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Post by iceland on Aug 18, 2012 15:02:36 GMT -6
The boy was cursed and blessed with wanderlust. Ever walking, ever wondering, Emil was never truly bored as long as he had somewhere to go. Danger is just an obstacle to the other side of the unknown. His perpetual hope was that the other side would be worth overcoming the danger. The endeavors lead the Icelander outside where the breeze swept down from places unknown, rattling the leaves and branches in its wake, where the only source of life and hope was tantalizingly perched so high up in the heavens among the speck of scattered stars. Above the horizon was a painted canvas. Wisps of clouds moved at their own pace freely in the push of the wind. As he trekked outside with a firm grip on his sword, he spared a moment to envy and feel sorry for the clouds.
At the moment, he envied the fact that it could go anywhere in the world. Perhaps those clouds could even make it to Iceland. Yet he did realize that it was the wind that was the greater force in this matter of physics. The clouds would have no choice but to follow the commanding direction of the breeze.
He continued to walk past the decaying tendrils of rotting roots, further away from the manor whose presence was still overbearing even from this distance away. He had to keep moving. Every pebble that moved underneath the soles of his feat, every time he exhaled and grunted or blinked meant that Emil was still alive. What he learned over the past hardships in the mansion was that it was pointless to fear. Fear would indeed invoke caution, but what was the point of caution when there was invariably no way out?
Emil was jaded, simply as that. He was no longer the boy he had been. Before, he was obsessed with the idea of being 'grown up', of being 'looked up to', but now it all seemed pointless. In a way, he had grown up just by relying on himself. His only goal now was to find the last bits of his memories. After that, he was pretty sure he won't care about anything else anymore.
The fields. He stopped at the outer edge, right before the unnatural thick and overgrown grass. There were miles and miles of open land that stretched all the way to the horizon. He could see the silhouette of the jagged tips of the grass on the point where the sky met the earth. The grass swayed to and fro, here and there. There was felicity in the insouciance of the movement. There was peace in the subtle ambiance. It reminded him of the sea.
It really did.
He sat down at a flat stump. Emil was miserable. He wanted to give up. He wanted to weep, but he felt so dried up. So confused, so heartbroken, so irritated---he just couldn't, didn't want to do it anymore. What is the meaning of life when you are restrained, trapped like a feral animal? Where's that independence he had sought for, that he had won? Where's that comfort, that love and gentle care? The embrace... of a brother.
"Lukas..." He murmured as he buried his face in his arms. That name ushered no memories, no drops of warm radiant light. No thoughts of home or love. It was... just a name.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 6, 2012 16:57:27 GMT -6
What he was doing was foolish. He knew it, he knew it as clearly as one could but the real question was as that point, did he care? For what seemed like months already, his nerves have been pushed to their limits, he’d been living off of adrenaline, and the brief periods of rest he’d had thus far had done him little good. Lukas sighed, his eyes transfixed narrowly upon the dark sky above him, watching the starts when he could for there seemed to be a constant layer of cloud cover over this hellhole. He was clean, showered and well dressed, having found an exact set of clothing that he wore though his had fallen into spoil and tatters. So once more, Norway beheld the formidable and impressive image of a pirate and not once did he think that his discovery is odd, for there were no such things as coincidences in this place. If the Manor wanted a guest to find medicine, clothes, or death, it was near sure that they would find it, or it find them, because Norway had known for a long time already that this place was so much more than just a haunted, desolate house.
Around him, tall grass bent slightly in their dance with the wind, the coolness of the ground behind his back chilled him, but he ignored it. The Norwegian didn’t know how long for sure he’d been laying in the abandoned field, having randomly stopped from his endless wondering and searching, but it was so hard to tell or understand time within this dimension because, it was so warped and askew. Lukas sighed, a sad sound, and blue eyes watched the vapors of his breath disappear into the space above him. The night’s air was cool, appropriate for autumn, but then again the manor and its estate was always cold. His arms lay at his sides; his palms faced up, and within his right hand his grip remained as always around the hilt of his sword. It was rare for him to even put the weapon back into its sheath for the time to remove it could cost him his life; this was how paranoid he had become. Then again, dying didn’t seem all that bad. True he had lived for over three centuries but was there a possibility that that was as good as it was going to get?
