yousei-san (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flair) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
metamorphosis2010-03-11 04:10 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2010-03-11 04:10 pm
Entry tags:
43;
Title: Upstart
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: PG
Notes: Paco is the nickname for 'Francisco', which is (of course) 'Francis' in Spanish.
This story is written in something different than my usual, and I'll be frank: if it confuses you, I'm sorry. I believe it's pretty clear cut on who ends up speaking though... THree spaces separate the talking from whatever actions might occur.
“Once upon a merry time, you loved me-”
I never did such a thing!
“Don’t be so argumentative, niño.”
Don’t you call me that.
“It’s what you are. You’re nothing but an upstart niño. An upstart little child who thinks he’s an empire like Paco and I and thinks he’s big and bad and that the world should bow to him and no one else. A little child who used to love me and still does, if the severity of your actions contradict otherwise.”
I hate you. Stop smiling. I hate you.
“I’m sure.”
I’ve always hated you.
“Oh? Tell me more. Tell me how you hated me when you and I… when you and I…”
What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve swallowed a frog. Can’t speak because you don’t want to think of it? I hate you now, I hated you then, and I will hate for forevermore.
“...”
That shut you up. No more smiles for me?
“…”
Cat got your tong-
“Shut up, child.”
…
“I’ll bring dinner for you later.”
…
“Good niño. Good bye.”
…
I hate him.
England scowls and shifts upwards, rubbing the side of his jaws with his shoulder and thinking, blearily that it was broken. The door had long been closed and only the sound of Spain leaning on it lingered. He shifts closer to the large wooden door, letting the chains scrape against the stone floor and groaning when he hits it.
Weren’t you going to get me food?
“I thought you were out cold. It’s here.”
Oh.
“Would you like it?”
No.
“Then why’d you ask about it, niño?”
…
“Well?”
…
“You won’t answer when I call you that, will you… You’re troublesome.”
This does not exist.
“What doesn’t?”
Whatever you have for me.
“Food? It exists… in fact it’s getting cold now and it’s a little delicious and-”
I wasn’t speaking about that.
“Oh.”
The silence resumes and England closes his eyes, lets himself doze against the hard, damp door. Spain purses his lips, stands, and walks off in thought.
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: PG
Notes: Paco is the nickname for 'Francisco', which is (of course) 'Francis' in Spanish.
This story is written in something different than my usual, and I'll be frank: if it confuses you, I'm sorry. I believe it's pretty clear cut on who ends up speaking though... THree spaces separate the talking from whatever actions might occur.
“Once upon a merry time, you loved me-”
I never did such a thing!
“Don’t be so argumentative, niño.”
Don’t you call me that.
“It’s what you are. You’re nothing but an upstart niño. An upstart little child who thinks he’s an empire like Paco and I and thinks he’s big and bad and that the world should bow to him and no one else. A little child who used to love me and still does, if the severity of your actions contradict otherwise.”
I hate you. Stop smiling. I hate you.
“I’m sure.”
I’ve always hated you.
“Oh? Tell me more. Tell me how you hated me when you and I… when you and I…”
What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve swallowed a frog. Can’t speak because you don’t want to think of it? I hate you now, I hated you then, and I will hate for forevermore.
“...”
That shut you up. No more smiles for me?
“…”
Cat got your tong-
“Shut up, child.”
…
“I’ll bring dinner for you later.”
…
“Good niño. Good bye.”
…
I hate him.
England scowls and shifts upwards, rubbing the side of his jaws with his shoulder and thinking, blearily that it was broken. The door had long been closed and only the sound of Spain leaning on it lingered. He shifts closer to the large wooden door, letting the chains scrape against the stone floor and groaning when he hits it.
Weren’t you going to get me food?
“I thought you were out cold. It’s here.”
Oh.
“Would you like it?”
No.
“Then why’d you ask about it, niño?”
…
“Well?”
…
“You won’t answer when I call you that, will you… You’re troublesome.”
This does not exist.
“What doesn’t?”
Whatever you have for me.
“Food? It exists… in fact it’s getting cold now and it’s a little delicious and-”
I wasn’t speaking about that.
“Oh.”
The silence resumes and England closes his eyes, lets himself doze against the hard, damp door. Spain purses his lips, stands, and walks off in thought.