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Post by Scotland on Aug 27, 2012 5:21:58 GMT -5
A bit smug at having left England rather at a loss for words, Scotland studied the two ladders side by side. Now that he didn't have his pack, it would be easier to get across with nothing throwing off his balance. As if to answer England's question, he hopped up onto the ledge, putting one foot each between the rungs of each ladder.
"If it can hold me, it can hold ya," he offered as a simple explanation for his move. It made perfect sense, so it was likely to be accepted. In reality he wasn't going to take a chance of England crashing down to the alleyway below when Scotland probably had a greater chance of survival. He still had to get England back in one piece, fool that his little brother was.
He reached out with one foot and stepped on the nearest rung that wasn't lying on the ledge. The ladder creaked and he could feel it flex under his weight, but it held. He wanted to be able to run across the ladders, but that would most likely cause them to move and surely dump him. He couldn't take too long on them either.
"Don't dump me." He spared a glance back at the blonde, eyebrow cocked in a skeptical look. "I'll haunt ye till the end o' time."
Then he took a breath and stepped out onto the the other ladder, taking a few moments to catch his balance while the ladders rattled a bit against each other where they touched. He looked across to the other rooftop and with his arms spread wide for balance, he began to step from rung to rung, the metal ladders shuddering and creaking as he went.
[Wanted to give England a chance to react to the high wire act before finishing]
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Post by England on Aug 28, 2012 10:24:13 GMT -5
"Please, like I'd ever risk having your ugly mug haunting me for the rest of my life. Having you around already is bad enough." England grumbled, immediately gripping the ladders, though considering his strength (or lack thereof), he doubted he could do much if ever his brother toppled over. Perhaps he could try to stabilize the ladders, so they wouldn't move? He'd do his best. It would be a pain to drag Scotland back to the warehouse if he fell, broke all the bones in his body, and got half his muscle mass eaten off his bones by some awaiting zombies, so England wanted to avoid that at any cost.
"Why don't you crawl, you stupid wanker? It won't do much for speed, but think of stability!" he hissed, watching his brother's every movement and trying not to dread the moment when he'd have to do the very same. "And don't forget to secure the roof once you get there!" he reminded him, quite pointless, because he knew the redhead wouldn't be careless enough to disregard such an important procedure. He was just trying to distract himself from the fall.
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Post by Scotland on Aug 30, 2012 9:54:39 GMT -5
He was half hopping from rung to rung, but trying to keep his steps light as the ladders flexed and creaked under his weight. When England snarled at him to crawl, he flipped the British V hand gesture, wordlessly telling England what to do with himself.
It was a huge sigh of relief when he reached the last rungs on the other side and carefully stepped onto the ledge itself before hopping down. He scanned the new rooftop with his eyes as he pulled his sword out of its makeshift sling. He silently gestured for England to wait as he went to investigate the structure housing the top of the stairs for this building and the assorted junk left by its previous residents.
Stalking around the stairwell structure, he found it wasn't locked nor barred, but nothing was hiding on the roof. Regardless, he grabbed an metal bed frame and jammed it under the doorknob for the door. That would drastically slow down any zombies trying to come through it. Then he scurried back over to the ladders, looking across at England.
"Yer turn. Crawl if ya want." He propped his sword against the ledge next to him and grabbed onto the rungs nearest him on each ladder. "If the ladder breaks, grab onta one. I'll pull ya up. Or fall an' get eaten if ya want."
He glanced down at the alley and street below, filled with the roaming undead.
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Post by England on Aug 30, 2012 20:54:25 GMT -5
England grumbled obscenities below his breath and glared at Scotland's back as if glaring would burn a hole through him or something of the sort. Unfortunately, no laser vision was spontaneously granted to him, so he simply watched in semi-bated breath as his brother crossed and safely hopped down on the other side. While the latter was busy securing their landing, England couldn't help but turn around and look behind him, as if fearing that zombies had either learned to climb ladders, started to rain from the sky, or acquired some kind of ability that let them chew through metal doors. He just couldn't help it. Knowing he was surrounded like this made him claustrophobic, even if he was in open air.
Once Scotland called out to him, he nodded and took a deep breath, jumping up on the railing and carefully getting on his knees. His sense of balance had been hardened over time, from when he sailed years and years aboard pirate ships that went around the world, but... now was no time to act cocky. He much rather crawl, to be honest. He didn't want to take chances, because Scotland's second suggestion sounded far from appealing.
