Coming to Terms [Ghost Thread] Germany

[Italia Veneziano]

The first thing the boy noticed was the sky grinning at him.

A curl of white teeth in a crooked smirk glowed from above, as if the very heavens were mocking him. But what would the heavens have to mock him for? The boy couldn't help but wonder, laying spread-eagle on the ground as he stared upwards at the moon. It was a waning crescent moon, almost nothing but a thin sliver curling across the black expanse above him. Soon the new moon would be leaving the sky dark as ink. Why would the moon be giving such a cruel slash of white if it was the one who had to vanish soon? He didn't understand. It was uncomfortable staring up that sight, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. The boy didn't want to stare at the sky anymore, didn't want the heavens judging him for something he did not know, so he--

Suddenly found himself up on his feet, staring around at an open, empty field? He didn't even remember standing upright, what is this insanity? Turning in a full circle, the boy tried seeing any sign of where he was. "Hello..?" He called, unknowingly frowning a little because the word didn't quite roll off his tongue comfortably. It was as if he was used to saying something else--though what that could be, he wasn't sure. "Is anyone there? Perdoname, ma--" And then he cuts himself off again, blinking in surprise. What had just slipped passed his lips? He knew what those words meant, but how did he know what they mean? He couldn't remember.

... He couldn't remember.

With his frown deepening, the boy turned away to stare at the fence far in the distance. "Where am I..?" He whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. Then, curious because he doesn't even know what he looks like himself, he's bending over to stare down at the clothes he was wearing. Whatever it had been, it was now in tatters--from what the boy could see, it was once oranges and bronzes, golds and pale cream and seemingly ornate, just from the shimmer of cleaner patches alone. Why on Earth would he wear something so ridiculous, he wondered. But then he also wondered--why was it so torn up? What was he doing that ended with his clothing so sliced up?

After spending long minutes picking at the fabric of his shirt, he lifted his hands to his face. First they ran through his hair a second time, this time lingering at the end of his bangs. He goes cross-eyed and thus determined that those strands were a rich reddish brown color, like mahogany wood. Then his fingers drifted down to poke and prod and fondle the skin making up his face. He's young, he can't feel any wrinkles or sagging skin. There were some small indentions in his skin, imperfections he couldn't see. Bullet wounds, something in him supplied "helpfully", as the pads of his fingers ghosted over his temple. A knife marked a small nick to his chin, from shaving with a blade rather than a razor? The more he mapped his face with richly tanned skin, the more the confusion grew in him, and with uncertainty comes fear. "Who am I?" The boy wondered aloud, pulling his hands away and staring at them.

The quiet sound of a breeze sent the grass whispering around him from miles around. It offered no comfort.

[The First Inhabitant]

The inhabitant gazed down at the guest floating before him, the soul of the body now resting somewhere secret. “You know… even for a spirit, I must say that you are quite pathetic,” the reaper spoke quietly, mostly to himself, before he shook his hooded head and leaned his skeletal face near North Italy’s. “Welcome dear guest!” the Inhabitant exclaimed, acting as if he had never insulted Veneziano, “Now, I know that must be experiencing an immense amount of confusion at the moment but I must express the importance of my next instructions, for I will not repeat them and I will not remain to be questioned.”

The reaper then swept his arms wide and bowed, “I am called the First Inhabitant and am titled as such for my twin brother and I are the loyal servants to our Master, the Baudeau Manor,” with his introduction aside, the Inhabitant swept his skeleton hands within his large sleeves and began to recite his instructions with sudden boom of his deep voice, “You are dead! Is that not wonderful? You have been freed from your physical form and are now a spirit within my Master, but do not despair if this is not fitting for you, for there is a way to once more live! Once I vanish, you will feel the urge to travel and will come upon the great graveyard of the Baudeau Manor. In the spiritual realm, it is far greater than it would be if you were living and it is your choice to find… well, your grave.”

The First Inhabitant grinned wickedly, not giving the nation a moment to register his words before he continued, “Now, I do realize that your memory is not what it used to be and I’m afraid you may not even know who you are, but…. it’ll come with time!” With that, the reaper began to turn to leave but paused to look back at Veneziano to say in parting, “However, I would recommend that you do not take too long to return to your body because, my Master’s great power will begin to… change you if you hesitate. Best of luck and I bid you farewell!” the skeleton ended with a hearty, dark laugh and began to move over the grass, and vanished after he had floated a few feet away from the spirit Nation.

[Germany]

Keep it together. Remember the plan.

Ludwig curled his hands into fists, and took a long, deep breath.

Remember the plan.

He exhaled, and turned away from the door.

