Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 5, 2013 11:57:31 GMT -6
“Whooo’s there?” Denmark trilled as he threw open another door, expecting to find another nation hidden within the darkness. Unless they had mastered the arts of transformation (and didn’t tell him) and were able to perfectly replicate some dusty, sheet covered furniture than he was out of luck. With a huff he pulled the door closed and continued his search down the hall. He had been running all over the place, looking for the other nations, and so far the only thing he found were some dust bunnies that made his allergies flare up. It was almost like the entire building was completely abandoned, but everyone wouldn’t just leave without telling him, would they? If it was time to go home, then Norway or Iceland, hell even Sweden, would have found him by now, right?
Right, he confirmed to himself with a reassuring nod of his head. Either way, this game was getting really old really fast. That’s all this was; one big, overly elaborate game of hide-and-seek that had gone on for way too long. Or, that’s what he kept telling himself at least. Passing off the sensation of a hand running down his back or a breath slipping past his ear off as a figment of his imagination was starting to get difficult. Was it a mischievous Svartalfar taunting him? Deciding to weave her dark magic to plant seeds of paranoia and doubt in his mind? Denmark frowned and shook his head in an attempt to rid his mind of such an outlandish thought. The Elver folk showed little interest in the realm of mortal men, these past few centuries. Not that he would know for certain. Whatever connection he had to the world of the Fae and Spirits had been severed long ago, when the epidemic known as Christianity spread to Scandinavia and rooted itself in his country. But was now really the time to be thinking about the magical folk? No. It wasn't. It was just distracting him from the main objective; finding his brothers and going home as soon as possible.
For the record, he wasn't scared. Creeped out? Yes. But scared? Pffffsssssh please. The Kingdom of Denmark did not get “scared.” Not after all the shit he had seen in his life, and he had seen some pretty nasty things in his life. Like spiders.
He stopped in front of the last door of the hall, he carefully leaned Brynhildr on the wall next to the door and placed his ear against the worn out surface, one hand curling around the knob. Not a single sound from the other side. He clicked his tongue and decided that being stealthy took too much time and threw the door open, making as grand a spectacle of it as possible
“Olly-Olly Oxen-Freeeeeee~!”
(Fødselsdagen Danmark~ Welcome to hell, baby <3)
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 16, 2013 10:58:05 GMT -6
He gazed out of the window, partly fogged with condensation, and the man sighed. Yet again, Lukas had awoken with a slightly throbbing head, a small goose egg, in a dark room on the floor. Once he had found his senses and sat up, found his sword, he ended up shaking his head thinking that the Manor seriously needed to find a new routine. How many times can you knock out a person, dump in some random room, without any memory of how you got there? Personally thinking, the Norwegian was getting pretty tired of it and being the damsel. Why did people make him out to be so feminine all the time? It had been almost two centuries since he stopped wearing dresses….
Sighing once more, running his hand through his hair, wincing when he touched his small bump, Norway turned away from the dreary window looking over a dismal landscape. It wasn’t safe to dwell in one place for long, in a dimly lit room, alone, Lukas knew that much but…. Frowning, he found that he could not remember the last person he had been with. Belgium? That thought made his chest hurt and he couldn’t exactly understand, or remember, why. Sighing yet again, he thumbed the hilt of his sword at his hip, straightened his pirate hat, and headed towards the door. No use in waiting to be jumped in the dark any longer.
Silently he made his way across the room and reached out to grab the doorknob, when he froze. From on the other side of the door Lukas heard footsteps. Taking a couple steps back, he looked down and with a slight narrowing of his eyes; sure enough he saw a shadow block out the light form beneath the space of the door. Remaining still, he heard a few more scraping from the creature and Lukas guessed that he had only seconds before the door opened so there was no time to hide for an ambush or anything so, steeling himself and barely had time to step aside before the door in fact flew open with a blast of sound… and blonde hair.
“Olly-Olly Oxen-Freeeeeee~!”
Reacting upon instinct, Norway moved and drove his fist deep within the gut of his obnoxious guest. He recognized the voice, knew the silhouette as well as his own, and even the grunt of pain from his punch rang with familiarity. A ribbon of slight relief wondered through his mind but with a heavy heart he knew that he couldn't rely on appearance alone, not in this place.
“Hallo, Danmark…” He muttered, stepping back and watched the other man react to his strike. As much as he silently hoped that this loud giant was in fact his Denmark, Lukas wasn’t going to take a chance and his hand remained upon the hilt of his sword, face unreadable and indifferent.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 22, 2013 16:49:50 GMT -6
His enthusiasm was met with a swift punch to the gut which, really, was just plain rude. Okay, so his enthusiasm wasn't appreciated all the time, and maybe he over did it, but did he deserve it? He didn't think so. He leaned against the door frame and rubbed at his stomach, knowing that there was probably a bruise already forming under the layers of his costume. Bah, it would be healed in a few minutes, no big deal. Still rude, though.
