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Post by England on Sept 16, 2012 22:56:41 GMT -5
England had just grabbed his favourite mug and was closing the cupboard doors when Spain mentioned his lover, and his grip went momentarily weak on his mug before he clenched his hands into a fist, catching it before it left his hand. Great. Another problem to worry about: people knowing about his and America's relationship. The last thing he wanted was for the word to go around and for people to start pestering him about it- the definition of which included using his lover as an argument against him. Steeling his expression, England turned around, mentally telling himself over and over again that being calm was the right solution.
Carefully choosing his words in order to avoid the additional issue at hand, England put his mug on the counter and crossed his arms.
"And for a moment, let me humour you and pretend that your ludicrous idea that I am taking too much work on my shoulders is true." Not so ludicrous. England even admitted to himself that sometimes, he just wanted to punch the wall in frustration as the stacks of paperwork never decreased. He was just afraid of admitting it to the world, afraid of revealing the truth, admitting that he'd been wrong, and that he'd lost. England hated losing, so whatever it took, he would not give in, even if it drove him to a breaking point.
"Praytell, who do you think I could give the finance managing to? Budget planning for both the Nations' needs and the warehouse isn't easy to do, if that's what you believe." he gave Spain a few seconds to think, but not enough to formulate an answer. "And who else than I could know the structures to inspect for repair? How about progress reports on the Project? Who do you think could write a formal progress report on everything that's been going on in every sphere of our involvement in the Project, and be eloquent enough to tell that that we're barely even making any fucking progress without fearing the consequences of such a blunt and honest statement?" Calm down, England, calm down. "No one can do any of those, so please, do be kind enough to share with me what your ideal world would be, because most obviously, our world is a definite ideal." he finished with a low snarl, realizing that he'd taken a very aggressive, but very alert stance, as if ready to defend or counterattack at any sign of assault.
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Post by [x] Spain on Sept 16, 2012 23:15:40 GMT -5
Spain's eyebrows rose when he saw England nearly drop the mug. So he was right after all. "By the way, that 'lover' comment was just a guess. I do most of the laundry, so I'm pretty good at figuring out what stains are what." Especially since semen doesn't dissolve or mix in water and he had make sure that nothing got over the other clothes.
He listened, nodding and trying to respond, but just groaning in frustration. Of COURSE other people could do those jobs! He could name one for everything he listed.
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong." With a small smile, he held up his fingers, counting off every job. "Finances? Germany. He's the closest we have to Switzerland. Or you could go with Austria. Everyone knows he's a cheapskate and will keep our spending very low. Structures to inspect could easily be me, another groundskeeper or if it's in the city, Canada. Progress report could be China, maybe Japan. Though Japan's a better option since he knows the best way to make sure it's as inoffensive as possible because that's how he is. And you might not like him, but when France gets serious, he can be as eloquent as Shakespeare. Together, Japan and France can be a perfect team to break bad news."
He grew serious at the low snarl. That was new. "You don't have get so defensive by the way. In my 'ideal world' you would've told me what's bothering you so I could help. Something - probably work - is stressing you out and keeping all your frustration bottled up isn't a good thing at all." At the end of his little speech, he added one more statement. "After all, I speak from experience. It's not pretty when all my pent-up emotions and frustrations are released. Trust me on it."
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Post by England on Sept 17, 2012 0:23:45 GMT -5
"Because you know everything." He didn't understand, he didn't understand that England didn't trust anybody but himself to do those jobs. It was his formal responsibility to watch over these nations, many of which were much older and much more experienced than him, yes, but it didn't change the fact that he was in charge, and he took this very seriously. If he gave everybody his work to do, what would that make him? Lazy? Haughty? Useless? England had finally found something he could be of use with, a position of power he could use to prove he still wasn't dead, even after the great European downfall, that he still held influence even if his country was nothing but one big slum now. He still had his worth to prove, and nobody could take that away from him.
"Alright, so let's say I do hand Austria and Germany the finances. How will they know exactly how much percentage to give to food, clothing, weapons, with every seasons' change? How will they know if we'll have to cut on one side to strengthen the other for this or that reason? How will they know what we have been doing until now and that has been working so well? It's all in my head, the logic is there, and you know perhaps as much as I that explaining something that's close to a reflex to you is quasi-impossible." he raised three fingers, and curled one in a countdown that mimicked Spain's, but in reverse.
