[Archive] Atlantic Conference [England]

[aniskywolf]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,480,true][atrb=width,20%][atrb=vAlign,top] THE DATE IS AUGUST 9, 1941 ..And the Atlantic Conference has just begun. Aboard the ship USS Augusta, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston Chruchill discuss the "Atlantic Charter", a plan on how to manage the world after World War II. The United States, though, has not entered the war yet. Ship Harbor, Newfoundland, Canada

     There was little to do besides just chilling out and waiting for the English warships to arrive. Well, for Alfred anyway. President Roosevelt was content fishing for... god knows what out in the water. Just the other day the man caught a very large fish that was just gross to look at. Everyone was getting all hyped over it because no one knew what it was. America himself was a little bewildered. It was... cool yet so ugly at the same time. After everyone gave up, the President simply said it should be sent to the Smithsonian for preservation. Thinking with his stomach, Alfred simply thought it would have been better to just cook and serve it. But that's all most of everyone did. Even though they had this huge battleship, the USS Augusta, the executives really did little else but waste their time and fish, along with preparing everything for the arrival of the British Prime Minister.

      Churchill always struck to Alfred as being kind of... odd. The man had this sense of humor the young man didn't quite understand but occasionally found it quite amusing. President Roosevelt was very fond of the man, though. They always were seen together and often got drunk together, finding each other's company quite enjoyable. They cracked jokes and goofed off, but in the end when they got the work done, they got it done right. The same could not be said with Alfred and Arthur, as things never got done and when they did, it was only "just enough". Instead of cracking jokes, they cracked insults, and instead of finding each other's company enjoyable, they felt repulsed by it. It was a stark contrast between their bosses' relationship with their own. This was an important meeting and America was determined to seem like he was ready for something of such importance. Oftentimes he was put down as being too young to be handling matters that would effect the whole world, although he felt that he had proved himself with the end of the first World War. Hopefully things would go well.

     Going into his quarters he figured that the HMS Prince of Wales would be arriving into the harbor soon. Might as well dress up properly then. He pulled out a Navy service outfit and promptly put it on, adjusting the the tie and neatly placing the white, decorated hat upon his head with the golden eagle upon it sparkling against the light. Sharp, wouldn't you think? With golden stripes along the cuffs with a single golden star on the sleeves and golden studs keeping coat closed, it was hard to say no naval officer didn't look quite decorative, especially with the medals that aligned along the chest against the dark navy background of the uniform that simply made them look all the more brighter. As soon as he was just about done prepping, footsteps were being heard all through out the carrier as talk now was being heard of the arrival of the warship. About time.

      Quickly America looked for his boss to escort him to the English officials. Roosevelt, to be frank, was not the best at getting around, especially because he wouldn't be in a wheelchair in public. It was a quirk he had but America could understand why. The man was in denial of his disease and just because he was disabled he didn't want to appear weak. Now, that was the kind of spirit Alfred loved to see. Determination to move on despite difficulties. Upon finding the politician, he flashed a grin towards the elderly man.

"Ready, Mr. President~?" He chimed.

"Of course."

      Promptly, the man stood, putting much effort into standing. Even with the cane and braces it was extremely difficult. Thankfully the man had impressive upper-body strength. Despite this Alfred hooked his arm around the man's, not wanting him to strain himself. They didn't need that now, nor would they ever. Escorting him he made a point to take it slow, as the man could only move his legs so much. The disease was crippling and took a toll on the old man's body, so having him strain himself was definitely not necessary.Eventually though they found themselves with the rest of the crew, aligned neatly along their sides, saluting the Chief Executive as well as his counterpart. Looking ahead of himself he felt quite anxious about this whole meeting, but at the same time was anticipating it. Finally, he would be able to do something important without having to be in that crazy war. Hopefully he wouldn't have to join it, though at the end of the day he felt like he was gong to if only because he eventually joined the first one. Eugh.

      Stiffing his form he stood up straight, keeping his hooked arm on the President in place. President Roosevelt looked at him quickly with a reassuring smile.

"Calm down, it's not like this is the first time."

"I am calm, sir." He stated, reassuring him in return, "I won't let myself get nevous, because that's not what heroes do~"

      The older man chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head as they awaited for their advocates to present themselves. America could hardly wait, although at the same time, he wanted to wait forever.

---

• The Conference takes place in both the HMS Prince of Wales and USS Augusta... for some weird reason. They kick off the Conference in Augusta, though.. sothat'swheretheyarenow
  
• While FDR was handicapped, he denied the fact that he was permanently paralyzed from the waist down (due to polio) so he went out of his way a lot to try and walk around normally with the help of leg braces and canes, although without much success since he could barely even move his legs. He would use his strength to help him stand up straight when talking on a podium and such. He refused to use a wheelchair in public, and there is only one picture of him in a said wheelchair.
  
• Also. He caught some weird fish no one could identify so they put it in the Smithsonian in D.C. for... some reason.
  
• Right after this, they have a friendly lunch. Because... ISN'T THAT WHAT YOU DO WHEN YOU'RE GOING TO TALK ABOUT IMPORTANT WORLD PLANS? they're special
  

[England]

'Cause now again I've found myself
So far down, away from the sun
That shines into the darkest place
I'm so far down, away from the sun again
Away from the sun again

He wished he could say he'd made good use of the time he had on his voyage across the Atlantic, oh how he longed to say he'd used the time to actually do something productive with the ever elusive free time he'd been granted. He however could not. He'd alas done little but more than sleep whilst upon the Prince of Wales, though it were perhaps a totally justified matter. This damn war had been going for too long, his Empire was building up debts there was no hope of paying, and for what? Because Germany, some upstart little brat, couldn't keep his grabby little hands to himself. Now he was also expected to get all covey with his least favourite little upstart brats.

With a gentle sigh he shifted slightly upon the cot, ever careful not to pull at the tight binds across his chest that staunched the bleeding. They were minutes away from the harbour, minutes away from seeing the last person he wanted to meet like this. A failing empire only held together by the threads of fine suits that would one day fray. How could he look someone in the eye when they already thought so little of him? Or perhaps why did it even matter what the bastard thought? It was nothing to do with England, obviously, and so why did he care in the least? He simply chose to put it down to his own arrogance.

Denial was a total bitch it seemed, one that loved company. Perhaps it had been on the line to misery once to often. It hardly mattered though, and so he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself up. He needed to change and there was no use putting it off any longer, though of course he did suppose there'd be little harm in merely going in his suit. Shaking his head briefly he limped to the closet, weight falling more onto the left leg than right. Truly he was sick of all these burns and gashes, though at least the bombings had mostly ended. Those 76 nights had been pure torture, even for he who was used to many a level of pain and brutality.

Pulling out the blue naval uniform he shed the black suit he'd priorly been wrapped in. Pausing briefly he brushed his fingers over the now reddened bandages over his heart. London. Dear god London... Shaking his head he made a note to change the wraps later, though for now pulled the pristine clothes over himself before straightening it all out. There was only a brief glance at the hat that still hung up before he turned and left the room, boots clicking against the decking as he made his way to his waiting minister.

“There you are. Thought you'd gotten lost with the time it's taken.”