"Just shut your bloody mouth, maybe I'll make it past this thing alive if you don't ruin my concentration." he tsk-ed before putting his hands on the rungs in from of him and gulping down. The undead, despite being 5 floors down, on the asphalt, could clearly see him (or smell him, for the eyeless ones), and were screeching and moaning up at him. They couldn't reach him up here... unless England went down there. And they didn't look too friendly, so England certainly didn't want to do that.
"Here I go." he whispered to himself and put his knees on the rungs as well to start crawling across.
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Post by Scotland on Sept 1, 2012 14:03:55 GMT -5
Scotland watched England slowly crawl across the ladders. Maybe it offered more stability, but it was so much slower. It looked sillier too.
"Ah, there's a bonnie sight. Crawling on yer knees ta me." He decided to poke and worry at the metaphorical bruise because it was simply fun. He also knew England could take it and dish it back out. Picking on the weak wasn't fun at all. Picking on the strong was far more amusing. He leveled a broad, mischevious grin back across the ladders to the nation on them.
"Ma bonnie lies over the alley, ma bonnie moves slow as can be! Ma bonnie lies over the alley, he's still just an ee-jit /idiot/ ta me!" he sang across loudly, convincing himself he was being motivational. England was more than likely going to hurry across the ladder, just to make him shut up. "Ee-jit! Ee-jit! He's just an ee-jit ta me! Ta me!"
Just to make the crossing a little more annoying, he starts the song over, this time dipping and raising his bushy red brows along with the song. He heard the zombies howling below, but those were likely to be drowned out by Scotland's annoyance/distraction antics.
[Scotland is of course, butchering "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean"]
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Post by England on Sept 2, 2012 10:35:04 GMT -5
England tried to ignore him. He really did try. But when the song ended, only to start over again, he just couldn't help but stop for a moment and glare angrily at Scotland.
"Shut your trap, or the first thing I'm going to do once I get there is push you off the building. Don't make me regret not toppling the ladders while you were crossing." he huffed. "Your friends down there seem eager to see you again, I'm sure you'll love spending your afternoon down with them while I go get the booze and leave." the cries of the zombies waiting below were like a constant warning that one misstep could be his downfall.... quite literally. He wouldn't worry, though. Despite being a total twat, Scotland would not let him fall... Hopefully.
Deciding to ignore him (although that was quite a feat in itself), England concentrated on getting across. He was in no hurry, so crawling did not bother him. And if it was bothering Scotland, well.... All the better for him.
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Post by Scotland on Sept 4, 2012 9:40:15 GMT -5
Scotland got bored of singing after about a dozen repeats of his doctored song. He grinned at England's snarling. The blonde had been cute when he was little and growly and clingy, but he was also kind of cute as an adult, growling theats he didn't mean. Mostly because he invoked memories of his small self. Before Rome got a hold of him.
"I'm gutted /emotionally crushed/, brĂ¡thair /gaelic brother/," he muttered back at the slowly crawling nation. Then his eyes lit up and he jiggled the ladders slightly by the grip he had on the end rungs.
"Earthquake test!" he declared, making each ladder bounce/rattle up and down just a little, but not enough to make them actually move. If England wasn't screaming after this, Scotland was a three-toed monkey.
[Didn't really have much to work with, so short post is short]
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Post by England on Sept 5, 2012 0:07:13 GMT -5
England would have been lying if he said his heart didn't leap in his chest when the ladder suddenly moved underneath him. His breath actually got caught in his throat and he let out a gasp, immediately crouching lower to keep his balance. After giving himself a few seconds to calm down, though, he was as good as new, glaring up at his brother and advancing even faster in a bid to throttle him.
"You stupid wanker, what the bloody fuck was that for!?" he yelled, crawling quicker to hopefully get to the other side before his idiot brother had a chance to pull a stunt like that again. "What if the ladders hadn't held!? These things aren't anything more than aluminum, what if they'd broken!?" during his spewing of acidic words, he'd finally made it to the other side, just in time to jump down next to his brother and punch him in the shoulder. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"
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Post by Scotland on Sept 6, 2012 9:24:03 GMT -5
Scotland couldn't help his gleeful grin as England promptly flipped his lid, exploding into a rant. The other certainly scurried across the rest of the way for sure. Scotland eased his tight grip on the rungs as England scrambled over the ledge, finally able to relax a bit. He was ready to pull the ladders across after them when he was punched into the shoulder. In his head, a voice growled "oh no he didn't," and another voice gleefully answered "oh yes he di~iid!" The second voice could have been America's.
