on emotional competency!
(Oops – Married Married Married just punched Molests Everyone in the face. Ah well, so much for peaceful discussion. Ouch. Could have been worse though; could have involved knives.)
Well, there went Molests Everyone – off to talk to The Invisible Man. Tony honed in on the conversations, one by one, trying to judge whether or not any improvement had actually been achieved.
-
Knowing that there was so little time left - knowing that he had so many years of unspoken emotion to answer for - Romano was determined to abandon all surliness and finally admit to what he had long forbidden himself to express. There was Spain, standing right in front of him; time to let down his guard and be truthful for once. Here goes. Romano started to speak:
“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you in my last 48 hours on Earth. Look at you – you look like a puppy that’s been kicked! And then left for dead in the middle of a snowstorm! Pathetic.”
... Well, said confession had gone not exactly as planned. Force of habit restraining him and all that. Still, all in all, it had been a valiant effort. Romano congratulated himself on having at least tried.
(Wait a minute, what had he actually said?)
(Oh. Oh, right.)
Well, it wasn’t as though it was difficult to deduce what he _actually_ meant, was it? Spain could figure it out. He was smart like that.
Spain’s kicked-and-abandoned-puppy look modulated into one of preternatural cheer. “You’re so cute when you come up with cutting character assassinations!”
There – contrary to popular belief, Spain wasn’t so clueless after all! He was actually much smarter than many people gave him credit for, particularly in terms of deciphering Romano’s meanings.
... Wait, character assassination? What? No! How could he manage to misconstrue such a simple declaration of fondness?
“Idiot!” cried Romano, with warmly expressed affection. Except, hold on, ‘idiot’ wasn’t so much of an affectionate term, come to think of it. Ah well. Spain would know what he meant.
“So, I don’t suppose you feel like making out with another guy right now?” suggested Hungary, casually. “I’m not asking for any reason.”
“Specifically? No, not particularly,” replied Austria, smiling.
“Pfft. Can’t blame me for trying. With only 48 hours left to live, I need homoeroticism, damn it.”
“With only 48 hours to live, I need a magical force-field to surround the Earth and save us from impending doom. But I accept that some things are major priorities.”
“Touché.” They exchanged an amused glance.
At which point, France swooped down, kissing first Austria, then Hungary briefly on the lips.
“What the hell?” asked Prussia, who had slid over the conference desk to join them. France responded by kissing him too, before making a hasty retreat. Prussia blinked, momentarily stunned. “And again I say, this time a little louder and more confused: what. The hell.”
Hungary, who had turned a delicate shade of pink, was too busy cackling gleefully to notice answer.
“All in all,” said Austria, addressing the sky with the utmost respect (the ceiling rather got in the way), “I would have much preferred a magical force-field.”
-
Ukraine sat, pale, feeling somewhat nauseous. She hoped it was not too noticeable. She hoped her brother – who was staring almost contentedly in the direction of the wallpaper – did not feel as panicked as she did.
“I’m scared,” she announced, quietly. “Everyone else seems to have taken this in their stride. This is not something you can just take in your stride!”
“Well,” said Russia, calmly, “we have had practice at this.”
“Not THIS.”
“Civilisation as we know it has been on the brink of destruction more frequently than any of us would care to count,” said Russia, good-humouredly. “It makes a pleasant change for it not to be self-inflicted, da?”
“How can you be so placid?” Ukraine whispered, reproachfully.
“Because I have been through far worse,” he shrugged, casually. “Now? At least there is certainty.”
“Brother?” came a voice from – rather ominously - behind him. “Now that it is the end of the world, we have less than 48 hours in which to get married...”
Luckily for Russia, that particular suggestion was averted – not necessarily in the most welcome fashion, but what followed was nonetheless fortuitous. Namely, he found himself being abruptly kissed by France. Whereupon he was released – Ukraine was given similar treatment. Russia wondered idly if he ought to intervene when France turned towards Belarus.
Well, in all probability, the worst that could happen was a knife wound.
He rather hoped the blood would not stain the wallpaper. The cleaning staff had been rather annoyed the last time that had happened.
- “France?” Canada knelt beside France, who was lying injured on the floor.
France rolled onto his side, lazily propping up his head in one hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. ‘Tis but a flesh wound. Actually, ‘tis but a punch to the face. I decided to set myself a challenge, you see: kiss everyone in the room before we are consigned to oblivion.”
After knowing France for centuries, Canada recognised that there was little purpose in asking ‘why’. The answer would inevitably be some variation on ‘why not?’ Generally, France’s behaviour was not determined by whether or not something was a good idea, but simply whether or not there was anything to stop him. “Oh,” decided Canada. “So your challenge didn’t go down so well with Belarus, then?”
“Not in the slightest. How did you guess?” deadpanned France.
“Don’t be sarcastic,” said Canada, vaguely.
