Rusted from the Rain • • • APH roleplay

What are you looking forward to the most in the roleplay?

World War III.	41.2%	[ 7 ]
Not World War III.	0.0%	[ 0 ]
More events.	17.6%	[ 3 ]
Just the roleplay finally moving into something more exciting.	35.3%	[ 6 ]
Something else. Elighten Bolshevik!	5.9%	[ 1 ]
Total Votes:			[ 17 ]

[Hallow Genki]

A t r u t h that's told with bad i n t e n t
Beats all the l i e s you can invent.

R + o + d + e + r + i + c + h ++ E + d + e + l + s + t + e + i + n

The fact that Matthew wasn't drinking the wine came as no surprise to Roderich at all. He simply polished his own off, mumbling incoherent phrases of appreciation as he (politely) shoveled down more of the poutine, setting his wine glass aside, before reaching for the other's. He gave him a quick glance through his spectacles, a very faint blush on his cheeks from the drink, "Not drinking? May I? Thank you," and without awaiting an actual response, he plucked the wine glass from in front of the shy country and brought it to his own lips, taking another generous swig before setting it down. A rather attractive smile came to his lips as he enjoyed his meal (it seemed the addition of a glass or two of wine made this enjoyment exponentially greater), and he glanced at Matthew every few moments, listening for his thoughts--or incoherant stammerings--regarding their sleeping arrangements. He could tell that he was pleased to have pajamas to wear, and it didn't really bother Roderich all that much to lend them to him. In fact, he'd probably be quite......attractive..... in them.

When Austria mentioned they'd be sharing a bed, he wasn't sure at first what exactly Canada's reaction was. He didn't say anything, He'd been smiling before that, but now his face ahd darkened (literally). He looked embarassed, but inevitably thanked him. Well, of course he would thank him! Austria knew that Canada was one of few countries with completely legal marriage for homosexuals, and while it was illegal there in Austria, he was only showing respect for the Canadian ideals of marriage, right? Or ...something. He figured he could play it off as such.

"Well, yes," he said cordially, raising a hand to wave through the air slightly as he spoke, taking another sip of wine. It appeared he was much more interested in speaking after he'd had a little alcohol in him. "It is of course illegal here, but you are of Canada and your people like that sort of thing, yes? If I am to respect your ideals of marriage, then I will simply make the compromise and allow you to share my bed."

Nodding as he spoke, he finished his second glass of wine, as well as his last bites of his dish. Abruptly standing, he brought the dishes to the sink all on his own, then turned to Matthew. "Finish your milk in bed if you want, as long as you don't spill. You can save the dishes for tomorrow. Don't worry about them tonight." How kind of him. Well, he was doing his best to be generous. Shrugging, he put his hand on the small of Matthew's back, and once again steered him out of the kitchen, "If you wish to take a bath, that option is available to you, but I am too tired, so don't bother drawing one for me." He assumed that it was natural for Matthew to know that the work was his job. This was normal in Canada, right? The whole being married thing? And it was clear which one of them was more...the wife...

In a jiff, they were up in Roderich's lavish, comfortable-looking bedroom, which he realized with swift embarrassment that he hadn't tidied up before he left. Immediately, he turned away from Canada to pick up some loose, dirty clothing and toss them into his closet, swiftly shutting the doors. There were also a few empty wine glasses sitting on his bedside table, but oh well. There was no hiding those now, right?

Ah, right. The pajamas. He swiftly opened his closet again, pulling out two sets of satin pajamas--one red, one blue. He reserved the blue pair for him, and brought the red pair over to Canada. "They'll be a little big, but..." he shrugged, and continued, "If you want to bathe, the door is there," he indicated the door to the master bath, directly off his bedroom, "and towels are folded beside the tub."

After this statement, he promptly began to unbutton his vest, grabbing a hanger to put it away instead of just tossing it on the floor as he usually would have. He seemed completely unconcerned with whether the other saw him changing or not. Perhaps if he weren't a little bit buzzed he would have had at least a little more discretion, but he didn't care at the moment.

It is r i g h t it s h o u l d be so:
M a n was m a d e for j o y and w o e;
And when t h i s we rightly k n o w
Through the w o r l d we s a f e l y go.

J o y and w o e are woven fine, A clothing for the s o u l d i v i n e.
Under every g r i e f and pine R u n s a joy with silken twine.

[Bolshevik Syndrome]

W E - S T A N D - O N - G U A R D - F O R - T H E EMADE BY CHESTELLENO STEALING
O - C a n a d a . . . XMADE BY CHESTELLENO STEALING
i w a s l o s t
a n d i ' m s t i l l l o s t

INDENTMatthew didn't really... Have much time to respond to Austria at all, for every time he thought about opening his mouth to speak, another comment would be spilling from the lips of the Austrian. Rather than cutting him off or many useless sounds to show the (now not so) strict musician that he was listening. He seemed... A little too comfortable with all of this it seemed. Never was Canada expected to clean up and such at another's house, though he would offer in sort of a thanks for their hospitality, but such things were being demanded from Roderich that... Well, the wife of a typical, older European husband would be expected to do. Feeling the courage build up within his chest to speak to him, the blond soon felt the fingertips and the palm of the Austrian against his back, and even through the sweater his hand was searing rather than warm. A few, quiet gasps escaped the lips of the shy country as he was lead through the home of the musician, however he sealed his lips closed and pulled his hands into the long sleeves of his sweater nervously.

INDENTW-Well... At least he was being a little more hospitable, right? That seemed to please Canada a bit, which caused a gentle smile to pull across his burning cheeks as he was pulled through the hallways then into the Austria's room. It was... Well, elegant, but not feminine. It looked comfortable to say the least, so he assumed that he would well... Obviously be comfortable during his stay here. A little (or very) awkward. It wasn't like he shared beds with people on a regular occasion, but with someone he barely knew? It was a little strange to Matthew... He took the pajamas from Roderich and thanked him with small bow and a simple nod rather than verbally. He felt his lips twitching nervously, so if he said anything at all, he knew he would have made a fool of himself. Matthew held his breath.

INDENTCanada's eyes flittered about the room in curiosity, but also to commit it to memory. He didn't want to wake in the morning to find himself somewhere that he didn't know, then obviously become confused and frightened, however when his eyes landed on Austria who began to remove his clothes so suddenly, Canada spun around with the silk red pajamas in his grasp and strode towards the bathroom. Austria would know he was bathing, right? He was allowed to, after all, so if he was going to the bathroom it must have been obvious. Upon moving into the bathroom, the pajamas were set over the side of the sink. The towels were exactly where Roderich said they were, which was good. He didn't have to go searching for them. The heavy breath he was holding in quickly escaped him as he moved towards the tub. A bath... Would be nice. Instead of a shower that was. Turning the taps in order to fill the tub with warm water, he sighed and plugged the tub before removing his own clothes, then slipping into the filled tub.

INDENTMatthew sighed as he sunk into the water in which was a little warmer than he thought it was. It caused him to take in a sudden breath, however his skin adjusted to the temperature. His glasses were continually fogging, so he removed them and set them on the side of the bathtub. His entire body slumped as his mind wandered... What would happen now? It frightened him almost... Matthew pulled his knees towards his body in which he rested his chin upon, his mind drifting again. Alfred never returned to France's house... Where was he? Well... Maybe he did come back, but then Matthew was gone. Canada felt a sudden weight upon his shoulders but felt a sudden churning within his stomach. He hoped his brother was alright, but he felt otherwise. The sickness in his stomach caused him to shift uncomfortably, but a quiet buzz rumbled against the ceramic tiles, causing him to reach over the side of the bathtub to reach for his pants.

