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[fifty]

To be made pretty later.

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[keepscalm]

[The bitter eyeroll is almost audible.] Don't count on that. I haven't got a very good track record here.

[Sealand and Beckett are proof enough, but he has no way of knowing how many of those names on the obituary might have belonged to English citizens.]

[fifty]

I trust you.

[keepscalm]

...oh.

[How eloquent. But he didn't really mean to say it, something in his brain just shorted out a little.] Er— that is...

[At least England's tone isn't entirely unfamiliar. It's the "processing a significant emotion" tone, a bit surprised and a bit vulnerable.] ...thank you.

[fifty]

[America can't believe how much he misses England being nearby. He can almost feel normal like this, talking to England.] So it's fine! Everything will be fine!

[keepscalm]

...right. [England still isn't too certain of himself, still off-balance from Beckett's awful broadcast and the following obituary, but he really does hope America will be fine.]

And we can meet up again once this is all sorted. If you want to.

[fifty]

Definitely! That's where I was going before--y'know. [All the murder.]

[keepscalm]

[Yeah...

In the hopes of keeping America from lingering too long on yesterday's events, England tries some good news.]

I've got a few things for you.

[fifty]

[The promise of things does a good job of distracting him.] Like what?

[keepscalm]

[After a few moments, England sends over a photo. It's a rather large drinking glass, a bit rounded and painted unmistakably like planet Jupiter, complete with the red spot.]

The rest is a surprise.