dear_mun | Planning on going to Lost Realm when it opens

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Planning on going to Lost Realm when it opens

Oh, what's this, Herr Mundane? You've got plans for me?

Sure you do. I'll believe it when I see you actually finish that app. No offe- Actually, no, I take that back, kid. I don't give a shit if it offends you, but you've been pretty damn inconsistent and unreliable lately. Not exactly making me feel confident you'll get all this damn dust off of me and play me somewhere in any incarnation.

Least of all this one, 'cause God knows you can be a coward about the stupidest shit. Picking a remotely 'controversial' -and yeah, I definitely just used fingerquotes there, so don't give me that look- time period to play me from? I'll almost be impressed if you respond to anyone here.

Key word there is almost. It'll take following through on those plans to really impress me.

...

And do I wanna know why you and that other mundane are squealing like stuck pigs in your little communication box thing? Or is this one of those things I'm not gonna like and should just ignore while I still can?

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That's good. You should be with your people. ::He heads through to the indicated room, to set England down on the couch carefully. Once England lets go of his neck, he straightens.

Prussia's hand rests on his shoulder briefly, squeezes, and releases.::

Sometimes... I... worry about mine. When I am not there.

::...He retreats to go hunt down something to sterilise his knife with. And maybe some tongs.::

[have fun in the kitchen. or the bathroom. or wherever you go. his house is kind of a mess right now. and once England realizes that Prussia is going through his house, he becomes very embarrassed! suddenly he wants to clean it, which is hopeless. suddenly he wants to make tea and offer snacks, because he is a gentleman and a gentleman needs to be a good host!

...

he forces himself to shake off the feeling of housework-neglect and quickly takes off his shirt and kicks off his shoes. he lies on his stomach and waits for Prussia to return. awkward, and yet pleasant. he feels like they are friends again, though he supposes they never stopped being friends, even through this war... and that makes him happy again]

Edited 2012-07-27 09:39 (UTC)

::He finds what he needs relatively quickly despite the state of the building, but takes a few minutes longer to just... calm himself down. Damn it. Why did England have to say that about where he stays? Why does he have to get so fucking sentimental?

When Prussia finally returns, it's with a bottle of something that smells strongly alcoholic, and a pair of tongs. Which he clicks as ominously as he can, just because.::

Alright, awesome! Didn't even have to tell you what to do!

[sometimes England doesn't know that Prussia is sentimental at all... though he likes when he is]

It's not like I haven't done this before. [the snapping of the tongs snaps him out of whatever funk he was feeling. oh dear]

Excellent. Then I don't have to be gentle... ::He's joking. Honest.

Before England can reconsider anything, he makes his way back over and goes to straddle England's hips. Just because it's a better angle and easier on his own back. Really. He swears.

And he's definitely not enjoying this. Nope. Not one bit.

And if anyone believes any of that, then he's also winning against Russia right now.

With some quiet humming -Heil dir im Siegerkranz this time- he splashes alcohol onto the knife and tongs, before setting the booze aside.::

[couldn't Prussia have sterilized the equipment and THEM got on his hips? oh, who is England kidding? he is also enjoying this. he makes himself comfortable, folding his arms under his chin.

he recognizes that song, at least the tune. he's heard it before, but can't remember when or where]

I'm sure your citizens are doing well. You have... strong people... [which is his way of saying that Prussia is strong, that Prussia is a survivor, that no matter what happens, he'll just come out on top like he always does. but he WILL lose the war. England has already decided that...]

::Well, it also goes by God Save the King. Common tune. Very catchy.::

... ::Oh, England. If only you knew what he knows about the state of affairs in the Greater German Empire.:: They are that.

::His hand trembles slightly as he holds England's skin near the wound where the bullet didn't go all the way through. Of course, as soon as Prussia notices, he hides the shaking by wiping away blood.:: Damn it, I can't see the bullet now...

[sure, but he's not too focused right now. he huffs]

I suppose that's my fault...

Well, it could be said that putting a boot on your back didn't help... but you weren't cooperating. ::Huff.

