|
Post by The First Inhabitant on Dec 15, 2012 22:42:03 GMT -6
The Inhabitants waited ever so patiently for the unconscious nations to stir. They were almost identical in shape, voice and form, so it would be impossible for the nations to distinguish them apart. That wasn't of importance though. The least thing the countries could be worrying about right now was whether they were in the presence of the First or the Second Inhabitant. Eventually, they grew impatient and with a wave of a skeletal hand, the so called immortals were plucked from the depths of unconsciousness. At this time, the Inhabitant slowly waited a few moments for the confusion to set in. The Inhabitants had in fact gone out and knocked the nations out before bringing them to this room, which they nicknamed 'The Gallows' for this very occasion. It was a plain, broadly sized space with no windows, furniture, or any source of weaponry. No, the nations were dragged in as they had been previously, meaning the only thing they had for combat was what they had on hand. Unfortunate for some, but incredibly in favour for others. Though, weapons wouldn't be the deciding factor in these games. “Awaken,” the Inhabitant boomed as the nations were sluggish to stir. It probably didn't help that they were bound by twine and had ragged gags stuffed in their mouths. The Inhabitant could detect the struggle, the possible panic that ailed them before the Death Reaper was certain that it had the nation's attention. The darkness hid the Dead Man from sight, but it's hollow, icy presence was enough to guide the country's eyes and ears in its general direction. “Congratulations...” the Inhabitant began, its voice chilled with venom, malice and the slightest touch of childish amusement. “You have been chosen to partake in a little game. Now I beseech you to listen well because I will not repeat myself nor will I answer questions,” explained the levitating skeleton. It did not wait for any signs of response, because it was more than aware of the gag that stopped the nations from human speech. “It is noteworthy that you have survived this long, but it is likely that your luck will end here. Again, you will participate in a delightful matchup of ours. The rules are simple, little nation. You must either kill, or be killed.” The Inhabitant paused simply for dramatic effect. On the other side of the room, the other nation would be receiving the same speech from the other Reaper. “There is a catch though. You will not be facing a monster...” the skeleton said softly, its face pulling into a hidden sneer. With a snap of its bony fingers, the rope that held the nations in check disappeared, as did the gag. “...You will be fighting another nation.”The words hung in the air as the Manor's Servant watched the individual move. It grinned wickedly, eager to continue pressing the grave news down the nation's throat. “There's more. Someone must die here. It is not negotiable. If you refuse to kill the other and they mirror your choice... well, look downward.”Below their feet, what seemed like solid floor was in fact a mere wire grating. Base the iron mesh were eyes. Yellow, red, white, but they all shared something in common. Hunger, thirst, desire. A low moaning sounded on cue from one of the vile creatures while another clawed anxiously at the grates that held it in check. The Inhabitant wasn't sure, but it swore it could feel a touch of anxiety from the 'immortal' that stood before it. The Inhabitant let the nation have a moment to process what it was implying before it finally continued, ignoring if it had actually said anything. “In case I was not clear, if neither of you will fight, you will be torn apart by these beasts. Don't think you can survive them either; there are more savage creatures below than you could possibly count, even in your extended lifetime. So I will emphasize one last time, kill or be killed. Good luck, Romania/South Italy.” And with those parting words, both Inhabitants disappeared into the air as the light above flickered onto full power. Light blasted the darkness from every inch of the room, save for the cages below that grumbled and growled in response to the stimulus. Brown, stained wood-panels covered all four walls while the ceiling held what looked like a crystal chandelier that dangled a good 15 feet from the floor. Below, the creatures could be seen churned about as they stalked the shadows that the nations created. And now, let the games begin. ___________________________ (In case this was not clear, each nation received the exact same speech [there are two inhabitants]. Someone must die in this game; this is not an option. The posting order is Romania ---> South Italy. You have 2[/u] weeks to make the starting post or we will assume you have no intentions of fighting, hence you will be killed off. This is to ensure people will not feign inactivity in order to not complete this event. After the first post, we expect you to post at least every two weeks UNLESS your posting partner will agree to wait longer. Good luck)
|
|
Vasile Ionescu
Survivor
Played by Roma.
Offline.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players"
|
Post by Romania on Dec 26, 2012 8:12:11 GMT -6
Before any of Vasile’s five senses could even begin to give him any information of his current whereabouts, his sixth sense stirred, beckoning him to wake, to fear, to cower in the presence of a monster more powerful than any he had sensed thus far in the Manor. The Romanian had no idea where he was, how he got there or where he would be once he woke, and any attempts to trace back his steps to find out what had happened were in vain. The only thing his mind could focus on right now was the presence he felt. It was powerful, cold, almost painful to the Romanian’s mind, and as he started to slowly gain back his consciousness and slip back into the world of the awake, he started to feel an emotion very foreign to him; fear. Something was lurking there, waiting for him to open his eyes. Something horrid that made him shiver despite himself.
At first Vasile thought he’d fight back the beckoning to open his eyes. Refuse to comply, defy the monster’s wishes, but when the creature’s voice bellowed throughout the room, issuing a single order to wake, Vasile’s eyes practically snapped open without him even willing to. He was confused, groggy and slightly irritated over someone succeeding to render him unconscious, but still did his best to keep a smile on his face. Nothing bad had happened yet, and hey, he had been getting bored of the same old corridors and faces, hadn’t he? If nothing else, this would provide a welcome diversion. He hoped.
Vasile blinked away all traces of sleep still left in his eyes and turned his head, eager to see exactly where he was and even more eager to see what the creature talking to him looked like. No, wait, was it creatures? He could faintly feel another presence somewhere a little further away from him, though the darkness kept him from seeing it. So there were two? He could barely make out a skeletal creature near him. But why was the other quiet? No, more importantly, were these two the ones controlling everything in the manor? The reason to this all? If he could kill them, would they be free? Fun as his time had been so far, he started to miss his home and his people, and worry for the safety of the other nations.
The Romanian attempted to move, but quickly felt himself unable to do so. Something was binding him, digging into his skin as he struggled. Vasile drew in an agitated breath at the sudden revelation of being bound, only to find out that breathing wasn’t as easy a task as it used to be either; there was a rag of some sort stuffed in his mouth, almost making him gag upon every deep breath he claimed. Mild panic and anger washed over the nation the second he realized the predicament he was in. Bound, gagged, and thrown to lie in darkness? What the hell had happened? Who had managed to do this to him? Why? What else had they done? Did his powers still work? Was his hat alright?
