Chapter 1
"Cold, so cold..." Come on get up! "I don't...want to...get up". A coughing fit followed, scratching at the deep freezing penetration in his lungs. It was all too much effort, better to just let the snow soak through his clothes while he lay collapsed, hapless. Pathetic! With no feeling in his hands, he numbly clutched the scarf to cover his nose in an attempt to stop the burning pain with every intake. I hope my sisters can cope without me, it will be hard for them without someone there.
It was often that people were found frozen to death on the streets, a miracle that even the ships could fly to get of this blizzard-like hell. They were inspected, heated and cared for constantly, if the fluids in the engine froze, it would cost many lives to dig out enough iron to construct another one from the Mines. Such a foreboding place, like the construction factories. Giant defective structures hewn into the mountain side. Machines would crush those not quick enough to get out of the way, a hammer weighing tons would easily break your ribs, smash your insides apart.
It was warmer than the mines, but not by much and so much more dangerous. Little or no pay at all was given to the survivors, after spending weeks at a time with no sleep, deep down in the bowels of a boiling cess-pit, digging away piece by tiny piece. Many people here were fair haired, after living so long in a landscape enraptured forever in winter. Small dwellings dotted crevices cracked into the land to be protected from the harsh storms, often spotted on clear mornings when black smoke rising up chimneys rose slowly from seemingly nowhere. As the establishments were in a valley like scape they clung suspended from the walls, dumped on top of another like a stack of moulding wood. Upturned cobble roads winded around the snow shrouded plazas at the bottom of the crevice, windows cracked from the cold. Food was hard to bite into and always glazed in frost. Old people along with children were the only ones alive in places like this, even the children didn't live long on the streets without their parents, long dead and gone. Turning on each other, they murdered to keep alive.
Russia glared through the murky white haze that swallowed the air about him. The sun was but a smudged speck barely see-able in the dash of sky above, down here it was as dark as it was when it was night. Darkness banded tight to the squatting houses, flecks of sharp snow snapped at his exposed skin. It was getting harder to breath, the air dragged to slowly down his throat. Starving of oxygen Russia felt a weight press over his vision, he had stopped twitching from the cold ages ago as the snow dusted his form lightly. Vision starting to shake it made him feel dizzy, queasy even. Then his sight suddenly went, turning black like someone had simply flicked the off switch on a light, and it was enduring.
"... Scott...Scott! SCOTT!" Snapping his eyes open he had to blink away the tears protesting at the brightness, a thick English accent shattering through the comfortable, orangey drape that came with sleep. Wait, I feel...Warm? Grasping at the sheets he huffed, shaking his head to clear the still lingering dreams. "You're awake now?" Russia still couldn't tell where the English voice was coming from, so was surprised when a boiling object smelling like rubber dropped onto his chest. It wobbled like some strange liquid, so the other thought that it was absolutely hilarious when Russia smacked it away like an escaping fly.
"I think you may need that, just for a while longer so lie there until I tell you you can get up." Still on his back Russia only saw the person peer over him quickly, taking note of the green eyes, blond hair and thick eyebrows creased in concentration. Turning his eyes to inspect the room he saw that despite the high ceiling the bed was barely fitting inside the elongated expanse, being rammed into a corner right against the wall, so just enough space was left to squeeze past. "Are you still cold? Does it feel like you have frostbite anywhere?" In no position to argue Russia shook his head sadly, quickly replaced with a smug childlike smile."Did you save me? Thank you." The Englishman choked abruptly "Y-your're Russian?" Nodding he looked curiously at the man "And you're English da? Do you have a name?" "Uah... Well I, don't know if I should tell you." "Why not? I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." Russia leered, staring at his opponent with a childish grin plastered on his mouth. A distant nagging memory already had Russia guessing who the man was, and would prove it if the person said otherwise.