INDENTWhile reaching for them, Canada knocked his glasses off the side of the white tub. Gasping and setting his hand on the ground to find his frames, he pulled half of his body out of the hot water, his stomach resting on the side of the tub, and eventually, his wet hands found the clear lenses before he was finally able to fish his vibrating cellphone out of his pant's pocket. Flipping it open, he found a text from Alfred which seemed to ease the pain in his stomach some. Still hanging over the side of the tub, Canada responded to the text message with slow fingers that were unaccustomed to typing on the small device:


Thank you for telling me. I'll tell Roderich... And Ivan.
I'm... Okay. Roderich took to me to his house... But I'm taking a bath now.
But my stomach hurts... You're okay, right?

b e -XX--- w h o -X---- y o u ----- w a n t --X--- t o -----XX- b e
m a k e XXXXX u s XXXXXX b e l i e v e XXXXXX i n XXXXX y o u
k e e p XXXX a l l XX y o u r X l i g h t X i n X t h e XXXX d a r k
i f XXXXX y o u ' r e XXX s e a r c h i n g XXX f o r XXXX t r u t h
t h e n XXXX j u s t XXX l o o k XXX i n XX t h e XXXX m i r r o r
a n d - m a k e - s e n s e - o f - w h a t - y o u - c a n - s e e

j u s t - b e

-
-

[Hallow Genki]

A t r u t h that's told with bad i n t e n t
Beats all the l i e s you can invent.

R + o + d + e + r + i + c + h ++ E + d + e + l + s + t + e + i + n

In justifying their sharing the bed by being a compliance with Canadian culture (or what he thought of it), Roderich wasn't trying to imply that Matthew slept around or something. In fact, he assumed the direct opposite. However, in a desire to make an excuse to want the other to stay in his bed (for both Canada and his own mind), he decided that he would rather seem revolutionary than old-fashioned, and played off of the Canadian legality for gays to marry.

Austria's eyes flicked briefly to the form of his husband as he went into the bathroom, assumedly to bathe. The thought of this immediately caused his mind to wander to various extremely inappropriate scenarios, but he didn't bother to curse himself for this. Yes, it was a little embarrassing that he couldn't help but to think about such things, but it was one-hundred-percent better than actually acting on them. Right? Right.

The thought of Canada calling to him, asking for a towel came up--and then right back down. His towel were right next to the tub. Well, good, then.

The thought of Canada calling to him, asking for help in washing his back came up as well--but that was completely illogical. He didn't even have the courage to ask him for help when he couldn't find the deep fryer, when the conversation would have been a mere "do you have a fryer?" "Yes, it is over there." And he would have pointed it out, and it would have been done. Why was he thinking so much about this, right now, anyway?

He grunted, reluctantly redressing in his bedclothes--often times, he slept in the nude, with a robe on standby in case he should need to get out of bed. But Roderich did think that he would look like an enormous exhibitionist if he slept in the nude while the other was present (that was just bad manners. After all, even if they were married, they still barely knew each other), and therefore opted for the bedclothes, regardless of his usual habits. He supposed they'd better get some use, anyway--he often recieved them as gifts from those who wanted to get him something, but either couldn't afford to buy him something artistic, or didn't know what he already had. Not wanting to buy him something he didn't like, they opted for...pajamas. Or socks. Or something similar--things that could be worn, but weren't truly expressive of taste and therefore were unlikely to be returned for the sheer practicality of them.

Lifting his hands to remove his glasses, he clasped one of the arms between his fingers, and folded it in while rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm. He really was tired... which was probably for the best. He wasn't sure just how well he could keep his libido in check, particularly after that wine....

Grunting, he set his glasses aside, his phone beside them, pushing the empty wine glasses out of the way, so he would be less likely to knock them over in pursuit of his glasses and phone in the morning. Crossing the room, he turned out the light, then returned to his bed. The room was now pitch save for the beam of illuminated steam eminating from under the bathroom door, and the silhouette around it in the slight gap between door and frame, thus making it look like a door into another world. In the terms of Roderich's buzzed, amused, tired mind--that was certainly a world full of "fantasy."

A sigh escaped the Austrian's lips as he nuzzled his face into his pillow, watching the blurry outline of the door for a short while, before his eyelids fell closed difinititively. He made sure to fall asleep on one side of the bed, and leave plenty of room for the other to climb in after he had finished his bath.

It is r i g h t it s h o u l d be so:
M a n was m a d e for j o y and w o e;
And when t h i s we rightly k n o w
Through the w o r l d we s a f e l y go.

J o y and w o e are woven fine, A clothing for the s o u l d i v i n e.
Under every g r i e f and pine R u n s a joy with silken twine.

[shinigami_yuko]

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

The name is...

► Áяτħůr Ӄɪrkζąηɖ◄

As England looked up and scanned the waiting room, he saw a familiar face enter through the double doors. He immediately turned his head away in a scowl, hoping that the German did not see him. It was as he was glaring at the wall that he heard a voice call out his name. He stood and rushed over to the professional looking man, a worried expression covering his face. When he heard the man also call for Ludwig, he glared as he looked back over his shoulder to see the tall blonde still at the entrance. Why did he have to show up, after all? It was all his fault in the first place that Alfed had gotten this bad. Tieing him up and assualting him as such, it made Arthur sick.

"Is Alfred alright?" he said, turning back to look at the doctor. "Is he going to be fine?" he was impatient and worried about his 'son'. It was only normal that someone in his position would be worrying about this sort of thing. He was in a hospital after all, it was an emergency and there was no time to be calm in an emergency. He almost felt like running through the door that the doctor had come out of and search for Alfred himself but he knew that would solve nothing.

It would do you well to remember it.

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

[Zesty Taco]

α ʟoиε тяαvεʟεя ωαʟкs oи α qυεsт тo тнє sтαяs.
ʟιкε α ωαиdεяιиɢ dovε, нε мαкεs нιs ωαy αcяoss тнε ʟαиd ...

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First, he awoke from his meditation to find Austria, Russia and Canada gone. Then, when he went to look for France, he was gone. And not wanting to stay in the house alone he decided to go and look for a hotel - without asking for directions. And now it was raining.

China's angry pace had slowed considerably after a few tense moments of walking, his eyes cast low to the ground as his body ached more than it had in the last few days. His fists had been clenching and unclenching for the last few moments, the thought of the situation now settling in his mind. He was married to France? France, of all people? He never even spoke to the man besides about their economies. Their relationship was just that, after all; economic. The situation was so infuriating for the small man. What would this mean for his people? Would French troops suddenly start swarming in and taking over? Would Francis make visits and try to settle himself in right at home with Yao? And where had he gone at this time of night? His questions had halted, however, at the first raindrop on his nose. Perhaps leaving France's home wasn't such a good idea; maybe he should have waited for him to return like the good husband he was, but being in an empty mansion didn't sound like a pleasant idea.

His head shook these thoughts away as he crossed a crosswalk, people quickly running into nearby apartment buildings and towards their cars. China didn't even know where he was going, and he had stopped trying to put an effort into escaping the rain. He was dripping wet, his changshan soaked and his ponytail flat on his back instead of slung over his shoulder as it normally was. He didn't look angry or frustrated anymore, nor did he feel it; no, now he was just lost both physically and mentally. Never in his five thousand years had he been in this situation before. Yao gently sighed and turned, heading right and down another street towards nowhere. If he spotted a hotel he would ask if they would take him in for the night. He had some money on him, although he hadn't gone out and wasted his time buying pocketfulls of France's currency since his stay would be brief. But now, he may have to remain there. It wasn't a usual marriage if one spouse remained too far from the other.