Vasile bit down on the rag, his sharp fangs sinking into the horrible-tasting fabric. No. No, he didn’t want to have to worry about stuff like that. He hated worrying. Hated serious things. They made him anxious, and he would not give that creature the satisfaction of seeing him riled. So he swallowed back his heated emotions and just focused on finding his hat. It was a pretty hat. He didn’t want it gone.
“Congratulations...” The skeleton’s voice boomed just then, snapping Vasile from his slightly more carefree thoughts back into the present. The Romanian didn’t like the tone of the creature’s voice, not one bit. As someone whose voice often carried a similar, devilishly amused tone, he knew nothing could good follow those words. Especially not since the enjoyment in the voice was filled with malice, with sadistic joy. It wasn’t something ever present in Vasile’s own voice, but he recognized it nonetheless. It was unmistakable, and something told the Romanian the ghost didn’t even want to conceal it. Of course it didn’t. It was basic psychology; what better way to intimidate your victim than to let show you enjoyed every minute of their torment?
“You have been chosen to partake in a little game. Now I beseech you to listen well because I will not repeat myself nor will I answer questions,”
Yeah, Vasile couldn’t help but mumble in his mind. I kinda gathered that from the rag and all.
Humor. Dry as it might be, it usually helped lighten up a situation, and right now, the Romanian was desperate to try and make the situation seem less serious through any means necessary. His attempts were in vain and he knew it, but there was no force in the world that could have stopped him from trying. He didn’t know if the monster could hear his thoughts, and he wasn’t sure whether he wanted it to or not. On the other hand he would have loved to get back at the creature with sarcasm, on the other, it would have required it to be able to read minds. He didn’t want his mind read. It was his best and only weapon, the most sacred place he had, and he would not let it be tarnished by this manor or its inhabitants.
Either way, the monster didn’t seem to either hear or care for the Romanian’s words, as it soon continued: “It is noteworthy that you have survived this long, but it is likely that your luck will end here. Again, you will participate in a delightful matchup of ours. The rules are simple, little nation. You must either kill, or be killed.”
The monster paused, and Vasile knew full well what for. It wanted to let the information sink in. It was yet another basic technique to leave an impression and instill fear. How disappointing. For someone so strong, the creature didn’t seem to have too many tricks up his sleeve.
Yes, Vasile was fully aware he was nothing but barking insult inside his mind to someone who couldn’t even hear, but it made him feel at least a little at ease. His heart was still racing however, and he feared the creature might hear it. He didn’t want to amuse it. He’d hate that.
But what he hated the most? The fact that the creature had dared call this a ‘game’ earlier. He was usually the one laying out the rules and initiating games. He was the one deriving amusement from watching people play and dance for him on a stage he had prepared. He was the one who was supposed to have control. Now, he didn’t have any. The chess master had become a piece, only able to move along on a preplanned stage according to someone else’s rules. And from the looks of things, the creature’s rules would be far crueler than his. He just played tricks and pranks, and never meant any harm for anyone. It was all just mindless fun. The monster? The monster was prepared for torture. That much even this little piece could tell.
Damn, referring to himself that way made Vasile pissed.
“There is a catch though.“
There always is.
He had figured that there had to be. Wasn’t kill or be killed the theme of their entire stay here? Surely there was nobody foolish enough to think they could escape from monsters any other way than killing them in the end? You could only run away for so long before you grew fatigued and became easy prey. No, coming here just to fight to death with a yet another monster was hardly enough to provide the monsters with so much joy. There had to be a catch. Truth be told, Vasile really didn’t want to hear what it was. He didn’t like the situation one bit, and it made him worry; was this what the people he played tricks on felt? He didn’t cause this much distress with his words and pranks, did he? Because he’d never want to. He’d never want to hurt another nation like this.
Vasile could feel the air grow colder, and knew the monster was about to continue. Like mentioned, he really didn’t want to hear what it was about to say, but he knew nothing could stop the words that were about to flow from those cold, dead lips now. If it had lips. The darkness was still concealing the details of its form. Hell, Vasile was only assuming it looked like a monster. It could have been fluffy kitten.
He kinda liked that thought.
“You will not be facing a monster...”
The meaning behind those simple words had not yet sunk in when the sound of snapping fingers filled the nation’s ears, and the rope that had held the Romanian in place vanished, presumably as quick as it had originally appeared. The gag was gone as well, and Vasile instantly took the opportunity to breathe in fresh air through his mouth. The rag had left a horrible taste in his mouth however, and breathing only helped intensify it. Ugh. God, they could’ve at least washed the rugs first.
Standing up shakily, his fist still partly covering his mouth, Vasile shot a glare in the direction he believed the monster to lurk in. It was rare, almost unheard of, for him to glare at someone. But, this seemed to be the day of exceptions anyway. He was just about to open his mouth to ask for the monster to continue, when it did it of its own accord.
And Vasile didn’t like what he heard.
“...You will be fighting another nation.”
What followed was probably silence for the monster, but for Vasile it was anything but. Those words echoed in his ears, rung and haunted him, repeating themselves over and over as if to make sure the Romanian could not misunderstand what they implied. They would make him… wound a fellow nation? What made them think he’d comply? Vasile looked around, searching through the darkness for his supposed opponent, but the room was too poorly lit for him to see. Fine, so he wasn’t supposed to know yet. That was fine, he supposed, the monster would reveal it in due time. Both that, and the reason as to why they thought he’d obey and play along in their little game. The Romanian knew they had something up their sleeve, a reason, a cause for the two to fight for. They wouldn’t be much of a chess masters if they didn’t.
“...There's more.”
He knew it. And he was growing increasingly annoyed by this creature’s procrastinating.
“Of coooourse there is, ” Vasile finally spoke up now, testing his voice and more importantly, the tone he spoke in. He wanted to sound carefree, careless, unafraid, and he managed that, somewhat. But he couldn’t hide his annoyance, not even with the smile he had in place. “You couldn’t possibly stop talking this quick, could you? ”
It ignored him. Figured.