“Hallo, Danmark…”
“Norge~!” Mathias trilled at the sound of the other Nordic's voice. “You're not supposed to punch people when they find you, you know.” He admonished playfully. He opened his mouth to speak, to make a light hearted comment about how America's party had the most unsatisfying end in the history of parties, until he noticed Norway's stance. On point. Rigid. Like if the Dane said one wrong thing he would have a blade thrust in his face. Like he had experienced some trial for days. But that wasn't possible; they had only been in the manor for a few hours... right? With a frown Mathias rubbed his head. Come to think of it, his memory had gaps in it, and played out in his head like a damaged film reel. One slide he was in the foyer. Another, somewhere outside. Another, in one of the bedrooms. He shook his head, it was just boredom and the manor getting to him. That had to be it. Still...
“Is there any reason you look about ready to draw your weapon on me?” He held up his hands in surrender and smirked, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. “Don't tell me I scared you that badly.” Was Lukas secretly jumpy and easily surprised? If he was that was adorable, but part of Mathias' mind dismissed that notion entirely; the part that knew that the man before him was almost unphasable, even in the worst of times. And Norway had been through some pretty shitty times in his life. Denmark lowered his hands and frowned, words escaping before he could catch them. “Did... something happen?”
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 25, 2013 17:41:11 GMT -6
“Norge! You're not supposed to punch people when they find you, you know.”
Norway stood unfazed by Denmark’s words, the rhythmic blinking of his eyelids were his only response. Lukas just watched Mathias, just as Mathias began to look at him, but whenever the Norwegian met the taller man’s gaze a flutter of doubt kept creeping up his spine. Just because the figure before him looked like Denmark, sounded like him, acted like, and hell even smelt Danish, Lukas just… could not be sure. He had spent what seemed like years already in this house, but who was to say the length really, that he just was not sure of anything anymore and could not rust his senses. The only indication that he had been in the manor for an extended period of time was his hair. His pirate’s costume was still pristine, almost being dry-cleaned with him still wearing it every time he slept a few shallow hours, but his hair had lengthened so now his bangs were very much in his eyes and he was sure that he could probably tie is hair back in a small ponytail.
Not that Denmark would notice, if this was the real Denmark, but the real Denmark was a moron…a loud, over-caring, obnoxious, moron, and yet Lukas still held a glimmer of hope that this was actually his moron and not some trick of the manor.
“Is there any reason you look about ready to draw your weapon on me? Don't tell me I scared you that badly.”
Lukas’ narrowed eyes faltered for half a second but the pair continued their unsure standoff. Mathias had tried numerous times over the centuries to scare him, with spiders, bats, snakes, dirty socks, but each and every time Norway would either completely ignore him or give him a well-deserved smack. Remaining silent, Lukas weighed his options: he could either accept that this is Mathias, pretend to accept that he’s Mathias, or bolt for the door. Lukas did nothing of the sort but just stood there, staring at Denmark, unsure.
“Did... something happen?”
Lukas scoffed, shaking his head, pushed past Denmark to flip on the light, close the door, and lock it. With his back to the Dane, Lukas allowed the flicker of relief flash through his eyes because it really was Denmark. How did he know? He just did…. Only the annoying Dane would assume that there is something the matter with him and want to help. “Of course not. I’m fine”. Lukas hated lying and honestly, he didn’t much care if Mathias saw through that on, he was just glad that he was here and it really, really bothered Lukas that he honestly could not remember the last time he had seen Denmark. "The faen took you so long to show up?” The slight tinge of actual anger in his voice was Norway’s way of saying… ’It’s about time you showed up you idiot because I need you but will never admit it’.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 9, 2013 0:28:31 GMT -6
"The faen took you so long to show up?"
In any other situation Mathias would have slung his arm around the Norwegian's shoulder and said something along the lines of "Awww, Norge, you were waiting for me?" But now it seemed inappropriate. Wrong. He didn't even mind it that the shorter Nordic was flat out lying to him when he said that everything was alright, because it clearly wasn't. He considered pressing the issue further, asking more sternly what had Lukas so on edge, but the Dane resisted the urge, since it could very well end with a sword in his throat. He suddenly felt very, very naked with Brynhildr locked out of the room.
It's fine. He's fine, you're fine, everyone is fine. Mathias ran a hand through his hair, an action he hoped looked casual, and shifted his stance.
"It's sweet that you've been waiting for me, but we've only been here for a few hours," he rubbed the back of his neck. "... Right?" Even if that was the case, even if Lukas was in on the joke, something didn't feel right. The fact that he didn't know what made him want to grip his hair in frustration. He stomped down the urge. "Have you found the others yet?" He asked suddenly, not noticing when he had started pacing. So much for looking un-bothered and in control. "You must have seen Sve around somewhere, right? I mean, the guy's a walking tank; you just don't lose sight of someone like that." Mathias stopped his pacing momentarily. "Plus he sucks at hiding, just ask Peter." It was an afterthought more than anything, one more attempt to show that he wasn't starting to unravel at the seams. Not yet, anyway.
The manor groaned suddenly, seeming to laugh at Mathias' attempts to keep it together, his brow furrowed and he kicked at the floor. "Piece of crap," he muttered under his breath.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 24, 2013 9:57:43 GMT -6
"It's sweet that you've been waiting for me, but we've only been here for a few hours... Right?"
