Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Sept 6, 2012 15:26:07 GMT -6
They said that the graveyard here was haunted. Gilbert had never seen a ghost before. This was motivation enough for him to try his luck venturing out amongst the tombstones. What fascinated him about this cemetery was the fact that the plots were all above-ground. He had heard that swampy places like this had no choice except to bury their dead this way -- the sponge quality of the soil often pushed coffins back up to the surface. That was something the Prussian had seen in a morbid documentary that had managed to snare his attention one late, sleepless night. Though seeing a coffin shoving its way up out of the ground would have been pretty epic, at least in Gilbert's opinion. He stepped cautiously through the overgrown brush and weeds that had grown up around the tombs. The earth was swallowing up these man-made structures, as if to prove that it could still claim the flesh and bones that had been denied to it. With no one to care for the graveyard, much of the tombs were already crumbling. He stopped in front of one of the plots. There was an angel standing, standing silent guard over the body that had come to rest in the tomb below. Gilbert crouched down, running a pale hand on the surface of the cracked marble to try deciphering the name along with the date of death. Marceline Baudeau
Born: August 24th, 1789
Died: December 5th, 1789 [/font] May The Angels Watch Over You [/size][/font] "Oh... It was just a little kinder." The Prussian murmured, a numb sadness falling heavy around him. Some little baby that had gone to death too young. He pursed his lips as he contemplated the faded name in front of him, then looked back up to the angel above. It's eyes were open, staring sightlessly but expression melancholy. Gilbert puffed out a breath that rolled in a cloud out of his lips. The Prussian started pulling at the vines and kudzu that was choking at the tombstone. What harm would there be if he tidied this one up a little? It wasn't like he could do much without proper tools or the knowledge of how to make repairs. If he could do something as simple as clear away some of the grime, that alone would feel like an improvement. Pale fingers became quickly coated in dirt as Gilbert continued to brush the marble clean. He was so absorbed in his task that the albino didn't even hear the tread of footsteps treading somewhere behind him. It wasn't until the newcomer was right behind him that Gilbert finally looked up from his work, jumping in surprise. His cheeks went pink, feeling like he'd been caught doing something silly. He tried to explain it away, "Ah. Just trying to... erm. It belongs to a kid, so..."
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Sept 6, 2012 17:15:38 GMT -6
It was a bit morbid, having the family graveyard within the actual grounds. Not only on the grounds, but almost inside the house. Being reminded, day after day, whenever you walked through here, that your loved ones were no longer with you. Rather than having an empty spot in your life, which would slowly faze out into a hazy bubble of regret and acceptance, there would only be a stark image of a gravestone, beginning to crack and fade and fall apart. Then again... These people were by far too gone, to corrupt to lament the loss of family. Hell, Feliciano couldn't even bring himself to call the...thing in the Mansion people anymore. Those voices he could hear screaming through the halls once the sun set, starkly different from the screeches of the monsters on the prowl for him, his friends, and any other unfortunate, damned soul in this accursed place. But perhaps it was also a means of forcing one to get over a heavy loss, having the final resting place so close to the heart. No denial, simply cold reality so you got it through your head that your mother, child, grandfather, cousin, brother, was gone. ...Feliciano wondered if he would be buried here, when he finally succumbed to the horrors of the Manor.
The Italian wasn't sure how long he'd stood at the front gate, staring at the rich green moss and trees with apathy painted over his face like a mask. The smallest tatters of red hanging from his shoulders like torn and ripped bird wings was all that remained of his cape; the rest used to wrap his injuries. The impromptu dressing wrapped around his left eye was soaked in blood, stained a sickly brown as the cut clotted to the cloth in a very binding fashion. His left arm's golden sleeve swayed lifelessly in the cold breeze, similarly stained with the large coins of dried blood, as it hung uselessly at his side. From the elbow up it was wrapped with a thick swathe of dirty red satin and braced straight by two old violin bows. Every step, every breath caused a new bolt of pain that clawed at his brain, but by now he was far too numb to pay any attention to that. The only thing that mattered was the fist-sized ball of cloth in his right hand. As the soft cotton slid across the palm of his hand, fingers stained grey with ash, his frozen brown gaze slowly slid about the graveyard, looking for something.
Whether he spotted what he wanted before or after that flash of white registered in his mind was up for debate. Either way he didn't so much as flinch in surprise upon realizing he wasn't alone. Staring quietly for a few moments, he watched the pale blonde meander through the undergrowth, growing wild and snagging at ankles with every intent to send you falling into its clutches. Then he slowly made his own way into the mass of graves, barely paying attention to where he was going. The jolts from his shaky steps jarred his ribs, making it harder to breathe, but he persevered, lifting his right hand to rest the stained, white cloth against his thumping chest as he felt a shiver run down his spine. It was so cold here...maybe he should find somewhere else to do this. Lovino had always hated the cold...
But did it really matter what Lovino liked or wanted anymore? Feliciano swallowed thickly, fingers momentarily tightening on the package in his hand, and forced the idea from his mind. "His soul has to rest," He whispered to himself, continuing on his way to one of the small trees littering the small yard with near single-minded determination. "He deserves to rest; A soul cannot feel the cold, or the warmth. But he can go to heaven if you do this for him..."
Quiet mumblings, more than half delirious with loss and pain and indecision, continued to slip past chapped, bloody lips as he walked around the Prussian nation. Normally, he would have not only paused at Gilbert's side but crouched down and checked out what he was doing. He would have offered a few empathetic tears before helping finish with the tidying up. Now, not even a glance was offered in the man or gravestone's direction, blank gaze still firmly locked on his target. A few steps later and he was falling to his knees, setting his white-and-grey bundle settle on the ground as he began to force his fingers into the sandy dirt. Just a small hole, deep enough to cover what remained of Lovino Vargas to protect the cloth and ash from the elements. That's all he needed to do.
That's all that mattered.
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Sept 6, 2012 18:11:02 GMT -6
Gilbert had fallen silent. More accurately, he had been stunned to silence. This was a rare feat. The sight of Feliciano in such a condition, however, caused the Prussian to freeze in place. He couldn't move. His limbs would not obey his brain even while it screamed for him to take action. Somehow the vision in front of him seemed too surreal; Gilbert couldn't connect it to his reality for the sheer improbability.
It took a violent shake to free himself. He stood up slowly from his crouch while taking in the details of Feliciano's state. Not only was the Italian rendered a bloody mess of injuries, his costume was in shambles. Something had turned Feliciano into its toy and treated him most unkindly. What disturbed Gilbert even more was the fact that the Italian had gone past where he'd been sitting without acknowledging him. The albino might as well have been a statuary amongst the tombs. Or a ghost?
He hurried to Feliciano's side when the Italian dropped down to his knees. Gilbert settled beside him, a pale hand reaching to take a tentative grip on the older man's shoulder. "Feli? Engel? Feliciano, can you hear me?"
The Prussian was trying desperately now to catch the Italian's undamaged eye. There seemed no sign of life inside of the man that was one of his closest friends. Worse, Gilbert feared what his own reaction would be if Feliciano carried on without giving validation to his presence. Was he a ghost? Had he died and not known it? The Manor had a way of playing such tricks upon people. Was this some kind of punishment for the albino, that he'd only be able to witness the actions of those he cared for without being able to make a connection with them?
