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Post by England on Mar 17, 2012 13:40:23 GMT -5
England looked up at him, then to the bodies burning on the field, then back at America, eyes full of unsaid gratitude, and he looked towards the fence.
"Let's go back." he whispered. "Let's climb up to the roof and..." his personal needs were struggling against reason and organization. He wanted to go get his ankle at least bandaged up so it wouldn't hurt anymore, but they still had a guard shift to finish. What to do?
He thought for a moment, and then figured more zombies wouldn't notice anything if they passed by the warehouse. Leaning against America, he gingerly put his weight on his left leg and hung his head.
"Could you possibly... help me get inside?" he asked very quietly, ashamed he needed so much help. It wasn't unwelcome, of course, but he still wanted to look strong until the very end.
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Post by America on Mar 17, 2012 13:51:11 GMT -5
America nearly sighed of relief when England finally accepted the fact that he was too wounded to finish his patrol. Normally, he would grant England his stubborn wishes to complete whatever job it was, but this wasn't just some normal wound. This was an infected bite of a zombie.
Without thinking, America scooped England up in his arms, carrying him bridal style. "I'm uh...probably getting shit all over you, but...I really rather you not walk on your leg." He wasn't sure if walking on the wound would just harm England more and invite symptoms even faster. He didn't want to take that chance, though, no matter how uncomfortable it was probably making England.
"We'll go in the front way," he muttered, still trying to grasp the fact that his old mentor, his fellow nation, his best friend, could be dying right there and then. There has to be something one of the medics can do. Anything.
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Post by England on Mar 17, 2012 13:56:37 GMT -5
"Wah! P-Put me down!" England weakly struggled around in America's grip, managing to hit him a couple of times in the shoulders and chest before going all but limp, sulking. He didn't have the energy to do anything right now. He just wanted to lay down and never get back up again.
Instead, he only settled for muttering something that sounded like "What do you think I am, invalid?" as he and America made their way to the front door. England was reluctant to open the door to the warehouse as he didn't want to risk the fumes from the burning bodies to waft inside and infect the air, but even he had to admit he didn't exactly look forward to the idea of climbing a fence, and then climbing up a very long ladder, only then to walk down a huge staircase to the first floor.
Silently, he reached out and used his keys to open the glass box, punch in the code, use his other key, and open the door.
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Post by America on Mar 17, 2012 18:19:50 GMT -5
Quickly, America stepped inside, turning around and shifting his grasp on England, now holding him with one hand so he could close the door. Once it shut, America sighed, more than pleased to be away from the smell of rotting, burning flesh. It really wasn't the most enjoyable thing he had experienced.
He glanced over at England, once again holding him with both arms. "The medics will be able to help," he said, trying to not only assure this to England, but to himself as well. "They'll figure something out." This came out whispered, not really directed at either of them. He refused to look down at England's wound, knowing that he would just freak if he actually saw it for himself.
((er...do we continue here or head off to the infirmary?))
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Post by England on Mar 17, 2012 18:29:41 GMT -5
"Just let me get that packet there." England nudged his head at a brown parcel he'd noticed on his way in. He hadn't seen that get there. Did it come while he was outside with Scotland today? "It's the mail from Europe. I'll rifle through it now. See if there's anything important for anybody." to keep his mind occupied, off the more serious issues at hand here. All he needed right now was a distraction from reality, to keep his hopes up.
[[Let's keep going here, please. It won't be long now. In a few more posts, I will make the liason between this roleplay and the mission briefing, so let's not start a new thread in the infirmary xD]]
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Post by America on Mar 17, 2012 18:45:42 GMT -5
Bending and twisting somewhat awkwardly, America picked up the parcel and handed it to England, giving it a long stare. Maybe they'll say something that will help us, he thought, his optimism slowly returning. After all, mail from Europe, where the central government rested, had to be important. They had to have something there that would be of use to them.
