Are You Crazy:
Note: My attempt at writing within the 2P universe, focusing on an alternative world history which might lead to such a creation. So if you are interested in that sort of thing there will be some of that here.
Probably got some spelling and grammar errors, which I'll most likely fix at a later date.
Up the Creek
There were two of them. Their faces were obscured with blank masks, they sat perched above up him, gazing lifelessly down. He had but a second to leap backwards as a knife, thrown at an impossible speed, hit ground where he had been standing.
Without a world they flew into action.
England had trouble keeping his balance as the two alternated between long-range and short-range attacks. Their speed and strength placed them as smaller nations and their fighting style was East-Asian in origin.
Their teamwork was prefect. Even with his superior strength and speed he was steadily being pushed back and kept on the defensive. Who were they? How did they know to come after him when he had barely bean in this strange world a month?
"What do you what?" England tried, asking in a brief pause between fighting. Predictably, he was met with eerily silence.
Frowning, England dodged several more punches from assailant one. He growled, he had not traveled half way around this insane world and put up with all kinds of crap to be offed but would-be faceless assassins. As he ducked a kick and quickly drew his gun, firing several shots, which clipped the shoulder of the second attacker, who had been throwing daggers at him from several meters. He may not have access to his favoured sword- the gun had never been his weapon of choice- but one did not survive as long as he did by being defenceless. Whether it be in this crazy world or his own.
Unexpectedly, a new red form blurred in from his left and England spun away in time to see something long and hard impact the side of his opponent's head and send him crashing into a nearby tree.
A shadowy figure followed the action, quickly leaping after the second attacker, batting aside a dagger and jabbing the others stomach so he fell for his higher perch to the ground.
"Get the fuck off my territory. Ingrates!" The stranger called, his back to England, as the two faceless attackers began to retreat.
"I catch you here again and there will be hell to pay."
He then turned around and England was confronted with a familiar figure. He was tall, grimy, with ruffled blond hair and leaning against a hockey stick, which was stained red in several places.
"Wh?" England began to ask but was silenced when the stick was levelled at his face.
"I'm Canada. Don't fucking forget it. Now who the hell are you?"
England blinked, just when he thought he was getting a handle on all the weirdness this crazy world threw him another curve ball.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . Three Weeks Earlier. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Stone Hedge a mystery to even him. Built before his time for purposes unknown. He always loved walking amongst the ancient stone blocks, feeling the magic and power swell around him. An old and wild magic that made him feel young again. Though with increases in tourism he could not do this as much he would have liked, being that there were people visiting the stones throughout most of the day. This, unfortunately, relegated his visits to the early hours of the morning often before the sun rose.
England stood at the center of the ancient stone circle, relishing the currents of energy, which seamed to swell around the spot. As a country personification he was especially attune to this form of 'magic,' which connected him to his land and people, giving him his supernatural strength and speed as well as the ability to influence different parts of his country. England expanded his aura and turned his vision inwards, feeling out the millions of people who created the citizens of his nation. With a released breath, England forced himself to relax and let the stiffness leach from his body. A cold night breeze washed over him and he allowed himself to slip into a meditative state, allowing him to reconnect with his country. An action which was as necessary, due to it ensuring a personification did not become detached from his/her people, as it was painful and inspiring, for a country was comprised of fluctuating amounts of suffering and triumph.
Today something was off.
England grimaced, attempting to root out the problem, shifting through the billion interconnected sparks of life. He even extended his senses into the rest of the United Kingdom, through he had significantly less clarity when it come to his brother countries. There was an irritated beat from the north, which was Scotland acknowledging his intrusion, meaning he too was probably in meditation or something akin to it. If he where to describe the sensation he would say it resembled the lights of a city as seen from a space station.
Suddenly, all the sparks lit up like tiny suns and a wave of energy washed over his land, rushing towards him. Then it was crashing into him and he was drowning.