The truth can be the most destructive force anyone can come up against, stronger than any natural disaster, and can ruin entire lives, moralities, or ideas. Lukas now was faced with the decision of telling Mathias the truth about…. Well, everything. All that he’s been through, seen, felt, experienced, how long he speculates he’s been in the Manor compared to the Dane’s pathetic perception of a “few hours”. While Lukas didn’t understand it, or even dared to pretend that he did, he did know to a degree that time and place were faulty within the house, that different rooms could be days apart from each other, and that Denmark may very well could only been in the house for a couple hours while Norway has experienced closer to months.
To think about it made Lukas’ head only hurt, so he could only imagine the pain he would inflict upon the simple Danish’s mind if he tried to explain it to him. Still, the Norwegian looked up at his Scandinavian companion, reading in Mathias’ face that the other was trying to piece what little he was giving him while trying to uphold a relaxed persona. Lukas found that he didn’t quite yet want to erase the taller man’s smile away by telling him the truth because he was quite aware that it could end up with Mathias sobbing while smothering Norway into his chest while stroking his hair.
"Have you found the others yet?"
Lukas had just begun to open his mouth to utter some sort of reply when Mathias cut him short and left Lukas to stand there and watch the Dane’s pacing. Relaxing his stiff posture to one more suited for simple conversation, not that Norway has ever been one for small talk; he shrugged simply and continued to listen to Denmark’s nervous ranting. When in doubt, insult Sweden…
"You must have seen Sve around somewhere, right? I mean, the guy's a walkingtank; you just don't lose sight of someone like that. Plus he sucks at hiding, just ask Peter”.
When in doubt, insult Sweden, Denmark’s go-to calming motive.
“I… haven’t seen Berwald for a while, or Sealand. Tino I…. lost track of sometime ago and I haven’t Ice… Island forever”.
Norway frowned when his smooth voice, now convincingly calm, hitched at his brother’s mentioning; there was no way of getting around the fact that Lukas was incredibly worried about his brother, where he was, if he was all right, alone, in pain, needing him. Nonchalantly, he directed his attention to fixing his pirate’s glove, face neutral and uncaring, completely relaxed, before reaching up and tucking a stray hair back behind his ear; even in times of peril and stress, Norway always looked strikingly handsome and perfect.
When the house groaned, like usual old houses do, the hairs on the back of Norway’s neck stood up and the corner of his lips twitched down in disapproval when Denmark moronically kicked the floor. His tongue wanted to say something, like ‘Stop,’ but Lukas knew then that he would have to follow-up with an explanation. So instead, he strode forward and gracefully reached up and began to adjust Mathias’ collar, fixing the tidiness of the taller man’s costume, like a million other times the Norwegian has had to make the Dane more presentable.
“Now, tell me Mathias…. Do not tell me that you have lost your weapon because if you did, that’d make you a pitiful excuse of a pirate or Viking”. His voice was smooth like silk and as seductive as warm mead, Norway’s voice, and swiping his hands gently across Denmark’s shoulder, smoothing out the wrinkles, Lukas looked up at the man without a hint of the concern he felt within his blue eyes.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 28, 2013 13:07:31 GMT -6
Alrarm bells buzzed in Mathias’ head when Norway told him that he hadn’t seen the rest of their little family. Sve and Finny? Those two were more than capable of defending themselves –As Mathias knew from experience- but Icy and Peter? Denmark swallowed thickly and relaxed his posture.
“Well I’m sure they’re okay.” He said, “no reason to worry. I’m probably just getting too wrapped up in the moment, y’know?” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "My age must be starting to show. Getting so worked up over something that'll probably be solved before too long? That's just silly." If he was with any other nation, if the man before him wasn't Norway, they would have bought his lie hook, line, sinker. But Norway could probably see through Denmark's lies just as easily as Denmark could see through Norway's. Besides, the lie helped settled his nerves somewhat. If there was something in this manor, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike, his friends and family needed a big brother whose head was firmly on his shoulders, not one jumping at his own goddamn shadow.
When Norway approached to adjust his collar, Denmark leaned into the touch slightly, his mind supplying the deadpan comment of "stand up straight, idiot" in case Norway didn't. Such a simple, warm, familiar gesture. How many times did Lukas had to straighten Mathias' collars, ties and cravats over the years? He had lost count a long time ago, but it didn't matter. Norway's touch was always welcome.
“Now, tell me Mathias…. Do not tell me that you have lost your weapon because if you did, that’d make you a pitiful excuse of a pirate or Viking”
That smooth, calm, tone of voice doused any flames of worry that had been lapping at Denmark's mind. Temporary? Possible, but who the hell cared? He felt his heart warm up and do a few fancy little flutters for good measure. Undeniable feelings of adoration and love would had to wait; he had to fix that little potshot Norway took. He crossed his arms over his chest with a scoff.
"Did you seriously ask that? Luke, you should know better than anyone I would never 'lose' any of my weapons. " He replied, finger quoting "lose" with a roll of his eyes. "Brynhildr's my second second favorite axe, like hell I would ever lose her. She's just outside the door, I didn't bring her in because you probably would have tried to stab me if I did." Granted, Norway looked about ready to attack even when Mathias was unarmed. Suddenly bursting the door open while holding a battleaxe? That would have been a skirmish begging to happen.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 31, 2013 21:29:49 GMT -6
"Did you seriously ask that? Luke, you should know better than anyone I would never 'lose' any of my weapons. Brynhildr's my second second favorite axe, like hell I would ever lose her. She's just outside the door, I didn't bring her in because you probably would have tried to stab me if I did."