Was this even legal? Hell, was this even possible? Yao recalled that, during the Cold War, Russia and he were basically married with the pact to defend one another, and the frequent visits one would make to the other. But, those were his true Communist days, and those days were over. China had too many questions that he had to force down for the time being. Maybe he would call someone tomorrow; whether that someone was France or not, China wasn't going to be sure. Now at another intersection (that didn't take long), he wearily eyed the golden band around his finger, now host to tiny water droplets that stayed until he moved his hand. I wish I could get it off, he thought dismally, it's too pretty to get wet like this. He caught himself thinking this but didn't bother to try and stop it. Before, he would have wanted the ring off just to get it off, but now... now, he felt like it was his ring. Funny. China was about to cross the rain-soaked road before he heard a familiar jingle in his pocket, and felt a tremor as well. Blinking his brown hues, China walked underneath a nearby building and took temporary refuge under its roof before taking the phone out. Huh?

Confused, China glanced at the number once, then continued to stare at it, trying to identify the person calling. It was a French area code, he knew that, but he didn't know anyone in France except for, well, France. Besides, if it was him then the ID would have recognized him as such. Opening the phone, China hesitated before pulling the phone to his ear. Why was his heart beating so quickly? "... Wai," he spoke, the traditional greeting for phone conversations.

"Is this Yao Wang?" The French accented voice on the other end, a female, asked. She got the order of the names incorrect but China understood that she somehow knew him. A frown crossed his face, and he paused before speaking. "... Yes, it is, aru. Uhm, who are-" "I'm calling from Hôpital Européen Georges Pompidou." For a moment, the French name confused China. He had a feeling what it was, yet he wasn't familiar with the terminology. After a moment of mulling the name over, he slowly began to understand who this was -- or rather, where she was calling from. But, why? She had said something after introducing where she was from, but China had been too busy trying to decipher it to listen. "A-ah, I didn't get that ... Can you repeat it?"

"Do you know a Francis Bonnefoy?"

The world seemed to crash around him. His eyes, which had been mindlessly transfixed on the rain, widened and he nearly crushed the phone in his hands. The rain seemed to stop in front of him and his heartbeat skyrocketed. But why? France wasn't anything important to him. He was his ... 'husband' ... but that didn't mean he had to care that much!

Right?

"Y-yes," he managed to voice. The normally calm China broke and he gripped his phone tightly, blasting off on questions poured out as quickly as a runaway train. "Is he alright?! What happened? Where is the hospital, aru?!" He realized what he was doing, and didn't understand why he was so concerned, but he couldn't seem to stop and apologize for rushing to ask her questions. So many things ran through his mind. Did he get in an automobile accident? Did he get out of the car and someone attacked him? In the current world, it was so easy to get hurt and sent to the hospital. And, the number of ways a person could get hurt were so numerous...

"Please, sir, calm down," she spoke in a quiet but reassuring voice. "He was in an automobile accident; a drunk driver hit him from behind. Both of his knees need to be replaced and his shins will need plates where the fractures are located. However, with time he will learn to walk again but for the moment he will need a wheelchair. He will survive." China's heart still pounded, but it felt like a weight that was crushing his shoulders and pushing him down had been lifted. He would live, and China felt himself breath again, albeit shakingly. "It is located in the 15th arrondissement of Paris; the cabs should be running still, they will know where to go. When you get here, please come to the Emergency Room and we will give you Francis' room number." "W-wait!" He didn't hear her reply, but Yao knew she was still on the line. "How--how did you know to call me, aru?" He heard the small pause, as if she didn't understand why he was asking, and she finally spoke to him. "Your name was on his ring, and your number was in his phone." The latter reason meant nothing to him. In France's phone, he was just a number. But, those cursed rings were what was letting China know about France. Without them, would he have known about France's accident? Those What If scenarios ran through his mind once again, and Yao nodded slowly. "... Xie xie. I will be there as soon as possible. Zai jian." Hanging up, China stared at the red cellphone in his hand and shifted his view to the ring on his finger. France.... Fingers tightening around the phone as Yao felt an uncomfortable twisting of his stomach, he tightly closed his eyes, recomposed himself, and set off in a stride to find the nearest cab.

It didn't take long; the woman was correct, they were still carrying people around. With a little information about the severity of the situation, Yao managed to convince the cab driver to take the quickest route to the hospital, even if it was illegal. Thankfully the route they chose, and the speed they went, was completely legal and he managed to get there in a little under a half hour. Handing the cab driver the appropriate amount (and a small tip), China strode into the ER in his still dripping clothes, suitcase still in his hand. People stared at him but he ignored their eyes and immediately went to the desk in the ER. Before he even got the chance to speak, the blue-eyed, light blond haired woman glanced at him and knew it was the man she was waiting for. She gave the room number and directed him in the proper way to get there, but before Yao left, he turned to her in confusion. "How did you know it was me?" he asked. She chuckled but did not look at him as she wrote something down on paper. "Your outfit gives your Nationality away, Monsieur."

It didn't take long, since he didn't wait for the elevator to take him to the proper floor, for him to get to the room. He had a feeling that the surgery was over but he didn't want to see France attached to machines, in a hospital bed. China's eyes blinked rapidly and a hand lashed up to wipe at the tears that he didn't let fall. No, no; he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't cry because he had no reason to. France would be okay, and he wasn't anything to Yao but a friend who was dragged into a "marriage". Arriving at the door, China stared at the number and took a hold of the doorknob. However, he didn't turn it; he took a deep breath, eyes closing, as he composed himself as best he could. He didn't know if France would be howling in pain, asleep, awake, smiling, frowning... He didn't know. He just knew he was there, and all China could hope was that he would be welcome to stay with France as long as he would allow. That's what any good spouse would do in this situation.

And after a moment or two, Yao turned the knob, entered the room, and closed the door behind him.

( fail reply is fail; I'm so sorry. D;
And I just deleted my old reply, so... yeah. )

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁ ▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁ ▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

иo мαттεя ωнεяε тнε ʟαиd ιs, ι ωιʟʟ sυяεʟy ʟιvє oи.
ι ωιʟʟ ғιиd тнαт ρεяsoи, вυт тσ ωнoм doεs мy нεαят вeʟoиɢ...?

❝ On a map that pinpoints one's place in the world,
Everyone wants to be placed at the center.
Place my country anywhere on Earth,
Laughing merrily while spinning around... ❞

[Shotgun Mouthwash]

F - r - e - n - c - h R - e - p - u - b - l - i - cxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Francis Bonnefoy: le beau d é s a s t r e ..xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Je désire ardemment pour l ' a m o u r et le l o g i q u e
Mais il est seulement heureux, hysterique
J'attends un certain genre de miracle
Attente tellement longtemps...
Tellement longtemps...

[ Oh, hush. You made me happy. You gave Francis my war wounds. 8DDD ]

It was all a blur. Francis had no idea how long he had been out. All he knew was that there was a blunt but burning pain from his hips to his toes, like someone had soaked his legs in some dulled down acid. He felt his skin crawling in their bandages, fingers dying to rip the gauze off and scratch his legs. But he knew he couldn't. Hell, he couldn't have moved even if he wanted to! Whatever pain medication they had given him were some kind of powerful.

The ambulance had arrived about five minutes after the crash, just long enough for France to slip off into a light sub-conscious state as they rolled up and began the delicate task of prying apart the mangled metal of his beloved Fiat to free him. Ten minutes of ripping chunks of glimmering garnet-colored metal off the framework and they had exposed the crumpled steering column, which was cut away before they slid Francis out of his seat and onto an awaiting gurney. God, that had hurt. They had to straighten his legs out to get him into the ambulance. It wasn't until then they could see the extent of his badly his legs had broken. Mercifully his adrenaline had kicked in, so most of the pain was dulled out.