Nothing
Darkness
Panic
When England came too he had a pounding headache and a full body ache, like he had just experienced the beating of his life. His mind was mysteriously blank. He groaned then rolled over. The sky was blanketed in grey clouds. England frowned, looking up at the tall brink buildings, which were now surrounding him. Odd. England sat up, massaging his neck and glancing around, he appeared to be sitting in some sort of narrow ally and definitely not anywhere near where he should be. He pulled himself to his feet, wincing as pain shot through his legs, shuffling down towards the light of the main road. He appeared to be in the middle of a modest sized town. The streets around him were deserted and all the windows were closed and boarded up. England swayed slightly on the spot as he tried to walk, overcome with a wave of unease and pain. He leant up against a wall to catch his breath. A brief examination of the architecture revealed him to be somewhere in Europe but he would need more information to pinpoint the exact country. Where were all the people? England paused again as another wave of vertigo overtook him. Frowning, he stopped and turned his attention inwards in the hopes of locating the source of his distress.
Finally, after some searching, England located the source of pain. It was not any physical injury nor was it a danger to his physical country. No, he had suddenly lost his connection to space around him. That inhuman ability to feel and interact with his surroundings, connect with people/land and evaluate the power, mood and state of mind of fellow personifications was muted. Like he had suddenly lost his sense of touch or ability to see. England could barely feel anything save for the distant thump of his homeland. Sure, it was always harder to get readings in other countries but it should not affect him to such a degree. He was practically walking blind. Now sufficiently worried England decided it would be best to return to his country and figure everything out from the safety of his home. Unfortunately, this ended up being somewhat problematic, as he seemed unable to secure a lock on his country's energy signature. England squashed the raising feeling of panic, which accompanied being stranded in unknown territory with no way to orient himself.
Don't panic.
There had been a time, many years ago, when he had not had the power to move across other lands at high speeds or sense beyond his nation. When stepping outside his borders had seen a drastic fall in his personal power. When he had had to rely on human methods of travel and navigation, and that had been in the times before modern transport and technology, in which sailing ships, horse drawn carriages and compasses were the beast things available. The modem era with its globalisation and high-tech travel had spoiled him. So, after taking a deep breath, England headed of down the street again, keeping an eye out for any clues to his location. Something was seriously wrong but he wouldn't get anywhere by having a panic attack. While he walked he tried desperately to recall the moments which could have landed him in such a situation.
Several seconds of wondering saw England turn a corner and spot two familiar figures walking down the street towards him. England squinted, recognising the form of Austria and the blond hair of Poland. With no small amount of relief he headed toward the two, intent on getting one of them to take him home or at least point him in the direction of the nearest phone or airport.
Both countries froze when they saw him, appearing absolutely terrified. They both tensed up and watched him approach wearily. England frowned as he failed to pick up either of their energy signatures. This was getting worrying. As he drew nearer he noticed that both were wearing an odd assortment of clothes. Well, it was odd because it did not resemble anything they usually wore. Poland's hair was absolutely atrocious, resembling a mess of straw. He had sunken in eyes, emphasises by a heavy green coat and bright red scarf, which he had wrapped around his neck. Considering Poland's habit for cross-dressing and wearing that odd assortment of make-up, this unkemptness was a notable change. Austria was marginally neater, wearing a blue vest which clashed horribly with the red coat he had dapped over his shoulders. Despite this not being a major change there was still something seriously off about him as well. England slowed, internal alarms triggered.
"Poland, Austria."
He greeted each with casual nod. It was best to act as naturally as possible given his sudden disadvantage and their strange appearances. Countries usually did not stray to far from a fashion trend without some degree of internal change. They both looked at each other, taking a cautious step back. Was it just him or did they both look slightly panicky? It also seemed to be caused by his presence, though he could not for the life of him think of what he had done recently to garner such a reaction.
"Great Britain," Austria eventually returned the greeting, giving a wave and appearing slightly confused. There was a pause between the three of them.
"Um," Poland coughed several times into his scarf, "What are you doing here?"
England frowned, why was Poland sick? Was he experiencing trouble with his country? You would think that he would have been updated on something of such significance. Additionally, was he delusional or was Poland a lot more subdued than usual. And why had he called him Great Britain? The others had not called him that in decades.
"Are you well?" He focused on Poland in concern. It seemed the question confused him more.
"Yes?" Poland answered, taking the time to examine him.
Silence stretched between them again.
"What's with the new clothes?" Austria suddenly burst out in a very un-Austria like manner.
"Austria," Poland interrupted with a tone of warning, which was promptly ignored.
"I mean it's better than the old stuff but it sort of takes away from the whole crazy…"
"Austria leave."
"What?" Austria startled, looking slightly annoyed.
