America rubbed his eyes and stared at the clock. It was four-fifty-six in the AM, and he still hadn’t found sleep. It’s not like he hadn’t tried. God-- he’d even tried sleepy-time tea! TEA. Still nothing-- damn tea lied. AND RUSSIA. That fucker. That fucking… fucking…Russia. How dare he! How could he just LEAVE after doing… THAT? Alfred had half a mind to march on over to that cold, frigid nation and slap him across his fucking face! He rolled onto his stomach and hit the pillow before shoving his own face into the depression.
‘Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe‘-- America flipped back over on his back and took a huge gulp of air. He glared at the darkened ceiling, made hazy by his lack of glasses, and wondered if it just wouldn’t be better to put the damn thing on and stop all of th-- ‘HELL NO,’ Alfred corrected his obviously sleep-addled brain. The bed. It was totally the bed’s fault for these treacherous thoughts.
Alfred rolled onto the floor with a ‘thwump‘, and an ‘oof’, and lay there instead. He yanked the last of the blankets off the bed, and rolled onto his side facing the underneath of the bed. At least he’d know if any monsters had manifested themselves. America frowned, and reached his hand under the bed and dragged out a box. ‘I don’t remember putting this here.’
In the brighter-than-the-pitch-blackness-under-his-bed, non-light, Alfred was able to make out the shape of the box. It looked like a shoe box, but was rather too elongated and skinny to actually contain shoes. ‘Unless they’re super skinny, long shoes,’ he mused, slipping his fingers under the lip of the lid. ‘Maybe they’re clown shoes? I don’t remember buying clown shoes.’ Maybe he had, one way to find out! Alfred flipped the lid off.
He blinked and stared at the blue, glassy--- Alfred slammed the lid back down, face burning, and shoved it back under the bed. DEAD. RUSSIA WAS SO FUCKING DEAD. Alfred leapt to his feet, and then toppled over when the blanket twisted it’s way around his ankles. “IS THE WHOLE ROOM GOING RED?!”
With a good amount of tripping and cursing, Alfred made his way into the kitchen- Texas firmly on his face. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well drown his tiredness in sweet, delicious coffee. He almost broke down in sobs when he got to the kitchen and remembered that the damn thing was broken. His poor, wonderful coffee maker had faced a dangerous standoff with the kitchen floor the day before, and lost. ‘Poor, brave soldier,’ Alfred thought, giving a small, sad solute to the empty space on the counter, ‘you will not be forgotten.’
Alfred rubbed at his eyes and tried to think of what to do about his coffee problem. ‘If there’s no coffee in the house,’ he tried to connect the dots, ‘then… I should go out of the house to get coffee!’ He gave himself a small victory pat for thinking of such an amazing, and easy to manage plan. This is why he was the hero.
Eight fifty, and almost forty minutes later, and Alfred was back in the comforts of his own home, with a nice, hot, steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and the video game controller in the other. ‘Ha. Who needs sex when they have coffee and video games? Not me!’ Except… he’d rather have the coffee, video games, AND the sex. He frowned and glared at the television screen, sipping his coffee tentatively as one of the in-game characters blathered on.
He played until his eyes felt scratchy, and his hands were in pain, before shutting the game off and stretching his arms above his head. There was nothing quite as relaxing as beating the shit out of a virtual character. Alfred stifled a yawn with the back of his hand--maybe now he could finally get some sleep-- and glanced at the digital clock.
Alfred yawned again and stood up, running a hand through his bedraggled hair. Twelve-thirty-two. Not too shabby, if he did say so himself. Could have used more coffee, though. Ah well, it’s for the best. Time for some good ol’ shuteye.
‘Before that,’ he decided, ambling past the counter and spying his phone, ‘I might as well check to see if Russia’s finally given up, and decided to come crawling back.’ He smirked when he flipped the cell phone open and saw that he had 12 unread texts. Alfred’s look darkened when he saw that not a single one of them was from Russia. Actually… they mainly seemed to be from Arthur, and a few from Germany. ‘What?’