Drawing up the the younger's side he wrinkled his nose slightly at the cigar in the fellow's mouth. “I had things to attend.” It wasn't strictly a lie, not really. “We've docked, have we not?” The nod of the larger man's head was all the response he needed.

Following shortly behind, gate uneven despite the effort to square his frame up, they left the grand vessel. With their small entourage behind them there was truly nothing left for it, and he hated it. He understood the importance of it, he truly did, yet he couldn't help but want to be somewhere else. Surely he could put his time to better use anyway, blow down a few krauts and all that...

“Arthur, do try and get along with the lad, eh? You know how important this is to our stance in this war.”

"I'll do as well as I may, sir." Of course he knew, though that didn't mean he liked it. Despite this though he'd play civil. There were few people whom Arthur respected enough to ever strictly obey, but this man was one of them. Despite his somewhat strange action at times he was a good man, he was strong enough to lead his country through this. So yes, for a time England would indeed try... Though it was unlikely to ever last long.

They stopped though, and with a momentary look of utter confusion he realised that in his thoughts he'd missed the fact they were there. Setting a stoic look he steadied himself next to the hefty man, waiting for him to say something.

He said nothing.

There was a long silence, one weighted as Churchill simply regarded the president before him. To Arthur it was utterly uncomfortable, and through it he did nothing but meet his once colony's chest with a hard stare before lifting green to blue. He truly wished they'd talk, that they would say something to break something that was so damn uncomfortable. He was a man who valued silence, of that there was no doubt. He was more than at home with people who spoke little and left him to his own devices, yet in this matter it was the circumstances. The situation itself made everything seem.... Wrong to him, yet he could see well enough his boss was perfectly content with the whole thing. England couldn't help but envy that. He couldn't help but envy how easily he was able to befriend the American leader, a man who should have been distant to their cause.

"At long last, Mr. President"

As Winston spoke England could only thing 'finally'.

I'm over this
I'm tired of living in the dark
Can anyone see me down here
The feeling's gone
There's nothing left to lift me up
Back into the world I've known

---

Blahblahblahinfo. He's simply banged up because this is set not too long after the bombings on England (the Blitz etc) end.

[aniskywolf]

     Speak of the devil, the two gents arrived. Promptly everyone stiffed and looked as proper as possible, giving the appropriate gestures. America himself stiffed himself and stood upright, though his expression was the only part of him that was loose, as it was still soft and still willing to smile despite the formality of all this. President Roosevelt was doing the same as he was glad to see his old friend again. Though, what America didn't expect was the oddly long pause once Churchill and Arthur had arrived on scene. It was long, painful, and Alfred himself feel very awkward all of a sudden. He slanted his eyes to the side to glimpse his boss, although he said nothing. Keeping himself from saying anything blue eyes slid back and met with green, a pang of uneasiness sharply rang through him. Eugh... whenever he looked at him he always felt this way. But through the mercy of some higher being, the silence was broken. He almost sighed in relief.

"Glad to have you aboard, Mr. Churchill."

      These two... he wasn't sure how their friendship worked so well, but it did. Alfred couldn't help but wonder how they were able to have stuff work out while on the other hand him and England were not. Maybe it was because they didn't have the same past as they did, or maybe it was because they knew what it meant to put aside difference and able to work together in a dynamic fashion. In a way this bothered the young nation as he was quite envious of how they could get along, and yet he could not get along with his former brother. But nonetheless, he was determined to be distant, if only because that was his intention since 1775.

      After exchanging pleasantries, the hefty man handed the president a folded piece of paper, to which he took and unfolded. Alfred caught a glimpse of the letter himself, noticing that the letter had come from King George VI himself... interesting sender but whatever. After looking it over, someone gestured a recording crew to come over towards the two officials. America blinked before realizing that the one of them was meant to an official statement before they were to proceed with the conference. The sound crew prepped themselves around the four as the Prime Minister said what he had to say, though someone gave an odd look. America tilted his head slightly in curiosity. So, what went wrong?

      The crew spoke amongst themselves as they fiddled with their equipment and asked the man to repeat his statement as their equipment had failed to record anything. America basically had his palm meet his face as he let out an exasperated sigh. Wow guys, really? Couldn't you have tested the equipment before. As he did, Alfred adjusted his prized glasses back into place and simply looked back at the Englishman as he made his statement. After he was done, the crew simply went back to fiddling with their equipment and stated that it failed once more. America closed his eyes as his eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Despite his irritation the crew simply stated that they are unable to get it functional and just gave up. Eugh. This was making them look so bad.

     Nonetheless, they officials were eager to get the day started, it seemed. President Roosevelt gave the other man a smile. "I believe now is the time to proceed to lunch? It would be wise to eat before it becomes something that will be on our minds for the rest of the day." Now there was something America could agree on! Personally he was quite hungry himself, although, food was always on his mind, no matter what. Yes, he was quite gluttonous, but that was what happened when you represented a nation who simply took, took, took, and gave back nothing but rashness. His face lit up with the idea.

The man looked to his nation and moved the arm he had hooked with America's as he gave a smile, "I'm sure you love that idea."

      America simply laughed a bit at the remark and rubbed his neck. "Well yeah~! It's only the best part of the day~"

     His boss chuckled and looked to Churchill and his nation. "Well then, if you both would agree, we will proceed?"

At the same time, Roosevelt's and Churchill's bodyguards left their leaders to browse around the ship. America watched them as they left before Roosevelt gestured for the young man to help him proceed to the dining hall, to which America snapped from his thoughts and helped him there. The president was a very tall man, easily passing the six-foot mark, and it was rather odd to see someone shorter than he aiding him with his walking. It was almost as if it was one of his sons that was doing so. The man that escorted him might as well be, as the nation only barely looked 19 and was helping the older man (who's walking was actually quite good despite the fact he still looked like he was limping quite badly) get around. Said man bent his head down a bit toward's the blond's.

"You haven't said anything, is there something the matter? Quite unlike you..."

The nation sighed a bit "Nothing's wrong, sir," he stated evenly, "I'm just... anxious, I suppose.I really hate having to get involved with... you know..."

The president paused, then nodded slightly. "Understandable."

     Upon arriving, Franklin Roosevelt looked to his friend, then to the two avatars. "Why don't we give these two some personal space to dine together? After all, I'm sure they have much to talk about after being separated from each other for so long, don't you think?"

He then looked at Alfred. "I'm sure they'll be fine."

The nation coughed into his fist, a flustered look appearing on his face. "Er..." Oh god why.

"Then it's settled. I will be able to walk myself to the table, don't mind me."

"U-uh y-yes... Mr. President..." He then let go of his hold on his arm and watched the man hobble off.

     Great. Now he was stuck with Mr. Eyebrows for now. Well, great. Looking at the blond he fixed his black tie before saying anything more.

"So... I guess we should pick a table then, I suppose~" This was going to be... so bad.

---

• No one knows what the "official statement" was because it was never recorded... or.. more accurately... the sound crew had a fail 2 times in a row and just gave up after the second try.

[England]

As the letter was handed over he paid no mind. This whole thing was of course nothing he'd not seen before, and would no doubt see again and again. What did throw him though was the crew that were apparently there to record the speech. The crew that had failed to do so no less. With a snort he looked away, evidently shocked by the apparent failure in the equipment they were at present using. Indeed, he'd truly expected no better from such things, though he had to admit that the second time it failed he was a little more than irked. There were matters to attend, matters that would mean he would not have to be in this port for more time than was utterly necessary. One would have thought they'd have been competent enough to have set this up prior to events taking place, but no, it seemed good organization was too much to ask on the matter.