He laughed and bided his time, stepping backwards to drag the ladders across the alleyway and onto this roof in case they would need them to cross to another roof. England was right about one thing. They were made of aluminum. They wouldn't stand up to many more crossings, even with distributing weight across two. The next crossing may be the last one they could safely make.
"Ya only figured that oot now?" he asked as the majority of the ladders finally crossed over the ledge and he dropped them with rattling clangs. "How many wars, ya wanka?"
He drawled the last word as he turned his gaze to England, followed by turning his body to stalk back to the other, trying to crowd the blond back against the ledge. Should England move, Scotland will move with him and closer.
"Ye want ta throw punches, eh?"
[Cliff hanger...]
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Post by England on Sept 6, 2012 14:39:44 GMT -5
"You haven't changed, that's all I wanted to confirm with that oh-so obvious statement of mine. Still as bloodthirsty and ruthless as before." England glared right back at him, fists clenched angrily. Deeply-ingrained instincts dictated he should back away, though, when his brother took a step forward.
It wasn't like he was apprehensive of what would follow depending on what response he gave (alright, yes, perhaps just a little...), but it was mostly his brother's tone that made him back off. More often then not, they ended up getting into arguments like this, and somewhere deep inside, there was still the small England that missed his big brother Scotland. And that smaller England was always punching him in the gut when he got into fights with his brother. The feeling made him nauseous, and England did his best to ignore it entirely.
When the back of his knees hit the ledge, he knew he had to stop shuffling away, and stood up straight, looking up at his brother.
"Fighting right now would be a waste of time and absolutely fruitless. We're better off continuing." he argued, daring him to disagree.
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Post by Scotland on Sept 7, 2012 21:28:04 GMT -5
"What ever happened ta ya?" he asked as he advanced. "Ya haven't acted afeared a' me since afore the wall."
When England stopped from his legs meeting the ledge, Scotland also came to a stop in front of his little brother just an arm's length away. Then he leaned over and put his face in closer. "Wut ya afeared of? Back ta being' the skittish wee rabbit ya were afore I gived ya a backbone?"
Was England slipping? He'd been declining since America pulled away, or the way they saw it: they let America go when he became more trouble than was worth it, but Great Britian had still been a force to be reckoned with. Where was the man who beat, tortured and starved him until he'd escaped to Ireland and then to Canada just to avoid death? The man who had laughed at Scotland's failed attempt to adopt Panama? England had to be slipping to be the man who now cowered away from him, and as much as Scotland wanted to punch him back, with added interest, he just couldn't. The man in front of him right now wasn't a worthy opponent.
After having stared intently at the other for a few moments as all the thoughts flew through his head, he reached out toward's England's face and to attempt to flick him on the forehead as hard as he could manage.
After that he turned and rapidly stepped away to put reaction space between them. There were times he was comfortably sure he could turn his back and not find something shoved into it, and there were times he wasn't so sure. Now he had a store to find. He turned his attention to examining the store signs around them.
[Since Lithuania went to America at 20% of his population fleeing there, I write Scotland doing the same because more than 20% of Scotland fled during the famines, first to Ireland, then to Canada when Ireland suffered famine. The beatings and torture can be found often in their history, but especially after the Jacobite rebellion. Scotland did attempt to adopt Panama. Spain didn't agree. The wall refers to Hadrian's wall, which Rome built to keep Scotland away from England and Wales.]
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Post by England on Sept 8, 2012 15:21:25 GMT -5
"It's not fear." England huffed, slightly insulted. "Don't misinterpret my body language, you dense twat. I just don't want to pick a fight with you, because now is not the time and place." and he was done, completely and entirely done with picking fights with anything that wasn't undead and prowling the streets in search of living beings to eat. Mistakes were in the past. England was trying, he honestly was trying not to repeat them anymore.
"I've never been afraid of you anyway, not before or after the wall, not before or after the Union, not before or after anything. You always tell me I'm all bark and no bite, but you're no different, are you?" Alright, so perhaps that was a slight lie. In the beginning, England had been afraid of his brother. As time went by, though, he learned that being afraid wouldn't do anything, and simply avoided Scotland to be able to avoid the fear that he brought with him. After the Union, it was practically sealed: England had no choice but to tolerate his brother. At that time, he had already started building his ultimate empire, so Scotland's temper was of no trouble to him.