That stray thought was quickly overwhelming his mind, causing the albino to become closer to a state of panic that the blood upon Feliciano's damaged body was not helping. He shifted his grip to touch upon the Italian's face, white fingertips smearing through blood and dirt and ash, only to find that the skin beneath was cold as ice. What the hell had happened to his Italian ally? It angered Gilbert, a hot bitter vein that throbbed whenever he considered what lengths the forces behind the Manor would go to cause this much destruction, this much devestation. His hatred was growing into a powerful force more each day. "Feliciano? It's me. Gilbert? Prussia? What has happened to you? Speak to me!"
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Sept 6, 2012 20:49:57 GMT -6
This task, what could and should be done in a matter of minutes, was harder than Feliciano thought it would be. He'd only managed to scoop away two handfuls of dirt before the brunette needed a break. With a sniffle, he lifted a dirt-smeared hand to his cheek, scrubbing at his eye until the burning there died away. All he had to do was dig a little hole, that's all he had to do. Why was it so difficult? With a sigh, he turned his gaze to the small bundle by his knees for a moment, whether to will strength from it or just remind him of the necessity of his task, even he wasn't sure. Taking a few more moments gather back the numbness and wrap it about the ache attempting to creep out and take over his senses, the Italian inhaled a long, deep breath and began to dig once more.
There was a pressure on his shoulder, a voice in his ear, but Feliciano wasn't sure he was imagining things or not. Either way, he had to focus on his task. He had to finish his impromptu grave, had to give what remained of his poor big brother the respect of a proper burial, had to show that even in a hellhole like the one they were living in, he still loved and respected his brother above all else. He would risk his life in order to give Lovino this chance to rest. It had been hard to get here from the second floor, especially with a bum arm, ribs that screamed every movement and a mind about as coherent as a ball of cotton.
That's not what he should be thinking on, though. Feliciano knew he needed to focus on his digging. But tears were beginning to well in his eyes once more, and he grit his teeth in effort to force them back. Clenching his good hand into the dirt, dragging away another fistful in the process, the Italian let his good eye fall shut for a few moments. There, sitting behind his eyelids as it had every time he blinked, every time he let his eyes slip closed, was Lovino. Bleeding, laughing with a gun to his head and the sickly light of insanity bringing green eyes to light. Open his eyes, and there Lovino sat, in a little bundle of cloth, only ash. Ash that needed to be buried so that his brother's soul could rest in as much peace as it would ever reach in this disgusting place.
Reinforcing his resolve, the young Italian continued to dig. There were rocks in the soil, and it was so gritty that it felt like shards of glass digging at his nerveless fingers. Fortunately, all it did was sting; no more injuries were coming to his already battered body. The boy couldn't think he could handle another injury, even a small cut upon his finger. Especially in a situation dealing with his brother. He couldn't break down, not now. ...Not ever, if he could help it.
Finally, after what felt like hours, he had the perfect little grave. Gathering the bundle in his hands with the same gentleness and care one would have with handling a priceless artifact, Feliciano held it before himself, staring down at the grey cloth. It was...t-this was the last he would ever see of Lovino. His brother...was gone. He knew that, he knew that his brother was dead but this was such a stark ending to it all that it brought a hiccuping little sob bubbling up from his lungs. Unknowingly leaning into the touch upon his cheek, needing the solace of another person, he lifted his gaze to Gilbert's face.
...Holy shit, someone was actually there. Realization lit up a frozen brown into a startled amber. "...Gilbert?" His voice was exceedingly soft, and before he could stop himself he shifted his bundle onto his lap to lift his good hand to Gilbert's face. He hadn't seen the Prussian since the very beginning of the party, he almost couldn't believe that the other was really there. But the hand against his cheek was warm, almost hot against his skin, and the pale skin under his dirt-crusted hands was solid. "Oh Dio, Gilbert, y-you're actually here..."
The surprise was so startlingly sharp that it broke the dam he'd worked so hard on constructing, and the influx of emotions battering his mind hit with the strength of a sledgehammer. The tears he'd forced away rose so quickly that soon his vision was nothing but a blaze of burning water. Grey cloth rolled from his lap as he latched onto the younger nation, burying his face against the other's chest with a sob. "Gilbert, D-Dio almighty, I-I never t-thought I'd see you again!" And now that he was crying, he couldn't bring himself to stop.
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Sept 10, 2012 16:59:39 GMT -6
Gilbert felt his heart hammering in his chest. Feliciano carried on with that digging without taking notice of his touch or his words. It sent heat racing through the Prussian's bloodstream in a hot wave of panic. The wad of cloth on the ground near Feli's knees meant nothing to him. What significance could it have for the Italian? Gilbert saw no mark upon the fabric except for evidence that it had been torn from somewhere. Here was Feliciano, fingers pulling at the dirt.
His panic was about to crest when recognition reflected in amber eyes. No one had ever looked so instantly relieved to see him and Gilbert had never been so deeply relieved to be recognized. It didn't bother him when Feliciano reached for his face, smearing tracks of dirt and blood. He was no pristine picture either. Ash, sweat, dirt and blood had marred the albino's pale skin into its own pallid mask. On the heels of his relief was weariness, heavy in his expression.
He didn't fight it when Feliciano surged for him. Opening his arms up to the Italian to claim in an embrace felt like the first real human contact he'd had in years. But it hadn't been years, right? Only days? A week? Or did this place even adhere to the laws of Time? He tightened his hold upon Feli, a hand cupping at the back of the Italian's head to thread into the other man's hair, and he squeezed that similarly sized figure tight with his own in chaotic angles. Embracing another guy wasn't the most familiar thing he might do at other times yet right now nothing felt better.
"It's okay," Gilbert whispered into Feliciano's ear, "everything's gonna be okay." He wasn't sure that he believed those words. The Prussian just had to say it. Even if it was a lie of reassurance for the older man's sake. Gilbert was powerless to do much else here. There was no telling what had put Feli into this state. Was it still nearby waiting to hunt down the Italian?
Suddenly the graveyard seemed far too exposed. The Prussian continued to pet at Feliciano's hair in small comforting strokes, supporting that trembling body as he cast his eyes around their area. He divided his attention evenly between the Italian and the environment, where every tomb could have been hiding a hungry thing behind it. "We need to get you out of here. Get you somewhere safe. Tell me what the hell happened to you on the way. Do you think that you can walk?"
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Sept 11, 2012 12:49:49 GMT -6
With a quiet hiccup, Feliciano shifted a little so that he could use his good hand to wipe at his eye, trying to scrub away the tears before they fell. Now wasn't the time to break down and cry, no matter how much he wanted to. He had a job to do. He had to finish digging his hole, bury what he could gather of his brother's remains, and... what was there to do after that? He hadn't focused that far; had only the thought of putting Lovino's remains in the ground and offering a prayer to help his soul reach Paradisio keeping him going through this damn house. It was all he could do to cling to that necessary goal when he forgot that his arm was broken and used it to shoulder open a jammed door, or when running from a monster made his ribs feel like they were being ripped apart.