"Well then, if you both would agree, we will proceed?"

“When you're ready. We're fine when you are.”

Of course Arthur was given no chance to respond. No chance to resent the fact that he didn't want to eat. He didn't want to be here, and dear god he just wanted to lay down. Instead he simply followed once more, keeping himself to the side of his boss. There was of course no way out of this, if only because it would be utterly rude to do so.

It was no small fact that Churchill was heavily pro-American. He was doing everything possible to establish a relationship with the country that they had once cut ties with, and in a way Arthur truly resented that. He'd tried during the last war, he'd made some effort, yet it had been laughed at and thrown in his face. Americans were a bunch of small minded bastards, they cared nothing for the world and arrived only at the last minute to claim the spoils and glory. There was no potential there any more, whatever amount there had been prior had been rotted away by the same greed that infested the old nations. America had become like them, and yet if failed to admit it. They were a nation in denial, and indeed there was no doubt that the nation itself was also in such a state.

He paid little mind as the pair before him chattered to themselves, instead keeping himself with his own boss without any form of exchange. He was thankful for the fact that the man seemed to understand that Arthur didn't much care for idle chatter, and with nothing important to truly say to one another they indeed chose to say nowt. It was better that way, at least it gave the nation time to better work out what the hell he was going to do. Lunch was not in fact something he wanted to do.

It was made ten times fucking worse when they stopped though, he could have sworn someone up there truly hated him. Granted he probably deserved it, but still.

"Why don't we give these two some personal space to dine together? After, I'm sure they have much to talk about after being seperated from each other for so long, don't you think?"

Separated for so long? The man had no idea. The longer the better were he honest, the boy was nothing more than a bloody terrible memory he wanted nothing to do with. That was how it was meant to be, and as such there was truly nothing left to say to America... And yet there was. There would always be that something that there would be no words for. Perhaps that was the problem within it all.

"I'm sure they'll be fine."
"Er..."

No, no they wouldn't be. ]“Actually---” Whatever he had planned to say was silenced by a swift jab of an elbow to his side. Right on bleeding Coventry. “That would be lovely,” he forced out instead, tones strained as he fisted his hands and levelled his boss with a hard glare. The man may have been smart, but holy fucking hell he could be a bastard at times.

"Then it's settled. I will be able to walk myself to the table, don't mind me."
"U-uh y-yes... Mr. President..."

Oh god, oh dear merciful god. Why him? There had to be a better way. There had to be something else that he could be doing right now. There wasn't though, and so he could truly do nothing but resign himself to this fate. Really though, this was just too cruel.

"So... I guess we should pick a table then, I suppose~"

Without a response he turned away, finding his way across the room to simply sit himself at the furthest table. He truly didn't care what the boy thought, there was no way in hell he was going to discuss anything with the boy. He'd take the lead and that would be that, if America followed then so be it. If he didn't then thank freaking god. He knew his luck though, he knew the damn fool would be before him in moments. Thus he pulled the menu to himself with gloved hands, focusing his attention upon it whilst paying no regard at all for the words.

[aniskywolf]

     Despite the distance that England put between them, America didn't seem like he was really having any of it. Blinking he followed right after quickly, quite taken back by the action.

"H-hey!" he called out as he followed after, "What's the rush?"

      Without even asking he took a seat by the disgruntled nation, ignoring the fact that it was quite evident his presence was not wanted, not that Alfred would care anyway the annoying being he was. He put his officer's hat down on the table and tilted his head as he looked at the menu as if he was looking right in the other man's face. It was odd. He was being persistent for nothing, almost. Nothing was said to him at all, and yet he was making an effort at a conversation that obviously did not want to take place. Why? No reason, except to just have one as he would find the awkwardness of silence rather unsettling.

"What's the matter?" he asked curiously. "Did I say something?"

     He damn well knew he didn't really say anything in reference to Arthur in any way but, knowing the man anything Alfred said was liable to offend him in some form of way. It had been that way for a good while now, and America himself was pretty familiar with how things went. Yet did he make an effort to step back and think about what he said? Of course not. If anything he was determined to stay as distant as possible. It was just a way of denying himself about how he truly felt about the matter. Was it in a nice way? Of course not, because time after time he would shoot down the other's attempts at being remotely social with the young man just to put distance between them. He felt more comfortable with the distance, although eventually he'd be too far away when all he needed was to be right there.

     In a childlike fashion he leaned his head against the table to look up from under the menu. He then straightened his back and tried to keep over the thing. Sighing he leaned back against the chair and threw his arm over the back of it, drumming his fingers against the table. How was this going to work? He didn't like this idea from the start. Either England was going to ignore him or just cut him down. Both were kind of what the young man was expecting, but he still hoped for a different outcome, at least. Today was not going to be that day, he knew it from the start. Running a gloved hand through blond locks he looked down at his own menu and slanted his eyes to the side slightly. This... was killing him.

"Come on, I don't bite!" He chimed, almost like a puppy that wanted attention. "I hate to be just hangin' here."

     Huffing slightly he fixed his cuffs as the waiter came by. After ordering he watched the man walk past before his blue gaze wandered back to the Brit's as if everything within the last few minutes made somewhat of a difference. The boy was expecting sharp, harsh remarks or just dead silence. He knew he was annoying the man enough to receive such comments, yet he persisted to at least try to get something out. It was making him feel anxious, evident by slanting eyes. Perhaps it was just his age, or perhaps it was just a tense air that he was feeling. Either way, as he folded his hands on the table, he wondered how the few days here would work out.

[England]

Oh of course he'd followed. England had expected nothing less, though this didn't at all stop the grunt of displeasure he issued about the matter.

"What's the matter? Did I say something?"

It was such a childish question he supposed, one that most would have seen as innocent... Fuck, it probably was innocent, yet this was alas not how it was taken. Not at all. "Yes," he hissed sharply, voice hard and cutting. The boy had priorly gone out of of his way to do everything possible to offend him, tearing his pride apart to fucking nothing. So really, how dare he ask such a thing when he knew damn well that he'd insulted the elder. Even when Arthur had made some effort to establish something better than this... Mockery of an alliance they were suddenly damn well in... Even then, what had he gotten? Harsh insults and laughter. Laughter because oh jolly no good sir, no need for you around. Independence and all that~ He was sick of it. Sick of trying when all he ever got in return was a sharp twist of the knife the lad had long since forced into his back. He no longer saw a point to trying, Alfred had made it so fucking clear what he wanted (or rather didn't want), and so there was no point. He'd alas long since given up any lingering hope, and in a way perhaps that was something he was harshly resentful about.

Hope had never been something he was at all good at, it was not something that at all fell within his forte. It didn't really come at all naturally to him, and indeed took far longer than it needed to eventually form on the rare occasions it did. Amusingly it was incredibly easy to remove though. It was a balance which was no doubt in the utterly wrong order of affairs, but that was alas how it was. He was used to it.