Still, he's very careful when he probes the wound with one finger, figuring it can't have gone too much deeper.::

[it feels strange instead of painful. he tries to relax his back muscles]

What are you going to do?

Well, right now I'm just trying to find the bullet. I think... Is this it? ::He very lightly pushes on something that feels more like metal than bone. Okay, he knows it's it; he's removed his fair share of bullets, but as mentioned earlier: Sadist.::

[England winces a bit. he can feel the damn thing push into a muscle]

There... that's it. [nng]

Hold still, then, and let the awesome me work. ::He withdraws his finger, only to take the knife and widen the entrance wound a bit.:: You know, I always hated that about bullet wounds... how they start off small and get bigger. Pain in the arse. It's great if you actually make a killing shot, but trying to get the fucking things out? Nope. Not like arrows. I mean, it's really fucking obvious where an arrow is in a person. And those you can just push through, usually. But bullets? You gotta hunt those fuckers down and then pull them out, and you get maybe a vague idea where they went based on the entry wound.

So you gotta either be good at math -which, you know me, I'm not a scholar, fuck math, seriously- or you gotta be willing to get hands on. And hope you don't fuck things up worse. Then you gotta make the wound bigger, 'cause wouldn't you know it, the wound starts off smaller than the Goddamn bullet.

But once you do that, it's just a simple pluck and a lift and -hold out your hand, Süßer. ::Should England comply, he will have a flattened bullet dropped into that hand, because the entire time Prussia was running his mouth, he was working.::

[he really was a good doctor, that Prussia... talking like that to help get England's mind off the bullet. Sure, Prussia talks a lot anyway, but that was deliberate. and England can't help but be impressed, even with the knife and tongs poking at him.

thank you, Prussia.

he takes the bullet and looks it over]

Such a small thing can kill a human.

I know; isn't it awesome? ::Though... His tone is definitely a bit strained, and he just drops the tongs on the floor, not caring where they land. The only reason his knife doesn't meet the same fate is because he respects his weapons too much for that, but the sound of metal rasping against cloth can be heard as he wipes it clean on his trousers before sheathing it.::

Hnh. You're bleeding still.

::Yep, he did just lick your back, England. Because that's so sanitary.::

[so you respect YOUR knife, but not his to--

oh wait and Prussia licked his back. he shivers out of surprise, eyes going wide]

H-hey! You had to clean the knife, but then you get your dirty mouth near my wound?

::Of course he does. It's a weapon. Who cares about some silly kitchen utensil.::

Do you have any idea where that knife's been? Hint: Nowhere you want near a wound.

::Distraction=success!:: Besides, last I looked you liked my dirty mouth.

[damn you, Prussia? England rolls onto his side to jostle Prussia. huff]

::He's already quite damned, thank you. And that nearly topples him off the couch, but he catches himself in time.::

HEY!

Hey, yourself. [he rolls the other way, in towards the couch. then he pulls himself up with the back. he should bandage up the wound. so that Prussia doesn't lick it again. well, also so that he doesn't bleed on the couch.

NOT THAT IT MATTERS. he'll probably get new furniture anyway...]

::All that moving finally makes him get off of England, grumbling as he does so. Something about ruining his fun.::

[they can come back to fun... he slowly gets up, rubbing his neck. grabs his shirt off the floor because it will go in the rubbish bin. doesn't belong on the floor. and off to the bathroom to find some gauze]

Are you hungry? [he calls down the hall] You can help yourself to the icebox. [there might be something in there] I also made some scones a few days ago.

Edited 2012-07-27 11:13 (UTC)

::The idea of food makes his stomach growl audibly. Which in turn makes his mind go, "Shit." Because he's heard of England's cooking. And while he has no qualms with English cuisine -in many ways, he finds it quite similar to his own- he's not so sure he wants to try the cookery of the nation himself.::

Uh... Awesome? I'll just go looking.

::Yep, off to the kitchen with him. And. Um.::

...Why do you keep your coal on a plate?

[he doesn't hear Prussia at first... did he ask about coal? what coal?]

What?

::...Oh God. Oh no. Those. Those can't be.:: Uh, I asked if these were the scones on this plate? ::Suddenly... unsure.::

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