It was something about that tone of voice, shade of green eyes, maybe... Just maybe... Russia decided to swing a wild guess, if his blotchy memory lined up correctly then, this person... "England?" "Ha ha ha! Wait, what?" "England, like the old country before the oppression began." Russia spoke slowly. "I don't know you! A-and what's this talk about the old countries huh? Who are you to claim something like that you git! My name is Arthur, it always has been." Arthur asserted, moving to pick up a tri-cornered hat, a shivering peacock feather elegantly threaded into it. "I don't know, It's all torn up for me to!" Russia grunted, eyes flicking angrily in an imitation of a pacing self. "You can't be human, to remember a time when the old countries were still around." "If you are who I think you are, then you are not human also?" Russia pointed to his own eyes, demanding that the other should at least remember the violet irises.
"I know you from the past? It means you were there along with me. Russia" He jabbed his thumb at himself, staring earnestly at the other. "Doesn't it jolt anything?" "No" Came the answer after a pause, one Russia was not glad to hear. I'll make you remember, even if i have to break your legs to do so. Shooting an apologetic glance over his shoulder England nimbly swung the door open, leaving a hasty 'I'll come back later'. "When?" "I have to go do some stuff with my brothers... If you need anything call for Iom to get Jersey or Guernsey. I won't be back for a while, you know, eelshark hunting is pretty hard. What with all the bloody explosives." England motioned the action with his hands, shoving the black leather hat on before slinking out of the room. Russia could only grumble to himself, watching as the shimmering feather disappeared round the corner. "Am I the only one trying to patch up my own memories?" To that he could only snicker innocently, comforted with the evil aura stifled up around. "Da..."
Readjusting a worn flag that embellished the bristly open door frame leading up to the deck, Ireland could not help but listen in on England's conversation. Knowing full well that his twin, North, would want to hear all that Ireland had heard. It confused Ireland when England denied his name being that of one of the old countries, but cautious big bro Scott wanted the family to keep it a secret if all of them were to escape unnoticed in the world. So had instructed us all to use 'human' names, Ireland's own being Sean while his 'other self' was called Connor. To be frank I don't see the same personality in both of us... Hah! We're getting off track with our meddling, I'll have to ask Connor what to do. Well maybe we could suss out the new guy... Or just stare from afar, don't want to mess with that. They only rescued the Russian because it would have seemed unfair to leave the poor youth frozen in the middle of the street.
Running a hand disinterestedly through his slightly 'pinker' hair than his brothers strawberry blond, Ireland playfully stretched the wrinkly, over sized khaki coloured vest he wore when England began stomping right in his direction. The muscles around his lips began to ache for him to smile, giving in Ireland burst out laughing, yelping when England chased him up the steps onto the upper deck. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he pounced easily over the railings to the other hovering craft, tethered closely to the bollard pulling the two together. His fingertips always tingled when he did it, knowing full well that slipping or losing his grip would certainly earn him a place in the after life, before plummeting past the clouds and smacking into the sea or the land below of course.
Peering back it staggered him how much the ship resembled a diver's air tank. The two metal cylinders acted as pressurizers, taking in drafts and fanning it out as dense air through three, large rotating blades. Ventilation shafts connected them to a much smaller drum in the middle, protecting the engine controlling all large gears and wires protruding from the belly of the ship. Accommodation rooms were limited to their size, as the old model relied on the wind to propel itself. Living spaces were pushed to the front in a contracted v shape, leaving only a small expanse for decking and slits either side that led to the control room, jutting halfway up the mechanism drum.
We both declined Jersey's lessons on attempting to teach either me and my brother about the engine system, ending up with Arthur's scones plastered all across the ship. In the 'moment', Connor had declared it the right time to dispose of the blackened lumps while everyone was distracted, throwing them out the kitchen windows during a need for a speedy getaway from an approaching storm. Both praying that Arthur's senses wouldn't detect the missing scones half-way across the storm surge, only stopping to take shelter in a port till the next morning. Arthur had woken early to find them skidded onto the hull bottom, using his 'super natural powers' to root out the guilty both Sean and Connor chisel them off and eat them while Jersey sprouted endless nonsense about economic issues.
"He's coming brother! Prepare yourself." Connor whispered, Sean whimpering more loudly at every thunderous step signalling their doom. They hudled close together, cramped into the kitchen's store cupboard, home to most savoury food piled on the walk in shelves. The sound stopped before them, a dark shadow cast under the crack at the bottom of the door. A shrill squeaking of brass knob turning was all it took for Ireland to hyperventilate, Northern Ireland being more subdued prayed that at least he would go the heaven. "It's Dullahan! Brother! run for your life he's here to take our souls!" Sean wailed.