“Someone must die here. It is not negotiable. If you refuse to kill the other and they mirror your choice... well, look downward.”
Vasile did as instructed out of curiosity if nothing else, and couldn’t help himself from jumping back a bit at the eyes staring hungrily up at him. There, restrained by wire grating lurked monsters, loud, hungry, scratching and growling at their binds. It didn’t take a genius to understand what the monster had implied. Kill, be killed, or hold hands as the monsters below feasted upon your flesh for not dancing along on the stage. Cruel. This definitely wasn’t anything like any of his games. He would never, could never ask anyone to kill another being.
Yet now, that was required of him. His very first instinct, thought, emotion, was to refuse. He would not kill another just to save himself. But as power switched from his emotions and heart to his mind and logic, he quickly found himself faltering with the decision. He didn’t want to kill anyone, but more than anything else, he didn’t want to die. Not just for his own sake, either; hadn’t he just sworn to himself up on the roof that come what may, he would return home alive? He was a nation, he was a symbol to his people. Letting himself die here and now out of kindness to another would be like stomping on all his people’s efforts, like telling them the wars they had fought for independence, for survival, had meant nothing at all. It would be telling them the Romania they fought for was gone. There was no nation in the world cruel enough to do that to their people.
Killing sounded, at first, like such a cruel thing to do. But honestly, was it really so? All he had to do here was kill one single person to preserve the hopes and dreams of many. How did it differ from any war he had fought in? He had killed far more when fighting for independence. He had not let an empire stand in his way back then. Why would he let a single person?
Vasile drew in a breath and started to mumble under his breath, uttering words that held no meaning on their own but when combined, they formed a spell. A summoning spell to call forth what he needed to accomplish his task. And within seconds a huge canine started to take form beside him, digging its claws into the wires below. It was still a see-through form, but it was begging to materialize.
Bite to the side of the neck.
That’s all it would take.
“In case I was not clear, if neither of you will fight, you will be torn apart by these beasts. Don't think you can survive them either; there are more savage creatures below than you could possibly count, even in your extended lifetime.”
Vasile had figured. They wouldn’t have given them an impossible to do task like this if they didn’t have a surefire way of knowing they would do it. He only listened with half an ear now, focusing more on his summoning spell than on the skeleton. He couldn’t stand to look at it. It made him feel sick.
“So I will emphasize one last time, kill or be killed. Good luck, Romania.”
Romania. It was his name as a nation, as an immortal. Right now, he didn’t bear the right to call himself that. He was just Vasile, about to kill another person. Just another name.
Except. No.
The wolf’s almost complete form started to vanish back again as Vasile’s resolve faltered. Even if he was a mortal now, he was still a nation as was his opponent. Killing his opponent, killing a nation would be way different from killing people in a war. He would not be taking the life of an individual ready to die for their country; he would be taking a nation away from its people. He would not destroy a few hundred humans. He would destroy an entire people. Millions. Strip them from the nation and identity they had fought for.
He was almost ready to stop, almost ready to leave be his spell and suggest they try to work things out somehow.
But then, the lights flickered on to reveal the blandness of the room, and Vasile saw his opponent.
There, on the other side of the room stood Italia Romano, one of the two Italy brothers.
One of the two.
Not a nation, just half of it.
Romania’s eyes grew more determined once more, and he focused back on the wolf. He could kill Romano. The Italian’s people would not be left alone and without a nation. They would still have his brother. It would be a win-win for the both of their people. He had nothing against the Italian, but one life weighed against millions and millions? The decision was easy.
The wolf next to Vasile hunched, growling, fangs bared and eyes cold. With resolve, summoning one didn’t take long. He’d just have to make sure his own determination wouldn’t falter lest the wolf disappear. It would be better if he didn’t think. Better if he didn’t feel, didn’t look around, didn’t speak, and just went on with it.
But that… wasn’t something he could do.
“Hey,” Vasile began, his voice nothing like usual. It wasn’t cheery, it wasn’t impish, and the smile on his face was sad more than anything else. “Sorry, but… I don’t have any scary stories to tell today. No games for us to play either.”
The wolf growled, and took a step forward. The Italian had guns. Vasile couldn’t risk giving him time to fire them.
“I’ll try to make this quick, so,” He attempted a warmer smile. “Could you maybe not fight back? I don’t want to have to rip open your wrists for trying to touch your gun. That’d hurt a lot. A bite to the neck is faster, and less bloody.”
“So don’t fight back,” Vasile beseeched, the wolf’s eyes resting on the Italian’s hands now. If he so much as inched them closer to the weapons, the wolf would strike, and its aim would be to sink its fangs into the boy's wrist. Rip it. Make him bleed to death. Vasile didn't want the other to have to experience that.“Please.”
“I hate blood.”
|
|
|
Post by south on Dec 28, 2012 12:42:59 GMT -6
[style=text-align: justify;]One opponent. Two attackers. One a nation; one a summon. Both large; both vicious.
Both deadly.
He could hardly find the fairness of this 'game'. He heard laughter. Was it his? Unfair. Then again, it was a game, someone always cheated, someone always took advantages of weaknesses, someone always had the upper-hand. Someone always lost.
Your resolve will be your greatest ally.
He was often told that: those with the will to survive must persevere and overcome their obstacles. That he could survive anything if he had enough willpower to do it. He had lost that willpower once. Perhaps a part of it had not returned even yet. Perhaps it never would. Those times when he felt completely inferior to his brother. His younger brother. How Feliciano was liked more and praised more. He had wanted to be looked up to at first. He thought it his right as the elder of the two. But in the end, was there any right at all that he was given possession of? He blinked, surprised for a minute. He actually could not recall at all a time by which he had any reason to be looked up to for. Rather, he was the one who looked up to his brother.
As much as he said he disliked his brother or that he would kill him given the chance, never had he uttered the word 'hate' within the same sentence and meant it. He did not hate his brother. He could never hate someone such as Feliciano Italia Veneziano Vargas. He could try (and believe it, he did). Not once, however, could he bring himself to hate him. Unlike himself, Veneziano was happy. Or could at least give off the appearance of it.
