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Post by Deleted on Feb 2, 2012 18:46:23 GMT -6
The man stared. His mouth watered beyond capacity and to his shame, a slight stream of saliva dribbled from one corner of his mouth. His breathing was heavy and his body trembled; his eyes held a faint glaze over them that dulled the dark blue orbs. If he could step away and gaze upon himself, the man would have been appalled and embarrassed at what he saw, but…. his stare was not all his fault for what man who feels hunger be able to look away from such a feast?
Norway blinked and the sight before him did not waver, it was no illusion. The chilled air cascading over his quivering body did nothing to numb his hunger or deter his gaze, his hand’s grip tightened on the door of the fridge. It was only a few moments ago that he had stumbled almost literality into the kitchen to find it peculiarly modern though set in the style of the rest of the manor. His entire being embodied caution, a deadly focus, but his stomach groaned so loudly with pain that his caution was needed for his own protection against the noise. And that was when his eyes flickered towards the tall figure of the fridge and when he opened it, he swore he was opening the doors to Valhalla itself for he had died and gone to something grand.
The appliance was stacked high with food of all sorts and all looked fresh but Lukas ignored all other delicacies once his eyes took hold of a glorious sight. Nearly five feet long, perfectly filleted and bedded awaiting to be seasoned and cooked, was an Atlantic salmon, Norway’s most favorite meal and thus, he stared. Various techniques and ways in which to cook and prepare the fish flooded his mind, blocking all his attention, and he craved to relent and indulge but….
“Forbanner dere, house for fristende meg så!”
With anger flooding his veins, Lukas slammed the door shut and sank to his knees. It was a trap; he knew wit was a trap, set up by the evil of the Manor. He was expected to be weak, to satisfy his hunger with his most beloved food, before being struck down whilst he be unawares. It was a cruel, low trick and it beat Lukas’ morality down hard. He remained there kneeling before the fridge, like a priest before an alter, with his head bowed, his stomach grumbling.
Placing his sword upon the floor, well knowing he was leaving himself defenseless, Norway repositioned himself into a sitting position and scotched back to sit against the floor cabinets, staring up at the treasure chest that was the fridge, which held his forbidden treasure. Thus, he sat there, still in his pirate outfit, quickly wiping off the spittle from his mouth before finally, he sighed.
“And so the true trick is revealed... I cannot open that thing without being transfixed. Perhaps I shall starve…” dry humor roused from Norway’s tone, and he clasped his hands over his face in silent defeat.
~~ Translation: Curse you, house for tempting me so!
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Post by denmark on Feb 5, 2012 16:55:09 GMT -6
Denmark could not help the physical force that made him find the kitchen. His body was made lighter, as if hollowed out, by the occasional hungry bubbling of his stomach and the promise of an entire room dedicated to cooking. But even more, he had a feeling etched like an artist’s signature on his bones that made gravity shift towards it because, after all, baking was a vital importance in his life. Anticipation made his sky-blue eyes grin with excitement, already visualizing the dough as it relaxed in the heat of the oven, warming itself to a pleasant golden brown. His spirits were lifted high off of the ground by the very idea of heavy, mouthwatering scents sauntering through the house with Denmark’s own pride on their coattails. Imagining the bright excitement on the others’ faces as the warmth reached their noses and teased their empty stomachs quickened his pace, inspiring him.
He scooted over to the cupboards with small, excited steps. Mathias made a lengthy mental list of every ingredient he would need for the recipe he had in mind, counting off the basics on his fingers. A little creativity would have to be mixed into the batch of kringler that was materializing in his head, and he thought over different filling and icing options. It was magnificent how every batch had its own personality, but still held the distinct pretzel shape and certain spirit that the recipe ensured.
But no matter how rudely Denmark searched, shuffling the shelves into an unmanageable mess, the proper ingredients were not found. His big, rough hands shoved containers of useless food out of the way, boxes of strange American cereals—resembling candies—falling over each other. He let the doors slam shut, confused, and moved onto the next. And yet, his eyes seemed to skip over the ingredients that had to be there, otherwise there was no use calling it a kitchen. Mathias reached up to send the doors flying back together, with a resentful bang, but still none of the cabinets contained the flour, butter, or sugar that he required. Flaming tendrils of irritation, bordering on an adamant rage, seared the inside of his mind. He tried to focus on the task at hand, attempting to find something usable, but everything in front of his eyes was blocked by a blurry screen of uncontrollable anger that was threatening to boil over and he was just so ready to kick something and he didn’t know why the hell a kitchen wouldn’t have flour when it clearly—
Mathias slammed his foot into something on the floor on his way over to the refrigerator—in a violent search for eggs—and was sent careening into the kitchen island, the sharp clang of metal slapping his ears. Regaining his composure, he looked down to see the fabric of his pirate shoe frayed and a bit torn, and the discarded sword on the kitchen floor was undoubtedly the culprit. But, before he could examine and fuss over his nicked costume, his eyes fell upon a figure that he seemed to have missed in his flustered state.
“Nor? What’re ya doin’ down there...?” Denmark blinked, still keeping his hands on the island counter for balance. How could his eyes have skimmed over the man entirely?
