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Post by Scotland on Nov 7, 2012 0:44:07 GMT -5
The bike wobbled just a bit from having weight suddenly pile on from one side, and Scotland leaned against it, pulling England closer to the center when he felt his arm close around the other's waist. He lifted his chin high to keep the blade of the axe from hitting his little brother during the pick up, as high as he could lift his chin and still see what was ahead of them.
Feeling England's body solidly against his chest was relief. As long as they weren't tackled or tripped on the way out, they were free. His escape plan had worked. He was getting them both out alive and well, especially since he'd put them both into danger. He kept his arm curled around England as the other squirmed and found a suitable position for the trip back.
"Well I can't say that was the most graceful thing we've ever done."
He just grunted in agreement around the axe handle in his mouth, keeping his eyes on the path ahead and he turned the corner between two buildings to get back to the main road. It was still clear, since the zombies hadn't caught up with them yet. Once England was fully settled and he could put his hand back on the bike handle, he planned to free his mouth. That opportunity was taken from him when it was tugged out of his teeth, and he let it go since there was no point in fighting about it. It wasn't very comfortable anyway.
"So if you have any smart-ass comments to make, it's now or never."
"Aye." He took the offer. "Yer an arse."
The insult was weak, but Scotland was far too relieved and pleased for his insults to have teeth. However, he couldn't leave an open offer like that unfilled. Once England squirmed around some more to settle himself more securely, Scotland let go of his waist and grabbed onto both handlebars to start weaving through the car obstacle course. He had to slow down greatly to ease his way through the vehicle graveyard, trying not to look into the car windows as they passed, even if he imagined hearing the weak cries of the dead baby from random cars on either side.
"I left the loot by yer bike," he offered as they weaved along, comforted and confident with feeling England warm and alive against his chest. Even if the other needed to get more meat on his bones. "I got yer rum."
He paused and knocked England on the back of the head with his chin. "An' yer eatin' somethin' when we get back. E'en if I hafta tell the lad."
He put enough emphasis on the lad so England could easily guess who was being implied in the threat.
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Post by England on Nov 7, 2012 23:48:53 GMT -5
((SCOTLAND. SCOTLAND WAT R U DOIN TO MAI FEELS. SCOTLAND STAHP.))
"Dreadfully good news you've got there." England groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly and leaning back, putting his weight against his brother for a lack of holds to stabilize him on the moving vehicle. He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes, momentarily flying far away into a place where nothing would be able to hurt them, letting the cold breeze slap against his face in an oddly comforting fashion. And the next second, he was back, opening his eyes and being reminded that there was no such thing as paradise. Just the small moments he could grasp that would remind him that all hope was not lost. This was one of these moments. And it would have lasted longer if Scotland hadn't bumped his head and broken the silence.
"Since when have you cared?" England grumbled, diverting his eyes though Scotland couldn't see him and blushing softly. The rare mention of concern was mildly shocking and he was taken aback that Scotland had mentioned it, even more so in a tight situation like theirs. "I-I'll eat whenever I get hungry, alright? You don't have to tell anyone..." Especially not the lad, as Scotland had so gracefully hinted. "It wouldn't be very productive, either, seeing as we're rationed anyways." they'd all have to bear with some cuts here and there.
"Though perhaps we should've stopped for some extra bread from a corner store. Smashed on an empty stomach will either make for a very painful morning or no morning at all." He wasn't in the mood for coming back from the dead only to be berated for knowingly taking the risk of getting blood intoxication. Especially not by America. And especially-the-hell-not by Scotland. Though Scotland was more likely to just throw a lamp at his head than yell at him for being an idiot. On second thought, he might do both. England didn't even know. He always got confused when his older brother, usually so aloof and cynical, showed even the tiniest bit of concern.
"Anyways." he quickly changed the subject. "Are we done swerving through this sea of cars yet? Though we're on a moving vehicle, this is a very dangerous terrain to move through. Crawling with the bloody bastards." he made a 'tch' noise and crossed his arms though it affected his stability. The open sides were sealed off by Scotland's arms, though, so he knew that no matter happened, as long as his brother was there, there was no way he would fall.
