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Post by ru on Jul 6, 2012 12:32:33 GMT -6
Consciousness was fading out just as quickly as it had came back in. In and out, conscious and then unconscious. The Russian had fallen into a pattern of coming to and awakening, groggily managing to open his eyes only for them to slip back shut, his conscience leaving him out cold before he had any chance to register anything else. Where he was and why, how long he was out, whether or not it was dark and whether he was alone or in company. It felt as if this was going on for a longer time than he can remember, but slowly, slowly, one by one, his senses were returning to him.
He was now aware of what he was feeling. One cheek was pressed against a rather cold and rough surface that dug painfully into the skin, the rest of his body lying stiffly against the floor and feeling as if it were twice as heavy than usual. Breaths were taken in through his nose as the rest of him crept back to life, bringing attention to just how uncomfortably dry his mouth was and to the sore sensation in the back of his throat. His head felt on the verge of caving in, his body overcome with a sudden chill. Ivan's eyes slowly and drowsily parted with more potential to stay open this time, although he was met solely with as much darkness as he had seen when they were still closed.
Though he felt too deprived of energy to even move, he forced himself to begin sitting up, pushing himself up with weaker strength in his arms than usual, a multitude of cracks heard from either limb as well as from the rest of him. He had slowly managed to bring himself back to his feet, brought immediately to the impact of the aches and pains he was harboring all over. The pitch blackness had not changed in the least, leaving the Russian practically blinded in his place and almost to question whether or not his eyes had even really opened in the first place.
Now he only had to think. Think of what had lead him to this point and where, exactly, he even was. But his mind drew a blank on any such details, and on any attempt to retrace his steps taken prior to waking up. Had it been the doing of someone else, had he drank too much, or had he simply ended up falling asleep..?
His hand was drawn to the back of his throbbing head, fingers feeling gingerly through his hair and against his scalp for any wounds. He stopped upon reaching a sizable bump more toward the top, pressing in against the rather tender-feeling injury and only amplifying the signals of pain that were shot back at him. And his hands were all that were of use in this situation, patting down the rest of him to make sure that his clothes were still intact and nothing else on him was too maimed nor coated in blood - either way, he would not be able to tell whose it was or just how badly the damage done was were there to be anything, anyway.
He was in one piece, at least, and that was enough to settle with, yet still he was unaware of what exact situation he was in. It was pitch dark and there was absolutely nothing in his range of view that he could see, he knew that much, and wherever it was, it was terribly cold. The air was none too pleasant, though it was clear enough that he was in a room inside - whether it was a small, cramped area or of vast size he was unable to tell, and of course, that only called for having to wander around with what caution he can manage and making sure he does not walk or perhaps fall into something.
Each step was taken carefully, though it was more so a dragging of his boots to feel at anything that might be lying around on the floor, arms held up and aimlessly feeling around for anything that was close by. It was to his relief that he didn't seem to be in a tight space, from what slow distance he was travelling there didn't appear to be anything barring his path, though there was something rather hard having just collided with the toe of his boot, scraping heavily against the floor with a rather noisy echo. He bent down to pick the thing up, and by the feel of the cool metal and its arch he could ensure it was the plumbing pipe always carried so leisurely around with him. It was a notch more assuring to have it back in his grasp, immediately using the hunk of metal as a replacement for his arms to reach out in front of him and feel around the dark atmosphere.
Aside from the sounds of his dragging boots and his breathing having noticeably picked up in pace since his awakening, he brought his attention to any other sounds that surrounded. There was a creaking heard above him, and what he could have sworn to be flowing water over in the distance.. though the hint of any voices or sounds coming from another nation than himself was lacking. The majority of his efforts went into trying to find a source of light. A simple light switch, if he could even find the wall it might be on first, any light bulbs around or merely a flashlight; though anything he would get his hands on was undetectable.
It was almost frustrating, yet it seemed like too sudden an event to even be reality. He could be certain that this was not where he was not too long ago, so perhaps he was indeed only dreaming. He could be peacefully asleep somewhere else, or perhaps it was only a horrible trick... but in the end, this was only coming from wishful thinking. There did not appear to be anyone around here to help him, lest they were in the same situation he was in and passed out on the floor. Though he was not giving up in his "looking around", trying hard to push away any thoughts other than the task at hand, finding light or a way out of where he was, and trying a bit too hard to keep himself calm and quiet under such circumstances.