It was when the boy began trying to look under and then over the menu the he finally snapped though. If the boy truly wanted to act like a child then so be it, he'd damn well treat him like one. Thus he slammed the inked paper down upon the table, glasses and cutlery rattling harshly as he did. "Stop this you ignorant little cunt," he hissed sharply, jaded eyes narrowing. "I am not bleeding well here for your amusement, you small minded ejeet. Damn well shut that vile mouth of yours and leave me the fuck alone, if that's a problem then bloody well move somewhere else and entertain yourself. Either way, fuck off." He'd long since learnt that the boy was ever so good at simply toddling off, and for once England really did just want him to walk the hell away. He wanted to be alone, he wanted to lick his wounds better and simply stay in the corner he was trying so damn hard to isolate himself in. He wanted none of this, especially conversation of any sort with America.

Yet at the same time he did, if only because this was still better than everything else. He'd long since come to accept that he probably still cared, not to the point of ever being able to admit it, but enough that at times he'd find some bitter fragment of the contentment he'd once felt about being here. Of course it would never be the same as it had once been, too much had changed and been lost since then. Though at times... He still simply wanted to find that same accepting peace of mind he'd not felt in what would seem like an eternity to him. He hated this though. He hated that even now whatever he had left sought to depend on something that was fundamentally wrong, because it was. It would lead to nothing but more pain. More misery. More fighting. More things that he simply didn't want to contend with again, the main which was of course rejection.

With a shuddering sigh he shut his eyes, rigid posture slackening a tad. "Just leave me be," and this time the tone was subdued into something significantly more clam. He didn't truly wish to fight, not when he'd come from such and would of course be returning back to such a thing in not so very long. He wanted a break. He wanted Alfred to simply shut up and let him do so. He truly was fucking exhausted, something the calm perhaps suggested, and to be fair having a fool rabbit on at him was doing anything but help.

"Come on, I don't bite! I hate to be just hangin' here."

Taking to merely ignoring him now he'd instead just order... something as a waiter asked for his order. Truly he'd simply asked for whatever was available, paying little mind to whatever it really was. His attention was immediately taken by a laughter from across the room. Chruchill. Of course it would be their bosses. Of course they would be utterly fine with everything in their ability to simply get along with one another and successfully just... Be together. With a snort he turned away, instead taking to toying with the velvet red petal of a rose of the centerpiece. Red and white through the room. Unity... He wondered what kind of mockery that was.

As the food was brought out though he could hope in near certainty he'd get the peace he so sought. There was little doubt in his mind that the fool would no doubt be utterly preoccupied with stuffing his face, it was a rather vulgar habit that he seemed to have picked up in light of independence. Eugh, he'd been such a cute child.

Turning to the food before him he carefully lay a napkin across his lap, smoothing it carefully before lifting the spoon. Soup. He supposed it was the standard starter for these things, and to be fair it did smell rather good. Better than the harsh rations he'd been living on these past months, this did little to spark a true interest in it though as he instead took to simply swirling it gently with the spoon whilst merely staring in thought.

It was a better use of his time, and he truly didn't want anything to eat.

[aniskywolf]

"Yes."

     Well wasn't someone in a mood? Perhaps he couldn't blame him, since his country was bombed an all that. To be honest, America only heard of the news because his president was discussing it one day. Alfred really didn't care much for what was going on in the war. He wasn't in it, and he wasn't interested. He was aloof to it all within his own borders, occasionally keeping tabs in case someone became hostile against the States. That was about it. Yet his government was all over the thing, especially since Roosevelt was a big supporter of Britain. Eugh whatever. Now he was here, trying to make friendly with someone who just didn't do friendly well. America was trying, but obviously it wasn't working. When he tried, it didn't work, and when he didn't try, he just shot the other down. It was like an old Western showdown that didn't end. They kept drawing their guns and whenever one made a move they fired cold bullets that stung once they hit.

"Stop this you ignorant little cunt. I am not bleeding well here for your amusement, you small minded ejeet. Damn well shut that vile mouth of yours and leave me the fuck alone, if that's a problem then bloody well move somewhere else and entertain yourself. Either way, fuck off."

He blinked slightly, letting it sink in before throwing it over his head. "Well I know you're not." He stated simply. "I just wanna know why you're so angry." An innocent question to say the least.

     But he knew why. So why was he acting like he didn't? Simply for the fact that he wanted the Briton to talk. To just talk. In a way he had succeeded by him snapping out, and he expected that, he just didn't want that to happen. They weren't here for arguing really. One had come from fighting and well quite frankly Alfred didn't feel like getting himself involved in fighting. This should be, in a way, a break from it. Was it going to work? Probably not. Could he try? Sure as hell, and he was trying it now. He figured that having Arthur talk, even if it was scolding him, was going to release whatever pent-up anger he had so they wouldn't have to go through this later. With them this way of thinking was usually always not the best, but he tried anyway.

"Just leave me be."

He gave a lopsided smile. "Oh come on," he sighed a bit, awkwardly adjusting his black tie. "that destroys the purpose of this." With a sigh he tilted his head slightly. "Besides, you always look lonely alone." The statement was reminiscent of a child's redundancy, but held the same charm as one.

     As their orders arrived he sighed a bit. The silence was the one thing that made this all the more uncomfortable. Of course, leave it to America to order the most elaborate thing on the menu. He was used to eating alone, that much was established, but he had become unaccustomed to eating with people in silence. He was unsure of how he should behave and what he should do. Instead he resorting to simply putting the napkin across his lap and taking to his food. He tried his best to be quiet while eating as he felt himself getting a bit tense. Avoiding eye contact was perhaps the main thing on his mind at the moment, and as he heard laughter from across the room he blinked for a few seconds longer than a standard blink. He wasn't sure how his bosses could do it right, but they did. They always did, and that's when humans had it easy.

     He didn't bother looking back to see what their leaders were up to. It was obvious. They were having a good time. Pretty soon they were going to be wasted out of their mind knowing them. Meanwhile America was sat here having a difficult time. It wasn't like he wasn't a people person either... he was just with the wrong person. And yet he stayed. He stayed because he wanted to. He could have left to free him from such an uncomfortable setting, yet he stayed. He wasn't going to let silly emotions break him. Oh he was better than that. He was the Land of the Brave after all. Wanting to break the silence he thought of something quickly to say.

"S-so, how's the front been?" He asked curiously.

     Might as well try.

[England]

"Well I know you're not. I just wanna know why you're so angry."

Was he truly that much of a fool that he couldn't work out what had him all worked up? One would have thought the fact the war being slapped all over headlines would have given some small indication as to the fact the world was in a state of crises, but no. America was obviously too far above it all for it to have any effect on him, heaven forbid he was involved in anything similar to that dreaded thing called reality. "Are you genuinely this stupid, or do you just like to piss me off?" With a sneer he shook his head. Of course he knew exactly how bright the boy was, he'd been in part responsible for his education where possible. As such he knew far too well the bastard was only doing it to piss him off. Tsk, well it was nice to see how far gone things were he supposed.

With a harsh laugh he shook his head, though alas it was one that was far from amused or happy. “If you really hate me that much,” he grunted. “Then do find a better way to go about it, hm?” A way that preferably had America shutting the hell up. It was unlikely he supposed, but one could live in hope that he’d learn the value of being damn well silent.

