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 I wrote something. Don't mind me.

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Alisia Kasabian
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Posts : 178
Join date : 2011-08-15
Age : 27
Location : Yerevan, Armenia

PostSubject: I wrote something. Don't mind me.    Sat Jun 16, 2012 10:53 am

(( Ok. I shall finally explain myself after forever.
In this thread here: http://aphrp.forumotion.com/t189-prelude-holy-crap-i-wrote-something-dkafjdl I wrote a tiny ficlet of this idea that's been bubbling in my head for months.
My OC, Marianne, is neither a country, city, or province of any sort. So what the hell am I doing? Well, when I flipped through some American history, I noticed something that I never had before. The reason why Americans throughout history have been so strong seemed like something of a strange outside influence (very similar to Israel, if you squint).
I dubbed this as their strong "American Spirit", or in other words, the ideals that Americans were originally founded upon by the original Pilgrims, Founding Fathers and the Constitution. But, this "American Spirit" is a very off-and-on thing, meaning it isn't ever-present. Especially as of late in history, it seemed more of an inside voice, whispering to its people when they need it.

My conclusion: The "American Spirit" is a separate entity all-together.
That inspired Marianne's creation. Since it would be a bit lengthy to call her "The American Spirit" all the time, other Nations simply refer to her as Marianne.

So, why the whole shpeal with England? The original "Pilgrims" themselves traveled from England to the New World, so this "American Spirit", or thoughts of rebellion against the British Monarchy, may have originated in England.
If you're wondering, no, this is not a love story between Marianne and Arthur. I don't plan on making any pairings in my writing....yet.
I plan on having Marianne appear at different points in American history, from the settling of the New World to the American Revolution to its Civil War. These will all be ficlets as of now. These also will include other featured OCs, some actual characters from this site that I've adapted to these stories. If ever their personalities seem off to their owners, I apologize.....sort-of. MUAHAHAHAHAHA-

OKAY. ENOUGH EXPLANATION. On to the juicy stuff. ))


____________________________


The American Revolutionary War lasted from 1775 to 1783, in which the colonies of America fought against the oppression of Great Britain. In 1778, France drafted itself into the war in support for the Americans in their war for Independence.


Battle: YORKTOWN

Date: September 28th - October 19th, 1781

Place: Virginia, United States of America

Combatants: Americans and French vs the British




The brunette sighed, sore legs aching as she finally making her way back to the tents of the camp. Dark brown eyes scanned their make-shift bunker. All the soldiers, most rough around the edges, looked frail and weary.

But Marianne knew better, they all knew. The final battle was among them, and all their eyes danced with that same fire.

They would strangle their Independence out of the Brits if they had to.

Preferring her own thoughts to that of the soldiers, she sat herself on an empty log. She leaned forward, rubbing the wood of the fire-pit in hopes of igniting a flame. It had been too damn cold as of late, and their burning spirits alone wouldn't keep the American troops from freezing to death.

A small smile danced on her lips as a small flame leaped to life, slowly spreading across the wood. She let her eyelids flutter closed, reaching her palms out in hopes to catch a small wave of heat.

Her few moments of peace were interrupted as a garrison of troops swept right by her, rushing as if late for an appointment. She arched an eyebrow, leaning slightly to catch glimpse of their direction before they disappeared behind another tent.

She chuckled, shaking her head. When would these troops ever learn to save their excitement and energy for the battle? She couldn't imagine a bunch of sleeping Americans blasting the heads off British troops.

A chorus of yells and whoops could be heard at the edge of the camp. Figuring they found another source of food or something, Marianne closed her eyes again, savoring in the small amount of warmth the fire provided. She ran her tongue across her dry, cracked lips, frowning in distaste at the sting. She had multiple injuries littered across her body from this war, her split lip was no exception.

The volume of the cheers escalated, the pounding of boots increasing as they neared the camp. Her brows furrowed. Had they discovered a lost garrison? Good, they would need all the troops they could get. With Britain, taking chances wasn't an option, or a good idea for that matter.