This wouldn't last... He couldn't be left here to wallow away in the cold and dark without so much as a memory as to how he even got here. Of course not. This couldn't be how it'd all end so suddenly. He'd drawn a blank on what to call out or say, were it even necessary, listening only to the sounds of his breathing and what else was around him. It was almost as if he was afraid of not receiving any response, though at least it was a fortunate thing he wasn't afraid of the dark.
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Post by Fear on Jul 15, 2012 11:44:45 GMT -6
Fear had been watching this one for quite some time. Unlike the others, this nation was quickly found and already tapped for information. Oddly enough, this big man didn't have a lot of physical fears that the emotion could play off of. Other feared spiders, some feared drowning, but this one? His fears were all mental terrors. Nothing that Fear could trigger easily. Which is why the brooding emotion lingered nearby, blooming and blossoming in the darkness. For once, Fear didn't need to hide in the shadows. No, it could stay within inches of the Russian without having to worry about being seen. There was not a trace of light down in the basement, lest the burly nation come across a light-switch or have a lighter on hand.
Fear rolled about nearby, still pondering on how it was supposed to kill this one. All of his fears were of things that wouldn't kill him per-say. Mentally scar him beyond recognition, yes. Kill him? Perhaps not. The Manor wanted blood, not insanity. It saw regular nut-cases running down the halls without Fear's interjection. Fear was supposed to bring about chaos and speed up the process of actually killing some of these nations off. Only one had actually perished so far, and that fact alone was depressing. There were only supposed to be a handful left at this point, not all of them minus one.
Still, Fear watched as the nation filtered into consciousness and began to stir into wakefulness. Fear had no need to re-enter the Russian's brain. It already had sifted through all of the Hetalian's memories and past experiences, as well as current fears of what could be. Such interesting fears for a nation that was so formidable, but weak fears nevertheless. Fear wanted meat. Fear wanted substance, both which were lacking from the big-boned man's head. To sustain a body, Fear needed that component of terror. Sure, the embodiment could become some sort of Russian folklore creature, but Ivan wasn't afraid of that. Without fear and horror, Fear would lose its ability to sustain a physical body and disintegrate back into mist. If Fear exposed that to this nation, all hope of killing him would be lost. Fear was close to harmless when it was just in its natural, smog-like form.
The lack of light was of little issue to Fear. Fear possessed no eyes in this form. Stating that Fear 'looked' was slightly incorrect. Fear was a spirit of an emotion. It did not have limitations like a body did. These flaws only came upon Fear when it transformed into a specific form. While in its misty frame, it needed no light to observe the Russian that had rose to his feet. Fear remained silent, though giddy at the fact that the Russian was wandering aimlessly in the belly of the building.
Normally, this nation wouldn't have survived this long in the subterranean area. The normal creatures that occupied this lair would have torn the Russian apart. The Lurkers were savage, hungry beasts that the Manor had not fed in quite some time. Thus, they had grown unruly and were killing the weakest Lurkers as a source of food. Fear had drove these creatures back from this specific room, locking Fear alone with the Russian. If Fear succeeded in killing the Russian, then the Lurkers could have their fill from the carcass.
Hm... now, how should Fear get to this man? It needed to be stealthy... not obvious. The Russian was currently stumbling in the direction towards a wall that did indeed have a switch. The switch though, was wired to light a dim bulb on the other side of the room. Fear idly wondered what cutting the wires to the switch would do to Ivan's sanity. The man didn't appear fearful of the dark like others would naturally be, but fearful of being lost without anyone around. Was he afraid of himself...?
Suddenly, an idea sprung in Fear's corrupt mind. A good one at that, as the inky fog slipped from the Russian's side to where the small, dirty light bulb was. Solidifying its inky tendrils into ornate wood and reflective glass, Fear waited, eager as a decent idea had finally emerged. Fear had never taken this sort of approach before, but wasn't there a first time for everything? The manifestation had taken the form of a full length, old mirror with Russian designs decorated the edges. The difference in Fear's recreation of the reflective furniture was that the incarnation could control the reflection of the mirror. Russia seemed to live in fear of his past. Well, it was time for the past to catch up to him.
