I will be overjoyed [Wales]

[atrb=style, Background-color: #dddddd][atrb=width, 537, bTable][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=vAlign,top][STYLE=font-family: arial narrow; font-size: 50px; color: #B05648;text-align: right;]I WILL BE OVER[/style] [STYLE=text-align: justify;padding: 10px;font-size: 10px; color: #000000;]Loneliness had been nipping at her heels like the cold for months now. She had long since given up on the idea of her brothers ever paying her a visit, or even calling her for that matter. And after days of pressing the matter nonstop over five skeins of yarn and seven bottles of tequila, Evita finally decided to step out of her house for the first time in she couldn’t remember when. She was sick of roaming the streets, desperate to find some sort of solution to her once again failing economy; she was also sick of sitting around her house for days, playing drinking games with herself and waking up the next morning passed out in her bathtub. For hours she thought about who she could possibly contact. The pages of her phone book flipped back and forth countless times as she stared down at all the names and numbers of people whom she had fallen out of contact with. Eventually, Evita began to read through the list and place a when and why they had decided that they had gotten their wear out of her. She stopped at a particular man’s name and read it a good ten times, mulling the name over in her mind. Bran—what could he possibly be up to? Evita frowned, remembering the last time she had even spoken with him. Was it ten years—twenty? She couldn’t remember; she had desperately wanted to forget the fight for Falkland. Biting her lip, she thought for another ten minutes or so, debating whether or not she should actually call him. Taking a quick glance at the clock and figuring out the time difference, Evita took in a deep breath and picked up her phone. The anxiety that filled her as she listened to the dial tone was immeasurable. She had almost frozen when he actually picked up the phone. Fear pulsed through her as she greeted him. Would he even remember her? Was he mad? Ten minutes later she had already scheduled plans to meet him the following week. After she hung up, she stared at her wall in a complete daze, unsure of what to do or where to go from that point. Without even thinking about it, she hopped up and backed a small bag full of yarn, knitting needles, crochet hooks, a pair of walking shoes—the necessity. Before allowing herself to bask in her accomplishment, she stared down at the bag, recalling that it was another six days before she was even supposed to leave. Anticipation was an understatement. For the next five days, Evita mindlessly worked her way through a scarf, only stopping after running out of yarn. She looked down at the twelve foot scarf and sighed, pitying herself if only for a moment. The next day, she was at the airport first thing and headed to Wales, anxiously drumming her fingers against her worn leather bag. After plane ride, after train ride, after cab, she had finally reached an ever so familiar destination. Evita stopped, having finally stepped foot on solid ground and looked around with evident nervousness. She felt…unwelcomed even though no one seemed to pay any mind to her. Still, she figured someone might point her out and she might be the next victim of some sort of freak riot. It was a slow walk to his house but Evita didn’t mind the time she had to think to herself. Truthfully, she had plenty of time to think to herself but her time alone was never spent thinking. She stood at his doorstep, gripping tightly to her bad, he hand aimed to knock on the door. But she kept standing there, frozen by some sort of unidentifiable emotion or fear. Evita bit down fiercely on her lip and asked herself why she was even here. She knew that this was just going to turn into some sort of uncontrollable mess. So, she stood there, on his doorstep, staring down his front door; unable to bring herself to knock on it.[/style]

[atrb=style, background-color: #B05648][atrb=vAlign,top][STYLE=width: 200px;color: #dddddd;font-family: arial narrow; font-size: 50px;vAlign: top;]JOYED[/style] [STYLE=border: 5px solid #dddddd; width: 100px; height: 100px;]"][/style] [STYLE=background-color: #dddddd;width: 100px; padding: 5px;font-size: 10px; color: #000000;]Notes: overjoyed - matchbox twenty[/style] [STYLE=background-color: #dddddd;width: 100px; padding: 5px;font-size: 10px; color: #000000;]Words: 681[/style] [STYLE=background-color: #dddddd;width: 100px; padding: 5px;margin-bottom: 10px;font-size: 10px; color: #000000;]Tagged: Bran/Wales[/style]

[cs=2][STYLE=font-family: arial narrow; font-size: 13px; text-align: right; padding-right: 25px;]template by pianissimo of BTN and LS[/style]

