London, England

Date: January 12th
Location: London

London, was not as beautiful as Sealand had always seen it. The city looked a shell of itself, as if it was a poor creature trying to limp along, missing some vital organ. The image shook him. He'd seen England's countryside, for he dared not land in a heavily populated area. When he went back for his boat, he didn't want to find it either gone or crawling with beasties. He'd hidden it as best as he could and walked the rest of the way to London. But he'd seen England's countryside, emerald fields deserted - except for the occasional animated corpse, of which Sealand had no problems dispelling. He'd always been a good shot, and the skill had served him well in this post-apocalyptic setting.

He chided himself, because that was no way of thinking about the situation. Really it wasn't. There was no way that the world was ending. Granted, Sealand had no idea why this was happening, or even the cause, but this was treatable. Granted, the vaccine was a bullet to the head, but that didn't mean total destruction.

But looking at London's abandoned streets upset him. He couldn't see a living soul in sight, the rustling of trash, and the crackling of ongoing fires were the only sounds to be heard throughout his entire trip. He was thankful for the bandana covering his mouth and nose – because the smells were horrible, so like death – and the goggles that covered his eyes.

This place scared him, shook him to the core and left him feeling very conflicted. Maybe he should have just stayed on his home. These barren streets were no salvation to anything any more. The once lively center of Peter's world stood a hallow shell of something that had once been glorious.

Thinking on it, the feeling was more than sadness and fear and loneliness. It was all of these things, and something unspeakably more, and it made him want to close his eyes and wake up, to wish it all away with a magic spell. It was a feeling of loss that ran deeper than Sealand knew his feelings could go. He had been made to protect England, granted, not from this sort of danger, but it felt as if his entire purpose had been wasted. He'd stopped thinking of himself in that light many moons ago, but with the horrors of London's streets, those emotions all came rushing back to him. As if these streets were his own, as if his own people were gone from their once healthy, thriving metropolis. He though of it that way, and he had no way of coping with it but to press on.

London was now a horrible, hell hole of a place, filled with rubbish and filth that would likely never be washed from the streets, but there was still something in this shell that Sealand needed to see, touch.

England was his closest neighbor, and the most farther-like figure he'd ever had. Nations could withstand anything, and a nation as strong as England, who had taken the world by the balls at one point not to long ago in his life, would still be in London.

Of this, Sealand was positive. So he had moved on, continuing through the deserted streets of London, keeping himself as quiet as possible. About an hour into the area he'd found a small bicycle store, and took it upon himself to take one, particularly one that did not squeak. On the bike his time nearly tripled. A journey he had expected to take a few very dangerous days, took just under 6 hours, and he had been incredibly lucky not to run into anything, alive or dead.

From the outskirts where he'd entered the city, Sealand had not dared to enter London proper, and was extremely grateful that England's home was located in a quiet suburb. It had taken him a lot of doing, but Sealand had taken the time to circle the outskirts of England, and currently found himself approaching England's home. Once it was within sight Sealand ditched the bike, it would do him no good in the evening hours, which were fast approaching. Besides, he was far to exhausted to keep going on the bike for much longer unless he absolutely had to. He hoped that England would still be home. If not Sealand would be sleeping in the old oak tree out back.

Not sure of what he would come across, Sealand came to the front door cautiously. Looking at the house it didn't seem horribly zombie infested or even like a zombie had tried to get in. It looked like it had been boarded up tight, like it was protecting something very important. If there were zombie's in there, it would take them a decent amount of time to get out of that house to come get him, and undoubtably they'd make plenty of noise in that time. Sealand would be hauling ass back to the bike if any sign of that came about.

Hoping that this was a good idea, Sealand lightly rapt on the wooden door, not quite sure what he was wanting to hear.

((Well, England can go for it, obviously. If anyone else is in there with him feel free as well. Close by? Happen to be in the area? Well, I've no opposition to anyone showing up if they've a reason to be there. This is suppose to be set a month after the outbreak. ))

Date: January 12th
Location: London


England looked out his open upstairs bedroom window at the city, his city, his heart…in absolute ruin. Smoke from the numerous fires darkened the sky. There was silence now. A week prior he’d been able to hear the screaming even from his house. But now there was no one left to scream. The few survivors that were left had found their points of last stand and were waiting either for rescue or for their barricades to fail.

And rescue was quite possible if they were clever. His military was still active and they made regular, heavily armed visits to the city looking for anyone alive and uninfected. England knew because he’d order them to. And he had accompanied them on several of the missions.

He’d insisted on staying behind. He needed to be there to orchestrate the rescues and the rebuilding and the purging of the living dead while the monarchy and government were scattered about in safe houses. Living dead… Christ, he’d never thought he’d see the day when such a nightmare would become real. He blamed the fall of London on himself. If he’d been quicker to act... If they’d had stricter quarantine policies, then perhaps… Well. There was no point in that sort of thinking now.

The airport was where it had all gone wrong. There had been reports of the strange new infection, but not much had been known about it yet. England knew of some isolated cases in his country, but no real cause for concern. It really began with an incident on an incoming flight. A man had gone berserk, attacking and biting his fellow passengers before the sky marshal had taken him down. Hours later, during the investigation, over a dozen passengers from that flight became crazed and attacked as well. It spread quickly and soon it became a massacre. The area was isolated, military personal arrived, and hundreds were dead by the time the incident was over. England had gone himself to witness the aftermath of the tragedy and get the cleanup started. A messy affair, that was, even from England’s administrative position. There had been so much blood…

The outbreak had not been successfully contained. Over the next few days, more reports had come in of murders and crazed citizens who could not be easily brought down except with killshot to the head. The infected had no sense about them, they had no pulse, the ate the flesh of other humans. It had progressed so quickly… There had been no choice but to close off the city limits. No one could leave without being thoroughly screened, which was slow and time was never on their side.

England sighed as he recalled these events. He’d gone through them over and over. He saw them in his sleep. The state of things had him so stressed and worried for his city, nay his whole country. He felt constantly tired and didn’t even feel up to finding something to eat, though he was rather hungry. Not that anything he had on hand sounded good, especially with no refrigeration, electricity, or gas.

His only access to information was a ham radio. His military officers checked in with him daily for orders and to report on the state of things. So far there wasn’t much news on how the other nations were fairing. England wanted to hear word of the rest of Europe and his scattered family members across the globe. But there was just so much confusion all around.

He’d already been contacted for that day and once again, he’d committed to remaining where he was for another night. His personal defenses were working well; none of the creatures seemed to even know he was there in the house. He had food, water and weaponry. He could hold out for weeks longer if need be. But even he was starting to realize there wasn’t much he could do for London that wouldn’t be more efficiently handled from the outside. He didn’t like the idea of leaving. It seemed so final. But he would probably contact his officers for transportation out of the city in the next few days.

A sudden knocking brought England out of his thoughts. It was a light, cautious sound. Not the sort of thing he would associate with the living dead that roamed the streets. He’d seen no one approaching from the city and didn’t have the slightest idea who or what it could be. On alert, he picked up his pistol from the night stand where it had laid at the ready. Poking his head out the window, he saw nothing there. He made his way slowly and silently to the next room and glanced out the window overlooking the front door. His mouth fell open in a gasp when he saw who it was. He hurriedly opened the window.

“Sealand! What do you think you’re doing here?!” He spoke in a hushed, hurried voice so as not to attract any unwanted attention. “Come around to the other side and I’ll let you in. Be quick about it!”

Cursing under his breath, England made his way back to his bedroom. It was foolishness, utter foolishness for that boy to have come here. There was hardly anyplace in the world safer than Sealand’s home in this particular crisis. Didn’t that boy ever think?!

The doors and windows on the lower level were all boarded up and barricaded. It was far too time consuming to makes one’s way in and out that way, so England had needed to improvise. He had a rope ladder rigged with a pulley set up at the window that he used whenever he needed to leave. Once at the bottom, he need only tug the cord to pull the ladder out of reach and again to lower it. The zombies had yet to figure that one out, so it seemed safe and effective and England thought it rather clever of himself to boot. He lowered the ladder from the window there and watched on as he waited for Sealand to climb, expression set to one of mixed disappointment and concern.


((Sealand of course. Anyone else who would reasonably be in the area is also welcome.))

Date: January 12th,
Location: London

There was the slight noise of shuffling in the house, and it made goosebumps riddle across his skin and a chill run down his spine. His rational mind whispered that it wasn't loud enough to be a threat, that there were no groans like those of the undead, there was no reason to worry. But his instincts screamed that he had to run, get away from the house, grab the bike and ride until the sun was only an after image in the twilight sky. Sealand could defend himself, he was a good shot and was resourceful enough to survive, and to continue surviving. But another thing that had kept Peter alive was his ability to stay quiet, keep away from harm, and to run like like no body's business. He was not America, he was no hero here. Sealand knew how to stay alive, and that meant not putting himself in a situation where he could be a victim.

Sitting at this door, letting his presence be known, and then waiting for something to happen as something fumbled about upstairs, could very well be entirely counter productive. Sealand gripped his shotgun strongly, and slowly backed away, his instincts starting to take hold. It was in that instant, as he thought of dashing back to the abandoned bike, a familiar mop of sandy hair stuck itself out of one of the upstairs windows. Relief shot through Sealand's veins, and the adrenalin that had slowly started to build since knocking on the door, no, since stepping into London's ruined streets seeped out of his pores and allowed his breathing to steady. England motioned for him to go to the other side of the house, and Sealand nodded and made his way over.