'You fear your past coming back to you, Ivan. I wonder what will happen if you succumb to your dreadful memories?'[Mirror]
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Post by ru on Aug 11, 2012 1:17:18 GMT -6
Nichto. Nothing, that was everything that he had found so far. All that he was assured of was that there was a floor. It was hard, scuffed audibly under his dragging boots, intensified the pain felt in his aching bones and head when he had woken up against it. The air was cold, stale, definitely not outside. There was no fresh air, no howling of the wind through stagnant trees, no light from the moon or the sun - though there was no telling what time of day it was either. But that didn't matter. The creaking he had heard above his head, or perhaps only thought he heard, told that he was underneath something. He could be anywhere. Gde ugodna. Anywhere. Under the lowest depths of the manor, somewhere underground, possibly dug so deep that he would not be able to find his way back up. There could be something waiting for him here, clearly not anything that insisted on aiding him, anything that could be watching him from where they were. He heard no voices, no sounds of footsteps. No one was looking for him, and no one would. There was no use waiting on it to happen.
There was no succumbing to his possible fate yet. Dying because you could not find your way out of the dark would be a pathetic way to die, he would think. There could be an easy solution here and he just has not found it yet. Still warily hanging on was the sense of hope inside of him, meshed in with the feelings of remorse, to fall weak to his greatest fear that he was truly left alone in here, to simply smile and pretend it was all alright. An internal debate as to which one of those feelings was the realistic one. They were all clouding his mind.
It reminded him terribly of how often it is that he still awakens in the middle of the night from a nightmare, trapped in the dark of his room and unable to sleep again until he found comfort. Maybe that's what it was. He just hadn't woken up from this nightmare yet. Either way, there was nothing here to comfort him like the things that usually did - no book to read, no piece of music to listen to. No, there was only the dark there to console him. He was beginning to question his thoughts on it. He could be walking somewhere endless, or perhaps he had covered only a little distance all this time. It was funny how something as harmless as the dark could make his mind race so much, an influx of thoughts he was just trying to prevent and never thought he'd have; almost making him forget what he was intending to do, when suddenly came a thump.
He was bunted back a little when the head of his pipe finally came in contact with something in front of him, hurriedly lowering the iron weapon down to step forward and feel what it was. A wall, of course, which meant he was indeed enclosed in one of the rooms. It was just as chilled as the ground had been, and soon his pipe was dropped onto the floor with a loud clank, his freed hand joining the other in feeling the wall for the switch he had been intending to find. His palms were practically hitting it with impatience, sliding over to one side, and then down... and there it was. With a hitched breath, he took hold of the light switch and pushed it up, anxiously looking up toward the ceiling and then over to the opposite end of the room, releasing that breath in relief when he noticed a single bulb slowly flickering to life.
He pulled his hands off of the wall and bent down to pick his pipe back up, holding it with both hands while his eyes were fixated on that light bulb. It didn't provide illumination to all corners of the room, and its weak light seemed to solely light up that one side across of him - and judging by what he could see of it now, it appeared he was in the basement. There were no creatures in sight down here, to his surprise, no demons and no monsters. With little caution as to what other sort of things he might be walking into, he mindlessly made his way toward the lonesome light, almost having to squint as he neared closer. Though the light was dim, his eyes had adjusted so well to the darkness, and the abrupt appearance of light had already taken a toll on his aching head.
He didn't know what he was expecting to find, anyway, though his pace began to slow as he realized there seemed to be nothing else in sight other than that mirror. It was standing on its own under the light as if it was calling for him, and something about it drew him to keep going, keep advancing closer, not worry about anything else around him. He stopped once he was standing in front of it, curious violet eyes looking to his left and to his right. Nothing else seemed to stand out as much. He blinked as he looked back forward, just the smallest of smiles twitching to life on his lips as he eyed the adornments that bordered the mirror, lifting one of his hands to trail his fingers over the precious Russian designs he so recognized. Was it meant for him to find?