"Oh come on, that destroys the purpose of this. Besides, you always look lonely alone."

"Why do you care? Yes, why the hell do you care?" He snorted, eyes fixing firmly across the other side of the room. "Don't play games, Alfred. We both know you don't, if you did you wouldn't have left. If you did then you wouldn't keep leaving as you seem so fond of doing, O' land of the free." It hurt, really. It hurt because the boy wasn't far wrong. He was lonely. He was terribly alone with no one there, but that was how he'd spent most of his life. The only difference had really been when he'd met that little golden boy so long ago, and yet in the end he'd once more been alone. Even now in this war that was his stance. France had fallen and with that he'd become the last true line of European defence. He was alone, and yet perhaps that was how it was meant to be. Perhaps such a thing was how the world had decided he needed. He could accept that, but this wasn't to say he wanted such a bastard taking pity on him over it. He didn't need it, and nor did he want it.

Denial was better though. He knew he was alone, and yet if he denied it for long enough he could simply forget the matter until someone reminded of it. "No man is an island, entire of itself. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in man kind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee." What a load of crap that quote was. He wondered if Donne had known what he was talking about when he was making it, though perhaps he had. Humans had never fared well in isolation... Perhaps it was simply lucky that he wasn't human... "I am indeed an Island entire of myself, and truly I'm content that way. I don't want companionship, as I'm far from lonely... Nor do I truly see the point in our being here at all. This is their business, and whilst you may have the luxury of free time to do as you wish I do not." He didn't because he wouldn't allow for himself to have such. In good conscious he couldn't simply be here lazing around whilst his people were dying in his name. It was fundamentally wrong.

"There's a war, you know."

"S-so, how's the front been?"

Stupid questions from a stupid child. Yet what did one expect from someone no naïve? All he was doing was burring his head in the sand, leaving people like Arthur to deal with it. What was he waiting for? Did he want Arthur to beg for help? He wouldn’t be surprised, and yet there was no chance of him ever getting that form of satisfaction from the brit. There were many things that you could remove from him, but pride was not one of them. It was one of the few constants the unpredictable man had about him, and it was of course the only thing you could ever be certain with about him though. “How do you think?” Came the sudden snap of words.”How do you think it is to be watching your people die simply because some arrogant little brat has gotten too big for his boots? Or perhaps to feel your cities full of innocent bystanders torn apart?” Looking back finally once more he narrowed acidic eyes to the boy. “Can you truly comprehend that?”

No. No he couldn’t.

America was still so very young by the standards of a nation. He was too young to have ever faced a true war, not really. Only parts of ones not started by he. Oh perhaps his civil war had been a mild bother, but Arthur himself had seen so much worse. Something like that.... Was that really the worst the lad could make a comparative base from? It was nothing. As such he felt utterly justified in insulting the other on such a matter, because truly he had it coming. "No, no of course you can't. Even so, you've had word on the matter. I know damn well your people are taking an avid interest in the radio broadcasts of it, but that's all your lot do. Sit on the sidelines and listen." Perhaps he really didn't care about that. Frankly he couldn't give a flying shit what Americans as a whole did, to him they weren't important. What mattered was the fact America didn't care. That he truly didn't give a damn.

"Ah, sorry. That's not true, seven of your people cared enough about the rest of the world to do anything. Enough to lie about who they were. Enough to say they weren't even American... How did that make you feel, hm?" With a snort he stood, tossing the napkin beside the bowl of now cold soup. "Were you disappointed they'd detach themselves from your name to do the right thing? Did it hurt that they declared themselves Canadian?" With a shake of his head he tucked in the chair, leaving his hands upon it for a moment. "Did it make your blood boil to know they had more about them than a blasted coward like you? You are nothing but an arrogant bastard, Alfred, and you make the mistake of believing I have any need to entertain your foolish sham of a conversation which neither of us truly want to participate in... And don't say you do, Alfred, because you've not wanted to bloody well so much as look at me for the last few hundred years." With that he turned on his heels, stalking across the room to his boss before uttering a few quick words on 'needing some air' before he made his way to the deck.

He was near confident the lad wouldn't follow this time, he had no need to after all. Yet that was what he wanted. That was truly all he wanted, and so with a sigh he leant upon the railings surrounding the ship and dragged his hand down his face. Of course he was stuck with the fool until the was over, and yes, he supposed shortly Churchill and Roosevelt would be looking to start a few rounds of drinks... Of course then he'd be expected to show himself once more, yet for now he didn't have to. For now he could stand here and stay the hell away from everything he wanted nothing to do with. It felt right to him, and yet so very damn well wrong at the same time.

It was a conflict he wanted no part in, one of a personal level between two fools who had no clue of how to move past something so simple as the past.

Yet to Arthur it was far from simple.

[/center]

[aniskywolf]

"Are you genuinely this stupid, or do you just like to piss me off?"

"I don't know, which one do you think?" He stated, simply shrugging.

     For the last hundred years, for some reason he couldn't help but just prod and prod at things that he knew would set Arthur off the wrong way. Sometimes it even came off as malicious. Sometimes there was bad intentions behind it, but for the most part he simply did it so that his actions caused some sort of reaction. Reaction, attention. It came hand in hand. As long as England would react to his actions, that was enough. It was childish logic, but it worked, and it satisfied his need for attention. It was also incredibly selfish and self-centered, but god forbid the day he thought of anyone but himself. Propping his elbow on the table and resting his head on his hand he merely looked to his senior and made not another sound as he thought about a few things. He clearly understood why the Brit was pissed beyond belief, but...

“If you really hate me that much, then do find a better way to go about it, hm?”

"Oh but what better way?" He said as he raised his brows slightly, as if emphasizing it.

     It was always a verbal war of sorts with them. Never was anything more normal. It always came down to this, no matter what, no matter where, no matter the situation. It never changed. It hasn't changed, and he figured it would never change, even though it simply just eroded away at the only string left keeping them tied. It would seem like he didn't care, and you weren't wrong, although there was that part of him that did, but yet he never cared to pay attention to that. Heaven forbid he did. Things were meant to be this way. Things were better off this way. Were they not he would have never fought for his independence. For the rest of his life he might as well look down on him, when it was always the opposite, and he hated it. Every day he hated being looked down upon, despite him trying his best to be the world leader. He was getting there, but in some eyes, he wasn't even close.

"Why do you care? Yes, why the hell do you care? Don't play games, Alfred. We both know you don't, if you did you wouldn't have left. If you did then you wouldn't keep leaving as you seem so fond of doing, O' land of the free."

"Am I leaving now?" He stated, almost bluntly, as he looked right at eyes to prove a point. "How do you know I will? For sure, how do you know?"

     His tone became slightly more serious, wanting to be heard and not ignored, albeit on a topic he would normally laugh at. The one thing he probably hated about some mindsets was that sometimes people thought they were always so sure of something. Always so sure that something was going to go a certain way. Who were they to think that? They couldn't tell the future, or read minds, or anything like that. Alfred was optimistic with his views, always saying things will get better, but in the back of his head he always knew that there would probably be something to steer things off in the wrong direction. He didn't like to pay too much attention to that though. Maybe he was a hypocrite in that respect.

