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Post by England on Mar 17, 2012 13:03:25 GMT -5
"That is utterly disgusting and barbaric." England commented as he watched his brother clean his sword. "But then again, I cannot say I expected anything more civilized from you."
He went silent again, wondering if his brother would ever change, but as he forced the fond smirk rising up right back down, he realized that this was Scotland he was thinking about. Scotland would never be more refined than this- ever.
"If Spain's in, he'll cook. If not, I guess I'll look over tonight's dinner." as much as it displeased him to even touch the mutant animal, he knew he had a duty to fulfill as base supervisor, and so, had to assure the Nations' survival and protection from top to bottom. Cooking for them just fell in somewhere in there.
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Post by Scotland on Mar 17, 2012 15:17:09 GMT -5
Scotland fought the desire to make a hand motion like a rapidly opening and closing beak or a babbling hand puppet, as both his hands were occupied. One hand held his sword hilt, the other hand held onto the dead beast's leg stub. He wasn't even phased by England's comments about his person, completely used to them by now. They used to be even worse, so these could almost be considered compliments.
"Aye, ye be cookin', I clean an' skin it," he offered in return, shuffling his cigarette around with his lips and teeth so he could hold onto it and still talk. Even if he enjoyed riling the other up, the union wouldn't have endured for over 200 years without a war if they hadn't learned to work together. He had little problem with England's cooking. It wasn't as good as France's, but really, whose was?
"Spain be cookin', we'll see," was the other part of the deal. Scotland might offer help, or he might not. He'd wait and see how Spain received the potential dinner.
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Post by England on Mar 17, 2012 15:24:07 GMT -5
"Well, whoever's cooking, it doesn't look like tonight's dinner is going to be anything close to a five-star meal." England frowned in distaste as he looked at the leg Scotland held in his hand. "Shame. I was looking forward to having something nice." he sighed.
He then turned his eyes upwards, towards the sky, enjoying the sun filtering down on his cheeks for a while.
"So is that animal dry yet, or are we creating a new ocean here?" he finally asked, putting his weight from one foot to the other. "I've got a guard shift tonight, so I'd like to get some shut-eye after the dinner. The faster we get back, the faster we have dinner, the faster I can go to bed."
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Post by Scotland on Mar 17, 2012 15:40:37 GMT -5
Scotland lifted the dog thing completely off the ground to see how badly it was dripping. Not so bad. He nodded at England and then motioned with his head off into the trees.
"Got tae get me jacket," he explained, and let the weight of the dog rest on the ground again. It wasn't exactly light. Then he set off, dragging the dog by one leg, without waiting for England, to get back to where he'd practiced. The other can follow at his own pace or not.
When he reached his jacket and shirt, he considered how to pick them up with both hands full. Finally he dropped the dog, spit out and stamped on the cigarette butt, grabbed his shirt, jacket and sword sheath, shoved part of each between his teeth, and picked up the dog's leg again.
"Mmmmfrrff mrfrr," he mumbled, ready to set off back to the sanctuary.
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Post by England on Mar 17, 2012 16:46:46 GMT -5
"How absolutely charming." England rolled his eyes, following Scotland without ever uncrossing his arms. His brother sure had the most peculiar antics, didn't he? "I really look forward to eating something that's been dragged halfway across the earth. Really, I always like me some good old dirt with my meals. Makes everything taste so much better." he deplored. "And of course, I could understand everything you just said, because I speak the language of muffled sounds." he finished with a huff.
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Post by Scotland on Mar 17, 2012 17:05:12 GMT -5
Scotland cannot exactly respond to England as pretty much everything he could have used to respond with was occupied. He just bounced his head side to side a little as if he were a spacey girl. He continued to drag the dog. All the dirt would go once he fully skinned the beast and trimmed the worst part of the meat off, but maybe he would save the skin as a little gift for England's bed. Something for him to cuddle up with.
Before they set off, Scotland hefted the dog up again to find it was done draining, which pleased him. Could zombies track the smell of the dog on the ground? He didn't think they were that advanced. Most humans couldn't track a dog by scent. Would mutated humans be any different? He hadn't really heard if that had been tested. Maybe they needed to catch and keep a zombie for testing purposes. They could call it George.
"Mrrfrrfmm." The laden redhead lifted and pointed the sword across his body in a mock bow, indicating he wanted England to go first and lead the way.
[We can end this here and just join one of the other threads if preferred.]
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Post by England on Mar 17, 2012 18:10:12 GMT -5
"Bloody idiot." England commented without any real bite to his words, taking the lead as indicated. "Let's go back. And let's hope the others are hungry. Looks like we've got quite the meal for them. I guess that tonight, we'll be having a nice meal in hell." he motioned to the scenery around him, so peaceful and so tranquil, yet so comparable to hell once the night fell.
Yes, his analogy was quite appropriate. Tonight, like every other night, they would dine in hell.
[As you prefer!]
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