It was only then that he realized there was a smudge of blood on his fingers from when he had touched his head earlier, now leaving a trace of color on the light wooden frame. He retracted his hand back, holding both of them at his sides and feeling the urge to smile even wider - his attention now slid to the reflection of the glass that shone in the middle, seeing messied and slightly bloodied pale locks of hair, a distant expression on his face as amethyst eyes stared back at him. Something seemed off-put with what he was looking into, knowing he should be moving on and turning away from the mirror to continue to hunt down a way out, though something was keeping him planted there. His reflection seemed as if it was changing.. Maybe it was the blow he had taken to his head, though just then another chill had taken over him, like a long, icy finger dragging cold nails down his spine.
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Post by Fear on Aug 21, 2012 14:40:08 GMT -6
'You can't resist, can you? The call of someone, something reaching out to you. You need that. You need the want of something, don't you? For such a powerful, formidable nation, you worry about the feeling of fitting in. It's pathetic really... and that is what I'll take from you~
Fear, even in this wooden and glass form, could watch Ivan approach. The man didn't seem all that cautious, especially since the object was the only one in the room. The darkness had sprouted apprehension in the man's soul before, but the feeling seemed to be forgotten and replaced with genuine curiosity. Fear wondered why this nation was so different from the others, but the man's past told Fear why Ivan's sanity perhaps was a tad more pinched than others. All nations had a dark streak smeared across history, but Ivan was different. Perhaps... just maybe, there was a touch of pity in Fear's mindset. The embodiment wasn't that concerned about it though. Fear was still maliciously cruel to the very end and would enjoy causing the demise of Ivan Braginski.
Within moments, Ivan had wandered over, pipe previously forgotten in his stupor. Excellent. Fear wanted Ivan to feel comfortable at this point, so the crushing horrors that were soon to come would only impact the Russian further. Fear was patient in waiting for the Russian to observe the spirit's handiwork. Yes, it had solidified the ornate carvings in a Russian style for a very specific reason. A reason that would reveal itself soon enough.
Violet eyes stared into the reflective slab as Ivan seemed to survey himself. Not in the way that any other nation would. Any other sane being would have seen the dark circles and injury and perhaps, y'know, felt worried. Not Ivan. The Russian... was smiling.
This was strange, even for Fear. True, the mist had tapped this man's memories and seen what horrors he had experienced, but not even Fear could predict such a crazed mindset. Perhaps Fear needed to worry less about 'cracking' this nation's sanity. The big-boned guy was already clean off the deep end. Nevertheless, Fear needed to be strong and start whatever ploy's it had planned. With Ivan lacking the thoughts of nervousness and raw panic, Fear wouldn't be able to keep this form for very long.
The spirit allowed Ivan to stare for a moment longer before the masterplan began to set into place. This was no regular mirror, much like any simple object in this house. Fear had total control over the 'reflection' that Ivan was seeing. It wasn't really a mirror, but more-so like a screen that Fear could precisely manipulate. The embodiment of the emotion started by pulling the smile from the reflection's face as sadness fell upon violet eyes. Tears glazed the whites of the Russian's orbs as his gaze rose, reaching the real Ivan's with a heartbreaking look.
“товарищ... /Comrade/" the mirror whispered, the sound muted to the point that it sounded like it were passing through water before reaching Ivan's ears. The reflection didn't blink, for if it did, tears would surely spill. “They don't want...” A pause, almost to collect itself and prevent breaking down. “What have we done? Katya, Natalia...”
Fear waited to see the emotion in the Russian's eyes to change before speaking once more. “You... can't remember?” Fear let the statement hang in the air as the reflection stood stone still. Behind the mask of a physical form, Fear was grinning and scheming as the gears in its corrupt head began to turn. What a torture this would be towards the great and 'invinsible' Russia. The man that could withstand almost anything physical. However, how would he take to vicious mental attacks? Fear was already aware of Ivan's complicated feelings and persona towards people. However, the Russian had a soft, vulnerable spot towards a certain group of nations. The ones that had joined him in the Soviet Union seemed to have a special little spot in the nation's cold heart. A spot that could easily be turned raw and bloody with a little memory corruption. Fear was a very, very influential spirit. In all honesty, it should have planted a dormant memory in the man's head when he was unconscious, but it was too late for that now. Regardless, with a little push and convincing, he'd have Ivan believing a frightening web of lies. Only time would tell though if the plan was enough to really bring the mentally fragile nation to his knees.
