Bahahaha, oh jeez. Everyone who is already watching me, you guys are insane! Thank you so much for dealing with my crappy writing and following it. Please don't kill me, but yes, this is another new series. /hides for dear life behind the sofa.
I know I need to work on the other series', but those are all on my desktop…and my laptop is so much more convenient.
For once, a series that heavily will involve France!
So, a few warnings; there will be past FrUK, character death, blood, battle, cursing, and hopefully eventually some full blown sex. Also the possibility…err…probability of UsUk. Canada…still needs someone. I'll set up a poll for him.
Empty. If someone were to ask the sandy haired male how he felt at that moment, his response would have been that. It happened so sudden. However, there was no one there to ask him. They were all either dead or in the process of dying. And it was not like there was anyone who would happen upon the scene either, who would be idiotic enough to wander into such a barren landscape? Two hours, seventeen minutes, and forty two seconds.
Red. That's how the world looked to him then. Everything was either completely washed out with crimson, or tinged with enough of a rusty brown to make anyone feel sick to their stomach. Of course, it was also possible that blood had gotten splattered onto his eyes, but really, it didn't matter. Two hours, three minutes, and nine seconds.
How? He couldn't help but wonder it slightly. Everything had been going according to plan, it was so smooth. Perhaps too smooth. They had been cornered. Led like lambs to the slaughter…except he was still here. One hour, fifty four minutes, and twelve seconds.
Francis. The one name that went through his head, like a train on its tracks. His voice, his looks, his warmth…his existence, they were all flooding through him at a ridiculous pace. For some reason though, he couldn't force himself to look down. To see the very proof of that man's being. One hour, forty two minutes, and thirty nine seconds.
He had to though. There was only so long before his mobility would be forced to a halt. Even if he couldn't save his life, he had to preserve his body. The thought of animals tearing apart the last essence of that blonde buffoon actually pulled a choked sob from his throat. One hour, twenty eight minutes, and fifteen seconds.
Digging the grave wasn't all that difficult. Except everything was blurry for some reason. Hands swiped at green eyes, trying to keep that liquid from seeping. There wasn't enough time to mess up. Not enough time at all. One hour, thirteen minutes, and fifty four seconds.
Actually moving him, no it, he wasn't there anymore, he had left his container already, was slightly more challenging. Parts weren't cooperating. Stiff. He didn't know the human body could feel so stubborn and unyielding. One hour, two minutes, nine seconds.
Finding pieces. That took longer. Not bits of him. He hadn't been blown apart, thankfully. But items had been scattered. Even though he wasn't there anymore, he probably would have been happy, having those few scraps to show who he had been. Dirt caked hands rummaged through the belongings of the dead, not as pretty as him in death. He had always been fond of monetary items, simply for what they stood for. Civilization. Forty nine minutes, twenty seven seconds.
Re-covering him was simpler. Not anywhere as much physical ability needed, however, that left more time for green eyes to dampen and a lean body to shake. There was no compressing the dirt. That could harm him further. Thirty three minutes, forty one seconds.
A marker of some sort was needed. Nothing flashy, something that could decay quickly or was light enough to be blown away. He would be found otherwise. Local fauna, all weeds. Pretty enough though. He called him a weed anyhow. So it would have to suffice. Twenty six minutes, seven seconds.
Talking to the container seemed necessary. Blood flecked skin didn't believe in anything omnipotent. He did, however. A quivering mouth couldn't speak right. There must be a malfunction. Those noises were all wrong. A dirty forehead touched the cool dirt for a moment before rising. Nineteen minutes, three seconds.
Attempting to leave for a large gap between the two was an absolute. However, a sandy head kept turning back, stopping in it's tracks and simply staring. Perhaps he would be standing there, waiting for him. He never was. Ten minutes, forty five seconds.
Sand kept blowing over tracks and hiding all trails. It was appreciated, but also hated. The crest where he was buried could no longer be seen with forest green eyes. Two minutes, twenty seconds.
A sudden jerk forced all movement to a standstill. Green eyes dimmed as an overreacting mind shut down. And then, there was silence. Zero seconds.
Blehhhhh! Well, this was the prologue. No Alfred yet. He and Mattie show up next chapter~
Also! This is not the type of format the story will hold normally. It simply fit well for this section. If Arthur has flashbacks to this certain period in time, it may return to this type of writing.
Quick question! WHO DO YOU ALL WANT TO SEE MATTHEW PAIRED WITH?
I was thinking about Prussia, Australia, and a few others, but please! Comment and tell me what you would like!