A slight spark of amusement sparkled in Norway’s eyes as he watched Denmark reestablish some of his usual bravado. Still, that didn’t excuse the level of stupidity that Mathias was exhibiting. Norway sighed and moved his hands to grip the front of the Dane’s and this time around Lukas was not at all gentle. Instead, Lukas yanked Mathias down the couple inches to his level so that their noses were touching and Mathias could fully see the Norwegian’s brow narrow ever so slightly, showing his displeasure with such a moronic answer. Lukas had never been a man of many expressions, revealing his emotions had died many years ago, but the only real clues that Lukas ever really give that he could be pissed were exactly what Matthias was seeing now.
“I still could…” Lukas uttered softly, his words giving no indication if he was joking or not about stabbing the taller man, though the situation didn’t have the light feel it once had.
Keeping his hands firm upon the Dane’s jacket, Lukas turned his head half towards the door and frowned, his intelligent mind calculating all of their factors. His fingers tightened into fists, thus making Mathias’s predicament most likely more uncomfortable, though if Denmark weren’t possibility seconds away from being hit, he sure as hell wouldn’t be this close to Norway’s face. Lukas seemed to have forgotten about Mathias completely for the moment, his focus seemed more concerned about whatever he was thinking about. Norway had spent enough time in the Manor that he sort of established the knowledge that time was warped within the walls of the house so the fact that Mathias had left his axe outside, and he had just locked the door thoroughly disturbed Lukas… or at least annoyed him to no end but that was nothing new since it had something to do with Denmark.
After a few minutes of silence from Lukas, he suddenly glanced back at Denmark with the ferocity of a well-earned slap.
“You’re going to need that axe of yours, Danmark…” he said finally, breaking whatever spell he had held over his Danish companion that this house was nothing more than a product of American idiocy and cliché horror films, that nations, who were supposed to be immortal with advanced healing and regenerating capabilities, needed actual weapons for a laughable Halloween party. Uttering another soft sigh, Lukas’ eyes searched Mathias’ for a moment, timeless centuries of history shared between the two men creating a bond unimaginable by any human, before the actual slap finally came with practiced and mastered precision across Denmark’s face.
Leaving Mathias to the sting in his cheek, the Norwegian released him and stepped away while he smoothly drew his sword and returned to the door. “Idiot…” Lukas said, hesitating to unlock the door, “Stay here. You’re useless to me dead,” before turning the lock and cracking the door open, battle stance ready. The hall was empty, or much as Norway could see, and adjusting his chin an inch metal caught the light of the hall and Brynhildr revealed herself to Lukas, the blade welcoming his gaze and he silently welcomed the sight of her. Lukas was as acquainted with Denmark’s weapons as he was, four hundred years did that, so it was personal offense to an extent that Mathias had left the weapon outside like some mutt.
“Hei vakre…” he breathed in barely a whisper.
Translation: Hello beautiful...
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 6, 2013 2:19:25 GMT -6
Denmark blinked as he was yanked down to Norway's level. Close enough that their noses touched, close enough that their breath mixed together. He was almost tempted to lean in and kiss that frown off the other Nordics, but stopped himself when he really saw Norway. Was his hair always so long? Did he always have those bags under his eyes? He was about to say something, to raise a hand to move those bangs out of the way, but Norway cut him off.
“I still could…” The warmth was gone. The warm, delightfully seductive warmth in his tone had frozen over and sharpened like the edge of his blade. It was the metaphorical sword that Lukas used to cut through Mathias' fantasies and make him see reality. Norway had used the exact same tactic after the Dano-Swedish War of 1813, when Denmark needed to understand that Norway had been lost to Sweden. Thankfully he wasn't left consumed by depression and rage this time, so the furniture would remain in tact.
Slender fingers curled tighter into Mathias' coat, and he braced himself for the oncoming smack, but it never came. For what felt like an eternity Norway just... stood there. It was like someone had stopped time for the other man, the only indication to the contrary being the smooth rise and fall of his chest and and sound of his breathing. Did he dare to tempt the beast and snap Lukas out of it? After a long internal debate over the issue, the taller blonde decided to let it lie. Lukas didn't like to be disturbed even during the best times, doing it now was simply out of the question. His gut told him no, and Denmark had always been one to listen to it.
Norway suddenly turned back to Denmark, and the look in his eyes might as well have been a solid slap in the face. Specifically, the gravity, the reality, of the situation slapping him the face. “You’re going to need that axe of yours, Danmark…” He didn't know what was going on, and he wouldn't pretend like he fully understood it. Not yet, anyway. The final nail in the coffin was the sharp, practiced slap across his face. Instinctively he rose a hand to cradle his stinging cheek as Norway stepped away, sending the usual insult of “idiot” over his shoulder. “... You’re useless to me dead,” Norway finished.