He quickly bounded over the hedge, and made sure not to trample England's beautiful roses as he came to the back of the house, impressed that the delicate flowers continued to thrive. He turned his head upwards to see a makeshift rope ladder dangling from the window. Wasting no time, Sealand shifted his shotgun so that the leather strap around it was slung over his shoulder, but was still easily accessible in case he needed it at a moments notice.

Hand over hand, foot over foot, Sealand quickly scurried up the ladder, and hoisted himself through the windows wide frame. The house seemed to embrace him, an old friend, a treasured sanctuary; a place that was happy to see him and wanted to protect him from the calamity currently shaking the world. It was such a comfort to him, to find some place since leaving his own home that welcomed him so. It was only after he looked up at the houses foundation, familiarized himself with the floor boards and carpets familiar tug, did he notice England.

Sealand raised his goggles to get a better look at the nation, not sure if his eyes were deceiving him. England looked horrible, frail and wane, similar to how Sealand had first met him, back when World War II had raged in London's skies. The sight made him ill, England had always been strong and unwavering, a pillar of strength in the hardest of times, but here he looked an old man ready to keel over from the lightest of breezes. Sealand didn't know what to say. As he'd made his way here he'd imagined what he would do when he found England. That they would wrap each other in hugs, and be quite merry to be in each others company in such hard times, but that seemed impossible. Sealand feared that if he held to tightly to England, that the nation would disintegrate into nothing but ash and dust.

The isolation had made him fearful, the abandoned fields and streets of England had made him paranoid, but the sight of England like this struck him more than anything else thus far. Sealand was scared, he was so, so scared, and he needed someone to be strong for him so that he could shove on and continue to survive. It struck him that England, despite all his hopes and wishes, was not that person. He was going to have to be that person for England, not the other way around.

(( =3= Do do do~!!!))

Date: January 12th
Location: London



He did not even know where to begin to voice his anger and disappointment at Sealand for leaving the almost certain safety of his home to come to London, which was the most dangerous place England knew of at the moment. He wondered if the micronation had any inkling of the risk involved in coming there. Did he think this a game? He was still so young and inexperienced…and even with all his years, England himself wasn’t sure how to handle the problem that lay before them. It was worse than any war or invasion or natural disaster he had ever faced. Did Sealand have no sense of self-preservation at all to have walked into such a situation? Or did he think himself too strong or too clever for any misfortune to befall him? The fact that Sealand had made it to England’s house at all was nothing short of miraculous, though England was certain that the skills the boy had picked up from him no doubt played a role.

His mouth was already open, about to start on his tirade when he saw the expression Sealand had upon his face. It gave England pause and quelled his anger for the moment. The child had seemed on guard, but not especially frightened as he had stood outside and as he had been climbing the ladder. And England knew he had seen relief wash over Sealand’s face as he’d stepped over the window frame and into the security of the house. So why did he seem so frightened now? Sure England had been mad, but Sealand had seen the whole spectrum of England’s anger and the nation couldn’t remember a time when Sealand had looked genuinely frightened by it. He had always just shouted some bold remark and kicked him in the shins before running off. Had this disaster affected him more than England realized? That must be the case. England thought that perhaps only now that Sealand had reached a safehouse where he could relax did the gravity of the situation weigh down on him. England still felt that Sealand had been incredibly foolish, but he didn’t have the heart to yell at him after seeing that expression. He was here in London, and there wasn’t much to be done about that at the moment. Sealand was safe, and that was what mattered when you got down to it. He would just send the young boy back with military protection the next day. And maybe he would go as well.

England put a hand on Sealand’s shoulders. “I wish you had stayed safe back at your place. London is no place for a child to be. Not anymore… But it’s safe here. None of those creatures have so much as lurked in my yard for days now and I’ve plenty of food, water and weapons. So there’s no need to look so frightened.” He gave what he hoped was a comforting smile. It was important that they both keep their heads about them. Fear lead to panic and panic lead to doing stupid things that got you killed. Fear was an appropriate reaction to the dead walking around and being generally violent. But it wasn’t going to get them anywhere.

He took his hand away and turned back to the window to pull up the rope ladder. He was fairly certain the zombies couldn’t climb such a thing, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He winced a little as he went about the task. The joints of his hands felt stiff, making pulling the rope more difficult than it should have been. He frowned, attributing it as a side effect of his other concerns and ignoring it for the time being. He pulled the ladder all the way up and shut the window, taking another saddened glance at his beloved city before turning back to face Sealand.





((Same as before. Sealand and anyone else who may be lurking around.))

Date: January 12th
Location: London

England, as he sat there with what could have been real palpable anger -if England hadn't looked so terrible maybe Sealand would have taken that seriously- seemed to hold his thoughts in check. Sealand could see the slight flush that made him look a little healthier drain from his face completely. What replaced it was a horrible sheen of whiteish color, which could hardy have been considered a skin tone. He was just looking at him, not afraid not angry, not happy to see him; just blank. Maybe a little puzzled, but it looked entirely blank. Not the 'stiff upper lip' blank either, just hollowish, confused and out of place.

He just kept staring. For what seemed like forever England just kept looking at him, and Sealand didn't know what to do. There was no tutorial to go over on how to handle a situation when you were suddenly the one holding the reins after years of not even knowing you were even capable of hold them.

He felt he should assert something. He felt that he should say something important to England. He felt that he should be happy to see him. But none of that would come forth. It was all there, the conditioned responses that he should have, but for the life of him he could not drag those emotions and feelings up from his inner self. They were locked, guarded, and he had somehow misplaced the key without even knowing it. Maybe he'd thought that England could give him a copy of that key, but he didn't think so any more.

Sealand wondered if England could tell he was shaking, even if it was slightly. He couldn't help it, he was scared, and now he was in a room that should have been like home, but he was alone. England had his own problems, his own horrible, antagonizing, probably going to kill him problems. He didn't need a sniveling shaky child in the mix. No, he had come here for that, to maybe be a child again and to rely on someone else, but that was not going to happen now, and probably never would again. Those childish impulses of wanting to be taken care of and being looked after were things he realized at that moment he had to discard entirely.

Play time where mommy or daddy made everything better was long gone, and the sooner he realized it the better.

Sealand clenched his jaw and did his best to stand taller than he actually was. He was going to be a strong and independent person. He was going to be resourceful and take care of himself, and he was going to help England when he needed it. Not if, when.

England's hand contacted with his shoulder, and there was a comforting smile on his face now. No more of the blank stares, though his face still seemed hollowed and almost ghost like in appearance. His voice was a god send, it had not changed much, though its rough edges seemed to have smoothed out, which was unnerving in some respect. But on the whole, England's voice had not changed, and Sealand wanted him to talk more, maybe to sing something or to tell a story, just so that he could have that familiarity there again. But that want was childish, and he was now in the business of killing that childish nature, so the want remained without shape.

Once England had done his best to try and reassure Sealand that he was safe here - no, he wasn't, couldn't be - he moved to the window. He was pulling at the rope ladder. It was an easy enough task, not particularly demanding in any way, but the wincing, as slight as it was, gave hint to what Sealand had originally thought. England was not okay. Sealand could have gone over there to help. Should have jumped in and told England that he was an old man and to bugger off and let him do it because his bones were old and useless. To Sealand's great humiliation, he didn't. He just stood there, and watched as England struggled with such a simple task. And he hated himself for it. But it was something he had to see. A point that had to be made to himself.

Only when England had finished, did he allow himself to speak.

"I can do those sort of things for you, in the future. I'm much stronger than I look, you know."

He didn't shuffled from foot to foot like he wanted to, and he knew that even though England would refuse his assistance, that it was up to him to insist upon it and act on it in the future.

((Tra la la~))

Date: January 12th
Location: London

Sealand’s demeanor was very worrisome for England. It seemed his attempts at comfort had been in vain. The boy looked, if anything, more fearful. England was not accustomed to seeing the micronation so uneasy. Overwhelming confidence despite everything had always been one of Sealand’s defining characteristics. England hardly recognized this frightened child that stood before him. But he supposed that with all things considered, it was nothing unusual. He decided he should probably reside himself to facing more of the unexpected. No one would be left unchanged but such a catastrophic event as this. Hell, even France was probably having to put aside his ridiculous flamboyancy and be serious about the real possibility of an end to civilization. A serious France…now there was a disturbing thought. Even more so for the fact that it made England once again face the fact that he didn’t know how France or any of the other nations were faring. It made him feel cut off and alone, like the last man alive. Sealand’s presence was a comfort – even if England would have preferred he’d stayed safe – but England couldn’t expect the boy to fully understand what he was facing, nor would he want to burden him with that knowledge.

He blinked in confusion at Sealand’s words, taking a moment to process what he was referring to. So Sealand hand noticed him struggling with getting his hands to cooperate as they should. England frowned, not really liking the fact that the micronation felt the need to make such an offer. Maybe he was a little worse for wear, but it wasn’t like he was crippled or dying or anything like that. He was just feeling a little…out of it. Not quite his usual self. And who could really blame him for that?

“Thank you for your concern, Sealand, but I’m sure I can handle such things myself.” He didn’t bother trying to keep the cynical tone out of his voice. The offer had wounded his pride, whatever Sealand’s intentions had been. “My capital may be in ruins, but I’m still an able-bodied nation after all. Don’t let my current condition mislead you. I assure you it is simply stress and overwork. I’m still as strong as ever – if a bit under the weather – so you needn’t be concerned.”