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Post by ru on Sept 25, 2012 18:43:29 GMT -6
Something was mocking him. Already the basement was introducing to him the turmoil he had been trying to fight back, what he had been trying to ward away. There was a faint voice drifting through the Russian's head, though he couldn't quite wrap himself around what it was telling him. Though, the message still managed to strike another trigger in him, one that fished out that sense of insecurity in the man. He felt less steady with his own presence, with the confidence he had managed to gather up, as if someone with these intentions was watching from the surrounding shadows. There was no way of telling now what could sneak up behind his broad turned back, take him out or trap him in. But that was not the dominating thought in his mind, so he did not allow it to take over.
And the mirror was doing its job to keep him there. Ivan had decompressed with a brief spite of disappointment in himself for having disrupted those lovely bordering designs with his streak of blood, letting loose a childish little hum as he reached up, again, to try and wipe it off. The decision only smeared it even worse. Ah~ sang the dark little voice in his head, violet eyes once again distracted to take a look. He could almost say that the mirror's engravings appeared even better with that favorite shade of red of his. Soaked in and trailing down each crevice of the carvings; he would have loved to see the entire thing adorned with blood that way, enough to make him crack a wider smile.
His mind had wandered all but where it should be. His surroundings forgotten, his situation forgotten. Focusing solely on the mirror there where he stood, as if all that was illuminated by the dim light was the one place he was confined to, the only place that existed any longer. And if this mirror turned out to be nothing out of the ordinary, it might as well be so. Finding this one light was a chanced miracle in itself, though the light did not seem broad enough to show him where exactly he would be able to get out. Who was to know whether he ever would, or where he would end up next.
There was another voice, he heard it, though this one was more crystal clear than the one earlier... no, it was tainted by something, but he could have sworn he heard it outside of his head. It couldn't reach him clearly, as if it was neither too distant nor too close, speaking through some kind of distorting barrier.. Curiosity splashing back to his features, he quickly turned his head to the source of the voice, met again with the reflection of the mirror. Though this time it was even more gravely different than his last glance.
Ivan's lips parted, staring bewildered at none only but himself in the reflective glass. The look in his reflection's eyes was enough to drag the smile off of his face, as if slowly altering his expression to match the one he was seeing. Violet stared into violet, perhaps the only difference being the lost look and the tears that swam threateningly through the reflection's orbs. He couldn't help but marvel at it, his questions kept at bay no matter how strange this whole situation was turning out to be. The reflection was behaving differently than he, though something kept him from doubting that this was indeed himself that he was looking at.
Quickly remembering the word the mirror had spoken to him, he swallowed thickly and spoke back in an even tone. "T-tova..rishch..?" The last syllable of the word drifted into silence as more of those distorted words reached out to him, quieting himself to listen closely to what they were. Confusion was grasping at his expression now, eyebrows knitting together as he tried to piece things together, get a sense of what the mirror was trying to tell him, though its sentences were never finished.. the two names, however, struck the Russian's attention in particular. Taken aback, he could only lean back and blink.
His sisters weren't there with him, no, as painful as that was to admit. But it was better to know that if he were to go through anything down here, they wouldn't have to go through the same. Ivan cast a reproachful look over his shoulder. He was still in the same place. Same basement, same surrounding darkness, same light bulb dangling above his head. Nothing was changing, or so he hoped.
He turned his head back forward, relieved to see his reflection hadn't left him.. though either way, he had a feeling his questions weren't going to be answered any time soon. He couldn't be certain whether his reflection would actually be responding to him, though he was drawn in enough to yearn for it. "Coult not remember what..?" he pressed on, racking through his mind to try and think of if he was actually supposed to be remembering something, something specific. Seeing his reflection had gone so still startled him. As if unable to keep his hands away, he lifted another to gently touch a digit against the glass in front of him. His patience was thinning already, overcome with nerves, his expression wiped off and replaced with concern; awaiting to see, hear, anything, of just what was to happen next. Whether he actually wanted to or not, he wasn't certain of, but there wasn't any way he was turning away yet.