“I was being ironic – surely you cannot deny me the right to be vaguely ironic on the eve of destruction?” said France, teasingly.
“What did you expect to happen, anyway?”
“I expected her to punch me in the face, of course. But I also expected to be faster at ducking out of the way.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, well.”
After knowing France for centuries, Canada really ought to have remembered that, however futile, it was simply too difficult to withstand asking ‘why’. Hence: “... Why?”
France smiled. “I wanted to say farewell. As Belgium said, it is our last opportunity. Something of a shock, but there you go. Look at everyone.” He waved a languid hand in the general direction of the other nations. “They’ve already split off into little groups to say what needs to be said. Personally, I dislike this factionalism.”
Canada had to admit, there was logic to that, albeit skewed logic. Utterly characteristic of France, of course.
“However,” added France, “upon consideration, the continuation of my challenge seems... unwise.” He massaged his nose, wincing.
“Spoken to England yet?” asked Canada, attempting a tone that was light and casual. Probably failing. But someone had to say it.
“Now why would I want to speak to him in particular?” France’s eyes, however, twinkled. Canada rolled his own eyes, exasperatedly. Irony again.
Awwww, my FrUK needs, satisfied for the moment with France's eyes twinkling ^_~ lol, I love your France
I think my favourite part was Russia's, especially the blood commentXD. I also rather liked the ineraction between Pianophile and Frying Pan Warrior *snort* (there's something highly amusing about Hungary being the only one with a kickass nameXD), it was very intimate and fitting ^^
Tony began to realise that it was a little too early to be murmuring ‘exactly as planned’ in triumph, whilst accompanied by ominous Latin chanting. Things were not operating as smoothly as they could, exactly.
(Did his Licence to Break the Fourth Wall cover gratuitous referencing? He hoped so. Wouldn’t do to get that confiscated – not in times like these.)
The trouble was that they were just too damned adaptable. Having lived through the threat of destruction, disintegration, revolution, partition, cold wars, incredibly heated wars – it took a lot to frighten them. Apparently it took even more than the prospect of total obliteration.
Also, it did very little to loosen their tongues, much less shake the foundations of their meticulously structured denial. Only Blind Idiot had managed to choke out the word ‘love’ and, even then, all Short Tempered seemed to be capable of was gazing dumbfounded into his eyes. No, wait, not even his eyes. Too awkward for even that. Short Tempered was staring at the wallpaper.
Truly, Molests Everyone had had the right idea. Direct and to the point. Pity he ended up being the first minor casualty of the day.
Meanwhile, Heroic Host was busy chasing after a pipe dream, like an adorable yet misguided puppy chasing towards a speeding bulldozer.
Oh, and there were Slightly Effeminate and Ridiculously Effeminate! Well, they seemed – great Yrrighnt, did no-one take impending doom seriously any more? – cheerful. What, pray tell, did it take to frighten Ridiculously Effeminate? Was Ridiculously Effeminate even capable of fear? Or had he devised some kind of ingenious exit strategy, involving balloons and ponies? That did not even bear thinking about.
Inadvertent Tomboy and Gun-Toting Neutral had joined Egocentric et al. Mangled Speech and Santa Claus seemed to be in the midst of intent conversation. Huh. Mangled Speech was attempting conversation? Interesting. Well, at least some effort was being made from that corner. Tony was hardly expecting miracles, though – not when both were so clearly (and nonsensically) terrified of each other.
There went Diminutive, off to greet Chronically Repressed. Tony had not even realised that Diminutive was here. He almost pitied Repressed.
Tony glanced at I’m Fine With Being a Cultural Stereotype. She _glared_ at him.
“Really?” Lithuania tried not to wince. Or indicate any other sign of despair. If he did, he might be forced to explain to Poland why balloons could not levitate them high enough to escape the missile blast. And that would be unfair, because to deprive someone of the scant hope that they had in this situation would be cruel.
Plus, he probably wouldn’t believe him.
“It doesn’t matter if our land moves, right? I mean, we’re, like, still countries. We still exist. Yeah? So, I’m thinking we get all of our best divers to swim under the sea and link all the countries together underneath with chains. You with me so far? So all the land is, like, chained together. OK. Then we get some rocket launcher type-things and fix them to the land. Then, boom! We’re airborne! So we fly to the moon and sorta arrange the land back where it used to be, only, like, on the moon! So it doesn’t matter if the Earth gets destroyed, ‘cause nobody will be on it!”
Poland grinned, triumphantly. Looked at Lithuania. Seemed to be expecting enthusiasm, or at least approval. For a second, Lithuania felt a strange compulsion to agree with happy alacrity, simply because – because Poland somehow had that effect on people. On – well, on him.
However, there was another factor to contend with: his own sanity. “Um,” said Lithuania, assertively. “Poland. There are a few problems with that.”