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Post by Deleted on Feb 8, 2012 11:49:53 GMT -6
Norway admitted it that he had fallen asleep. He had allowed his guard to completely drop by his hungry, tired state and had almost literally passed out sitting her on tee kitchen floor, his back to the cuboards. If he dreamed, he couldn't remember them clearly, though he could recall that his physical loneliness seeped into his subcoincous world and he awake frowning. Confusion blurred his vision and dulled his senses; why had he woken? He knew that he could easily sleep for a good few hours and surely such a length of time hadn’t passed since he had sat down. Then why…. The sounds of something moving in the room struck loud in Lukas’ ears and he froze.
Straining to listen as carefully as he could, there was no mistaking the shuffling of feet and the rummaging of objects followed by the closing of cupboards that told the Norwegian that he was no longer alone in the kitchen. Whoever or whiter was making all of the noise was on the other side of the cupboards which Lukas was leaning on and thus, he could not identify his possible opponent without losing his advantage of surprise. Lukas sat there, rigid with tension and he gritted his teeth in focus, calming the pounding of his heart and mentally kicking himself over and over for being to foolish.
‘How could I have allowed for myself to be in such a position? Such a defenseless position! Well... whatever this thing, it will not be met by mercy…’
Taking note of every new sound the unknown creature made, Lukas cast his glance down towards his sword. Faen. It was a few inches away from his hands and was half lying out past he end of the cupboards. Lukas’ eyes widened a bit more and a slight tinge of what may have been fear slithered down his spine. His door of surprise was quickly decreasing in size. How could he have been so irresponsibility? Holding his breath, Lukas moved his arm slowly so that his fingers reached and clasped the sword’s hilt just as the sound of approaching footsteps of the Unknown began coming towards him.
Lukas barely managed to tighten his grip upon his hilt just as the loud footfalls of the approaching Unknown sounded right next to him and Norway caught sight of a person’s feet before said person’s shoe caught the edge of his blade and stumbled. In the time it took for the tripped person to catch hold of the counter for balance, Lukas had managed to scuttle back more away from his guest and repositioned into a tense, kneeling position. He was ready to strike, ready to run through whatever had tripped over his sword when he realized that the person was in fact….
“Nor? What’re ya doin’ down there...?”
Norway blinked in surprise. ”Danmark?”
Lukas stared incredulously up at the tall, handsome figure of Denmark who was garbed in the same pirate outfit he had worn when all of the countries had entered this place. Norway was dressed up in a style of piracy as well, though in a bit more dignified look. All and all, Mathias was not whom he had expected at all, and it was this realization that made Lukas’ breath catch.
His movements were fluid, fast, and smooth and before the Danish could even register he was sure, Norway was in a standing, ready stance with his sword positioned perfectly upon the taller blonde’s neck, directly over his jugular. With an easy flick of his wrist, Norway could cut through the Danish’s soft flesh and with even more force included, might very well decapitate the man, but at the moment, Norway settled on his calm position while he eyes blazed in anger.
“Hvordan våger du, demonen...”
It was a trick, Lukas knew it was, this man before him couldn’t possibly be Denmark. It was the Manor’s doing, it was torturing him as he had failed its temptation of food, so it had sent this dark creature in the form of Mathias to lower his defenses, before finally killing him. Lukas would not fall for it! It had been so long since he had met another nation that he had begun to think that he was the only one left alive and the this Danish doppelganger was meant to be his personal torturous death.
‘It’s not Mathias’…
“You spawn of evil, how dare you take his form! You shall not win! I will not give into this trick! This dark ruse! Just because you look like my Denmark, does not mean I am not ready to run my blade through his image! How dare you!”
Anger only equal to have been heard when Lukas was much younger, during his Viking age, dripped from his every syllable. His expressing, one near famous for being constantly stoic, was tightened into a stern, angered; his expression had succumbed to his stress and like ice in concrete, his indifferent mask was breaking apart.
‘It’s not Mathias’….
His arm supporting his sword was completely still by centuries of practice, but his other hand was clenched into a fist and was visibly shaking. He focus on the possibility that the man who stood before him, identical to the man Norway had spent the majority of his life beside, could be nothing more but a killer in camouflage. The Norwegian knew that if hold on calm, on his well-developed morals, was breaking and if he truly was to kill Denmark…. Death would surely meet him soon whither by his own hand of that of a creature that roamed these halls. He’d go mad, become the berserker of his youth, and rampage endlessly, hacking at anything and anyone who dared meet him. Norway would lose and the Manor would win.
For that to happen, he would have to first slay the creature his blade was currently comforting. ‘It’s not Mathias’… Over and over he told this to himself, keeping his gaze locked onto the all-too-familiar pair of blue eyes. ‘It can’t be him. It’s a trick. It’s not him. It’s not him. It’s not him…'
A sting prickled his left eye and Norway narrowed his gaze further at the Danish man before him. As his vision blurred by unwanted water, Lukas inhaled and spoke so quietly that he could barely hear himself, though each word hurt. “I don’t want to kill you, Mathias…. Prove yourself true or die by my hand, min venn”.