Ceasing his walk to the infirmary, America waited patiently for the package to be opened, his arms beginning to ache, only slightly. He wanted to see what this was before he started to walk again, though.
((righto!))
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Post by England on Mar 17, 2012 18:56:10 GMT -5
England tore the package open as quick as his shaking fingers could go, hoping for good news. Soon enough, a cardboard box emerged from beneath the paper, a note stuck on it. In big, bold letters was written "To the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, head supervisor of the Nation base in Canada".
"Probably just some updates. I'll look through them later." he whispered, limply letting his head hang again, eyes directed towards the ceiling. "Could we possibly go, now? I would like to signal that my ankle isn't in the greatest shape right now." he tried being snappy to distance himself from America, who had already done so much to help him, but did not manage to insert the proper bite to his words. His heart was too full of worry for him to do anything anymore. He just wanted to sleep.
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Post by America on Mar 17, 2012 19:06:05 GMT -5
To say that America really wanted to know what was on that letter was a understatement. If England wasn't currently so wounded, he would have probably dropped him in order to read it. As it was, though, he felt caring for his friend was the most important matter at the moment. "Sure," he said, starting back up toward the infirmary. "Does...does it hurt real bad? Am I jostling you too much?" He honestly hoped that carrying England in this manner was the correct thing to do. He wasn't an expert on medical shit at all, and really couldn't wait for the smaller nation to be in the care of someone who was.
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Post by England on Mar 17, 2012 19:22:35 GMT -5
"What do you think I am, made of glass?" England huffed and crossed his arms, leading his gaze away from America's. He didn't want to look at him right now. He didn't think he could look anybody in the eye anymore. To think... He'd been so weak as to have been the first one to be...
His mind trailed off at that point, as he didn't want to think about it anymore.
As soon as they entered the infirmary, England spotted the medicine cabinet and pointed it out to America. "There's not much that can be done now." his heart wrenched at the truth in those words. "No need to wake anybody up. I'll just disinfect the bite and bandage it up. I'll be fine." That is, until the symptoms kicked in.
And now, all they could do was wait. Wait for the inevitable. Wait for the end.
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Post by America on Mar 17, 2012 19:35:30 GMT -5
"Not glass. Porcelain," America responded, giving a small, forced grin and actually considering himself to be quite witty, considering the situation at hand. He reached a bed and carefully placed England on it, turning toward the medicine cabinet that he had pointed out.
"You sure you don't want to wake anyone?" he asked, grabbing a few bottles of whatever (he wasn't exactly sure what he was picking out) and a roll of bandages. "Maybe an actual medic would be more effective than I would be." In all honesty, he still wasn't sure he wanted to take a look at England's wound. Despite his wishes of leaving England to someone like France or Iceland, though (okay, maybe not France), he faced his friend, placing the disinfectant bottles next to him. "I don't really have any skills in this area."
He ran his fingers through his dirty hair, thinking. England's words kept scaring him. He was trying not to show it, but he was now wondering just how much time exactly England would have before the signs of symptoms began to show. He thought of asking, but realized he wasn't ready yet to hear the answer.
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Post by England on Mar 17, 2012 20:09:37 GMT -5
"The best we can do on this is treat it as a regular cut." England told him quietly, pulling his right boot off gingerly and gasping a few times in pain. He still wondered how in hell the zombie had bitten through his boot. Then again, it wasn't exactly metal.
Once his foot was out, he took a few deep breaths, and swung it up into the light, rolling up his pant leg to inspect his wound.
The teeth marks were bright red, clotted and deep, the skin around splattered with blood. Beneath the blood, the skin had started to go brown and purple already, though. The first symptom.
England gulped down and tried to steady his trembling hands as he reached for the disinfectant.
It had begun.
He silently wiped the blood off, wincing in pain as the disinfectant stung, and took a moment to poke his ankle a bit, biting his lip when pain shot up his leg every single time. Not a good sign.