Arthur had always been clever. Marianne knew that well.

She frowned, the cheering increasing as more and more pounding boots entered the camp. She chuckled, beginning to admire the troops' entusia-.....wait. How many people were there entering? From the sound of it, it definitely wasn't a lost garrison.

She kept her eyes shut, hands folded together as the footsteps and cheering neared her location. Opening one eye, she watched a number of men in white coats pass by the tents across from her, no doubt heading to join with the other American troops. Her eyes narrowed.

Americans didn't wear white coats.

A soft smile graced her lips as she remembered. When the cheering finally subsided in the distance, she sighed, outstretching her hands to the fire once again. Her smile grew as a familiar pair of footsteps neared her, stopping beside her. Weight pressed against the log she sat on.

Her grin widened, one eye opening to peer beside her. "Took you long enough to get here, Francis."

That distinct laugh of his greeted her ears, and she joined it with her own, her voice slightly raspy from the months and months of combat.

"My apologies for taking so long, mon cherie. Our troops ran into a bit of a detour on ze way 'ere."

She smirked. "A sandy hill?"

He frowned. "Non! Large brown beasts wiz demon horns!" He shook his head. "'ow can your home have zuch....atrocities?"

She slapped a hand over her eyes, a bout of raspy laughter ripping from her throat. "They're called buffalo, Francis. You shouldn't have a huge problem with them....unless you make them angry." She winked.

He let out a joking snort. "Like German women......." He looked to her, a friendly smile gracing his lips. "How haz your garrison been doing out 'ere my friend, surviving I zee?"

She met his gaze, nodding. "Yes, we've.....managed." She quirked an eyebrow at the Frenchman. "Why aren't you in the main tent with Alfred? I understand you two have some planning to do."

He leaned back, shrugging lazily. "I zent Rochambeau to meet wiz 'im and Washington. You looked like you needed company." He wiggled his eyebrows. "And you know how I hate leaving pretty women cold and alone."

She laughed, punching his shoulder. "None of that, Francis. This is war we're talking about here." The amusement faded from her face, her eyes scanning the flickering fire. "Hopefully after today, this will all be over. I don't know if I could take another day of this."

The Frenchman smiled sympathetically, patting her back. "Don't be discouraged mon cherie. You and your people...ze are all strong. I 'ave no doubt zhat zis battle will be a success."

That was when the horn sounded.

"Az if on que. Let's see if zhey finally made a decision, hm?" He stood, brushing off his white coat before offering her a hand. She nodded, taking it.

They made their way to the main tent in blissful silence. God knew Marianne needed it.

This was it.


-----------------


Blood littered across the grass as the American and French troops advanced, Cornwallis finally captured.

Though the troops were cheering and hollering, Marianne couldn't pry her gaze from the dead and wounded scattered across the battlefield. It had been a massacre, of the British that is.

She grimaced as her horse finally neared the scene. A garrison of American troops, Alfred at its head.

And Arthur, -THE BRITISH ARE COMING THE BRITISH ARE COMING- and beaten, standing alone.

Marianne had no doubt the British General, Cornwallis, had been taken somewhere else. Francis was probably taking care of him.

Close enough to pry in on the conversation, she dismounted, advancing towards the group slowly.

Arthur was yelling something, the grip on his musket tightening. Alfred simply shook his head, sapphire gaze unyielding. The Brit was about to yell something else, but stopped when Alfred pointed his musket barrel at the man.

"-freedom! I'm no longer a child! Nor your little brother!"

She wiggled her way through the crowd of soldiers, nose wrinkling as it began to rain.

"-sider me, independent!" the American finished, blue eyes boring at the Brit.

Arthur's eyes widened as Marianne took her place at Alfred's side. She could see a wave of fury desperation flood across his features. Alfred stepped forward.

And then he charged.

Her eyes widened as Alfred's musket flew from the scene. She looked back at the two, ready to charge herself if he was in danger.