“I'm not going to die,” Denmark countered. “Not without a fight at least.” And Gods above, could Mathias Køhler fight.
|
|
|
Post by Tagamar the Umbra Bestia on Aug 8, 2013 13:16:24 GMT -6
“Hei vakre…”
The voice traveled down the hallway that Tagamar was patrolling and he knew he had found pray at last. And this one sounded thoroughly distracted. Where he walked, the light vanished, but he didn’t have to worry about it here, there hallway was mostly dark. Padding silently, cloaked in shadows, he approached the man who was looking at the weapon, knowing this would be the perfect target, one that looked quite tasty. He looked like he could have some fun with him. Worn out, exhausted, fear only slightly tainting him currently, but he would change that. Moving quickly, he moved past the man, allowing the shadows to slip from around him, but only just a bit, before pulling them back to cloak him once again. It was the way he operated. Let his intend pray catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of their eye; make them believe they were seeing things that weren’t there. It unsettled the poor souls he had locked his focus on.
Turning around, he moved to climb the walls and stalk the man from above. Moving silently, he moved closer to the man, crouching along the ceiling as he went. He could see the outline of a sword on the man, but it wouldn’t work against him. He watch the man move so he was in front of the axe, Tagamar knew this was his change to cause first blood on the man, throw him off balance to keep up with his little game of cat and mouse. Lifting one of his hand shaped paws, he flexed it and could almost grin. Moving that arm swiftly, he lashed out, knowing he was only going to graze that shoulder with those sharp claw, only enough to tear through his shirt and leave red mark and slice through a layer or two of flesh. Drawing his arm back, he moved farther along the ceiling, making sure to keep the shadows around himself. He had made sure to aim for the shoulder that was closest to the room the man had just came out of. Draw the man away from any potential help he could get, isolate him. It was a game that he was an expert with and he was the cat and his human pray was the mouse.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 14, 2013 20:32:13 GMT -6
“I'm not going to die, not without a fight at least.”
For half a second, Lukas’ eyes glanced back towards Denmark, his lips quivered half a milometer in reply, but the moment didn’t last for long and his attention returned to the Dane’s weapon. It was a few feet away, out of arm’s reach, which meant that Norway would have to physically move into the hallway, something that Lukas did not want to do. Still, it was either brave the unknown or deal with a weaponless Denmark, both were dangerous but the Norwegian decided that it would be more dangerous rendering Denmark weaponless. The idiot.
Unease filled Lukas with the cold shiver of dread that hit him in the pit of his stomach. Something was not right. The moment the man took a step away from the door’s opening, keeping his back pressed the wall, a faint prinking f his senses made him hesitate and cast his gaze warily. Perhaps it was paranoia, over-fried nerves, or maybe he was finally going crazy form being on-edge so much, but there was something amiss. It wasn’t that the hallway was too quiet, because it was, but so was the rest of the house aside from the typical groaning and creaks of an elder building. Taking a steadying breath, Lukas focused on the task on hand and knew that he was taking too long, that he had been standing there for a good couple of seconds and was leaving himself open.
Taking a few more steps, Lukas was just inches away from the axe and began to reach for it when, he froze. The total time he’d been out in the hall must’ve been a minute, tops, but the electrified prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck standing up suddenly. Norway had always had a sixth sense, his closest friends were creatures of legends and mysticism, and he speculated it was because of this that he was so paranoid, because he was more attuned to the vast number of spirits and energy within the house. Whatever it was, whatever he as feeling, Lukas had a moment to realize, a brief breath of warning that he was in danger. The Norwegian could all but look up and begin to lift his arm when the strike came form the shadows above.
Blue eyes caught the flash of sharp… talons before a sharp pain struck Norway’s left shoulder. The attack and the force sent him backpedaling, to put some distance between himself and from where his shadowy assailant lay. Unfortunately, Lukas’ retreat caused him to ungracefully trip over none other than… Brynhildr. His eyes went wide in surprise as he crashed to the floor followed by the crescendo of metal crashing in his wake. Luckily, he managed to keep hold of sword, however the bad news, Lukas also landed on his bad shoulder. Sucking in a breath, Norway narrowed his eyes dangerously and barely glanced at his shoulder and saw an angry gash and could feel a sick heat flowing down his arm and dripping onto the floor and to make matters even worse, it was the same shoulder that had only just healed after being dislocated and severely bruised from his rescue of Finland.
In other words, it hurt like a major bitch.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 16, 2013 1:06:36 GMT -6
This was the part where Norway was supposed to fire back with a sarcastic retort. To tell Mathias to not be so arrogant. He held his breath, actually wanting such a retort to come, but it never did. All he got was a long, tense silence. Normalcy was slipping through the cracks of his fingers, no matter how much he wanted to hold onto it. As much as he wanted to pretend that everything was alright, it wasn't. The sooner he realized that fact, the better. If not for his sake, than for his family's. For Lukas. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he longed for the familiar weight of his axe. He settled with playing with the flintlock pistol at his hip, tracing fingers over old, polished wood and brass detailing. Flicking the hammer, finger curling around the long-since useless trigger. Anything to help with the anxiety. This had been a gift from Finland, so many birthdays ago. The Finn had the time of his life explaining each little mechanism, and how they would work, if the gun was still something more than a collector's item.