Not five minutes ago he'd been inside the manor, exploring. He'd reached out to test one of the solid wooden doors, expecting nothing; the German had learned not to get his hopes up with this place. Yet instead of sticking in place due to a lock or opening into a dark empty room, the door had revealed a massive expanse of grass and trees and mists and above all of that, a sharp slender crescent moon hanging in the sky. The air had turned cold and stank of mud and decay, but it was undeniably fresh. For a moment, Ludwig had not been able to believe his luck. He'd found the way out. He had taken one step outside, then another. All he had to do now was find the others--

And at that point, the door had slammed shut behind him so firmly that the wood hadn't even rattled when Ludwig had pounded his fists against it.

It had taken him several minutes to convince himself not to try and break it down. At first he had only wanted to get back inside, but Ludwig couldn't deny that some small part of him wanted to smash the door to splinters out of pure spite. But he had made his decision, and as he ventured further away from the massive dark bulk of the manor, Ludwig repeated his mantra inside his head: remember the plan. Find the others, leave together. He had kept it simple to make up for the fact that success seemed to be impossible. Nations seemed to disappear as soon as he'd met them. But Ludwig was nothing if not stubborn. If he had to tie ropes to everyone's wrists to keep them from wandering off or vanishing, that's what he would do. The repetition - the glimpses of movement from the corners of his eyes, the endless empty hallways and rooms - all of that had been wearing on his patience. But Ludwig had a near inexhaustible supply of that, and the out-of-doors proved to be a fresh new setting, if an entirely unwelcome one.

A breeze rustled over the grass, and Ludwig drew his jacket tighter around his shoulders. Should it really have been this cold in the American south? The chill felt unnatural, like the kind of bone-deep cold someone could find within catacombs or other deep dark places in the earth. An instant later Ludwig realized he could see the silhouettes of gravestones, dark shapes highlighted against the darker sky by the wan light of the moon. Tch. Death did not scare him so much as some other things. Nevertheless, Ludwig sincerely doubted he'd find anyone hanging out in the small cemetery. He walked past it, the grass rustling just slightly with his steps.

Another grassy field lay beyond, bordered by some massive old trees. But Ludwig's heart jumped in his chest: at the edge of the field, he could see the jutting black ribs of a fence. Maybe there would be a gate, or maybe someone would be on the other side, someone he could talk to, someone who'd already escaped. He took off at a swift jog and reached the bars in no time, but instantly the German was mentally berating himself for his own uncharacteristic optimism. The construct was more than two meters high, the bars slick and cold with no footholds, the gaps between the bars too narrow for even a child to squeeze through. Beyond the rails, he could see nothing but mist.

There might be a gate. Someone might have gotten out.

Ludwig folded his arms across his chest, thinking.

Remember the plan. Right.

"Hallo?" he called hesitantly. Perhaps there was someone out there. He couldn't give up on that possibility -- not before he'd tested absolutely every solution.

[Italia Veneziano]

If the ghost still had a heart, he was sure it would've leaped out of his chest and raced away so quickly he would've died just from the shock of that magically appearing, black-robed figure. If not for the figure, then he surely would have died of fright from the sight of that skeletal face; it was enough to send the spirit reeling back with a squawk.

It took a moment beyond the other...spirit's[?] initial words for this young man to realize that this black-robed, skeletal figure wasn't going to drag him away to some hellish place. It was simply speaking to him, sounding surprisingly cheerful for such a macabre existence. Then again, he mused, perhaps the...man? Thing? Skeleton, let's just call it a skeleton. Perhaps the skeleton simply enjoyed the macabre, the grotesque, and that's why it was cheerful in the first place. Who knew, really? Now that he'd exhausted his short train of thought, he turned his attention back to the other spirit's continuing words. "...ervants to our master, the Baudeau Manor," it said, and that drew his attention. The Baudeau Manor? Is that this place? He opened his mouth to ask, because he really wanted to know, but the words faded to nothing upon his tongue.

"You're dead! Isn't that wonderful?"

Signore Skeleton spoke so cheerfully, it was almost impossible at first for the boy to understand the message behind his words. "Dead..?" The word fell from his lips a soft whisper, one laden heavy with confusion and disbelief. How could he be dead? Is it because he had no recollection, and thus no identity? Or did this skeletal being truly mean that he was dead? If he were dead, though, how could he still be here? Why would he not recall the life he had lived before his untimely end? The rest of the specter's words passed through one ear and out the other, for the brunette was in a daze. He caught a few choice phrases: "It is your choice to find your grave", "Memory not what it used to be...it'll come with time", "Master's power will change you", but that was it. The true meaning of those words was lost to the brunette, and he was in no state to ask for clarification before "The First Inhabitant", as it had introduced itself, was gone.