"No man is an island, entire of itself. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in man kind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. I am indeed an Island entire of myself, and truly I'm content that way. I don't want companionship, as I'm far from lonely... Nor do I truly see the point in our being here at all. This is their business, and whilst you may have the luxury of free time to do as you wish I do not. There's a war, you know."

"Yeah, but you don't always need a gun to hurt someone, nor do you need to be right there in the action to make a difference." He stated, feeling somewhat uneasy, as if he was overstepping some boundary, not that he'd care that much. "I thought you'd know that."

      Slowly, he was becoming more defensive, although he was trying his best to remain in a cool manner, the manner that he always liked to be in. But he hated it. He hated being spoken down to. Hated it, hated it, hated it. He was young, but did that give anyone that sort of right? Perhaps, should he be a real child who didn't know better. But now he had grown out of that stage and made sure that such would not repeat itself, but alas he wasn't going to run away from it. Older nations always thought they knew better, and he was sick of it. All they did was fight, fight, fight. Fight about old things and old grudges and just... whatever. And now America was being hated for wanting none of it. Nice to see where the world was going. This is why he turned his back on Europe.

“How do you think? How do you think it is to be watching your people die simply because some arrogant little brat has gotten too big for his boots? Or perhaps to feel your cities full of innocent bystanders torn apart? Can you truly comprehend that? No, no of course you can't. Even so, you've had word on the matter. I know damn well your people are taking an avid interest in the radio broadcasts of it, but that's all your lot do. Sit on the sidelines and listen."

He almost lost it. "And what exactly is the matter with wanting to stay out of your dirty wars?" He sat straight up, looking somewhat appalled. "Am I a bad person for not wanting any part of that? Is it really?" He huffed. "Why do you even care? Does me just wanting no part bother you? Why?"

     His plan for a smooth day was shattered, just like that. He expected it all along. Somehow thinking changing the norm of things would make a difference didn't. It would always end up this way, no matter what. No matter how had either party would try, it just seemed neither tried had enough. Either said they were fine with how things presently were, and Alfred could not agree more, although, who was to say this wasn't bothering him as well? Sometimes it really did hut him, but he just shoved the pain aside as old feelings weren't going to fix anything. This was the present, the now, the what was and what will be. There was no changing that. America wanted to change the world, and yet he couldn't even change himself, even when that's all he ever thought of. Perhaps that was his greatest downfall: being so stubborn that denying yourself of what you really thought impacted the way you treated others around you. Whatever. It was a crime at this point to even mention it.

"Ah, sorry. That's not true, seven of your people cared enough about the rest of the world to do anything. Enough to lie about who they were. Enough to say they weren't even American... How did that make you feel, hm? Were you disappointed they'd detach themselves from your name to do the right thing? Did it hurt that they declared themselves Canadian? Did it make your blood boil to know they had more about them than a blasted coward like you? You are nothing but an arrogant bastard, Alfred, and you make the mistake of believing I have any need to entertain your foolish sham of a conversation which neither of us truly want to participate in... And don't say you do, Alfred, because you've not wanted to bloody well so much as look at me for the last few hundred years."

Closing his eyes his face straightened, before smiling slightly. "You're wrong." He stated. "I was happy." He leaned back. "To know that there's people out there who'd do that in the name of what they feel is right. I don't care what they called themselves. They did it out of their good will, and that they did whatever they needed to do in order to do so." He sighed. "Nice to know you think so highly of me." He opened an eye and folded his arms as he watched Arthur turn. What a shame. "Now you're the one leaving this time."

     Maybe the distance was what was really needed here. Then again that was all that was ever done about these things. Distance was always put between them, and every time it felt like the distance simply got larger and larger. That was all that was being added. Distance. Distance. How far could you go and still be able to hear someone? A meter? A mile? How far until the person just looked like a spec in the distance? How much farther did you have to go to be rendered unable to see them any longer? It wasn't hard to put distance between people, not hard at all. It was even easier to add on to it, but it was so hard and incredibly painful to shorten it. It was difficult, it took effort, and it needed the need. There was no need here, and the distance simply got larger. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes.

"Lecture me about leaving, then leave. Stupid..." Huffing and shaking his head he listened to whatever the hell Roosevelt and Churchill were blathering about. Probably about nothing.

     Probably about how drunk they were going to get. Probably about how their teamwork would bring this war to a swift end. Probably about how things just worked while Alfred simply sat there feeling somewhat useless, not being able to work at all. He had no dynamics with the nation he was supposed to be helping. None at all, and here he was, being forced to try it anyway. Of course Alfred would try, that's what he liked to do, but what he always liked to do, was get things done. Things weren't getting done now. Not with all his effort there was none. Or was he simply not trying hard enough. The silence on his side of the room started to bother him again, and yet he remained. No no, here he was going to be, if only to prove he was not leaving this time.

     But really he had already left some time ago.

---

• TL;DR I AM SORRY I blame your quotes I swear ta gawwwwd

[England]

The boy had been right he supposed, he was the one leaving. Left, even. He'd left this time. He was the one to have gotten up and walked off to leave the other, and yet Alfred was so very wrong at the same time. Arthur had nothing there to leave. To leave you had to have someone there, and he had no one. Alfred wasn't there. He wasn't close. He was there for formality and nothing more. Given the choice he'd have rather had nothing to do with the old Englishman, and so Arthur hadn't left. He couldn't have, not when Alfred had beat him to it so very long ago. He was the one to put the distance there, the one to have ripped such a vast hole into England's chest where his heart had perhaps been.

It was gone now.

All the remained was simply a hole. A vast chasm filled with nothing that was slowly spreading a bloody infection of hate and misery through him, but he was used to it. There was no cure of course. Nothing say for one could fit that hole, and so nothing ever truly dulled it. Alcohol could help, it could make him forget to a certain point, and yet then even in a drunken state he would still remember. Then the yelling would start, the tears and the flailing. Everything that he wanted to do yet would never degrade himself too whilst sober. He may have been empty but he was better than that. He refused to give the bastard the benefit of seeing him like that. Once had been far too often, and what had it really gotten him anyway? Nothing. Of course it has, because he'd been nothing to the lad. He'd been a fool for wanting there to be anything close to normal compassion... Such a great fool.

Yet all he could do even now was stand and stare. Going back was not an option, not unless he wanted a harsh sneer and cold mocking. Which of course he didn't, though he wanted none of this to start with. Not even in regards to being here, but simply fighting as a whole. He'd tried so very hard to foster something better than all of this hate and harsh words, yet... yet no. Alfred didn't want that. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want friendship. So what... What could he really do? Walking away had truly been best, because he could no longer be the one to make the first move. He'd been pushed back too many times to want to, and so alas it was all upon the shoulders of a fool. A fool who didn't care enough to see what was right in front of him, and this had been why Arthur had cared so damn much about him wanting no part in it all.

With a sigh he ran fingers through his hair, jade eyes casting aimlessly about one of his few remaining colonies. Everything reminded him of the past, and that was easier. It was far nicer to detach from the harsh sticky feeling against his chest. Easier to simply deny the fact that these blasted wounds were cursed to remain raw for too long. It was easier to remember a bright smile from a time where everything had been okay, a time where he'd come to see the utter benefit of having someone there. It was so much easier to live in the past where he had everything, than the present where he had nothing. Thus he could only close his eyes, a deep frown settling upon him as he became far too detached for it to really be at all good for him.

