|
Post by America on Mar 13, 2012 20:29:34 GMT -5
America smirked, sitting back comfortably. Ah-ha. So, even England must have a weakness for chocolate. Frankly, that thought made him insanely happy. Even England needed a chocolate break every so often. It wasn't just him. Chewing on his own bar, he glanced over at the smaller nation. "So, it's a little melted and squished, but I didn't think we'd have any chocolate over here. You know, just probably canned stuff. So, I needed to bring a little something that would comfort me."
America simply loved comfort food. If not hamburgers, then chocolate, ice cream, fries, or cookies. Considering that hamburgers were too large to fit in his pockets, ice cream would melt, fries were too greasy, and cookies would become stale, packaged chocolate was his only other choice.
|
|
|
Post by England on Mar 13, 2012 20:39:25 GMT -5
"O-Oh." a wave of disappointment ran across England's spine, but he didn't know how to justify it. Of course, he knew that the Nations would not be living in complete luxury when they came to the warehouse. But... perhaps he should have thought past survival a little bit. It wouldn't do if they already lived like they were dying.
"Here." he offered, finally, getting up and giving America his barely-touched chocolate bar, letting his last piece melt over his tongue. "I'm not too fond of sugar, anyways. You should keep it for... times when you'll really feel like you'll need this." he suggested.
|
|
|
Post by America on Mar 13, 2012 20:52:49 GMT -5
"No, it's okay," America quickly said, a bit surprised. "I mean, I want you to have it." He felt sort of shocked that England was offering to give the chocolate right back to him. It actually made him feel guilty for what he said, for he knew that England was probably feeling guilty. He backtracked on his words now, trying to assure England that he was fine. "Look, I'll probably be getting chocolate later, okay? I mean, when the government people drop off some more supplies, I'll just ask if they can bring some chocolate along next time. Besides, I still have one or two more bars."
He knew that, in the past, he wouldn't have given his chocolate away. Even if he did, though, he would have taken it back the moment England put it in his hands. Not this time, though. He wanted everyone to feel happy, not just himself. So, he stood up and stuffed the chocolate right back into England's hands. "And, screw that, England, I know you secretly have a sweet tooth in there somewhere. If your cooking hasn't, I dunno, destroyed it or something." [/blockquote]
|
|
|
Post by England on Mar 13, 2012 20:59:56 GMT -5
"W-What was that about my cooking?" England bristled, trying to cover his blush with some regular old irritation. Since when had America become so sensitive to others? That was a change... Not unwelcome, but a change nonetheless. "I-I'll have you know that I've gotten a lot better at it!" Yes, well, technically, he had. Last time he cooked, he only set fire to the stove, and not the entire kitchen. That was quite the amelioration, really. Either way, his results always came out just fine. People just didn't have a good enough palate to understand the true beauty of his creations. That had to be it, he decided as he took a seat again, too tired to stand any longer.
|
|
|
Post by America on Mar 13, 2012 21:07:17 GMT -5
America finished off the last of his Hershey's bar, rolling his eyes. "Iggy, I hate to break it to ya, but you really can't cook to save your life." He felt himself grinning at England's flustered face and gave his shoulder a small pat. "Sorry. It's just the way life is, though!" He was just pleased that England hadn't tried cooking hamburgers yet. If England messed up on his precious hamburgers, he didn't think he would ever be ready to forgive, even if he was best friends with England.
Well, best friends to a certain extent. Though America usually had no problems calling England his best friend, he felt certain that the Brit would be quick to disagree.
|
|
|
Post by England on Mar 13, 2012 21:14:33 GMT -5
"S-Shut up! I'll show you! I'll show all of you!" England was quick to jump to his feet and advance towards America, glaring murderously at him. "And you'll all regret ever making fun of my cooking, you and your lack of taste in cooking!" he seethed, all but yelling now. How dare anybody make fun of his cooking when he was making so many efforts to please?
The wind blew and England froze, immediately clamping his hands over his mouth. I-It couldn't be... He hadn't been taking his anger out at America THAT loudly... right?
His heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, he slapped a hand over America's mouth as well, listening.
Not far from them, the sound of an undead hunter searching for its living prey was heard.
|
|
|
Post by America on Mar 13, 2012 21:20:50 GMT -5
America had wanted to respond to England's yells with what he believed to be another witty remark, but England suddenly stopped his shouts and placed a hand over his mouth. When America opened his own mouth to ask what was wrong, England's other hand suddenly came over him and he found himself unable to speak. His face turned red, and he made a move to step away, but he then heard what it was that made England so frightened.
It could only be a zombie. Nothing else would make such horrible sounds.
Feeling a little bit panicked, America reached down for his gun, trying to move very little. Luckily, it wasn't too far away, so he was able to pull it close to him. Still without moving, America glanced over at his flashlights, wondering if they should turn them off. Will the zombie be able to see the light?
He glanced back up at England, hoping he'd know what to do because, at the moment, America was a little bit lost.
|
|
|
Post by England on Mar 13, 2012 21:31:06 GMT -5
"They don't sound like they're too many. Perhaps wandering zombies that-" That what? Heard him yelling? He was being a horrible example and a horrible supervisor. His temper would surely kill him one day, quite literally if he considered their current situation.