...Feliciano didn't want to think about later. Later was too uncertain, filled with potential pain, injury, and death for the people of the people trapped in the Manor. Pain and hopelessness for the people he cared about. He wanted to focus on now. So he tightened his grip on Gilbert again, wincing a little as the albino reciprocated the action and sent a painful jolt up his ribs. He didn't care that it hurt a little; he hadn't had a hug or anything like that in...he couldn't even remember the last time he'd hugged something that wasn't a bloody corpse since coming to this forsaken place, and time was so distorted here he was even sure how long the Manor time was anymore. Plus the way Gilbert was holding him close was a sure sign that he needed the contact just as badly. Normally the Prussian was less enthusiastic about being hugged out of the blue; not as badly as his brother, but he always seemed a little flustered over the attention. Now, though, he was latched onto with more strength than even the Italian could manage. He even felt slim fingers running through his hair in some attempt at comfort; be it for himself or Gilbert Feliciano didn't know, but he enjoyed the gentle touch all the same. Definitely better than fighting or being shot.
After a moment, though, Gilbert was talking to him in hushed tones, trying to reassure him of something. "It's okay," he hushed, as if it would help. "Everything's gonna be okay." Normally, the small Italian would allow himself to be soothed by the words, trusting in the fact that somehow things would be alright in the end. This time, he felt giggles well up in his chest until his tears had nothing to do with relieving stress and everything to do with his hiccuping hysteria, surging from him under the guise of sick laughter.
"N-Nothing's okay, v-ve," He mumbled back, his mad giggles nearly distorting his words. "Nothing in this fucking house is going to be okay; people are dying and there are monsters a-and things that will never, ever be okay." His words probably made no sense, at least not coming from his mouth and lacking the context of his past day, but Feliciano couldn't bring himself to care. Feliciano felt like he would never be "okay" anyway; His brother was dead; Suicide under the truthful claim that it was his own fault. How can he He still fell into depressions that could last for days, even weeks, when the Holy Roman Empire was brought up, and that had happened over two centuries ago to a boy he didn't know even half as well as he did his brother.
Shaking his head slightly, an odd expression tugging at the corners of his lips until they curled up just the slightest, the lithe brunette settled back and out of the Prussian's hug, lifting his sleeve and beginning to wipe away the blood, dirt, and sweat from Gilbert's face as best he could. "There's nowhere safe in this house, Gilbert," He said almost conversationally as he worked, words still tinged unknowingly with the same cheerful madness infecting his mind. But that instability didn't stop him from tenderly sweeping away the muck covering his friend's face, from hoping he wasn't irritating any injuries on the Prussian's face as he tried cleaning him up a little. "And I can't leave until I bury Lovi; it's the only reason I'm out here, ve. He'd get upset if I didn't. The idea of finding someplace safe, to hide from the creatures and demons of the Manor, didn't seem like such a pressing thing to do. It wasn't that he felt safe everywhere, though he felt safer and a little better in Gilbert's company than he did alone, but rather the fact that he didn't feel that his safety was a concern. He drove his brother to suicide, how could he be safe with that sin hanging over his head? He was damned now, and there no rest for the wicked.
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Sept 12, 2012 20:50:53 GMT -6
The last thing Gilbert expected was to hear laughter bubbling up in the midst of his efforts to comfort Feliciano. Not the sweet, musical kind that always made the albino smile when he heard it. Or the sly giggles of a co-conspirator which never failed to cause Gilbert to laugh too. This was a sound that he didn't like; didn't want to acknowledge having come out of the Italian. It shouldn't have come out of his Feliciano. But no one in the Manor was who they used to be, were they? And as much as the Prussian might deny that he wasn't still true to himself, he was just as guilty of making compromises to his character inside this place.
"It's gonna be ok--" Gilbert tried to continue, to speak over that laughter and muffle it with the sound of his own voice. That was something he could trust, since it still seemed real enough from the world before the Manor. Yet Feliciano was talking, and the Prussian's words faltered. "N-Nothing's okay, v-ve," Feliciano told him between more of those giggles that made Gilbert's brain itch, "Nothing in this fucking house is going to be okay; people are dying and there are monsters a-and things that will never, ever be okay."
Those words caused the albino to drop into a mute stillness. He remained motionless as Feliciano continued to talk, numb while the other man wiped at the grime on his face. The actions so tender, everything about it at odds with the violence of the Manor. But what was being said to him was right in line with the place's agenda. "There's nowhere safe in this house, Gilbert." That was a truth that the Prussian had been desperate to avoid. He needed to cling to the idea of survival. A concept that was vital to his ability to last here: That there was hope, that they'd be okay in the end, that he'd see his brother again and everyone would escape. There had to be a reason to keep fighting, right?
Gilbert's face smoothed out, emptying its expression. His eyes swelled as they stared at Feliciano's strange smile and the mad glint in amber eyes. If this man believed that there was no hope, someone that made his paltry two centuries seem like a mere drop in time, then how could Gilbert argue with that? In a rare display, the albino gazed upon Feliciano and looked, as well as felt, incredibly young.
Then Feliciano was continuing on, shifting the tracks of their topic. "And I can't leave until I bury Lovi; it's the only reason I'm out here, ve. He'd get upset if I didn't."
"Bury...?" His face turned aside to where that bundle of cloth was on the ground. How could this mass of cloth possibly be Lovino? Had the Manor played some cruel trick upon Feliciano involving the other Italian? It made sense, given the state of the older man. He frowned deeply. "There's nothing there but a piece of cloth, Feliciano. Let me at least get you inside. Maybe I can get you patched up in the infirmary -- had to give Sadiq a hand earlier on. There will be blankets, and a place you can rest. Come on. Let me take you away from all this death."
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Sept 13, 2012 19:05:43 GMT -6
At first, Feliciano didn't notice his pale friend's sudden silence, or the look upon his face that would be reminiscent of a child staring at their parent after being told that Santa didn't exist if the situation wasn't so deadly and the expression so exceedingly sad. He was far too focused on his task of cleaning Gilbert up. But after finally turning his gaze from the other's cheeks and forehead and chin to look into rich crimson eyes, Feliciano seemed to take pause. At first, he seemed a bit confused, but then the smile on his face quickly dimmed down and that violently bright glint in amber eyes burnt out like a smothered ember. Once the madness died away from his mind, hiding down behind the guilt immediately welling up in his chest, he bit his lip, almost unable to look the Prussian in the eye.
Feliciano had never seen Gilbert as a "young" nation. Sure, he tended to fuss over him the same way he sometimes fussed over Ludwig, who was a young nation and someone that Feliciano loved to dote on when he had the chance, but Gilbert was simply Gilbert. Despite the fact that he was younger than Feliciano, not only had he aged faster that Feliciano, just like every other nation in Europe, but he was also a very reliable and awesome person that the Italian just never considered as "little". The albino had even helped him and Lovino become a nation; if not for the Prussian's help, the Unification would have ended just like the other three wars of independence that came before, that he knew for certain. So to see that devastated look on the other's face, whether he was meant to see it or not, felt a little like someone was kicking his ribs all over again. "...We could try to make somewhere save, though. A sort of...haven, like a main base?" He offered a bit weakly, swiping away one last sliver of blood on the Prussian's cheek before letting his hand fall back in his lap. "Then gather everyone, Luddi, Fratellone Francis, Antonio, Lov--" He paused in his pale excuse of a backtracked comfort when he stumbled over his brother's name, swallowing a bit thickly. But he was saved from any thoughts pertaining to his brother by Gilbert's words, who seemed to have slightly recovered from that lost, deeply insecure and unhappy stare for a more worried frown.