“It can’t be Mathias… can it?” ~ Translations: Hvordan våger du, demonen- How dare you, demon Min venn- my friend; Faen- Fuck
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Post by denmark on Feb 19, 2012 23:20:50 GMT -6
It was a brilliant sight, the grin on the Dane’s face. He held nothing back, stretching his cheeks to full capacity while looking Norway over. This was the best possible situation, in his mind. He’d finally found Lukas! And they could talk and laugh and even bake, since they were already in the kitchen. He felt as though he could scoop the man up into a hug, lifting him off of his feet and spinning him around in a classically cheesy move, with imaginary music swelling in both of their heads. But he just continued smiling, and slowly shaking his head at the sight before him. Lukas. Really Luke!
And to top it all off, he was dressed in a fantastic costume. Mathias looked the fabrics over, admiring the lavishness and intricacy that really made him look like a high-ranking pirate. Mathias, on the other hand, was clad in more casual pirate attire, torn both for the effect of the costume and due to his past run-ins within the trap of the mansion. But he looked like a captain, the point emphasized by his over-the-top hat and cumbersome jewelry. He quickly compared their two costumes mentally, excited to see that they matched. In truth, he had asked around and done anything he could to find out what Lukas would be wearing, and had altered his original idea—a merman—to fit accordingly. Looking back now, he was completely relieved he had made such a decision, because a fish tail would be very difficult to run or fight in, and he probably would have ditched that burden to leave him shirtless and in a pair of green boxers. As amusing as that would be, it was probably for the best.
“So, Luke!” he began, never losing a drop of sunshine from his cheery expression. “D’ya have any idea what’s goin’ on with—”
Mathias was interrupted when a sword was balanced not an inch away from his throat, obviously poised with murderous intent. His eyes trailed down the blade, which was reflecting the lights on the ceiling and causing a strange sort of vertigo to jumble his mind, to see that the hand holding the weapon was indeed Lukas. The detached feeling in his head grew stronger, matched with a new uneasiness cramping his stomach. He felt like he might burn from the inside out, the nervous acid of his stomach eating away at his frozen body until he was nothing. But instead of turning into a pile of Danish mush dripping down the counters and onto the floor, he remained perfectly still, his head cocked slightly to the ceiling to prevent the blade from nicking him.
To tell the truth, he was utterly confused. He couldn’t, and didn’t have any desire to understand why the hell Norway was doing this. Lukas should have been completely cheered up by the sight of his best buddy. Instead of pointing sharp objects at him... Needless to say, the Dane’s white smile had disappeared entirely.
“Hvordan våger du, demonen...”
...Demonen?
“You spawn of evil, how dare you take his form! You shall not win! I will not give into this trick! This dark ruse! Just because you look like my Denmark, does not mean I am not ready to run my blade through his image! How dare you!”[/i][/color]
Norway thought he was a mirage. A clever trick from the Manor. And he was ready to slit his throat to dispel the image, the fake, demonic image that he believed was standing in front of him. Denmark swallowed, leaning back a fraction of an inch to keep his Adam’s apple from trembling and knocking into the blade. Luke obviously could not be serious. It was probably some kind of sick joke, to freak him out and make him uncomfortable, then laugh later because he was being so gullible. The expression on Lukas’s face was unnerving, though, much too angry for the usually one-toned nation. It made the Dane’s blood run cold and too quickly through his veins. The entire endeavor was unreal to him, but he was still wary of the metal that could send him to the floor, bloody, in mere seconds.
“I don’t want to kill you, Mathias…. Prove yourself true or die by my hand, min venn”.
Lukas looked... hesitant. Like he truly did not want to kill Mathias—how could he?!—or the doppelganger he believed was before him. Mathias decided that he would have to act on that weakness and slight sliver of uncertainty. He still had his axe gripped unstably in one hand, but it was in a pretty good grip because the counter had knocked it hard into his palm. The normally cool metal was growing warm and clammy from the sweat forming in the crevices of his hand, like dew beading on an icy glass of lemonade on a smoldering summer day. He flexed his fingers, sure on his ability to connect the blow before the tip of Norway’s blade punctured his pale flesh. In reality, he probably couldn’t make it, but at least his blind confidence was enough to spur him on.
Because if Lukas had a sword at his throat, that made him an enemy. An enemy that he did not have the will to really hurt, no, but a threat all the same. So he attacked in the one way he knew how to without plunging the axe into his companion’s arm.
“Lukas...” His jaw was perfectly set, cautious, but he screamed at the Norwegian with his eyes, begging him to see the truth because he truly was the real Denmark and Norway would be completely unable to forgive himself if he chose to kill him. Mathias spoke with slow precision, although his heart was beating with reckless adrenaline. He did not want to slip on his words and end up leaning foreward, just the smallest bit, to have the cold steel accidentally be the death of him. “Ya know it is me. I don’t get why yer doin’ this—‘nd I’d love ta beg ya ta stop it, but I can prove it to ya.