How long he floated there, in a daze, the spirit did not know. His mind was in no state to judge the passage of time. There were far too many questions passing through his mind, too many uncertainties to understand. Did this mean that everyone who died ended up like him, trapped in some sort of "spiritual realm" that mirrored existence, only not? Was he invisible to those living, or was he only fooling with himself wondering whether this was the real plane that people existed on before they died? How did he die? What significance should the "Baudeau Manor" have for him--and what made this field so special as to be the awakening point for him after all this insanity? Was he even actually dead? What if he were simply hallucinating?

If he was dead, did he have anyone who knew? Was there anyone in his life that would even care?

The boy could feel his head growing heavy with all these worries and concerns, his chest clenching like a vice around his lungs. What was he supposed to do now? The specter had mentioned a graveyard, but where would one even begin to look for such a thing? Better yet, why would one want to find such a thing? If he were hallucinating, he should wait here until someone found him or he woke up. If this was all real, then how is he even supposed to function? None of this made sense.

"Hallo?"

Before the brunette could have a complete meltdown, the weak-willed call reached his ears, making them twitch slightly as he twisted around. There was someone here? He wasn't all alone?? There was another person, a male by the sound of it, who could explain to him what was going on. Before he could take a step forward, though, he paused, suddenly unsure. What if that was just a figment as well, an attempt to cope? What if it was a being in the same state as himself?

That didn't matter, he told himself with weak resolve, already attempting to move towards the sound of that voice. It was quiet, so the man must be far away from his own position. "H-Hello??" He called back, wincing a little at the weak, almost airy state of his own voice. It sounded pale, without any vibrancy despite attempts to be heard by anyone who may be near. An attempt to raise his voice into a proper shout of "Is anyone there?" failed as well. That didn't keep him quiet, though, or dampen his hopes too badly. He continued to literally walk through the grass, not disturbing a single piece of greenery as he passed, shouting out for that mysterious voice.

But the single call had long since dissipated, and soon the spirit was just as lost and confused as he had been when he'd begun. Where had that voice come from? Was he chasing after something that didn't exist? What was he even doing? Too terribly confused and upset to concentrate on this simple task once he realized he'd not seen a single sign of civilization despite his frantic searches, the boy's hope flickered out, and he let out a quiet sniffle.

Then he simply stood there and began to cry.

[Germany]

After holding his breath for half a minute, Ludwig exhaled, disappointed; no response had come drifting through the mist from the other side of the high iron bars. Even an echo would have been better than this, at least, but the murky gray expanse had swallowed up all sound and returned nothing. Once more, Ludwig's eyes followed the bars of the fence upwards, his gaze lingering on the top where the bars had been joined together in a row of viciously sharp-looking spikes. The construct seemed more 'torture device' than 'property border'. Still, if he could reach the top, maybe he could get a better view of the area. A determined frown on his face, Ludwig grabbed hold of a bar in each hand and began to drag himself upwards. A second later, he let go in shock. The iron bars were freezing, and the cold had bit deeply into his hands. Undeterred, Ludwig shed his police jacket and wrapped his hands in the fabric of that, but when he seized the bars a second time, he was forced to let go just as quickly.

This wasn't normal. None of this was normal. Staring up at the fence, Ludwig's eyes narrowed and he gave the bars a swift, impulsive kick that set the metal ringing and made him hop back in pain. Stupid, stupid-- Nothing in his foot felt broken, but he'd been hoping to climb the damn fence. He had yet to lose hope over this whole ordeal, and Ludwig doubted that he would, honestly, because that made no sense to him. But he felt increasingly helpless, and that made him angry and upset. The other nations wouldn't have avoided him, no -- which meant that he had failed to find them. He'd failed to find a way out of this trap as well, and he'd failed--

Ludwig froze. Was that a voice?

The sound had been faint, almost drowned out by the rustling of the grass in the night air and muffled by the mists that hung around the grounds. Holding his breath, Ludwig waited, and then the noise came again: faint, high and reedy, and all too soon gone. Stepping away from the fence, he tried to recall where it had come from. Over there, through the trees? Or closer to the house?

"Is someone there?" he called out, louder than before. Silence answered him, and Ludwig felt his face sink into an unhappy frown. Perhaps he'd gotten too hopeful. It was possible he'd been so desperate to hear a familiar voice that he'd just imagined the sound, after all. And wind could make some odd noises itself. Biting back a sigh and trying not to feel so disappointed in himself, he continued to walk away from the fence. And then another noise rose in the darkness.

Italy.