"There's nothing there but a piece of cloth, Feliciano," the albino said, sounding incredibly...confused, would be a good way to put it. That appraising gaze was sweeping over his face again, and it brought a tired, sad smile to his face. "Si, Gilbert, I know it's a simple piece of cloth, it's part of Lovi's shirt, actually. It's what's inside the clothe bundle that matters; it's all I could gather up after the fire died down, ve..."
With that said, and knowing that still Gilbert wouldn't understand, Feliciano grabbed one of Gilbert's hands, pulling the appendage forward until it was resting in the air between them. Then he scooped up the bundle and placed it in that thin, pale hand. "I... Because of me, Lovi commited suicide, mio amico," he whispered, reaching down and undoing the knot in the bundle. "Shot himself. I-I couldn't carry his body; I didn't even know there was an actual cemetery until I saw it in a window. S-So I did what I could to keep the Manor from desecrating his body..." As he spoke, he carefully pulled down one corner of the cloth, showing the Prussian the small, fist-sized pile of ash resting innocently in its cloth cover. Peeking out from the white and grey flecks was the burnt, warped remains of a rosary; green beads covered in black scorches and metal links melted together with a lopsided, grotesque crucifix. Dull brown eyes stared up into crimson, even though the younger nation's gaze was still aimed at the remains in his hands.
"I have to bury him, Gilbert. A-After driving him to suicide...i-it's what I have to do, v-ve..."
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Sept 21, 2012 16:04:09 GMT -6
At Feliciano's suggestion of making their own safe stronghold, Gilbert's grunt was bare acknowledgment. He let it be a boost of hope just for the sake of his own sanity. Gilbert didn't believe that the Italian held any such hope -- this was likely just suggested to make him feel better. Yet why couldn't that be true? Why couldn't they gather everyone up, a united force, and protect themselves against the worst that the Manor unleashed? It made sense, on a tactical level. Had the Manor not done its best to leave them divided, at odds, poised to fight one another if not the forces here?
The Prussian was confident that he could prove it to Feliciano. He had to be. "Ja. Ja. We'll track everyone down and bunker into a safe spot. Somewhere we can defend. Somewhere that these things can't conquer us easily. We'll grab up Fra--" Gilbert's words went silent as his frown deepened. It wasn't confusion over Feliciano's mysterious bundle. This was because he found, alarmingly, that he couldn't fully picture Francis's face. Nor Antonio's.
His memories were patchy on a good day; here in the Manor, they were completely malleable. He thought that Francis was the one that liked wine. That Antonio really loved . . .apples? The Prussian shook his head quickly, fighting to clear that confusion off his face since Feliciano was speaking again. Gilbert watched mutely as the older man guided his hand to take that burden of the wrapped cloth.
Feliciano's claim was unbelievable. "Vas? Shot himself? Sour Puss?" He blinked in disbelief as Feliciano unfolded the rest of the tale. It seemed impossible that Lovino would commit suicide. Not only was the Italian staunchly Catholic -- or at least that's what Gilbert recalled, but Lovino also knew two details about the Italian that were surprisingly fresh in his mind: First, that Lovino was a paragon of self-preservation to the point of cowardice. Second, that he loved his brother. Even with the holes in his memory, Gilbert could swear to that. To think that Lovino would place this pain upon Feliciano's shoulders was unfathomable.
It didn't help matters when Feliciano unfolded that cloth for him to look inside. The Italian acted like it was a presentation of something grisly. When, in fact, Gilbert's eyes saw nothing. Just cloth. A little singed, perhaps, and definitely soiled with sweat, dirt and blood from having been in Feliciano's grip. Beyond that, there was nothing else for the Prussian to see. He looked up sharply when the other man mentioned Lovino's remains. Feliciano believed that there was something here inside. That was obvious. But whatever the Manor wanted the Italian to see inside of that scrap of cloth was not what it revealed to Gilbert.
He met those dull brown eyes. Feliciano was caught up in some spell of this place. And that spell was breaking the Italian further right before his eyes. That much he could see. The albino's face hardened with anger at the Manor. It had been well over a century and some odd years since the former nation of Prussia had felt a righteous rage. Right now it threatened to flare with that old passionate zeal. He had to be careful, though, because that anger could do Feliciano no good. His voice was firm as he tried to reason with the Italian. "Feliciano... it's a trick. What you saw had to have been a false illusion. There is nothing here in my hands but fabric. Dirty, empty fibers. Your brother is not here in this. Surely in your heart you know that your brother is not dead. ...Ja?"
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Sept 23, 2012 11:43:35 GMT -6
Once Gilbert had gotten a good look of the ash in his hands, Feliciano quickly rolled the corners back up and tied the cloth shut. Then he pulled the bundle back to his chest, cradling it close. "Ve, we have to be able to feed everyone, though, a-and give them places to sleep, so we'll have to go out and get provisions..." He whispered, running his finger gently over the coarse fabric. "I-It would have to be a room that only has one entrance, a-and open enough that we couldn't get snuck up upon... N-No one e-else should die here..." Those words brought more tears to his eyes as his weak stare slid down to the ground next to their knees.
What had any of them done to deserve this place? While it was true that each and every one of them had a dark secret hidden in their closet--some more than others--but that still doesn't mean that the proper "punishment" for those sins equates to being thrown into a house they couldn't escape and hunted down, degraded worse than animals, by creatures and forces more befitting hell than any worldly existence. They all felt guilt for what they had done, every nation was doing their best to repent, wasn't that enough?
Feliciano was second-guessing everything now. He knew he could be a better person, they all could, but that didn't mean they weren't good people now. Dio would know that, and it was impossible for the Italian to understand why they would be forced to endure such a trial. Gilbert didn't deserve it, Arthur didn't deserve it, neither did Ludwig, Mr. Matthew, L-Lovi, no one deserved such cruelty. None of them deserved to die, to be stuck in a house and forced to watch their family and friends swirl down the savage path to insanity. The thoughts tromping through his mind with such indelicacy sent a few tears running down his cheeks. But then he was blinking them away, because Gilbert was speaking.
"S-Si, Gilbert, Lovi shot himself," he reiterated, lifting a hand to his down-turned face and lifelessly wipe at his cheeks. "I-I don't know what happened to drive him to it, b-but if I hadn't brought him with me, h-he--" With a soft hiccup, he cut himself off once more, turning away and rubbing at his good eye one last time, still holding his small but precious "cargo" tightly in his hand. It wasn't fair to Gilbert to break down like this right here. It was bad enough he was already upsetting the pale nation anyway, he shouldn't have to deal with him freaking out about this. So, after a deep, solid breath, which helped him find the will to staunch the tears flowing from his eyes, he froze. Because Gilbert was speaking to him again.