There lies the true difference between the two brothers. His counterpart could bottle up most of his unwanted emotions and truly felt the need to help others. He, himself, would not be involved in anything unheeded or noteworthy. Rather, only the little things seemed to upset him. Selfish things, revolving around only himself. Admittedly, even being only the southern half of a whole nation, he could have stepped up more and lent a hand. It was not like he did not want to help others, but rather ignored the problem until it blew up in his face. He did not know how to help. Not the correct way it seemed.
Maybe it would be better if he did disappear. But there was one thing, or two. Feliciano and the fact that he did not want to die.
True, it was a mixture of selfish reasons and knowing the hurt Feliciano would feel if he just willing stepped up to the blade, or rather, he eyed the canine, the jaws. He could not hurt his brother like that. He would be lying if he said he did not care about his life. He truly did not want to die both for himself and Feliciano. He was not a fool enough to throw his life away, whatever anyone said about him. He may be a coward and distrustful, but he was not a fool.
His contemplation was halted as Romania, otherwise known as Vasile Ionescu (as he had recently learned) smiled at him. No, not a cheeky smile, not a riveted, deadly smile, but a sad smile. A pitying one maybe. A sad and regretful one. One that should not have ever been displayed on that face. It disgusted him more than the usual taunting smirks. This was wrong. So wrong. He had known it since he had first stepped in this mansion, since he first awoke in the . . the . . . wherever they were. He glanced across the room. He wondered if his opponent had the same oh-so-pleasureful wake-up call prior to their meeting:
Awaken.
He, at first, had not heard it, not heard it from down in the darkness that had so mercifully grappled at his consciousness. A darkness that was neither welcoming nor uninviting. How cliche.
'Awaken, awaken, awaken, -ken, -ken, -n,' cried the darkness, 'awaken, awaken, awaken, -ken, -ken, -n,' cried the echo. But he had refused to. He was mildly content how he was at the moment, why would he pry his eyes open to madness? "Lovino", he had heard a voice whisper, "You . . ." he knew that voice. Whose voice was that? "You really should . . ." His awareness arose. That voice was familiar. Too familiar. "Really should . . ." yes! He had definitely heard that haunting voice before. But from where, where?! "Awaken!" came the growl. Hazel eyes bore into him and a sadistic smile lit the face in front of him. And suddenly, he knew where that voice came from, he knew why he had recognized it as something familiar, for there, in front of him, was indeed: himself.
Suddenly, he felt pulling, as if a current was rushing him back. Back to what? Back to . . . this . . . this, fucking darkness: "Awaken!"
He blinked, trying to gather where he was. He might as well have stuffed his face in a pillow, for there was nothing to see. Speaking of stuffing his face, "Ffsit!" Well that was to be expected, though he wondered when the thing actually cared if he spoke to it, it would ignore him anyway. He tried not to taste the rag, and shuffled his feet around. Or tried to. He was bound. Also not a surprise, but he could feel his guns where they lay and he thought bemused, why they would not have taken it before then. Squinting, he thought he could make out a vague shape to his left. Something tall. And even if then he could see nothing, the stench that wafted from the, the well, the thing (he would call it that now) was so horrifying and noticeable as is.
It was not quite what he would place as a stench, but it was not an aura that the house permitted him to feel either. It had the tangy, salty taste (feel?) and a deep, icy crushing weight that kept him in place (if the binds already did not do that) and demanded full attention. Most of all, however, he felt the childish amusement taunting him. As he reflected back, he remembered his first thought was that it reminded him of the prankster Romania. But now he could see he was very, very wrong and could only berated himself. How he thought of Romania even at that time, someone he hardly knew and recently met, oh someone up there just loved to play tricks on him.
"Congratulations," it said. He grit his teeth in response. Apparently it not only gave off an impression of a hollow, ruthless character, but its voice held true to that statement. He scowled, or tried to (god, this gag was really getting to him) and settled to glare in the general direction of the thing. It took perhaps not three measly seconds later to realize. Congratulations . . . for what?
It read his mind. But he expected no less now. "You have been chosen to partake in a little game. Now I beseech you to listen well because I will not repeat myself nor will I answer questions." He narrowed his eyes. Well, whatever the fuck it was, it must be pretty damn important to be using, what was it, old English? Did it always speak like that? Nevertheless, he hated games, he thought darkly, he could not remember why at the moment, but he hated them. Maybe he could win a cheat pass or one of those fancy cards that let you off free for a turn or two . . . or three. What were they called? Tickets? He chuckled dryly. But this was no time for muses and hysterical humour.
"It is noteworthy that you have survived this long, but it is likely that your luck will end here," That thing continued on, ignoring him and his spiteful musings. What luck? He silently wondered. When had he ever been graced with the will of Lady Luck? "You will participate in a delightful matchup of ours. The rules are simple, little nation. You must either kill, or be killed". Yes, quite delightful, he frowned. He could do that. One of these sniveling monsters. He had no qualm with beating their brains out. Of course not. He had killed before, humans and the like. A monster, well, that would be too easy to let his anger out. He started to grin and his eyebrows twitched together. Well now, they had given him a favor, a very, very good favor. He thought he let out a strangled bark.
His felt his stomach clench, and it made him wonder something very, very important. When was the last time he had eaten? Days it felt. Days since they were trapped in this place. Was it weeks maybe? Or a month or two? Too long. Way too long. So the food. What food had he had? Bread? Had he even eaten anything? Actually, he could not remember if he had. Romano blinked, for what it felt as the first time since he had opened his eyes and he realized that he was rather hungry. Tomatoes. He wanted a tomato. Really, really badly. And maybe paella. He would never admit it to him, but Spain's paella was rather, enticing. It was one of the best dishes he had (that was not Italian of course, nothing beat that food) and at the moment all he could wish for was some food. Silly thoughts. Perhaps he really was not sane after all. He thought for a moment and then he really did laugh because, who here actually was anymore?
"There is a catch though," the voice breathed out. It took a moment for him to pause and absorb the information. A catch? A catch, yes there was always a goddamn problem to make things worse. He knew there would be one. And yet, he had ignorantly hoped that nothing could get worse. Honestly, why would they pull him into a, a, well, this dank place to fight a monster when he was already doing it wandering the halls. There had to be something worse. When had he started trusting his own thoughts? Now of all times?
