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metamorphosis2010-02-11 10:47 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2010-02-11 10:47 pm
Entry tags:
35;
Title: August Days
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: G
Originally for LJ's 31_days. Late prompts. The second half of the first August Days entries.
-sleeping underneath your skin
There’s a monster hungering for gold and blood and violence under that smiling, cheerful, clueless exterior. England knows it (he’s seen it) yet whenever he mentions it, Spain laughs and gives him a level look.
“It’s in you, too.”
-when you open your wings to speak
“There’s a bird inside you.”
The little England blinks and looks at his chest, poking at it.
“Dat can’t be twue. I haven’t eaten any biwds.”
“Your stomach is in your tummy, not your chest. And I meant in your soul. And one day, it will want to fly and make its own home.”
“It’s gonna weave me?”
Cue horrified expression. Spain laughs and cuddles his short friend.
“No, no. But it’d like to speak.”
-I wish you’d let me in
Spain sighs as he smooths his palm over England’s hunched shoulders, giving him a wistful look.
“I wish you’d let me in.”
The sudden stopping of sobs is all the answer he needs.
-I belong in the service of the queen
“Privateer! I’m a privateer!”
“Pirate! Pirata!”
“I’ve got official papers from the Queen that say I am allowed to stop any vessel I want in order to search for and take anything I wish.”
“Legal pirating? Ha! Your witch has sunk low, dog!”
“Papers, Spain. Papers. Now shut up, kneel, and let me through. After all, I belong in the service of the Queen, and I will do my duty.”
-I’m almost drowning in her sea
The sea is as pleasant as it is dangerous; drowning, drowning, going under, lungs filling with water and darkness crowning his vision. England struggles for air, but never reaches it.
He wakes up on a shore, groans, and wonders out loud if the curse of never being to die is so strong. Spain laughs beside him and kisses him, laying a knife against his ear.
“Oh, I’m sure we could fix that, dog.”
-memories are films about ghosts
His hushed days are filled with nostalgia; old costumes and weapons, flowers long-dead and jewelry to adorn ears and fingers. A small box of gold dust is his treasure, to sprinkle and pat upon his brow and, every once in a while, feel young again. He muses that he isn’t very old, yet he feels it.
Spain is still cheerful, laughing in the parlor below and tinkering with the porcelain vases and plates, licking his lips in memory of stolen goods. England sits in his attic and remembers the battles and blood. Aside, they remember the sweeter summer days before such a time.
-folded, and unfolded, and unfolding
England was like an onion; he had layers, and as Spain peeled away the layers he cried harder and harder. Broken, beaten, England wonders why.
-give me your black sky
The dark clouds swirl above and silence fills the calm, a buzzing noise that England grimaces at and shouts to get rid of. In the murky sea below, Spain watches and snarls for his lost armada.
-“it’s the breathing, the breathing in and out and in and…”
Spain laughs softly against his skin, and England shivers slightly.
“Why, you ask? ‘¿Por qué España?’ Because things that aren’t alive never come back. They don’t reach out and cry for help.”
He pulls his very real, very alive pirate and holds him tighter. He’d never let him die.
Not again.
-all my innocence is wasted on the dead and the dreaming
“You might as well be dead, for all the cheer you bring.”
“And you might as well be on fire, for all the sunshine you bring.”
Spain looks perplexed. England snorts.
“On the dead and the dreaming, I swear.”
-I wanted to see you walking away from me
“Why did you come?”
He stands on the dock, glancing behind him. Spain smiles softly, not letting the tears come to his eyes.
“I wanted to see you walking away from me, Inglaterra.”
-someday I’m going to stay, but not today…
“Someday, I’m going to stay, but not today…”
Spain laughs hollowly and calls him out on the lie; England grins in return and kicks him off the plank.
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: G
Originally for LJ's 31_days. Late prompts. The second half of the first August Days entries.
-sleeping underneath your skin
There’s a monster hungering for gold and blood and violence under that smiling, cheerful, clueless exterior. England knows it (he’s seen it) yet whenever he mentions it, Spain laughs and gives him a level look.
“It’s in you, too.”
-when you open your wings to speak
“There’s a bird inside you.”
The little England blinks and looks at his chest, poking at it.
“Dat can’t be twue. I haven’t eaten any biwds.”
“Your stomach is in your tummy, not your chest. And I meant in your soul. And one day, it will want to fly and make its own home.”
“It’s gonna weave me?”
Cue horrified expression. Spain laughs and cuddles his short friend.
“No, no. But it’d like to speak.”
-I wish you’d let me in
Spain sighs as he smooths his palm over England’s hunched shoulders, giving him a wistful look.
“I wish you’d let me in.”
The sudden stopping of sobs is all the answer he needs.
-I belong in the service of the queen
“Privateer! I’m a privateer!”
“Pirate! Pirata!”
“I’ve got official papers from the Queen that say I am allowed to stop any vessel I want in order to search for and take anything I wish.”
“Legal pirating? Ha! Your witch has sunk low, dog!”
“Papers, Spain. Papers. Now shut up, kneel, and let me through. After all, I belong in the service of the Queen, and I will do my duty.”
-I’m almost drowning in her sea
The sea is as pleasant as it is dangerous; drowning, drowning, going under, lungs filling with water and darkness crowning his vision. England struggles for air, but never reaches it.
He wakes up on a shore, groans, and wonders out loud if the curse of never being to die is so strong. Spain laughs beside him and kisses him, laying a knife against his ear.
“Oh, I’m sure we could fix that, dog.”
-memories are films about ghosts
His hushed days are filled with nostalgia; old costumes and weapons, flowers long-dead and jewelry to adorn ears and fingers. A small box of gold dust is his treasure, to sprinkle and pat upon his brow and, every once in a while, feel young again. He muses that he isn’t very old, yet he feels it.
Spain is still cheerful, laughing in the parlor below and tinkering with the porcelain vases and plates, licking his lips in memory of stolen goods. England sits in his attic and remembers the battles and blood. Aside, they remember the sweeter summer days before such a time.
-folded, and unfolded, and unfolding
England was like an onion; he had layers, and as Spain peeled away the layers he cried harder and harder. Broken, beaten, England wonders why.
-give me your black sky
The dark clouds swirl above and silence fills the calm, a buzzing noise that England grimaces at and shouts to get rid of. In the murky sea below, Spain watches and snarls for his lost armada.
-“it’s the breathing, the breathing in and out and in and…”
Spain laughs softly against his skin, and England shivers slightly.
“Why, you ask? ‘¿Por qué España?’ Because things that aren’t alive never come back. They don’t reach out and cry for help.”
He pulls his very real, very alive pirate and holds him tighter. He’d never let him die.
Not again.
-all my innocence is wasted on the dead and the dreaming
“You might as well be dead, for all the cheer you bring.”
“And you might as well be on fire, for all the sunshine you bring.”
Spain looks perplexed. England snorts.
“On the dead and the dreaming, I swear.”
-I wanted to see you walking away from me
“Why did you come?”
He stands on the dock, glancing behind him. Spain smiles softly, not letting the tears come to his eyes.
“I wanted to see you walking away from me, Inglaterra.”
-someday I’m going to stay, but not today…
“Someday, I’m going to stay, but not today…”
Spain laughs hollowly and calls him out on the lie; England grins in return and kicks him off the plank.