The realization hit him before he even understood what he was listening to: another second and Ludwig recognized an all-too-familiar crying, a sound he'd heard and answered many times before. Throwing his jacket back on as quickly as he could, he jogged off through the grass, craning his neck wildly around. The crying seemed to be emanating from the sky itself, but that made no sense, Italy was here, Italy had to be nearby if he could hear him crying -- and Italy needed help.

"Hold on, I'm coming!" he called out, kicking the grass aside. "Where are you?" For the first time in a while, Ludwig sensed some of the heavy unhappiness he'd been feeling lift from his shoulders. He might not be able to field a capable escape plan or to keep people from wandering off and getting lost within the massive house, but he could absolutely help his closest friend, and that made him feel like the minutes spent wandering the yard and trying to climb the fence and kicking the fence hadn't been used in vain.

"Are you hurt? Did you trip over something?" Ludwig shouted, stumbling himself a moment later on a high tree root. "Just stay put, okay? Don't try to walk or wander off, I'll come help you." Rounding a corner of the mansion, Ludwig spied a figure in the distance, one that looked slender and short enough to be Italy. He took off, jogging a fast clip across the wide grassy expanse. Even as he drew closer and felt his nerves tighten up -- something about this wasn't quite right -- the image of his friend remained in his vision. And Italy didn't even appear to be hurt! That was good. Perhaps he had just been lonely. In a place like this, Ludwig couldn't honestly blame him. "I'm here, I'm here," he reassured the man as he slowed to a stop, "so you can stop crying, alright? It's going to be fine."

[Italia Veneziano]

Nothing made sense in this world he'd found himself thrown into, where talking skeletons were normal, being told you're dead is common-place--it was too much for the boy to take. Tears filled his eyes and ran down his cheeks like pieces of ice against his skin; there was no comfort to dry them, either, even as he wrapped his arms around his own torso in attempt to calm himself. Crying wasn't nearly as satisfying as the spirit had thought it would be. There was no relief to the icy ache in his chest; if anything, that pain grew all the more dense the more upset he became. Trying as he might though, he couldn't seem to stop crying; those sobs punctured with hiccups continued to escape, still sounding weak even to his own ears.

What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to believe? Nothing made sense here--there were no memories to ground him, to give him a sense of self or an explanation to the grassy fields he'd awoken in. Did he know who Signore Skeleton was? Did he know what it was? The Baudeau Manor, it had said--what was this place? The brunette didn't know why, but that name was bad. Fear crawled past the confusion and pain and clutched at his heart until it burned, his sobs only growing more pronounced. He wanted to leave, go somewhere where things made sense.

He was torn from swirling thoughts, though, by a loud shout. "Hold on, I'm coming," that voice told him, and the relief that flooded through him was staggering. He hiccuped, a hand lifting to scrub at his cheek as his gaze swept over undulating vegetation. That voice was familiar, though with his mind so blank, the brunette didn't know why. He simply knew that that voice, growing ever closer as it asked him where he was and if he was hurt, meant things would be okay. "I-I'm here," he whispered, unable to bring himself to speak louder, dare he ruin whatever good things were coming. "I-I don't know what's going on, but I'm h-here."

With another hiccup, he continued to scrub at his cheeks, trying to make the tears stop. The effort proved futile, though, as that icy sensation trickled over his fingers and down his palm, towards the thin expanse of his wrist. Even with the hope that this stranger could help him, that throbbing in his chest refused to cease. There was something wrong; after all, he was told he was dead. He wouldn't have hallucinated something like that, would he? But what did it mean--how could he be dead?

His eyes, vision blurry, turned away from his surroundings to once more examine his frame. There were no injuries that he could see, but his clothing, the bright fabric he'd thought so odd, was covered in tears. In fact, he wasn't really wearing much but scraps of cloth tenaciously clinging together in semblance of an actual outfit. The sugarcane around him rolled and swayed madly, caught in the mad dance of the wind howling around him. The boy couldn't feel that breeze though. Honestly, if he hadn't looked, he wouldn't have realized the wind was blowing at all. His blood froze.

The grass was moving through his legs.

There was no time to process this information. Mind racing a mile a minute even as his heart screeched to a stop, wide eyes glanced up as crunching footsteps reached his eyes. There was a blonde man approaching at breakneck speed, hair practically glowing in the gloom around them. Ludwig, his mind supplied, but there was nothing to tell him who Ludwig was, or how he was supposed to feel about the other's presence as the man managed to slow to a stop without falling on his face or crashing into the brunette. He stared up and, despite the sensation of familiarity, took a first, then second step back, tightening his grip on his own shirt. The movement drew no sensation of grass against his skin, nor did his hair fly into his eyes with the wind.