He did not want to know. He had once stated harshly to his brother and the Spaniard that he hated surprises, could not bear them and wanted always to know whatever the hell it was if it involved him or troubled either of the two: good or bad. He never really understood the weight of those words until now. Good or bad. Did he want to know? For it was most certainly bad. If such a word could even describe it with full accuracy. His mind immediately thought up how this would be worse. Would it be the thing talking that he would have to fight? He doubted it. That cruel voice may have held malice and taunting, but he could not sense blood lust directed primarily before him. What else?
His eyes narrowed as he thought. Would that thing gather those he cared for and force them to watch him fight? His blood ran cold. He knew Feliciano would, well, what would he do? He would certainly do something in his favor. Scream. Fight to get to him. Antonio too. They would all be seething in anger. But he would not want them to interfere and know that they could not help. He knew how horrible that was for them both. He shifted his eyes around in the darkness. He could not see the-, well of course he could not fucking see them, but neither could he sense anyone else besides that thing off to the side taking up all the room in what he assumed was a tiny, enclosed space.
But what if, what if . . . his eyes hollowed, no. No-no-no-no. No. What if- "You will not be facing a monster . . ." I was to be fighting something else, his thoughts had finished after that accursed shithead uttered those words. Oh, those words. They could mean anything. Maybe just an animal or something. Maybe. But that was another flimsy wish. Monsters were worse than animals. Seriously, he doubted that the mansion would shove him in an arena with a fucking pony, prance around with that! He could almost here it --no, no, no. Nope. Those thoughts were just not . . . . he sighed. He really was going crazy.
He glanced into the darkness. The thing was quiet. And he knew it was playing with his emotions. With his mind. Dramatic pause? What was this a musical? He sneered. The mansion needed a better stage performance than that. Although the monsters seemed to do pretty well as the backup.
He felt and heard the binds snap and the gag around his mouth disappear. He had not felt anything close to him so he could only assume it was by magic or whatever force this place used. Magic or not, he would speak his mind: how dare they bring him here and say he had to fight. Was them being lost in a godforsaken mansion not enough? What the hell. He stood, gaining his balance, at least he could walk. But he was still blind to the rest of the place.
There was still that one little troubled thought in the back of his mind. If it was not a monster what: ". . .You will be fighting another nation."
He had felt his face completely drain from colour. "A, -a nation?" he stuttered out and then winced as he had not meant to speak. Surely this was --no, he had long given up on this being a joke, a dream. No. This was --he had fought before, even killed humans before and only humans, but nations? He remained frozen in place. A nation. So vague. That could mean anyone. Male or Female. Child or . . . he briefly remembered those smaller, younger nations. Sealand? But he was a micro-nation. Somehow he knew it would not matter. Oh shit, if he got a child...! "But what if you get something worse?" his subconsciousness whispered. "What if it is not merely a child that you do not know. What if it was someone you knew well. How about your dear Belgium? She was so sweet to you, you would have to kill her. Of course you would do it. And your previous caretaker, Spain. Sure he was nice to you, but did you think he would not raise his blade to your throat simply because he cared for you? Why would it even matter? He may care for you, but surely he would want to live. So you would have to fight him too. Oh, and lovely Feliciano Veneziano. Your dear Fratellino. You would fight him, you would ki-"
"Stai zitto! Like hell I would!" He choked out. His throat was not working, he needed water, he needed- "Cazzo!" No. He would never lift a finger to harm is brother like that. Never. He was not like that! He never would!
He tried to calm himself. He glanced towards where the voice was speaking, "There's more," another pause. He wanted to slam his fists into the thing's face right now. No matter the consequences. But he knew in this situation the consequences were dire, so he refrained. What else could it possibly have to say? Would it ever finish? Part of him did not want it to finish speaking. Part of him was cowering now, in fear, rather than the other part in anticipation. He did not want to fight anyone. Sure, he picked fights daily. But those were vocal spats and rarely did anyone actually harm each other, much less resort to killing. Obviously, it would be another story here.
More. More. More. Always more.
"Someone must die here. It is not negotiable. If you refuse to kill the other and they mirror your choice... well, look downward." In spite of his bests efforts to remain staring into the darkness, curiosity overtook him and he glanced down. His resulting flinch was visible and he tried to back up to the 'comfort' of, well, there was no more plain floor from what glow he could make out. What he previously had believed to be a dark floor had lit up with reds, yellows, whites, all with flecks of browns and greens. These colors temporarily blinded him and he had to blink away the brightness and immediately wished that he had not. Looking up at him from the mesh wire was the embodiment of Desire. But not in any way the sensual kind. Desire played out with Hunger, Thirst, and idle Want. Against his own wishes, he peered down to get a closer look and at that exact time, a paw shot up and pushed, no more like slammed its goddamn claws against the wire.
He bit back the bile that rose in his throat and prayed to anyone up there, for whomever the hell might hear, please do not let his brother be on the other side of the room. He was certain he would have gone mad. Feli would have gone mad. He shook his head. No, Feliciano Vargas would not be on the other side of the room, it was only himself, Romano Lovino, whatever they called him, half of Italy, in this room. Half of Italy. The other half was far away. Far, far, far away; safe. Or safe as one could get in this place.
He was not fooling himself. At all. So he focused his attention on that thing in the room. "In case I was not clear--" "No, you were perfectly, utterly, horribly clear, asshole," "--if neither of you will fight, you will be torn apart by these beasts." "Oh nooo, of course not, they would fucking cuddle with him and be all sweet!" "Don't think you can survive them either; there are more savage creatures below than you could possibly count, even in your extended lifetime. So I will emphasize one last time, kill or be killed."
And it always came down to that: Kill or be killed. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world, the laws to live by. Perhaps they were and perhaps they were not. But he was getting quite sick of it. Always survival always for the fittest. He wondered if there was a time when he could ever just lie down and cover his head from the world. But he knew there was not. Not this time. And as the lights flickered on, he had to lift a hand to cover his eyes--the brightness was enough to blind him for a moment or two. Then he turned his piercing gaze, still shaded by his forearm, towards the other side of the room.
It was then that he had first seen Romania.
"--Good luck, South Italy," he hardly heard it over the roar of relief and the heaven burden that fell from his shoulders. But this pleasure was short-lived. Shit. Romania. He was a magic user was he not? And . . . what was that at his side --a wolf. A half-wolf, Of course a wolf (he would ignore the half-part for now). Just, of course, something, or rather, an animal, that he was never privy to. Of course.