Plodding in circles Sean stuck out his tongue as Arthur took the easy way across, withdrawing the rope plank and setting it aside. Waving a farewell at Guernsey snoozing in the cockpit. Jersey instantly appeared from below deck, skipping to the tangle of ropes straining upon the hooks and began undoing the one still attached still to the bollard. "Catch us a big one!" He cried while Guernsey stuck up a middle finger, slouching from view.
The two Clover 7S were both his and his brothers pride and joy, having constructed them together with Wales, Scotland and England. The Clovers clung to the side of a reconstructed Japanese sail ship, copies of the fin canvas lodged at the back, sandwiched aside a curved viewing window. A rail gun bordered the bow, refitted to deal with pin bombs instead of shells.
"Where we heeading my boys?" Ireland whooped, enthusiastic to shed the much needed violence he had been itching for, whilst his family had been flying to the Baltic. His north-side brother reloading the ammo of the favoured Irish Tomson gun that both of them wielded, often claiming that it was like a symbol for the twins."Arkhangelsk, bah then we'll head out ove the Barents Sea, bigger fish ouu there ya know." "Cool." Ireland scoffed, moving to pat his other self as if they had just watched their goldfish get put in a blender. North raised an eyebrow, along with a 'you cheeky bastard' look. Knowing full well that if he reacted to the gesture it would only end up with the more skittish of the pair teasing him the whole journey. "Have the harpoons been sharpened?" "Hmm... Wanna find out?"
"'Haud yer wheesht! Ireland! North! Yer rocking tha boat!" Scott exclaimed loudly over the protested creaking of the wheel. "Ack, when will they learn their manners eh?" Wales droned, handing the steering over to England." "Oi! come on now, stop humping each other!" Dashing off Wales went to intercept the pair.
Taking a long drag from the cig in his hand, Scott narrowed his eyes towards his little brother, the long black trench coat rippling around England's frame as was the 'unlucky' bird feather. "Wales! Line up tha rudder an keel! I don't wan'it to break." He snapped, pivoting on the heels of his military uniform boots, tie and top button that held the shirt underneath covering the nape of his neck had long since dissapeared. The white cross however, was still there as before. "Gie it laddie." Scot muttered around the but in his mouth. Sigh."You know that lad we found Scotty? I swear he had eyes like a goat!" "How's that?" "Cos it was like they were staring into my soul!" Scott had to chuckle slightly. "Dae ye mind him?" "Scott...I don't know. The past me might of, but this one doesn't." England thumped his fist over his heart. "Give im a wee chance, gey than dissmiss it so quickly. Ah! look there England a frozen Wave Pixs!" Scott pointed out as the ship descended, hanging so low over the water that the icebergs rose galantly overhead.
"Scott I can see something under the water!" The younger twin yelled, ducking under the back most jib to careen off the rails. "Bring us aboot lad." England obliged, edging the wheel in the direction of the twins guidance. "Agh!" North shouted in shock, stumbling forward to grab his brother. Whoosh! The ship lurched, butted out the way as large bubbled shark head skewed its side. Clamping its tusks around Ireland's delicate arm and tearing him of the deck, flinging its crown sidelong as its nose whacked into the boom of the sail.
"Shite! Ireland!" Wales surged towards the rail gun, twisting it to aim while launching off a pin bomb with a spiraling boom. The needle garroted into the nerves of the Eelshark's enclosed eye, a rumbling blast rebounding out of its gullet. Despite it's shaking Ireland's arm still stuck twisted admist its tusks, screeching in pain tears streamed down his cheeks.
The creature struck the water with an audible crack, crying in anguish North beat and tugged at his hair, steadying himself to unclasp the belts holding the Clover, the plumage of fins fizzing outwards along with the flickering of its headlamps. It pitched forwards, letting out a shrill scratching noise as it scraped the side of the giant ice monument that North barely managed to dodge. Advancing onwards to the dark writhing shadows, the dorsal fin frothing the waters reddening surface.