|
Post by America on Sept 27, 2012 11:12:48 GMT -5
America watched Spain go, a worry expression on his face. 130 zombies was really no laughing matter. Especially not at night, and especially not in this sort of weather, where it was nearly impossible to see anything. What if they somehow made their way inside? What if they somehow got smarter and figured out how to open doors or break through windows? He let out a small sigh, mentally berating himself for overreacting. Nothing bad would happen. They would just go into a blackout and wait until the zombies had passed, that was all.
He ran his fingers through his hair, realizing that now he would be forced to endure a storm, a blackout, and the threat of zombies. This certainly wasn't going to be fun whatsoever. He stood and quickly climbed up on his bed to poke at England. Well, at least he wasn't going to have to endure everything alone. Spain might come back, and England was going to be right here. It gave him some sense of relief knowing that he didn't have to bother trying to get to sleep now. That wasn't an option anymore, not with the zombies so close.
"Think Spain needs any help?" he asked the smaller nation, trying to wipe the fear from his face.
|
|
|
Post by England on Sept 27, 2012 13:29:55 GMT -5
England was still sulking when America decided it would be a good idea to climb up into the tight space of the top bunk, and grumbled as he gave him place to sit. Wiggling to accommodate himself and claim all the space there still was, he sighed and braced himself for America's sure-to-come inquiries. And, as he predicted, it wasn't long before the first question came, putting him in a more sour mood than before.
"If he needed help, he would've asked." he grumbled, crossing his arms and looking away. "It looks like he has everything under control already." And he was jealous that it was Spain that had taken up the post of command while he just lazed in bed. This is what happened when he relaxed, even for a second. Even sleeping was not safe anymore. Secretly, England was addicted to the feeling of power and control, he liked being on top and feeling strong like he used to be. It kept his mind off the fact that he was small and weak now. He liked his authority the way it was and didn't really appreciate being reminded that he was just as weak as everybody else.
|
|
|
Post by America on Sept 29, 2012 21:40:59 GMT -5
America raised his eyebrows at England's sulking. Honestly, he thought it would be the other way around. Then again, England did like control, and Spain was the one controlling things at the moment. America, on the other hand, liked it better like this. He didn't think one sole person should try keeping chaos down to a minimum. With zombies and nations that were turned just as mortal as men, no one person would be able to handle everything.
"Quit whining about it," the superpower said, trying to ignore the storm raging on outside (though he wasn't sure that he hid his flinching well whenever there was a particularly loud boom). "I think it's nice that you're letting Spain do some stuff." Spain was more than capable of being a strong, helping hand. He supposed that being the head groundskeeper had taught the Mediterranean nation a thing or two. "If it were me in his place," he mused, more to himself than anyone. "I would probably drag you along with me."
|
|
|
Post by [x] Spain on Sept 29, 2012 22:23:40 GMT -5
After quickly sliding down the fireman's pole and making a mad dash to the control panel, Spain searched in a panicked way as he tried to find the switch for the lights. This was why he needed to come over to this section of the warehouse more or even finally get his hands on the architectural plans!
"Donde esta... Donde esta..." He muttered, frustrated when none of the switched seemed to resemble what he was looking for until his eyes landed on the heavy switch he was looking for. With an inner cheer, he wrapped his hand around the base of the switch, pulling it down with just a little more effort than expected (it looked lighter and it was slightly rusted).
Darkness fell faster than it ever had before in the warehouse, leaving him blind for a moment until his eyes adjusted to the excessive amount of shadows.
|
|
|
Post by England on Sept 30, 2012 0:31:46 GMT -5
"I'm not whining, I'm just saying that he doesn't need me to do anything, he can do it all by himself like a grown nation." England grumbled. "And of course I would come with you, even if you didn't tell me to, because you'd be likely to-" a loud crash of thunder covered up the rest of his sentence, lightning flashing through the windowpanes and blinding them both. England winced and shut his eyes, waiting for the sudden pain to ebb away, when there was a sudden powering down noise. His throat went dry, as that was most obviously not a natural noise he expected to hear. And then he opened his eyes.