"Hey," it was that what brought him back to the present . . . and that sad, reluctant smile. He saw the wolf forming again and the man's eyes darken. Maybe, not so reluctant now. The wolf was fully formed. He tried not to flinch, "Sorry, but… I don’t have any scary stories to tell today. No games for us to play either."
Games. Everything was a game, everything --his hands twitched towards their gun and he almost jumped as a growl ripped through the wolf's throat. Shit. He was never going to get his guns out this way, he needed to be witty, and quick. Something only the latter he had mastered.
"I’ll try to make this quick, so: Could you maybe not fight back? I don’t want to have to rip open your wrists for trying to touch your gun. That’d hurt a lot. A bite to the neck is faster, and less bloody," he visibly flinched this time and he cursed his stupidity. No, that wolf was fucking fast. The Romanian seemed honest when he said he had not wanted to hurt him. Well then. But he still would and that was what mattered. His eyes darted around the room, careful to take a few things in: the walls, the mesh wire, his attackers, the Hungers, and the positions everyone was in, and how hard those teeth could bite. He cursed again.
What the hell could he do?!
He was asked to not fight back. Okay . . . no. For Feliciano. For Antonio. For Emma. For those people and his own: he would fight back. He may be viewed as weak and cowardly, but not this time. He would fight and he would win. And he would flatter. Wait what?
He could see his hands visibly shaking. He he tried stilling them. Romano Lovino Vargas, also known as South of Italy, one of two brothers, and perhaps the more cowardly one, well, he would try. He would give it his all this time. He would --he would --
"I hate blood," he heard him whisper.
He bit his lip. And steeled his resolve. He needed to win. Right? He needed to, but how? His eyes darted around the room again, until the focused upon the other's eyes. Red. Dark red. Threatening and dark. He tried not to shiver. He then eyed the wolf. It was large. It could probably run fast. Well, he would have to run faster . . . and be mindful of the bullets he had. How many did he have? He could not remember. His hands twitched towards the right gun, no need to tell the other he had two. Or maybe he already knew. It did not matter.
"Well what a coincidence, I hate blood too."
His hand dived for the gun, quick and effortlessly. Thank god, it was not one of those times he missed it, or dropped it. He would have been in trouble then. He quickly aimed it where he wanted: at the feet of his attackers. One bullet would not do nor two. Three would be best. He could not miss. He had to be use them sparingly.
The first landed and then the second, on the mesh floor beneath their feet. He angled it to skim a few, he was not a sharpshooter for nothing. The third landed adjacent, further than he wished. And . . . nothing happened. He stood frozen at the other end. And waited. His blood ran cold. Perhaps the mesh was thicker than he thought? Or he missed or took time to . . . snap? Yes that must be it. He felt hollow.
Only a second passed.
He could remembered why he hated games now. He never won.
[spoiler=Notes --click (or not)] Okay, so. yeah. I never meant it to get this long. I was almost sad to cut out the part where Roma ranted about ponies. If it is not clear, he shot at the mesh-y stuff at Ro's feet and waited for it to break. I am not sure how strong it is, so it is up to you if it fails or not, si?
HAVE FUN READING TANGENTS!
Also, I added Quotation marks this time, before you said that you copy and pasted it, so usually I go with their talking by colour, that is why before I had none.
There probably a ton of mistakes. But I must thank Reed and Mona for looking it over (and Kosovo!!!)! [/spoiler][/blockquote][/font][/size]
|
|
Vasile Ionescu
Survivor
Played by Roma.
Offline.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players"
|
Post by Romania on Dec 29, 2012 17:09:53 GMT -6
Vasile stood still beside his animal companion as he waited, anxious, his makeshift smile to ease the other’s pain never fading. He stood absolutely still and watched the other’s reaction, not quite sure what he was waiting for. A reply? An action of some sort to indicate the fight had begun, and that he would need to kill? The more he thought about it, the stranger it felt. He had the tools to rid himself of the situation, yet instead of going ahead and ordering the attack he had planned, so vividly envisioned in his mind, he waited. Even though he knew that the more he watched the Italian’s silent panic, the fear reflected from his eyes as he looked around the room to find a straw of hope to cling onto, the more hesitant he would start to feel. It would have been best not to linger.
He realized this and yet, he waited. Perhaps he wanted Romano to open his mouth, to say something, tell him he understood, tell him he realized the graveness of the situation. He didn’t want to kill someone not yet aware of what was happening around him. It would worsen his guilt, guilt which he knew would be immense anyway.
It was a blessing he had gotten just a half a nation as an adversary, as it made the whole thing a lot easier for him to justify to himself. But the fact that Romano looked so weak and afraid made him a difficult foe to kill out of sheer pity. He should’ve gotten Hungary or Turkey to fight. His longtime enemy and the man who had ruled over him as an empire before… He was pretty certain he could’ve killed either of the two without much hesitation. Well, that’s what he said now, but when pitted against them, he was pretty sure his feelings would be different. Would even Hungary deserve this? Wasn’t the Turkey of today completely different from the Ottomans who had hurt him so long ago? Saying he could have killed them easily was nothing but his pride talking, refusing to admit that no matter who he would have been pitted against, this situation would remain as one of the worst ones he could imagine. There was no point in thinking in “what ifs”. He had an opponent already, standing right there, scared like a deer caught in the headlights. All he was waiting for now was for the boy to vocalize his thoughts. It would give him an excuse to wait a while longer, to delay the inevitable.
He was sounding pretty pathetic right about now, wasn’t he?
It was then that thoughts of headlights reminded him… he still had his flashlight – his only ‘weapon’ hanging from his belt. It hadn’t proved too useful to him so far, so he had completely forgotten its existence up until now. Would it help against the monsters below? Would its light chase them away and offer an alternative route to this game? Could he maybe still back out of killing the other? For a while, the Romanian thought of reaching for his flashlight and trying, but a low growl from the wolf brought him back to the present, back to the real world from his little daydream.
Vasile shook his head. No. No, it wouldn’t help. He was doing nothing but grasping at straws now, even his own summon, lacking both a mind and a brain in the traditional sense of the words, realized that. The light would never be enough to repel all the hundreds of thousands of monsters below. It would not be enough, and would just end up getting them both killed. Trying to find a way out that wouldn’t hurt them both sounded all nice and proper on paper, but in real life it was nothing but stupidity. Hadn’t he been through this already? Made up his mind? Why was he trying to slither away from it all at the last second now?