“D’ya remember, all those years ago, when time didn’t matter? When we didn’t care about anythin’ but gettin’ more. More everything. Land, women, skins, meat. And I’ll be more specific—the day we claimed the sea as our own. The North Sea—we packed up our lives ‘nd just left. Didn’t need anythin’ but the scent’a the sea ‘nd the clothes on our backs. Oh... well, a’course we didn’t ferget our weapons.” He smiled fondly at the memory, forgetting completely the situation he found himself in until he could feel the soft, soothing dance the waters did below him. “Those were the days, huh, Luke? And ya wouldn’t let me captain even though I was the better navigator and ac’shully knew where we were goin’. Then look at where we are now!” He would have gestured with his hand to the both of them, but he didn’t want to draw the attention away from his face. Lukas needed to stay focused on his eyes and the sparse sheens of white grin that couldn’t be hidden by his words or his worry.
“I’m in the captain’s suit, and...”
Mathias thrust his hand up suddenly, gripping the axe for dear life as he swung it upwards, towards the sword threatening him. He aimed to knock it out of the way, by some miracle, even if it just halted Lukas for a split second.
“...ya can’t even tell that yer oldest friend is standin’ right in fronna you!” he grunted as he made his move.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 23, 2012 21:16:21 GMT -6
Lukas watched him, it…. the Denmark in front of him with narrowed eyes obscured by angry tears. He had never been one to cry, ever, and the last time perhaps that he did was when Germany was standing over him, telling him he was occupied. He cried then, as he stared down the German’s gun barrel, but he would not for all the wealth of the sea cry now. Even if this Denmark wasn’t real, Norway never cried in front of Mathias.
“Lukas…”
Hearing his name shook the Norwegian to the core; how many times over the centuries had he heard Mathias’ voice speak his name? Though it faltered him, he kept a steady hand upon his stance, and his eyes never left the face of the Dane before him. The man/thing before him looked completely rattled with the fact the Lukas’ centuries old friend, his sword, was so near to his neck. Norway could see the worry etched into the other's blue eyes, as well as a trace of what could be unease, or confusion, or both... Lukas just pushed this aside, telling himself it was the exhaustion, no food, and stress meddling with his mind.
The Denmark began to speak, his words spoken slowly so that Lukas could hear every syllable clearly; each word set the Norwegian more on edge and more unsure. As much as he tried to bear himself against it, against the trickster’s games, as Denmark recounted times of the past, images appeared accordingly within Lukas’s mind. He recalled the fires and smoke of villages pillaged, the battle cries of armor clad men with swords and axes, the hearty laughter of Lukas and his Nordic family sitting around a bonfire in the middle of the night, though they were considerably younger.
‘Don’t listen; he’s trying to lower your guard. He’s trying….’
Suddenly, Lukas could hear the crash of waves in his ears, he felt his hair being tasseled by salt air, and could also hear the creaking of the ship’s wood beneath his feet. The protests of the gulls above him and the fluttering of the sails and groans of the rigging around him created the perfect symphony within his ears. Then a loud voice crashed through the memory, his name being called, before a younger Denmark came literally stumbling in, tripping over a rope and crashing at Lukas’ feet.
“Those were the days, huh, Luke? And ya wouldn’t let me captain even though I was the better navigator and ac’shully knew where we were goin’. Then look at where we are now!”
'Better navigator? He wishes….'
Norway shook his head, breaking eye contact to try and rid he reminisces from his mind, to try and shake the cold feeling from the pit of his stomach that was trying to tell him that he was making a mistake, when a clash of steel rang suddenly in his ears. As Lukas shot his eyes open, a sudden weight clashed against his sword wielding arm. His grip faltered upon his hilt, Lukas gasped, and he knew that he had a slim chance to re-establish his grip when…. He relaxed his fingers and in almost slow motion, he watched he sword get knocked out of his hand and careen into the body of the fridge, denting the appliance.
Lukas blinked slowly, a faint ringing in his ear, down at his discarded weapon. Everything around him seemed to have lost importance and a strange weightlessness was dulling his limbs and mind. Something at the back of his foggy mind told him that his legs were about to give out soon due to no energy but he ignored this voice.
Slowly, he turned his head to look up into Mathias’ eyes, a frown upon his face and confusion dissolving the anger that previously dominated his eyes. He looked hard at Denmark, almost as if he were really looking at him like he had just arrived. Up and down he looked at him, taking in his appearance of piracy and he recalled that it was like this that his Denmark had entered the Manor. That truth allied with the richness of the uncovered memories received by Mathias’ word, made Lukas come to a conclusion, a realization, and he blinked several times up at Denmark, in the attempt to clear his vision.
“Mathias? Jeg er så lei, Danmark...” Shaking his head, Norway stepped backward until he collided with the cupboards and he finally gave into his legs' ambitions and nearly collapsed onto the floor, though he managed to retain some grace as he did it. Resting his arms upon his raised knees, still looking up at Denmark, he continued in a small voice, “This place. It’s worn me down, Mathias…I’m…I’m sorry…”
Running his fingers through his hair after removing his pirate’s hat, he lowered his head once more in a defeated manner and the realization of what he was so close to doing, what he could have done, began to sink in. His eyes momentarily went wide before he shut them quickly and tight.
“Mathias…. It’s…good to see you….”
~~ Translation: I am so sorry, Denmark...