“Oh, you’re wondering where we get water from, huh? Easy! When the Earth goes kaboom, all the water will, like, explode everywhere. So some of it will splash onto the moon. Till then, we can take up as much bottled water as we can. It’ll be fine!”
“Actually, that’s not the problem I was thinking of.” The problem is, thought Lithuania, that there is nothing even remotely feasible about that plan. Or is that too general for just one problem? But, to be honest, he did not even want to voice his criticisms. Mostly because, as always, he found himself incapable of formulating a logical argument, faced with such illogic and, well, with Poland.
“Oh, there’s the fact that we’re still kinda locked in this room, right? And that for some reason nobody’s phone seems to be working? Well, that’s easy. All we have to do is cut a hole in the floor and escape!”
Lithuania looked at Poland’s expression. It was... so unbelievably animated that it defied belief.
“Look, you don’t think that after all the surviving I’ve done that I’m really going to die?” asked Poland, in genuine disbelief. “I’m, like, invincible.”
Lithuania could not think of a response to that. It was too – too typical. And, in an odd way, almost a relief. Not even ‘you’re insane’ worked as a response because, damn it, he was probably right. Poland was invincible. How could anything ever get the better of him? And yet – and yet it was utterly hopeless. How typical of Poland to refuse to recognise a lost cause! Lithuania knew that nothing could induce him to disillusion him. Not that there was a force on Earth that had the power to disillusion Poland, who happened to be extremely fond of his illusions.
So really, there was very little he could think of to say.
Instead, seized by some insane impulse, he grabbed Poland by the shoulders, in an inexpert embrace. “You – do know I love you, right?” he breathed. Their faces were very near. It was fairly awkward. He wondered if he, Lithuania, was slightly mad. Overall, it would make sense.
Poland blinked. “Tchyeah. I knew that. I love you too. I mean, duh! But at the moment, we’re talking about escape tactics.”
Then, flying in the face of all logic and caution, Lithuania pulled him forward, closing the space between them. And there was no more talk of escape tactics.
Awww, Lithuania is so cute. And America is definetly a puppy, I'm kinda sad that he's chasing after a lost cause instead of...Russia? I think that's who he's supposed to... but I'm sure that will be fixed soon :D
“Do they really have to do that in front of everyone?” hissed Switzerland, indicating Poland and Lithuania.
“Oh, leave them be,” said Hungary. Gleefully. Austria smiled, exasperatedly. “They’re just kissing! It’s sweet!”
Switzerland briefly considered putting a hand over Liechtenstein’s eyes. But no. To business. “Au-Austria,” he said, stiffly. “If I could have a word with you.”
Austria did not budge. “What is it, Switzerland?”
Switzerland paused. He had been hoping to be spared making this admission in front of Prussia and Hungary. Nonetheless. With great dignity and restraint, he said: “I - am willing to admit that I was once your friend.”
“... What?”
“Currently, I despise you,” said Switzerland, lest Austria be mistaken with regards to where he stood. “However. Seeing as we are so close to death, it seems only right to set the record straight. So – I was, I feel I must admit, despite what I have maintained previously, once your friend.”
Austria nodded, perplexed. “But... I know you were,” he pointed out. “Mostly because I was there at the time.”
“Yes. Well.” With the air of one whose massive gesture of conciliation had been quashed, Switzerland fell silent.
“... Thank you,” said Austria, unsure as to whether this was the correct response.
Luckily, it seemed to be. “You’re welcome,” muttered Switzerland. “Right. Done that. Yes. Um.”
Meanwhile, Hungary was warmly saying goodbye to Liechtenstein. “This doesn’t seem fair at all,” she said. “Not when you escaped this sort of thing so recently.”
“It’s not nice,” agreed Liechtenstein, sadly. “I’ll miss you.”
“Who says we won’t all be together afterwards?” asked Hungary. With that, the two embraced. “You know what I hate?” she said, voice muffled.
“What?”
She released Liechtenstein and laughed, briefly. “I hate secrets,” she said. “I hate the idea that there’s anything I know that nobody else knows. Particularly now.”
“Well – there’s time,” said Liechtenstein.
“Yeah. I suppose so,” said Hungary, thoughtfully. “I’m going to be really angry if we aren’t all together after we die,” she added, stubbornly.
“Tch. Yeah, yeah, whatever!” said Prussia, derisively, causing the two to jump. “Spare us the sobs and stuff, Hungary. It’s pathetic! Hey. Liechtenstein. Smile, OK? This whole death thing? It’s just stupid.”
Hungary darted an angry glance at him, but Liechtenstein giggled, weakly. “OK,” she said. “But you have to smile too.”
Prussia obliged, with a broad, sincere grin. “See? It’s stupid. Forget about the whole thing.”
“That’s completely illogical,” said Hungary, irritated.
“I know, right?” he laughed. “So what! Logic is stupid too!”
Hungary tried to narrow her eyes disdainfully at him, but could not help smiling at the same time, which rather ruined the effect.