"In any case... They should be easy to take out." he decided after a while, bending down and pulling his weapon up to his chest, slinging the strap over his shoulders and feeling the familiar weight of his firearm burdening him.
"The lights are out downstairs, so they probably don't know anyone's inside. Still, we can't have them attracting a crowd. Try not to waste any bullets. Let's make this quick and clean." he finished, motioning America over to the side of the roof to peer down.
At first glance, it seemed like only about two dozen zombies had wandered out into the field. As he knelt into position, England hoped that the number would only go lower from here on.
|
|
|
Post by America on Mar 13, 2012 21:42:21 GMT -5
There are more than one! was what America first thought as England gave him the instructions. He followed his fellow nation to the roof, getting down on his knees and staring out the the many zombies. Not nearly as much as last time, thank goodness, he breathed, readying his gun. However, he realized he was quite stupid for bringing nothing but a pistol to shoot with. Dammit, so much for planning ahead!
Still, it'd have to make do. Hopefully he'd be able to hit a few, but even he knew that England would probably be the one to bring down the most.
Waiting for England's signal, he aimed his sight on the closest zombie, squinting in the darkness and praying to whomever would listen that he would be able to bring this one down. "Tell me when," he whispered, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he had to calm down; the zombies couldn't get up on the roof, could they?
|
|
|
Post by England on Mar 13, 2012 21:52:35 GMT -5
England raised a brow at him, at his weapon, and then sighed.
"Well. I don't think you'll be getting much from here with that toy in your hands." he rolled his eyes and pulled the rifle strap off his shoulders. "Here." he motioned to the rifle. "You use this and take out any one of them that comes too close for comfort." he then extended his hand. "Give me your pistol. I caused this shit, so I'll go down there and take 'em out at a closer range."
|
|
|
Post by America on Mar 14, 2012 5:44:41 GMT -5
Despite knowing that England was probably correct, America shook his head, giving the other nation a small glance. "If anyone should go down there, it's me," he responded, keeping a tight hold on his pistol. "I'm the one that was idiotic enough to bring this rather than a rife or sniper or something."
He didn't exactly want to go out there alone, but he knew he probably should take responsibility for his actions, especially the stupid actions, such as this. I can't have England covering for me every time we get into trouble. Besides, I need to prove that I can look after myself. He knew arguing like this was wasting precious time as the zombies got closer, but he couldn't just obey. Not if it potentially meant England becoming wounded on his behalf. He wouldn't live with that.
|
|
|
Post by England on Mar 14, 2012 15:04:48 GMT -5
"The longer you make this, the more danger there is of zombies crowding." England raised a brow, hand still out for the smaller weapon. "Just give it to me. We'll be done in the next few minutes if you would just cooperate." he gritted out, giving him a pointed look. "Besides, it's not like I'm going to go offer myself to those monsters. I'm much quicker and lighter on my feet than you are. Just stay up here and kill any ones you can kill without shooting me in the process." because hell, god knew that England didn't understand what went on in America's head, even after all this time.
|
|
|
Post by America on Mar 14, 2012 15:27:41 GMT -5
Glancing back over at the zombies, America realized that England was probably right. He was much smaller, which would probably make him a lot quicker, and he'd be able to destroy the zombies with much less chaos. Still, even as he handed the gun over, America felt nervous. "Fine. I'll shoot as many down as I can." He took the rifle from England and quickly knelt down into position, thankful that it was now much easier to aim.
"Just...uh, don't take any chances. 'Kay?" He didn't wait for a reply as he kept his gun steady and shot, the bullet racing through the zombies head. One down...a ton to go.
|
|
|
Post by England on Mar 14, 2012 15:36:49 GMT -5
"Who do you think I am, you?" England smirked as he twirled the gun in his hand. "I have common sense, if you hadn't noticed." And with that, he swung over the edge, feet landing on the metal ladder with a dull thump.
"And that rifle better be as I left it when I come back!" he added as he put his hands on the sides of the ladder. "One scratch, and you're on lockout for a week!" He wouldn't actually do that, but... Well, his firearm was his greatest ally right now, so he didn't want it damaged at all.
Leaving America to his own devices, he set his feet on the sides of the ladder as well and let himself slide, quicker and quicker until he landed with a clicking of his heels on asphalt. In front of him, the zombies moaned, only separated by the fence that loomed high above them.
|
|
|
Post by America on Mar 14, 2012 15:48:44 GMT -5
"Cocky bastard," America muttered, though he managed to smile slightly as he watched England start climbing down the ladder. Once he was out of sight, though, America turned back to the zombies. Right. Gotta get as many of them as I possibly can. He hoped it wouldn't be too difficult. It had been a while since he sat this far away from the action. Usually, he was the one running into the battles.
Still, he had to say that this wasn't entirely unwelcome. Fighting the zombies alone, even with England on the roof supporting him, would be absolutely terrifying. He briefly wondered if England was terrified, but decided not to dwell on that. He had a job to do. A very important job, from England's tone. He squinted as he aimed and shot. However, when he glanced up, he saw that he missed the head and hit the neck instead. "Dammit," he hissed, taking aim once more. Why did the zombies always have to come out at night?
|
|