One car ride that seemed to last forever and they had arrived, Francis audibly groaning in pain as they wheeled him out of the back of the ambulance and straight up to the operating rooms. Bright lights. Voices... lots of them. His vision was hazy, but he could make out several faces above him, pushing his bed into an elevator and speaking rapidly in his native tongue. The elevator stopped with a sickening lurch (riding up an elevator on your back was never a pleasant experience for your equilibrium) and he was off again, being handed off to a group of people clad in dark blue scrubs and face masks. These guys had to be the surgeons. What were they going to do? What was wrong with him? It had to be his legs. He couldn't feel his toes. That was a terrifying thought. But before he could dwell on the subject anymore an anesthesiologist had put a mask over his nose and mouth, a sickly-smelling gas entering his lungs. Within moments he had blacked out again, exhausted mind sliding easily into a deep sleep.

Great. More voices. What the hell did they want now? They were speaking in French, so he was still in the hospital. There was a man and a woman, and the woman's voice was worried. Very worried. Had something gone wrong? Was he... dead? Surely not. His legs hurt too much for him to be dead. Yeah, he was still alive. The steady beeping of a heartrate monitor next to his head proved it. He could feel a breathing tube still in his throat and mouth, finger clamped into a small clip that ran up to a few monitors. IV drips pumped a steady stream of painkillers and anti-inflammatories into his veins, numbing most of the pain he was probably feeling. God bless the man who invented those things. The sound of a door opening and shutting snapped Francis out of his thoughts, but he didn't bother to open his eyes. It was probably just the doctor and nurse leaving. No point in looking. Besides, he wanted more sleep. If someone had come in the room, they'd just have to bear with him looking dead out unconscious for a while.

Il est mou au contact x x x
Mais frangé à l'extrémité, il se c a s s e x x x
Il est assez jamais x x x
Et il est toujours plus que j e p e u x p r e n d r e . . . x x x

[Zesty Taco]

α ʟoиε тяαvεʟεя ωαʟкs oи α qυεsт тo тнє sтαяs.
ʟιкε α ωαиdεяιиɢ dovε, нε мαкεs нιs ωαy αcяoss тнε ʟαиd ...

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China wasn't used to seeing people in hospital. No, he hadn't seen people in the hospital, not since... well. Excluding the natural disasters that had hammered his country for all its years, and the wars he had fought in and lost people in, he couldn't remember when he had been to a hospital last. He hadn't been to a hospital for a car crash of a friend -- no, that was something that never passed his mind. The few times he had been to a hospital, it was usually during a crisis and people were running around screaming orders to employees; victims of whatever the catastrophe was cried out in pain, asked for family, cried...

This was much too calm to be real. No one was running around screaming that they needed more blood for a soldier who had lost some appendage; they weren't yelling for clean water because whatever disaster took out all the fresh water they had. No, here, all China could see were machines, tubes, and a blond-haired man lying deathly still in a hospital bed. He couldn't feel his legs, suddenly, and he almost thought his knees would collapse from under him at the sight before him. In the past, he had seen people fighting for their lives: kicking, screaming, bleeding. It wasn't a pretty sight and everytime he saw it, China felt himself wanting to turn away and wait to hear the doctor announce the TOD. But this... this felt worse. China wanted to run. France wasn't fighting at all; he was so still. The only thing that signaled to Yao that Francis was still alive was the beeping of the heart monitor. That was it. Just that heart monitor was enough to fill him with hope, but the sight of the Nation before him was almost enough to crush his hope - and his heart. But why?!

This wasn't supposed to happen. He did not love France. No ring could change a human's feelings about another human, that was impossible. Then again, everything in the last few hours seemed damn near impossible. He first found himself married to France, then everyone in the house's proximity seemed to fall off the face of the Earth and disappear, now here he was, standing in a hospital in the middle of Paris, with that same man he was married to. Anyone in his situation would run to their spouse, try to wake them or or let them be and stay by their side. China had no clue what to do now; he was still transfixed on France's unmoving body.

Realizing that the body of France was getting closer, China finally was able to feel his legs slowly moving towards the bed until he was at Francis' left, the monitors and IV drip on the man's right. He eyed France quietly, still not making a sound, before he noticed up close just how bad the situation was. He assumed the procedure had been done, and now, France was part bionic man, with two new knees and plates in his shins. The tube down his throat almost made China want to gag, partially from imagining the tube down his own threat and also due to the fact that seeing anyone he knew with a tube in their throat would make him sick. The rapid dripping of the IV caught China's weary, brown eyed gaze, and upon following the tube from the bad to France's arm, he winced and glanced away. Swallowing thickly, China bit his lip and glanced at the floor, unsure what he should do. What do I do now? he asked himself mentally, glancing at France sadly. If this was anyone else - America, England, Russia, any of the countries - would he know what to do? Was it just France he was clueless around? If that was the case, why was he so clueless? Was it the rings or--

No, no, no! This wasn't the time to ask those questions. Instead, he noticed a chair behind him and quietly dragged it closer, sitting now next to the injured man. China had seen Acient Rome fall. He had seen countries disappear from the face of the Earth. He had seen them rise and fall from greatness. France's recent days were nothing on the caliber of his proud times, the times of Napoleon, but he was still a good Nation in China's eyes. Good for economic growth, of course, but the man behind the country -- Francis Bonnefoy -- despite his flirtatious facade and cowardice, was a good man. China's shoulders sagged. He eyed his own hand and then France's. Right hand rising slowly, he gently wrapped his fingers around France's left hand, his eyes looking at the golden band around the Nation's finger. Was this marriage supposed to bring the two closer? If so, why, why did it have to be like this? Yao's heart sank and he murmured beneath his breath, "You'll be fine." He swallowed the yoyo in his throat and repeated himself. "You'll be fine." Why was he telling France this? Could he hear him? Or... Or, was he telling himself? Since when did the oldest, the wisest, the calmest country need comfort in knowing a friend would be fine...? Since when did he feel like he would break down at any moment?

China's voice choked and he repeated the statement again, quietly, strained, as he found himself unable to look at France anymore. "... you'll be fine ..." His left hand wiped the falling tears away as he looked away, his shoulders still sagging, but his hand still holding France's hand tenderly. This reminded him of visiting countries in the past after they had been attacked, offering his help to them. This reminded him of his brief visit to Japan after the bombings, how his once-brother had been so hurt during the attacks. This reminded him of 9/11 and how America had fallen, his pillars of strength succumbed to his very own planes. But this was different. France wasn't attacked; he wasn't bombed; he wasn't at war. This accident was a reminder that although they represented the Nations and they would not die unless their country did, that they were still human.

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁ ▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁ ▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

иo мαттεя ωнεяε тнε ʟαиd ιs, ι ωιʟʟ sυяεʟy ʟιvє oи.
ι ωιʟʟ ғιиd тнαт ρεяsoи, вυт тσ ωнoм doεs мy нεαят вeʟoиɢ...?

❝ On a map that pinpoints one's place in the world,
Everyone wants to be placed at the center.
Place my country anywhere on Earth,
Laughing merrily while spinning around... ❞

[Bolshevik Syndrome]

L - E - I - D - E - R ---- D - U ---- H - A - S - T ---- K - E - I - N - E ---- Z - E - I - T
u n f o r t u n a t e l y , - y o u - h a v e - n o - t i m e

CHESTELLELOVES...->G e r m a n y

CHESTELLELOVES...->g u e s s - y o u - b e t t e r - g e t - y o u r - a r m o r
CHESTELLELOVES...->g e t - y o u r - a r m o r

INDENT Oh Germany saw England alright, he was the main reason Ludwig was there in the first place. The glare and look of disgust upon the male's face as he had stepped onto a black mat. Two glass doors slid open to reveal the quiet waiting room. Despite the hour, not a hint of fatigue plagued his body, and Ludwig felt rather lively. The heat that his body had endured previously had cooled down due from the open windows during the car ride to the hospital.

