Amelia Sofía Jones (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unalienable) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
animus_network2013-03-17 08:03 pm
unalienable) wrote in animus_network2013-03-17 08:03 pm
Entry tags:
001 Star-Spangled ☆ Text/Action
[ A young blonde is at a terminal in the dorms, typing away furiously. Her hair is drenched through from the ever constant rain and sitting beside her is what appears to be your stereotypical grey extraterrestrial. Child-sized and looking about curiously, the grey is a passive counterpoint to America's livid demeanor. ]
Hey, just what the hell is going on around here? One minute I'm making plans to celebrate St. Paddy's Day and the next I'm waking up in the Twilight Zone. It's raining. INDOORS! And it looks like I somehow ended up in someone's worst (or best?) latex fetish dreams. My clothes are nowhere to be found, my jacket is gone, this is definitely not my bedroom and not my house, and, ha, oh yeah, apparently the world ended.
Seriously. This joke isn't funny. Somebody please tell me this is just the sad results of one of England's stupid experiments gone wrong and everything will be back to normal if I click my heels and say "there's no place like home". This can't really be happening. It's not possible.
Hey, just what the hell is going on around here? One minute I'm making plans to celebrate St. Paddy's Day and the next I'm waking up in the Twilight Zone. It's raining. INDOORS! And it looks like I somehow ended up in someone's worst (or best?) latex fetish dreams. My clothes are nowhere to be found, my jacket is gone, this is definitely not my bedroom and not my house, and, ha, oh yeah, apparently the world ended.
Seriously. This joke isn't funny. Somebody please tell me this is just the sad results of one of England's stupid experiments gone wrong and everything will be back to normal if I click my heels and say "there's no place like home". This can't really be happening. It's not possible.
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He's on his way to America's room when the sight of a familiar alien stops him. It's disorienting (America isn't nearly old enough to have met that little bastard yet), and England stops dead in his tracks, squinting through the heavy rain at the...thing.
He only notices the woman at its side afterwards. He can't see her whole face, but—
nope he's not dealing with this.
So he hurries down the hallway behind the blonde and the terminal.
And promptly slips and falls magnificently on the flooded metal floor in his haste.]
—bloody fuck!
[Must need better traction on those dress shoes of his.]
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No. No, that's not correct; she snorts a laugh anyway. ]
'Real smooth, Prince Harry.
[ After shooting a distracted glance back at the terminal to see if anyone has replied to her yet, she stands up and walks over to the fallen Brit. Behind her, the Grey seems reluctant to follow, but she does at least turn around in her seat to watch the scene unfold. Amelia offers her hand to the guy on the floor. ]
'Need a hand?
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They're cutting in a way he can't really explain. It's bad enough that she's offering him help (and no, he doesn't need a hand, even though it's really just common courtesy to offer it to someone who has fallen), but he doesn't know if she remembers. If she does, then her help is not help, but mockery.
And if she doesn't, he's not sure how he's supposed to go about it this time around.]
I'm fine, thank you.
[All right probably not like that.
But he's not just going to let that "Prince Harry" quip go.
He sits up, and he is absolutely drenched, hair plastered to his face and dress shirt an utter, sopping wreck. He glowers up at Amelia, distaste evident in his expression.
However, the longer he looks at her, the more it transforms from distaste to something a bit more deeply troubling. His brow furrows and smooths out, and then furrows again — not with distaste, but with trepidation.]
...are you a new arrival?
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[For the moment, the rain pelting the girl at the terminal and her...pet stops as Diarmuid holds a rounded piece of thin metal over their heads. He's been carrying it ever since he picked it up on the workshop floor, not for himself, but for the others who he might run into. He might not look the best--soaked to the skin with his armor clinging to his body even more than usual--but it doesn't bother him, and he can't get sick. A good many of the others he knows in the tower can.
And this girl must be new if she is still walking around in that ugly suit they all wake up in. Could it be she was unlucky enough to arrive without clothes? He hopes not, but definitely wouldn't put it passed the tower.]
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...and she's suddenly aware that this can't be in any way England's doing, because England would definitely not be nice enough to send a chivalrous, wet, pretty boy to greet her. ]
Oh, yeah. Thanks.
[ She laughs a little and Tony beside her makes a quiet hum in appreciation. ]
Uh, do you know what the deal is with this indoor rain? It's kinda nuts.
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The people who run this place like playing games with us. They happen about once a month, and it is unfortunate, but you seem to have arrived just as this one is starting.
[He bows his head slightly, careful not to move the metal from where it's shielding her from the rain.]
My name is Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, First Warrior of the Fianna. I've been here a few months now, and I will be glad to help you however I can.
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Action.
She pauses, staring at the American typing furiously and apparently oblivious to the English woman who has stopped dead, several metres away at the end of the hallway. After weeks of wondering whether she would ever see America or any other nation again, she's afraid to move, afraid America might only be an illusion, a cruel trick of the tower. She's torn between running up and hugging the woman and running up and hitting her. Instead though, she strides forward, giving the grey alien a look of disgust, before peering over her shoulder at the writing on the screen and frowning slightly.]
My "experiments" do not go wrong.
[Not this wrong, at least.]
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What the fuck did you do!? This is totally your fault!
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England has been here weeks worrying about America and the others; especially with recent events on the Network giving her some serious doubt as to whether the world is intact, as she'd been insisting. She's incredibly relieved now she can see the younger nation is, above all, very much alive. Though a less selfish part of her does wish she didn't have to be here, in this horrific place.
Now she can see America properly, she only stares at her for a moment, just barely listening to what the younger nation is saying. She takes a breath, swallowing, and full of frustrated relief, she grabs Amelia's arm and pulls her into a rarely initiated hug. The strain of worrying if everyone she cares about is alive, of trying to stay alive herself, briefly leaves her.
However, it doesn't last long before she's pulling back again and hitting America firmly on the arm before folding her arms across her chest, looking quite annoyed.]
Don't act like an idiot! Why on earth would I do any of this?
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this doesn't seem to be too bad yet
also who's saint paddy
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Some Irish guy.
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killing your brother because an experiment fucked with your head
catching a plague that drives you insane
irish?
must be after my time then
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u r in teh twilight zone with rob sterling.
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(And despite the weather, this isn't England.)
Have you checked your trunk for a change of clothes?
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And yeah, I looked. There was nothing in my trunk, but my buddy, Tony. She was just sitting there with the top open. The room's flooded, so I guess she thought she'd use it as a sorta rowboat, heh.
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I lost this tag somehow. O_O;;;
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