part 335 summer nights (tell me more tell me more)

[aphanon_meme]

Like did he have a car? Dodo--dodo--dodo... yeah! How is your July going so far, meme? Good? Bad? Okay? Scrumtrulescent? ... Question mark? This is a very rambling post today, I'm sorry, I'm in a tired rush. A tired tired summer rush. Which, in my professional opinion, is the most annoying kind of rush. I prefer a crisp winter rush! But oh well.

Enjoy part 335!

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Comments

[newsing]

[He doesn't even acknowledge the question.

He sobs, cradling his now crushed wrist. How much more torture is Turkey going to force him to endure?]

[osmaniac]

[first he shoots him, then insults him, then ignores him]

[drives the edge of the cannon down his other hand, wanting to render that one useless for a good measure]

I asked you. Are you a nation.

[newsing]

[He's wailing now. This is just too much for his frail body to take.

He chokes out a reply.]

N-no!

[osmaniac]

[finally, an answer! why do you people have to make it difficult]

[he guesses that he's a human. meaning that he'll get six feet under and not come back]

[speaking of Austrians, he saw that an older one is still alive in the deadcount...]

[takes a step back]

Go find him. He can get into the trouble of killin ya instead.

[he's harmless with his hands broken and already beaten up badly. might as well save his own energy, and let him go and see his nation for one last time]

[turns around, ready to leave the area]

[newsing]

[He may be battered and broken, but the mention of Austria still strikes a nerve in him. He tries to pull himself up, but barely even manages to roll over on his side.

His sobbing has softened to small whimpers.]

...You leave him alone!

[osmaniac]

[glances back at him]

Heh. Most likely someone else has already done the job.

If not... well, ya better hurry up.

[he'd rather go and try patching up his new injuries]

[newsing]

[Grabs at the wall with one of his broken hands, trying to force himself up.]

You're such a damn child!

[That outburst sends him into a coughing fit.]

[osmaniac]

[frowns. human or not, he's testing his patience now, and the lingering pain doesn't help]

You talkin to yerself, boy?

[newsing]

You-

[*Cough*]

You're just like him! You're no better than France!

[He pauses, whimpering. When he feels composed enough to look up his expression darkens.]

I feel as though I'd be doing a huge disservice to the unwilling participants in this event if I let you live. I won't make the same mistake twice!

[osmaniac]

[turns around to face him, this time the one getting successfully taunted. how dare he liken him to France!]

[his threat makes no sense to him, it's absurd and laughable, but his determined expression prevents him from mocking that]

[sizes him up, not closing the now relatively large distance between them. curiosity is getting the better of him and he remains there instead of just walking away]

[newsing]

[It's taken some time, but he's managed to force himself onto his knees. He leans against the wall clutching his side, taking painful gasps of air.

His threat must seem like a joke to the bastard right now.]

[osmaniac]

[he's kind of impressed by the display. can't the guy see that he's got no chance against him, especially with no weapons on him and broken hands? why is he not taking the chance to run away instead?]

[gives him a challenging look]

Well? Do yer worst!

[newsing]

[He can barely sit up let alone walk. He feels like he's losing more and more air with every breath he takes. Even if it's not obvious, Turkey's already killed him. With no medical aid he's going to die, most likely slowly and painfully if someone doesn't find him first.

He clutches the front of his shirt with his broken fingers.]

...I'm leaving.

[osmaniac]

[squints in confusion at his statement at first]

[until his eyes follow his movement]

[newsing]

[Suddenly, his fingers curl around the cold metal of his collar.

With the last of his strength he gives the band one hard yank.


It clicks.


For a split second, his face changes, from shock at his own success, to a look smug satisfaction, before he and the entire shrine are engulfed in the collars explosion.]

[osmaniac]

[the explosion is strong enough to shake up the area around them and blow the young man's skull into a bloody mess, along with the wall he was supporting himself against]

[thick blood and chunks of flesh splatter against him as the powerful shockwave hits him and sends him flying a good number of feet back, and he falls onto the hard ground only to be trampled by incoming rubble from the exploded wall, as he covers his head with this arms]



[a minute passes in silence before his arm emerges through the pile covering him]

[his upper body follows, scratched up and bloody and dirty with dust. but he's grinning, through the mist of dust]

Not bad at all, kid.

[br_undertaker]

[carefully steps around the rubble, looking for the body he knows is here]

[or, well... was here]

[he can see some traces of blood on the floor - others have likely been covered by dust and debris -, but not a corpse]

Hm. I guess you made the shrine's stones your grave, then...

[scans the large chunks of the fallen parts of wall and ceiling, but it's impossible to tell under which the Newspaper Boy's remains lay, and even if he knew, there would be no way to get at them]

[turns around himself in a slow circle once more, then admits defeat and leaves]