INDENTIt wasn't often that Ludwig expressed his disappointment in himself in front of others, however when Arthur turned away and his name was called aloud, Germany reached a single hand behind his head and rubbed the base of his neck. He felt like America--an idiot, that is. He couldn't have just let him go and do as he desired, but why? Because he was concerned, he told himself, but how could he be concerned for someone he didn't care for? Such thoughts that circled the male's mind were laced with truths and lies, and he no longer knew which was what anymore. What did he truly think of Alfred? He found himself standing dumbly in the waiting room of a hospital without any knowledge on the situation at hand. Would he understand what was happening? Germany knew for certain that Arthur would not disclose any information, so Germany merely had to rely on the doctors and nurses. He needed to be patient.

INDENTThe pale, tired looking eyes of the German were set upon the ground, but fixed upon the base of a chair. He wasn't really looking at the chair as he was staring off and thinking about what could have possibly hospitalized America? He hadn't much time to assess the situation before a feminine voice called for him to approach. Why would they be calling him? Germany didn't plan to think about that now, he simply stepped forward, his fingers gripping America's slim glasses tightly (though not enough to break or warp them) and approached the nurse. He gave Alfred a good distance, for he understood by his body language that he desired to be no where near Ludwig, and he fixed his blue eyes upon the nurse expectantly, however Germany's thoughts traveled to America's condition as he waited for a response.

INDENTIf he had let him go when he wanted, to take a red-eye flight home because he was... Well, frightened, Ludwig decided. If he had let America leave, then perhaps he would have been at home getting at least a bit of rest... But he had been stammering, unable to speak for whatever reason. The image of America on his knees fumbling over his words came to Germany's mind, causing his cheeks to darken against, however he cleared his throat to rid the thought. There must have been something more... Why couldn't he speak properly? It was beyond him...

o n e - w o r d - t u r n s - i n t o - a - w a r
i ' m - n o t - h e r e - w i t h o u t - a - s h i e l d
c a n ' t - g o - b a c k - n o w

c a n ' t - s w a l l o w - o u r - p r i d e
n e i t h e r - o f - u s - w a n n a - r a i s e - t h a t - f l a g
i f - w e - c a n ' t - s u r r e n d e r - t h e n - w e ' r e - b o t h - g o n n a - l o s e

❝ H o l d - o n t o - y o u r - p r i d e - a n d - e n d u r e ! - T h a t - i s - a l l ! ❞

[akugirl]

G - o - d XXXXB - l - e - s - s - . - . - .

MADE STRICTLY FORA M E R I C A X ! !

THE USE OF AKUGIRL ONLY. & 333333 ↘ XXA l f r e d - F . - J o n e s

T - h - e XXX " - H - e - r - o - "

"Mister Kirkland, Mr Ludwig, I am Doctor Tom Jones," Said the doctor, holding his hands up, once the nurse who had just arrived finished speaking with him, "I would shake your hands, but I don't think you would want to shake mine." He smiled thinly before clearing his throat.

"Ahem, Well, I have been informed that the patient is still critical. However, we have managed to stabilize him. He has a high fever of 103 degrees Fahrenheit, dangerously low levels of white blood cells, signs of chronic illness and is he is currently either unconscious or catatonic," He said, listing a few new details as he wrote them down on his clipboard, "Now I have some questions. First: To your knowledge, has he shown any signs of dizziness, nausea, coughing or sudden dislike of physical contact with other people? Second: has he been to places with poor or inadequate facilities such as a third world country or the war zones? Third: Has he come in close contact with anyone but yourselves in the past 24 to 48 hours? Fourth: what are your relations to the patient. The fifth... Has he ever been a POW?"

He looked at them sternly, "I don't believe he had any clothes when he was brought in, let alone a form of Identification, so I would like to know just who is in that room. He shows signs of either repeated assault, or long-term abuse. There is some bruising and the skin is raw around his wrists, rough cord is the culprit possibly. He also seems to have minor tearing of the muscles in his arms. In terms of scarring... I'm surprised he's still alive. He's got an old scar that looks like it just missed cutting him in half. One half-healed one in his leg you could stick a fist into. And the type of scars on his chest and back... It's like he's had every weapon designed since like the sixteenth century used on him."

He sighed. "He's what? Nineteen? Poor kid looks like he has a damaged lymphatic system that results in him having a weak immune system, and is possibly a genetic defect. He also seems to have a very mild form of radiation poisoning. We almost didn't catch that one. And on top of all that, this virus looks to me like it might be the H1N1 Swine Influenza. Whatever this kids been doing should have killed him a dozen times over. I would almost think that the only reason he's still with us is because they can't decide which one should finish him off."

He sighed before moving on to the subject that had been bugging his fellow staff members, "On a lighter note, we can't remove his ring. Any reason why that is? It also had Mr Ludwig's name on it, sans Surname though. Thank God Ludwig is a rather uncommon name other wise things would have been difficult. Do yours have names as well? I'm prying. I do apologize for the wait, and you will be able to visit with him. I must warn you beforehand. He is on a respirator. If he wakes, Do Not make him talk, and alert the staff immediately. Do not agitate him. Do not raise your voices at him. And most important of all... Do Not Touch Anything in that room. Failure to comply will result in ejection from this hospital for the duration of his stay. Do you understand me gentlemen?"
He gave them a stern look, One only a former military medical officer is capable of, but indicated for them to follow him. He needed to double-check that the nurses did their job properly after all. Come hell or high water, he was going to ensure this boy lived.

The sudden sounds of pandemonium ahead made him groan in frustration. It seemed that the patient had woken up disoriented.
"G***D**** Nazi-B**** I'm gonna kill you all!" came a familiar, if extremely distorted by illness, voice amidst the chaos of people trying to find away to restrain the powerful American. The doctor sighed as they approached.
"It seems as though he has woken up in the middle of world war 2," he said calmly, despite his anger. Soon enough the sounds ceased, and they stopped at the door containing Alfred, "Ah. It seems he has been restrained or sedated... I will let you stay to greet him once he joins this side of the sedation veil again."


s - t - a - r - s XXXa n dXXX s - t - r - i - p - e - s

- l a n d - o f - t h e - f r e e
- a n d - t h e - h o m e - o f - t h e - b r a v e

[shinigami_yuko]

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

The name is...

► Áяτħůr Ӄɪrkζąηɖ◄

Arthur waited and listened to the doctor as he described Alfred's condition and then grilled them with questions. His chest ached as he listened to the man describe it all and when he mentioned the abuse and assualt he glanced up at the german with a scowl. He had put all the blame of this to him now and by god, he did not want him here let alone standing right next to him. He wished that he would just leave him and America alone but it was not like he was going to fight him. That would be a fight he most definatly would lose.

"His name is Alfred F. Jones, I'm his elder brother. He has had this sort of chronic illness all his life and he was coughing and dizzy before we got here, i'm not sure about nasuea or contact with people. He's spent some in the middle east and stuff, I'm not really too sure about the details since he doesn't tell me much anymore." he huffed, glaring at the man who had asked so many, what seemed to be stupid, questions. Why couldn't he just take him to Alfred first? It was not like he couldn't ask these questions later.

"I'm not sure about close contact or at least to what extent." England added. POW? He couldn't remember at the moment, he just wanted to see Alfred. Then, Arthur remembered about the abuse part, time to get back at the jerk who did this to him. "This," he said pointing to germany "is the b*****d who tied him up and assualted him." he said point blank. There was no way he was going to let him get away with doing such a thing without consequences. It was earlier that he had found out that Germany had tied America up when he queried him about the rope burns on his wrists. he still had no idea what exactly was going on in that room but he had no doubt that Germany was doing awful, unforgivable things that deserved a curse later when he got home and could get to the things he would need to do a proper curse. The thoughts of all the things he would do ran through his mind as he listened absent mindedly to the unimportant doctor that stood before him.