Lukas frowned and physically shook his head, ridding himself of the sleep and his thoughts. If he did die, it wasn’t then or even later, not in this place. If he were to ever meet his death, it would be done political, through war, and the loss of nationality through his people. Besides, he still had to find his brother. It had been quite some time since Norway had left Finland’s company, the only reminder of their time together was the ache still remaining in Lukas’ left arm and the trouble he had mobility wise concerning it. Not that he regretted the injury… he had saved Finland’s life after all.
"Now… I need to save Iceland, wherever he may be”. Saying the words out loud were enough to rouse him out of his restful lazily and stiffly and slowly, Norway stood. He knew that if his lillebror heard him saying how he needed to save him, the teenage nation would blush up and frown and deny any help. Lukas shook his head at the thought of his brother’s over-needed independence. He understood it of course, it was difficult being a nation as young as was surrounded by so many adult nations, but Lukas personally thought that the Icelander wanted to grow up too fast. His feet began to carry him across the fields with no determined destination, his sword held firmly in his hand, though his thoughts still distracted him. It wasn’t until he saw a smudge of white against the dim and grey landscape that Norway finally looked up and focused on what looked to be….
Norway was running forward before he even knew it, his eyes locked onto the silver-haired figure sitting on something in the neighboring field. His mouth was et in a hard line, his senses filled with his pounding blood and somewhere in his mind he recalled his earlier thought: <i>‘there were no such things as coincidences in this place’.</i> Coincidence or not, that was his brother he was seeing, although it could very well be a trick to. Norway frowned dangerously and came to a stop a short distance away from the boy, ignoring the flutter of protection and longing when violet eyes saw him, and he held up his sword towards the supposed Iceland and called out.
“Lillebror! Hvis det virkelig er deg, snakke nå!” His words came out smoothly, threateningly, though Lukas could here the pleading in his voice, his desire that this was really his brother and that he won’t soon have to battle a shadow of his brother….
~~ Translation Little Brother! If it really is you, speak now!
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Post by iceland on Sept 7, 2012 18:41:50 GMT -6
The the midst of his melancholic loneliness, somebody spoke in a language that rolled off from the tongue with such a strange zest of familiarity. He looked up but dared not look to the side as he tried to compute his emotions and the meaning of that foreign phrase. Why, the translation happened in fascinating milliseconds; Emil understood that an instant. However it was not Icelandic, it was... something else--something else very close to Icelandic. By the laws of logic, it can be deduced that the speaker was from a country with close ties to Iceland's, a country close to him--a person close to him.
He had no verbal reaction albeit the ferocity of the other man's demand. Emil was muted as he gazed at tattered figure of a man who was standing a distance away. Even from this far, the Icelander could see the hollowness from the deep purple eyes of this familiar stranger. The boy stood up. It was indeed Lukas, the clues from the past had managed to make him figure out at least that much.
"It's me."
Emil answered in a staid but powerful tone--a tone not often used to respected people. Iceland's eyes could be matched with a frozen mirror. Those blue violet orbs were dull, cold, blurry, and hardened by all of the cruelty he had witnessed. The music that was his voice had no chime either. There was no vibrancy, no melody, like an aged and untuned piano. The despair was too evident in the manner of his speech for it was a fruit of the manner's spores; the mansion was driving Emil insane. He might be insane, but he was sure from the bottom of the dark hole that was his heart, the man in front of him was not his brother. If it was, he would've felt something--he knew he would. If it was his true brother, he would have just known--perhaps even burst into tears after a long soulful search. Yet, this man who called him his little brother did not invoke any specific emotion in him.
Therefore, it must not be him.
"Are you lying to me?"
It was not an accusatory question, but an honest question. Emil was tired of being angry, too exhausted to judge and be judged. He just ached for the truth and if he were to have the truth, he would gladly leave the earth with just the truth.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2012 9:24:53 GMT -6
Norway’s eyes narrowed, his mouth tightened, and his stance only strengthened, though a pang struck his chest. If this was Iceland… then he’d be running towards him, with tears in his eyes, and hug him to hard before pushing him and acting like nothing had happened. Why was his acting so aloof, so dry? Obviously he had understood him but this just wasn’t making sense. He swallowed a hard lump in his throat, took a steady breath, getting ready for well anything but nothing could’ve prepared him for the words that came from his brother.
"Are you lying to me?"