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Post by denmark on Mar 2, 2012 21:54:12 GMT -6
As he recounted his tale, of better days and of freedom spent outdoors, Denmark’s eyes remained poised on the man who was holding a sword to his throat. He felt as if the floorboards could just crumble away beneath him, and he would stay suspended from the dark, angry gaze pointed at him. Cold fear was sitting in the pit of his stomach, because what if Lukas didn’t believe him, what if the words weren’t strong enough to affect him? But he was gradually comforted by slight shifts in Norway’s expression, a softening here, a faltering twitch there. As the words flowed out of his mouth, they seemed to be soaking into Lukas effectively.
He’s really believing me.
Speaking words of freedom made his heart ache the slightest bit, for the taste of sea air on his tongue again and the chance to go anywhere his heart desired, simply let the wind direct him. While cooped up indoors, in this prison well furnished with both exquisite artifacts and horrible creatures, he could only dream of getting out. They were good dreams, though, hope for the future. Hope that could keep him sane in this awful place, that would allow him to keep smiling and keep fighting and get out.
The second he sent his axe flying towards Lukas, Mathias regretted it. He wished he could pull back, but the metal had already clashed and made him snap his mouth shut with guilt. Every inch of him went cold, because he had just swung a weapon at Lukas. His oldest and greatest friend, the man he could never bring himself to harm, and he’d virtually just attacked him. It didn’t matter that his sword had been threatening the Dane’s life. Using an axe against your best friend, under any circumstances, was the wrong thing to do. Mathias’s heart was sinking, and his face went limp with shock as the blade soared through the air, colliding noisily with the side of the fridge. His blue eyes snapped to it quickly, but then ignored the weapon to study Norway’s face, because he knew that was the wrong move and attacking him was definitely not the way to convince him that he was not a threat.
But somehow, the action got the point across.
The momentum of Denmark’s blow caused his arms to keep going even when the sword was no longer in his weapon’s path. He stood there, motionless and sorry, with two hands on the axe that was weighing him down, leaning over to the side from the follow through. He didn’t know what to feel as Norway backed away—was this relief? Or was he feeling even more guilty? He let the axe clatter deafeningly to the floor, and turned to the Norwegian with empty hands, wanting to envelop him in an embrace, but he was sliding down to the floor, against the counters. Stepping over the discarded weapon, he hurried over to stand in front of Lukas, then squatted before him to make them eye-level. Norway was speaking as Denmark dashed over, but the words were hollow in his ears, not completely understood...
“Mathias? Jeg er så lei, Danmark...” Mathias was slow to respond, but Lukas’s soft voice never failed to catch his attention. He hummed and looked up, gazing foreward into the other’s averted eyes. “This place. It’s worn me down, Mathias…I’m…I’m sorry…”
Mathias chuckled easily, happy to soothe the tight knot that was forming in his throat. All of the emotion was overwhelming him, but when he got down to pinpointing it, he realized that he was visibly shaken by the relief that came with knowing that Norway was safe, and sane. “Sorry?” He raised a hand to his throat, rubbing it absently. “Well, ya did have me scared there for a minute! Thought I might be a goner. That’d suck—in a dungeon full’a vicious monsters, I get killed by m’best friend. I’d never be able ta live with that hangin’ over m’head.”
Denmark was trying his best to lighten the atmosphere a little, chuckling at himself and his own possible misfortunes. Norway was looking... surprisingly emotional and raw, as if being secluded for so long really had worn him down to less than he was before. He physically ached to see the man’s subdued, warm smile again, because the memory in his mind could not be doing it justice. His heart felt as if it was being suffocated at the thought of losing that sight forever—that would not happen. If it killed him, Denmark would make him laugh again, turn his lips up into a genuine, thin smile. And that would give him hope as well.
“Mathias…. It’s…good to see you….” Lukas’s eyes were shut tightly when he spoke. He was obviously very affected by the situation, and Mathias decided to make it his mission to change that. He grinned from ear to ear—that was almost a compliment, from Lukas!—and settled into a more comfortable position on his knees.
“Man, is it great ta see ya too, Luke! Couldn’ta chosen anyone else I’d rather see!” He was brimming with jovial energy, though it was overdone and some of it artificial to convince himself that everything was perfectly okay now. “What’ve ya been up to? ...Not that there’s much ta do ‘round here, but I jus’ wanna know if yer alright. But yer the kinda guy who somehow manages ta get through stuff perfectly fine!”
As the words were said, a rain of scenarios fell on him, horrific events that he couldn’t bear to imagine. What kind of things had broken Norway? A feat such as that seemed impossible to him, even if behind his cold demeanor there was a quietly affected man. He wanted to ask, but somehow managed to hold his tongue. Having him recount the tales probably wasn’t going to make him feel any better. Mathias just wanted to hear him speak more, in that quiet and collected tone, until he could be sure that everything was fine and Lukas was unscathed. But he always had to come out of dangers unharmed, right? Anything else was impossible!
Or at least thinking that made him feel a hell of a lot better.
“But really,” he chuckled quietly, softening his voice from his previous boisterousness. “yer okay, right? I jus’ wanna hear that...”