It never lasted though, and so he wasn't truly surprised when a young lad came up behind him and called for his attention. He only acknowledged with a grunt, not even turning.

"Mister Churchill has requested you in the mess hall. I'm to show you the way immediately, Sir."

With a snort he merely turned and followed the young man as he made his way through the ship, not really paying much mind until he ended up outside a door to which the officer gestured. With a small word of thanks he pushed the door open and immediately caught sight of the two men happily seated with a bottle of whisky and deck of cards. Wrinkling his nose slightly he found his way to a corner before settling himself down, this was of course not at all the way he wanted to spend a night. He knew exactly what Churchill was like with alcohol in him, and he wanted no part in it. Even he wasn't in the mood for ending up smashed... And yet he knew so well that if the bottle was presented before him he'd start and not stop. That was how it was with him. How it always was.

Without much thought he procured another set of cards laying them out neatly before him so as to play solitaire. A game so perfectly designed for being played alone, because that was what he wanted, no? Who knew though. Likely not even he was sure on the matter, but that was fine. No one would question it, and so he was happy in his dark little corner hunched over a set of battered old cards.

It was a crap way to spend the night of course, but it was better than getting himself drunk. It was better than leaving himself so painfully open, and indeed it was better than paying attention to whatever Alfred was doing. Pray he be with the two men laughing happily across the room.

Pray it stay like that so Arthur may maintain his utterly Splendid Isolation.

[/center]

[aniskywolf]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,260,true][atrb=width,20%][atrb=vAlign,top] They say, "You want a war? You've got a war." But who are you fighting for? The tides out, the ship's run aground We drown traitors in shallow water

     Ah, it was... weird. Sitting here, doing nothing. He felt like he was wasting his time, which was unusual for him considering he always used his time doing something, even if it was useless. Now he simply sat, looking rather bored, not really thinking about anything in particular. Ugh, this was going to be a rocky 3 days, wasn't it. After that little blow-up it didn't look like things were going to get any better. He supposed he should just go with the flow, just doing whatever he really needed to do, not minding too much about the other nation who recently rook a fancy to taking his anger out on the young man. Eh, whatever. It was what came around and went around. The cycle would never end, and he knew it, not really making too much effort to change it. Not that he wanted to stay this way, but, what was he to do?

     Nothing much. With a dull sigh he looked over to his president, to which the elderly man saw and gestured him over to come and play cards. Uh. Ok. It was better than doing nothing, he supposed. Walking over he pulled a chair out by the two men as they dealt out the cards. He cocked a brow, trying to figure out what game they were playing, exactly. Oh. War. How fitting, he thought. Someone else walked by and brought over their drinks, to which Alfred threw on a lopsided smile, somewhat worried as to what would happen should the two have alcohol in their systems. Roosevelt was... special, to say the least when in such a state. Hopefully he would stay smoking his cigarrete instead of indulging himself in drinking. Didn't they have... more important stuff to do here? Not that America wanted to do work, not really. He was a youthful spirit who liked to put fun rather than work first, but, he didn't know. He was kind of afraid of what would happen with the two men together would do while drunk.

     Maybe he spoke too soon. As the men started drinking he felt himself let out a nervous laugh, saying something about taking it easy on the drinks. Like they'd listen anyway. He was offered a small shot of the whiskey and he simply took it, just listening to their unimportant conversations, and going with the flow. Ohhh how much more of this? The large man that was Churchill summond someone to go fetch Arthur, to which Alfred simply stiffed slightly. Oh come on, just when he was getting over that little argument. Great. With a huff he simply continued playing the card game, to which the chief executives simply laughed and laughed to their inside jokes and their own lessening soberness. The blond rubbed his face. Jesus, these two were just-- whatever.

     He looked up to see England wander in and simply take a deck of cards for himself, only to play by himself. Typical, typical. And yet Alfred did nothing about it. What was the real point anymore? None, and so he simply continued playing three-way War. Man, couldn't the play anything else? He sighed, wanting more excitement than card games, and he wasn't really in the mood for bickering again with Arthur, so simply he sat there, bored, until the alcohol in their systems finally kicked in and they were acting, uh, drunk, of course. Of course whiskey was a powerful drink, but it took a little bit to get into his president's system. Geeze, how much of it did he drink? The youth didn't notice, and simply took this as it went, until Roosevelt thought it was a good idea to hook his arm around him and ruffle his hair. America simply laughed, wondering what the hell he was doing.

"Ahhhhhh Alfred my boy! You're so quiet! So unlike you!"

"W-well sir, it's just that I don't know how to involve myse--"

"Why don't you go over to your pal over there? He's so lonley, I bet he'd love your company~"

He coughed. "A-ah, sir I think this is be--"

"You guys get along great! After all, your two nations are practically at the hip. I'm surprised you two haven't--"

"Ahhhhh sir is that a spider on your suit?" He interrupted quickly, wanting the topic to be dropped faster than someone holding something hot.

"There is?!" He brushed himself off and looked to the larger man beside him. "Is it gone?"

      America simply proceeded to watch them fuss about something that wasn't actually there, laughing at their shenanigans. He breathed a sigh of relief as he slumped into the chair, having a crisis averted. Thank ]god. That topic was simply out of bounds. That and he really did not want Roosevelt to finish his sentence. Lord knows what he could have said, no doubt it would embarrass him to no end, not like any of the other statements did, but, whatever. Either way, he didn't much think to much on what was there between him and the older nation, not really. He simply put those thoughts to the side, deeming them unimportant. He looked back at the lonely nation, in that little corner that he seemed so fond of. He was always thinking of ways to pull him out of it.

"Hey England, check it~" He said with a smile. "Aren't these guys a riot~?"

     It was a stupid attempt to get England to relax himself, but it was one final shot for the day. He tried and he tried, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe he should just stop and let him sulk all he damn wanted, because that's all he seemed to be doing whenever they met. It was disconcerting sometimes, though he didn't pay too much mind. Now the young man simply gave the other a look with a raised brow, as if trying to say "you look bored, come over here and have a drink" or something along those lines. It wasn't guaranteed to work, but he tried. He always tried, even if they were ridiculous.

[England]

Ace of diamonds. No two. King of Spades, the black king to be matched with the red Queen of hearts. It was a simple game, one mundane enough that he let his mind almost shut down as he just played. It was hard to say whether such an ability was a gift or a curse, perhaps in some ways it was both. An ability not to feel when things were too much, to just do given tasks well without having to think. On the other hand though it was far from good, withdrawing from everything was only detaching himself further. Shutting down more to what he was closed off to already, and eventually he'd probably regret it. No doubt a day would come in which he no longer knew how to open himself up, which was something he already had far too many issues with.

He was content to ignore the conversation, wanting nothing to do with the laughing and chatting. He was perhaps vaguely aware someone was talking about him, as was perhaps something he was good at. He knew, he always knew when people were talking behind his back. Laughing. Insulting. Everything that they did far too often, not truly daring to say it to his face lest he gut them where they stand. In this case he simply didn't care, there was no real point since it wasn't exactly possible to try and mutilate their bosses or something similar. Whilst there was no real reason he couldn't (at least not in the sense something was physically restraining him) such thing was simply not his way. Then again nor was sitting around sulking. No, truly he just wanted to get back to the frontlines and do something remotely useful with himself. As it stood he ended up distracted by Churchill giving the affirmative of a spider remaining or some such crap...