""W-Where am I?? Why am I h-here?? I'm so confused!" The boy's voice was almost hysterical, eyes wide as he tore his gaze away from the blonde to stare back down at the grass, unable to look anywhere else as the half-dead vegetation continued to pass through his limbs as if they weren't even there. He was already beginning to cry again, reaching out to try grabbing the grass and failing to do so as it continued to slide through him without even a pause to show that he was actually there. 'I-I don't understand w-what's going on--c-can you help me??"

[Germany]

He had failed thus far to keep everyone from wandering off, and he'd failed to find a way out of this place, but if there was one thing Ludwig knew for certain he could always, always do, it was to help his closest friend. He kept that conviction firmly in mind as he took in what he saw: if he could succeed at this, perhaps there was hope yet. He and Italy could go back inside the manor and work together. But even as Ludwig waded through the high grass towards his friend, he realized something seemed strange, out of place. Usually by this point, Italy would be charging at him, to wrap him in a tearful hug and explain that he'd broken something or gotten lost. But Italy actually stepped backwards; the look on his face was one of confusion and fright. And now Ludwig hesitated. Something here wasn't normal.

Italy's costume, whatever it had been, was in tatters, and for some reason Italy had decorated his remaining clothes with what appeared to be elaborate camouflage: grass and trees and leaves and sky--

Ludwig frowned, and tried to focus his eyes.

He could see through Italy.

For a moment, his mind went white with shock. And then the pieces slowly began to fall into place. Ludwig could see it clearly, but the realization made him no more relieved. He thought he'd found Italy, but in truth, he must have been so frustrated with his inability to gather people together and keep them safe, to climb the fence and find a way out, to do anything useful -- that his mind had come up with this hallucination. Italy was nothing but a mirage. But it made some sense to him. He'd always been able to help Italy: now, when he'd been unable to help anyone else, his psyche had dragged up his one routine success to comfort him. That didn't explain Italy's odd behavior, how the auburn-haired man shrank away from him, but it was the only explanation that made any kind of sense. He was imagining things, Ludwig realized, struggling not to fall into despair. He'd lost it.

So what should he do now?

Italy continued to cry, and it wasn't the sound Ludwig was used to hearing when the other man got caught in a bad situation: this was more violent, more frightened and anxious, the cry of an animal pinned in a corner by something terrifying. The deep grass they stood in whipped back and forth, just as frenzied as the young man even as it passed straight through him.

"W-Where am I?? Why am I h-here?? I'm so confused!"

"It's… it's alright," Ludwig heard himself say. "Don't panic, it's going to be alright." Oh, great. So now he was apparently going to comfort the product of his mental break, perfect. Would that even help? Would talking to… effectively himself be the reassurance that he needed? Ludwig had absolutely no idea. He felt alone and forgotten and useless and lost, and somehow seeing this frightened image of his friend just made him feel worse. He had half a mind to turn on his heel and head back to the manor, to shake these stupid insecurities out of his head and forget anything had happened.

"I-I don't understand w-what's going on--c-can you help me??"

Ludwig drew a deep, shaky breath, and ran a hand across his forehead. It stung to hear Italy's voice practically pleading for help like this; the German wanted to take the other man by the shoulders, pull him in for a hug, and reassure him that nothing bad would come to pass, even if that was a stupid lie. Italy didn't deserve to look so miserable and scared, and even if all of this was inside Ludwig's head, he couldn't just ignore it. What if he turned and left and Italy didn't vanish? Ludwig didn't want to think about what sounds he'd have to shut out of his ears. Perhaps this was weak of him, to give into this idea and allow himself to be bullied by his own subconscious. But he abruptly decided he didn't care. Having someone to talk to in this lonely place was worth a little -- even if that 'someone' happened to be a comforting fragment of his memory. Ludwig raised his hands palms outward in a gesture of calm, and although his expression remained serious, his voice was gentle.

"Of course I can help you," he spoke quietly. "You don't need to cry. I'm here to help you, so please calm down." Automatically, he reached out for the other man's shoulder, then caught himself and drew his hand back. "What… what don't you understand?" Ludwig asked. "What do you want to know?"

[Italia Veneziano]

That warm baritone washed over the spirit as the blonde spoke, but it did little to calm the worries violently roiling about in his chest and his mind. There was something in him, a small piece that quietly whispered to him. It said he was over-reacting, that Luddi--that Germany--was here, and he would fix things, but again, those words did nothing to calm him. The voice did, however, distract him from his desperate, futile grabs at the grass flailing around him. With a choked sob, he lifted his hands to run through his hair, still unable to feel even his own hair and skin beneath numb fingers--at least he was solid to his own touch, though. If he hadn't been, the spirit probably would've broken then and there. Instead, he had to swallow down a frustrated, fearful sound, unable to completely calm himself despite Ludwig's request. "What...what don't you understand?" The tall man asked softly--that tone made the brunette's skin crawl in uncomfortable ways, knowing that the blonde usually spoke firmly, a louder, drum-like voice filled with confidence. His hesitation to speak now was painfully visible in the way he acted; hands raised in a placating gesture, words quiet and appeasing, and a slow approach that screamed "I'm not going to hurt you"--all actions speaking as if the man was approaching a wild animal, one he didn't want to startle. Perhaps he was one, the spirit thought hysterically, nearly missing Ludwig's next words. "What do you want to know?

