[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 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.]

The admin left a message.

[keepscalm]

[So it was the admin. He leans over a little and peers out the window; he notices first that the weather is absolutely bollocks, but past that, he doesn't see the monster that's been following him for the past few days. There's no small amount of bitterness in England's voice as he responds while doing this.] What does it say?

[fifty]

[America reads it off:] "We apologize for the inconvenience. Adjustments will be made to correct errors."

...So is it gone? [The monster.]

[keepscalm]

Adjustments. Some bloody adjustment! [There's still a shaky quality in England's voice despite his clear annoyance. He moves away from the window to check the door, and first, he places his ear up near it so that he can listen. But all he hears are the sounds of the ice storm happening outside. Tension colours his every breath, but eventually, he speaks again.]

I think it's gone.

[fifty]

That's good. [That one thing. Not how it left or that it was there at all or that it looks like there's an ice storm going on outside.] ...Are you okay?

[keepscalm]

[What kind of a question is that? In four days, he's dealt with monsters of his friends from home, America's near-meltdown, a precious memory of his friend being taken from him, and his little brother dying under his supervision again.

England takes in a deep breath and raises a hand to his face in the hopes of both hiding his expression and staving off any moisture in his eyes.] I've been better.

[fifty]

[America chews on his lip. He's never been good at these situations. He's more willing to try (and more upset himself) than he was last time anything at all similar happened, though.]

Hey--I mean, I don't think we're going anywhere today, so you could come back to bed and-- [...Wow, he's only now realizing how that sounds. No, he's going to ignore it.] I mean, it's warmer here.

[keepscalm]

[England isn't in any mood to be entertaining that sort of thought, but the phrasing is so overt that it worms his way into his head regardless of his mood. His heart twinges painfully in his chest, and he adds "America telling him to come back to bed" to his list of stressful experiences from the past few days.

He swallows and takes another deep breath to make an attempt at regaining some composure. The heavier weights in his mind quiet the rattling that normally results when he questions America's intentions, so he lowers his hand from his face and purses his lips tight. He gives a small nod.] Right. ...wiser than going out into the storm.

[So he shuffles towards the bed and moves to crawl back into it, though he's uncertain about the distance he should leave between himself and America.]

[fifty]

[America shifts enough to give England enough room to get back in. Maybe more than necessary, but he still feels weird about his wording. He's still chewing on his lip, too, and watching England like he's not sure what the other nation might do. Carefully, he puts a hand on England's shoulder. It's not really intentional, he's just a tactile person.]

We can try to figure out a way to get your memory back.

[keepscalm]

[England tucks himself back into their pile of blankets and towels. America seems to give him a wide berth, so he leaves some space between them as he shifts around and anxiously moves the blankets, but then he feels an unexpected weight on his shoulder. He looks up from the tangle of blankets to give America a wary look, but America's words give him pause in his suspicion.

Of course, America must be in pain, too. He lost a memory before England did, and what happened to Sealand wouldn't be easy on America, either. His expression softens visibly despite himself, but he realises quickly that his manner has changed and so he averts his eyes.

Halting, he lifts a hand; his fingertips hesitate just shy of America's skin, but he pushes forward and delicately rests his hand atop where America's is perched on his shoulder.] ...yours, as well.

[fifty]

[America smiles--not his normal easy smile, but one that he's clearly putting on to try and prove that he's confident they can do this.] Yeah. We just need to figure out how they took the memories and reverse it.

[keepscalm]

[England just nods mutely. Uncharacteristic of him on a good day, but his agreement at all is the real sign that not all is well with him. Of course, he doesn't think it will be that easy. But he doesn't have it in him to start a fight with America right now, not when he's already lost so much.

Plus, he doesn't let go of America's hand. Definitely not having a good day.]

[fifty]

[England's definitely not doing so hot and America's definitely not capable of really dealing with this, but he'll be damned if he's not going to try.]

And--and we can figure it out. You and me together, 'cause we're great partners, right?

[keepscalm]

[Well, it gets England's attention. Colleagues, allies, even friends— but this is a new one, at least out of America's mouth.

England lifts his head a little, his eyebrows furrowing and a corner of his mouth turning up just the barest hint.] Partners?

[fifty]

Yeah! [America barrels forward with his usual subtlety (which is to say, none) before putting on the breaks a little.] If you want to be. You want to be, right? I'm a great partner.

[keepscalm]

[So boastful! But England recognises an attempt at normalcy when he sees one. And it's...a sweet sentiment, regardless.

He lifts America's hand off of his shoulder to set it against the bed, but he still doesn't let go. He finds the energy for a little tease; he's still obviously weary, so it's lighter than usual, and maybe a little friendlier besides that.] When you've got me, maybe.

[fifty]

We're good at working together, so we're good partners. [America says it like it's fact, as if being confident about it will cement it.]

[keepscalm]

[They argue so much that the idea of being good partners is almost laughable. But aren't they a force to be reckoned with when they work together? England knows that if he needs an ally, he's likely to pick America; there are no winners in war, but it's better when America is there.

He tilts his head a little, eyes downcast as another small echo of a smile tugs at his lips.] I suppose you're not the worst partner someone could have.

[That's a compliment coming from England, okay.]

[fifty]

Yeah, 'cause I'm the best! [Americas gonna America.] And you're pretty great, too.