England stared out the window.
His jaw was set, and his gaze was blank; since he had long ago adjusted to the rainy enviornment that this part of France provided. He didn't move. He knew the man himself was passed out on the couch, in that ridiculously bright uniform. Bright blue, bright red, what was he thinking? He glanced down at his own uniform for a moment; which was a dark, off green color. He felt that it was much more practical.
He stared out the window again, staring out towards the small cove they had set camp in. They were in small beach houses, yet in a way they felt more like cabins. Small windows on two sides, a wooden door, wooden walls, wooden floor, wooden roof over their heads. Wooden stilts holding it five feet off of the ground even, but it wasn't like he cared much. It wasn't like he was coming back.
France disgusted him.
He could hear America spinning a coin of some sort on the table, a quiet 'swish, swish, swish; clink!' over and over again. He could see his reflection in the window, his booted feet propped up on the table, his glasses sitting on the edge of his nose, his dark, cotton lined leather coat in his lap.
He gritted his teeth.
He felt strange. He wasn't sure if he was feeling satisfaction for upbringing justice, or guilt for how harsh he had been. It was justice, on one hand; yet on the other, he had never known the best time to stop. Italy had to have gone through enough at this point. The lake was absoloutely freezing after all, and salt filled; which would sting.
He blinked, clearing his thoughts, staring at his reflection in the window.
The world outside became blurred as he focused on something else, melding into a collection of gray, blue, brown, and dull green.
The man in the reflection seemed to look nothing like him. Tired green eyes, heavy set brows furrowed with concentration and possibly even slight confusion and annoyance. His short blonde hair was slightly spiky, unkempt, wild. His hands were crossed in front of his chest, his mouth a thin line, his uniform slightly rumpled, some sort of grey stain in the corner from war-time.
He opened his mouth to speak, seeing his reflection do so as well.
That couldn't be him. That man -the man who was himself- looked like a disgruntled stranger staring at him from outside, partially clear, as if a ghost. He blinked, and turned slightly, putting his hands behind his back and pacing past America.
"When are we leaving?" He tried not to show his surprise. His voice sounded unused, crackly, but still thick with his Cockney accent.
America replied smoothly. "I dunno, about an hour or two maybe."
England whirled around, staring at the coin America was still fiddling with. "Will you cut that out?" He asked, annoyed.
"What's your problem, Iggy?" America replied haughtily, slapping the coin back down on the table.
England sighed.
"It's nothing."
"Come on, man." America whined a bit. "We're bros, right? I can tell you're upset."
England raised his brow, tilting his head up and away from America with a tint of concern and confusion splayed across his face. Yet his mouth remained a thin line.
"I don't know... I guess I feel bad."
"Bad about what? The Axis?"
"Yes. The Axis."
America paused for a moment, staring at the coin he was holding absentmindedly.
"You said, and I qoute you directly; 'They started the war. This means they should pay for it. All justice requires punishment. Some sort of ruler to slap the hands of those who act out. Italy and Japan are the ruler, and Germany is the one being punished. In the process, it will punish all of them.'"
"And if we each deliver our own punishment, they will understand what everyone had to go through." England stated. "I know what I said."
America nodded. "You shouldn't feel apprehensive. If they hadn't started this war, I would not have lost soldiers. I would not have lost lives. You wouldn't have, France wouldn't have, China and Russia wouldn't have. It's simple, really."
England stared at the far wall, before looking over his shoulder slightly at were America sat.
"But I feel as if my actions were fueled by anger."
America let out a sigh. "Let it go, Iggy. Within the next few decades we'll have all pretty much forgotten about this."
England realeased another sigh.
"Alright then. I'll stand true to my word."
And then he stared out the window again, almost missing the figure dissapearing in the corner of his vision.