"There is nothing here in my hands but fabric," he was saying. "Your brother is not here in this."[/i] When Feliciano looked back up at the man, surprise coloring his expression, the look in the Prussian's eyes brought a flinch out of his frame and a tightening in his fingers as they clutched more desperately at all that was left of his big brother. The brunette quickly turned his gaze away, hunching down a little in a meek expression of weakness at the other's strong waves of emotion. He couldn't handle looking at Gilbert; not when he had an expression like that. Whether he was angry at Feliciano for being "hoodwinked" or the Manor for "tricking him", the Italian did not know, but that anger was too much. It only hurt all the more. "N-No, no, i-it was r-real, Gilbert, i-it wasn't some illusion," he whispered, swallowing thickly as he concentrated on the throbbing pain in his left arm, the subtle shifting of broken ribs in his side. "I-I saw it, e-even if I still don't want to believe it, I-I saw it, Gilbert. I f-felt it when he shot me. Heard w-with my own ears as h-he s-screamed at me for bringing him to this g-godforsaken place. Felt his blood s-splatter a-against m-my face when he p-pulled t-the t-t-trigger--" Even more tears were streaming down his cheeks, and it was all he could do to shake his head and drop his collection of his brother's ashes. He could barely gather the strength of will to lift a hand in an attempt at smothering any sobs struggling to bubble up his throat. The most difficult task was trying to push away the memories in order to concentrate on "being okay". His vision, already limited by the cloth wrapped about his left eye and the rapidly darkening sky as evening firmly settled into dusk, was so warped from the sheath of remorseful tears that even gazing at the nation before him was impossible; the man was nothing more but a blur of brilliant, pale light against the purpling sky. But it didn't stop him from reaching out with a shaky hand to cling at the other's dirty shirt, attempting to bring himself some form of comfort. "G-Gilbert, e-even if I don't w-want him to be dead, a-and I could try to t-tell myself that he's not, i-in the end I can't deny w-what I saw, what I-I felt with m-my own hands..."
Of course Feliciano had tried to tell himself that Lovino wasn't dead. It was simply denial, though. He'd denied Holy Rome's death for nearly fifty years. The Italian had only been able to accept his Nonno's death as quickly as he had because he was forced to see the truth by the man who killed Rome(and then raised him for a short period of time before his own death). Denial was such a sure part of his own character that he told himself he recognized the signs and immediately disregarded them. While it was normal to feel that urge, that disbelief that your loved ones were gone so quickly after they leave you, Feliciano couldn't let himself buy into that uncertainty. They were all still in a dangerous place, now was no time to wallow in the warring mindset of "reality versus hopeful delusion". "...i-it's hard to accept, I-I know, but...I saw it, Gilbert. I-I saw him s-shoot himself, I h-held his d-dead b-body once he was g-gone, I c-cremated him. ...i-it couldn't possibly b-be a dream..."
No matter how much he wanted it to be.
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Sept 26, 2012 15:43:10 GMT -6
"I never said it was a dream. Just another waking nightmare." Gilbert answered Feliciano at a growl once the Italian had finished stammering. He didn't fight the other man's grip on his clothes, pale fingers reached out to brush their own comfort in a slow caress along Feliciano's forearm. "This place gets in your head, und it messes with your mind. Makes you see things that aren't real. Forces you to believe the impossible."
His caress turned into a tug on the Italian's sleeve, dragging Feliciano's trembling body forward to take into another embrace. He was angry. Furious! The Manor preying upon them to make them experience fear was one thing -- but what had happened to Feliciano here was unforgivable. Gilbert's arms securely captured the older man, holding him close to try and chase out the chill that had claimed Feliciano's limbs, to bleed his warmth into that other body. "But in 'belief', there is a 'lie', und you are made of sterner stuff than these tricks, Feliciano. You must think carefully back: Search inside of your heart for the truth. Our minds might be open to whatever is causing this grief for us, but surely our hearts are untainted. I know that Ludwig is still here somewhere. Fighting, maybe. Searching for us, definitely. This is what I know is true because I feel it."
"So what do you feel, engel? Do you think this place really got the better of your arschloch bruder?" The Prussian's grip shifted. Pale fingers took hold of the Italian's chin, turning Feliciano's face up to view more openly. His eyes, now the hue of dark wine, were honed in completely upon the other man to search him for the correct answer. "Do you believe in the lies of this place, that has hunted us, starved us, und made us unable to sleep for fear of the shadows? Or do you believe in your bruder? That he's just like us -- too stubborn to die und too glad to spit in the eye of whatever thing runs this place?"
Gilbert had no intention to remain idle while he waited for Feliciano to make a decision on the matter. His grip stayed locked on the other man's body as the albino began to lift them both up to their feet. He wanted to get the Italian to see reason, and would force him away from this place of death if need be. Anything to strip that look of defeat that weighed its burden heavily upon Feliciano's shoulders. Prussia had always been one to leave the heroic stuff to America or Germany; today he'd have to try it out for his own. "Come on. I'm taking you inside. Away from these graves. Away from these illusions."
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Oct 1, 2012 1:30:45 GMT -6
While Gilbert seemed to vibrate with suppressed anger, all Feliciano could do was cry. He had held back when Lovino had first shot himself, and he'd gone so numb carrying what he thought was his brother's remains that the thought of letting loose most of his emotions never registered in his mind. But then Gilbert had to put the thought in his head that Lovino could still be alive. Well, maybe not so much "put" the idea as he rekindled that supposedly naive delusion the Italian had harbored in his heart. But with that relighting of the hopeful spark came a swarm of shadowed doubts. "...B-But how could it h-have simply been a-a nightmare?" He asked almost frantically, voice beginning to crack. "I-Illusions don't leave b-bullet wounds, t-they don't stain clothes w-with blood, a-and they don't leave t-the means of their suicide behind..." All this was forced out of a throat closing up under a new wave of grief, making it so hard to speak Feliciano let himself fall silent. The Italian drew some comfort from the touch of warm fingers upon his arm, heating sunkissed skin even through a gold sleeve.
Then, when he was pulled into a hug, the small brunette cut off his trembling flow of words, every syllable previously breaking like the tide over a rocky shore. Despite the subtle trembling of Gilbert's form, the arms wrapped around his shoulders stayed strong, warm bands of steel, and the Italian boy found something in the touch that made him cry more, though both what and why were answers he did not have. Feliciano burrowed in the embrace, latching all the more tightly onto the pale Germanic's shirt and hiding his face against a broad shoulder as he sobbed. How could he be as "tough" as Gilbert thought he was? Feliciano could hardly reconcile the fact that what had happened to Lovino could have been a nightmare cooked up by this hideous place, where others would be so overjoyed by the mere idea they would immediately latch onto it. If the scene of his broyher became nothing more than an illusion, though, how could he trust in anything that happened? If he could be hurt by illusions, nightmares so real that his own blood burst from his body in "false" injuries, then how could he trust anything else? Did that mean that Gilbert was nothing but a figment of his imagination, created in attempt to cope? These were all worries that he wanted, almost needed to share aloud. Whether that urge was in hopes to have Gilbert scare away his insecurities or Feliciano's own attempts to dispel the illusion the Prussian could have been, even he did not know, but he refused to give into it. If the other was there, how on Earth would he feel upon being accused of being unreal, existing only in the cracking mind of an Italian who couldn't handle the loss of his brother? That would be too much--hurting his friend like that when all the Prussian was attempting to do was help. And if the nation hugging him close was nothing but an illusion, Feliciano wanted it last as long as possible--if his new grip on the younger man was anything to go by.
But...What if Gilbert was right?
What if witnessing Lovino's suicide was nothing more an illusion made up by the Manor? An illusion not wholly created from nothing but... a clever ruse by one of the monstrocities of the Manor cloaked in the guise of his precious Lovino in hopes of breaking him? As that idea crept into his mind, Feliciano felt Gilbert wrap gentle fingers around his jaw and begin to guide him into staring up at the white-haired nation. But his gaze was unseeing, hidden behind a curtain of burning tears and conflicting emotions, and then his eye slipped shut.. "I-I... I don't know..." He whimpered, the quiet words a swift retreat from certainty over his brother's death. Doubt warred with grieving cynism in his mind, dueled over whether to believe in his memories or the words of someone Feliciano felt he trusted unconditionally. "I..have f-faith in Lovi, m-ma..."