"And the structures. Sometimes I forget who was here first and surveyed the grounds before setting everything up. The significant crack in the wall, the fungi under the tiles, the rotting wood of the upper level floor, the hole in the ventilation system, do you know how much time it would take to draw a precise, architectural map of the warehouse and mark off exactly what default is where? There's no point in getting you to survey the surface: you'd have to tear the wallpaper and lift the floorboards to find these subtle mistakes." Another finger went down, though England was tasteful enough, despite his irritation, to leave only his index finger pointed.
"Progress reports are nice and dandy to write, except when they're in context. How many of the Nations here have read the full file on Project Terra Sigma? I mean, read, analyzed, understood, and have taken notes of all 60-or so pages? If any of them have the time and attention to spare, I'd love to order a copy from Europe, receive it with the next supply shipment because it's too big for mail drones to carry, have it read by all the Nations on the task squad, and then ask them to take all our progress and write it in nitpicky detail in a report. I'd be done with the report in the time it took for the officials to print out another official copy of the file." his third finger went down, and all that was left was a fist that he brought down to his side.
"I don't know about you, Spain, but I want to go home." his voice hit a lower pitch, and his gaze softened for just a second before steeling again. "I want to get it all done and go home. I'm not ready to waste so much time on something I could be doing by myself. It's always much easier when something is done by yourself." Irritation flared up inside of him again, and he gritted his teeth. "That's why I just want to do this! Time flies by faster when you've got plenty to do! You know me, Spain, you know how selfish I am. Let me lose track of days and weeks and months and years inside my work. I'm fine, I'm completely fine doing this, and nobody else should have to do it. It's a pain in the ass, but it's a pain in MY ass, and I'm completely fine with that!"
He wasn't even making any sense. He didn't even want to admit any of that. That wasn't even what he'd wanted to say, but there was no turning back now. There were so many things he still wanted to say, and so many things he wanted to contest and deny and admit that he just didn't know where to start. So many reasons, so many alibis for why he didn't want to share his burden, every justification was coming out, one after the other, and England was afraid, suddenly genuinely afraid, that by the time his tea was done, his heart will have been set on the very counter separating them, for the world to see. God damn Spain for pressuring him into opening up like this. And most of all, god damn himself, to the fiery depths of hell, for ever giving into the pressure.
England wanted to cry in frustration.
((Holy shit, how the hell did I even write this long!? I'm sorry D: ))
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Post by [x] Spain on Sept 17, 2012 6:07:50 GMT -5
Okay, so the island nation had a point.
But that's not what Spain was arguing against. In fact, that wasn't what he was aiming for in the first place.
"There we go." He smiled softly, poking England's shoulder (at this rate, he'd end up in the medical ward). "Much better. Venting doesn't hurt anyone~ In fact, it made me less worried about you." He backed off, giving him a break. Spain knew that he wasn't going to get him to open up 100%, but hey, this was progress at least. And now he knew which buttons to press in case this ever happened again. "Plus, I was looking for repair jobs. I had seen some, but thanks for telling me what else I can do~"
With his worry put aside, he began preparations for dinner. Who knew that getting him to open up was just what he needed to get ideas for dinner? As he started rifling through the cabinets to get what he needed, he turned to the other for a brief moment. "England, did I ever tell you exactly how Hercules got Atlas to give him the world and take it back? After all, holding the world was his job and he didn't trust anyone else with it."
With a smirk, he gave him time to think, but not time to actually answer, much like he did him. "He tricked him. See? I told you these stories still apply in real life."
[Its cool. It helped out with this. XD]
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Post by England on Sept 17, 2012 12:26:31 GMT -5
England roughly slapped his hand away when he poked him and took a step back, wary. What else could he do to him if this small intervention had made him admit some of his greatest secrets? England didn't want anybody to know about anything, but there he'd gone and lowered his defenses. Weak, he was weak for giving in so easily. If only he'd kept his temper under control, if only he hadn't spoken, Spain wouldn't have known, and he would have won. He still hadn't been strong enough to win and now he had to live with the knowledge that he'd let himself go and had accumulated yet another loss. And oh, how he hated losing at anything.
