(Untitled)

[mygodmyright]

[ knock knock knock, Marshall Street. England's going up and down the hall with an empty measuring cup, knocking on random doors. What's he after? A simple cup of sugar/baking soda/whatever. It changes with every door he knocks on. This would be a completely normal friendly neighbour sort of routine, except for the fact England's slightly

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[brotundbier]

((Opens his door and frowns.))

England? ((...)) Probably not. What do you need it for?

[mygodmyright]

Germany? When did you-- that doesn't matter.

[ & after a slight pause of thought ]

Lend me a cup of baking soda, and I'll knock £1m off your existing debt.

[brotundbier]

You don't have to, really. ((That's more of an insult than a gift.)) Hold on a moment, I'd have to see what's in the pantry.

((As he goes in:)) You're welcome in if you want.

[mygodmyright]

[ it's the thought that counts, right? ;o; & moseying on in after Germany, kind of stumbling to and fro ]

You wouldn't believe how difficult it is to find a cup of sugar in this blasted city; I've gone from room to room, and no one seems to have any. Uncivilised, the lot of them.

[betrayedblade]

[What is a drunk doing on the top floor idek--

Giovanni just stares at him dispassionately, his white hood cast down on his shoulders and leaving him less shadowy, but that didn't mean much. Finally he sighs and the expression relents as he relaxes and shakes his head wearily.]

I do not keep much here. And I don't think you should be traveling the hallways much less to the school supply room.

[mygodmyright]

[ drunks appear everywhere, when you least expect them. England is unfettered by Giovanni's cloak or somewhat shadowy appearance, and instead props himself on the door frame, while holding his measuring cup out ]

A bit of alcohol's never stopped me before, and I can't bake a bloody cake without sugar.

[betrayedblade]

Even this much? [He remarks under his breath and in Italian to boot.

He shakes his head.] I don't think I have enough for something like that.

[priceoftruth]

[Guess who was sound asleep in Marshall when you started crashing around and knocking on doors?

And guess who gets grumpy when he's woken up?

YEAH. That'd be this guy. He yanks the door open, still half-asleep.]

The hell's all that noise for?

[mygodmyright]

[ it's your 3 am wakeup call, Edward! England just gives him a very drunk grin while holding out his measuring cup ]

Have any nutmeg to spare?

[priceoftruth]

[Fuck my life fuck my life fuck my life. Still half (or, well, mostly) asleep, all you're gonna get for a minute is some staring.

And staring...

And staring...]

Any what?