((derp see what I did thar. Double-meaning mode activate. BOOP.))
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Post by Scotland on Nov 11, 2012 6:23:54 GMT -5
"If ye dunnae eat, ye get hosed /FUBAR/, ya bloody bassa," Scotland growled at the back of England's head. "If ye get hosed, who th' hell is gonnae lead that lot? Ye gonnae leave it tae th' lad?"
Again he stressed the lad, this time more to express his contempt of the idea. Leaving America in charge of something would probably cause some war where anything named after another country would end up renamed Freedom instead. Or worse yet, leave Scotland himself in charge. "Scotland, someone is stuck outside in the zombie horde!" "Really? Sucks ta be them."
At the comment about getting bread, Scotland snorted. "Ye an' yer weak stomach."
While Scotland appreciated a good meal as much as anyone else, having an empty stomach meant you could fit more beer or whisky into it. Food took up valuable drink space.
When England complained about their progress, Scotland felt his teeth grind and his hands tightened, wringing the hard rubber sleeves on the handlebars. His plan worked, dammit. They were getting out in one, well, two pieces. However, it wasn't being done fast enough for Mr. High and Mighty. If England didn't eat something when they got back, Scotland was going to choke the man out. Scotland was often torn between being concerned for his little brother and wanting him dead. He was going to have to bring up independence again. At least that way he didn't have to care as much.
"Wheesht!" he rumbled at the other, spotting the other bike up ahead as he pulled free of the last of the cars. He put on speed and came to a gravel-spraying stop near the other bike, grateful to see the two bags were still there, waiting and unpilfered. He harshly jabbed a finger at England's blonde head while keeping watch on the axe the other held. Antagonizing England while he held a weapon wasn't always wise, but then, no one accused Scotland of being a scholar.
"Git oof /off/."
[FUBAR would be Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. I couldn't think of a shorter way to translate 'hosed'.]
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Post by England on Nov 15, 2012 14:57:18 GMT -5
"Scotland awoke three days later with a sharp pain in his gut and wondered what had happened. And then, he realized he'd died from blood poisoning and would have to wait awhile before his liver regenerated itself. The end." England sighed irritably, speaking as if he were telling a story to a child. The idea of blood poisoning was strangely appealing, but entirely illogical in a situation like theirs. That, and he didn't really feel like putting up with the surprise effect he'd have upon waking up from death. Those effects were one type of surprise he could live without. "Take your claims of me having a weak stomach and shove them up your arse, you stupid wanker. I just enjoy staying alive as much as possible."
And as confused as he was about Scotland's mood swings (one moment, he was telling him to eat more, and the other, he was insulting him), he was glad to have things back to normal, no matter how relatively abnormal his normal really was. Upon arrival, England wobbled on his seat when Scotland made the rough stop, and didn't know whether or not he was satisfied to be off the bike. Grumbling something akin to 'my pleasure, wouldn't have asked for anything more', he swung his leg across and jumped down the bike, shoving him with his shoulder on purpose and then handing the axe he was still holding back to him.
"Right, well, we should get going. Hopefully we can get back before dark, seeing as the sun sets all too quickly around here." he stretched out for a moment and then walked towards the bags, picking one at random and handing it to his brother. He then grabbed the other and swung it on his back, shifting his gun so it would hang on his front. It was at times like these that he regretted ever choosing the heavy, large weapon, though he couldn't say that it hadn't been worth it in many situations. After he'd checked for anything urgent to take care of before leaving, and made sure his weapons were all set securely on his clothing, he mounted his bike, and turned it on.
"Ladies first." he invited, motioning to the path ahead of them with his head. The only thing that now separated him from a nice shower, and then getting smashed was a two-to-three hour ride. England couldn't wait.
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Post by Scotland on Nov 16, 2012 4:01:38 GMT -5
"Fuck ya, sassenach /from the south/," Scotland growled a bit. "Me liver ain't a wee bairn /baby/ liver like yers."
