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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Oct 30, 2012 17:19:11 GMT -5
Watching Spain bluster about his room, his hard green eyes glittering with avarice and his strong hands pushing France away with ease, France was struck again with the enormous difficulty of his task. Indeed, he thought again, attempting to catch Spain was like trying to catch all four winds of the world in a mason jar. He was too full of zest, at once his maddening chilly counterpart and his warm, inviting lover. He could not turn this way or that without being accosted by his essence; he was haunted, surrounded on all sides by terribly beautiful memories of him, and no sooner had he obtained his wayward lover than he lost him completely again. The man's tongue was a blade-- cutting France open again and again until he felt his very organs spill out for vultured emotions to pluck upon. Again, as he was in all things, Spain was victorious. And France reveled in his lover's every cruel and charming word.
Spain was beginning to leave again, his hand on the door knob, though not before gently touching his cheek and kissing it. France was aflame with longing, but he did not dare stand in the Spaniard's way again.
He watched his lover leave, fostering flames of both desire and resentment in his heart. Of course Spain would leave to care for his ship. Of course he would retreat to his cold and salty mistress. No, that was not correct. The sea was not Spain's mistress. The sea was Spain's one true love, and France was the foolish, warm body that Spain enjoyed now and again. France was the mistress; France was the pretty bit of hard-won booty, and no matter how much he protested and squealed and clawed to keep Spain with him, he would never win against the sea. France felt himself tearing up again, but he swallowed thickly, fighting his waves of tears mightily.
"Oh...Oui. I will see you zen, mon cher. I..." Then, he added softly, "Je t'aime..."
Spain absconded through the corridor with the bold swagger that made France weak in the knees, but before he could verily lose himself in his own, torrential emotions, he caught sight of his little one, Canada, waddling up the hall in his silk, overly-large tunic and almost completely ignored by Spain. If no one else, Canada seemed to love France more than any one or anything else in the world; France found some comfort in this. He smiled down at his son, then scooped him warmly into his arms.
"Je suis désolé, mon bébé! Papa was... distracted. Come, let's geet you somezhing to eat et zen back to bed, mm? Papa 'as work to do."
With this, he made to carry Canada into the grand kitchen, which was aglow with the light of his large oil lamp. After preparing two very small pancakes drizzled with maple syrup for his son, France poured a liberal glass of potent French wine for himself. He wanted very much to become drunk now, to forget all about his troubles with Spain, but-- with some effort-- France restrained himself. Not only did he have to care for his sweet little one, but his drunken dreams were often filled with Spain anyway. They would bring little to no comfort.
"Damn zat man!" he swore, covering his face miserably with his hands. "Damn him, damn him, damn him! Of all ze men en all ze world I could fall een love weeth-- eet 'ad to be...! Ah! Spain! Damn you!"
Still cursing inwardly, France went about his work. He threw glass after glass of wine down his throat, unaware of his own indulgence, and began to pen a letter to the one man who he never disappointed him-- Prussia.
Mon Ami, I hope this letter finds you in good health and that you have not forgotten me during your wonderful adventures! Each day, I miss you more terribly; I want very much to see you again and soon.
But I do not write simply to bring good tidings.
My dearest and most darling friend, I fear I must ask for your assistance on our Spain's behalf. He has found himself in a most desperate situation with Britain, who has challenged him to war! Naturally, Spain is completely capable of handling the matter on his own, but I think he may find this battle more difficult than the others. England has grown strong. He has built a fearsome navy that the entire world is squawking about! Spain feels he cannot meet the man in battle without allies, and... I agree.
My dear Prussia! You know more than anyone how I feel about Spain. If anything were to happen to him....!
Do tell me you'll join our ranks. Help us meet England in battle so that we can send he and his ridiculous crew back to hell where they belong. We set sail together tomorrow. I hope to find you quickly.
All my love, Francis Bonnefoy
P.S. How is that little Germany of yours! He was always so cute! I can't wait to see how much he has grown!
With this, France delicately folded the letter, spritzing it with his finest, signature perfume, and then sealed it for immediate post.
"Ah, Prussia! I zhink you are our best 'ope now!"
Holding Canada close to him and finally feeling the weight of his own lonliness, France wept openly into the child's blonde locks.