Or at least, he blinked a couple of times to convince himself that he had, because suddenly, there was nothing but black, and England's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't see a foot in front of him, and when he lifted one of his hands to rub his eyes, just in case he was hallucinating, or something, he only saw the hand coming once it was a few inches from his eyes. It was completely dark around him. Had something happened to his country, causing him to go blind? What had happened? And, of course, what was going on?
England did not like it. He did not like it at all. He hadn't ever been fond of the dark, especially after those particular 57 days, and a sudden loss of light left him unprepared to deal with the nervousness welling up in his throat. He found himself unable to speak to ask his mind reeled, and he took a deep, shaky breath to hold onto the knowledge that he was in the warehouse, surrounded by people, safe from the enemies waiting outside...
In an underground tunnel, surrounded by people, safe, or so they all believed, from the enemy above them, outside...
|
|
|
Post by America on Sept 30, 2012 15:09:56 GMT -5
Before England could finish his reply to America (and America would have really liked to have heard what he had just been about to say, that was for sure), the lights suddenly went off and a loud crash of thunder rattled the windows of the warehouse. The young nation involuntarily yelped and brought his knees up closer to him, burying his head in his arms. He couldn't believe that, despite everything he had gone through, thunder still scared him.
Once the noise passed, he opened his eyes, blinking a few times to get adjusted to the sudden darkness. Alright, Spain must have pulled the switch. Since it was serious, they needed a blackout. Still, it was at a very inopportune moment. All he wanted was to go to sleep, but now the threat of zombies and storms and darkness would be keeping him awake.
"Th-They had to come during a storm, didn't they?" he asked England, allowing himself a nervous chuckle. "I wish they could have waited until morning or something." Or just have never come at all.
|
|
|
Post by England on Sept 30, 2012 18:24:00 GMT -5
Someone was talking to him. England was too busy gripping the sheets and taking deep breaths to register at first. He just knew that there was a voice speaking to him through the darkness.
A terrified citizen? A lost little girl? A rescue worker? His prime minister?
He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his head and took a breath through his mouth, until his lungs felt ready to explode. He then exhaled and nodded to himself. It would be alright. He was in the twenty-second century. Not in the twentieth. Those days were long over. His fear of the dark was irrational.
The fear that the dark would keep him blind as he heard people dying and buildings crumbling and when the lights came on, he would be kneeling in the remains of what used to be his heart, his capital city... it was irrational.
And yet England could not help the swimming in his head that confused reality with memories. He shut his eyes tight for a moment and calmed down, telling himself that their situation was nothing like before. Sure, the enemy, in both cases, had been waiting to destroy them outside while they hid in the dark, preying not to be found out, but... there were distinct differences. England was fine, or at least he told himself he was.
"T-The enemy are right outside the door, right?" he asked in a very subdued voice. "Have they... spotted us?"
If they've spotted us, though the entire city is under blackout, we're doomed. London will burn and so will everything you've ever loved.
|
|
|
Post by [x] Spain on Sept 30, 2012 19:27:49 GMT -5
After much struggling, Spain eventually made his way to the ladder and somehow managed to climb up it (with much help from the flashing light and the memory of climbing up and down it several times throughout the day). He would have pulled out a flashlight, but that would have been dangerous and he needed it to stay dark.
He relied on his memory to guide him back to England and America's bunk, occassionally tripping on a corner of a bedset and causing him to swear under his breath.
Eventually he made it back, his eyes now somewhat used to the darkness picked out the two blobs of color that made up America and England.
"You two okay?" He whispered, trying to keep the noise down to a minimum. "Both still here, si?"
|
|
|
Post by America on Sept 30, 2012 20:02:23 GMT -5
America simply stared at England's strange behavior. Unless England was also scared of storms- and America was sure he wasn't, what with all the times England had comforted him throughout the years-, he really shouldn't be acting in such a way. It was a bit unnerving, actually, to see England so tense, so quiet, so...afraid? No, that was ridiculous. England couldn't be afraid of this. He had never shown any sign of shying away from storms or zombies. Perhaps he was just caught off guard. Perhaps he was worried about some other nation that might have gotten left outside.
But, when England was worried about something that he was supposed to be in charge of, he fixed that worry. He didn't let it linger.