When England shoved him while climbing off, Scotland reflexively tried to whap the blonde in the head. Fortunately for England, he had managed to hop just out range of the hastily performed action and probably didn't notice his narrow escape. Or maybe he'd hopped that way on purpose. Scotland settled for roughly snatching the axe back when it was offered instead, with the quirked mouth and low-lidded eyes expression one might give to a child that admitted to taking something they shouldn't have.
He resecured the axe to the belt at his hip. It was good that England was snappy and sarcastic. It meant he was going to be all right. Which meant Scotland could stop worrying. Making sure England ate was now just a method to annoy his brother, one that everyone else would see as something positive and support his efforts. It was win-win.
Scotland lazily rolled his bike forward with his feet and accepted the bag offered, taking some time to settle it in a comfortable configuration on his back. It was going to be a long ride and he didn't need the neck of a bottle or the corner of a box jabbing him in the back. As England adjusted likewise, Scotland ground his grip on the bike's handbars. Now that he wasn't in survival or mission mode, being around England made him want to smoke. He wanted one now. Lighting up would be pointless though. The wind would extinguish it or just plain take it from his mouth when he inhaled. He'd tried to smoke while riding once. The lit end had spun around as the wind took it and hit him in the cheek, sending hot ash up into his eye and almost sending him off the side of the road. He'd just have to endure the trip and make up for it when they got back.
"Dunnae vex /worry/ yerself aboot the dark," the redhead muttered. "Ye'll be movin' too fast fer it ta catch ye."
He wasn't sure if England had heard him or not, especially since the other bike's motor started up during the last half of his words. When England offered to let him lead in his typical snarky fashion, Scotland placed his hands against his own chest the way a woman may hold her breasts.
"Ye finally noticed me girlish figure," he said with a grin, moving his fingers as if pinching his own nipples. The reaction he expected was a flustered England who would try and get in the last word, which Scotland didn't want to give him. He wanted England to stew over it during the ride, just like big brother would be craving a smoke. He quickly grabbed the handle bars and spared a glance for the city left behind before revving up the bike and leading the way out onto the road.
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Post by England on Nov 20, 2012 23:14:28 GMT -5
England wished he hadn't revved his engine up at that particular moment, considering the fact that Scotland he'd missed one of the rarely considerate things Scotland said. Sadly, he missed the last part, but at least he heard the first. And he wondered if Scotland had actually given a thought to his fear of the dark, or if he was just saying it because he could. Either way, it did calm England down somewhat to know that even if dark fell, he wouldn't be alone. As cheesy as that sounded even to him. Either way, he wouldn't worry. Dusk was about to fall, so if they both hurried, they should be able to make it back just as darkness fell.
"You simply must work on your figure more, brother dear. You are embarrassing," he merely sighed at Scotland's antics, rubbing his forehead to cover the rising blush on his cheeks. Thankfully, no one was around to witness his brother making a fool of himself, so England quickly got over it and mounted his bike completely, revving the engine again before pulling his feet up and following Scotland out. He definitely would have made some kind of jab at Scotland's kilts and a link to feminity, but he was not in the mood for any kind of argument.
Looking back for only a split-second at the city that was looming high above behind them, England turned his eyes to the road and quickly decided to leave it behind. Wobbling unsteadily at first, he quickly regained his balance and followed Scotland out into the road that would lead them back to the others, hopefully to be only mildly admonished for his stupid decision and to be more celebrated than anything else. Of course, they came bearing liquid dreams. All the nations, stuck in a nightmare reality, would love a moment of bliss. Hopefully, it would distract them from the fact that England had cracked under pressure and had left impromptu with his brother without advising anyone, just to go and risk being killed in a city infested with the undead for a shot at bringing back some golden bliss in a bottle.
The city was towering behind them, but as they weaved around the last cars stuck in the middle of the road and accessed the open, it slowly receded until it was just another memory to drown.
((Must. Control. Drawing. Urges. Hahahaha xD))
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Post by Scotland on Nov 21, 2012 3:13:49 GMT -5
[[Should we say done or carry forward to the compound and drinking?]]