"Could you get me a wet towel? They should be in the first drawer." he quietly asked of America, his gaze never moving from his injury.
He then moved to open the parcel as he couldn't do anything else until he got his towel.
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Post by America on Mar 17, 2012 21:57:16 GMT -5
Finally, America spared a glance at England's wound. He really wished he hadn't. He didn't believe he had ever seen a bite mark quite like that. Human teeth had made that. He felt sick, yet he couldn't stop watching as England cleaned the blood off, his eyes wide with horror.
It all felt so unreal. It was almost as if he was in a dream. Except, he couldn't wake up to everything being fine and dandy.
When England spoke again, America jumped. He was so focused on that mark on England's skin that the sudden voice surprised him. Blushing, he nodded. "Y-Yeah," he muttered, hurrying off to the drawers. He easily found what he needed and wet it under a sink, which he assumed hadn't been used in quite some time, due to the amount of force he needed to simply turn it on.
He handed it to England, now forcing himself to look at the parcel. "Here."
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Post by England on Mar 17, 2012 22:29:59 GMT -5
While America left to go fulfill his request, England opened the parcel, confused at what was inside, nestled preciously in tons of bubble wrap. There was also an envelope, which England shakily pulled out, ripping open and pulling a letter out from.
The first thing he noticed was the seal of the temporary central government in Europe. An official letter. He was in no mood to read a report now. He had half a mind to throw the paper away for later, but he didn't. The first line caught his eyes all too quickly, and once hooked, he read on.
When America returned, handing him the wet towel, England didn't move. His expression was still frozen, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, billions of emotions running through his head and showing on his face. His hands trembled so hard, the paper started making ruffling noises.
And suddenly, he stopped, shakily looking up at America.
"Go wake everybody up." he whispered in a choked voice. "Call a general assembly." he seemed unable to articulate a word further, but he still pushed. After this, every second counted. "Everyone that is free today has to be in the meeting room in twenty minutes maximum, outfitted for combat and stealth." his voice cracked in many places, but he didn't mind it. "I.... I will meet your there. Don't be late."
He had to hurry. They had to hurry.
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Post by America on Mar 18, 2012 13:23:00 GMT -5
When England did nothing with the towel, America's concern skyrocketed. There was something important on that letter he was reading, that much was obvious, and it seemed to America that it wasn't a good sort of important. Which, obviously, wasn't too beneficial in their situation.
He stood silently nearby, wanting to ask what it said, but not wanting to interrupt England's reading. Anyway, he was sure that if he said something, England would most likely disregard it, considering how focused he was on the sheet of paper he was holding. I don't think I've ever seen him like this. Whatever it is, it must be pretty awful.
Still, he waited, shuffling his feet uncomfortably and staring at the ground. Once England spoke, though America's head shot up. "A general assembly? Got it." He wasn't going to bother telling England to stay in bed or anything. England had one helluva stubborn nature, so America would probably end up doing this anyway, if only at a later time and with rising tensions. He'd prefer England's request to go down a bit more peacefully than that, though.
He quickly left, happy that he was now doing something that would be helpful to his friend.
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Post by England on Mar 18, 2012 15:38:20 GMT -5
England watched him go, thankful that America had listened- for once. Really now, he ought to thank the boy for everything he'd done, but...
In any case, his eyes went back to the letter, incessantly scouring over the words over and over again. Too many emotions were clogging up his common sense, and he couldn't even think straight for a moment there.
He turned his head back up, noticing the flap covering the hospital wing entrance stopping in its movements. Once he made sure America was no longer around, his eyes went to the paper again, the box, and the still-open wound on his ankle.
He still had a bit of time until he had to report to the meeting room.
With that in mind, England drew his left knee up, pressed his forehead against it, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself cry.
[[CONTINUATION IN THE MEETING ROOM, BRIEFING FOR MISSION MIDORI]]
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