Again, he trailed off into silence, freeing his chin and giving his forehead rest against Gilbert's shoulder. His mind was tired, and his emotions continued wringing themselves out so much that he wasn't sure what to do with anything. Tears still dribbled down his cheeks, and his injured eye burned from all the crying. Beneath the pain and the insecurity, though, there were the beginning sparks of...dare he say hope, trying to light up a weak shadow of his usual optimism and undying cheer. The Italian allowed the Prussian to help him to his feet, leaning heavily against the white-headed man because, honestly, he hadn't slept since Lovino's "suicide"--a few days at least, if the weary hang of every hair and muscle in his body was anything to go by. The brunette lost track of how many hours he' sat up whilst hiding from the monsters on his journey, clutching his bundle and terrified of even blinking too often for fear of seeing Lovino's dead form etched behind his eyelids. Even now he had initially tried to keep an unblinking gaze on the younger nation, so doubtful of what existed or not that he tried to Gilbert in sight at all times. Even if his precious big brother's death existed only as illusion, it was too stark, too real a sight to simply brush away from his memory. His brother could be alive out there, which was more than enough reason for him to celebrate, but the cheerful urge dampened itself with the knowledge that he could reunite with Lovino, only to find him lying dead before him. Nothing more than a slim body draped against a wall or lying on the floor, covered in the splatter of grey brain matter with gore dripping from the side of hiss skull to stain his clothes, glaring green eyes burning into his soul even in death... The recollection of that sight alone was enough to send a bolt of pain so dark and sharp that a new, unexpected wave of mind-rattling grief slammed against him with the strength of a tsunami. His knees gave out on him. Only Gilbert's solid hug around his torso kept him upright, and he repayed that effort by sobbing into the Prussian's chest. Anything he may have told his friend was lost in the swell and the flood of tears, and he even risked the burning agony of moving his fractured arm to wrap it around the man in a trembling hug, seeking comfort and sanctuary from the demons he felt he could no longer disclose to his friend.
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Oct 9, 2012 12:51:59 GMT -6
Getting Feliciano to safety was Gilbert's number one priority. Beyond that was his driving need to console the Italian. Anything that he could do to erase this grief from the older man and perhaps channel it into something equally potent. Like anger. Something that the Prussian was feeling all too vividly. He kept his arms around Feliciano, halfway cradling him in that embrace. It didn't bother him to be clung to. Gilbert tried to lend what strength he could through the energies of their bodies.
Feliciano's question was a good one. How could he explain the injuries that the other man had suffered? Gilbert could see that the Italian had been hurt in some confrontation. Could an illusion have had that much power? He didn't want to believe in the possibility of this. "Maybe it wasn't the illusion of Lovino that is responsible for your injuries. If you were caught in the web of some predatory creature, it might have been attacking you while you were hallucinating. And once the illusion was done, the thing let you go. Let you stumble off, confused and laden with grief, to hopefully go stumbling across the path of something even worse. Like a screwed up tagteam operation."
Gilbert's support shifted as he started to guide Feliciano in the direction of the infirmary. If anything tried to attack them along the way, the albino was geared up for a vicious fight to avenge this sorrow in Feliciano. The Manor needed a lesson in humility that the Prussian was more than ready to deliver. He expanded upon his previous words as he brought Feliciano along, small steps to keep at a pace that the Italian could manage in his condition. "I used that tactic once or twice in battle. You beat them up a bit, then retreat. They fall into a sense of confused complacency, thinking that the worst is over. And once their guard is down, you strike in full force to steal the last of their hope. It's cruel but effective. I didn't use it much because it always felt like dishonorable combat. Lud's people found it handy in the big wars."
Mentioning his brother again made Gilbert's chest tighten. Was his brother experiencing the same torment as Feliciano? The Prussian couldn't tolerate the notion that Ludwig might be wandering around this place, lost and injured, thinking that Gilbert had finally succumbed to death. Ludwig was strong -- Gilbert had raised him right, after all, and Beilschmidts were survivors -- but was the German strong enough to navigate those deep, treacherous waters without him?
No. There was nothing that he could do for Ludwig now. Gilbert caught himself spiraling into the pattern of confusion from easily distracted thoughts. He needed to keep all of his attention on Feliciano right now. On getting the Italian to a safe place where he could treat these wounds. And in keeping alert for any threats that might get in their way to prevent it. The Prussian tried to summon up more words that might better inspire Feliciano to his same level of determination. "We're gonna patch you up. I'll use my awesome monk skills to heal you like the goddamned boss that I am. And once you're strong enough then we are going to go blazing through this place like a couple of badass guys to hunt down our brothers. If any more bad things try to stop us then we will kick them in the face. Once we're all together again, we'll beat this schiesse and go home. I promise. And a Prussian promise is iron-clad, mi amigo."
Gilbert was pretty sure that was the wrong language. Still, it hopefully got the point across. He scoped out their surroundings again and resumed tugging Feliciano towards the gate of the cemetery to get them away from that bundle.
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Oct 12, 2012 22:20:01 GMT -6
These words, despite the strange concept, actually made...sense. Sniffling a little as his crying made his entire head stuffy and heavy, Feliciano attempted to calm himself down. "G-Gilbert..." The Italian had been caught off-guard by that last, vent-like rant, and despite the tears still sluggishly pooling in the corners of his eyes, he did something unexpected. He laughed. It was a quiet, weak sound, but it was a genuine giggle that seemed to lift the dark cloud draped over him like a blanket, if only a little. With it bolstering his spirits, he finally convinced his tears to stop, offering another giggle as he lifted his right hand to wipe away the tear tracks upon his pale, dirty cheek."H-How many times do I have to s-say that I speak Italian, n-not Spanish?" he asked hoarsely, but with genuine amusement, no matter how weak. "I-It's mio amico, Gilbert. ...Sei il mio amico."
With those words uttered, it seemed Feliciano was fully calming down now. He still stumbled over some words, and his voice was croakier than ever, but he wasn't numb or so overwrought with grief that he was half ready to just curl up in a corner and not get up again. "Plus y-you make it sound as if we're in one of Kiku's v-video games," He continued, allowing his broken arm to fall back to his side so that it wouldn't be jostled anymore--momentarily gritting his teeth as that movement sent a bolt of pain assaulting his brain. "Maybe w-we are, wouldn't that be j-just awful, ve? I-It'd be like a loop, all this over and over again." Despite the way his words were turning, though, Feliciano was attempting to gather his wits about him, so that he'd be able to stand up and give the Prussian nation a bit of a break--he couldn't be that easy to lug around like this, no matter what Ludwig tried to say about him weighing less than a sack of potatoes. "...but si, let's do that anyway. W-We need to find Ludwig and Lovi, a-and--" he paused for a moment, swallowing a little as he pushed back the dark thoughts attempting to surge forward again at his brother's name, "--and I-I... I want t-to find the m-monster that did this and..." Something dark passed over the Italian's expression, a darkness that had nothing to do with grief. It lasted only enough to color the end of his sentence. "I want to teach it t-to never, e-ever use L-Lovi like that again, ve."