He said these things as much to convince himself as to convince Sealand. He did not feel as strong as ever. Quite the opposite in fact. His body felt weak and uncoordinated, his senses dulled. Seemed he still hadn’t fully recovered from that unpleasant illness he’d had prior that he’d developed right after the city started to plunge into chaos. That had been a rough night but he’d woken up from feeling more or less functional. Not quite up to snuff, but still able to go about as he needed to. But he had started to feel progressively worse again and he was trying to push past it. He hadn’t felt this bad since the Blitz and this time his enemy was a faceless plague…hardly something he could just shoot or bomb to gain himself some satisfaction. He would have his best scientists on it, but all of them had been in London…

He sighed heavily, crossing his arms loosely across his chest and gazing down at Sealand. “We have more pressing matters than my mild ailment. Such as getting you out of this city. I was considering evacuating myself, but your presence here is forcing me to speed things up a bit. We’ll hold up here for the night and at daybreak I’ll be radioing for the military escort.”

He would have actually preferred getting Sealand out of there sooner than that, but nightfall was upon them and even with armed soldiers at their side, travelling passed dark was dangerous. More dangerous than staying within the protective confines of his home, as far as he was concerned.

The room was already growing darker as the sun set. England walked back to the nightstand and leaned over the oil lamp there. He could have tolerated the lack of light for a bit longer, conserved more of the oil, but with Sealand already so visibly afraid, he thought it best to try to make things as comforting as possible. His fingers fumbled with the matchbook, still stiff and uncooperative. He tried to keep his back to Sealand so that he wouldn’t notice this. The Brit did not want to be fussed over, especially not when he was the adult. He broke three matches before finally lighting the fourth and bringing the flame to the lamp, barely avoiding having it go out in his shaking hand.


((Chim chiminey, chim chiminey, Chim chim cher-ee~!))

Date: Evening, January 12th
Location: Arthur's Home, London

England was not happy with him, the tone of his voice told Sealand that well enough. England's voice was something that Sealand had grown used to reading over the years. The older nation took Sealand's offer as a slight against him. That proud England would accept any help from unrecognized Sealand was not to be accepted or appreciated. Sealand truly could not blame him. It hadn't been entirely intended to make England feel feeble and old, but the implication had been there. England was not doing well, that was apparent in his waxy face, his sunken eyes, and how his fingers fumbled and his joints seamed to creak in the silence. If Sealand could take some of the work to make his guardian's life easier then it was obviously the right thing to do. It was something that Sealand knew he would regret if he allowed England to strain himself so over such small, insignificant things.

This was definitely a set back. Sealand's plan had been to stop off here to check on England and then to cross the channel in his little boat so that he could ride as far as he could, and then cross Europe on foot. He wanted to find Latvia, to make sure he was okay. Poor, tiny, quivering Latvia had been Sealand's first priority, but he knew it would be a fools errand not to stop off in England. He had planned on England's home to be a safe haven of sorts, so that he could restock a little, and be on his way. With England like this, that wasn't going to happen any time soon. The thought of Latvia seemed to shrink into the distance. There were things in front of him that Sealand had to deal with, take care of. If Latvia was still alive -Oh God, that thought stung- then he'd have to hold out till Sealand could leave England, assured that the much larger nation would be safe.

If even England, who was the proudest, strongest nation Sealand knew of, couldn't stand up to this thing, what chance did Latvia have? It was best to stay here for now, no matter how much pain that caused him. At the moment, this place was where he was meant to be, and that wasn't going to change any time soon. It only reminded him what a fools errand he had set out on. It would have been so much easier to just stay on his little fort, and to shoot zombies from on his deck. But that wasn't how it was going to be, not now.

England's mood didn't improve as we went about his business, explaining that the pair of them would be moving from London's area soon. It was just as well, Sealand had attachment, but not nearly as much as England did. Where they would go concerned Sealand a little, he hadn't taken the time to explore any other areas, he had just been concerned about getting from one spot to the next. When survival was at stake, curiosity was easy to compromise as far as Sealand was concerned. So they would stay here the night, and move in the morning. It was a well enough plan, Sealand assumed. He hadn't spent a night indoors since leaving his fort, so this seemed like a rare treat. One that make his skin crawl at all the ways things could go wrong. Still, it was better than nothing, and Sealand wasn't about to protest.

As night seemed to envelop them, England wandered over to a lamp, and seemed to be having a hard time lighting it. Sealand was on his way over when England finally managed to get the item lit. The eerie glow of the oil lamp shone over them, and almost made the night more imposing. All the shadows brew, and flickered in the small flame, and it set him on edge. He thought it would be better just to put it out and leave it out, but Sealand didn't want to shove his opinions on England. England was a smart, capable nation, and he'd survived this long, it was unlikely that he'd screwed up this far, so Sealand left it, not sure if he could sleep with it on or not.

Sealand gripped his shotgun tightly in his hands, and wandered over to a chair to take a seat. Once he had, he turned back to the lamp, which seemed to be a paramount concern in his head. "Do you often sleep with a lamp?"

((A sweep is as lucky~, as lucky can be!))

Date: January 12th
Location: London


England was starting to feel as if he couldn’t do anything right by Sealand. Lighting the lamp did not appear to have had the intended effect, as the boy now looked at it with unease as if it were a threat. This, combined with the micronation’s choice of words, which seemed to imply that it was England himself who was afraid, made the nation tense with irritation, feeling both useless and foolish for trying.

“Of course not,” England snapped with a frown. “Surefire way to waste oil and likely burn up the place. But as you may have noticed, it will soon be pitch dark and I’m fresh out of batteries for the flashlight. So unless you wish to stumble around in the blackness every time you need the loo, I suggest you appreciate the lamp.”

England didn’t know why he was especially easy to annoy at the moment. Given the situation, the last thing needed was short fuses. Yet the smallest things were causing his temper to flare. Sealand often tested his patience even at the best of times, but it wasn’t like England to be short with him when he was so obviously upset. Once again, he felt this was explained by stress. Pursing his lips, he took a deep, forced breath in an effort to relax some.

“If you are afraid of it attracting those….things, don’t be,” he said in a calmer tone. “They’ve never been attracted to the light before. I think noise draws them in more than anything. And even if some of those vile things show up, they’re none too smart and I barricaded the whole of the lower floor myself. Nothing is getting in unless I let it in.” He almost added that he had done the barricade before he started getting sicker, just to drive home the efficiency of it. But that would have been acknowledging his weakened state yet again, and that wasn’t something he wanted to bring attention to more than he had to.

England had personally had a rather easy time with the zombies. So much so that he had to wonder how they had become such a problem in the first place. He had seen them wandering around his yard and had picked a few of them off with a clean shot from his pistol, but even then, they had made no real effort to get in. They had been attracted by the gun shot, but seemed to quickly lose interest. England had thought that was curious, but had rationalized just as he had done for everything else. He supposed that they were uninterested in him because of his effective barrier or maybe because he wasn’t really human. Not knowing how other nations were fairing meant that he didn’t know anything about what threat the living dead were to the nations themselves. He had to wonder about that. Sealand was the closest thing he had to another nation, so maybe his experience would be something to go by. He didn’t want to sound as if he was actively seeking information, though. He didn’t want the boy to know he wasn’t an authority on the goings on. Sealand was on edge enough as it was and England didn’t want to dash whatever comfort the boy had in having and adult around.

“Did you have much trouble on the way here?” he asked, doing his best to sound casual. “Did those corpses harass you?”


(( Chim chiminey, chim chiminey, chim chim cher-oo!~!))

Date: Evening, January 12th
Location: England's house, London

Sealand had to remember that this was England's house. No matter how strained and tired the older nation looked, Sealand had to accept that England was in charge now. It was a scary thought, not being in control of his own safety any more. He was in England's world, and he had to play by those rules now. They would sleep with the lamp, and Sealand would just have to deal with it no matter how unnerving it was. Sleeping with a light on was a dead giveaway, any undead for miles would notice the light and come their way. Sealand had always slept in absolute darkness, and been thankful for it. His hearing had been his greatest asset. He'd always been a light sleeper, back during the war he had needed that trait. At the slightest sound of bombers he had to be up and ready to get at them. Some times he'd even heard them far off in the distance before radio command had indicated their wear abouts. This was no difference. At the smallest sounds Sealand was awake and ready to go at any time. This would have to be no different. Even though this had seemed like a sanctuary of sorts at one point, this house could be a death trap, and it was Sealand's job to really keep them safe in England's stead.

Despite wanting to shut the lamp off, Sealand only nodded in England's direction. He refused to meet England's hard, cold eyes. It just wasn't something he wanted to do at this point. England was being mean, but it was true that Sealand had caused that. Implying England was feeble in any way always got the older nation irritable, but he usually had better ways of handling things. He'd get a little snippy, and poke his head into business he didn't have any place in to divert the conversation. As much as Sealand hated it, that tactic usually worked. He'd always rise to England's teasing or prodding in some way but there was none of that here. England just got upset with him, he seemed -as hard as that was to imagine- even more irritable than normal. The few memories of England back during the war he had always been stoic; stone faced, stubborn and calm. This England was nothing like that. He seemed to meander about, to take everything to heart, and even seemed unhappy to see him. It was unnerving at best.

Sealand assumed that it was in some attempt at conversation when England asked him how he had faired against the zombies, but it really wasn't something Sealand wanted to talk about. He'd had a hard time getting here, had fought and run the entire way. To imply that he had it easy, like England did with that flippant question was insulting, and Sealand wanted to give him a piece of his mind for it. But Sealand thought of London first. Of poor, deserted, dead London, and held his sharp tongue. He was not the only one to suffer in this thing, but England's question was callous at best, and it took Sealand a good five minutes to form his answer.

