(no subject)
Who: libertyfuckyeah AND asideglance AND spiffingtea
Where: by the Dissimulo observatory
When: July 13th night sometime after America's post.
Rating: This.
Summary: America versus Japan. Fight Club. I think that just about sums it up.
The Log:
Tonight's the night.
A phrase ominous when ascribed to man out for blood or a nation on the verge of war. Perhaps not so much to an adolescent with a stomach full of prepacked food and a lazy gait. If it weren't for the guns and military uniform, he could easily be mistaken for a teenager on a quest to relieve boredom, which is more what America felt like at the moment.
The more he dwelt on it, the more any inkling of familiarity seemed to disappear. No roar of planes, no sloshing of water against ships, no one to mourn. Nothing but two hollow shells that were meant to be something more, land and lives and time, locked a metaphorical reenactment of history for no ends but to satisfy pride. So, really, nothing that actually mattered for their existence or their homes. The only thing on the line was Japan's mind, which America probably wouldn't hold the value of a Sacajawea dollar in its current state.
In America's mind, it was increasingly becoming little more than a game. Win-versus-lose, that's how it always goes, except this time he won't make himself sick if he has fun winning.
Besides. He's doing this for a good cause. He hadn't noticed it before, how Japan had begun to fray like a worn tapestry. Antiquity is only valuable if the piece can be held together, otherwise it's simply a collection rotting threads. Luckily he has America to fix him. Japan needed some humility to remember who he is and pull himself together.
America notes the cloudy sky. Perfect cover for an invasion, but not too useful for someone who's expected. He spots the observatory, slows his strides, and scans the darkness for Japan. It's really not much use with several of those shadowy figures at the corner of his vision. Instead, he sighs and casually pulls out a granola bar to snack on.
Where: by the Dissimulo observatory
When: July 13th night sometime after America's post.
Rating: This.
Summary: America versus Japan. Fight Club. I think that just about sums it up.
The Log:
Tonight's the night.
A phrase ominous when ascribed to man out for blood or a nation on the verge of war. Perhaps not so much to an adolescent with a stomach full of prepacked food and a lazy gait. If it weren't for the guns and military uniform, he could easily be mistaken for a teenager on a quest to relieve boredom, which is more what America felt like at the moment.
The more he dwelt on it, the more any inkling of familiarity seemed to disappear. No roar of planes, no sloshing of water against ships, no one to mourn. Nothing but two hollow shells that were meant to be something more, land and lives and time, locked a metaphorical reenactment of history for no ends but to satisfy pride. So, really, nothing that actually mattered for their existence or their homes. The only thing on the line was Japan's mind, which America probably wouldn't hold the value of a Sacajawea dollar in its current state.
In America's mind, it was increasingly becoming little more than a game. Win-versus-lose, that's how it always goes, except this time he won't make himself sick if he has fun winning.
Besides. He's doing this for a good cause. He hadn't noticed it before, how Japan had begun to fray like a worn tapestry. Antiquity is only valuable if the piece can be held together, otherwise it's simply a collection rotting threads. Luckily he has America to fix him. Japan needed some humility to remember who he is and pull himself together.
America notes the cloudy sky. Perfect cover for an invasion, but not too useful for someone who's expected. He spots the observatory, slows his strides, and scans the darkness for Japan. It's really not much use with several of those shadowy figures at the corner of his vision. Instead, he sighs and casually pulls out a granola bar to snack on.