[log] I'll bury you good and straight and right [closed]

[fifty]

Characters: America, England, Sealand
Location Building 86, maybe some other places later, we'll see
Date: duration of the event, starting at evening/night 80
Summary: It's time to deal with awful familiar monsters. A catch-all for the nation group during the event.
Warnings: just the standard event warnings of horror and general upset

Comments

[fifty]

[America almost opens the door, that's the worst thing. It's nearly lockdown and he wouldn't want to watch anyone locked out, while it's early for new people to show up it's not that early--there's a lot of excuses, but it's really just because he sees Canada. It's Canada's violet eyes and Canada's wavy blond hair and even Canada's glasses, and there isn't consideration beyond that. The door is opened, a little, and then the gloom shifts and America can see how thin he looks, how grey his skin is, the way his lips are bloody and pulled back.

But even then he might have gone to see what was wrong with him, had it not been for the antlers, bloody with shedding velvet, weighing down his head. America slams the door only half a breath before the door frame rattles with the force of the thing on the other side trying to get in.]

Oh my god. [And for once America can't think of anything else to say.]

[keepscalm]

[England, of course, is busy being responsible. He's checking over the supplies and rations they picked up today, folding and rolling everything just so that it fits in his rucksack like a perfect little puzzle. He's not paying any mind to the blue eyes that watch him through the bedroom window, leering, painfully familiar in the worst way. He just catches wind of the commotion as America fusses with the door and something tries to get in.

He reacts quickly, at least, standing so that he can rush over and add his own weight to keeping the door closed. Of course, he didn't see what the monster looked like, and now his energy is running high, so he has to do a bit of shouting.] What the hell was that for, why did you try to open the door?!

[fifty]

It was Canada. [But, no, that's wrong, that's not Canada, so he amends it in the same breath.] It looks like Canada. There's a monster, and out the window, I thought--I thought it was Canada, but it's not.

[America's voice dances precariously between muted nervousness and the beginnings of hysteria. His emotions don't seem to know what to do with themselves.]

[keepscalm]

What? No. [England rejects that possibility immediately, especially when he can feel the monster's efforts to get to them through the door.] No, he's not here. He would have told us if he were.

[He sounds very confident about that, but that might make it even more obvious that he's trying to convince himself.]

[fifty]

Yeah, yeah, it can't really be him. It's just a monster that looks like him. [The door shakes again, and if America were even an ounce weaker he's sure the force of it would push him back, too. But even if he's weaker here, he's got plenty of strength available.] He's--it's got antlers, and, and it's too skinny, so--so it's not him. Just. The face.

[Some parts of the face, anyway.]

[keepscalm]

[At least England is there to offer his strength, even if it isn't quite as much as America's. He presses his heels down against the floor when he feels the door shake again, and gives a disgusted response.] Ugh. At least lockdown is soon.

[And then, something out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. He lifts his head to see the face pressed against the window — the face and the tendrils, slithering along the smooth surface of the glass, and that must have been what caught his eye. But he can't tear his gaze away from the face.

The colour drains from England's skin as he watches France's face, France's mouth, open up wide to reveal rows upon rows of too many razor sharp teeth.]

[fifty]

[America follows England's gaze, and even without anywhere near the level of history England and France have, watching France's mouth open up like that is still really horrifying.] Holy shit. [Why is this happening now?]

[keepscalm]

["Holy shit" is a fairly accurate summary of what England is feeling, but his mouth feels like it's filled with cotton, his jaw clenched shut as he watches the monster with France's face claw silently at the window. He only moves again because of the actions of the first monster, digging his heels in further against the vibrations of the door and searching blindly with his hand until it curls around a clump of America's sleeve.]

[fifty]

Holy shit, why is-- [Feeling England's hand at his sleeve stops his voice up, though, and he tears his eyes away from the window to look at England instead.] It's just this place screwing with us. It's not--the monsters're just monsters. [America can't stop the tremor in his voice and the look on his face, but any other option besides believing that is too awful.]

late night 81

[keepscalm]

[The rain is driving him absolutely mad. At first he almost welcomed it; it was better than the sounds of the blizzard, and it almost reminded him of home. But now he realises there's something not right about it, as there's an unsteadiness in his head that wasn't there when they first crawled into bed to try and sleep. Even when he closes his eyes, his head swims, and he tosses and turns beside America and Sealand as he tries to find a position that will alleviate the spinning of the room.

Then, contributing to his disorientation, he hears the little chime of his tablet that indicates he's received a message. He hears America and Sealand's tablets make it, as well, right alongside his own.

He sits up on his elbow, swaying a bit, so that he can squint over at his tablet on the nightstand.] What was that?

[fifty]

[America had been trying to sleep, drifting somewhere between almost unconscious and almost awake--not helped by England's constant moving around and the disorientation caused by the sound of rain--until he hears the tablets go off. He yawns, loudly, and flails blindly at the nightstand for his tablet and his glasses.]