“So,” mumbled Sweden. “Fig’red I ought to say...” he trailed off, completely unable to continue.
“Sweden? Did you say something?” asked Finland, brightly.
“Think’n about what Belgium said... I... sayin’ stuff we... you know, need to –admit.”
“Oh, are you worried about the whole dying in 48 hours thing? I didn’t think you could be scared of anything!”
Sweden met his eyes with an imploring gaze. Finland, for some indeterminate reason, seemed to flinch, terrified. Probably, thought Sweden, out of fear for the idea of being blown apart by missiles. “No, I was actually talkin’ ‘bout... uh...”
“It’ll be OK!” Finland assured him, in a curiously squeaky tone. “Don’t be scared, because that won’t do anything. I mean, it’s almost nice to know that there’s no point in being scared. Right? I don’t know. Oh, sorry – you were saying something, weren’t you? Sweden?”
“I... you...” Sweden tried, but as per usual, the words simply dried up, moving from scant to nonexistent. “Never mind. Too embarr’sing anyway,” he said, almost inaudibly.
“Do you ever get the feeling that we had so much time we never got anything done?” continued Finland, obliviously. “I mean, we never even notice as years pass – they go by so quickly. It stops being so important if you stop thinking about it for a while. We just sort of keep going, huh? It’s a shame we never really thought about it properly.” He then did a strange sort of nervous double take. “I mean, you probably don’t think that! It’s probably just me being silly!”
Sweden glanced at Finland, who seemed flustered, to say the least. “Remember at the start of 2009?” asked Sweden. “I said ‘good things’n bad things all pass in time’. I think s’true still. And s’pity if we can’t find the right words in that time. But that doesn’t mean the words come eas’ly, all the same.”
“Words,” said Finland, forgetting to be nervous. “Yeah. When you most want to say something important, it’s always impossible to actually do it.”
Sweden nodded, vigorously. “S’true.”
“Why is that, I wonder?”
Sweden did not know, or dare to risk an opinion.
They sat together in silent contemplation for a while, neither particularly fazed by the fact that their shoulders were brushing.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Re: DIY Doomsday (4b/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 05:08 pm (UTC)(link)-
“Germany! I don’t want to die. None of us want to die, I’m fairly sure, and it’s all so strange because one moment things were normal and the only person who was possibly going to die was France because England was strangling him but he was probably going to let him go in the end anyway and then suddenly we didn’t have close to forever to live but forty eight hours! And I’d really like some pasta before the Earth explodes but the doors are locked and there’s no way of getting to a kitchen even though I have some pasta in my pockets but there’s no boiling water in here so there’s no point...”
Germany watched Veneziano’s mouth move, and was vaguely aware that he was speaking words. He looked extremely unhappy, which was bad. Germany patted him absentmindedly on the shoulder. He was still wearing the ear plugs, though, and was loath to remove them when everyone else seemed to be so panicked – although, for the most part, they seemed to be calming down, which was a little worrying in of itself, but to question it seemed tantamount to looking a gift horse in the mouth. Probably there was a world pasta shortage, he decided. Something minor, at any rate.
“So I think we’re all going to die hungry which just doesn’t seem very fair at all. We’re all used to planning things in the long term and we all thought we had ages and ages to make things right and now we’re trapped in a room with really boring wallpaper that depresses me – and I don’t think we’ll ever make it out!”
“There there,” mumbled Germany. It seemed to help a little.
-
America sauntered towards England. “So,” he said, clearing his throat. “End of the world, huh?”
“I blame you,” snapped England.
“Hey, how was I supposed to know that Tony would do something like that? I’m really mad at him!”
“Yes, please be good enough to inform him that the annihilation of all native life is not the most effective way to greet a host planet.”
“I did! Or I will. But – I mean, forty eight hours... you could almost say there’s no point.” America met England’s gaze, smiling faintly.
England scowled back. But then relented. “All right – I suppose there is very little time to waste being resentful,” he conceded. “Although what else there is to do is beyond me. I wish we could get out of here- we should be informing our people of this.”
“I suppose it’s better off this way,” said America. “It’s not like there’s anything to be done.”
“Shouldn’t we be organising – I don’t know - nuclear shelters?” England tore a hand through his hair, helplessly.
“Wouldn’t make a difference,” America replied, promptly. “Apparently these missiles are big enough to make the whole planet explode.”
“Wonderful.”
There was a pause in the conversation, in which England wondered whether he was the only one who wanted to eviscerate someone.
“This is really surreal,” offered America.
“Surreal? Not at all!” said England, almost hysterically. “I for one am completely accustomed to being told that I’m going to be obliterated in two days’ time.” He then settled for sarcasm. “Thank you for that highly perceptive insight, America.”
America grinned. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“You’re running out of decent insults,” said America, continuing to smile, slyly. He enjoyed the sequence of banter; it felt companionable, almost sweet.