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Post by England on Nov 21, 2012 10:13:09 GMT -5
((Separate thread? Or perhaps this could be linked to the "drinking all night long" thread or whatnot and be left at that. Unless you really wanna RP it, in which case we could start somewhere else ;3))
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Post by Scotland on Nov 27, 2012 11:24:53 GMT -5
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Post by England on Nov 28, 2012 0:15:12 GMT -5
((What is Scotland's obsession with England having to eat? Whatever it is, it's giving me the feeeeeeeeeeeeeels. I gusta this. Alright then, we'll bring America along for the ride. Separate thread in.... the common area, for a lack of other suggestions? :I))
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Post by Scotland on Nov 28, 2012 5:43:56 GMT -5
[Scotland wants to feed England because England doesn't want it. So it's a way to harass England that others will actually approve of. Why don't we just carry on in this thread?]
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Post by England on Nov 29, 2012 11:49:07 GMT -5
((Alright, if you want. Though I was thinking another thread since America's coming in, but hey, why not just keep going. Your turn! ^^))
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Post by Scotland on Dec 3, 2012 12:54:10 GMT -5
Scotland led the way into the meeting room to make use of the table space, and there shouldn't be anyone else in there. Once he reached the table, he put his bag carefully down on it and opened it, pulling out the boxes of cigars and cigarettes/fags. He set those aside to check the bottles for breakage or signs of cracks. He hadn't felt any wetness on his back during the ride, so everything should be intact. He pulled the bottles out of the bag, setting them on the table in triumph.
It was a pretty good haul. Once he collected all the tobacco, he intended to kick back right here and have his first glass. In fact, he was going to have a cigar right here too. After that trip, he doubted England was going to protest. Even if England did protest, he was going to anyway.
They had luckily made it back maybe only about an half hour after dark, meaning the sky was dark enough they'd have to use their headlights to navigate safely. As he waited for England to follow suit by opening his bag, Scotland unbuckled the belt for his axes, letting them fall to the floor and kicking them aside. Unbuckling and slipping out of the straps for his sword harness came next, and he rested that a bit more carefully against the wall.
[Short post because I don't know if England is lagging behind. And it would take time for Scotland to do all of the above.]
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Post by England on Dec 10, 2012 20:08:37 GMT -5
((Late post because I was finishing college FUYAH my first semester is done :U
After putting the bikes back where they belonged, England headed back in, glad that they were both safe and sound even after a crazy adventure like theirs. The drinks on his back were sloshing invitingly, and England did not feel wet, which meant they were all still up for consumption. Heading in, he avoided everybody wandering around or sitting in the common area in the back, and immediately made his way around to the meeting room, where Scotland was probably already waiting for him, true to his words before they'd parted.
His assumption turned out to be correct as he spotted the fiery mop of hair disarming himself by the table, bottles of alcohol already lined up next to the stack of smokes. He made his way over, swinging the bag around and then setting it down on the table, opening it to bring out his haul as well, curious as to what Scotland had picked.
"Someone's eager to get pissed," he commented, pulling out bottle after bottle with a satisfied nod and lining them up on the table. "I can't say I blame you. We really should have gotten others along for the night, too, though."
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Post by Scotland on Dec 14, 2012 11:44:07 GMT -5
"Pissed is the way God meant us ta be," Scotland responded with a grin. "Tha's why he created drink. Then he made Scotsmen ta be its masters."
He practically threw himself into a chair so it creaked from leaning backwards and lifted his feet up onto the edge of the table while crossing his ankles so his bootheels made two thumps. He happily leaned back and stretched his arms out to full extension, a picture of contentment. He was alive and well, with a whole lot of booze and smokes waiting for his pleasure. About the only way to make it better would be to have a large meal standing by and someone warm and happy-to-be-there in his lap. Maybe once he was good and pissed, he'd find someone's bedsheets willing to take him in.
He grabbed one of the bottles of whisky and worked the cap off, tossing that on the table and taking a mouthful of the amber liquid straight from the bottle. He let out a satisfied sigh from the flavor on his tongue and pleasant burning in his throat followed by his belly turning warm. "Others? Ah, yer right. Ya wanted ta eat first. I'll fetch the boy then."
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