"I said leave,"
"But it was just getting interesting," Austria smiled, revealing rows of pointed teeth and England frowned. That was defiantly not normal. And what had happened to Austria's voice. He had known the man for a long time and he was never one to interrupt or ramble. He sounded very uncouth.
"Go home Austria," Poland said, this time more forcefully, taking an almost threatening step towards Austria. The two countries stared at each other for several seconds.
"Well, if you say so," Austria finally shrugged, dramatically sighing, backing down. He shot England one more curious glance before continuing on his way down the road.
"Austria," Poland called one last time, causing Austria to slow without looking around, "don't say anything." Austria lifted a dismissive hand in the air and continued at a leisurely pace around a corner.
After watching this far from normal exchange England confirmed, without a doubt, that something was wrong. On top of all the issues he was having in connecting to his country there was also apparently newly developed international problems he was unaware of. That had not been a normal exchange between countries. There had been power involved in that exchange along with uncertainty and hidden hostility. It was an exchange commonly found during wartime when paranoia was ripe and trust was hard to come by. England was immediacy on edge, looking over Poland in a new light, tensing in preparation for any further hostility towards himself.
"Who are you?" Poland growled, tensing noticeably.
"I am the personification of England representative of the United Kingdom," he said, slightly affronted. It was extremely rude to ask a country to reintroduce themselves. England drew himself up, gathering what little strength he could in case he faced a fight. No matter what weirdness was happening he needed to be prepared. He shifted so he was directly facing Poland and the two of them settled into a stand off. As he extended his aura to feel the strange Poland out he was shocked to discover that he could not actually sense Poland. Something he had failed to completely register before, having been far too concerned with not being able to sense in own country. He was now doubly on edge. What was going on?
Poland opened his mouth to respond but descended into a coughing fit, which lasted several seconds and caused Poland to double over to brace against a nearby wall. England grimaced at the wet throaty sounds the other was making, which could not mean anything good, confirming that something was seriously wrong with Poland. Country personifications, as a rule, did not get sick unless it was a manifestation of problems within their own countries. For Poland to be this sick…England shook himself. It was not his problem, for now he needed to get home as quickly as possible and figure out what was going on. It was obvious that something major had happened in the time between getting knocked out and waking up.
"You are England?" Poland confirmed again, straightening up from his coughing fit.
"Yes," England bit, irritably, "Now would you be so kind as to take me home or point be to an international airport." He needed to get home and sort everything out and at the moment he did not trust this strange Poland enough to ask for help directly.
"Home?" Poland said slowly, "To England?"
England frowned and pushed past, "If you are not going to help I will find the way my self." He was fairly good at reading Polish and he was now pretty sure he was in Poland, having seen several signs.
"Wait," Poland turned, catching the back of his shirt, and England spun around quickly, breaking the grip. With all the hostility that had occurred over the past hour he felt it was prudent to be on guard. However, he needn't have bothered as Poland was once again distracted by another bought of coughing.
"I don't think that's possible…Not from here anyway."
Despite the obvious tension between them Poland seamed to have calmed down considerably. Not an attitude he usually associated with Poland who was unusually upbeat. It was all very confusing.
England glared, "What are you talking about I have several flight routs from Poland to England."
"Fight routs? There are no flight routs between here and Great Britain,"
"Yes there are… and there you go calling me Great Britain again. What is wrong with you?"
That seamed to rile Poland up.
"What's wrong with me!? What's wrong with you? The Italian-Germanic Empire and Great Britain haven't been open to civilian travel, or much travel in general, for several years!"
England raised an eyebrow. Had Poland completely lost it? He could feel his stress levels mounting.
"Italian-Germanic Empire? What are you talking about?"
Poland stood silently for several seconds, looking slightly shocked, "But how could you not…Surly you haven't… Have you finally lost what little mind you had left?"
England almost growled in frustration, glowering at the insult.
Poland, after spending some more time spluttering, he pulled himself together to give him a more thorough examination as if suddenly seeing him in a new light.
"You really don't know what the Italian-Germanic Empire is?"
"No, as far as I know Germany does not refer to himself as an Empire, if I did I would not ask," he snipped, calling oneself an empire was a shoeing for criticism these days. However, England was beginning to feel, the more he and Poland failed to understand each other, that something bigger was going on here.
"Impossible," Poland breathed then once again descending into a fit of coughing.
Poland straitened, "I think we may have a problem."
England, stresses and confused as he was could only uncharacteristically snap a, "No shit Sherlock."