Looking at Romano bite his lip and panic inwardly, Vasile knew why. Talking to the boy really had been a mistake, just like he had predicted.
There were quite a few things the Romanian could claim to be good – or at the very least average – at, and he had been told before that he had a certain way with words. It had been a compliment unlike any he had ever received before, because he knew words held power. Those who knew how to talk, to twist the truth and still keep a clear conscience, those who knew how to convoy what they felt to those around them… they were the true rulers of this world. And Vasile admitted he knew how to affect people’s minds a little; he knew he could make people fear, doubt, and feel confusion. People told him it was a strength, a skill, something that would leave him envied and praised. And Vasile had to admit, it had proven useful, allowed him to derive amusement from most situations he was faced with, and allowed him to conceal a face of pain when need be.
But when Vasile saw the Italian in front of him shaking, eyes wide and heart probably racing from fear despite his attempt to calm him down, he realized it was not a strength to make people fear; it was a skill to soothe their fears. That’s what took true skill, skill even he didn’t possess. He had meant for his words to ease the other’s fears, but it seemed like it had done the opposite. Had he said too much? Too little? Was mentioning all the blood and the biting too much? The answer would’ve probably been clear to anyone but Vasile. But he couldn’t help it. He was a one trick pony, only adept at one game, and only when played by his rules. He knew not how to comfort another, not even when he truly wanted to. And when the situation was like this, could anyone blame him? Probably not.
Except he, himself.
But Vasile knew he’d just have to ignore the pain of failure for now, because it would soon be replaced with something even more painful; guilt. Guilt for killing another, for taking a life. There were no words in the world that would have eased the pain of dying for the other, nor the pain of killing for him. His attempt to make the other feel calm about the situation? Doomed from the start. Not even he could change that. He should have realized that from the start and not attempted to make an impossible situation better. It would be like trying to stop a stream with a toothpick.
Words were powerful, yes, but in the end they were something coined by humans. Fear of death? It was something that came with living. Something every living being possessed, something far beyond the reach of a human mind. Words could not ease it. Words would not help. They held no power when pitted against an emotion, an instinct so raw and basic. Trying to talk only wasted time for the both of them and, from what it seemed, only made the other even more anxious. Vasile had no desire to scare or bother the other any further. After all, he was going to kill him; the least he could do for the boy was to let him pass peacefully.
Even after a while Romano still hadn’t made his move. He seemed to be thinking, all gears in his mind racing and trying to think of something, but from what it seemed, it wasn’t productive at all. Vasile was almost ready to assume the Italian would comply with his wishes and offer himself to be killed. A foolish thought in hindsight. Was there a person in the world who would heed a warning when there was hope, no matter how small, for survival in fighting back?
“Well what a coincidence, I hate blood too.”
Those words had barely left the Italian’s lips and reached the other nation’s ears when Romano acted, did exactly what the Romanian had warned him against; he moved his hand towards his weapon. Vasile had a split second. All he would have needed to do was issue an order to the wolf. It didn’t even need to come in the form of words; just a simple thought, just a simple mass of intentions and will, condensed into one simple order within his mind; kill. “Kill”, and the wolf would have leapt, it would have sunk its massive fangs into flesh and bone, and it would not have let go until it could feel the body under it grow limp. It would have been the end.
But Vasile didn’t do it.
The wolf’s form grew weak and invisible, blinked between existence and whatever lay beyond it along with its conjurer’s determination. Killing had sounded so easy on paper, had been so simple from what the Romanian remembered from his younger days. But then the thought of crying citizens, of fellow nations shunning him, of a boy without a brother had flashed through his mind, just come and gone as quickly as it had come. And with it, gone was also the resolve to kill, all in a time that must’ve been less than a second, less than the time it took for the Italian to reach his gun. And when Romano’s fingers wrapped around the steel of the weapon and his finger rose into place to lick at the trigger, Vasile’s eyes widened, his arm raising to shield himself as if on instinct.
The rules were to kill or be killed.
He hadn’t killed.
Would he… die?
He could barely hear the gun being fired from the static sound ringing in his ears. And in that very instant, again without the need for a specific order, the wolf leapt in front of Vasile out of its owner’s sheer will, ready to protect him from the bullets that were sure to come. Bullets, made by a man to kill a man, now used by a nation to kill a nation, completely because of his own lack of resolve to take a life first. Regret was the only thing he could feel in that almost instantaneous, passing moment. Regret for not having killed earlier. Regret for not being cold and ruthless. Regret for not being able to return to his people.
Vasile saw a million things that second; his youth, his people, the graves long forgotten only he visited. He heard crying and he heard war, and he heard the last words of his brethren from back when he fought for independence, back when he fought to be, and he could not keep himself from biting down on his lip, spilling his own blood, out of anger. Had he truly betrayed everyone just to save one man, one half a nation? No. He would not let it be so.
Another shot, and Vasile instinctively yanked himself backwards. His wolf followed loyally, its body still a shield to its master, even if it was barely visible due to its summoner’s lost concentration. A third shot followed the previous one in an instant, and the Romanian started to wonder why he didn’t feel any pain, no, why didn’t feel anything at all. He had expected the wolf to protect him, hoped it would, but he knew full well he felt something when it was hit. But now, he felt nothing out of the ordinary, and there was no howl of pain to be heard. And the sounds, the ricochet of the bullets upon impact didn’t come from anything organic.
It came from metal.
And then there was a growl, or rather, a series of them, but they did not come from Vasile’s wolf. They came from below, from the mass of eyes, hunger and greed trapped below a floor that could barely hold in all the evil.
Vasile lowered his arm, not able to hide his confusion at the sounds. His wolf was almost invisible, but without a hole in its body, and although Vasile’s heart was racing s hard it felt painful, he was otherwise unharmed. Romano was still standing as well, so he hadn’t even managed to hit himself with a stray bullet. So then why did he stop? What had he shot at? It was only after lowering his gaze at the grates that kept the monsters confined below that the Romanian understood.
And instantly stumbled backwards with a loud, audibly shaken shout of: “Holy hell, are you nuts?!”