His eyes skimmed over the first one: Alfred, where the bloody hell are you? It was supposed to start at nine thirty! You better not have forgotten. -Arthur. Well, that was nice. What was supposed to start at nine thirty? He skipped down to the seventh, hoping it would shed some light on what exactly he was missing: Alfred, my idea of a compelling meeting DOES NOT include sitting here in near silence while we wait for your sodding arse to arrive! -Arthur
Alfred blinked, and chose to ignore the ones by Germany, if Arthur was anything to go by, they would not be happy. He frowned, there was a meeting today? Why hadn’t he been info--- ‘SHIT,’ he could practically feel the blood moving away from his face. ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit, FUCK.’ He dashed around in a frenzied manner, finally ending up in front of the bathroom mirror with a suit and tie slung over his arm. Was there time to take a shower and look a little less like he’d spent the night playing videogames in a dark room? He glanced at his watch. NO, there was not enough time.
He changed quickly, managing to trip himself as he was pulling on the pants, and falling- none too gently- to the ground. ‘No time, no time, no time,’ had become his mantra as he scrambled to his feet, and it was a horribly true one. ‘Moron!’ he insulted himself for the hundredth time, ‘How could you forget the MEETING?! You’re the freaking host!’
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Alfred muttered to himself as he snatched his car keys from the little bowl next to the door. He was already late, way late, there was no way they hadn’t already started, he was just hoping that when he did, finally, show up, they wouldn’t give him hell.
__
A/N:
Hey, everyone.
"IS THE WHOLE ROOM GOING RED?!"-- Red: Derogatory term used during the cold war to describe communists. 'Better dead than red.' 'Better red than dead.'
I'm trying to keep them as in character as I possibly can. Thank you for your support. You have no idea how much it means to me. ; u ; <3
OTHER NEWS:
Oldman-laptop is being mean to this Anon. I may have to take it in, and updates might be slow until I get it back, UNLESS I get over my inability to use the freaking USB drive I have everything backed up on-- [/end mini-rant.]
If this is closed, am I not supposed to continue filling here? I looked at the Past Part Fill thing, and it said something about 13 staying in 13 until that was full, but what about 14?
Once comment space fills up for 14, you won't be able to post here and will have to move to past-part fills. I think the reason someone was pushing for 13 to stay in 13 until it was full was to prevent people posting in odd places when there was no need, but if a part is full it's full (15 is open now, anyways). I'm pretty sure it'd be okay if you start posting in the past-part fills and use the remaining comment space here to post a link to where the story will be continued. I know I'd be upset if you had troubles posting this story or I missed what comes next. :) I hope I helped...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Ptichka 2a/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-25 01:55 am (UTC)(link)‘Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe‘-- America flipped back over on his back and took a huge gulp of air. He glared at the darkened ceiling, made hazy by his lack of glasses, and wondered if it just wouldn’t be better to put the damn thing on and stop all of th-- ‘HELL NO,’ Alfred corrected his obviously sleep-addled brain. The bed. It was totally the bed’s fault for these treacherous thoughts.
Alfred rolled onto the floor with a ‘thwump‘, and an ‘oof’, and lay there instead. He yanked the last of the blankets off the bed, and rolled onto his side facing the underneath of the bed. At least he’d know if any monsters had manifested themselves. America frowned, and reached his hand under the bed and dragged out a box. ‘I don’t remember putting this here.’
In the brighter-than-the-pitch-blackness-under-his-bed, non-light, Alfred was able to make out the shape of the box. It looked like a shoe box, but was rather too elongated and skinny to actually contain shoes. ‘Unless they’re super skinny, long shoes,’ he mused, slipping his fingers under the lip of the lid. ‘Maybe they’re clown shoes? I don’t remember buying clown shoes.’ Maybe he had, one way to find out! Alfred flipped the lid off.
He blinked and stared at the blue, glassy--- Alfred slammed the lid back down, face burning, and shoved it back under the bed. DEAD. RUSSIA WAS SO FUCKING DEAD. Alfred leapt to his feet, and then toppled over when the blanket twisted it’s way around his ankles. “IS THE WHOLE ROOM GOING RED?!”
With a good amount of tripping and cursing, Alfred made his way into the kitchen- Texas firmly on his face. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well drown his tiredness in sweet, delicious coffee. He almost broke down in sobs when he got to the kitchen and remembered that the damn thing was broken. His poor, wonderful coffee maker had faced a dangerous standoff with the kitchen floor the day before, and lost. ‘Poor, brave soldier,’ Alfred thought, giving a small, sad solute to the empty space on the counter, ‘you will not be forgotten.’