And worse even was the fact that he'd been tricked into admitting his secrets. England couldn't even get mad at Spain or blame him, because he wasn't the one at fault, and if he was, it was only slightly. It was England who'd turned on himself. It had been him that had caused his own downfall. His heart ached as he realized that not only was he not strong enough to face other people, but he wasn't even strong enough to control himself.
Suddenly, the topic itself of their conversation didn't matter anymore. England realized, shocked, that no matter what he did, he still wasn't strong enough. Be it fighting a verbal or physical battle, outwitting others or keeping to himself, he was still too weak and always lost. The entire notion of strength and weakness held such a different meaning for him than it did to other people. It wasn't just a couple of concepts: they were factors of life that he had to live by.
"I hate you." he was angry, so angry at himself. "I don't care." Calm down, England. Collect yourself so you don't make any more mistakes. "I don't care what it is you say. This knowledge isn't going to further you anyway." Act like you're right, act like you've been planning this all along. "So what if you know? Knowing won't change anything. Keep your worry to yourself, we've both got much more pressing things on our plates that need to be dealt with immediately." the teapot finally whistled, and relief soared through England's heart. He could finally leave and go drown himself and this confrontation in his work. Forget it ever happened.
"Just make dinner, or whatever it is you usually do." he muttered, quickly removing the teapot and turning the stove off, hurriedly grabbing his mug and pouring a bottom of hot water to warm the porcelain up. The quicker he was done, the better. "I don't need anyone to tell me what to do."
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Post by [x] Spain on Sept 17, 2012 14:18:34 GMT -5
Those three words: 'I hate you' really stung. But it was Spain's fault in a way. He did pressure him into opening up more than he should.
"You might hate me, but I don't hate you." Shaking his head, he went back to preparing dinner to keep his mind off of that looming statement. "And you know, knowing that someone else feels the same way is often a good thing. And knowing that your leader wants to go home as well - at least for me - makes me stronger. I know that he still has a human spirit to him and knows the cost of his wish."
With a deft hand, he set some water to start boiling and quickly began chopping up various ingredients. "And 'whatever I usually do' is looking out for everyone, including you. You might not like it, but it's my job and just how I am. I couldn't protect a lot of people in my history and I caused a lot of pain and suffering, so I'm trying to make amends now by looking out for as many people as possible."
With a light chuckle, he rubbed his neck. "And just so you know, I'm actually really happy that you didn't go and try chocking me like I expected you to. I mean, you have so much pent up stress that I really did expect you to go back to your normal, prideful self and latch onto my throat with the fury of a thousand hells. I didn't expect you to give up so easily." Though his seriousness faded when he realized what that could entail in the future. "Actually... forget I said anything. Having a violent side appear when you have pent up stress is never a good thing." His hands began shaking at the memory of his most recent 'snap'. God, he was such an idiot. Well, as far as he remembered no one living was hurt, so that was good. "And I'd know..." Deep down, he really hoped he'd be asked 'why' or someone get the chance to finally explain the entire situation surrounding the zombies he defeated a while ago on his own (with some small help from Portugal). Even though it wasn't the cheeriest of topics, it'd help him out a lot to finally explain everything.
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Post by England on Sept 17, 2012 17:31:38 GMT -5
And now, England just felt guilty for ever saying he'd hated Spain. They had their spats and their moments, but England had never really hated any Nation at any given time in history. He disliked and envied and feared, yes, but he'd never ever hated anyone. Hate was a strong word, and England, being someone that put a lot of importance in words, wanted to be precise with his vocabulary. He would never apologize for his mistakes, though, so he just hoped Spain would let it slide.
Also, perhaps it worked in his favour that he'd been too tired to get physical. Lately, he just kept all his physical strength to more important needs, like climbing a ladder, or swinging his trench pile at a zombie, or writing a report. He no longer foud the energy inside of him necessary to his bouts of violent attitude. He was just too exhausted to even lift his fist at another Nation. Too tired of fighting, too tired of fighting his kin. He was tired of everything.