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Post by Hipster Prussia on Nov 1, 2012 2:27:00 GMT -5
When the distinct Prussian has finally made land, he received the post.His fingers glazed upon the letters, and as soon as he broke the seal a wave of fragrant and familiar perfume wafted into his nostrils. 'Ah, z'is delightful scent... like a sveet rose.' Gilbert thought, and he quickly looked around. 'Vait, if zis ist from Francis...' He quickly jetted into his anything-but-humble abode, and sat down at the desk while lighting the lantern. The Prussian's fingertips quickly unsheathed the letter as he found himself reading frantically and urgently, his eyes scanned the page like a worried housewife and he was sure to read it several times.
"Mein gott..." He leaned back in his seat, placing down his hat and rubbing a long and relieving hand through his own hair. "Mein Antonio... Mein Francis..." He leaned forward as his elbows placed on the desk. He certainly had to think about his decision to join the ranks of the the infamous nations--- and too team up against the dashing British pirate? He would certainly have to think of a plan of action, and not be too hasty to write back.
The day was long as he sat down at his desk and was positioned in thought. He considered different naval strategies, positions, and flanks. Ludwig had interrupted him a few times, but he was quick to help his little brother and get back to work on his decision. The next morning came bright and early as he got out his pen and papyrus and began to write. The fountain pen stroked slow and long, as most people did not have the ability to write, much less read back in these times.
"Mein dearest Francis,
I have considered your thoughts and positions on your offer to join your ranks, und it took me awhile to consider your offer because of Britain being known as quite the sea worthy rival. I've been considering battalion plans of actions, and when we finally meet I would love to go over them with you. For now, you can count me in as your Allie unf fruend.
To have the official business out of the way, I am quite worried about Antonio and yourself because of the manner of love you two seem to share. It may be considered jealousy as du know mein own feelings for du, nevertheless this relationship might want to be reviewed to be considered healthy. I leave this in your best judgement, freund.
Ludwig has been growing like an anlage, and soon he will be at the peek of his rite of passage into manhood. As an excited father figure, I am excited to be by his side and teach him how to be awesome everyday. We actually spend the morning learning how to pick up z'eh of lady folk in town, he ist still a virgin und I prefer eet zat vay.
I miss you, mein lieben.
Ich liebedich, Gilbert Beilschmidt"
He sealed the letter with a distinct wax dot, and pressed his insignia on the back as it resembled a black almost hawk figure, with it's wings spread across and a crown on top; he sent it to post immediately. [[someone can be Ludwig at somepoint ack mein gott]]
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Nov 1, 2012 11:57:35 GMT -5
(I will take ze role of Ludwig, mon cheeeeer. <3 Let's get our slightly-shota Germancest feels on. )
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Post by Mathew~Williams~Little~Canada on Nov 3, 2012 15:09:13 GMT -5
Matthew's smile widen. "Papa, I missed you!!" He said and nodded happily loving his fathers idea. He ate the pancakes presented to him happily and licked a bit of the maple syrup when his father was making the letter. When he was suddenly hugged he looked at him and hugged back till his hand could let him.He heard his father cry and couldn't help but cry also.
((I'm sorry but the colors dint work for me I don't know why....)
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Romano
Junior Member
Tch.. idiotas..
Posts: 65
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Post by Romano on Nov 4, 2012 4:21:04 GMT -5
Little Lovino was having a bit of a debate with himself inside of his mind. It had taken a while for him to realize that they had actually docked, and then even more time to realize where exactly they were docked― France. To say the least, the Southern Italian was more than upset, especially since now he had been left alone on the ship.
So that's what this inner debate was about; should he leave the ship or shouldn't he? Romano didn't know when that bastard Spain would be getting back, but he didn't really want to risk the chance at being at the hands of those damn Frenchies.
"I can't believe that idiota left me here by myself..." He found himself grumbling, amber eyes watering ever so slightly. "Goddammit, Spain! I'm just a little kid!" He yelled, but no one was there to hear him. Lovino sighed, pacing across the deck on tiny legs, arms folded across his chest moodily.
"He had better come back soon, or I'm going to hit him in the balls so hard..."
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Nov 5, 2012 10:50:07 GMT -5
It was not often that Ludwig witnessed his brother so terribly troubled; but, oddly, he appeared so now, hunched over his elaborate desk, his pale brow furrowed, and his strong, porcelain hands scribbling with a deliberateness that was very uncommon, at least when Prussia was concerned. Germany was struck suddenly with a strong affection for his brother and, peering awkwardly around the corner, he watched Gilbert move about the room. What was it that had shaken Prussia so thoroughly? What matter could have possibly affected him, rattled him to his core?