Alfred rubbed at his eyes and tried to think of what to do about his coffee problem. ‘If there’s no coffee in the house,’ he tried to connect the dots, ‘then… I should go out of the house to get coffee!’ He gave himself a small victory pat for thinking of such an amazing, and easy to manage plan. This is why he was the hero.
Ptichka 2b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-25 01:56 am (UTC)(link)He played until his eyes felt scratchy, and his hands were in pain, before shutting the game off and stretching his arms above his head. There was nothing quite as relaxing as beating the shit out of a virtual character. Alfred stifled a yawn with the back of his hand--maybe now he could finally get some sleep-- and glanced at the digital clock.
Alfred yawned again and stood up, running a hand through his bedraggled hair. Twelve-thirty-two. Not too shabby, if he did say so himself. Could have used more coffee, though. Ah well, it’s for the best. Time for some good ol’ shuteye.
‘Before that,’ he decided, ambling past the counter and spying his phone, ‘I might as well check to see if Russia’s finally given up, and decided to come crawling back.’ He smirked when he flipped the cell phone open and saw that he had 12 unread texts. Alfred’s look darkened when he saw that not a single one of them was from Russia. Actually… they mainly seemed to be from Arthur, and a few from Germany. ‘What?’
His eyes skimmed over the first one: Alfred, where the bloody hell are you? It was supposed to start at nine thirty! You better not have forgotten. -Arthur. Well, that was nice. What was supposed to start at nine thirty? He skipped down to the seventh, hoping it would shed some light on what exactly he was missing: Alfred, my idea of a compelling meeting DOES NOT include sitting here in near silence while we wait for your sodding arse to arrive! -Arthur
Alfred blinked, and chose to ignore the ones by Germany, if Arthur was anything to go by, they would not be happy. He frowned, there was a meeting today? Why hadn’t he been info--- ‘SHIT,’ he could practically feel the blood moving away from his face. ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit, FUCK.’ He dashed around in a frenzied manner, finally ending up in front of the bathroom mirror with a suit and tie slung over his arm. Was there time to take a shower and look a little less like he’d spent the night playing videogames in a dark room? He glanced at his watch. NO, there was not enough time.
He changed quickly, managing to trip himself as he was pulling on the pants, and falling- none too gently- to the ground. ‘No time, no time, no time,’ had become his mantra as he scrambled to his feet, and it was a horribly true one. ‘Moron!’ he insulted himself for the hundredth time, ‘How could you forget the MEETING?! You’re the freaking host!’
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Alfred muttered to himself as he snatched his car keys from the little bowl next to the door. He was already late, way late, there was no way they hadn’t already started, he was just hoping that when he did, finally, show up, they wouldn’t give him hell.
__
A/N:
Hey, everyone.
"IS THE WHOLE ROOM GOING RED?!"-- Red: Derogatory term used during the cold war to describe communists. 'Better dead than red.' 'Better red than dead.'
That's all.
@_@;;
Re: Ptichka 2b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-26 12:22 am (UTC)(link)I don't think you've any idea how much I love this. XD
Author!Anon
(Anonymous) 2010-09-26 12:25 am (UTC)(link)Re: Ptichka 2b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-29 08:04 am (UTC)(link)I love this please do update.
Author!Anon
(Anonymous) 2010-09-29 10:42 pm (UTC)(link)OTHER NEWS:
Oldman-laptop is being mean to this Anon. I may have to take it in, and updates might be slow until I get it back, UNLESS I get over my inability to use the freaking USB drive I have everything backed up on-- [/end mini-rant.]
<3
Re: Author!Anon
(Anonymous) 2010-10-02 05:31 am (UTC)(link)<3
Can't wait to see how this pans out.
ALSO, UNF CANT WAIT TO HAVE ALFIE IN THAT CORSET.
Author!Anon needs some help. e_e
(Anonymous) 2010-10-17 01:19 am (UTC)(link)Re: Author!Anon needs some help. e_e
(Anonymous) 2010-10-17 07:18 am (UTC)(link)I'm pretty sure it'd be okay if you start posting in the past-part fills and use the remaining comment space here to post a link to where the story will be continued. I know I'd be upset if you had troubles posting this story or I missed what comes next. :)
I hope I helped...
Re: Author!Anon needs some help. e_e
(Anonymous) 2010-10-17 10:58 pm (UTC)(link)<3