"Some part of all of us will always be painfully human. Immortal, but not immoral, that's what we are." That pretty much summed up everything else Spain had mentioned, about him, and about himself. Though he was already done with preparing his tea, he couldn't help but be drawn to the regret in his ally's voice, and couldn't walk away. Because he recognized the emotion in Spain's tone, and he embraced it as something that was ever-present throughout his entire life.
England had always dealt well with familiarity.
"Beings that transcend time itself and bear witness to the horrors of history. What are we, even?" he sipped his tea though it burned his tongue and leant against the counter. "It seems like we'll never stop living through dark times. We all have our demons." he glanced over at Spain. "And yours?"
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Post by [x] Spain on Sept 17, 2012 18:18:50 GMT -5
Well, with such eloquent writers throughout history, it shouldn't have come as a surprise that England could make such a brilliantly-put mini-speech. He got right to the point and made it so that he'd more than likely be unable to forget. Immortal, but not immoral.... something about that struck something inside Spain.
"I think we're what we are." He shrugged, throwing some herbs into the water to give it some flavor. "To me, it doesn't matter what we're called. We're here to help all these people around us who can't do it on their own. We can be gods, we can be devils, we can be nations. We are whatever we are."
He paused at the question of his demons. He did not really want to go into those. But he was honestly too tired of arguing to try and get England to say another one of his. "If you really want to know... There's a side of me I can't escape." Setting down the knife, he turned so he was facing the blonde, though keeping a close eye on the water. "If you recall, I told you about a bunch of zombies I took out a while ago, didn't I? Well... I only did that because I wasn't exactly stable. I don't normally like to pick fights with zombies, seeing as how I'm not the biggest fan of fighting when I don't have to, but I had a lot of pent-up aggression, stress, anger, frustration, you name it. That day, I just lost it completely. Luckily I made it out of the warehouse without seriously hurting someone, but it reminded me that I need to let out my frustrations and my worries or I could end up hurting someone." With one hand, he traced random designs on the cool stone of the counter. "That's why I try and get others to open up. I know first hand what happens when people hold in too much; they snap. Sometimes in more violent ways than others."
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Post by England on Sept 17, 2012 21:32:16 GMT -5
England figured that Spain's explanation of them didn't make much sense, but let it slide. Existentialist questions had never been his forte, as he often got frustrated with them. Or maybe they just weren't meant to be answered. Or maybe he just didn't want to know. In any case, he wasn't going to be answered any time soon, so he just decided to skip over the question of their identity and get to the next point.
He listened to Spain speak, painfully aware that the general feel of what he said was very close to how he'd felt many times before. He guessed it was true that between Nations that had shared such close history, all feelings were the same. Maybe Spain really was the right person to open up to, with that overflowing charisma, understanding and open-mindedness, along with the fact that they'd shared common history that had lasted for hundreds of years. He would understand, probably with a lot less words involved. He and France, they would probably understand him the most. And he would understand them well enough as well.
"Don't we all have the psychopath inside of us?" he sighed once he was done talking, sipping his tea and leaning against the counted again. "At least those were zombies you killed. Don't dwell on the past, that has never done anything. You're among Nations, and you know we could handle you if ever you snapped on us. Even if we couldn't, we'd be able to forgive in due time. We're not enemies here." he turned his head to look at Spain, a lot more at ease now that he was calming down with the help of his tea.
"We're all going to go crazy at some point. In a way, this project is a suicide mission. Each of us is going to leave a part of them here once we leave, and the screams of the undead ringing in our heads will send us shooting out of bed in the middle of the night centuries from now." It was like that for him and the London Blitz. Even today, he was terrified of the darkness, afraid that when the lights came back on, everything he'd cherished would be burned to the ground. The zombies would be eradicated in due time, but they would haunt the humans, and mostly the Nations, for a long time.
And even though he knew that he, or anybody else, could randomly snap at some point and harm themselves or the others, he wasn't convinced. He'd done enough opening up as it was. He really had to work on his barriers (and shutting his mouth!) so he could avoid spilling his weaknesses to the world every time he spoke.