Mathias jumped suddenly at the sound of heavy metal crashing somewhere, followed by a heavy, solid thud. The flintlock jumped from his hands and clattering onto the floor, but Denmark didn't pay it any mind as he ran to the doorway, Norway's name on his lips. He poked his head out, frantically looking around until he spotted Norway a few inches away, lying in a heap on the floor, Brynhildr next to him. If it was anyone else, he would have been upset that they just knocked over one of his axes, but this was Norway. He was beside the other blonde's side in a flash, balanced on the balls of his feet.
“What happened?” He asked instantly. His eyes went to the deep gash on Lukas' shoulder. Did it reach the bone? He would probably need stitches. Did this place even have the proper medical equipment? Licking his lips the Dane reached for the shaft of his weapon, dragging Brynhilder close enough so that he could prop her up beside him. There was something there with them. He might not have Lukas' Sixth Sense, but he had been a warrior long enough to feel an enemy hiding somewhere. Waiting for them to drop their guard, for the chance to strike. Casting a weary glance around Mathias rose to his full height, gripping the axe in both hands. He knew he had to get Lukas away, to close up that wound before it got infected. But wandering for medical supplies would leave them vulnerable. Best to face whatever was waiting for them, although such a confined space would be problematic.
|
|
|
Post by Tagamar the Umbra Bestia on Aug 21, 2013 14:56:49 GMT -6
Taking a deep breath in through his nose, the coppery smell of the drawn blood tingled his sensed. Still cloaked in shadows, Tagamar moved slowly along the ceiling, shadows still surrounding him, crouched low, crawling past the tall man with the axe. Muscles bunched and released as he moved. The name Norway floated though his head, the man who he injured. He was already drawn thin from everything, the perfect target in his mind, but Tagamar knew not to let his guard down. The Norwegian Nation was also desperate, which could make him unpredictable. Shifting around, his cat eyes saw the Norway’s friends back. Denmark. Moving slowly, he crawled down the wall and couched behind the Dane a few feet away. If he played his cards right, he should be able to get at least one of these fools.
Tagamar felt, sometimes, that perhaps he was once like or one of these-two legged creatures, these sacks of meat and warm blood pumping. He didn't know how, just there was a feel, an instinct, almost like the instinct to rip, to tear them. All he could remember was human than coming here in this body of a well-muscled panther, always hungry for flesh, always thirsty for blood, and these two men would fit the bill nicely. Salivating, claws clenching and un-clenching as he planned out, he could just taste the marrow now. Drawing the shadows in farther, he pounced, front claws extended for Mathias back, drawing them down through the material and drawing more of that delicious blood before bounding back down the hallway, letting go of some of his shadow cloaking here and there to give brief flashes of something dark, some outline of what they should fear before vanishing again to the human eye.
Grinning to himself, he knew that would help separate them. Let them think that the predator had suddenly turned into their prey, that they were cashing him. Oh, they would be chasing him alright, chance him until they ended up immobilized under his claws with his teeth sunk into hot flesh. Stopping briefly to lick his claws cleaned, he waited to see what the two men would do, how they would react to being attacked twice so soon apart. That axe was worthless in the hallway they were occupying. He would have his dinner and feast on flesh, blood and bone.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 29, 2013 19:49:19 GMT -6
In an instant, as Lukas had silently expected and hoped for, Denmark was soon at his side and watching his back. Stifling a groan to a faint grunt as he repositioned himself into a kneeling position. Lukas ignored Denmark’s question because he really didn’t need to answer because the blood dripping down his arm was answer enough as well as he actually didn’t know. They were alone in the hall, but now there was something tugging at Lukas’ senses, warning him, a wavering in the chill air that sung of the supernatural. Noting that Mathias reclaimed his discarded weapon, Lukas was able to fully look at his shoulder and sucked in another wicked breath to see the material around the wound turning dark. Reaching up, a sound managed itself past his tight lips as he press his right hand firmly against his left shoulder, the white glove quickly soaking with the crimson of his ancient blood and his hand getting hot from the feel of it. Keeping his hand firmly on the wound, Lukas grasped his sword with his left hand, for now. If he needed, he’d allow the wound to seep blood to free both his hands, but Norway hoped that his advanced national healing would kick in sooner rather than later so the bleeding would cease.
“I’m fine,” he uttered, stiffly standing with any sort of show of pain indicated by the slight creasing of his brow. Coming to his full height, Lukas moved so his back was somewhat against Mathias’ arm, allowing his to get a better perspective and gave his room to move to be either in front or behind the brute of a Dane, or even free Mathias’ swinging range. “Danmark… it hasn’t left yet but… I cannot see it”. His words were simple, to the point, and were enough to let the other Scandinavian country know that he didn’t know what they were up against, only that it had rather sharp claws. The hallway was long, narrow and dimly lit, not the best place to be having a battle with swinging and hacking weapons like his sword and Denmark’s axe. They were at a clear disadvantage and that caused a teardrop of sweat to itch the back of his neck. It was a comfort of sorts to feel Denmark’s body at his back, the other’s warmth a century old reassurance, thoughtLukas would never voice this; never again would he tell Denmark that he needs Denmark’s protection, but it did come in handy.