"It's been hard. There isn't enough food for everyone at home, so I had been making trips back maybe once a week to forage from different places. I trained some of the humans to do it before I left, but it was a difficult job. Guns just attract them, so I've gotten very good at using hammers. I never knew how dangerous a hammer could be until I had to kill someone with it. It's a dirty business, and I have to cover up, but it does the trick well enough."

The first time he'd killed an undead with a hammer, Sealand had stopped eating. He hadn't wanted to, the imagery of it had made him so sick that he'd lost almost 15 pounds from his petite frame. It could have been from everything else, but that image had haunted him so that Sealand couldn't attribute the stop to anything else. Even now, he ate very little. As a nation, he had convinced himself that he didn't need food, that he could survive without it as long as his people continued to eat. He'd brought sparse rations with him because of it, and he'd hardly eaten any of it since leaving. Killing someone so violently had effected him more than he had ever expected. Being there to see the the flesh ripple and tear around the hammer and then to do it again and again and again and again until the damn thing wasn't reaching for him any more.

The event had taught him to run. If you couldn't hit them with the hammer, you ran. The shot gun was there in case he really needed it, but his ammunition was limited, and it brought a lot of attention every time it was fired. The shotgun was something that made him feel better about his situation, but actually did very little for him.

"I've been lucky coming. Only a few nights they've caught on to me. I'm very good at sneaking around you know." The truth was that a lot of nights they'd caught wind of him somehow. The first night Sealand had slept in a tree, and to his horror he'd tumbled out to a host of zombies ambling towards him. He'd gotten away from that, but the next night he had gotten smarter. He had some spare ties that he'd used to attach his legs, middle, and one of his arm's to the tree he'd chosen. It was so uncomfortable the first few nights that he'd hardly gotten any sleep at all. But he'd adjusted, and now he could sleep like that without any worries. It was amazing what the body could adapt to. A few nights the zombies had caught wind of him, but Sealand made a point of choosing large, spacious tree's with huge trunks. The purpose of that was that it took the zombie's plenty of time to claw at the tree while Sealand prepared his things and climbed onto a far branch before jumping down and running for it.


((Good luck will rub off~, when I shake 'ands with you!))

Date: Evening, January 12th
Location: England’s house, London



England listened as Sealand told of his trials since the outbreak with a growing siense of concern, confusion, and guilt that seemed to collect into a ball that settled heavily in his stomach. Sealand’s hesitation to answer the question and the flash of what may have been anger at being asked at all was more than enough evidence to tell England that perhaps he shouldn’t have approached the subject so carelessly. But how was he to have known that Sealand had experienced such troubles? Logically, with so few residents and being relatively unknown, he should have been the safest of any of them. Part of England regretted having opened his mouth, but he had needed to know, as daunting as the information was. He didn’t know what to make of it. He was even less confident of his grasp of the situation than he had been before. Why had Sealand had so much trouble with the zombies targeting him personally when England had experienced so little? Did that mean they didn’t distinguish between nations and humans after all? Had he been wrong in this assumption? Well…Sealand wasn’t really a nation, but he should have been close enough for the fiends to leave him alone if they were uninterested in non-humans. So many questions plagued his mind and each brought greater unease. Feeling suddenly unsure, he lowered the lamp to its dimmest setting, a deep set frown upon his face. If he was wrong about the relative safety of nations, he might be wrong about the light as well.


His mind struggled to make sense of it. Could it be because Sealand had been running around that he had been targeted? The living dead did seem attracted to movement. England had mostly kept to this home, his base of operations, so maybe that was the difference? But no, his soldiers had informed him that the zombies swarmed around survivor locations… It was a strange thing to worry about – the lack of zombies. But it was suspicious and England didn’t like it one bit. Trying to piece it together was giving him a headache as well. Maybe when they got out of here, his surviving intelligence agents or maybe another nation would know more and help him make sense of it.


Sealand’s story also left England feeling immensely guilty in addition to his confusion. Sealand had shouldered so much responsibility for his people, had needed to face such horrors. The very idea of the young micronation fending off the corpses with a hammer made England feel nauseated. It shouldn’t have happened that way. Sealand was born into war – because of war – but this was too much for a child to have to face. England felt he shouldn’t have let it happen. He had failed Sealand as much as he had failed London. As independent as Sealand liked to believe he was, England still felt he should have done something for him, even with his other concerns.


He sank heavily onto the edge of the bed. He remained silent of a long moment, staring at the carpet rather than at the boy. He finally spoke, without lifting his gaze. “Sorry…” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper but still as strong and sure as he could make himself sound. This was not a time for displaying weakness. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you. I should have gone to find you rather than you coming to me. I let myself get too caught up in trying to save a city already lost…” His eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of sadness and guilt. Hit hurt him to speak of London’s fate and even more to say that his efforts had been in vain.


His headache was getting worse.


Hi sighed as he continued. “You won’t need to worry about your citizens. I’ll see to it that rations are delivered. My forces are still mostly organized. You won’t need to fight those monsters again if I have any say in it.” His tone was much more confident than he actually felt.


He looked up finally, but it was out the window, not at Sealand. The last of the sunlight had disappeared over the horizon. “We should probably get some rest. I’ve some food stored in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Some potted meat, biscuits, dried fruit, bottled water… You are looking a bit thin. Don’t worry, I assure you the downstairs is secure. Every door and window is bolted, boarded and barricaded. Nothing is getting in.” He wondered silently if even that was as true as he thought. “You can sleep where ever you are most comfortable. I’ll stay awake and keep watch for the time being.” He was , himself, very tired. Oddly so, since he had not been especially active. He blamed stress once again and shrugged the thought away. After the time he’d had, England felt the boy deserved sleep more than he did.


(( Or blow me a kiss~ And that's lucky too ~ ))

Late Evening, January 12th
Location: London, England



Character: Scotland
Status: Uninfected



What in the living fuck was he even doing going down to England like this? Scotland's home had been touched by the infection but mostly the problem had been cut off and contained to a certain point. Most everyone was relatively safe for the time being until the Government could figure out a better course of action. He himself was safe and yet Sedgewick had found himself traveling southbound towards London going through towns and countryside. Many of the farmsteads were more or less all right since the damnable creatures had kept mostly to cities and towns. As he entered through the North of London he quickly turned the headlights off of his truck and turned the car off. His eyes were adjusting peering out into the darkness seeing the glow of fires from off in the distance. Reaching over onto his passenger seat Sedge grabbed his Saiga 410 and made sure it was loaded before adjusting it to himself. There was a knife in his boot, and he placed two pistols on either side of his hips. Doing a quick over view he made sure he had his small duffel bag full of ammo and miscellaneous small weapons. Opening the car door he carefully stepped out onto the streets and felt a squish beneath his feet. Glancing down he lifted his foot seeing he just stepped on a severed human hand. Making a face he closed the doorway as quietly as he possibly could before walking carefully across the bridge.


Cards were here and there all over the place some opened some still closed. There were a few that had been turned over even and some had blood trails coming from them. It was like a scene from a goddamn horror movie or something and it was eerie. Never before had Sedgewick seen something as horrible as this ever, and he still wondered why he was here. Arthur was a big boy who could take care of himself but something inside Sedgewick had told him a few days ago to find his brother. Why? He wasn't really sure but what he was certain of was that England was in trouble. London which was usually bustling with people and lights was so dark and desolate that it didn't even seem like the same city. Getting to the end of the bridge he looked behind him to make sure he was not being followed before heading down the main street. At this point Sedgewick was going to keep going through backstreets to a minimum in case anything was lurking where he couldn't see. There were noises permeating around him that were so inhuman and strange it sent shivers of primordial fear down his spine. How did everything go so terribly wrong? It fucking pissed him off.


"I swear to God I am going to find the scientist who started this and ring his fuckin' neck." Sedge growled under his breath as he passed the parliament building. Stopping he turned and looked at it in its pitiful state with windows broken out and caught glimpses of things dragging by the windows. Shaking his head he turned around and kept going on along the streets surprised nothing had come out yet. It would be just a matter of time before he was attacked. No sooner had he gone to a crossroads of three streets he heard a ghastly growling behind him. Turning around without hesitation Sedgewick opened fire practically blowing the head off of an infected person. Scowling he kicked the body and quickly ran down the middle street as he knew he had alerted a crowd of them. As if on cue the flesh eating bastards seemed to have come crawling from the woodwork wherever they could.
"Get outta my way you rotten meat sack!" He fired his Saiga at another zombie's head and did not stop to shoot the others. The red head knew right now he could not afford to stop and start picking off every single one of them. Swiftly he turned down another road and kept running his feet pounding against the cracked and debris filled streets. His heart was pounding and his lungs were starting to hurt from not having a moment to stop and catch up with all the activity. Up a head he saw more of them all crowded to a particular area and he cursed slightly stopping in his spot looking around. Where the fuck could he go? Sedgewick was not as familiar with this city as Arthur was so it was hard to say what areas would lead to where. Taking a chance he darted to the right and headed down a small street passing by shops that were completely abandoned.


