[It's been...an eventful day, to say the least. There's a lot to digest, involving both situational crises on a wide scale and interpersonal burdens.
England keeps tabbing back and forth on his screen; Shepard's post, the morning's obituary, and the mysterious old messages from deleted usernames. He's been fairly quiet most of the day except for when he needs to communicate directions or intent to America. He's still not over what happened to Sealand, and now he has the weight of Miranda's death on his shoulders, as well.
But they have to keep moving.
Only once they've settled in the leaky house with no bedding for the evening does England voice one of the things that's been on his mind, seated on the floor against one of the walls in the bedroom.] I think I've found something we can— occupy ourselves with.
[A short-term purpose, besides simply to stay alive.]
[America has hardly been quiet, even though he has been trying, more or less. He can't keep from chattering about one inconsequential thing or another unless he's occupied with eating or focused on the network. He's been pacing about, too, with an endless fountain of energy even though he probably shouldn't have nearly this much of it to waste. When England mentions something to occupy his attention--or at least his energy--he perks up immediately.]
[How America can have so much energy at a time like this, England will never know. He feels like he's never been so tired in his entire life.
He keeps his eyes locked on the tablet, maintaining a level voice.] Some people have been setting up stocks of food around the town. In houses near points of interest and far away from the buildings that provide rations.
[He scrolls back to the obituary, gaze fixated on Miranda's name.] ...I think we should contribute to the effort.
[Sounds like the opportunity to do something heroic. Not only that, it would require many trips to get food, which means he could restock his junk food supply at a more reasonable rate.] Yeah! Then everyone could get around easier without having to go back to like two places all the time. [He fidgets in place, as if the very act of staying still is too much, but his attention is at least still on England.]
It would be advantageous, yes. Particularly where the hospital is concerned, it's quite a trip from the tunnels to the nearest reliable source of food.
[England sounds as rational as can be, but he still stares at his tablet screen, fidgeting with the helpful little avatar in the corner. He's fashioned her into a fairy, and she watches as he tabs pointlessly back and forth through the posts he's been looking at. America's movements nag in his peripheral, but even that isn't enough to distract him from his mulling.
When he speaks again, there's a note of hesitation, because it's information that Miranda gave to him.] ...there should be a house nearby that has a stockpile, so I plan to add to it once we find it.
Yeah, the tunnels aren't really that great. [Which America is pretty obviously disappointed about, since he'd been hoping for a really dramatic cave adventure and not ending up basically starving by the time they actually got back to a food source. Nevermind he'd gone longer without food than that, he still hated it. America ignores any signs of hesitation on England's part.] How much food should we put in each house?
[That's an understatement. England supposes there had to be some trade-off for an area that actually has medicine.]
Just a few days' worth to start with. The current conditions are bloody awful, and it'll take longer to get back to the shop than it normally would. We don't want to risk running out of food on our way back.
I think we'll have a better idea of appropriate amounts when our mobility improves. [And after they've been doing it for a little while.]
Maybe we can find more bags to carry more food with! [Or lampshades and teddy bears and anything else that passes through America's line of sight and therefore ends up hoarded.]
You don't need any more bags. [England is cutting that off at the pass, an irritated edge to his tone.] I can manage another, but you've got plenty to carry as it is.
It's not that much. [Actually, what he has is heavier than he thought it would be. He guesses even now he's not totally used to the way his strength has been collared here.] But even if it was I can't just leave stuff behind if we can use it.
You can't carry a car any more, idiot. I'm not going to drag your arse through the snow on a sled because you feel it's necessary to carry around every piece of rubbish we come across.
[England actually used to fantasise about America losing his freakish strength one day. He never thought it would somehow make America more annoying.]
Think of how easily the monsters could catch us if we were yanking a sled around all the time. [England says it with a bit more venom than he really intends to.]
[England tries not to feel bad about bursting America's bubble.] The point is, carrying too much is a liability, and I don't plan on showing up on the obituary because of something so foolish.
[He's really got death on the mind today. And he's sulking a bit, skimming Shepard's post and mourning the deaths of Miranda and Sealand, as well as the death of his ability to have a civil conversation with his own ally.]
[England lets out a sound of frustration, finally tearing his gaze away from the tablet to glare at America, his voice forceful and imploring, and definitely rather frustrated.] I don't want it to happen to you, either, all right?
[His gaze lingers on America a moment longer, but it doesn't take him long to get embarrassed of his outburst and balance his tablet in his lap so he can rub his hands over his tired face.]
[America's expression breaks into something else, and he feels bad for being upset when England is saying things like that, so he has to look away and stare at the wall instead.] I'm not gonna die.