Eugh, they were drunk already.

"Hey England, check it~ Aren't these guys a riot~?"

Keeping his attention on the cards he continued stacking, mindless of whatever was going on. He did perhaps wonder if Alfred thought he was genuinely angry that he wouldn't join the war, or if he'd at all bothered to look past such superficial reasons. Probably not, and yet the harsh reality was very simply that such was not the bother. In reality he wasn't sure he wanted Alfred in the war, not when it lead to such an undeniable risk. No, what dug at him was that the other didn't care. Didn't care that he had been torn to pieces. Didn't care that his heart was once more being torn to pieces. Simply didn't care that England was falling, that even Arthur now had fears and doubts to whether or not he was going to survive this. His problem was not truly that Alfred didn't join, but that he simply give a shit.

Still, why should he have? Arthur knew well enough where he stood with the boy, nowhere. Unwanted. Story of his fucking life though, one that would never change regardless of any hopes and desires. Such things only existed to be broken and lost, to be stolen away to chip at remaining fragments of heart that were so very delicate under the ice. With an involuntary shudder he brushed his fingers over his chest as if to try and sooth the varying pains, failing he took to glaring at the flushed cards before him. He'd won. So quickly he'd beaten it. If only war was that simple, if only he could complete it with as much ease as this. Once he'd been able to win without question, in those times there had never been doubts... Now though he wasn't sure. He was doubting and a part of him was scared, though he supposed that was fine. No one cared, so why should he? Why should he regard his emotions if they meant so little? They did nothing but hurt him anyway in the end, driving more knives in time and time ago.

"Two people does not a riot make," came the delayed response, voice heavy with exasperation. Shuffling the cards once more he simply kept his eyes up them, laying them out before him once more to repeat prior actions. Always the same, he thought. Nothing ever changed. Nothing ever would, either.

[aniskywolf]

Alfred had never been fond of silence. He liked conversing and having some sort of noise around him. It kept him content and free of any feeling of lonesomeness. It made him feel like there were others around, something that was in the same room as him. It was one of the charms of living. He could never shut up, not for anything. His leaders sometimes became annoyed when he blathered on too much, and to say the least he sometimes enjoyed being annoying, if only to see the different reactions from others. Most minded while some didn't, probably being just as annoying as he. But the real problem with Alfred was not because he enjoyed ruckus, but that he didn't really know when it was necessary or not. One would think that someone as old as he knew when to keep his mouth shut, but that was not the case with him unfortunately. He retained much of a childish behavior for the sake of having that same, amazing view of the world. He would look at England now and see something that couldn't change no matter how the young man would look at it. Just someone downtrodden for one reason or another. And America's lack of proper words, usually made it worse.

Having disregarded the two leaders before him his smile faded somewhat as he kept to looking at Arthur playing with cards in solitude. Even with so many people around he insisted to stay so far. Why did he put himself through this kind of stuff America would never understand, but one thing was for certain, and that was if America tried he'd simply say the wrong thing, either meaning to or not. It was hard to tell with Alfred, because he was so good at being such a jackass.

"Two people does not a riot make,"

"But it takes at least one to make some noise." Responding he looked slightly disheartened that England was so insistent on bringing down the mood. He turned around and folded his arms over the back of his chair, chin resting on forearms. "The itinerary shouldn't be this boring for too long... or so I'm told." He said, trying to restart a conversation. "Look, I know you're hurt and everything..." He started off but then the words died in his mouth, blue eyes diverting to look at something other than the man he was talking to.

He wondered why talking to him was so hard. It always seemed to go downhill in ways that seemed to vary from time to time, but the fact that remained constant the fact that... they didn't last long. When it wasn't business related it barely would last a few minutes, one shooting the other down for one reason or another and no one would make an attempt to start it back up once the damage had been done. They would part ways and simply not talk for long periods of time. Their nations may be united under a common goal, but they certainly were not, each having their own individual goals they were after, so personal they did not tell another soul for no one else would understand. It was disappointing, but simply one of those facts of life. Sighing he looked back to him, seeing how those green eyes simply focused on the cards and not anything else. That bothered him when it shouldn't, and so he was quick to throw up defenses as he looked away again. This was simply awkward...

[England]

"But it takes at least one to make some noise."

Flip the card. Ignore the words. Just ignore him and say noth-- "You're doing a fine job of that without their help." No, no of course not. He could only ignore the boy for so long before he had to respond. He'd never been good at leaving him unattended, not when he was a child, not when he wanted Arthur gone... not even now when he was being so damn annoying. But it was funny, really. Arthur could, and indeed would, respond to the fool's words and tells out of an almost inbuilt habit born from near two hundred years of loving the fool. Yet what did he get now? What was he ever given in return? Ignorance. Alfred was so very good at that, he'd come to learn. What he wanted to forget he forgot. What he wanted to ignore he ignored. What he wanted to miss simply never existed... and to have his own existence hanging so bleakly on the whim of nothing more than a boy who had shown time and time to hate him... it was devastating. Devastating to know that in such a short time he had become nothing. Everything he had worked so hard for was now gone, whispers in dreams of what once was but never would be again. He had failed. He had fallen... ha had become so very weak.

"The itinerary shouldn't be this boring for too long... or so I'm told."

Silly boy. Silly American. He just didn't understand, did he? Arthur didn't care if it was boring or fun filled, he simply did not want to be here. He thought he may have, short notions of it had crossed his mind. Now though he was utterly convinced that he just wanted to go home and get away from the other blond. It wasn't the event itself that he had a problem with, not really. It was something he had seen and done so many times before that he could merely just shut himself into a sort of autopilot and just do as needed. With Alfred here though that was not possible. His mind would wander and betray him so mercilessly with questions of 'what if' and 'just maybe'. They were lies of course, nothing more than delusions to try and make a broken old man feel something better than loss, but it felt like nothing more than salt in the wounds. He just wanted to forget, and yet that was something not even the fae could do for him if he were to so ask.

"Look, I know you're hurt and everything..."

Yet that made him snap... because what did he really know? He knew nothing. Once more Alfred had deemed such unimportant until faced with it directly, and even then he didn't truly understand.

With a sigh he pushed the cards around mindlessly, no longer pay attention to what went where. In the end they all fit together in some form of way, to look for a patter was simply pointless as he cast jade eyes up for a moment only to be met with what had become so used to. America was far from looking at him. With a snort and sad smile he looked back down, heart twisting painfully in something that had no relation to the open wounds over it. What did Alfred truly know being being hurt? He extended such notions only to physicality. Yes, Arthur was no doubt physically hurt, carrying wounds that should have killed a normal human, yet that was fine. He was used to it. Since he'd been a child people had hurt him. Brothers. Leaders. Invaders. Conquerors. Owners. It didn't matter if he hurt physically, not any more. What hurt more was everything else. It was feeling his pride and joy (London) burning. It was feeling his people die. It was seeing his people young and old wandering the streets with no home. No family... Just misery.

It was being looked through, and not at.

What did Alfred know of that, though? "You know nothing..." And perhaps it was better that way.