They were everywhere he couldn't seem to shake them off and it was getting frustrating. He finally climbed on top of a large produce truck and started to open fire. At least at this height he would be safe from them and could pick off as many as possible. If only he had goddamn grenades this would make the situation so much less daunting to him.
"Artie better be damn happy I am trying to find his sorry ass." Sedge growled slightly and jumped off the back of the truck and hit the ground running. All he needed to do right now was find England's home and hold up in there for a little while. Scotland was too proud to admit it but he had rushed down here like a bat of hell for Arthur himself. Sedgewick would never tell England this to his face but he had traveled to London specifically to protect him. Why? He wasn't quite sure himself but it seemed blood bonds ran thicker than water as they say. Entering a different section of the town he started to remember the layout better and where to find England's home.

Date: January 12th, Evening
Location: England's house, London



When Sealand was finished he didn't look at England. Didn't want to. He'd said to much, given away to much of what was really happening. He'd tried to trivialize it as best he could, be nonchalant about the whole situation, but perhaps that hadn't worked at all. The silence that stretched between them was proof of that. He'd said to much, definitely to much. He should have lied, said everything was simply peachy, and that England was stupid for asking. But a darker side of Sealand, the side of him that was needy and wanted the attention and wanted England to look at him and baby him and tell him that everything was alright and wanted to be wanted, was pleased. England deserved to know every gruesome disgusting detail of how dead flesh smells and bubbles and gurgles when you plunge a hard blunt object into it. Like an idiot he'd asked, and Sealand had kept himself in check as much as he could. Had trivialized and acted like it was nothing when it was something. It was disgusting it was gross it made him filthy inside and out and England should know it. How dare he ask something so callous and selfish when Sealand had been so good on his own and didn't need him.


The thought made him sick, and he couldn't hate England for asking, but he could hate himself for these feelings. He felt jerked around, and he felt he was jerking around England at the same time. It wasn't fair, to just make England feel obligated to look after him like that. He had asked, and Sealand had lied but it wasn't enough. Maybe England could see the cracks spider webbing across Sealand's defenses faster than he could fix them.


He didn't need this. Sealand had been fine on his own, had convinced himself because he had to fine on his own. He hadn't had anyone to rely on. His humans had looked to him, tiny little laughable Sealand, to take care of them, and Sealand had stepped up to the plate. He'd done it, and now they were well enough on their own -because of him- that they didn't need him to take care of them.


Who was England to make him feel this stupid and insignificant when he'd murdered that self doubt already. It just wasn't right, and Sealand hated that he couldn't blame England for it. It would be so easy to yell and scream and deny England any comfort. To just abandon him and go on his own and not have to deal with any of these emotions.


But Sealand couldn't do that. England was here, and he was not well. The foot was on the other shoe, and though England held himself as if the world relied on him - as if Sealand relied on him - that was not the case. Sealand had to be the adult and put this in perspective. England was alone, and unwell, and he did need Sealand there. No matter how much Sealand wanted to run, that fact was there, and it held him stronger than anything else. Stronger than any stupid sentimental emotions.


Sealand almost didn't hear the soft 'Sorry' that England uttered, but he did catch it, and it made his blood boil all over again. It just be so easy, so so so easy to blow up at him. To let out all of that anger and frustration, the I don't need you to pity me now or ever that was fermenting and festering and fiery in his thoughts.


But he didn't. Instead, Sealand waited. He waited patiently as England finished his apology, and then he spoke.


"Don't think that way. You have more people to take care of. I'm fine on my own. You deal with you, and I'll deal with me."


It may have sounded cold, but that was the best he could do. The passion and anger wouldn't allow for comfort, he couldn't give England any of that. This was simply the best he could do, for now.


"They won't let you in. They'll shoot your people down before they get close, so its a waste of your time to try. They're well enough on their own. They're smart and they know what to do." Sealand was very proud of his people. They'd gone above and beyond what he could have ever expected. He'd felt confident in leaving them on their own. They didn't need England's charity now, they could survive on their own, and it was best that England knew it.


The thought of food didn't ease him any either. He wasn't hungry, hadn't been for a long time.


"I'm fine, if you'll take the first watch then I'll go to sleep."



((Now as the ladder of life 'As been strung~))

Date: Evening, January 12th
Location: England’s house, London


He didn’t really know what sort of answer he had expected from Sealand in response to the apology. Frankly, it seemed that he didn’t know what to expect from anything anymore. Before this day, he might have expected Sealand to get angry at the insinuation that he needed help. Or perhaps even a kick the shins and a pompous laugh followed by an insult. That was the Sealand he knew. This cold voiced boy was practically a stranger to him. It was this…disaster they were facing. It changed people. Nations were no exception. He was sure there were changes in himself as well that were less obvious to him, but he didn’t doubt that Sealand saw them, as would anyone else that took a good look.

He kept his eyes pointed out the window at the vanishing sunlight as Sealand spoke, a frown etched on his face. He didn’t believe that Sealand didn’t need help. Everyone needed help right now. But he did take the response to mean that Sealand didn’t want his help. This was nothing new, of course. His relationship with Sealand had been strained for a long time. But England still wanted to be of use. It was a character flaw he had always possessed – the need to be needed. He had always hoped and believed that Sealand would trust him to help when times were at their darkest. Now it seemed that wasn’t the case. He was just going to have to trust that Sealand meant it when he said he could handle things.

Under normal circumstances, he would have insisted that Sealand have something to eat. But since England himself was sickened by the thought of the food that was available, he could hardly scold the boy. It wasn’t that the food was bad per say (at least not by his standards), but eating it didn’t seem appealing in the least. Though England was certainly hungry and had been for a while, canned kippers and dry biscuits were not what he wanted. He would have blamed the walking corpses everywhere for turning his appetite were it not for the fact that what he was craving was contradictory to that logic. What he really wanted was meat. A good steak or roast beef, nice and rare… He hadn’t the foggiest why he craved such things with the smell of rotting flesh hanging in the air. He figured it was just his body making its dietary needs known. His diet had been short on protein as well as most other things since this disaster started. It wasn’t as if anything could be done about it anyway. All perishable food was in short supply. He wasn’t even sure if livestock would be safe to eat. It was still being determined if they transmitted the virus. And there was a strong possibility that zombies had eaten many of them anyway.

In the distance he could hear the sounds of gunfire, but he didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t an odd sound to hear. Very likely it was survivors on the move. It happened when they ran short on supplies or were in an area unlikely to get rescuers’ notice, like a basement. England’s instincts were to help, to go out and help see the citizens to safety and radio their location to his military for aid. But he couldn’t leave Sealand alone. Not after everything the boy went through, even if he made it clear that England’s help was unwanted, the nation couldn’t leave him alone. He consoled himself with the thought that anyone still out there had survived for some time and was probably able to take care of themselves. For the time being, they would have to.

He finally turned his gaze from the now dark window to Sealand. “Yes, I’ve got the watch. You get some rest and try not to worry too much. Just tell me where you plan to settle down so that I know where you are. And let me know if there is anything that you need.”


((You might think a sweep's on the bottommost rung ~ ))

Date: January 12th, Evening
Location: England's House, London


England wasn't looking at him. It was maddening, and a relief all at the same time. Conflicting emotions seemed to be the norm these days, so Sealand shrugged it off as best he could. He could have demanded England's attention and be a total brat - clinging and whiny and 'be more concerned about me!' - but really that wouldn't help anything. Besides, the shoe was on the other foot, England needed him. And even though England wasn't looking at him, Sealand was seeing him.

How England's shoulders sagged, how his eye brows twitched and his hands brittled with every jitter. No, England didn't need to look at him, Sealand was sure of it. But Sealand would be there to look at, England at the least. He hadn't come here with that intention, but it was a clear objective instead of an imagined one. Getting to Europe to find Latvia would be hard. Staying here and looking after England would be significantly easier. Not easy mind you, but still easier than his first goal. And when England was starting to feel like himself again, which he doubtlessly would with Sealand's watchful eye on him, Sealand would be able to go about his business on the continent.

Yes, it was that simple. Really it was.

Then there were shots.

It wasn't a strange thing these days, to hear shooting. Probably not as prevalent in some other places like America, where everyone and their Grandmother owned around five rifles, but still a common enough occurring. Despite that, Sealand tensed. That, was a bad sound. Sealand was no expert on guns, or the sounds they made, but that sounded far to close. Especially in an area like this, right on the suburbs of London. He'd learned early on that cities were nests of zombies, and were best to stay away from. Gunfire that close - or what Sealand assumed was that close - was not good.

He wanted to dash to the light and snuff it out. If this gunman was running for his life hand happened to see their light, he'd lead the zombies right to them! It was to much of a risk to take, and Sealand had learned that there were risks you just didn't make. He was reaching for the light, to snuff it out when England turned back to him.

The look stopped Sealand dead in his tracks. It dawned on him then, that that person, the unknown gunman, was England's citizen. If England could help him in any way, he would be there. The look on England's face said it all. England wasn't going to move, wasn't going to leave this place because he had to look after Sealand. In that light, snubbing out the light was the wrong thing to do. He might regret it later, when there were zombies clawing at the house and breaking down the walls, but Sealand would find a way. The bike was still not to far away, and he would be able to make it there before one of them grabbed him. Sealand was sure of it. If he was lucky, he might even be able to drag England along with him.

It struck him at that moment how selfish unbelievably selfish he was. Not five minutes ago he had been wanting to protect England, and now that England was obviously looking out for him, Sealand was thinking of how he could escape - with or without England there. He told himself it was survival, there was no other reason, and no other rational.

"We need to extinguish the light. If someone is making a fuss tonight, those monsters will surely be on the prowl. We'll stand out like a sore thumb."

Even if it was insensitive, Sealand had to say it. He had made the choice to protect England, and though it was a shaky resolve - one that he knew he would abandon if his own life was in danger - he was going to try and stand by it.