He kept his warm blue eyes focused on Norway’s face, expecting a reassuring answer. He didn’t mean to make things serious—really, he’d rather be doing something completely foolish—but he just had to know. He was feeding on these little bits of hope each moment surfaced, until he had a massive enough stash to keep himself going. And in a place like this, it was hard to make the pile grow.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 11, 2012 16:34:03 GMT -6
Reality was beginning to set in, his head began to clear, and Lukas’ grip on the present firmed the more Mathias spoke. He had kept his eyes closed, his head bowed as the Danish man approached and lowered himself to Norway’s sitting level, though he hesitated with meeting the Dane’s eyes in fear that the worst had already happened, he’d slit Mathias’ throat, and their conversation was a result of Lukas’ insanity. Instead, however, this fear faded and would pass, smoothed over by Mathias’ persistence to lighten to mood and Lukas’ own enforcement to gather himself back together. Relaxing his eyelids to reveal a sliver of his vision, Lukas opened his eye once he was certain his expression, is mask of indifference, was reassembled and back in order, before easing his head back to rest against the counter and look up at Denmark.
The taller Nordic appeared to be fairly unscathed, unharmed, and Norway could assume that perhaps the Manor hadn’t hunted the Dane as viciously as it had to himself. There he was, looking the same as he had when Norway was still under his control, save for the fact that the Dane was wearing a costume of piracy, the same theme as Norway’s own costume. How trivial was that fact already…. All of the nations’ ignorance under the presumption that their night in this Manor would be just that, a night, of drinking, dancing, and, for some, fornication… but none of them had known the danger they had all willingly entered into, wearing for protection comical and fantastical guises that, for many unfortunately, would be their funeral robes.
“But really, yer okay, right? I jus’ wanna hear that...”
The corner of Norway’s lips tugged slightly downward and he blinked slowly as Denmark inquired as to what sort of activities he’d gotten himself into whilst he’d been in the Manor… where to start? Mathias tried to make it clear that he wasn’t straightforward asking what Lukas had been doing, what had happened to him, and was focusing his babble on his concern for Norway’s welfare. Still, the inquiry was there, hidden in Dane’s words and Lukas, being one for whom had never really been none for talking, felt a tingle of dread of perhaps recalling exactly all he’d been through. Truly, where to begin? His memories were muddled at best, the result of a previous head injury and he’d found that he had difficulties remembering exactly what he’d done at the beginning of his duration here at the Manor. He knew it involved the other Nordics somehow, perhaps Demark himself, and something about a ghost but…. the details all basically ran together like water on inked paper and were difficult to recall.
For certain, Lukas knew he’d been in this god forsaken house for quite some time, having to actually wash his clothes a few times and risking quick showers, and he was desperately in need of sustenance. Food. Lukas’ eyes widened slightly, accompanied by a series of blinks, and his mouth fell agape slightly, before a sharp pain struck his stomach and he doubled over, clutching his painfully cramped abdomen. He had been thinking of what to say to Denmark, in the midst of his memory trials but now, anything would’ve been a lie, for he would never have told Mathias the truth. Now, in his current state, there was no way he’d be able to convince the Dane that he was fine because, obviously, he was not. The thought of food had suddenly jolted his stomach and body's memory that he was in fact, starving to the point that it hurt, bad.
Biting his lip, Lukas raised back up his head to look up at Mathias, expression tighter than before as he fought of the rolling waves of hungered pain, and said in his naturally quiet tone, “If I said I was fine, that would be a lie… though I think you can help me, Danmark”, glancing down at his arms clutching his stomach before resuming his gaze upon Matthias], he forced a shrug and blatantly said, “I’m hungry….” The truth behind as to how he came to be there in the kitchen would have to wait for now. Telling the entire tale would take a long time and Lukas neither had the breath or strength to say it all. He was too weak, hell…. He wasn’t even sure he could stand form his sitting position and hold himself upright. If he was to move from that spot, Mathias was surely going to help him.
‘There’s no reason to worry Mathias with what has happened to me…. I’ve scared him enough already’.
Norway was not an outwardly caring man, except perhaps to his brother, Iceland, but just because he didn’t offer affection easily, didn’t mean it was complete void of caring. He did care and thus he told Denmark he was hungry, because he knew the other well enough that the aspect and possibility of cooking would distract him enough to relax and turn his attention on something rather than Lukas’ current state. Still, just to make sure he could completely convince his Danish companion that he was well enough not to be fawned over, Norway relaxed from his doubled-over position and leaned back against the cupboards once agin, ignoring the continuing pain his stomach and his face was as it should be, stoic and distant.
“You think you can cook us up something? That was the one thing you always seemed to be good at….” Casting his gaze away from Mathias as he spoke, his blue eyes fell upon the grand fridge and, eventually, they fell upon the obvious dent near the bottom left of the appliance. Right.... Mathias had attacked him and, for reasons he couldn’t even remember, he hadn’t fought back. He had allowed Mathias to strike at him and he had lost without a fight. For all his bravado and anger he couldn’t even fight back, he had simply…. Shaking away the thought and still staring at his discarded sword, half of its blade beneath the fridge, a slight furrow of Norway’s brow coaxed his expression away from his phlegmatic composure, and he glanced again at Mathias, raising his brow a bit.
