"Nein," Germany whispers, his fingers clinging to France's shoulder like the only thing he can count on in the world. "Nein, I'm not you, I'm not you."
His double puts one gloved hand on his cocked hip, and the pose ought to look slightly ridiculous with that uniform but it doesn't, because that's just the sort of Nazi Weimar would be.
"Oh liebling," the vision murmurs, in Weimar's smoothest, wickedest stagevoice. "You're gonna love it
( ... )
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His double puts one gloved hand on his cocked hip, and the pose ought to look slightly ridiculous with that uniform but it doesn't, because that's just the sort of Nazi Weimar would be.
"Oh liebling," the vision murmurs, in Weimar's smoothest, wickedest stagevoice. "You're gonna love it ( ... )
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"Well, he isn't here." He puts the gun down on the wet floor, staring at the Nazi because it's better than looking back at France.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I sorry I only came to try and help you but death follows me. I'm so sorry."
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