“Centuries worth of attempting to convey my disdain has taught me this: why bother with originality when ‘idiot’ is so fundamentally appropriate?”
Tony glanced towards the two. Well, _that_ was one thing that was not going to end well, especially not with Molests People in the picture. Tony actually regretted Chronically Repressed, to a certain extent. They had certainly gotten off on the wrong foot. Not that it was wholly Tony’s fault that he had evinced an immediate dislike to the nation – how was he to know that ‘fucking limey’ was not a standard British greeting? Stupid, faulty, ineffectual months of research.
Re: DIY Doomsday (4b/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 06:56 pm (UTC)(link)But really, I get the impression England's going to be ripped his hair out of by the roots by the end of this; unless he ends up ripping America's hair out by the roots while they're reconciling their differences? Are there private areas for nations to "make up" in in this scenario? ;D
Re: DIY Doomsday (4b/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 08:05 pm (UTC)(link)Go, authoranon, go!
Re: DIY Doomsday (4b/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 09:19 pm (UTC)(link)Op
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 10:33 pm (UTC)(link)And Belgium was really cute (lots of kudos to you for that Oscar Wilde mention!XD)
Ok, your England. Is. The best. I also like the minor USUK hints, I mean, my favourite ship is FrUK, but wth, England's repression is delicious to read in all directionsXD
Germany is still the mospt intelligent person in this storyXD
I have a feeling everything will be over before he takes off those headphones, and thus will be the only one spared of confessing his love, or whateverXD
Re: DIY Doomsday (4b/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 11:12 pm (UTC)(link)the onlysanenation, yeah?Re: DIY Doomsday (5/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-23 09:57 pm (UTC)(link)-
Tony began to congratulate himself on a plan well executed. Look at them! They were actually communicating! He felt an almost paternal wave of fondness for the little imbeciles. Look – there was Blind Fool, trying to talk with Short-Tempered; and across the room, seated at the desk, were Pianophile, Frying Pan Warrior and Egocentric, presumably talking things through. Look to the left and there were Scarf Sociopath, Married Married Married and Bra-Challenged: one happy family!
All right, so they were still deeply dysfunctional. Nevertheless – there was discernable improvement. Progress! Peaceful discussion! There was what bordered on emotional competency!
(Oops – Married Married Married just punched Molests Everyone in the face. Ah well, so much for peaceful discussion. Ouch. Could have been worse though; could have involved knives.)
Well, there went Molests Everyone – off to talk to The Invisible Man. Tony honed in on the conversations, one by one, trying to judge whether or not any improvement had actually been achieved.
-
Knowing that there was so little time left - knowing that he had so many years of unspoken emotion to answer for - Romano was determined to abandon all surliness and finally admit to what he had long forbidden himself to express. There was Spain, standing right in front of him; time to let down his guard and be truthful for once. Here goes. Romano started to speak:
“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you in my last 48 hours on Earth. Look at you – you look like a puppy that’s been kicked! And then left for dead in the middle of a snowstorm! Pathetic.”
... Well, said confession had gone not exactly as planned. Force of habit restraining him and all that. Still, all in all, it had been a valiant effort. Romano congratulated himself on having at least tried.
(Wait a minute, what had he actually said?)
(Oh. Oh, right.)
Well, it wasn’t as though it was difficult to deduce what he _actually_ meant, was it? Spain could figure it out. He was smart like that.
Spain’s kicked-and-abandoned-puppy look modulated into one of preternatural cheer. “You’re so cute when you come up with cutting character assassinations!”
There – contrary to popular belief, Spain wasn’t so clueless after all! He was actually much smarter than many people gave him credit for, particularly in terms of deciphering Romano’s meanings.
... Wait, character assassination? What? No! How could he manage to misconstrue such a simple declaration of fondness?
“Idiot!” cried Romano, with warmly expressed affection. Except, hold on, ‘idiot’ wasn’t so much of an affectionate term, come to think of it. Ah well. Spain would know what he meant.
“Love you too, Romano!”
See? Not clueless at all.
Re: DIY Doomsday (5b/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-23 09:59 pm (UTC)(link)“Specifically? No, not particularly,” replied Austria, smiling.
“Pfft. Can’t blame me for trying. With only 48 hours left to live, I need homoeroticism, damn it.”
“With only 48 hours to live, I need a magical force-field to surround the Earth and save us from impending doom. But I accept that some things are major priorities.”
“Touché.” They exchanged an amused glance.
At which point, France swooped down, kissing first Austria, then Hungary briefly on the lips.
“What the hell?” asked Prussia, who had slid over the conference desk to join them. France responded by kissing him too, before making a hasty retreat. Prussia blinked, momentarily stunned. “And again I say, this time a little louder and more confused: what. The hell.”
Hungary, who had turned a delicate shade of pink, was too busy cackling gleefully to notice answer.