“But before you do…. Return to me my sword…. I truly hope you haven’t scratched it, Danmark…” This was Lukas’ way of saying, ‘thank you for stopping me’, for he was not a man to say an apology willingly and only on his deathbed would he actually say how happy he was that Denmark of all people was there.
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Post by denmark on Mar 18, 2012 23:41:11 GMT -6
Mathias felt as though his heart was balancing on the mast of a massive ship, being chucked back and forth across the wooden rod as it rocked carelessly. He kept his wary eyes and weary heart poised on Lukas, ready to pounce at any sign of him being injured. While trying his very best not to show it, Mathias was growing more and more worried with every second his best friend did not answer and with every degree of scowl added to his face. As much as curiosity prodded his shoulder from behind, a constant and annoying question running through his mind concerning Lukas’s affairs since arriving, he feebly pushed it away. If they were too painful to remember, there was no point in forcing them out of the man.
Part of him wanted a lighthearted lie to match his own artificially bright and assuring face. For a place as dismal and brutal as that they found themselves in now, he had done too much smiling. It may have been the fact that he hadn’t yet run into a truly desperate situation, but one could not say that Denmark was completely unaffected by the Manor. He chose instead to outwardly treat the dangers as a game, because then he could radiate his usual happiness out on everyone else that was having trouble being trapped there. But as comforting to both the others and himself the act could be, he wished he could get a smile from someone else to reassure him. His gaze was still fixed on Norway—not quite the best person to coax out a smile from, but he remained confident in his ability to do so.
He was beginning to think he wouldn’t get an answer at all when suddenly Lukas was doubled over, hands upon his stomach in a pained deathgrip. Mathias gasped, and an equally tortured look crossed his face, sympathy pain building in his own stomach by watching him. His eyes flicked to the wound that was surely hidden beneath the Norwegian’s shirt, then right back to his face the second his eyes were pried open.
“If I said I was fine, that would be a lie… though I think you can help me, Danmark” It wasn’t as though he could be convinced with words that Norway wasn’t hurting, but he knew the man—it surprised him that he did not make any attempt to dismiss the pain.
“Anything—” he began, but was cut off.
“I’m hungry….”
Hardly a shaken pause stretched before Denmark instantly started chuckling in relief—it was just a hunger pain, not one from a harmful wound in his abdomen! Hunger seemed trivial to him compared to all the other dangers Norway could be facing at that moment, a harmlessly irritating fly buzzing in his ear while he was trapped in a room of venomous spiders. But it was something very simple to deal with, like swiping away the fly, and he was happy to provide as a flyswatter.
“I’d love ta get somethin’ going! I’ll admit, I’m feelin’ kinda starved m’self, but we’ll have this little problem solved in no time.” He gave Lukas a quick pat on the shoulder before standing and heading for the fridge. It seemed strange to him that the man had actually asked him to cook something, rather than just ordering it to be done or doing it himself. But cooking was definitely his line of work, right after chopping threatening or simply chop-worthy objects with his axe! The lack of ingredients was worrying, though—he really hadn’t found anything useful in his original search, but perhaps he would be able to scavenge some miniscule amount of something useful. He paused on his way to the refrigerator to meet Lukas’s eyes.
“Return to me my sword…. I truly hope you haven’t scratched it, Danmark…”
“Akay!” he agreed with ease, but again, he found it odd that Lukas had requested—well, demanded this time, really—rather than moving to get the weapon himself. “Jeez, Nor! Yer gettin’ lazy, huh? Gotta make ya dinner and fetch the things ya drop.” He teased the other lightly, but nonetheless dropped on all fours to reach his arm into the dusty crack underneath the refrigerator that appeared as though it wanted to swallow Denmark’s arm whole. But he courageously surrendered the appendage to the appliance’s mercy and fished Norway’s sword from its clutches.
As much as he could appreciate a well-made weapon, it was too soon after imagining the potential of its blade on his throat for Mathias to really want to be holding the sword. It was held a bit too far away from his body to appear comfortable, and he quickly scampered over to Lukas to return it to him. After placing it by his side, he sang out a simple “Here ya go!” and stepped back to watch him for a moment. “...Right! I’ll see what I can do about that empty stomach’a yers.”
Before making it all the way to the fridge, once again Denmark took another detour to lift his discarded axe off the floor and prop it against the kitchen island. This would hopefully prevent him from stubbing his toe on the giant, beautiful piece of metal and both denting her perfect handle and most likely tripping, dumping an entire carton of eggs atop Norway’s head. He held in a snicker at the mental image of yolk and shell dripping down his steaming face—that was one way to fry an egg!
But at long last, he opened up the door to the fridge, the light shining on him like the gate to a safe haven as each little snippet of cooking insight swirled through his mind. Much to his surprise and inevitable glee, this was better stocked than the cabinets. Right in his direct view, though, was an outrageously proud-looking salmon that raised the Dane’s eyebrows high. Mathias pulled out the entire plate and shot the other man a triumphant smile, as if he’d discovered a gold mine rather than the ginormous fish that was gaping up at him from the most obvious spot in the entire kitchen.
“Hey, look! Did ya know there was a salmon in here?” He set the filet on the counter and automatically an array of recipes tripped over each other in his mind, each eager to be chosen. He thought for a few extended seconds, running a thoughtful hand along his stubbly, unshaven chin. “There anythin’ ya want in particular?”