A small intake of breath brought sweat to the back of his neck and he faltered a bit. Lying? Was Island accusing him lying? Lying about what? About being his brother? Lukas bit his lip and took a step further. This… this couldn’t be Emil, what was wrong with him? Hell, what was wrong with Lukas? He was positioned for attack against his brother! His instincts were screaming at him to stand down, that this was going against everything he’d ever believed in, that this boy in front of him was the same, though now older, boy who he used to hold and lull to sleep. Then at the same time, the surge of adrenaline spiking his veins was warning him that whom he was seeing was… He just wasn’t right and frankly, this entire situation was giving him a headache and making his chest hurt.
“Lying?” He growled, with an edge of disbelief. “Why would I lie to you, Island?” As he spoke his brother’s name, Norway couldn’t fight back the note of hurt, though this might seem slightly hypocritical since he still had his sword raised towards him. His eyes flickered towards his weapon its metal gleaming in the dim light, accustomed to blood, pillage, and war, but not to this. Sighing. Lukas dropped his arm and for the first time in a long time, he sheathed his sword. He looked over at Island his face indifferent as always but there lay a spark in his eyes that he hadn’t held in a long time: hope.
“Emil? Are you honestly saying that you don’t know me?” He crossed his arms as he spoke, and he did so to hide to slight shaking of his hands.
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Post by iceland on Sept 9, 2012 0:25:40 GMT -6
It was interesting from Emil's perspective to see the very character of the other man fluctuate from different multiple shades of emotional unease. There was no stability in Lukas, that was certain. It was in the way his hair was, the way his lips curled, the way his fingers trembled. Emotions, ah emotions were running through the Norwegian like red blood cells, tipping him off the equilibrium he had tried so hard to maintain. Yet Emil was staid, on his feet, and empty of emotions. He simply did not know how to react to Lukas' behavior. It was like watching a stranger's child bawl in front of you--what are you to do about it? What is the right thing to do?
Strangely enough, doing nothing aggravated Lukas, making him livid enough to point a sword at him. Emil lowered his eyes this time, for he wasn't the type to welcome any threatening tactics. "Raising a blade after an inquiry usually isn't the best way to get an answer." Emil commented blandly. All of this... emotional tension was not convincing enough. Anyone could pretend to be anybody given that they could act--but they never are what they pretend to be.
Evidence was the only rational way. Evidence was the only way to differentiate reality from imagination in the twisted manor. All of the manor's tactics resided in words, in emotion, and in skillful acting. These acidic abuses of the mind was corroding all reason, all common sense, and all personal beliefs. On these grounds, Emil's suspicions was justified, at least; he wasn't ready to be thrown around again.
"I don't know you..." Emil replied with a little bit of hesitation. "Neither do I know if you're real or not. I...I don't know anything."
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Post by Deleted on Sept 12, 2012 12:59:31 GMT -6
Emil’s were struck straight to his heart, so much so that Lukas blinked and tightened his expression into a guarded frown. He still wasn’t’ completely sure if this truly was his brother or some shade of a trick conjured up by the evil of the Manor, but it was impossible to tell, especially now that Iceland and raised the notion that e truly didn’t recognize Norway. This all could be some sort of ploy by evil hand’s But Lukas’ mind reasoned that if the evil spirits of this hellhole truly wanted to hurt him with his brother’s image, they make him run up and give Norway a big hug or something before impaling a dagger in between Lukas’ ribs.
‘So... the question being… Is this Iceland, but with his… memory lost?’
The thought made Norway bite his lip. His brotherly instincts were slapping him in the face and telling him to get over there already and embrace his brother, that he finally had found him! Yet, his primal, Viking instincts were warning him that the enemy’s hands ere all over this, that danger was near. Both voices were loud in Norway’s mind, giving him a headache. Eventually, he sighed to break his silence and looking at his brother with a hard look, he took a step forward, followed by another, and a few more until he was face to face with Iceland. Being slightly taller than him, Norway looked down into Emil’s eyes and searched, for anything: recognition, fear, the glint that came before an attack. His sword was sheathed, his arms were crossed, and Iceland could easily take Lukas out if he wanted. Maybe that’s Lukas waited for in the time he stood before what he wished his brother.
After a few long moments, Lukas closed his eyes and exhaled through his nostrils. Before either of them knew it, Lukas had his arms around Emil and was holding tightly, thought his left arm held with a weaker grip. Lukas rested his chin upon Iceland shoulder, inhaling his brother’s scent that all familiar scent, and tears came to his eyes, hidden from the younger boy’s views. Finally… he had found him and if he hadn’t and was about to die, at least Norway would know his brother’s smell one last time before meeting the eternal darkness.
"Min bror..." he uttered in whisper.
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