“All in all,” said Austria, addressing the sky with the utmost respect (the ceiling rather got in the way), “I would have much preferred a magical force-field.”
-
Ukraine sat, pale, feeling somewhat nauseous. She hoped it was not too noticeable. She hoped her brother – who was staring almost contentedly in the direction of the wallpaper – did not feel as panicked as she did.
“I’m scared,” she announced, quietly. “Everyone else seems to have taken this in their stride. This is not something you can just take in your stride!”
“Well,” said Russia, calmly, “we have had practice at this.”
“Not THIS.”
“Civilisation as we know it has been on the brink of destruction more frequently than any of us would care to count,” said Russia, good-humouredly. “It makes a pleasant change for it not to be self-inflicted, da?”
“How can you be so placid?” Ukraine whispered, reproachfully.
“Because I have been through far worse,” he shrugged, casually. “Now? At least there is certainty.”
“Brother?” came a voice from – rather ominously - behind him. “Now that it is the end of the world, we have less than 48 hours in which to get married...”
Luckily for Russia, that particular suggestion was averted – not necessarily in the most welcome fashion, but what followed was nonetheless fortuitous. Namely, he found himself being abruptly kissed by France. Whereupon he was released – Ukraine was given similar treatment. Russia wondered idly if he ought to intervene when France turned towards Belarus.
Well, in all probability, the worst that could happen was a knife wound.
He rather hoped the blood would not stain the wallpaper. The cleaning staff had been rather annoyed the last time that had happened.
Re: DIY Doomsday (5c/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-23 10:01 pm (UTC)(link)“France?” Canada knelt beside France, who was lying injured on the floor.
France rolled onto his side, lazily propping up his head in one hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. ‘Tis but a flesh wound. Actually, ‘tis but a punch to the face. I decided to set myself a challenge, you see: kiss everyone in the room before we are consigned to oblivion.”
After knowing France for centuries, Canada recognised that there was little purpose in asking ‘why’. The answer would inevitably be some variation on ‘why not?’ Generally, France’s behaviour was not determined by whether or not something was a good idea, but simply whether or not there was anything to stop him. “Oh,” decided Canada. “So your challenge didn’t go down so well with Belarus, then?”
“Not in the slightest. How did you guess?” deadpanned France.
“Don’t be sarcastic,” said Canada, vaguely.
“I was being ironic – surely you cannot deny me the right to be vaguely ironic on the eve of destruction?” said France, teasingly.
“What did you expect to happen, anyway?”
“I expected her to punch me in the face, of course. But I also expected to be faster at ducking out of the way.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, well.”
After knowing France for centuries, Canada really ought to have remembered that, however futile, it was simply too difficult to withstand asking ‘why’. Hence: “... Why?”
France smiled. “I wanted to say farewell. As Belgium said, it is our last opportunity. Something of a shock, but there you go. Look at everyone.” He waved a languid hand in the general direction of the other nations. “They’ve already split off into little groups to say what needs to be said. Personally, I dislike this factionalism.”
Canada had to admit, there was logic to that, albeit skewed logic. Utterly characteristic of France, of course.
“However,” added France, “upon consideration, the continuation of my challenge seems... unwise.” He massaged his nose, wincing.
“Spoken to England yet?” asked Canada, attempting a tone that was light and casual. Probably failing. But someone had to say it.
“Now why would I want to speak to him in particular?” France’s eyes, however, twinkled. Canada rolled his own eyes, exasperatedly. Irony again.
Op
(Anonymous) 2010-09-24 02:03 pm (UTC)(link)lol, I love your France
I think my favourite part was Russia's, especially the blood commentXD. I also rather liked the ineraction between Pianophile and Frying Pan Warrior *snort* (there's something highly amusing about Hungary being the only one with a kickass nameXD), it was very intimate and fitting ^^
Re: DIY Doomsday (5c/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-24 05:23 pm (UTC)(link)Re: DIY Doomsday (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-26 06:53 pm (UTC)(link)(Did his Licence to Break the Fourth Wall cover gratuitous referencing? He hoped so. Wouldn’t do to get that confiscated – not in times like these.)
The trouble was that they were just too damned adaptable. Having lived through the threat of destruction, disintegration, revolution, partition, cold wars, incredibly heated wars – it took a lot to frighten them. Apparently it took even more than the prospect of total obliteration.
Also, it did very little to loosen their tongues, much less shake the foundations of their meticulously structured denial. Only Blind Idiot had managed to choke out the word ‘love’ and, even then, all Short Tempered seemed to be capable of was gazing dumbfounded into his eyes. No, wait, not even his eyes. Too awkward for even that. Short Tempered was staring at the wallpaper.
Truly, Molests Everyone had had the right idea. Direct and to the point. Pity he ended up being the first minor casualty of the day.
Meanwhile, Heroic Host was busy chasing after a pipe dream, like an adorable yet misguided puppy chasing towards a speeding bulldozer.