The strike came too suddenly, too fast, and Lukas caught it a fraction of a second too late to react. It had been the slightest of movement upon the wall behind them that knew Lukas was only seeing because of his ability of the Sight. A dark form appeared and the hall’s light glinted off talons, Norway’s eyes widened a fraction and he was already beginning to turn, but all he could do was watch as the claws raked down upon Mathias’ back. Ripping and tearing filled the silence but Lukas didn’t stop to watch. Following through with his turn, he simultaneously let go of his left shoulder to reach up to grab the back of Denmark’s collar as he brought down his sword’s blade upon the morphing form of shadow that was extending itself from the wall.
Alas, he missed. His sword cut through air as a dark form separated form the wall and galloping ghostly a length down the hall; however Lukas had already begun tugging down on Denmark’s collar and in a graceful flourish of surprising strength of movements, Norway and both yanked down Denmark to his knees while the Norwegian spun like a dancer to stand in front of him; now he was protecting Denmark. His right hand hung empty by his side, blood dripped from his glove’s white leather in proximity to Mathias' face, and Lukas still held his sword firmly by his left hand. His shoulder was still bleeding but his wound was now mirrored in double by the twin-ragged claws’ marks that marred the Dane’s exposed back, staining more of the carpet with Scandinavian blood. Narrow blue eyes glare calmly at the dark form sitting with evident feline grace at the end of the hall. The cat looked and acted like a jungle cat, though this was obviously a panther of shadows, and pure anger brightened the Norwegian’s eyes at the big cat licked his claws clean, tasting Denmark’s blood and his own.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Sept 17, 2013 23:02:23 GMT -6
"I'm fine," Norway replied as he stood stiffly. Denmark let out a small breath of relief despite himself. “Danmark… it hasn’t left yet but… I cannot see it”.
"Of course it's not gone. That would be too easy." The Dane replied with a roll of his eyes.Honestly he wasn't expecting this to be over that quickly. Denmark knew enough about predators to know that they never just took a swipe and then ran off. Their hunter wanted more than to just play around with them. It wanted to--
Pain!!
White hot pain scorched down his back before Denmark could fully comprehend that he was attacked. Involuntarily he let out a cry as Norway pulled him down and out of the way. He didn't even care that, somehow, his intention of being the one to protect Norway had backfired, no, he was too involved in the agony that his back was in. His body wasn't used to being attacked anymore, the decades of peace had caused it to forget how much it hurt when flesh was ripped open by an attack. More importantly it was his back -his core. He didn't claim to be a medical expert, but knew that back injuries severely limited the body's movement. He needed to be able to move his body to swing his axe properly. Granted, he didn't have much room to get in a good swing to begin with, which just made his situation worse.
Hissing out a curse in between his teeth, he climbed to his feet, using Brynhildr as support. Another shock of pain ran through the Dane's back in protest. "Never move anyone with a back injury," floated into his mind as he shook his head to relieve the pain. He would worry about proper management for injuries once he and Lukas were out of danger. Ideally, that would be sooner than later. Nation or no, Denmark could only keep himself upright for so long.
One swing. His back would be able to stand one swing before he collapsed, so he had to make it count. But what if he couldn't land the killing blow? Glancing towards Norway's back, and once again to the bloodied mess that was his shoulder, he made his decision. If his back gave out, if he was left immobile, he would tell Lukas to run. Chances were, that would mean that Denmark would be at that... thing's mercy. It had been a while since he had experienced a nation's equivalent to “death”, and it would probably hurt like a mother fuck, but no need to drag Lukas down with him. With any luck, the more tragic outcome wouldn't come to pass. With stiff nod of conformation, and a steadying breath, he spoke. “This almost feels nostalgic, doesn't it?” Denmark questioned with a grin, although it was starting to look strained rather than genuine. The fact that he didn't feel his body rushing to heal itself was concerning, but he would worry about that later.
|
|
|
Post by Tagamar the Umbra Bestia on Sept 27, 2013 22:31:40 GMT -6
As his tongue tasted the blood of the two nations co-mingling on his claws, he couldn’t help but to give the equivalent of a panthers grin. Their older blood had a metallic and earthy taste that seemed to only get better with age; like a fine wine. But what else goes perfect with wine but raw meat flavored with fear. The sword had been too close to him before, he had not been prepared for this man to be able to sense him and where he was. It was obvious that this man was the more dangerous of the two; he would have to eliminate this threat before he could safely eat. Crouching down, Tagamar waited, knowing the chance would come soon.
The black, fur coated muscles clinched in anticipation as he waited for the right moment to come. Vanishing in shadow again, he pawed forward, muscles shifting with grace and ease of decades and centuries of practice. Tagamar’s eyes watched them both, could tell that they were both on their guard against him, but little good would that do against him in the long run. Jumping, he took to the walls again, moving past them on the ceiling, one dark shadow blinding in quite well he surveyed his work on their flesh. The muscles were torn nicely, it would be hard for them to move and defend, especially the one he had severely injured.