With one last sniffle and one last swipe of his hand over his cheek, the Italian seemed to have fully regained his composure. With that composure also came a new, firm belief that Lovino wasn't actually dead--whether it was wishful thinking, denial, or the truth illuminated by his friend's words was a matter of opinion. Either way, now Feliciano stuck close for help with walking rather than the need for an emotional crutch. The comfort of having someone nearby he could actually touch was nice, but there was still the guilt of overburdening Gilbert with his problems lingered as he tried to stand on his own feet and realized he simply didn't have the strength to keep his shaking limbs steady. "V-Ve, the infirmery...i-isn't too far, is it, G-Gilbert? I-I don't know if I can walk a-all the way back..."
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Oct 21, 2012 15:19:53 GMT -6
This new dialogue out of Feliciano was precisely what Gilbert was hoping to hear. The Italian sounded more determined and far less grieved now. It was up to the Prussian to keep that momentum going, just in case something sent Feliciano spiraling back down into that pit of depression. He tried to help the other man by rubbing carefully at the Italian's cheeks with his sleeves. It did more smearing around of dirt than anything. Gilbert gave that up before he just created a bigger mess. That was something better left to tend to when he got Feliciano transported away to a more secure location.
"Ja. We'll find them. Though I need to get you patched up first if we're going to make any sort of trip exploring this place. You seem like you're ready to topple over like a house of cards... uh... 'mio am-ico.'." It still didn't sound right to him. He'd have to take Feliciano's word on it. Gilbert was having a difficult enough time remembering English. If he came across England, he'd have to punch him in the mouth for having made that language so hard. That'd leave him satisfied.
Gilbert's arm kept Feliciano supported, trying to shift enough that he could keep the man gripped without hindering the Italian's injuries. He'd need to make a full assessment of the older nation once they were settled in. But from what he could remember of Feliciano's preference to run around in the nude, the albino wasn't afraid of any kind of shyness from the Italian if he needed to strip him down to examine the man completely. "It's on the second floor. So we have a ways to go from here. I won't leave you behind. If I have to carry you, I will. I don't have West's massive muscles, but I can still manage to heft a little stick like you. Then I'll doctor you up so well that you won't even remember having gotten hurt. That's how good I am."
Of course, the Prussian wasn't taking into consideration the fact that his own body was weary from a lack of rest and nutrition. It would have been mortifying if he dropped Feliciano after such bold words. If anyone could manage the task on sheer willpower and stubborn mindset alone, it'd be Gilbert. He squeezed Feliciano gently to his side, reassuring the other man. Gilbert had managed to lure the Italian out of that frightening mood. If he were wrong about Lovino, that was something to contend with later. In a place like the Manor, though, the only way to keep going forward was to take one step at a time.
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Oct 23, 2012 15:10:20 GMT -6
It was certainly a surprise to Feliciano when Gilbert shifted his grip on his arm and then reached up with the opposite sleeve in order to gently scrub at his cheek. His good eye shut reflexively at the touch, trying to protect the sensitive organ from the dirt he could feel spreading across his skin, and for those moments the Italian was as good as blind. It was certainly disconcerting, his sight being so strongly limited, and with a quake of fear his grip tightened on the Prussian's shirt until the touch was gone and an amber eye slipped open once more. But, this time, he didn't relax his fingers. He was scared if he did, he'd end up slipping, falling on his face, and finding himself unable to get back up again.
"...V-Ve, that's--I-I'm fine, j-just a little tired," the Italian mumbled. An obvious lie, considering the blood staining his collar and half of his shirt a rustic red--then again, though, it wasn't a lie that he wasn't tired. But he also could tell by the dark circles under Gilbert's eyes, and just the exhausted air about the Prussian in general, that his friend was just as tired as he was. He might even be more exhausted--who knows what trials the Manor had put the poor albino through. That knowledge was more than enough to keep him from wanting to burden Gilbert too much, instead trying to walk on his own best he could despite this nerveless legs and the tight grip he kept on the man at his side.
The mention of the second floor, though, gave Feliciano pause. His limbs stiffened and locked up for a moment, and his arm seemed to throb with twice the intensity. Lovino's prone, broken form flashed across his eyesight and it was all he could do to mentally recoil from that ever-lingering depression hiding underneath his still-fledgling hope for his brother's safety. "I-I didn't even know there was an infirmary here--I-I would've thought that this disgusting place w-would just want us t-to suffer..." Now, these words were bitter--spurred by his own disgust with both this hellhole and himself for being unable to fully shake the grief caused by a simple "illusion". They were also muttered in hopes of playing off his less than subtle recoil to the thought of heading back to that floor. "...And I don't need t-to be carried, Gilbert. My legs aren't b-broken, they can survive t-the walk." He was worried how his body would even respond to being carried around--he was already biting back pained sounds from whenever his ribs were jostled by every subtle shift Gilbert would make. Standing was the only time they hurt the least. There was also the very deep, nagging worry about what would happen if Gilbert had to heft around his "dead weight" if they ran into one of the monsters here--there was no way he would allow himself to be in a position to potentially get Gilbert killed, simply because he grew "too tired" to carry his own weight. "...Don't worry about me, si?" Feliciano reassured, offering a tired smile to wine-colored eyes as he tucked his free arm around his ribs. "I can make it there." He kept the "whether you have to leave me behind or not" tacked on the end of that sentence, but as a silent ending, though. He knew that comment would just upset the Prussian as well. "...y-you're not hurt though, are you, Gilbert?"
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Nov 9, 2012 15:48:15 GMT -6
Gilbert recognized the deception in Feliciano's dismissive words. Even an idiot would know that it was more than exhaustion that was causing the Italian to tense and shudder. He could feel the tremors of pain passing steadily through the other man's body. And when Feliciano attempted to pull away enough from his clinging to walk without his aid, Gilbert stubbornly shifted him back into place. "I was surprised to find it myself. Considering how remote this place is, though, having to travel to a hospital might have been out of the question. So the need of those who used to live here is proving useful for us today. For me, anyway. Not too many of us are able to make use of it. I just have the advantage of being a former hospital with a miniature hospital to make use of, ja?"
The theme of Feliciano's words bothered Gilbert. They could both be stubborn people. While it was usually the Italian that surrendered first, the Prussian wondered if the trials of the Manor had perhaps given Feliciano a deeper level of resolve. Their halting pace wasn't traveling fast enough for his liking. Who knew what could be creeping upon their backs even now as they hobbled through the courtyard? Gilbert was divided trying to keep the door in sight to know how close they were to that more defensible safety, and upon the landscape around them for any sign of a threat. He had become all too attuned to the fact of how exposed they were out here. Gilbert's long honed instincts couldn't let him shake the feeling.
"I'm going to worry about you even if you tell me not to. You're hurt, and you need my help. So I need to make sure that I'm doing everything I can to get you safe, and feeling as good as I can get you. That's my only concern right now, kiddo. I'll worry about the rest when it comes time. So you're just gonna have to put up with it until then." He informed the Italian gruffly. To the last question, Gilbert did a quick sweep of his own body. Minor scrapes and bruises, general exhaustion. So far he hadn't even managed to pull a muscle. It seemed that he was faring physically better than other people here. "Just a minor headache. Been having those since soon after everything went to hell, though. It's nothing that I can't handle. You just worry about keeping one foot in front of the other for me, okay?"
