•-Countryhuman Oneshots-•

•-The Ripper-•

Whitechapel, London, The United Kingdom.
Mid November 1888.

The streets of Whitechapel: dimly lit and depressing. If the plague were to ever come back, I'm sure many people would assume it came from the infested alleys that this part of the city hosted.

Tonight's story however, doesn't focus on the setting, no matter how much our star finds it disgusting. Tonight, our focus is on the young man stalking through the streets.

Our star of tonight's show; Mr Austin Wynborne.

Or if you would prefer:

The United States of America.

He moved slowly through the streets, keeping pace with the few people around him. If it weren't for his more tanned complexion and more expensive choice of fashion, he would blend into the groups of people walking the streets perfectly. He wore a black suit with a long, brown, unbuttoned trench coat, with each golden button present on both his coat and blazer being perfectly shined to the point where they could be mistaken as the street lights. I kid, but I'm sure that some daft idiot could do it. His freshly cut, black, somewhat curly hair bounced up and down as he walked. Many of the poverty stricken and homeless people stared at him as he walked past, their mouths agape at seeing a man with his looks be so well dressed.

America payed these people no mind, it would only distract him from his main goal if he did. His dark brown eyes narrowed as he tried to look through the fog of the night, he wondered how anyone could see even a foot ahead of them in this ridiculous country. It didn't really matter though, he could see exactly what he needed to see. Who he wanted to see. He stalked behind his prey.

A fair 'lady'.

America, however, knew better. He stepped on the cobbled pavement carefully, avoiding the cracks that let disgusting, green water seep through. His shoes were brand new after all, with fresh stitching. They hadn't even been properly broken in yet.

He got a clearer view of his prey as the two became the only ones on the street. The 'lady's' blonde hair was tied into a long plait that reached down about an inch or two above the bottom of a dark, faded green, ankle length skirt. The skirt concealed a pair of tattered, heeled, ankle high boots with laces that were very clearly falling apart. America could make out the slender frame of his prey from the very few street lamps that lined the roads.

America quickened his pace, slowly but surely catching up to the 'lady' ahead of him. He soon saw his opportunity as the two moved closer towards an alleyway on his left hand side.

He grabbed the 'lady's' long braid and pulled both of them into the empty alleyway. It was stacked with crates, boxes, papers and other trashed items. It also smelled of urine, much like the rest of this decrepit town. He pushed the 'lady' up against the wall of one of the buildings that created the dead end alley. He pulled out a small six inch blade from his coat pocket and held it up to the 'lady's' throat.

"Looks like I've found you. Our little game of hide and seek is over,"

America taunted the person that he'd pinned to the wall. The 'lady', however, wasn't affected by America's game. His taunts being answered with a calm, stoic expression.

"No reaction? Good God, Sunshine, ya gotta give me something as your last words," America whispered into Britain's ear.

The 'lady' in front of America wasn't a lady at all. Britain stared at America with a sinister smile that had spread across his face.

"Why should I care? What you have is nothing more than a butter knife to me,"

America scoffed at Britain's words as he looked him up and down. The prominent scar that ran down his left cheek was poorly covered by cheap, gritty makeup, as was the freckles that normally covered the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. Part of his hair was loose from his braid and covered the right side of his face, including his eye. As for the clothes that the young man had, the skirt America had seen prior turned out to be a dress with short, puffy sleeves, topped with a brown, corset like waistcoat with a tan belt. Britain also wore a black, woollen shawl with little tussles that had fallen of his shoulders and layed gently on his forearms.