The best way to protect the both of them now, was to put out that light.

((Though I spends me time, in the asheesss and smoke~))

Date: Evening, January 12th
Location: England’s house, London

The gunshots were getting closer. A feeling of nervous guilt settled in his stomach, like a gut full of wriggling snakes. England’s self preservation and his protectiveness of Sealand were combating with his desire to help the citizen doing battle with the undead hoards. Surely there was something to be done? But even as that hopeful thought entered his mind it was quickly squashed by the harsh reality of the situation he found himself in. If he left, Sealand would either be alone or would insist on coming with him, neither of which was an option England would be able to live with. So he would stay here and silently pray that whoever it would manage to get to safety and hold up until morning when the military would be out looking for survivors.

He rationalized that he wouldn’t be of much use anyway, not with his stiff joints, loss of strength, and aching head. It the early days of the outbreak, he had been able to hold his own amongst citizens and soldiers alike when facing the undead, though unlike Sealand, most of his fighting had been done with his pistol – single shots to the head and the creatures dropped like rocks. Gruesome it its own right, but far less so than hammers against skulls. He knew the importance of hand to hand combat in this fight, with ammo is such short supply amongst most people, but it was something he had not personally had to resort to yet. He’d seen it done, but that was far different from having to do it yourself. From seeing your own hand smashing through the skull of what still had the appearance of a human being. He still shuddered to think that Sealand had been doing that.

He had to wonder for a moment, if the need presented himself, would he even be able to maneuver his stiff, uncooperative fingers to pull a trigger or even hold a gun. He flexed his hands, avoiding looking at them or drawing attention to them, and decided that yes, he could still manage that much.

He sighed as Sealand mentioned the light again, knowing that with the changing situation, Sealand was indeed right this time. Even if England could not be sure that the zombies themselves were actually attracted to light, he knew that the living were and any hopeful sign of other living beings would draw the survivor straight here. And with him, the hoard. He felt a pang of guilt at this thought. His confidence had been shaken and he was no longer as sure as he had been that his home could withstand any number of undead. So instead of offering possible sanctuary to the poor soul out there, his own citizen… he was going to remain huddled in the dark, silent and selfish and utterly useless. He told himself that it would be different if the situation wasn’t what it was. If he wasn’t ailing, if he didn’t have Sealand to think about. These thoughts brought him no comfort.

Without saying anything for fear of letting what he was feeling slip through his words, he reached out and took hold of the snuffer in his shaking hand and killed the light, plunging the room into immediate darkness. He was at least glad for the way it shielded what he was sure was a look of exhaustion and defeat upon his face.

“There,” he said, finally trusting himself to speak. “No more light.” There was something depressing about that, but then, it was hard to distinguish one depressing thing from another. He caught a whiff of smoke from the extinguished lamp and coughed wetly into his hand. As he pulled his hand back, he barely caught the sight of dark splotches across his palm in the pale glow coming from the window, cast by a mix of moonlight and the fires in the distance. He stared, blinking, certain that his eyes were deceiving him. Sure, he might not be well off at the moment, but he shouldn’t be coughing up what looked and tasted like blood. It couldn’t be… He swallowed hard, more of that taste hitting him, and to his astonishment, the flavor made him hungrier, the feeling of it gnawing desperately at his insides. It was then that he felt his first real pang of fear about his own condition. But no… what he was thinking was impossible, it couldn’t be. He was a nation, for Christ’s sake! He was just making himself paranoid over a trick of the light and what was surely the same hunger he’d been feeling for days now, only just a fresh pang of it. He pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hand clean, determinedly not examining it afterwards.

He tucked the handkerchief away and turned his gaze to Sealand, only able to make his outline out in the dark. “You should head off to sleep. It’s probably going to be a long night. Best to get as much rest as you can.”


(( In this 'ole wide world there's no 'appier bloke ~ ))

Date: Evening, January 12th
Location: Three houses England's, London

It took her nearly five days to make it from Paris to London. The trip was long on foot, and she'd had to make some of it on a stolen bicycle. Constantly hiding and ducking out of sight, made it hard to get far fast. Getting to the island was hard as well, but Seychelles was an island herself, a whole set of them, so she managed that with far more ease then actually crossing the land.

She was exhausted, and hungry, and most importantly, terrified. She had left her safe home back in the Indian Ocean, with the intention of finding France or England. She just couldn't not know what had happened to them.

Even if they forgot her a lot, and she rarely got visits from them, they were still her parents. In a time of world crisis, she needed to know if they were okay. And if they were, she wanted to be with them. Not alone on her islands, hoping and praying that soon she'd get word that everything had worked out for the better.

Her first night in London, she spent in a Catholic church on the outskirts. Curled in a pew, with her knees pulled tight to her chest, and her weapons well within reach, she'd slept. Dozing in and out, listening to the moans and cries of the dandotia as they sought out victims.

Hearing them, while she huddled in a church, staring up at the statue of Mother Mary, holding a little baby Jesus, made Angelique think of when she was little. When Papa had first come to her, when he'd built her churches, and taught her about God and prayer.

He'd told her then that the dandotia didn't exist. He'd been so adamant about it, that eventually, Angelique had let it drop. But still, she feared they would come, and now they had. And Papa was nowhere to be found. She'd stayed in Paris for nearly a week, before giving up and deciding to move on to London. She hoped that France had just gone to his country side. She knew her Papa wasn't much for fighting, not like he used to be.

The streets of London were so different then they'd been the times she'd visit prior. She knew why, of course, but it was so scary, to see that London was similar to Paris. She didn't run into anyone with a pulse, though she was almost certain she had spotted someone peeking out a window from a third floor window.

As she walked, quietly, and close to the buildings, she kept her machetes in hand, one in each. She didn't want to fight with the creatures, and was terrified of accidentally drawing their attention. She stayed quiet, inconspicuous, and if she even thought she might have heard something, she ducked down low, out of sight.

It was getting dark when she finally reached the area she knew England's home was. The sun was going down too quickly, though, and she was afraid to be out in the opening when it got to dark to see. As she walked, though, Angelique noticed there were no signs of the creatures here. She'd heard their moans on the way, but at some point, they'd gone silent.

As she walked down the street, both machetes held close, eyes wide, body alert, she found she didn't spot any of them. Nothing, there was absolutely no sign of life here.

It was far too dark now. She hurried her pace, moving from a slow walk to a soft jog. Her shoes, a pair of worn out trainers, made little noise, but it was enough to make her even more nervous. Her hold on her weapons shifted, as she put both machetes into one hand, and pulled the revolver from the holster she kept it in on her side.

Shooting was a last resort, she told herself, as she slowed a bit. Noise would most definitely draw the dandotia's attention. As if timed, gunfire started in the distance. It was a pleasant distraction from herself, but it made her worry that the dandotia would come out of the woodwork here, and swarm towards anything that dared be on the street.

England's house was in sight, but she couldn't bring herself to run that far. Not with the threat of the dead creatures coming out. So she swerved, the house closest to her was only three away from England's, and across the street at that. The door struggled a bit, but with a good push it opened. The house inside was silent, and she moved quickly, accidentally slamming the door.

Flinching away from the noise she'd caused, Angelique sheathed the machetes, and used both hands to hold the gun. The recoil would make it impossible to use with only one. She moved through the ground floor, checking the kitchen, living room, and dining room. No one was there. The back door was wide open, and she closed it quietly, before going through the kitchen to look for candles or a flash light.

There was an old flash light in the pantry, and it's light was dim. It flickered a few times, until she hit it, before a steady beam of dim light cut through the darkness in the house. She tried not to shine it at any of the windows, as she moved up to the second floor.

It was quiet and empty there as well. The walls still had pictures on them, of the family that had lived there, and she had to duck her head to try and quell the ache that formed in her chest. It was better not to think of those no longer here, maybe they'd gotten away, were some place safe, not infected or eaten.

The master bedroom was at the front of the house. From the window she had clear view of the still empty street, and of the front of England's home. Turning the flash light off, she left it on the night stand by the bed, and pulled the chair from a desk to block the door.

Deciding that was the best she could do for now, she sat on the edge of the bed, the blankets were a mess, like the people who lived here had been woken up late at night and told to evacuate. They were cold to the touch, but soft. Laying down, she curled on her side, the gun by her hand where she could grab it. And curled into herself, wondering what she should do now.

((I am so not singing with you guys. >>))

Date: Evening, January 12th
Location: England’s house, London



Sealand saw the defeated look play upon England's face. If it had been a different sort of situation, he would have felt guilty. But in this instance Sealand refused to let that happen. This was for their own good. England was unwell, and Sealand couldn't trust himself to handle a situation if something came up. He knew what his instincts told him to do, and if that meant abandoning England he'd likely do it. The thought made him disgusted with himself. The one person in the world that had created him, had given him a purpose in life - as fleeting as that had been - and he couldn't muster the courage to stand and protect him.

This really was best. If there was no trouble coming their way there would be no need for Sealand to find out how much of a coward he truly was. No, England would simply have to deal with this. It was obviously hard on him, but this was how it had to be.

For what seemed like a very, very long time, England was frozen in time. That pained, disgusted look still dominated his features, and with the flicker of the candle the strain of his feeling was only magnified the tole it was taking on him. The shadows made his face gaunt, pale and hollow. The only clear thing, was the guilt; everything else that Sealand could see of England's face in the slim light made him look dead. His eyes didn't seem to blink as much as they should and his breathing seemed increasingly shallow. The shadows emphasized each contort of his face, he surely had never looked this close to passing.

