On the platform: New characters and old ones that want to come and meet them!

[utopiamods]

As you all crowd onto the platform with your new and still bizarre mix of faces, expressions, clothing and wild theories, you are met by two girls. Both are in uniforms that would match if not for the colour differences - skirts, waistcoats, and light summer shirts that seem totally inappropriate for the thin layer of snow and ice coating the station platform. Both have a beret with a crest - one shows a sword, the other a shield.

At the first lull in the chatter, the shorter girl speaks up, her soft voice somehow cutting over you.

"Excuse me,"

She explains, in precise, quiet sentences, that they're prefects, representing the two schools in Rakuen. Nanami of Fortitude, she says, placing a hand on her own collarbone, and Santana of Conquest, here pointing to the taller girl she's leaning against. The girl nods, looking fairly bored.

"We will be sorting you now. When we say your name, please move quickly and quietly to whoever called you."

"Yeah," Santana interrupts, "Then we can go back to the dorms. It's not getting any warmer however many times they make us do this."

They separate, moving to stand several metres apart, and both pull a list from their waistcoat pocket. Alternating, they start to read out your names.

Comments

[keepscalm]

[England should probably look a little more confused than he does, but as it is, there's only a minor lilt of inquisition in his words.]

Funny. Here I was going to ask you the same thing.

[So it's not America. But it's someone who seems to know him somehow.]

[fifty]

[Alfred blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.]

You look like my dad.

[keepscalm]

[Oh. That's...absurd. He's known America for a while, yes, but actually being his guardian? He pities the poor bastard that had that job.]

You look like someone who turned his back on me. [Bitter? Maybe a little. But...]

What's your name, lad?

[fifty]

[Alfred is wary, but he doesn't think the man is dangerous, just... Weird. Well, no more dangerous than most people. Maybe.]

Alfred.

[keepscalm]

[...somehow, England isn't surprised. That's a name he's familiar with, even if he usually sticks to just "America" when he absolutely has to talk to the larger nation.]

You may call me either England, or Arthur. Whichever you are more comfortable with.

[fifty]

[Alfred shoves his hands into his pockets, looking vaguely petulant. Arthur is his father's name; this is all really creepy.]

Why would you call yourself England?

[keepscalm]

[He has this feeling that he's going to be explaining this a lot while he's here. They couldn't have just put him on the roster as Arthur Kirkland?]

I am the country. I am England -- the physical representation of it in its entirety. I also diplomatically represent the whole of the United Kingdom, since my brothers are a bunch of lazy tossers and the capital is in my country.

[After that, he crosses his arms, the look on his face resigned, if a bit crabby.] But if you'd prefer to act as if I didn't just say all that crazy tripe, you may just refer to me as Arthur.

[fifty]

Really? That's a thing?

[Country people are a thing, he means.]

Calling you Arthur would be weird, it's my dad's name. It'd be creepier if you were Arthur Kirkland, though, I guess.