Oh, and there were Slightly Effeminate and Ridiculously Effeminate! Well, they seemed – great Yrrighnt, did no-one take impending doom seriously any more? – cheerful. What, pray tell, did it take to frighten Ridiculously Effeminate? Was Ridiculously Effeminate even capable of fear? Or had he devised some kind of ingenious exit strategy, involving balloons and ponies? That did not even bear thinking about.
Inadvertent Tomboy and Gun-Toting Neutral had joined Egocentric et al. Mangled Speech and Santa Claus seemed to be in the midst of intent conversation. Huh. Mangled Speech was attempting conversation? Interesting. Well, at least some effort was being made from that corner. Tony was hardly expecting miracles, though – not when both were so clearly (and nonsensically) terrified of each other.
There went Diminutive, off to greet Chronically Repressed. Tony had not even realised that Diminutive was here. He almost pitied Repressed.
Tony glanced at I’m Fine With Being a Cultural Stereotype. She _glared_ at him.
Re: DIY Doomsday (6b/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-26 06:55 pm (UTC)(link)“Really?” Lithuania tried not to wince. Or indicate any other sign of despair. If he did, he might be forced to explain to Poland why balloons could not levitate them high enough to escape the missile blast. And that would be unfair, because to deprive someone of the scant hope that they had in this situation would be cruel.
Plus, he probably wouldn’t believe him.
“It doesn’t matter if our land moves, right? I mean, we’re, like, still countries. We still exist. Yeah? So, I’m thinking we get all of our best divers to swim under the sea and link all the countries together underneath with chains. You with me so far? So all the land is, like, chained together. OK. Then we get some rocket launcher type-things and fix them to the land. Then, boom! We’re airborne! So we fly to the moon and sorta arrange the land back where it used to be, only, like, on the moon! So it doesn’t matter if the Earth gets destroyed, ‘cause nobody will be on it!”
Poland grinned, triumphantly. Looked at Lithuania. Seemed to be expecting enthusiasm, or at least approval. For a second, Lithuania felt a strange compulsion to agree with happy alacrity, simply because – because Poland somehow had that effect on people. On – well, on him.
However, there was another factor to contend with: his own sanity. “Um,” said Lithuania, assertively. “Poland. There are a few problems with that.”
“Oh, you’re wondering where we get water from, huh? Easy! When the Earth goes kaboom, all the water will, like, explode everywhere. So some of it will splash onto the moon. Till then, we can take up as much bottled water as we can. It’ll be fine!”
“Actually, that’s not the problem I was thinking of.” The problem is, thought Lithuania, that there is nothing even remotely feasible about that plan. Or is that too general for just one problem? But, to be honest, he did not even want to voice his criticisms. Mostly because, as always, he found himself incapable of formulating a logical argument, faced with such illogic and, well, with Poland.
“Oh, there’s the fact that we’re still kinda locked in this room, right? And that for some reason nobody’s phone seems to be working? Well, that’s easy. All we have to do is cut a hole in the floor and escape!”
Lithuania looked at Poland’s expression. It was... so unbelievably animated that it defied belief.
“Look, you don’t think that after all the surviving I’ve done that I’m really going to die?” asked Poland, in genuine disbelief. “I’m, like, invincible.”
Lithuania could not think of a response to that. It was too – too typical. And, in an odd way, almost a relief. Not even ‘you’re insane’ worked as a response because, damn it, he was probably right. Poland was invincible. How could anything ever get the better of him? And yet – and yet it was utterly hopeless. How typical of Poland to refuse to recognise a lost cause! Lithuania knew that nothing could induce him to disillusion him. Not that there was a force on Earth that had the power to disillusion Poland, who happened to be extremely fond of his illusions.
So really, there was very little he could think of to say.
Instead, seized by some insane impulse, he grabbed Poland by the shoulders, in an inexpert embrace. “You – do know I love you, right?” he breathed. Their faces were very near. It was fairly awkward. He wondered if he, Lithuania, was slightly mad. Overall, it would make sense.
Poland blinked. “Tchyeah. I knew that. I love you too. I mean, duh! But at the moment, we’re talking about escape tactics.”
Then, flying in the face of all logic and caution, Lithuania pulled him forward, closing the space between them. And there was no more talk of escape tactics.
Re: DIY Doomsday (6b/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-26 07:56 pm (UTC)(link)Re: DIY Doomsday (6b/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-26 10:54 pm (UTC)(link)Your _is_ showing.
Re: DIY Doomsday (6b/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-27 02:30 pm (UTC)(link)And America is definetly a puppy, I'm kinda sad that he's chasing after a lost cause instead of...Russia? I think that's who he's supposed to... but I'm sure that will be fixed soon :D
Re: DIY Doomsday (6c/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-27 05:34 pm (UTC)(link)“Oh, leave them be,” said Hungary. Gleefully. Austria smiled, exasperatedly. “They’re just kissing! It’s sweet!”