"Yes yes, of course." Arthur said, following the man down the hall impatiently after he had finally agreed to let him see Alfred. When he heard the familiar voice of Alfred yelling, it felt bitter sweet. There was no doubt that Alfred was alive and kicking but he was still not doing well and only making it worse for himself for not resting peacefully. No longer being able to wait, Arthur rushed into the room and to the other's bedside, not even listening to what the doctor had said. He just wanted to see for himself that Alfred was there and that he was ok. He did see Alfred and he also saw a couple of nurses, they were restraining the panic stricken man. "Alfred, it's ok. Calm down." he called out to him but staying out of the RN's way. He did not want to cause more havoc but he could stay out of the room no longer and perhaps a familiar face would calm him down.

(fail post is fail)

It would do you well to remember it.

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

[Bolshevik Syndrome]

L - E - I - D - E - R ---- D - U ---- H - A - S - T ---- K - E - I - N - E ---- Z - E - I - T
u n f o r t u n a t e l y , - y o u - h a v e - n o - t i m e

CHESTELLELOVES...->G e r m a n y

CHESTELLELOVES...->g u e s s - y o u - b e t t e r - g e t - y o u r - a r m o r
CHESTELLELOVES...->g e t - y o u r - a r m o r

INDENT What... Strange questions. Germany took in a deep breath to respond, however he heard Alfred begin to utter what he knew, or whatever he could. Ludwig, however, simply listened until he was done. There was one response, however, that caught Germany's attention. A chronic illness? This wasn't something that Ludwig had heard about the American before, though he did conclude it was something tied to his... Constant strange behaviour.

INDENT"Abuse? Nein, nein! It is your fault zat Alfred does know ven to fall ashleep!" Germany retaliated. He refused to be blamed for what happened. Perhaps if he were accused and blamed by America, then Germany may have stood aside and simply took it, but from England? No, he wouldn't accept it. Arthur was not faultless. Perhaps with current events, yes, but if everything was taken into consideration, then simply tying a sleepless individual to a bed in attempt to force them to get some rest didn't sound half as bad. Besides, it wasn't necessarily Ludwig's fault that the man's wrists were bruised. It was his fault for squirming. Maybe if he was raised a little bit better.

INDENTThe doctor escorted the two down a hallway towards the room that Alfred was resting within. Germany felt his senses suddenly bombarded with sterile, dry scents that didn't help the throbbing headache from Arthur's blow. Feeling the need to rub the sides of his head, he resisted and kept his hands at his side. The questions that the two were bombarded with went left unanswered until they reached the room containing the American victim. When the door gently opened to reveal Alfred, who was thrashing and kicking, Ludwig redirected his eyes to the doctor, and spoke simply, explaining the bruising on his raw, swollen wrists was due to the very display he was giving now.

INDENTHis tongue halted, however, at the sudden insult announced behind closed doors. It was something that Germany simply brushed off or retaliated with insults of his own, though coming from the hospitalized patient, whom he was married to, forced a sudden weight over his body that made him feel uneasy. He did not attempt to speak, nor did he shout some American insult back through the poorly insulated door. No, rather he simply watched Arthur brush passed the doctor into the room as he stood there. He would not go in there. Not because he was frightened of America, no that would be an absurd accusation, but it was rather clear that Alfred did not want to see Ludwig's mug. He couldn't entirely blame him though, no one ever did. The comment was not... One of much intelligence, especially in a German hospital, however most of the people at this day and age were unaffected by such a title, but being through that era and obviously living through it, Ludwig was effected by that title more than one would think.

INDENT"I... Vill return vith his things." Germany said, his voice low and calm as he spoke to the doctor. He brought his clothing and his shoes, after all, and he guessed that his identification was within his pants pocket or his jacket. Without waiting for any such response, Ludwig departed without stepping foot inside Alfred's room. Perhaps he'd just drop off his things and go, considering that he was not desired there. Just go home and deal with the current situation of his room and await for Japan and N.Italy to wake from their slumber. They could continue on with the meeting they were supposed to have had earlier in the day, then they would leave, and Germany would be on his own again.

INDENTA heavy sigh escaped his lips as he passed through the same two sliding doors where an overhead light flickered, and out into the darkness that blanketed the outside world. The moment he was out of the hospital, Ludwig took in a deep breath of the humid night air before proceeding to his car. He shoved a single hand into the pocket of his military slacks while his feet led him to the driver's side of his car, in which he now realized he left unlocked. As he reached for the handle of the side of the black, 1940's Mercedes. Mercedes looked a lot different nowadays, and most would compare is vehicle to a hearse. Throwing open the door, he ducked his head and crawled onto the black leather seat and reached over for America's clothing in which were sitting in a lump. Sighing and pulling them towards himself, he placed the glasses of the American on his own head so he wouldn't forget them or crush them anywhere, folded his pants, his shirt, the jacket and the vest, then threw the tie over the pile that he pulled into his arms. He checked the pockets for identification. Successfully finding a wallet, Germany tucked it into the pocket that contained his cellphone, then grabbed Alfred's shoes and moved back into the building. Back through those double doors and blinding fluorescent lights, through the sanitary hallway. He approached the doctor, who was still standing by the door. Rather than coming into the American's line of sight, Germany held off to the side and handed the pile of clothing to the doctor.

INDENT"Everysing is there..." Germany said dully with a slow not as if to confirm it, though he paused and looked at the heap, believing that there was one other thing that was missing beside for the individual who belonged in them. Blinking, he slipped his hands into his pockets, then placed his hand on his chest to see if he had hooked the missing item into the collar of his shirt, however he found them upon his head and cleared his throat. Ludwig folded both arms down, then placed the thin frames on top of the pile he had handed to the doctor, and finally, began to retreat once again. To leave America and England in peace.

o n e - w o r d - t u r n s - i n t o - a - w a r
i ' m - n o t - h e r e - w i t h o u t - a - s h i e l d
c a n ' t - g o - b a c k - n o w

c a n ' t - s w a l l o w - o u r - p r i d e
n e i t h e r - o f - u s - w a n n a - r a i s e - t h a t - f l a g
i f - w e - c a n ' t - s u r r e n d e r - t h e n - w e ' r e - b o t h - g o n n a - l o s e

❝ H o l d - o n t o - y o u r - p r i d e - a n d - e n d u r e ! - T h a t - i s - a l l ! ❞

[akugirl]

G - o - d XXXXB - l - e - s - s - . - . - .

MADE STRICTLY FORA M E R I C A X ! !

THE USE OF AKUGIRL ONLY. & 333333 ↘ XXA l f r e d - F . - J o n e s

T - h - e XXX " - H - e - r - o - "

The doctor sighed as the two men in front of him radiated hostility towards eachother. Though, Mr. Ludwig seemed to deflate after the patient, Alfred, shouted his strange insult. He frowned thoughtfully as he looked at the chaos in the room and wrote down the men's answers waited for the clothes. Dr. Jones had seen Kirkland when he had first graduated from college as a young man nearly twenty-five years ago, and to his surprise, Kirkland hadn't aged a day. He also claimed to be the patients' older brother, but the patient's last name was Jones. And by the accent, Mr. Jones was an American. Mr Jones also had insane, almost herculean, strength. Things weren't adding up.