While gathering his tools, Mathias began whistling rather loudly to get his creative juices pumping and drown out the sound of his own dully rumbling stomach. The quiet tug at his senses drew less firm, though, as he melted into the “zone” and thought about the possibilities he could bring to life with a few simple missing ingredients and a boastful flourish of his skills. No, he wasn’t fantastic, and he would probably end up screwing something up—but cooking was a fine distraction, and a comfort that set his entire body at ease.
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Post by Deleted on Apr 19, 2012 21:46:03 GMT -6
“Kjeft”.
Norway found the energy to roll his eyes at Denmark’s remarks, even after centuries of them being together, the Dane still hadn’t figured it out that Lukas didn’t find him funny. Still, Mathias’ obedience was at least admirable when the man went to retrieve the fallen Norwegian sword. True that in any other situation, Lukas would have gone to get the weapon himself because, the truth of the matter was that he didn’t like anyone touching the blade, but today was otherwise a special occasion. There was a small throb in the right temple of Lukas’ head and damn did it hurt…. And while he focused on this, before he knew it Denmark was there handing over his beloved blade.
Norway watched Denmark wonder off to fix his starvation and while he did that, Lukas got to work. He had his sword back, and from it he managed to grasp the last of the strength reserves he didn’t really knew if he had or not and stabbed the tip of the blade into a crack in the tiling of the floor. Using the hilt for stability, Lukas began to pull himself up. He felt sweat form on the back of his neck and run down his cheek and oh were his muscles burning, but he managed to keep his face neutral, his eyes determined and by the time Mathias emerged from the fridge brandished the huge platter of the salmon, Norway was standing.
He had begun to maneuver himself to sit upon the ledge of the counter when Mathias spoke up in exuberance about the existence of the fish. Lukas fought a great and deep scowl from forming and avoided looking at Denmark or the fish’s’ direction completely while he finally made it into a sitting position on the counter. “Ja… I knew it was there…” Shaking his head ever so slightly, he placed his blade lengthwise across his legs and tried not to feel too excited when he leaned back to rest upon the cabinets of the counter.
“Not really…” He replied dryly. Now that he was sitting off of the floor and could actually got a scope of the entire kitchen, Lukas began to go over all he had been through, or at least all he could remember. He had seen some pretty peculiar and down right terrifying things in this place and there was small voice in the furthest part of his brain that whispered that perhaps he had died, but that wasn’t possible. As worn down as he felt now, he was still alive and to hell with the voice if that was going to change that fact anytime soon. Lukas had regained his firm grasp on his life and any weakness he had felt after his sword had been knocked out of his hand by Denmark, was buried back where it belonged.
For a few moments, Lukas watched Denmark. They had spent so many centuries together that Norway could barely remember a time when he had been alone as a child, before he had come into contact with the rest of Nordic family. Then they were all together, and then came the Kalmar Union…. It had been happy times in the beginning, but it was during this time that any pleasant feelings Lukas had felt for Denmark, turned into hatred; Lukas’ people didn’t refer to the relationship he had had with Denmark as the “400-Year Night” for nothing. Now though, since he’s been independent for over a century now, his feelings had faded from such a magnitude to an irritation. Still, as much as Norway didn’t like admitting it, there was some truth when Denmark referred to him as his friend. Yes they were friends, Denmark was just an annoying one.
Lukas’ gaze shifted away from the Dane and he stared intently at the opposite side of the kitchen, at the doorway. Denmark was off cooking, in his own little world Norway was sure, yet Lukas could not shake this feeling that they were being watched. In all he remembered, this was the strongest recollection of all, that constant chill up the back of his neck that no matter where he went, something was watching him.
Before he got separated with Alv, the troll had expressed the same feeling but with more accuracy. The creature had said along the lines that, “all the surfaces of this place was one big eye”, and in that one statement alone, scared Norway. Not many things really ‘scared’ Lukas…. Perhaps it was the fact that he was a country, but the one true fear Lukas could admit to having, was that of drowning and Denmark was to thank for that. True Norway could swim as well as anyone else who could, it was just the reality of being in too deep of water and not being able to reach the surface that chilled Norway to the bone. The fear originated from his Vikings days but it still ran strong through his veins, but he doubted that he would stumble upon a lake in this place.
A deeper frown appeared on Lukas’ slightly flushed face and he didn’t have to feel his forehead to know that he was warmer than what he should be. He had no intention of telling Denmark, who looked happily wiling to remain in his personal illusion that everything was peachy-keen in this place and while the Dane could actually cook, the room was beginning to smell too good for Norway to handle. His mouth was beginning to salivate much to his discomfort but he couldn’t help himself, aside from his poor memory capacity he honestly could not remember the last time he had eaten anything.
Still, he was Norway after all and he maintained his infamous expression of indifference and held a steady gaze upon the doorway, hand tightly wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Something was watching them and who knows what could be lurking on the other side of that door…. He would be ready even it killed him. After all, he somewhat owed Denmark at least that for almost killing him earlier and he had a personal vendetta against this house, for all its put him through.
~ Translation: "shut up"
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