Then, it was gone. England reached over, and snuffed out the candle without a single word between them. After a few minutes he mumbled some sort of response, but it was hallow and lacking any sort of emotion. Sealand was glad that England had seen his point, and had acted accordingly, so he wasn't going to call England on all of the painful emotions he was obviously dealing with at the moment.

He turned away, intent on giving England some space so that he could mourn on his own without prying eyes, when the elder started to cough. Only, it wasn't a normal cough. It wasn't the sort of cough that was entirely normal for England when he didn't know what to say, or when he was uncomfortable with a situation. It was a slippery sounding cough, as if something wet was collecting in his throat. Somehow, it sounded horribly familiar to Sealand.

He dashed that thought as quickly as it came to mind, and turned on his heals. England was looking at him, or what they could both see of one another, and the thought actually made Sealand smile ever so slightly. He wondered if England could see it in the dark, but decided he didn't really care, it was more for himself than for England's sake. Instead of retreating to where he would sleep for the evening - because now that the thought was planted, he wasn't going to be sleeping - he walked over to England, grabbed his hand, and dragged him to the window.

"Bet you never thought you'd be able to see the stars in London ever again." He stated, a little bit of a playful tilt in his voice. He dragged England over to the window, as softly as he could, and let go of him there.

"I bet we could find lots of consolations tonight."

The coldness lingering on his fingers taunted him, but he ignored it for now, and tried to give England the most honest smile he could.

"Do you know any stories about them?"



((Chim chim-in-ey, chim chim-in-ey, Chim chim cher-ee~))

Date: Evening, January 12th
Location: Outside England's House, London


Character: Scotland
Status: Uninfected




Sedgewick had to battle his way through most of the streets in London, it was like an action movie. He just wished he could call cut on a scene, and not have to worry about almost getting his ass eaten. Running up to the front walkway of his brother's house he stopped. It was completely dark inside there, not one light to be seen from any window. Deep in his stomach he felt hollow, and maybe perhaps a little afraid for his younger brother. The shuffle and groaning noise behind him though snapped his thoughts back into reality. Turning around he raised a pry bar he had with him, and brought it down onto the skull of the creature. As of right now he was not going to fire off his gun. Any loud noise such as that would certainly attract unwanted attention. Carefully he walked up onto the front porch looking about. Reaching out he tried the door handle and realized the place was locked, smart. However, that did not help the Scottish man in the current situation he found himself in. Raising his hand he gave three simple knocks hoping someone would hear him. Maybe one of the other Nations came in to check up on Arthur.


Then of course there was the thought that his brother was simply dead. Became one of those damned things and was inside waiting, just hoping some unsuspecting person would wander in. The thought sent chills down Sedgewick's spine at the thought. He glanced back to make sure nothing was sneaking up on him before knocking again. Lowering his hand he turned and looked up at the glittering sky about London, how pretty the moon was. The red head let his mind go back to times in centuries that were long past. Long before England really had a unified country. Sedgewick recalled watching after Arthur once Britannia had passed on. Making sure the little guy had plenty of food, clothing, and a place to sleep. Those were tough times but fun times, full of adventure and excitement. When the world seemed so vast, new, and one could travel around the next turn, through a patch of woods and find a treasure trove of things. Faeries, pixies, unicorns, even the occasional dragon or dwarf! These were times long before people started to become close minded, and before technology started becoming the norm.



It was frightening to think that would never happen again.


Scotland wanted to believe that right now such things would re-appear. When the world needed all of its old, and knowledgeable inhabitants back. Looking down at the wooden porch floor he let out a heavy sigh, and then turned his attentions back on the door. Walking over to a window he carefully peered inside.

Date: Evening, January 12th
Location: England’s house, London

The apparent coughing up of blood had left England shaken and anxious, though he tried to put the thought out of his mind, tried to dismiss it as he had done with all his other symptoms. He was an ill nation after all. He’d been very down and out during the plague as well. They’d thought it was the end of times then, too. Perhaps they would yet look back on this day with a tone of triumph and pride that they had survived such things. But glancing out the window at the darkness and chaos and the flames engulfing his city, the prospects of that seemed bleak.

He could vaguely make out Sealand’s features from the little light that filtered in from the window. The elder nation thought he had caught a glimpse of a smile, but thought that surely that must have been a trick of the shadows. Not even Sealand would manage a real smile in times like this, or so England believed. He gave a small, indignant noise as Sealand took his hand and pulled him over to the window, blinking in surprise and confusion at the boy. Really, Peter should have been getting to bed if he was to be getting any sleep at all that night.

The sudden change in conversation and the light, easy tone with which Sealand spoke gave England cause for suspicion. What had driven Sealand to suddenly want to find a positive note in the dismal situation they found themselves in? Arthur sighed and shook his head a bit. In earlier times he would not have found it so odd. Perhaps Sealand was stronger than England gave him credit for, to be able to find perhaps the only beauty left in London. He turned his own eyes upwards. His vision, at least, had not gone the way of his body and spirit, and still functioned as well as it ever had. He gazed up at the night sky, marred here and there by clouds of smoke reflecting the light of the fires that spawned them. As Peter had said, the stars were clearly visible like they had not been since the beginning of the modern age. England managed a smile, picking out the constellations that he recognized immediately.

“I know many stories, of course,” he said, his slight smile holding. “There’s Draco. Long ago, before my mother even, his tail marked the north like the North Star does now. Even Egypt and Greece’s mothers were young then. Since that time, the planet has shifted, but we can still see The Dragon at all times of the year. Though maybe, thousands of years from now, that may change, too.” It seemed like a silly thing, to be discussing the stars with all the death and destruction that lay around them. But England had to admit, it was a nice reprieve.

It was to be short lived though. He could hear the sounds of movement near the house, running the brief sound of a struggle, then someone at the front door. He pulled back immediately, putting an arm across Sealand’s chest to make him back away from the window as well. On alert, the Brit peered carefully over the edge of the window but there was nothing to be seen from this angle. Moving from the window, his picked his pistol up from the night stand once more, ignoring his stiff fingers and how the gun felt heavier in his hand than in should have. Now was not the time for concern about his own ailments. Someone was here, perhaps the same source of the gunfire they had heard earlier. People were unpredictable in these times. Dangerous. Though as a nation, a normal human posed little threat to him alone, but enough noise and the whole heard of undead would be breaking down his walls, putting himself and Sealand in peril. England wasn’t going to allow that.

“Stay here,” he said to Sealand in the firm tone of an order. He didn’t wait for an argument as he moved over to the next room where he could see the front walkway and doorstep. He kept the pistol at the ready. Now he could hear knocking and there was no question that whoever was out there wanted in. England tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. This left him in rather a predicament. Of course if it was one of his citizens just trying to survive, he had to help them, had to allow them sanctuary inside. Though he had not been able to head out into the night to help, he could not ignore someone right on his doorstep. But any new addition would bring with them more threat. They could be among the criminal types seeking some gain from the chaos. Even if they were innocent in their intentions, more people meant more noise, meant more undead that could have followed them here. The probably of being swarmed would go up dramatically. Still… they only had to wait for morning when England would radio his military and arrange a pick up. Surely they could manage a few hours?

Sighing with resignation, he peered from the window, catching sight of a mop of red hair gazing into the lower story. He did a double take. “Scotland?” he said in a hushed, but audible whisper. As the man below turned upwards, England’s suspicions were confirmed.

“Scotland, you great bleeding arse, what the hell are you doing here?!” he said in more loud whispers. “Coming to London, why don’t you just jump from the Bridge if you have a death wish?!” Seeing the corpse near Scotland on the walkway, Arthur sighed in exasperation, knowing that continuing the conversation like this was a bad idea. “Come around the other side.” He gestured. “I’ll let you in through the second story.”

(( A sweep is as lucky, as lucky can be~ ))

Date: Late, January 12th
Location: England's house, London

At first, England seemed suspicious. It could have all been in Sealand's head, but England did have cause for concern, so he didn't think so. Sealand didn't turn to look at his face - because it was hallow and dying - but he could still feel the suspicion oozing off of England. There were a great manner of things that Sealand could do, but only a few that he would. Maybe even England didn't know how 'unwell' he was. He'd promised himself that if he had contracted anything he'd lock himself up as best he could before anything happened. It was hard to think that England wouldn't plan for that as well, but here he was, exceptionally unwell and still out and about. Now that the reality had hit him, the options and possibilities were surfacing inside his mind. There were only a few options he would resort to, but a great many that came to him.

He didn't focus on the stars, as he said he would. They were beautiful, mesmerizing. Sealand had spent many nights, even before everything had happened gazing up at them. On good evenings, he'd watched them as he fell asleep. When he was on his own, he'd think of all the stories he remembered of them, and then he'd make up his own stories too. He'd even talk to the stars. They were something Sealand could spend a lot of time with, but right now they were simply a distraction, and one not designed for himself.

It seemed like a very long time before England started talking again. He was pointing out a consolation, or one that he remembered from when he was very young. It was hard to think of England as ever being young. He'd always seemed like a wall, one that never grew and rarely changed much. Certainly there was a difference from the England of World War II and the current one, but somehow it didn't seem like such a drastic change. England had always seemed like a wall. Perhaps one that was often on the verge of falling down, but always a wall. Somehow, he'd always patch it up. Somehow, the thought of a young England didn't quite go with that image in the least.

It was inconsequential, within a few moments there was the sound of a struggle. Not a loud struggle, but a struggle none the less. It was right outside of the house, and like a switch, Sealand was back to being all about business.