And once England spoke, America's mind went blank. What enemy? If he was referring to the zombies, America wasn't sure how to answer that. How would the zombies have spotted them? Before he could even try getting something logical out of England, Spain showed up.
"Yeah, we're still here," he muttered back. "And...and I'm fine." He glanced down at the shadow that seemed to be Spain before looking back to England. "You're alright, right, England?" he asked, reaching a hand out and softly patting the elder nation's shoulder.
|
|
|
Post by England on Sept 30, 2012 22:59:54 GMT -5
When America touched his shoulder, England gave a very violent start and scrambled further on the bed, dangerously close to the edge. His heart was beating loudly in his ears as he instinctively curled his legs closer to him, looking in the direction from which the person -America- had touched him. He couldn't see anything. It was almost as if like a ghost had touched him before vanishing, and leaving England in the dark. And he hated, he abhorred the dark with every inch of his soul.
Because under the cover of the shadows, the terrified, pathetic side of him deemed it safe to come out. It was never safe, though. The dark was a lie, in every sense of the term.
How did they see us if we were under blackout!? We shouldn't have been surrounded like this, how did they manage to see us?
"C-Can they see us?" he whispered without really knowing what he was whispering, eyes wide and darting around to try and make something out in the darkness. "T-They're right outside, aren't they?" Keep calm, keep calm, keep calm... It didn't seem to be working. His heart was still loud, louder than the droplets of rain hitting the glass. It was pitch black outside, too, so the fact that the curtains were often brought him no relief. On the contrary, England felt momentarily compelled to get up and shut the curtains, as his instincts of survival dictated, but he didn't want it to get any darker than before.
He needed to find light, any kind of light, zombies be damned. He couldn't let his phobias rear their ugly heads. He knew America was somewhere next to him, and he knew Spain was somewhere close, because he'd heard his voice without registering his words, so he couldn't fall apart now. He wouldn't let himself fall apart. With that in mind, he shakily fumbled around, locating the edges of the bed, and swung his legs over. Still, looking down, he couldn't even locate the ground, and the fall looked like a bottomless pit. England was even less motivated to jump now, because he didn't even know where he was.
Frozen on the spot, he just wished his heart would stop pounding so loudly.
|
|
|
Post by America on Oct 2, 2012 20:55:51 GMT -5
It appeared that England was not alright. That thought drove worry and concern all throughout America's body. He shouldn't be acting like this, not over zombies. After all, wasn't he the one who had been at the warehouse by himself for an entire week? Shouldn't he be used to zombies by now? And America knew he wasn't scared of storms. Something surely must have caused this random freak out, though.
Unsure of how to confront this sudden change in England's attitude, America hung back for a few seconds, his eyes wide as he struggled to make everything out. He could see where England was, he could hear the fear in his voice, but he couldn't see his expression. He couldn't see just how much England was scared. Based on his actions, it must have been quite a lot. And, if he was really that much scared, America didn't want to see that fear written out on his face.
"They can't see us," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. He was even pushing his own fears aside, far more focused on England at the moment. "We're safe in here. Just..." He cautiously reached forward again, putting his hand on England's shoulder, and praying that this might bring some sort of comfort. "What's wrong, England?"
He wanted to beg England to tell him, to hold him tightly and listen to every single worry his partner had, but he knew he had to stay calm. He couldn't freak out, not when England was like this.
|
|
|
Post by [x] Spain on Oct 2, 2012 21:23:58 GMT -5
The silence unnerved the Spaniard a lot more than it should. If everything was alright, England would have said some snappy remark at him or given him orders or at least said something. Judging from what he could hear (or somewhat hear with the extraneous noise) something was very wrong with England.
"What's going on?" He climbed up the metal ladder just enough so his upper body would be visible to the pair. He didn't want to climb all the way on due to the small amount of space, but he needed to see what was happening.
And he didn't like what he could barely make out. A blob of darker shadows that was England was curled up at the very edge of the bunk. "H-Hey, be careful. We can't have you injured."
|
|
|
Post by England on Oct 2, 2012 23:38:36 GMT -5
"We're never safe... They're always out there, looking for us..." England's eyes darted back and forth between where the endless pit below him extended into oblivion and where the phantom hand was touching his shoulders. He was frozen stiff in anxiety, close, even, to being in shock. He hadn't felt so scared in a long time, to be honest. Usually, when they had a blackout, everybody would grab a flashlight, and England would duck for the nearest person with a light and stay with them until the lights turned back on. But this time, no lights. Why didn't anybody have any lights? Weren't the nations.... scared?