Prussia was a man immoveable, brazen in his sheer confidence and unmistakable swagger. Germany had spent many years attempting to mimic this confidence, to walk in his brother's hallowed footsteps, but he only succeeded in an awkward caricature. He was still very young, gangly and clumsy; he could not hold women sway with the power of his charm alone, nor command the Prussian crew with any efficiency. He would stand by his brother's side and ask him this question and that, hoping to glean some knowledge from him via osmosis, and Prussia did his best, no doubt, to explain these things to Ludwig, but no matter how many elaborate notes Ludwig took or how much he practiced alone in his room, he could not master that certain something that was inherently Prussia's. Germany harbored admiration in his heart and tended to it like a small warm fire, a fire which had began to transform into something else, something that made him weak-kneed and dry-mouthed around Gilbert, something that he swore to himself never to speak about to his brother. Such weakness! Mein Gott!
Still, there was no harm in carefully observing his brother each day to learn new things. No, no. There was no harm in that.
Gilbert had responded to a letter, and by the look and smell of it-- printed on lacy-looking stationary and releasing an aroma of deep red roses-- Germany knew the letter was from France. Prussia took the time to read and reread the letter, to press his nose to the paper, as if he treasured its contents.
Something monstrous sunk it's teeth into Germany's heart.
He thoroughly ignored it, then crept into the study after Prussia sent the letter for posting.
"Bruder," he said, approaching his brother a little awkwardly, sheepishly. "Vhat vas zat letter? Are ve... going to sea again? I can come, ja? I can come, und you vill teach mich how to navigate zis time? You promised..."
He wanted to sit in Prussia's lap and wrap his arms around the man's neck, the way he knew Prussia liked and the way he knew would get his way, but he hesitated, hovering awkwardly in front of Gilbert's desk instead, shuffling his feet while a wild flush of pink raced across his cheeks.
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Post by Hipster Prussia on Nov 14, 2012 17:41:56 GMT -5
[[Permission to power play Germany granted]]
Gilbert's red eyes were alluring to the young German as they were filled with mischief and power. The letter he had was already in the post, and he now had grand map of the supposed world spread on the table as he was marking coordinates with little stick pins that had copper tops. Captain Beilschmidt stood up from his seated position, his large shoulders were almost equal with the young German nation and his neck tilted down to look at West.
"You want to go to sea vith your big brother, jah?" His hands placed on Ludwig's shoulders, those dashing eyes locking onto his steel blues, sending an instant heart throb to his brother. Gilbert's thumb reached up and stroked Ludwig's cheek ever so gently, adoring his younger brother. "Du you s'ink your ready for z'is journey, mein liebling?" In his peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of a misplaced hair on Ludwig's head and quickly licked his thumb as he slid it back against his head, always neat and orderly the pirate was.
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Nov 17, 2012 1:55:36 GMT -5
Because ze role of Captain Arthur Kirkland requires a seasoned player 'oo will post regularly, I will be taking eet over for now, mes amis.
There was no greater place for a man of Arthur's imposing stature than at the helm of his huge, commanding ship--the Victoria. The sea blue hull cut into the crest of every white, churning wave with such potency that it gave Arthur a thrill. It was, after all, very fitting; his ship demanded respect from a raging rebellious sea; it met each gray and ominous obstacle with masculine energy in the same manner that Arthur himself met foe after foe. And for what? Ah! These many centuries had washed wearily away, ground up in salt, blood, and sweat, so that Arthur was left amid a growing, glowing pile of worldly assets. His wealth was swelling to magnanimous proportions, and of this he was exceedingly proud. He was a prince among men, a shining example of all that was to be feared, loved, and loathed.
Now, looking round at the wide girth of glass-like summer sea about him; Captain Arthur Kirkland was pleased. It was as if that wild and leaping lass had finally succumbed to his will, and she lay before him as docile as a little lamb, her bosom exposed to his every aching desire, her quivering thigh slipped smoothly into his palms. A bonny, beautiful lass was the ocean-- he could not ask for a more accommodating lover. Similarly, the stiff, sagely wind came blustering, big-bellied into the mainsails with such timid compliance that Arthur was left feeling, quite frankly, godly. Surely all these elements came crawling to him, wilted beneath his every whim, because he was England, the rightful owner of every corner of the world.
And he meant this very seriously, for in his heart, the only lass he loved more than the sea was the wild, virginal swelling hills of unexplored lands. The continent of Europe had grown dry and dull with age; now, there were new lands, laden with honeyed gold, ripe for pillaging, plundering, caressing and claiming! At the thought, his heart pounded with certain avarice, with unbridled lust. The world and all her secretive treasures were rightfully his.
There was but one man in his way.