But as he stepped off his pedestal and the sun set on the British Empire, he fell back into old habits. The illusion of power was gone. And then talks and referendums for Scottish independence arose, and England was suddenly afraid again. Not afraid of his brother, no, just afraid of losing him like he lost everything else. In a sense, Scotland still brought fear with him every time he was around England. And England hated that he'd become so weak.
"I'm not afraid of you." he repeated again, making a statement and ready to shove it down Scotland's throat if he had to. "Just tried to avoid yet another spat." Which had worked... more or less. Much less if England would just let his old habit of feeding the fire go.
But, like he'd figured a long time ago, old habits die hard.
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Post by Scotland on Sept 12, 2012 11:51:48 GMT -5
"I'm all bark, no bite, eh?" Scotland mused as his eyes swept over building signs. "Have we both gone soft?"
He turned to give England a foxy grin and walked back to pick up his sword. "If ya want, I can hit ya. That sounds jolly braw /good/."
Then he hooked his thumb back over his shoulder. "Or we can figure a way off this roof cause I saw a store doon there."
He wanted so much to just lay into his little brother the way he used to, and they'd beat each other down until neither could get back up, because that was pretty much how their family showed affection. They didn't hug. They didn't cuddle or have meaningful conversations and paint each others' toes. They destroyed furniture and each other's faces. They snarled insults and threats at each other while really saying I worry about you. How are you?
When they were not in danger of being eaten and had the breathing space for a proper beating down, they would have to sort out their feelings. He headed for the ledge that faced the main road, looking down and to the left. A one story building declared itself to be a beer and liquor store in large painted letters above the doors. Of course, they had to get down and across the street to reach it, without notifying the undead mosh pit below.
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Post by England on Sept 13, 2012 23:12:06 GMT -5
[*is currently living the very same threat of a referendum for Quebec independence* All the governments that want to separate are wayyy too broke nowadays. It's safe to assume a 'no' for everyone xD]
"Huh. Tempered by the time and the tide, I guess." England muttered vaguely as he took a few steps away from the edge of the building and looked around to assess their position. "Keep the fistfight for when we're not about to be torn to pieces if we make a single mistake. Let's indeed focus on the task at hand so I can punch your face in when we get back." he retreated to the older country's side to see where he was pointing. Indeed, there was a store down on the street which was clearly labeled as a liquor store. England's mood improved as he realized that their pointless, spontaneous, impulsive, and entirely irresponsible adventure was close to coming to an end.
Ah well. He'd regret it in the morning. That's what he always did.
His eyes trailed across the expanse of the roof, looking for a way down. Of course, there was the door leading into the building itself, but he didn't want to risk the darkness again. He'd had enough dark for one day. Asides that, there was the emergency staircase on the side of the building, but he didn't know if it would lead them to a safe spot on the ground... if it reached the ground in the first place.
"We should see where the emergency stairs go. Unless you feel like venturing through dark, uncharted territory again, of course." he pointed his thumb at the target of his interest and waited for Scotland's approval.
Not that he needed it, of course. Just being a gentleman, is all.
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Post by Scotland on Sept 15, 2012 12:00:39 GMT -5
[Spain has the same issues. He has two areas, I think, that want independence. That's why for a bit, there was rumor Spain was going to block Scotland's bid because that would open the flood gates. Spain denied the rumors though. The only thing Scotland has going to for him is he has oil fields. But he's still broke.]
"Tis a date," Scotland said in response to the promise of a proper scrap when they got back to the sanctuary. When England suggested emergency stairs, he walked along the ledge and looked down, trying to spot the emergency ladder as well as assessing the situation on the ground. Some of the zombies had spilled out around the side of the building, though most were still jamming themselves in the alleyway they had crossed. He rounded the corner so he examined the wall between this building and the next, finding a ladder. Fortunately this one was one of those that had landings on each floor with a window that opened onto the landing so office workers could evacuate.
The only problem he saw the ladder would make some noise as they came down it, and alert the mob around the corner. Where could they go after that where they wouldn't be overtaken?
"If we go doon this," he pointed at the ladder below, "they'll know. We'll have some time afore they reach us, but they'll come."
He turned to walk back along the ledge to reach the front of the building and looked down, his green eyes scanning the road below to see if it was possible to weave through the alleyways and lose their pursuit. An idea sparked in his head, and he turned to eye his brother. "How about we use bait?"
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