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Post by [x] Spain on Sept 18, 2012 14:43:01 GMT -5
Spain shook his head, running a hand through his messy hair. "While that might be true, I still need to be careful. Mine comes out far too easily for my tastes. And with all this stress and worry building up, the chances of me snapping again rise." With an uncomfortable gulp, he tried to keep his attention on anything other than England. "Especially since I've already hurt someone. I got into a fight with Scotland the day before I lost it completely. It Norway hadn't snapped me out of it, I would have done more than just give him a few scratches and bruises." He took a shaking breath, going back to his duty to keep himself stable and not break down like he desperately wanted to. Where was his strength now that he needed it? "But I suppose you're right. I need to move forward. And everyone here I strong and can handle themselves. I should learn to put more faith in them."
With a hollow laugh, he realized his words. "I can't believe I'm saying that! Seems our roles have reversed, eh?" With another light chuckle, he could feel himself going back to normal. "And how about we change the title from 'suicide mission' to something else. I don't like thinking I'm not going to survive, it makes it harder to keep hoping, am I right? I know it might seem ambitious, but I'm sure that we're all going to make it out of this. Maybe - no, definitely - not the same as when we went in, but as long as we make it out, it won't matter. We've rebuilt many times, and we'll rebuild again. After all, so long as the world keeps turning, we'll have another day."
Now that he thought about it, he told England - England - about his worries with his temper. Since when did he do that?! He found it hard to even open up to France about that, and France was his closest friend! But he supposed that that's what happens when you share enough history and experiences with someone. He had a feeling that he, England, and France would wind up becoming closer than they ever thought would happen, but that would stay a personal theory until the time arose.
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Post by England on Sept 18, 2012 17:45:08 GMT -5
"Suicide doesn't simply refer to the physical process of dying, something that we have been unable to do... Until now, that is." England shook his head. Spain didn't seem to understand what he was getting at. Though he didn't blame him: despite being the one whose people invented the common language everybody spoke nowadays, he often lost mastery of his words, especially when expressing a deep thought he just couldn't explain. He wouldn't blame Spain if he said he hadn't understood a word of what he'd said until now.
"The type of suicide I was referring to is the mental kind. Where you kill off your own reason, your own thought process, your own emotions in an effort to adapt to your situation." he glanced over at Spain, watching his movements carefully. "Becoming a killing machine is mental suicide." Spain's snaps han't been any less than just that: the killing machine inside of him taking control and making him destroy and slaughter without a second thought.
And he thought of his own burn-outs and frustrations, failures and desperation, the killer, the heartless monster inside of him that he'd buried alive and had sworn never to dig out again... And he chuckled, because he actually found it ironic that he and Spain were discussing death, of all people.
"We're all suicidal, in that sense of the term. Nobody's thought process is coming out of this experience the way it was before. Maybe some of us will die, that is something we can fight and prevent. But let's face it: none of our minds are coming out intact from all this. And we're the only ones responsible for our own downfall."
That two suicidal men were discussing death, of all people.
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Post by [x] Spain on Sept 18, 2012 19:26:00 GMT -5
Oh. That's what he meant. Well, English wasn't his first language, so who could blame him. "Still, it's something I'd rather not think about." No, he never wanted to be reminded of his failures, his lack of control, anything like that. Especially when it was so fresh in his memory. "Even if that's what you mean, it still sounds like there's no hope. And that is one thing I refuse to give up."
He raised a brow at England's chuckle. They were talking about death... Why on earth was he laughing? "And I'm not naive enough to think we're not getting out of this the same; I just want to keep thinking that we're getting out of this alive."
In the end, he dismissed it as some British humor he didn't get (and in this context didn't want to get) and instead switched the topic. "By the way, unless I misinterpreted my job description, shouldn't myself and other groundskeepers be doling out chores? Maybe I'm wrong, but you shouldn't have to do that." Before he could go back to the start of their conversation, he held up his hand. "No, I'm not asking you to give me that job if you want to continue doing it. I'm just wondering if there's a specific reason why and we'll leave it at that. I don't want to push you to open up too much."