"Aye! Aye!" he swore, clutching the helm tightly in his hands,"That dirty sea rat Spain. There be no tellin' how long that scoundrel's been prowlin' this world like the skulkin' rodent he is! But mark me words: that rodent is comin' to a slow, painful end beneath me fine leather boot!"
Admittedly, defeating Spain would be no easy task. The man was easily a world super-power, with a large capable fleet and incredibly naval expertise, but! Ah! Ah! England had grown more formidable, more well-acquainted with the sea, than the Spaniard could ever dream! This was the inevitable consequence of island existence; his prowess had grown from sheer isolation and necessity. And now! Every nation bowed to him. Every nation except....
He could not risk defeat this time. The sea ran red with the blood of their constant battling, but this next show of strength would be their last. He would make sure of it. But, to do this, he needed some new chips in his favor, something to gently nudge fate's justice scale.
"Oi!" he growled deeply in his throat, twisting the collar of the nearest crew member and nearly crushing his throat as a result. The man twisted and turned in his hands like a shivering twig.
"A-aye, sir?"
"I grow impatient, me boy. You'll be telling me yer most recent findings about this Spain fella's whereabouts--"
"A-Aye, sir! But the exact coordinates--! We don't...!"
"TELL ME OR YOU'LL FIND YERSELF WALKIN' THE PLANK, SAVVY?"
"A-aye, sir! Apologies, Cap'n! A-aye! All we know is he be portin' somewhere in France, Cap'n! But they be only rumors, sir! The coordinates--"
Arthur smiled, his full and sensual lips peeling back to reveal rows of strong white teeth. He threw away his crew member with a violent force that sent the boy lurching backward and nearly tumbling off the ship. Then, leaning luxuriously, the captain laughed long and hard, his laughter laced with cruelty and a certain knowing impish impulse.
"France? France! But of course! WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR, LAD? HOIST THE MAINSAIL AND SET A NEW COURSE. I think it's high time we visited the lovely city of Paris! I have... chips to collect."
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Post by Thor Odinson on Dec 7, 2012 13:42:07 GMT -5
Spain had spent most of the night locked up in his Captain's Quarters. A map, frayed with use, was spread across his rather large desk, and various other bits of parchment were piled haphazardly around it. Candles burned on either end of his desk and in various other places around his spacious quarters, their flickering light casting an ominous glow.
His crew members returned in various states of drunkenness, and more than once he tore open the door to his Captain's Quarters silence them. Those that proved to be more belligerent were quickly silenced by their fellow crew members. There was nothing merciful about a Captain on the brink of war.
He studied the map for quite some time, not too pleased with the path he would have to take to reach Prussia-- a worthy ally and a fine friend. But having come so far into the English Channel to make port at France, he had already entered his adversary's territory and put himself at a great risk. It was a risk he had been willing to take, and it was still a risk he was willing to face head on. He was the great Spain! He bowed before no one, and not even the likes of Captain Kirkland could strike fear in his heart. If they were destined to cross paths in these waters, then so be it! He would not be deterred.
The dawn had come and with it, as promised, came France and his sea worthy crew. Coordinates were exchanged and they set sail into the blazing sun. They would continue to sail northeast through the English Channel, despite the threat of running into Britain and his crew.
With the sun now high in the sky, Spain stood proudly at the helm of his ship, a fine breeze caressing away the sting of the sun. It was a promising day, and now with France at his side he felt more at ease. A map was tucked neatly under his arm, and a rare smile graced his lips as he reveled in the salty sea breeze. His crew seemed to have noticed this change in him, and for that they were grateful for the Frenchman that had boarded their ship.
He turned toward France, offering him a hand. It will be good to see Prusia again mi amor, no? Dios...it has been too long.
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Jan 6, 2013 0:43:09 GMT -5
The manner with which a sailor prepares for sea is often a long and arduous one; there are items of war to be purchased-- gunpowder, wood, iron, and arms; foodstuffs to collect-- ale, dried meats, hardened breads, and sweet rum; and letters of goodbye to be delivered-- to loved ones and collection officers, but France completed none of these things. He was less concerned with his survival at sea-- such matters were delegated to a few of his most trusted sailors-- and much more concerned with his place on Spain's ship, his place at Spain's side.
He was positively giddy with the prospect! Finally, after dreaming and begging and wishing and planning, he was afforded the proper opportunity to vie for Spain's attentions abroad! Sea-green mistress be damned! Surely by utilizing all of his natural charms he could woo Spain back home, coax him to divorce the frozen ocean, that wild and unforgiving partner! And Prussia would join them. Prussia would join them and convince Spain to give up these ridiculous wars. Of course! All would be well in the end.