"England!?" Alfred gasped, wide-eyed at Arthur. It gave the frantic nurses just enough time to stab the needle into his arm and depress the syringe. He growled and batted the unfortunate man away and into the wall on the other side of the room. Despite his best efforts, the sedative began its work and he quickly found himself floating in a dreamlike state. He blinked up at Arthur in confusion, as he began to fall asleep.
"What... happened?" he asked, speaking thickly, "I... remember... Someone... hurt me... He was... sad about something... I tried to make him happy... but he kept walking away... and then that other person came... he was him... but not... He came with his friends... they attacked me... there was a red band... I fought them off... But they changed... but I couldn't understand... Then you came... Am I... hurt?"

The doctor compared his notes to the other paper on his clipboard and sighed. I have a feeling this won't turn out well... As Mr. Ludwig handed him the boy's clothes he spoke.
"I am afraid you will have to be detained for a bit longer sir. Your... What did you say your relation to the- sorry, Alfred- was? It seems he has contracted the H1N1 influenza virus. Since you two seem to have been in close quarters, namely in a room of some sort, for a while, you too will have to be quarantined until you are given a clean bill of health. If you wish, we could put you and your... friends in the same room. You will have to be isolated for a long time otherwise."
He turned to leave, but paused.
"I don't know what you gentlemen are," he said quietly, "and I don't want to know. But I will do my best to help your friend. It is what a doctor does."

s - t - a - r - s XXXa n dXXX s - t - r - i - p - e - s

- l a n d - o f - t h e - f r e e
- a n d - t h e - h o m e - o f - t h e - b r a v e

[Shotgun Mouthwash]

F - r - e - n - c - h R - e - p - u - b - l - i - cxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Francis Bonnefoy: le beau d é s a s t r e ..xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Je désire ardemment pour l ' a m o u r et le l o g i q u e
Mais il est seulement heureux, hysterique
J'attends un certain genre de miracle
Attente tellement longtemps...
Tellement longtemps...

Someone had come into the room. He could hear their footsteps. Judging from the slight scuff of the heels on the sterile laminate floor, they were either hesitating or tired. More than likely it was the former. Over the years Francis had become adept at reading body language, and despite the fact that his eyes refused to open, he could read this guy (or girl, as it might be. He couldn't tell) like an open book. He was tired. Strained. Stressed. And he smelled slightly of rain and city smog. He'd been walking outside, judging from the fact that the rain was pattering lazily outside the nearby window. But who was it?

Francis tried to open his eyes again, but to no avail. The sedatives were still too thick in his system for him to function correctly. It was slightly irksome. He wanted to see himself, damn it all! He knew it wasn't gonna be a pretty sight, but it would be nice to see just how mangled his legs were. If the burning ache in his joints was any indication, it wasn't pretty. According to the doctor and nurse from before, they had replaced his knees and screwed his shins back together. He'd been in the operating room for ten hours before they had pieced his legs back together. Now here he was, doped up to the point of paralysis and hooked up to every machine in the damn hospital... including this damn tube in his throat. The moment he could move again, that thing was coming out, whether the doctors liked it or not.

The person was next to him. Was he here to try and pull the plug? Good luck. He'd still live. Or maybe it was one of those Angel Of Mercy killers that snuck into intensive care wings and smothered the people to save them from being vegetables. He wasn't a vegetable! He couldn't walk, yeah, but he was still breathing, dammit! The sound of a chair being dragged closer made him mentally jump, every sense trained on the person next to him. This was it. The person was gonna kill him now. God save his sou--

Francis' irrational thinking was halted at once as the person spoke. His voice rang like church bells through the Frenchman's ears, and if his face wasn't stuck in a neutral frown he would have grinned from ear to ear in relief. It was China. He'd come to his side. But... why? France didn't deserve it. Hell, he'd almost accosted the poor Asian one night! China obviously didn't like him, so why was he here? Could it be because of the rings...? No. That didn't have anything to do with this. China didn't like him, regardless of these damn rings. Yeah, they were married, but Francis was sure if he had the opportunity Yao would have strangled him. But that still didn't explain why he was here... or why his hand had found France's... or why he was reasuring him...

France's heart broke in his chest when he heard China begin to break. He was hurting, maybe more than France himself was. He had to find some way to say something, let China know he was here and okay and he didn't have to cry. Willing up all his resolve he forced his entire being into his hand, managing to give the other man's hand a gentle, but definite, squeeze. Okay. His hand had moved. Time for the next big wall: opening his eyes. Using the same technique of forcing his mind to focus on one thing and one thing only he strained, eyes opening almost painfully slowly to peer around the dimly lit room. It was painted a rather ghastly shade of butter yellow, a random painting of a flower staring at him from the wall opposite his bed. Was this the hospital's attempt to cheer their ICU patients up upon awakening? God, he hoped not. Shifting his vision to the left slowly his still adjusting eyes fell upon the weeping Chinaman, the breath evaporating from his lungs until the respirator he was hooked up to forced them to inflate once more. Poor China was broken, just like France. And he'd done it. It was all his fault.

Francis managed a small grunt despite the large intrusion in his throat, hand managing a firmer squeeze as he tried to make China see he was awake. He wanted nothing more to throw his arms around the small man and just hold him there, to tell him that it was all gonna be fine and that he would live and that they were all gonna walk out of this like nothing had happened. He knew it wasn't true, but still. He had to do something... anything... Seeing China like this hurt him like nothing else ever had. But... why? He couldn't explain it. Maybe it was just the sedatives. Yeah, that was it. Just the medication.

Il est mou au contact x x x
Mais frangé à l'extrémité, il se c a s s e x x x
Il est assez jamais x x x
Et il est toujours plus que j e p e u x p r e n d r e . . . x x x

[Zesty Taco]

α ʟoиε тяαvεʟεя ωαʟкs oи α qυεsт тo тнє sтαяs.
ʟιкε α ωαиdεяιиɢ dovε, нε мαкεs нιs ωαy αcяoss тнε ʟαиd ...

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China had seen many things in his years. He had seen civilizations rise and he had seen them fall. He watched as good men let power and greed corrupt their souls. The people all around him - in his own country and others - had changed over the years, and yet they were still the same souls he saw every day when he was younger, when the world was simpler. He even remembered the first time he heard about France -- and how odd it seemed for such a man to represent a country like his. He remembered France's highpoint of the Napoleon era and how everything slowly sank afterward, how almost disappointed he had felt, watching yet another great country rise and fall. But unlike so many others, France managed to survive -- whether his survival was a highlight or a downpoint to the world he would never judge. And he was going to survive this. He had to. China didn't understand why he was so determined to make sure France lived to tell the tale but he was. Maybe it was the rings, maybe it was so he wouldn't watch a good man fall. It didn't matter.

Yao didn't understand much of what had gone on in recent time. He didn't get how he was suddenly married to a man he hardly came into contact with, one who was probably kicking his heels and singing Hallelujah when he found himself a husband, or how everyone else had become wed to their significant others. America and Germany? They weren't enemies anymore but they certainly weren't best buddies, either. England and Japan - he was more upset that his kin had suddenly become wed than at anything else! And the trio of Austria, Canada and Russia? Was it legal for a man to have two wives at once if his religion or lifestyle didn't call for it? He wouldn't admit it but not knowing was upsetting for him. He was the wise country, the one who had seen so much and lived to tell about it with a smile on his face. How could he not understand something as simple as marriage? It wasn't completely blasphemous; at the time it seemed to be, but now that he was assured that he didn't have to remain at France's side 24/7 he felt as if nothing happened. So, why was he there now? Would he want France to be with him if he was in his condition?

China's mind pounded with a headache. The situation, the rain, the lack of any productive meeting, not knowing where everyone was... It was overwhelming, almost. There! That was why he was crying: he was stressed. That had to be it, it wasn't the rings, it wasn't any feelings... It was just the stress. Yao kept his eyes closed after the tears had been dried. He never enjoyed lying to himself and trying to pin the blame on stress, of which he had felt so many times in recent years, was naive and stupid. His brown hues glanced at France, who remained motionless, and he gave a gentle sigh. He felt obligated, almost, to stay there with the man until he was either shooed away by him or he was dragged out by force. Another circumstance he had to question... He gazed away again, teeth biting his lip as he felt fresh tears beginning to form in his eyes. Why, why couldn't he do anything?