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Post by England on Sept 18, 2012 20:51:12 GMT -5
"Hmm, you know this as well as me, Spain." England's eyes flashed as the amusement from his previous thought ebbed away, leaving only a sad, ironic smirk on his face. "Throughout history, there has always been hope... But most of the time, it has been slim." he shrugged and sipped some of his tea, letting his nerves cool down completely. "This sliver of hope is all we can hang onto nowadays, so let us hang, for the moment we let go, we are dead men." he then leaned back on his elbows against the counter, looking up at the ceiling as if it held the truth. "Fine, let us keep holding on, because we haven't accomplished our purpose yet. Still, I can't help but correct your statement: We're most definitely going to survive, but by that time, will we even still be alive?"
He gave them a few seconds to mull over the statement, then pushed himself off the counter, a small smile on his face as if he knew something the other didn't. His ideas of life and death, as well as living versus surviving, were very complex, and he was pretty sure Spain wouldn't understand. Still, he did try his luck, mostly because with this conversation, he was not only addressing Spain, but he was addressing himself as well, and if there was one person who understood his senseless mashups of words dubbed 'sentences', it was himself.
"But let's not delve into that too much. Survival is important, yes, but life is much more essential." he turned to Spain, putting his hands on his hips. "Now about those chores. I guess that would be the groundskeepers' collective duty to assign them and make sure everybody is respecting them, but since you only arrived after a few other nations had, I have had the habit of distributing chores as I always did." that wasn't a very time-consuming activity, either. Just figure out who hadn't disinfected the kitchen in the past few weeks, and send him or her to do it. It wasn't one of the bigger jobs he wouldn't trust with anybody else but himself.
He figured that it wouldn't hurt to get that off his workload, and that perhaps sharing his tasks with Spain would decrease suspicion and drag attention away from him whenever he missed dinner to work, or fell asleep in inconvenient places like bent over his desk. It was the perfect trick so that people wouldn't get 'worried' about him anymore, and it would certainly avoid him more stressful encounters such as this one.
"I guess you could take your rightful duties back, then. I trust you and the other groundskeepers will be able to uphold order, regularity and fairness in chore distribution?"
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Post by [x] Spain on Sept 18, 2012 21:02:26 GMT -5
With a roll of his green eyes, Spain couldn't help but try and suppress a small smile. "You and your fancy poetry. Can't seem to escape that, can you?" He dropped in some small cloves of garlic, watching as the ripples extended outward, reminding him that everything they did had an effect on the world, whether it be for the better or worse. And they'd make it out alive, he knew it. Changed, yes. But alive.
And he could feel something had changed already in England, just from him giving back his duties. Or at least he hoped he gained some trust with him. "Sounds like a plan to me. And of course~ Do you really think that we'd do that~?" He laughed a bit, finishing up his preparations and moving onto cutting up and simmering the fish he had in some little bits of oil. "So don't worry, I'm sure we can handle this~"
[edgaf. So short. ;u; Sorry.]
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Post by England on Sept 19, 2012 0:17:52 GMT -5
"Shakespeare was a great friend of mine, I'll have you remember. Shakespeare, and Edgar Allan Poe, and everybody in between." England huffed, shooting down some more of his tea. It was still hot enough for England's taste, so he pretty much chugged it, eager to finish before it got cold.
"I'd hope I could trust you enough to give you the small task of organizing chores. If I didn't think you could even do that, my theory is we'd all be dead by now. Trust is something we, as Nations, as a team united in the face of enemies, need to have circulating between us." Oh, oh how he felt horrible, like a hypocrite, a terrible liar to both himself and to Spain. Trust was something he seldom gave to others, preferring to keep to himself to avoid incidents exactly like the one that had happened not long ago in this very same room. His entire life, he'd had problems with trust, and though he was trying to convince himself to change for the greater good, he just couldn't bring himself to do it.
So he recommended it for others, hoping that his lack of trust would pass unnoticed between the bonds the other Nations created with one another. It was all about being sneaky, tricking people, creating an illusion of stability so that you could continue on with your own destructive or constructive tendencies, hidden behind it. England never practiced what he preached, anyways.
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