That question drew another rough sound from the boy's throat, floating somewhere between a disbelieving laugh and a sob. "I-I don't understand anything!" He whined helplessly, amber eyes unable to decide on a sight to land and focus on. Instead they darted to and fro, silver tears spilling from the corners of his eyes and down his cheeks, making them shine with ethereal light. The effect was ruined by his attempts to scrub the tracks from his cheeks. "I-I don't want to be like this! Why can't I touch the grass? Why can't I feel anything?!" Another harsh sob tore its way through him. His hands trembled as he finally buried his face in them. His body felt weak, trembly beneath the weight of confusion, anxiety, and fear bowing down his shoulders and resting heavily upon his back. It was too exposed out here, nowhere to hide in this moment of weakness. The spirit couldn't take it--he felt frozen still in a world continuing to turn without him, ignoring him and denying him the chance to exist as any other. It was too disorienting; he was lost amidst these unfamiliar sights, unusual and frightening experiences, not even possessing knowledge of himself, or why he was here. Nor why the blonde man before him was so familiar, felt so safe and yet so alien to him. "I-I just want to go home, but I don't even know what home is!" The brunette dug his nails into his skin, shaking all the more violently. His voice raised pitch the more upset he became, a harsh, whining moan of a sound. "I don't like this! Nothing makes sense! Why am I here?! Why can I touch me, but nothing else?! I can't even feel the wind!"

Now his fingers curled into fists, digging rivulets into his skin before curling around his bangs. His grip was harsh upon them, attempting to draw some sensation from him as his eyes lifted up to stare pleadingly at Ludwig. Ludwig could help him. "You're L-Luddi, right? I-I can remember your name, so t-that means I'm s-supposed to know you, doesn't it??" He stepped closer now, chewing anxiously on his lip."A-And if I'm supposed to know you, that means you s-should know me!" The more he spoke, though, the harder it was to stare at the blonde man--what if he was wrong? What if he was all wrong? He couldn't bear to see the other's reaction, his voice growing softer as his panic left him with nothing. "You can tell me who I am, r-right? Y-You know my name, w-where we are, why we're here? Do you know why I'm like this?" His voice broke on that last word, weak and trembling like the rest of him. Despite that, his need for answers didn't change. It helped him swallow past the lump in his throat, forced him to release his bangs. Still he shook, eyes clenched shut in an attempt to gather himself together. "T-The skeleton man said I was dead, b-but how can I be dead if I'm standing r-right here..?"

The brunette had to lift a hand to muffle the quiet sob that came next. Everything was so wrong, he couldn't stand it. His face projected his misery like a beacon of dark light. He just wanted to understand, he wanted to be normal. He wanted to be able to reach out and touch this man, his instincts screamed at him that Ludwig was safety, that nothing could harm him here. But that wasn't true--a hesitant motion to grab one of those raised hands proved his sinking suspicions true: the spirit's slim fingers passed through pale skin as if it weren't even there. Something broke in his chest. His next words were nothing but a whisper. "W-What's wrong with me..?"

[Germany]

The image of Italy struggling to hold himself together, raking frantic fingers through his hair as he wept made Ludwig feel even more anxious. He had reminded himself time and again that this wasn't actually happening and that he'd been staring at air, but seeing his close friend in so horrible a state was eroding his resolve to remain calm and stoic. Worse still, Ludwig realized that one of Italy's much-loved hugs might have soothed away the most pressing of the other man's troubles, but Italy wasn't actually standing before him. The blond forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath: losing his own head over this wouldn't help.

But Italy's pleas had gotten stranger. Ludwig quickly realized that for a figment of his imagination, Italy seemed awfully self-aware. But despite the understanding that he couldn't touch the grass or feel the cold breeze, Italy didn't seem to remember who he was. Something painful twisted deep inside Ludwig's chest and for the first time, the German felt a flicker of doubt appear in his thoughts. What if this wasn't the work of his mind? If so, who had caused the image of his friend to appear before him, in such a broken and hysterical state? Ludwig was a lifelong disbeliever in the supernatural, but in this strange dark place, his resolve had started to waver. His gaze snapped back to the auburn-haired man as Italy continued to sob.