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Nov 9, 2012 22:57:37 GMT -6
The Italian felt a sigh bubble up his chest. Not only because his attempts to downplay the situation had failed, but also the fact that he had only seemed to draw up a bit of Gilbert's stubborn nature with it. Whether it was the "end of discussion" tone the Prussian had taken when explaining exactly how he felt on the situation. "...You can't forget to take care of yourself though, Gilbert..." He mumbled worriedly, allowing himself to be held close and properly supported despite the uncomfortable position it put his ribs in. "Your health is just as important, if not more important than mine. So...even if you're concerned about me, I don't want you to forget about you, either. I'll just keep worrying about you otherwise..." Despite wanting to be as little worry as he could manage, regardless of the fact Gilbert had watched him nearly have a meltdown and just taking in his physical condition into consideration, he also didn't want to upset the man by fighting over this. It didn't help that he still wasn't sure whether he could walk alone anyway. This wasn't a time for stubbornness when it would only upset them both.
"V-Va bene, Gilbert. I'll do my best." Of course, Feliciano wouldn't stop worrying over the Prussian--if Gilbert could worry even after being told not to, the Italian could do the same. Especially since the other was admitting to having chronic headaches. He would make sure to get Gilbert to stop and take care of himself as well, once they were inside. He felt bad for the slow pace, he could tell by the slight, antsy fidgeting of the hands upon his undamaged arm and the swift way those ruby eyes darted about that it wasn't fast enough for Gilbert. But he was pushing himself as fast he could manage without making his head swim.
...that fidgeting was disconcerting, though. Gilbert seemed too uncomfortable for the situation at hand. With another quiet sigh, he leaned a little more of his weight against the albino's side. "...Are you sure...you're alright, Gilbert?" He asked quietly, turning a tired amber eye to glance around the courtyard as well. He didn't know what was agitating the man so, but obviously it was important enough to drive him to restless fidgeting. "It looks like something's...bothering you, ve..." His voice was colored with worry, momentarily smothering his exhaustion as he once more fisted his hand in Gilbert's shirt.
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Dec 2, 2012 22:32:37 GMT -6
"I'm fine." Gilbert affirmed to Feliciano with more conviction. He'd just witnessed the Italian in total emotional meltdown. The worst thing that the Prussian could do was pitch the other man back into a panic; there had been times when Feliciano proved himself highly capable of handling situations, yes, but that was always a gamble to trust in. It was more important to keep the Italian calm. At least to prevent Feliciano from regressing to that earlier episode. "I just don't like being out in the open like this. It's too vulnerable. Since you're handicapped from your injuries, we're slowed down. I don't know what could be wandering around here."
It was a relief when they finally reached the courtyard's door. Getting into the Manor would at least provide Gilbert the minor security of having defensible places to keep at his back. Less chance of things sneaking up on him when he wasn't looking. He shifted Feliciano's figure in the support of his arm to wrap dirty, pale fingers around the door's handle to pull it open. It didn't budge. Locked. This was even less ideal. He frowned at this turn in his luck, grip tightening on the door as he tugged at it with more force. "Godda--this wasn't locked when I came out here. What the hell kind of game is this place playing now?"
The Prussian growled in frustration. He released the doorknob, to kick viciously at the locked door barring his progress. It was only the reality of Feliciano's weight there leaning on him that prevented Gilbert from attacking it more earnestly. He couldn't risk jostling the Italian too much just to throw a tantrum with the door. Crimson eyes had darkened the deep color of blood in his anger, swinging to the smaller man. "Looks like we won't be getting in this way. We're gonna have to walk around until I can find an open door or a window to smash open. I hate forcing you to have to walk that distance. Are you sure that you wouldn't let me carry you? You might be worried about me being worn out or whatever but I'm stubborn as hell. How far do you think you'll be able to make it under your own power?"
He looked out over the landscape around them. The aura of the place felt darker. Gilbert operated on a level sometimes that was more basic than his former peers; a primitive base of mindset that made him impossible at parties yet great in the wild. The albino's face was a blank mask as he gave his full attention to the environment around them. His eyes roamed, sharply focused, and his nostrils flared as Gilbert even inhaled deep. Something just felt off. Moreso than the usual 'off'. Like, off off. Bad Things Happening off. Gilbert shifted the brunt of Feliciano's weight to start moving the man from the door since it was a lost cause. "Come on, kiddo. Let's start walking."
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Dec 6, 2012 15:10:49 GMT -6
Feliciano understood Gilbert's concern--the Manor was filled to the brim with monsters of one sort or another, though most could be avoided if you were quiet and quick enough to get into and out of rooms without catching notice. But out here, while not as large an empty space as the grounds, could be dangerous. There were no rooms one could duck into and barricade in case of a monster chase, no shadowy nooks and crannies to hide in until the monster left or turned away long enough to get a bullet in its skull. It was just a large, empty court yard with a a graveyard fenced in on one side, and dark shadows of grass and garden everywhere else. As he finally put some notice into the land around them, it drew a shiver up his spine. It was cold out, too--his and Gilbert's exhalations turning into wispy white clouds before dissipating into the air--which didn't help matters much, either. "V-Ve, I'm really alright enough to walk, Gilbert," He replied in response to that "handicapped" comment, frowning slightly at his feet. If he had to, he would be able to force himself to walk just fine--the Prussian just insisted in helping support him, which was nice but not truly necessary.
He too calmed a little upon reaching the door--entrance back into the Manor meant that Gilbert's nerves might settle enough for Feliciano to be able to help him without raising any hackles. "L-let's go, ve. Before something--" But his quiet words were cut off by the sound of a lock jostling in place as Gilbert tried to pull it open. They were locked out. And that fact was almost enough to put him in a panic again, eyes staring uncomprehendingly as the pale man holding him up shifted his grip once more to yank at the doorknob, biting his lip in an attempt to keep himself calm. Obviously if the Manor was locking them in the courtyard, the Prussian's worries about there being something out here, lurking in the darkness and waiting for the perfect moment to strike, were true. But rather than cling even more to the Prussian, like he normally would in such situations of dire straits, he simply swallowed thickly turning his gaze up to meet the other's. He shrunk down a little under that angry look, immediately letting his amber eye dart away to gaze at the albino's shoulder instead--he couldn't bring himself to stare in the face of that look, it brought up enough guilty feelings in his chest that he would have thrown up. "A-And I can be stubborn, too, ve," he murmured, once more trying to shift away from the supporting arm wrapped around his back. "I can walk as far as we need to,Gilbert, and I can do it without weighing you down by making you support or carry me. That way, if there is something out there, ve, we can get away without me having t-tired you out by having to lug my weight around all over the place."
With those words, Feliciano managed to find the will to set his own expression into a unyielding look--he wasn't going to be the one to get Gilbert hurt, simply because he was a little tired. So when Gilbert attempted to pull him away from the door, he stayed resolutely still for a few moments, good hand reaching into the remains of his own shirt. After some fumbling with the buckles, since it was hard to work them with only one hand, he finally managed to free both his Beretta and its leather holster. The black barrel gleamed in the light in a sign of loving care, and the leather had a lovely sheen to it as well. He pushed them both into Gilbert's hands. "V-Ve, take this, Gilbert," he said firmly, not going to let Gilbert say no and reject this gift. "I have the ammo tucked into those pouches in the holster--there should be six clips left, not including the one in the Beretta. I-It should help, in case there's something here we can't get close to, ve."
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