During the night, he had tossed and turned, smiling to himself, running his hand over the pillows and sheets nearest him, where Spain lay just hours ago. When dawn's yawning light came inching into his window, France sprang from bed, fussed over what clothing to bring along (he was determined to bring only his most seductive dress), arranged for Canada's care in his absence, spritzed himself with his best-smelling perfumes, and then departed, his spirits remarkably high.
All else progressed like a dream. France arrived at port at the allotted time, and Spain, striding about his ship and crew, looked more godly than ever before. He was in complete possession of his most masculine properties; he moved with the gruff confidence of a descended deity-- his voice booming, his gait smooth and untroubled, and his swarthy handsome face aglow with effort. France had practically sailed into those sculpted arms, had thoroughly embarrassed Spain with his endless chatter and barrage of grateful kisses.
Now, having set sail into the veiled unknown, France found that he could not-- even at his mightiest attempts-- peel himself away from Spain's side. He watched Spain's every move with an inhuman attentiveness; while they lingered together at the helm, France leaned against the ship's railing and tried to look round at everything else-- the gulls, the blue-glass sea, the thick foam of the clouds overhead-- but his eyes were drawn again and again to Spain's agile form. He would look at him, drink in that easy curl of a smile, those elegant hands, those broad and capable shoulders, and feel himself falling so hopelessly in love that all else sank away into nothingness. He was a man completely enthralled. He was not certain how he could manage falling more in love with Spain than he already was, but he had and continued to do so, endlessly.
"Mmm?" He hadn't been listening. He had been staring fixedly at Spain for several moments and was seriously considering seducing him, but Spain spoke before he could act upon his beastly instincts. "Mm? Oh... Oh! Mon cher! Zat ees true! Eet 'as been many years since we fought alongside Prussia. Eet will be good to see 'im again."
He took Spain's hand, moving readily into his arms and inhaling his sailor's scent of salted sunshine. Darleeng, can't one of ze boys do zis? I zhink Roberto ees a wonderful navigator, oui? Why don't we leave steering to 'im for a couple of hours? I want anozer tour of your Captain's Quarters... "he purred, sliding a hand over Spain's chest. He wrapped himself around his lover.
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Post by Hipster USA on Jan 13, 2013 23:54:27 GMT -5
It had seemed like a good idea at the time.
"Oi, put 'er down here." came a gruff voice, the barrel in his hands nearly slipping down to land on the stiff floorboards of the hold. The man opposite him nodded once, as they both crouched slowly, lowering the heavy container with grunts of effort. "I gotta say, Jacob." The scruffy man said warily. "Each time we bring one'a these on'ta the ship, they git heavier and heavier. I'd swear they be a person in there."
The other pirate grinned, slapping his partner on the back as they both made their way out of the room. "Eouln't surprise me if the cap'n snuck a dead body on'ta the ship disguised as a barrel'o flour." He only half joked as they excited a hold, the pair's loud guffawing covering up the small sneeze that came from the supposed dead body.
A few seconds later, a body toppled out of the barrel, looking like a tiny ghost and covered with white flour.
The ghost, or, rather, a boy around the age of nine or ten, with dirty blonde hair and joyous wide blue eyes, grinned triumphantly. Big Brother had taught him about this once. It was called 'irony'.
All at once, the ship began to move, creaking happily as if relieved to finally get going. The child whooped(quietly), sneezing once again and exploding in a tiny cloud of white dust.
When Big Brother had said he was going to leave again, he hadn't believed him at first. He never told him where he was going. Never cared to give him even a hint of what he did when he was away for so many long months. As much as the boy liked to refer to himself as the strongest hero of them all, he WAS young, and hated being left alone for extended periods of time, especially if he was missing the most important person in his life. So this time, the blonde had followed him.
He hadn't been dissapointed. This was even more exciting than he had hoped for, more so than having a super alter-ego that he hid from his sibling. Big Brother was the Captain of the biggest ship he
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Post by Hipster USA on Jan 14, 2013 0:06:33 GMT -5
had ever seen! He must be the best Pirate ever.
After a good few hours of uninterrupted calm sailing, the blonde happily munching on the ship's supply of salted pork and hard tack, he began to get tired. he had planned for this, shaking open a large sack of potatoes and pouring them in to the flour barrel he had taken quarters in, before worming his way into the tweed bag and falling into an easy, relaxed sleep.
He would surprise Big Brother later.
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