"You're L-Luddi, right? I-I can remember your name, so t-that means I'm s-supposed to know you, doesn't it?? A-and if I'm supposed to know you, that means you s-should know me!" As Italy took a step towards him, Ludwig's expression turned to one of pity.

"Yes, that's me. And of course I know you," he assured the other man, a bit of the familiar assertive bark back in his tone. He might not be able to even speculate on why Italy couldn't touch the grass or feel the wind, but Ludwig had become somewhat of an expert on Italy the person. "Your name is Feliciano Vargas and you're my closest friend," he began, pity lingering in the serious gaze he leveled at the other man, "and you're North Italy - Italia Veneziano." Ludwig had never had time to smooth out his pronunciation, but in this case he hoped the mangled Italian words might get a rise out of his companion: any reaction, any change in things would be a clue he could use to parse the situation out.

Ludwig went on, picking and choosing carefully the information he revealed, "You like football and pretty girls and pasta and gelato and sneaking off to take naps when you aren't supposed to. You have a brother named Lovino - he's South Italy - and you're friends with a lot of people. You're a very good artist. We're in this place because America invited his friends to a party here. I suppose he thought it would be fun." His mouth narrowed to a thin anxious line when he mentally confronted the last question he'd been asked. He had no idea why Italy appeared as he did. Should he be blaming his own imagination for coming up with such a confused image, or, if he was missing something-

"T-The skeleton man said I was dead, b-but how can I be dead if I'm standing r-right here..?"

Biting back what he'd been about to say, Ludwig stared blankly at the other man for a moment. Italy, dead? That wasn't possible. Nations couldn't die: each and every single one of them had faced plenty of proof on that count. And what was this about a skeleton man? Could Italy mean some kind of Grim Reaper-like figure? Or perhaps it had been a monster of some sort--

Ludwig's train of thought cut off again as Italy attempted to take his hand: the slender translucent fingers simply passed through his own, and with that, even the frantic terror-fueled energy slipped from Italy's frame; only a kind of numb and helpless aura remained. Seeing his friend in such a state proved too much for the blond man to bear. Squaring his shoulders, he threw his doubts aside.

"I don't know what's wrong with you," he admitted, "but it's nothing we can't fix. Understood?" He crossed his arms over his chest, determined. "You're going to stay with me and explain what you do and don't remember and… and what this skeleton man told you-" Ludwig shook his head after a moment, mostly at himself, "just tell me anything and everything you can, and you can ask me whatever questions you want to. I'm here to help you, so you don't have to be upset anymore. We'll get you back to normal." In some way he certainly meant normal to mean non-transparent, but more importantly, normal meant upbeat and happy Italy, an Italy that wasn't terrified beyond all reason or crying in vain. The manor wasn't a nice place, but to think it could have this sort of effect on one of the most resilient people he knew… even if this Italy wasn't actually standing before him, that knowledge was troubling. This place could be much more dangerous than Ludwig had been giving it credit for.

"Let's keep moving," he ordered calmly. "I don't think we should linger in one place for too long. Can you remember anything else yet?" He shot Italy a hopeful look.

[Italia Veneziano]

Calm had finally come to him, but in the form of resignation rather than emotional stability. Tears still slid down his cheeks, but they were silent save for the occasional hiccup or hitched exhale. As Ludwig spoke, another wave of helplessness crashed over the spirit--none of this new information felt like it meant something--he didn't get any strange sensations of familiarity similar to when Ludwig had called out to him what felt like ages ago. All that settled in his mind was uncertainty--he had no reason to refute the other man's words, nor did he think the other would lie to him, but it was unsettling to be told about himself and not even be able to confirm the facts as true or false. They were just words without confirmation; small, meaningless without the reason why. There was at least one important piece of information, though. Something he could cling to.

"I-I'm Italia...Veneziano."

Despite the blonde's rather...uncomfortable pronunciation, the word flowed seamlessly over the spirit's tongue and into the cold air around them. It was more of a question than a statement, aimed at himself. Maybe if he told himself enough times, he would remember. You are Veneziano, Veneziano is you. You have a piece of yourself back, don't forget it. The spirit sniffled, brushing aside another trail of water from his cheek. "V-Ve, that's a strange name... A strange name for a strange person, I-I suppose." His attempt at humor ended solely with trembling lips and a half laugh, half hiccuping sob. All of this because of a party they'd come to. No memories, no identity, no life, all because of a party he can't even remember coming to. He died here, and no one knew a thing. How can no one know what happened here, to him?

