animus_network | 001 Star-Spangled ☆ Text/Action

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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.

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[ Both America and Tony turn their heads at the unmistakable sound of someone slipping and cursing in anger (and possibly pain). Amelia raises an eyebrow, too upset about her current predicament to really lau—

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?

[A fall is hardly the worst thing he's ever had to deal with, but damn, is this undignified. England pushes his torso up off the floor with aching arms just in time to catch Amelia's words to him.

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?

Okay, okay, 'no need to get your panties in a twist, dude.

[ She finds the way he looks at her a little odd, but she doesn't question it. She shrugs it off as the man being a little shy normally and nervous about talking to a total stranger when he just fell on his ass. She smiles at him and crouches so that they're face-to-face. ]

"New arrival"? Yeah, I guess. I was just sayin' that I woke up here a little while ago.

[ She jerks her thumb over her shoulder towards Tony and the terminal.

And then she notices his eyebrows and she can't stop staring, but she strongly resists the urge to say something about them in favor of learning what she can about her current whereabouts from him. ]

[His shoulders relax a little at her answer. So she doesn't remember. She must not, or she surely would have said something by now.

It's comforting and disconcerting all at once. How many times will he redo this meeting?

Though she doesn't say anything, her staring doesn't go unnoticed. Arthur huffs and turns his face down and away, and resists the urge to raise his hand to his forehead in defence. He bites it out a little more than he means to.]

What do you want to know?

[ It is probably a bad move, honestly. Amelia does find it kind of rude how he turns his face away from her combined with that tone, but she also finds it kind of cute. A grown man behaving so petulantly! It's funny to her, so she's not really offended. ]

Uh, well, everything, for starters?

[ She gestures around her. ]

I mean... this is nuts. Seriously cray-cray. And where are my clothes!?

[It would be really hard to top his rudeness towards the last lady-America, so England isn't too worried about the little offences. He spares a glance around the hallway (nothing but doors to the dormitories and terminal alcoves), but the only unusual thing he really finds is the rain.]

They would have been in your trunk, if any came with you. [It wouldn't be the first time some unfortunate sap had arrived with no clothes in their trunk, though.

He sighs and finally gets his arse up off the ground. This isn't really a conversation he wants to have sitting like a child in the middle of the hallway.]

This is a place called "tower designation animus", or simply "tower of animus" if you prefer that. It was apparently built for research and now it houses what the administrators would probably call refugees.

[As he pointlessly wrings out a section of his shirt, he scoffs with derision.] But I'm more keen to call us prisoners, really.

[ America follows his lead and stands up straight. Somehow, he's a lot taller than she expected him to be. He looked so small sitting there in the rain. ]

I guess I'm shit outta luck? 'Cause there was nothing there but my friend here.

[ She sighs and walks back to the terminal to sit beside the Grey. ]

There's gotta be some reason they've kidnapped us here. And a way to get home. What's your name? I'm America. Are there any other people who, um, seem like they're named after countries here?

[He seems to catch on his own words. He can tell her the truth, or he can be a cagey arsehole. Considering what being truthful got him last time...

He raises an arm to rub the back of his neck with mild discomfort.] Arthur Kirkland. [Cagey arsehole it is. It eases his conscience a little. She'll find out eventually (if she doesn't disappear), and they can have it out then. But at least he won't be carrying this old guilt with him when it comes to that.

He jumps on one of the other subjects before he can change his mind about telling her his name.] It is actually possible to be sent home. But, every report I've seen from people that have been— [He hesitates, his face twitching slightly in a way reminiscent of a wince. He's remembering the viewfinder, the utter nothingness at the end of it and the sharp pain that comes from nothingness in a nation.] ...nothing left, they say.

The administrators claim they saved us from whatever did that to our worlds.

[England averts his eyes again, but it's considerably not out of petulance this time.] I've never returned. So I can't say.

As for the countries, I know a few. But I doubt many of them will be familiar to you.

[ America doesn't question his name; he's one of England's citizens, no doubt, and the name is fairly British enough to her. ]

Why's that? And has anyone thought that these administrators destroyed our worlds? I mean, the world wasn't about to explode when I left. I would have known. If they really brought us here, like it was no big deal, then how do we even know if they haven't just messed with those people's heads to make them believe there was nothing left back home?

[Her incessant questions leave him with visible agitation. England grits his teeth, clenches and unclenches his fists.

He's never been home, so he doesn't know. But he doesn't know if someone like him would even survive the trip. It hurt like nothing he could ever imagine just looking through that viewfinder; what would it feel like to actually be standing in the wasteland of his own country? Even if it was fake or all in his head, it wouldn't make the knowledge of that pain go away.

It wouldn't send him home.]

—I don't know, alright?! None of us know.

[He doesn't mean to snap at her, and he's almost sorry, but it's obvious from the pained expression on his face that this isn't something he wants to dwell on, and it's definitely not something he can answer.]

[ His tone and the way he looks at her cuts off any further questioning and, well, to be quite honest, any further conversing, period, that America planned on doing with this Arthur Kirkland. She is silent immediately and for a while, all she can think to do really is to just stare back at him, bewildered. When her senses finally seem to come back to her, she clicks her tongue and turns on her heel sharply, walking back to Tony and the terminal. ]

Right, okay... Y'know, just... Nevermind.

[ She doesn't look back at him as she seats herself back in the chair and tries to go back to watching the network. Tony doesn't look away from Arthur right away, but the Grey seems to be contemplating something. A couple moments pass before she blurts out rather heatedly, "LIMEY BASTARD!"

America hardly bats an eyelash. ]

[God damnit no this is not what he wanted at all. Fucking hell.

Arthur panics, and when he panics, he rather loses control of his mouth. And apparently also his hands, because he raises one as if to reach for her, not that he goes through with doing so or does much more than make himself look really stupid.] Wait- it's not—

[He chokes out an "I'm" after that, but he can't get much more than a short s from what he means to say next. The apology knots in his throat, tangled unpleasantly with his pride.

The alien's outburst is just insult to injury, and provokes a strained:] Please——

[England cringes at the sound of his own voice, wrought with more emotion than he's comfortable with showing. He takes a deep breath. In, out. He does this twice before attempting to speak like a rational human being.]

Please. I'm s- just— I can't tell you what I don't know. But— I can tell you what I do, and—

I think it's something you deserve to know. All right? [Even if she probably wouldn't believe him, now.]

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001 Star-Spangled ☆ Text/Action

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