[atrb=valign, top][STYLE= font-family: franklin gothic medium; font-size: 11px; line-height: 85%; text-align: center; color: #666;]❝ PAPERWEIGHT ON MY BACK COVER ME ❞[/style][STYLE= width: 250px; border-right: #373737 dashed 01px; border-left: #373737 dashed 01px; border-top: #373737 solid 10px; border-bottom: #373737 solid 10px; padding: 10px; background: #fafafa; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; color: #6f6f6f; font-family: tahoma;]Bran quite enjoyed the solitude that his brothers occasionally gave him. Well, it was unintentional for the most part, seeing as he tended to be actually forgotten more often than offered the courtesy of being left alone. Whatever the cause, he was content whenever they had forgotten about unimportant Wales on the sidelines of the British Isles. It kept him out of their political and often chaotic lives and allowed him more time to be a recluse… because that was exciting... Well, the things that Bran enjoyed probably wouldn’t thrill the other, more important nations as much, but he got around. Once in a while, though, he did manage to drag his overlooked self to the pubs. Most of the time he knew how to make his own fun with a group of drunken strangers—a rowdy bunch who were usually better company than his brothers any day of the week. Except maybe Ireland (every so often.) She was fun. Scotland usually only called him if he needed someone to drag his drunken idiot self home if every other remembered option was unavailable. And England was… well England-- self-righteous bastard who simultaneously supported and demeaned him. That’s… how it usually went for them. In any case, Bran was having one of those weeks. None of his siblings had called him, visited him, or made any sort of contact with him. And he was okay with that. Let him alone for the most part and he was right as rain. As right as rain can be anyway… The week was good overall. He bought himself an obscene amount of food stuffs—mostly dairy along with boxes of amber liquid goodness. Alcohol was gold to any British nation and they drank it like water. Apparently Bran had also inherited an iron liver. It was during one of these lackluster nights with half-emptied bottles of ‘happy water’ that he received a call. He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t at least a little surprised to hear Evita on the other end… God, how long has it been. His throat tightened in the slightest, unsure... It had been a while. Not too long for their kind… but still a while. Guilt lay heavy in his chest over the last time that they had conversed. He had been conflicted, especially when her boss appealed to his for support. And in the end… well, he was rather firm in not getting involved. Partially because it was his blood that he would have to oppose, but really, he couldn’t remember the last time he was in any position to oppose him. In any case, he was cordial to her over the phone, trying his best to sound completely sober as plans were made for a visit. The call overall felt short and concise, almost like the arrangement of a business meeting. Ugh, why did he have to be so awkward…? The nation had even gathered up some of the mess as if expecting her to somehow see his ‘weekend styled’ home. Yeah, no one wants to see that. In the days that followed, Bran couldn’t help but to clean and sort everything the best that he could, which wasn’t spectacular, as his best efforts was only average for most. Arthur probably would have given him a nasty mouthful if he saw his place—but then again, when the hell would he ever bother to drop by? With a small bit of effort, he pushed those sorts of thoughts from his mind. However, he was once again reminded of Evita. Even if his home was… well, a bit more on the rural side. She had been here—she knew his place well enough, as he did hers. It had taken a bit of time since the incident years ago for even the common things around his home to stop reminding him of the former female visitor. Coping with change is always an exasperating process... he didn't want to think about it. Bran had been out back at the moment, visiting a neighbor a long walkways off who raised livestock. It was important for his sanity to stay busy, even with menial things, which often meant helping out the old man and getting a bit dirty in the process. He had lost track of time and had just now remembered that he was expecting a certain someone at his doorstep anytime soon. Making a hasty departure and an even hastier farewell, he began to make his way back. He froze and his heart felt like it skipped a beat when he saw the ever familiar brunette standing at his doorstep by the time he reached his gateway. He drew nearer, approaching at a distance from behind, not entirely sure how to properly greet her. It was difficult to suddenly meet someone after over a decade of no-contact. He cleared his throat softly before speaking. ”Ern—eh… hello.” Oh yes. So brilliantly eloquent. And not at all stroppy. He felt a bit of heat coming into his cheeks for the stupid-sounding greeting. ”I’m—uh—sorry I kept you waiting,” he said quickly after. [/style][STYLE= font-family: franklin gothic medium; font-size: 10px; text-align: center; color: #373737;]MADE BY CYANIDE CANDY ✖[/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=valign, top][atrb=style, width:300px, btable][STYLE= color: #d5d5d5; font-family: franklin gothic medium, arial narrow; font-size: 10px; text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase; background: #373737; padding: 05px; margin-top: 09px;]❝ TAG: argentina/evita ❞[/style][STYLE= color: #d5d5d5; font-family: franklin gothic medium, arial narrow; font-size: 10px; text-align: center; margin-top: 05px; text-transform: uppercase; background: #373737; padding: 05px;]❝ Notes: heh, gotta love awkward. xD ❞[/style][STYLE= margin-top: 05px; height: 100px; width: 100px; border-bottom-right-radius: 30px; border: #373737 solid 10px; background: url(http://i113.photobucket.com/albums/n222/amoline/gead.png);][/style][STYLE= color: #373737; font-size: 80px; margin-top: -43px; margin-left: -09px;]◤[/style]