"I don't know what's wrong with you," Ludwig said after a moment's pause, speaking evenly despite admitting his uncertainty, "but it's nothing we can't fix." Veneziano's eyes, wide with shock, snapped up to stare into bright blue. Had he heard that correctly? Was the blonde actually saying they could actually figure all this out? "You're going to stay with me and explain what you do and don't remember--"

The brunette lost focus, ignoring the words as he let that soft baritone wash over him. The tenseness seeped from his frame, shoulders slumping. Limp bangs fell in front of his eyes while a quiet sigh passed over his lips. Slim fingers released the ragged fabric of his shirt, arms loosely wrapping around himself. Relief bubbled in his chest, filling him with a warmth he didn't think was possible in this strange, standing-still world he'd been forced into. He was all but absent in this plane, an intangible entity in a tangible world, but Ludwig didn't seem to care. He wanted to help, wanted to be there for Veneziano.

He wasn't alone.

Fresh tears budded in the corners of amber eyes. The spirit didn't do a thing to hide them, either; silver liquid dripping down his cheeks unabashed. He wasn't alone. He had a friend, even if it was a friend he couldn't remember beyond a name and a sense of comfort he couldn't quite explain. Then again, Ludwig had said he was Veneziano's closest friend. Maybe that was explanation enough. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Even though this was a terrifying situation he'd found himself in, one that might not have a solution at all, at least he had help. I'll be alright, things will be okay so long as I'm not by myself.

"Can you remember anything else yet?"

Veneziano lifted his gaze back to the blonde, his smile slipping, before vanishing altogether. That tone was unmistakable--Ludwig was hoping to hear some good news, that he'd helped at least a little. The brunette didn't want to tell him that the information hadn't done a thing. He didn't want to disappoint the blonde, but being dishonest would hurt the other even more in the end. "...No, nothing new," The spirit mumbled, shaking his head and chewing on his lower lip. "Nothing before I woke up here and the skeleton-man showed up. Just being out here, alone; meeting you..." He finally brushed the tears from his face, leaving little trace of his earlier fit. "I'm sorry, Ludwig. I-I want to remember, I really do, but...there's nothing there."

[Germany]

As Italy took in the information he'd given him, Ludwig focused hard on the other man's face with narrowed eyes, waiting anxiously for any flicker of recognition or understanding. Italy seemed to understand his own name, and the German's spirits lifted a bit, only to come slamming back down hard at the response he received.

"V-Ve, that's a strange name… A strange name for a strange person, I-I suppose." And Italy laughed, a sad, forced laugh that intermingled with a sob and sounded all the more unhappy.

It's your name, Ludwig wanted to insist, over and over, until Italy understood. Instead, he forced a smile so weak it almost appeared a grimace, before answering, "Well, you can be strange at times. But never in a bad way, I think." The recognition that he'd been waiting for, the flash of understanding in those familiar golden-brown eyes, had never come. He wasn't going to lose hope over this. He wasn't. And so he had kept talking. And of all the things to offer the frightened shadow of Italy some comfort, a series of direct orders seemed to have the strongest effect. Hope flickered back to life in Ludwig's chest, although the situation was so paradoxical he almost laughed. Ordering Italy around made Italy feel better. The real Italy would have laughed at it too, and Ludwig felt a brief and almost painful rush of genuine affection for his friend, wherever he was -- here in front of him, or in some other lonely dark corner of this awful place.

But the small and sincere smile the other man had been wearing vanished all too quickly, and Ludwig reset his focus. Clearly, he had a lot of work cut out for him. As the image of Italy confessed, almost guiltily, that his mind remained blank, Ludwig kept the disappointment off his face, giving a shake of his head with almost military precision.

"Don't be upset," he urged the other gently. "It's possible the only cure for this is time, and if that's the case, I don't mind waiting. It's not like I have anything urgent to do, and I'd rather make sure you're alright." Ludwig scanned the dark grounds. "I was looking for a way inside, actually, but outside isn't too bad. It's less claustrophobic, at least." He shot the man a small smile, this one much more genuine than before, as he built a plan in his mind. He'd continue to talk with this Italy, and see if he had been right about time. Ludwig didn't know how he felt about spending hours out in the cold air like this, but if they could keep moving -- moving and talking -- perhaps they would hit upon something that Italy remembered.

"You like the outdoors a lot, actually," he went on, for conversation's sake, determined to keep Italy from falling victim to despair more than he already had, "at least, you do when it's warm. You take naps under trees and bring home stray cats." Ludwig started walking again, shoving his hands into the pocket of his police coat and watching Italy expectantly, hoping he would follow. "I wonder if any cats live here. There are probably a lot of rats for them to eat." He wanted to ask Italy about the skeleton man, about being dead, but that would have to wait. All of the wars, the defeats, the anger and betrayals and death -- all of that could wait.