Dunno. Message?

[keepscalm]

Obviously. But at this time of night?

[Demonstrating how little this place has made him care for personal space on a good day, England reaches over America to retrieve his own tablet. He settles back down against the mattress once he's got it, since moving so suddenly agitated his dizziness, and blindly thumbs around until his vision settles enough to get to his inbox.]

[fifty]

[America finally manages to get his glasses on his face and his own tablet in front of him, so he skims sleepily through the message.] This is that person you were talking to, yeah? [England and nearly everyone else. America is already working on downloading the file, of course.]

[keepscalm]

What?

[That gets England's attention, and he scrambles to open the message so that he can read it for himself. Incredulous, he reads it over a few times, ignoring the download for now.] But she—

[He doesn't even finish that sentence, rushing to try and reply to the private message. But he gets the same error as before. And again, and again...his building frustration is evident the longer he tries to make it work, and he lets out a gruff sound of annoyance eventually.] Damn thing! I still can't send her a private message.

[fifty]

You sure you're clicking on the right thing? [America's tone is distracted as the file finishes downloading. There's a new app with the same weird title as the file. Can something like that really get rid of monsters?]

[keepscalm]

Yes, I'm clicking on the right thing. Try it for yourself if you don't believe me. [He knows how to send a private message, all right.

Only now does he look at the file attachment, but he doesn't download it yet, too dubious of the strange name and its source.]

[fifty]

I--whoa. [Of course he ran the app. His tablet screen goes blank, and he only has a moment to even care about that before he feels something cold in his brain. Suddenly, he's thinking about Canada, which is weird, since he's been trying really hard to not think about Canada at all with that monster outside. Something not that long ago, really, when-- when...? The memory is gone, but in an unnatural way. Not just something he's set aside, but something that was snatched away from him. He's sure it's something he should remember, but he doesn't even know what it is. It's completely gone. His tablet turns itself back on.]

morning 83

[keepscalm]

[Again, England wakes to the pinging of their tablets, though this time, he's almost grateful. He'd been trapped in the midst of a terrible dream, clearly evident in the vice grip of his arms around America's torso and his fisted hands in the back of the other nation's jacket. He makes to reach for his tablet to read the message, but...

He can't move. For a few seconds he wonders if it's a fluke, if maybe he just hasn't fully awoken from his turbulent slumber. But still, moments pass, and he can't will his limbs to move. He can feel his breathing begin to quicken as panic sets in and the pressure on his chest increases.]

[fifty]

[America is more slow to wake up, as usual. He's never been great at getting out of bed in the morning, and he didn't get much sleep the night before anyway. He can feel England still attached to him (kind of tightly, actually), so for a moment he wonders if England is still asleep. Then he registers England's rapid breathing and his body pushes him into alertness with the bottom dropping out of his stomach. He squints at England to try and see him better.]

Hey, England?

[keepscalm]

[America's voice faintly registers, but it's like it goes in one ear and out the other, impossible to hold onto for some reason. England can barely process it, much less think of a response. Not that he could reply even if he did think of something to say.

He starts to feel the creeping warmth at the corners of his mind, which makes it clearer why it's so hard to take in anything he's hearing. America's words from the other day echo briefly in his ears: There was something in my head.

Then, suddenly, he's thinking of Japan. A good friend, one of his only friends, and...and—

That's it, he feels something go up in flames, something he can't even hope to go near, though he tells himself he should be trying harder to hold onto it. It burns and burns, and England can only sit by helplessly as the memory — unrecoverable now — is reduced to ash. And then it's gone.

He gasps deeply and his shoulders lurch as the paralysis finally wears off, fifteen minutes after his awakening.]

[fifty]

[America finds himself clinging to England for the entire duration of his paralysis, staring at him as if he might will England back into motion. Then, finally, he moves, and America lets go so England won't feel trapped.]

England! England, hey.

[keepscalm]

[England's grip on America slackens, but he doesn't have the presence of mind to let go completely, too preoccupied with the hole in his memory that he can't stop prodding at, like a tooth that's just been pulled.]

Something's gone. [He sounds breathless, still sort of panicked, but he's trying to take deep breaths.] A memory. Like yours.

[fifty]

What--just now? Why? [There's no way England would have run Winter's program. He looks at the tablets again; there was a message on them, right? And then he looks over at the door. Is the monster gone...?]

[keepscalm]

I don't know, why would I know? [He wishes he knew. His first inclination is to blame Winter, but if she could do something like that without the aid of a program, wouldn't she have done it the first time?

He follows America's gaze to the door, and then the same thought dawns on him. He peels himself away from America and scrambles out of the bed so that he can check the window first.]

[fifty]

[While England does that, America checks the tablet. It might just be reluctance to get out of bed where it's cold and potentially stare creepy monster France in the face, though.]

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