[ON HOLD] Shadows of the Blessed | #Countryhumans AUOriginals

05: Must Improvise [Pt. 2]

Previously...

At that point of his own sentence, Canada snapped to his own realization, "'in a few minutes.'"

——————

Before America could even process the wave of information that had just washed over him, Canada took off running like the demon of demons himself was coming to get him.

"Yo, wait—" America started, but thought better of it. He quickly followed suit, dashing past check-in stations and out of the aerodrome— he dodged flailing elbows and wove through the remaining crowds, all while holding on as if for dear life to an armful of baggage. He wished he hadn't brought along so much stuff.

Once outside, America paused to sling the backpack he'd been carrying onto his shoulders, regathered the rest of his things, and kept on running. Irritated with the time frame he'd just allowed to go to waste, America swore multiple times as he strained to keep up with Canada's flying shadow.

He soon found himself in the city square— a spacious expanse of chiseled stone flooring lined on all four sides by steep-roofed Victorian structures in a layout quite similar to that of a village quadrangle, only larger and much more sophisticated.

Unlike the open streets America had been speeding through without a second thought only moments before, the square was dotted with vendors' stands abandoned for the night, wooden dividers, haystacks, and the like, all of which only served to block his field of view.

No shadow. No Canada.

Nothing. America halted, pivoting, searching. Around him, torches and braziers were set to run throughout the night, illuminating even all the darkest corners and narrowest alleyways.

But not one person was in sight.

"—just around the corner," Canada had said. Upon recalling that one snippet of information, the palm of America's hand connected with his own forehead in frustration.

Which corner??

Reeling, America hurriedly made his way through the square and sprinted down the nearest alleyway, not even knowing for sure in which direction he was heading. All he knew was that he had to act, fast.

But when he got to the other side, once again there was nothing. Nothing but more buildings, more alleyways, more empty streets.

America knew he'd made the wrong turn, yet he still blindly probed his mind for more ideas as he trudged a few steps, hand on a wall, attempting to catch his breath. He needed more improvisations.

The loud, hacking wheeze of a large engine's startup suddenly reached America's ears.

Over there, his thoughts snapped.

America immediately sprang back into a run, making a beeline towards the direction from which the engine's rumbles now echoed.

It's still there. I can make it.

And sure enough, he burst out of the street and into the avenues, just in time— to see a motor vehicle's steadily dimming taillights.

Its drumming and clatter were getting further and further away, as if tempting him to continue following its telltale sounds, chasing after its departure. When all along, he would know and feel the impossibility of ever catching up.

A tall silhouette ahead of America had also been witnessing the vehicle's leaving. Light from dim streetlamp sprinkled with moths shed scarce light upon the silhouette and its identity, overshadowed by the surrounding buildings. America opened his mouth to make his presence known, hoping the figure was who he thought to be. "Ca—"