Then the someone knocked on the door, and Sealand's mind swam with what exactly that would mean. Someone knew about this house. Knew that they were there. Could it be another nation? If it was, would they notice what was wrong with England and kill him? It was an outcome that Sealand would have rather avoided. Could England have been housing people here before having them transfered to other places? That didn't seem likely, there would be more outward damage to the house if that was the case, and Sealand had seen none on his first inspection. He could be wrong, but he doubted it. Had the person seen the light? No, somehow he doubted it. Someone fighting for their life wouldn't notice a light like that. Was it someone trying to inspect if there were enemies - the undead most likely - inside the house before entering? No, that certainly couldn't be it. Why would someone chose this house out of all the others on the block? No, it didn't make sense. Someone knew who this house belonged to, and had come intentionally.

Even faced with the thought that it could be another nation, Sealand didn't trust it. He'd never been a very trusting sort of character to begin with, and this was far to coincidental to be innocent.

England gave a stern 'Stay here.' That Sealand disregarded before it left his mouth. The second England was out of the room, Sealand went for the other pistol England had left. He had a pair, and had only taken one. A pistol would likely be better to aim with than his shotgun would, and would make less noise. Even less so with something tossed over the barrel. Sealand took stock of the throw pillows situated on England's bed, and grabbed for one. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a bungee cord, using it to secure the pillow to the muzzle of the gun. It wouldn't be as effective as a real silencer - something Sealand never thought he'd need - but it would work well enough for one shot, if he needed it. He disregarded the thought that with the pillow there he'd have less of a chance to aim properly, but he didn't let it deter him. Either way, he'd figure something out.

With England out of the room, it was easy to climb up onto the window's ledge, and jump into the tree next to it. Sealand had always had a talent for climbing but he'd been able to perfect it over the last few months as things had gone all to shit, and within a few minutes he was hoisting himself on top of England's roof.

He didn't have enough time to really worry about moving quietly, so he simply sprinted across the roof to the front of the house, where he laid down and carefully peaked over the edge of the roof. Below him he could see England's head sticking out of the window, and someone below him. Someone with flaming red hair that seemed to shine in the moon light.

For now, he kept the gun down. Besides, England's head was in the way.


((Chim chim-in-ey, chim chim-in-ey, Chim chim cher-oo~))

"Got it, and I am not a bleeding arse." The man said waving his hand in a dismissing manner at Arthur. Going around the yard to the other side he kept quiet, very quiet. There was a rather eerie aura to the home that was not present before. Even with all of Arthur's weird ass magic, and the impressions that energy made, the air felt a bit different. A little more foreboding and depressing which really set off Scotland's instincts. Something was indefinitely wrong inside the house. As he went over the fence to the back yard, the man slowly climbed up a tree carefully. His foot slipped on one of the branches and he almost toppled off head first. Swearing silently under his breath he grabbed onto the branches. A few leaves fell down but that was the only extent to the damage from that.


He waited there patiently for Arthur to open a window on the top floor. Why couldn't he just open the front door like a normal person? It was not like he had a conga line of zombies trailing behind him. Besides, most of those undead fuck-heads were already destroyed by him.

Date: Evening, January 12th
Location: England’s house, London

England could have argued that, in fact, Scotland was a great bleeding arse, for probably the remainder of the night, but given the situation it hardly seemed appropriate. As his brother began making his way around the house, Arthur went back into the hallway and into the room he had been in previously and which, much to his panic, was now empty.

“Sealand?”

He blinked in the darkness, eyes lingering in every black corner, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. ’Where could he have gone off too?!’ England thought, adrenaline pumping through his system yet again and making physical ailments much easier to forget for the time being. What the hell was he thinking wandering off at a time like this?!”

Ducking quickly back into the hallway, he gazed up and down it, checking for any sign that maybe the micronation had decided to go for food or to bed, though England couldn’t imagine that Peter would have, not when an unnamed threat had been quite literally knocking on the door. “Sealand? Peter?” he called again, as loud as he dared to. But he saw and heard nothing.

He cursed in a hushed whisper and turned back into his bedroom catching sight of Scotland in the tree just outside of the window. His older brother had apparently either not seen his ladder and pulley system, or simply had not been patient enough to use it. England almost considered leaving him there for a moment and going in search of Sealand (Sedgwick ought to have been safe in a tree after all), but since he was only yards from the window and his brother was more than equipped to take a shot at him if provoked, letting him in seemed like the better option. England crossed the room in a few quick steps and reached for the window…only to find that it was already open. Confusion struck. He knew he had closed that window after letting Sealand in, so why was it already open? Had Scotland….no he’d have already climbed in if he’d opened it himself. So then…Surely Peter would not have gone outside? Why the hell would he? Did he just… run away?

He gestured impatiently at Scotland. “Well, it’s open, get in here unless you want to sit out there as zombie bait all night, you git.” He stepped aside to make room for the redhead. Just moments ago, his head had been filled with questions for his brother – Why did you come here, do you have a death wish, are you completely mental? But now only one jumped to his mind as his brother climbed into the room.

“Did you see Sealand? He was just here not five minutes ago and now he’s wandered off.” Under normal circumstances, he would have tried to keep himself calm and collected to at least give off the appearance that he was in control. But with his capital in ruins, his health going down the drain, and now Sealand run off to who knows where, that illusion was dead in the water and a tone of stress and worry edged into his voice. Before everything had gone to hell, Arthur hardly every worried about Sealand. Though small, he’d been mostly able to take care of himself and showing interest usually only earned the Brit a kick in the shins anyway. Now the situation had changed, and England was berating himself for letting the boy out of his sight, even for a few minutes. He should have known Peter wouldn’t listen when he was told to stay put.

Surveying the room again he looked for signs of anything out of place, anything that might serve as a clue to where Sealand might have run off to. His bedroom was messier than usual. Papers strewn about, the bed a bit disheveled, his more valuable books and tokens removed to his safe in the vain hope that he might be able to come back and collect them should humanity ever win back the planet. The disorder made it harder to pick out if anything was missing or misplaced. At least until his eyes came to rest upon his nightstand and he saw that his second pistol was gone.

“Fuck…” he muttered as he stared at the spot where the gun should have been. Try as he might, he could not think of a simple, harmless reason that Sealand would have taken his gun and disappeared.

(( Good luck will rub off when I shakes 'ands with you~ ))

Date: Evening, January 12th
Location: Three houses England's, London

There was noise coming from outside. It was quiet, and if things hadn't happened the way they had, Angelique never would have heard them. If things were like they should have been, she would still be back home on her islands, and the only sound that would disturb her would be the soft sound of waves crashing on the shore- or if she was in Victoria, then the slow sounds of a quiet night in the city. But things were not as they were, and everything was different, and in her panic and fear, she slept so lightly that those sounds she shouldn't have heard at all seemed to echo down the street and into the house she had closed up.

Taking hold of her gun, she got off the bed, and grabbed the flashlight, as she moved towards the window. Peering out into the dark. Even with her eyes adjusted to the dark, it was hard to make things out at first. Slowly, she could see movement. People.

Which meant it had to be England, and that he was okay! For a moment she felt all the panic and fear wash away, but it was back nearly as quickly. Stepping away from the window, she stared at the door, and chewed on her lip. It was dark out, and she didn't know if wandering out into that darkness was a good idea. It would be more logical, she thought, to stay where she was until the sun came up. That way, she could be clearly seen, and she could clearly see them.

But knowing that they were there, so close, made it hard for logic to take seed. Tucking the gun back into it's holster, and moved the chair out of the way. Walking through the house a bit more quickly than before, less worried about sound and more concerned with getting over to England's house as quickly as she could, she only paused when she reached the front door.

Staring at it for a long time, hand raised to open it, but not actually on it, she shifted her weight. What if they shot her not knowing it was her in the dark? Angelique tried not to shoot anything if she could help it, the sound of her old revolver was always sure to draw something close, so her machetes were a better weapon for her. But that didn't mean they wouldn't use their guns. Surely England would have something that made less noise.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, and left the house, standing on the doorstep for a few moments, before hurrying down the steps onto the street. She moved at a fairly brisk pace. Movements smooth and steady, making a conscious effort to move like a living person, and not one of the dandotia. She didn't stumble, or hunch, or drag, and she hoped that would be enough.

((Chim chim-in-ey, chim chim-in-ey, Chim chim cher-ee!))

Sedgewick stared at the window up on the second story, and frowned a little bit thinking about the leap. Oh the very fucking last thing he'd need is to fall. Break an arm or leg, and then suddenly have the dead converge on him like some sort of all you can eat meal. Though the red head would have to admit he'd go down shooting and swearing the whole time. Well no, the leap was not actually as bad as he had first guessed. Inching carefully along the branch he reached out, and felt his fingertips make contact with the window sill. His large gun was strapped onto his back, and that made it much easier to maneuver in this way. Where did Arthur get off calling him a bleeding arse? Fucker should even be lucky he had made the venture here to see his sorry ass!

"Artie, I swear..." For some reason he growled that under his breath as he jumped to the sill. Eyes widening he felt his feet slipping as they kicked against the side of the home. Summoning all his strength to his arms Sedgewick held fast. Well perhaps this is what he got for being decidedly impatient as always. Climbing inside he tumbled onto the floor rolling over with a small groan. Dammit that actually hurt more also providing the fact he landed right on the hard metal of his gun.

"Artie! Artie you git where did you go!" Sedgewick yelled closing the window.