Suddenly all the questions floating in his mind collapsed and his eyes opened from their dimly-lit, downhearted appearance to his normal visage, if not a little wider. Head whirling to his right in surprise, he felt... a squeeze. It was weak but he swore he felt one. He swore it! Maybe he was going crazy or the stress was getting to-- no, no, no! It was France. It HAD to be France. China's eyes rested on the man, observing him. Why did it feel like he was struggling to do something? Oh no, he thought, eyes shifting to the door, I need to go get someone! He might be trying too hard and he might hurt himself even more! His muscles in his legs twitched, begging him to stand up and walk, no, run to get help, but his mind commanded otherwise. He had to see for himself.

He didn't know what to do. France had squeezed his hand but what was he trying to do now? Yao had given up trying to stop himself from crying, it wasn't as if France could see him do it anyway. About to look away from his pained spouse, China took in a sharp breath and held it. Something caught his eye and he turned his attention back to France, still holding his breath in some sort of unknown anxiety. Was that...? His eyes slowly widened. Was France trying to open his eyes? Giving the man a reassuring, but gentle, squeeze of the hand, China bit his lip, hoping the Nation knew what he was doing and would be able to do so without harm. He wasn't sure if he had succeeded, the tears were blurring his vision. But the small grunt answered the newest question that had formed: if Francis was awake. He had felt his hand, he had seen his eyes -- China couldn't help but let a relieved smile float on his lips.

It was then that he realized that France was gazing upon him and he was crying like a child! "O-oh..." he murmured quietly, mostly to himself, as he used his left hand to wipe away the tears again. They weren't necessary. France was in pain, groggy, and was probably confused, but he was awake and for the moment alright. Most importantly, he was alive. China gazed back at France, his left hand lingering on his own face for a moment before drifting down and resting again. His stomach dropped; what would he say now? France couldn't speak, it'd seem, so would he be talking to himself? "Umm..." Yao's eyes drifted to their hands before he finally swallowed the thick knot in his throat and tried to say the right thing. "They called me a while ago, maybe... thirty, forty minutes ago. I got a cab, aru; I'm glad that they run as late as they do." He managed a twitch of a smile before continuing, his voice slow and quiet yet doing the best he could to not sound stupid. "I'm not going to go anywhere, aru. I'm going to stay right here with you as long as they will let me. Th-that's what a good spouse does." The last sentence was slightly choked as China felt himself try to smile in spite of the tears he knew were beginning to reform. "If... if it's too much for you to keep your eyes open, you don't have to... I'll be here either way, unless they make me leave, aru." Taking in a shaking breath, his hand quickly cross along his eyes before his hand tightened slightly on France's, a silent but comforting signal that China would try his best to do... well, whatever he could in this situation.

He wanted to ask France so many things. He wanted to yell at him for - well, he wasn't sure why. But, this wasn't about him. The others would know later, perhaps when France was asleep again and China got a chance to text or call someone. That is, if they didn't know already. He would have the check on them later. For now, though, he wanted to know if France needed anything. But how could he ask and get an answer? Perhaps the 'one squeeze for yes, two for no' system in the movies would work. "Umm... do you need anything? If you can, squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no." China blinked and realized that he might have made a bluff. "A-ah! But... but only if you can." The second part had been added quickly, and a small, slightly embarrassed blush temporarily covered China's cheeks, a fretful look in his eyes. He didn't want to make this worse than it was and he hoped he wasn't. He just wanted to be there for the injured man. He was trying his best and felt like he was failing. He hoped that France was at least somewhat happy that he was there.

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иo мαттεя ωнεяε тнε ʟαиd ιs, ι ωιʟʟ sυяεʟy ʟιvє oи.
ι ωιʟʟ ғιиd тнαт ρεяsoи, вυт тσ ωнoм doεs мy нεαят вeʟoиɢ...?

❝ On a map that pinpoints one's place in the world,
Everyone wants to be placed at the center.
Place my country anywhere on Earth,
Laughing merrily while spinning around... ❞

[Shotgun Mouthwash]

F - r - e - n - c - h R - e - p - u - b - l - i - cxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Francis Bonnefoy: le beau d é s a s t r e ..xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Je désire ardemment pour l ' a m o u r et le l o g i q u e
Mais il est seulement heureux, hysterique
J'attends un certain genre de miracle
Attente tellement longtemps...
Tellement longtemps...

[ PIG SIIIIIICK. ]

China was... crying?

His vision was beginning to sharpen and the details of everything around him were becoming clearer; the slight puke-colored tint that was mixed in with the paint, the dull thrum of the respirator as it forced air into his lungs (even if he didn't need it; he was certain he could breathe on his own at this point), the red splotches that stained Yao's eggshell skin from where he had been crying. Guilt washed over the Frenchman like a sickening typhoon. He was upset. How long had be been here? Time seemed to stand still as Francis laid here in this bed, like the world itself had stopped spinning the moment he hit that fence post.

His words flowed through France's brain, helping to clear his thoughts from the mire the sedatives and painkillers had created. He had to get to where he could speak again, and this tube had to come out before that happened. But before the tube could come out (the nurses would never take it out. He had to do it) he had to get better control of his hands.

He met China's eyes, blinking as he made his eyes focus. His head was spinning slightly, and the vertigo was making him feel a bit ill. Nevertheless he locked eyes with the other male, managing a small smile around the tube in his mouth as he lifted the thumb on the hand that China held, gently rubbing the top of the Asian man's hand a few times in a mute way to reassure him. All China was doing had really touched France. No one had ever really taken the time to be this nice to him before. Sure, he had acquaintances and lunch date friends, but he'd never really had someone that cared about him. Even if they had had some (okay, more than some) bad moments, could it be that China actually wanted to be his... friend?

Giving the other man's hand two squeezes he let go of Yao, letting his arm rest by his side. Here came the hard part: not only did he have to lift both his arms, he had to pull this tube out of his airway without gagging. This was gonna be interesting, to say the least. With a few steadying breaths he slowly lifted his hands, almost shaking as his fingers wrapped around the thin blue tube just past his lips. He had to do this. He had to be able to talk to China, had to be able to say something to comfort Yao like he had been doing for him. Closing his eyes slowly he let the weight of his arms slide the tube up, gag reflex kicking in before France forced it back down. He couldn't get sick now. It was almost out, dammit! With a few more pulls the end of the tube came up from his windpipe, scraping the back of his tongue before popping out completely. France's arms gave out instantly, falling to his torso as he let the tube fall sideways to the opposite side of the bed, where it hung limp toward the floor, still pushing air out at regular intervals.

At first it felt odd to breathe on his own; his lungs had grown accustomed to a machine breathing for him. With a few deep, steadying gasps, though, he had managed to get his breathing back to a normal tempo, eyes sliding out of focus for a moment. He was still out of it from the sedatives, and that had taken a lot of effort. But he was gonna stay awake. He had to console China. Seeing Yao this upset made his heart hurt, and he wasn't gonna do anything until he got his "spouse" to calm down. Taking the other man's hand again France gave him a weak smile, rubbing the back of his hand again with his own thumb. "Mer ci," he half said, half whispered, smile still riding on his lips. "Zis means more to me than you could possibly know."

Il est mou au contact x x x
Mais frangé à l'extrémité, il se c a s s e x x x
Il est assez jamais x x x
Et il est toujours plus que j e p e u x p r e n d r e . . . x x x