Switzerland briefly considered putting a hand over Liechtenstein’s eyes. But no. To business. “Au-Austria,” he said, stiffly. “If I could have a word with you.”
Austria did not budge. “What is it, Switzerland?”
Switzerland paused. He had been hoping to be spared making this admission in front of Prussia and Hungary. Nonetheless. With great dignity and restraint, he said: “I - am willing to admit that I was once your friend.”
“... What?”
“Currently, I despise you,” said Switzerland, lest Austria be mistaken with regards to where he stood. “However. Seeing as we are so close to death, it seems only right to set the record straight. So – I was, I feel I must admit, despite what I have maintained previously, once your friend.”
Austria nodded, perplexed. “But... I know you were,” he pointed out. “Mostly because I was there at the time.”
“Yes. Well.” With the air of one whose massive gesture of conciliation had been quashed, Switzerland fell silent.
“... Thank you,” said Austria, unsure as to whether this was the correct response.
Luckily, it seemed to be. “You’re welcome,” muttered Switzerland. “Right. Done that. Yes. Um.”
Meanwhile, Hungary was warmly saying goodbye to Liechtenstein. “This doesn’t seem fair at all,” she said. “Not when you escaped this sort of thing so recently.”
“It’s not nice,” agreed Liechtenstein, sadly. “I’ll miss you.”
“Who says we won’t all be together afterwards?” asked Hungary. With that, the two embraced. “You know what I hate?” she said, voice muffled.
“What?”
She released Liechtenstein and laughed, briefly. “I hate secrets,” she said. “I hate the idea that there’s anything I know that nobody else knows. Particularly now.”
“Well – there’s time,” said Liechtenstein.
“Yeah. I suppose so,” said Hungary, thoughtfully. “I’m going to be really angry if we aren’t all together after we die,” she added, stubbornly.
“Tch. Yeah, yeah, whatever!” said Prussia, derisively, causing the two to jump. “Spare us the sobs and stuff, Hungary. It’s pathetic! Hey. Liechtenstein. Smile, OK? This whole death thing? It’s just stupid.”
Hungary darted an angry glance at him, but Liechtenstein giggled, weakly. “OK,” she said. “But you have to smile too.”
Prussia obliged, with a broad, sincere grin. “See? It’s stupid. Forget about the whole thing.”
“That’s completely illogical,” said Hungary, irritated.
“I know, right?” he laughed. “So what! Logic is stupid too!”
Hungary tried to narrow her eyes disdainfully at him, but could not help smiling at the same time, which rather ruined the effect.
Re: DIY Doomsday (6d/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-28 09:04 pm (UTC)(link)“Sweden? Did you say something?” asked Finland, brightly.
“Think’n about what Belgium said... I... sayin’ stuff we... you know, need to –admit.”
“Oh, are you worried about the whole dying in 48 hours thing? I didn’t think you could be scared of anything!”
Sweden met his eyes with an imploring gaze. Finland, for some indeterminate reason, seemed to flinch, terrified. Probably, thought Sweden, out of fear for the idea of being blown apart by missiles. “No, I was actually talkin’ ‘bout... uh...”
“It’ll be OK!” Finland assured him, in a curiously squeaky tone. “Don’t be scared, because that won’t do anything. I mean, it’s almost nice to know that there’s no point in being scared. Right? I don’t know. Oh, sorry – you were saying something, weren’t you? Sweden?”
“I... you...” Sweden tried, but as per usual, the words simply dried up, moving from scant to nonexistent. “Never mind. Too embarr’sing anyway,” he said, almost inaudibly.
“Do you ever get the feeling that we had so much time we never got anything done?” continued Finland, obliviously. “I mean, we never even notice as years pass – they go by so quickly. It stops being so important if you stop thinking about it for a while. We just sort of keep going, huh? It’s a shame we never really thought about it properly.” He then did a strange sort of nervous double take. “I mean, you probably don’t think that! It’s probably just me being silly!”
Sweden glanced at Finland, who seemed flustered, to say the least. “Remember at the start of 2009?” asked Sweden. “I said ‘good things’n bad things all pass in time’. I think s’true still. And s’pity if we can’t find the right words in that time. But that doesn’t mean the words come eas’ly, all the same.”
“Words,” said Finland, forgetting to be nervous. “Yeah. When you most want to say something important, it’s always impossible to actually do it.”
Sweden nodded, vigorously. “S’true.”
“Why is that, I wonder?”
Sweden did not know, or dare to risk an opinion.
They sat together in silent contemplation for a while, neither particularly fazed by the fact that their shoulders were brushing.
Re: DIY Doomsday (6d/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-10-07 08:55 pm (UTC)(link)I really like that you didn't go the whole "we've lived for forever in domestic bliss" route with them!