♕ onze; [accidental video] (chip event END) [backdated to the 24th]
[England's fist has just crashed into France's face. The Frenchman lies on his back, dressed in something out of the late 1700's. His ornate collar is distinctly drenched in blood, but not from this fight
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I am not on enough drugs to deal with this.
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He will live. Perhaps you should thank me!
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[ HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT HE'S FEELING RIGHT NOW, BUT IT'S NOTHING POSITIVE. ]
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He's speaking in English thank God, but... his eyes are painfully tired and he mostly looks cold, insane and a bit confused.]
You are... most welcome... ? What are you thanking me for, Amerique?
[ 8< ]
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[ And now, he thinks, that he may just die from this, God willing. ]
[ But he's on his feet again with a stagger, though it takes more than a few moments, and he spits out a tooth and oh that's what that was and clutches his wounded shoulder. ]
Is that all.... Is that all... is... [ Gather your wits about you Arthur, this fight isn't over yet. ] --is that all you've got, then? [ From the blistering pain of his split lip to the searing shocks his bad foot his sending through his body, Arthur is exhausted, and knows this isn't going to last much longer, somewhere, deep down. ]
[ But pride prevents logic, and he stumbles forward again, and drops his hand from his bad arm, aiming a clumsy punch at France. ]
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Nations are not fragile. By their very nature they are immortal, they endure or suffer until their citizens and state dissolve and then they disappear.
But here--here, he had that blessed significant advantage.
France catches that clumsy hand and holds it fast. England is receiving no sympathy from France's eyes or heart. Every blow, every break, every drop of blood--they served as a lesson to that ignorant, filthy... ]
Non. It is not all I have for you, lapin. [voice soft, chillingly familiar and gentle. He curls his hand around England's and unfolds it quite affectionately, his long and certain fingers guiding England's with care.]
My dear Angleterre... You have not learned. [Snap. With his strength, precise and subtle, he breaks one of England's fingers.]
The time I spent teaching you, where you reaped the benefits of my assistance even as my bitter enemy, you never listened. You never understood. [ ( ... )
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You want to teach me just how much you always hated me? You want to teach me just how much you truly, truly deteste my existence! Well then by God, do it! Here! [ The broken mess of bones, blood and sinew prevents him from ( ... )
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[Belatedly, she realises she's unarmed. She was sitting quite peacefully until she heard gunshots and noticed just what was going on. Still, she doesn't hesitate and falter, there's no use regretting that now. She grabs Arthur's wrist while simultaneously trying to shove Francis out of the way, paying the gun no attention for now.]
I can't believe this, I can't believe you!
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He really, really shouldn't say anything.... ]
Hey! [ Well, it's still fairly neutral. He hasn't hurled any French insults he picked up via osmosis or anything. And it can be for whichever option you think works better? ]
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... Hong Kong. Bonjour...
I'm thinking this is because of the unintentional broadcast. Isn't it?
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Yeah, that's the gist of it. [ He hunches his shoulders a little, but doesn't stop looking straight into the camera. ] I had to say something.
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... [God, he doesn't know what to say. France, at a loss for words? Unthinkable! And yet...
The silence extends and he just shakes his head.]
He will be--ah... Angleterre will be... fine.
[This whole series of events has had him so rattled that he looks visibly distraught despite his attempts to hide it.]
... I wish you had not seen that. I-- am the world's brother, to think that everyone, even the little ones, could stumble across it...
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It makes his stomach churn.
This is... no joke then. No creation of a bored mind. He knows that France would not relive these days willingly, without reason.]
Frankreich...
[For a few long moments, it seems as if he will not continue. His face is pale, expression even.
Then it twists into something hard, dark, even if still restrained.]
Stop. I will not watch you succumb to this sickening madness again.
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... Autriche.
['Again.' Was this a ruse, or an Austria from a later point in time? For a moment, France bites his tongue. There is too much on what to think. His breathing remains even, but this has hardly been a good evening for--for anyone.
His expression matches Austria's except it's far more telling of the anger and frustration boiling underneath. The restlessness.]
I follow no commands from you. Yet, what would you have me do? Shall I erase chaos from my lands with a wave of my hand while the other nations beholding my fraying borders longingly? Shall I sign with you a set of treaties--or if you claim to be from some year beyond mine, I suppose I have already done this!
[He laughs softly, then leans forward, eying Austria in the tiny strange device in front of him.]
Or perhaps this madness of which you speak, the madness and chaos of necessary change; you simply find these things unnerving.
[France's icy smile fades and his expression ( ... )
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[A heavy sigh.]
Yet...
[There is a horrid taste in his mouth.]
No. There is nothing I can command of you. You must continue as you are, I think. If I thought for an instant that that was some alternative, a better path, one less bloody and wretched - [He pinches the bridge of his nose.] - I would be having a different conversation with you.
[And oh how he has turned the revolution over in his mind. He is certain France has - will - also, entertaining what ifs and what thens.
It does no good.]
What you are fighting for. It is...
[His voice sticks, uncomfortable and heavy in his throat. He cannot say the truth word, cannot bring himself to spit it out. The unpleasant tastes curdles, spreads.]
Necessary.
[It is no kindness. Austria does not subscribe to showing kindness for its own sake.]
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Has the world changed to the extent that even you would say such a thing, coupled with the motive to placate me?
... If there was an alternative, then God truly has turned His back on us. Regardless, the old poisons of Europe will not be drained with ease. I have discussed this with you already.
Europe will be purged.
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[She's too late, Romana realises as soon as she finishes. Too late for him to hear her, to late to try and get him to listen. There's her own growl of frustration as she kicks something. The sight of England's blood drenched face won't leave her, but dammit. France and England, they were supposed to be allies. And for all that Romana and England had hit each other, neither had been aiming to kill each other.
And she knows that's what France is planning. Quickly Romana types out a frequency, cursing softly as she waits impatiently for it to connect, for Prussia to pick up]
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Timing is everything. Romana watches the two men carefully, waiting until she sees Prussia approaching before stepping forward, gun held tightly in her right hand, leveled carefully. If she was to shoot now, there'd be a very good chance of France recieving a headshot. And she rarely misses.]
Francia! Stand down! Or I'll make you, got it?
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What in Hell do you think you're doing?
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