The wires around the place Vasile had stood in only a few seconds prior were damaged, weakened and looking like they could snap into half if applied even the slightest bit of pressure. The monsters below had temporarily cleared from the spot, most likely to shield their ears from the noise the bullets caused. But now that it was silent again they didn’t linger in regrouping, curious, scratching at the wires to see what had changed, what the strange human had done. Or perhaps they knew, perhaps they realized that the only thing keeping them in check and preventing them from devouring the two nations had just been significantly weakened. Vasile’s heart was beating in his throat, he could feel it throb despite its desperate attempts to regain its regular pace.
One of the traced the length of the damaged wire with its humongous claws, the horrible sound as bone grinded against metal sending shivers up the Romanian’s spine. The monster stopped at a weakened spot in the wiring, clawing, testing out how well the confines would hold.
Vasile wanted nothing quite like leap over to where the Italian stood and strangle him to death then and there himself, summons and weapons be damned. Why in the hell would he do that?! Why would he direct his blows at the only thing keeping them safe from monsters so numerous they couldn’t even begin to count them in all the years they had lived? If suicide was what the Italian desired, he should’ve pointed the gun at his own head and got on with it, not shot at where it would doom them both. And if he wanted to fight, then why hadn’t he just shot-
Vasile’s anger died down as the Italian’s reasons – or what he believed to be his reasons, anyway – dawned on him. He could certainly blame the Italian for stupidity, but he could not blame him for his indirect approach of killing. He understood what Romano had intended, what he had wished to accomplish when he had pulled the trigger. His intent had been to kill him, to drop him down into the monster-filled abyss below. That much was clear as day. And although at first it sounded stupid to think he would have went to risk everything on a strategy he had no proof would work, in hindsight it made sense. Vasile hadn’t been able to order his wolf to attack when he had had the chance either. Perhaps it wasn’t that the Italian didn’t want to shoot him; perhaps it was that he couldn’t. Killing him indirectly by making him fall down, without needing to see the bullet from his gun piercing his chest or brow and spilling blood? It would’ve probably been a lot easier to the other’s mind, his conscience.
The Romanian could understand that, that simple wish for an easy way out of an impossible situation. He had attempted to seek for one too, it was precisely why he had suggested for the other to give up and let himself be killed in the first place earlier on. He had hoped the other would not fight back, not because it would have been easier for the Italian, but because it would have been easier for him. Killing someone who had agreed to it, and killing someone whose deepest wish and desire was to live were two entirely different things. It shouldn’t have been, because life was supposed to be equal, but it was. Everyone wanted to live with a clear conscience, not constantly haunted by the wrongs they had done. Some might have called it cruel, but Vasile knew it was not so. It was merely human nature, and the nations themselves were nothing but humans in the end. Elevated to stand as a representation of their fellow men and granted immortality, but still human when it came down to it. They wanted things easy too.
Unfortunately, there was no easy way out of a kill or be killed fight. There were only two ways, and they were to kill… or to die.
The wolf began to take form yet again. Romano had tried to kill him, that gave the Romanian all the resolve he needed to carry out what he had planned, to finish what he had started. Vasile had failed to kill once, and it had almost killed him just now. Now, Romano had failed to kill too. Both had made a mistake.
He wouldn’t leave room for two.
The things he had seen when he had thought he’d die fueling his determination to the point he almost wanted to kill just to get it over with, Vasile grabbed his flashlight. It would not be enough to blind the millions and millions of eyes staring hungrily at them both from their prison underneath their feet, but it would blind a person. It would blind his victim. So without a second’s delay, Vasile switched the device on and brought its light towards the other’s eyes. He hoped it would blind him enough not to see what the wolf would do to him. Enough to make him not see the fangs nor the blood that would be spilled.
With all hesitation gone, a split second was all Vasile needed to summon the wolf beside him again. He didn’t avert his eyes nor ease up the light he was shining. The wolf beside him howled, and the look in the Romanian’s eyes grew colder as the second passed and turned into another, slowly eating away at the time the two had to live. Vasile didn’t look away, didn’t blink, and didn’t even turn to look at his companion beside him. He didn’t need to. He knew the wolf was there, and he knew it would hear the simple word he was about to utter.
Vasile didn’t even need to say the word for the wolf to hear it, but he did have to voice it still, so that he, himself, could hear. He had to say it aloud so that he could not deny what he was about to do, nor never forget it after the deed was one. It all took but a second, but it felt like an eternity, eternity of darkness trying to overtake his mind. He didn’t want to go ahead and do what he was about to and yet, when the wolf stepped up in front of him he felt an emotion, strange and unfitting the situation. He felt want. Need. Relief. Doing what he was about to didn’t feel bad anymore; it felt like a release. He wanted it done. It was an escape from an impossible situation.
It felt like a victory.
And so, when Vasile took in a breath to swallow down his heart still beating against his throat, his eyes didn’t carry an ounce of mercy. He breathed out the word, and it felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders.
“Kill.”
With that word as its order the wolf pounced from the light that hid it, fangs bared and aiming for the throat, the very place where an animal’s instinct took it when it wanted to kill. And that’s what the wolf’s owner was reduced to right now; an animal seeking to kill to survive.
There were two things Vasile feared more than anything else in the world, two things he would never in a million years want to do; hurt another, and go mad.
And in that very instant, the Romanian did both.
|
|
|
Post by The Second Inhabitant on Jan 30, 2013 11:13:18 GMT -6
Impatience is a terrible virtue and the Manor despised it most of all, making the evil embodiment even more dangerous and unpredictable. The grating beneath the opponents’ feet began to tremble with vibrations, faint at first, but quickly evolved into a definite wave of shock that swept through the floor. The creatures writhing from under the thin barrier screeched and growled with louder intensity in response, for the beasts knew that it was a sign that their master was urging the participants to hurry up…. This was a show after all and the audience was growing bored and irritated, a not-too favorable mix for the nations….
~~This is a warning that the minimum of 2 weeks since the last post is up and a reply is due. To whoever is supposed to post next, you have one week to either post or notify an admin or you partner that an extension is needed, admins should be notified if this is the case and we will pass along the message to your partner. If this warning is not heeded, the person who did not post will lose and the remaining member will be declared the winner.
|
|