And then it suddenly dawned on his whirring mind that maybe he was hallucinating.
Maybe he wasn't even in the warehouse in the first place. Maybe he'd spaced out for a really long time, and when he snapped out of his trance, he'd find himself back in the middle of the rubble that used to be his heart. Back then, there were no "flashlights" to go around with: blackout meant blackout. Judging by how entirely pitch black his surroundings seemed, England was inclined to believe he was back, stuck in those days where something seemed to crumble with every blink of an eye until there was nothing left standing.
Light, he needed light, he needed a salvation. And yet he was afraid of what he would see when the lights turned back on. Everything he loved and everything he'd worked so hard to build... would they be gone again when the lights came back on? England didn't even know what he wanted anymore, but he knew one thing: he felt constricted, and felt like he was choking on nothing. Shakily moving his shoulder so that the phantom hand disappeared back into the darkness, he looked down at the pool of black at his feet, and silently made up his mind.
Giving himself a push off the mattress, England let gravity take him wherever. Unable to see the ground awaiting him upon impact, though, he could not balance the strength he put in his feet and anticipate the landing, so when he finally did touch the wooden planks between the two bunk beds, his unstable landing caused him to land awkwardly with his ankles weak and boneless, tripping over his own feet and sending him lurching forward before falling on all four with a notable thud.
|
|
|
Post by America on Oct 3, 2012 10:13:54 GMT -5
America wanted to tell him that they were safe, that nothing could get them inside the strong walls of the warehouse. That was the reason they had chosen this place, after all, and not some normal home or some sort of store. The warehouse was safe, and the fact that England was suddenly declaring it unsafe was very unnerving. He glanced over the the dark blob that seemed to be Spain, who had climbed up on the ladder to stare at them better. Unfortunately, it seemed that Spain was just as clueless as he was. America wanted someone to tell him what was up, someone to calm England down.
And then the island nation suddenly jumped, and America gasped out loud upon hearing the loud thud that came from the fall. "England!" he hissed, peering over the side. He knew England wouldn't be too hurt (or, rather, he hoped, he hoped with all his might), but it was just so sudden and unexpected and America seriously had no idea what to do anymore.
He slid off the bunk bed with much greater ease than England, quickly finding the other man and kneeling on the floor next to him, hand hovering right over his back. "E-England, just calm down," he whispered, wanting nothing more than to let his words get through to him. "You're...it's just stress." Because that had to be it, it had to be the stress. "So just take some deep breaths and, uh...we'll go make some tea! You like tea. That'll...that'll work."
He glanced over to where Spain was, not exactly seeing him, but wanting his presence, wanting his help. Because he, in all his great heroism and strength, was unable to stop fears that he knew nothing about.
|
|
|
Post by [x] Spain on Oct 3, 2012 10:51:52 GMT -5
It all happened too fast for Spain.
One minute, England was there.
The next, both were on the ground.
Hissing a curse under his breath, he jumped down and skidded around the corner to the other side.
"America, give him his space." Although he was still unsure of what was going on, he knew from personal experience that whenever someone got an 'attack' the bet thing to do was give him room to breathe.
Kneeling down, Spain searched in the flashing light for England's face to try and get some hints as to what might have triggered this.
As far as he knew, England was fine before the lights went out. He was a little groggy, but fine. He had been fine the rest of the day. Something about the lights turning off was the problem. He was fine with the dark centuries ago, but what could have happened that would change that?
"I want you to listen to me, England." He kept his hands by his side, resisting the urge to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We are in Canada. We are not being attacked. There are zombies, not soldiers. It is lightning, not bombs." Before he knew it, everything clicked as he was speaking. The Blitz...
Shit. What else would it be?! Of course that traumatic event in history would have caused this. This was bad. Very, very bad.
"We need some sort of light, I don't care if its against protocol." The Spaniard ordered, looking around as if a light would magically appear out of nowhere. "Even something as small as a match. Now."
|
|