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crotchroses[Who likes pirate hats? Big fancy hats? Hats with feathers?
Or swords. Who likes those?
You won't be disappointed.
A handsome older teenager with hair past his shoulders loosely tied back, dressed in a grand coat with very wide sleeves, a tunic, white stockings and short stocky leather boots. You can bet your ass there is plate armor and leather underneath the finery. There is a hungry look of triumph on the man's face as he whirls his longsword, the ornate handle and polished blade flashing across the feed.
It isn't simple fencing footwork France displays but practical, vicious swings of that heavy sword one would use in battle. Every movement, every step is fluid, impossibly fast; showy, but incredibly precise. It's passionate, and yet somehow very, very cold.
Within the blink of an eye that sword has been sheathed. France's eyes are almost maniacal despite the fact that his smile is eerily inviting. He seems full of energy--excited.
But he's also pale.]
Victoire pour le royaume de France!
[He reaches to the communicator, switching to text.]
Hello Fortuna. I have returned, I see. It has been so, so long since I last visited. I am whole again at home! Whole at last, with my kingdom reaching across the continents in this glorious new century.
I mean no offense, but I hope to return home again soon. I cannot afford to be away.
Autriche! Angleterre! May I speak with each of you?
[ooc: 1550's. He remembers being here as Gaul, among a few other things. Of interest to Austria, Romano/Romana and England is this.]
Or swords. Who likes those?
You won't be disappointed.
A handsome older teenager with hair past his shoulders loosely tied back, dressed in a grand coat with very wide sleeves, a tunic, white stockings and short stocky leather boots. You can bet your ass there is plate armor and leather underneath the finery. There is a hungry look of triumph on the man's face as he whirls his longsword, the ornate handle and polished blade flashing across the feed.
It isn't simple fencing footwork France displays but practical, vicious swings of that heavy sword one would use in battle. Every movement, every step is fluid, impossibly fast; showy, but incredibly precise. It's passionate, and yet somehow very, very cold.
Within the blink of an eye that sword has been sheathed. France's eyes are almost maniacal despite the fact that his smile is eerily inviting. He seems full of energy--excited.
But he's also pale.]
Victoire pour le royaume de France!
[He reaches to the communicator, switching to text.]
Hello Fortuna. I have returned, I see. It has been so, so long since I last visited. I am whole again at home! Whole at last, with my kingdom reaching across the continents in this glorious new century.
I mean no offense, but I hope to return home again soon. I cannot afford to be away.
Autriche! Angleterre! May I speak with each of you?
[ooc: 1550's. He remembers being here as Gaul, among a few other things. Of interest to Austria, Romano/Romana and England is this.]
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/cries on
Date: 2011-10-25 04:26 am (UTC)I can see why I took you in under my roof. Calm yourself! There is no need for violence here, eh?
/holds...
Date: 2011-10-25 01:34 pm (UTC)morning C:
Date: 2011-10-25 01:43 pm (UTC)It's a shame such a sweet appearance as yours was wasted on such a filthy nation.
Morning, darling
Date: 2011-10-25 02:03 pm (UTC)