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Post by Fear on Oct 7, 2012 23:11:40 GMT -6
Fear couldn't help but inwardly grin as it set the hook for the big Russian fish. Tossing the bait of his sister's names into the water, the spirit waited patiently as Ivan bit down. Now, time to reel it in. The important thing about fishing though, was patience. Withdrawing the line in too quickly caused the fish to fight and the chance of losing it was high. However, leaving the fish at the bottom of the lake was unproductive too, as the man would never get the meal. The key was to draw the aquatic animal in slowly. Reel in a bit, then wait. The reel in some more. Then, once the fish in near the surface, spring the net. Hook, line, sinker.
Ivan seemed to be captivated by the mirror that Fear had solidified into. That was reassuring enough, as Fear needed the big nation to (sort of) trust the spirit. Fear could feel the nation mar its beautiful handiwork with a streak of blood. Fear was unsure of where the injury came from, as it hadn't paid attention to that when downloading. Oh wait, the Russian had smacked his head when he had fallen. Ah, made sense. Regardless, the embodiment was slightly annoyed by the gesture. How dare this insect of a nation dirty its beautiful, solid form. It was an ugly stain on Fear's masterful creation. The spirit glowered internally, angry with such a vile substance painted on its surface. It would make Ivan pay for that.
Fear brooded internally as it slowly began to weaken. It needed Ivan to buy the lies that it intended to feed him. If Ivan didn't start feeding the spirit some sort of negative emotion, then Fear wouldn't be able to hold this solid body much longer. The spirit was running out of time and it needed some terror to restore what energy it had used to create the false mirror. Using the 'reflection' that it had created, it put forth a look of pure heartbreak as Ivan questioned the thing that he was supposed to remember. This was good. Confusion lead to panic, and panic lead to fear. The mauve eyed image suppressed a shudder as it broke eye contact with Ivan.
“H-How can you not... recall what we did...?” the mirror questioned, the choked questioned muted in volume, but screaming with emotion. Tears soon spilled off the reflection's cheeks as it visibly bit its lip, clutching its head in what seemed like mental agony. The silent sobs shook its form, rocking slowly back and forth under it could not be contained no longer.
Snapping its tear-stained face back towards the Russian, the reflection looked beyond broken as it protruded forward two hands that were stained with blood that could not be wiped off. Such large hands trembled and shook as the reflection strained to keep from sobbing altogether. “The blood! It won't come off! Comrade, we couldn't control ourselves...” the reflection sputtered, tears continuing to flow as Fear grinned behind the mirror. Like a puppeteer with a premier, Fear manipulated the reflection of the nation to mirror to set the stage for the next act. This play was about fishing, and Fear was slowly drawing up the biggest catch.
“H-How brother?! Tell me how?!” the reflection screamed, the sound muted through the portal but so clear in pain and sorrow. “This blood isn't ours! Katya, Natalia... they... they're...” More tears, more pain. Fear watched as Ivan pressed a cool palm against the reflective surface of the mirror. Excellent. As the reflection exposed the dripping blood from its palms, Red began to trickle underneath the Russian's hand that was pressed against the glass. Warm, thick, fresh blood. Fear grinned internally as Ivan's attention was locked on the reflection. Utilizing this, the spirit simply snapped its intangible fingers as blood unknowingly dripped from the Russian's other palm. Oh what sweet sorrows the blood of a fallen loved one would bring. Fear wanted to bring the Russian down mentally before capturing his spirit and killing him. Death for this one wouldn't physically hurt as much as some of the other nation's trials, but Fear would devastate the mental health of this one. Once Fear has successfully implanted false memories into Ivan's crazed mind, the nation would be begging for mercy. That was something that the spirit would never give, but it waited behind the wooden mirror, controlling the crying, broken image that would hopefully be an actual reflection of Ivan's reaction to 'killing' his sisters.
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