He simply stared the Brit down. Arthur's face twisted in anger. "You idiot! Why can't you follow anything through to the end?!"

Almost instantly, the soldiers aimed their muskets, all ready to gun the Brit down if he tried anything. She immediately threw her arm to the side, voice commanding. "Wait!"

She knew Alfred would deal with this. He was always the lead.

After all, he was America.

A long moment of silence washed over the crowd, the pouring rain almost becoming deafening. Her gaze fell as those emerald eyes watered.

"....There's no way I can shoot you. I can't...."

His musket dropped to the mud beneath as he fell to his knees.

"Why, dammit why?!"

All those memories came flooding back to her now. Those fights she had with Arthur. The laughs.

"You know why."

Her own eyes watered. Alfred towered over the Brit, blue gaze hardened. The man's sobs could be heard past the pouring rain as his shoulders shook.

"What happened? I remember when you were great........."

With that the American turned on his heel, shaking his head as he gestured for his troops to follow. He stopped when the brunette didn't move, an eyebrow arching. "Marianne? You coming?"

She shook her head slowly. "Y-yeah.....in a minute."

He squeezed her shoulder. "Don't take too long, we'll be moving out soon."

She nodded, advancing towards the Brit slowly. She stood silently in-front of him for a moment, the words she had been planning to say dead on her lips now. She couldn't think of anything to say, not when he was sobbing like that.

She fell to her knees in-front of him, encircling her arms around the blonde, pulling him into a tight hug.

She had grown up with this man, he was family. Seeing him like this, no matter what he'd done, it made her stomach churn.

His body stiffened for a moment before he returned the embrace. He rested his head on her shoulder, his sobs quieting. "Marianne.....why? Why did it come to this? Why couldn't I stop it?!"

She felt hot tears stream down her cheeks. "Arthur.....you've known for a while. I warned you......" She shook her head frantically. "I'm sorry. So sorry......."

He was silent a moment. "......No. You shouldn't be. This.......this is my fault....."

She pulled back, brown gaze connecting with green. "I...I have to go now." She raised herself slowly, blinking back more imminent tears. ".....Goodbye Arthur."

She turned, walking back to the horses quickly. If she glanced back now, a fresh wave of tears would come about. She could barely hear his voice from behind her.

"......Goodbye............"



-------------


They rode along in silence, the two generals, Washington and Rochambeau, and the two nations settled just behind them.

And then there was Marianne, at America's side.

They finally dismounted, their camp full of hollers and cheers of victory. There would be plenty of hangovers in the morning, she was sure.

Without a word to anyone, the brunette shuffled off to her tent, the bitter cold of the rain making her grind her teeth together. She reached her tent, sitting on her cot as her face fell in her hands.

She heard footsteps outside as the tent's door-flap was pushed aside, revealing a concerned blonde. "Marianne? You alright?"

She shook her head, not bothering to look up at him. "I'll be alright Alfred. I just....need time to think."

Sighing, he sat next to her, one hand on her shoulder. "....I know how you feel. I care for him too, Marianne. I always have. But.....he was in the wrong. We had to put him down."

She raised her head slowly, tears drenching her dirt-stained face. "I just wish.....that not everything had to be resolved with such.....violence."

A dark chuckle sounded next to her, and she raised an eyebrow. "What?"

The blonde shook his head. "Marianne.....one day you'll realize, violence sometimes is the best medicine for a problem."

She laughed. "It'll be a cold day in hell when I agree with you on that one."

He stood up, not giving her a second glance as he exited the tent. "One day, you'll see."

She stared after him as he left, a small frown forming. She worried about him sometimes, but that worry had grown as of late. She understood that sometimes one had to fight to protect their freedom and values, but that glint in his eyes when he talked about violence......it made Marianne's stomach churned.

He acted like a caged animal, waiting to be released. His rebellion against Britain had escalated into something much more than that, she could tell.

She loathed that day, the day when her brother would snap. But, no matter what happened, she would be at his side.

And when hell broke loose, she would pick up the pieces as always.
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