I'm sure Sealand and Miranda thought the same thing. [If he makes any attempt not to sound completely miserable about that, it fails utterly. And this is the first he's spoken of Miranda to America outside of telling him that someone unnamed had found Sealand.]
Miranda? [America's eyes flick back over to England with some measure of confusion. Plenty of people die here, so England bringing up this unknown name specifically is a bit odd.]
[He said it without thinking. Of course America doesn't know who she is. England hid it from him, trying not to let on how bothered he was by the death of a stranger.
He takes a deep breath and massages his fingers over his temple, eyes shut as he tries to compose himself.] The woman who found Sealand.
She died last night, after telling me that she found him. She didn't have time to make it back to safety.
[And even though she had her own agenda, England still can't help but feel some responsibility for it.]
Oh. [America mulls it over, as much as he mulls anything over. He's never been good at reassurance when it had so much to do with--emotional stuff. Especially when it's England.]
It's not your fault. [He settles on that, even if it's probably dumb to say. If England just reacts defensively then it's fine, since that would be the sort of reaction he would expect.]
[England just lets out a mirthless scoff; not defensive, but definitely disbelieving.] That's what she said, as well.
[Even if he could absolve himself of the blame he's taken, she took a great weight off of his mind, and what did he do for her? He certainly wasn't able to help her.]
[America folds his arms across his chest and picks idly at the leather of his bomber jacket for want of anything else to do.] So you should at least believe her.
[At that, for once, England falls silent. At first, it's simply because he doesn't have anything to say to that, but slowly he starts to allow the idea into his mind. And as he does, he starts to feel guiltier; her death wasn't about him, and here he is moping about it like a child, anyway. And he gave America her real name, which he's sure she wouldn't appreciate too much.
He sets his jaw, tiredly eyeing the fairy flitting about the corner of his tablet screen.] ...she's still dead.
[It's not really an argument. Even if he's not at fault, it's hard not to be affected by something like this.]
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evening of day 58; action
England keeps tabbing back and forth on his screen; Shepard's post, the morning's obituary, and the mysterious old messages from deleted usernames. He's been fairly quiet most of the day except for when he needs to communicate directions or intent to America. He's still not over what happened to Sealand, and now he has the weight of Miranda's death on his shoulders, as well.
But they have to keep moving.
Only once they've settled in the leaky house with no bedding for the evening does England voice one of the things that's been on his mind, seated on the floor against one of the walls in the bedroom.] I think I've found something we can— occupy ourselves with.
[A short-term purpose, besides simply to stay alive.]
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He keeps his eyes locked on the tablet, maintaining a level voice.] Some people have been setting up stocks of food around the town. In houses near points of interest and far away from the buildings that provide rations.
[He scrolls back to the obituary, gaze fixated on Miranda's name.] ...I think we should contribute to the effort.
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[England sounds as rational as can be, but he still stares at his tablet screen, fidgeting with the helpful little avatar in the corner. He's fashioned her into a fairy, and she watches as he tabs pointlessly back and forth through the posts he's been looking at. America's movements nag in his peripheral, but even that isn't enough to distract him from his mulling.
When he speaks again, there's a note of hesitation, because it's information that Miranda gave to him.] ...there should be a house nearby that has a stockpile, so I plan to add to it once we find it.
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Just a few days' worth to start with. The current conditions are bloody awful, and it'll take longer to get back to the shop than it normally would. We don't want to risk running out of food on our way back.
I think we'll have a better idea of appropriate amounts when our mobility improves. [And after they've been doing it for a little while.]
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[England actually used to fantasise about America losing his freakish strength one day. He never thought it would somehow make America more annoying.]
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[He's really got death on the mind today. And he's sulking a bit, skimming Shepard's post and mourning the deaths of Miranda and Sealand, as well as the death of his ability to have a civil conversation with his own ally.]
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[His gaze lingers on America a moment longer, but it doesn't take him long to get embarrassed of his outburst and balance his tablet in his lap so he can rub his hands over his tired face.]
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He takes a deep breath and massages his fingers over his temple, eyes shut as he tries to compose himself.] The woman who found Sealand.
She died last night, after telling me that she found him. She didn't have time to make it back to safety.
[And even though she had her own agenda, England still can't help but feel some responsibility for it.]
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It's not your fault. [He settles on that, even if it's probably dumb to say. If England just reacts defensively then it's fine, since that would be the sort of reaction he would expect.]
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[Even if he could absolve himself of the blame he's taken, she took a great weight off of his mind, and what did he do for her? He certainly wasn't able to help her.]
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He sets his jaw, tiredly eyeing the fairy flitting about the corner of his tablet screen.] ...she's still dead.
[It's not really an argument. Even if he's not at fault, it's hard not to be affected by something like this.]
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