Shifting his focus again, Tagamar moved along the walls again and came to the floor not even half a yard in front of them. This was it; it was time for him to narrow the hunt. Moving swiftly, muscles lengthened as he pounced. Jumping and baring his claws, one set of claws dinging into the injured shoulder and the other pushing, knocking the man to the floor. Once they landed, he used his free claw to swipe diagonally across his face from his hair line down to the opposite line of his jaw. Once satisfied he had disabled one half of the team, he jumped toward the other man, teeth bared. He couldn’t afford to risk the other half of this team attempting to kill him as he killed the first, and as the second male was still on his feet, he had to kill him first. The panther was going for the neck, tear it out for an instant kill, not minding the blood splatter it would cause. It would be a quick kill unfortunately, but was necessary.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Sept 30, 2013 14:46:08 GMT -6
All of Lukas’ attention was on the smug feline, though his hearing was attuned to Denmark’s struggles; he was hurt bad, that was clear, which left Norway as the stronger of the two since all he really had was a scratch on his shoulder, flesh wound. They were in a tight spot, but their only advantage seemed to be the fact that just feet behind Mathias was the open doorway of the bedroom that they were currently claiming s their own, though the gods only knew that even if they managed to make it to the door, closed the door, who was to say that this cat couldn’t just creep beneath the door, seeing as he had shadow powers and all? Still, even if they stood their ground, Norway knew that Denmark was too mea-headed to realize how badly hurt he was and would try anything to save him, the tenacious bastard that he was, but Lukas couldn’t risk that because then he’d had to figure out how to get Mathias’ fat ass into the bedroom if the Dane became unconscious or useless to fight.
“This almost feels nostalgic, doesn't it?”
The cat continued to simply clean his paw and maw, but Denmark’s words made Norway falter only in the slightest, his eye flickering towards his peripheral to catch the Dane’s bright and imbecilic grin. Trust Mathias to make light of the situation, even though their chances were looking direr by the second. More than that however, it was truly dawning upon Lukas that Mathias… he didn’t know, the Dane didn’t realize how far up shit creek they actually were, that this was so much more difficult and horrible than any war they’d experienced. Why? Well... Lukas had been trying not to tell that the Denmark, because for all of his indifference, Lukas did prefer it when the other Scandinavian was optimistic for them both, when Mathias was smiling. This however, was battle and sympathy and skirting around the truth was just not an option.
“Ja, it would be… If this place hadn’t been slowly stripping us of our national abilities until we’re little better than pathetic humans…our healing, strength… immortality, reduced”.
Those words were all Lukas could manage, and all he really needed before he snapped his teeth shut tight; the cat was shifting position. The air grew tense as Lukas watched the panther’s muscle bunch, the beast crouch, and then vanish completely. The Norwegian’s stance tightened, his eyes scoured, his senses strained, but he could not pinpoint the cat’s location, only that it was near. Blood still seeped from Lukas’ left shoulder; the crimson stream making it’s way to his sword’s tip, dripping. His right hung at his side, taunt, ready to react upon instinct; the stillness of the air sang of the sent of blood. His breathing was steady, his heart reasonably slow: a warrior’s calm. The hairs on the back of his neck altered him that their enemy was near but where Norway could not decide. Adrenaline started to pump once more into his veins; anticipation hiked his breath, as the countdown to battle ran out.
The cat was too good, the predator superior to his prey, and Norway knew hat he had no chance in fighting it off when the panther finally did strike. It had been the faintest of tremors in the puddle of blood in front of Norway that had alerted him of the cat’s whereabouts, milliseconds before the cat manifested, but it was too fast to react, to even raise his sword properly, but his instinct instead was not to strike, but for his right hand to shoot behind him. As Lukas’ eyes linked with the cat, the blonde’s palm came into contact with Denmark’s chest and he pushed, not hard enough to cause the taller man to fall out, but enough that he knew that Mathias would need to take a few steps back to keep himself upright, which meant he’d be further away from Lukas.
Perfect.
The panther’s claws dug in deep into the already torn flesh of Lukas’ shoulder and the pain was so intense he wanted to cry out; however, the force of the cat colliding with his chest and pummeling him to the ground knocked the wind of out him, the clang of his sword hitting the floor, useless, resounded with the cat's roar. Norway could not make a sound though his expression was loud enough to show his pain and surprise. The cat was heavy, crushing Lukas’ chest, and Lukas barely was able to squeeze his eyes tight when the flash of claws razed down his face, setting fire to his skin and finally making him cry out in pain. The attack was quick, precise and took little more than a couple of seconds, before the cat was stepping off of Norway’s bleeding form, black fur soft where it touched the Nordic’s skin, and the feline took up a defensive position over it’s downed prey. Hot wetness covered Lukas’ face, the heat seeping into his shut eyelids, making his eyes sting; his cries allowed an iron enriched taste flow into his mouth, making him cough and the pain was unbearable.
Seeing stars, Norway was faintly aware that he was on the verge of passing out, from blood loss and shock, but having the panther leave his chest, allowing him to breathe in a coughing, shaking breath, cleared his mind enough to focus on one thing: Denmark. Forgetting the pain, his sword, his pitiful situation to help Mathias in any real fashion, Lukas’ eyes snapped open and in a fluid motion, the man rolled over his wounded shoulder to be on his stomach. Blood covered his face, soaked his bangs, which fell into his eyes, making him squint, but he could see well enough that the panther was just about to strike out at Mathias. Norway’s right arm shot forward, his fingers came into contact with a thick, bushel of fur, to grip the cat’s tail with all his might, with all of his worth. Yanking back with all the strength he could muster, disrupting the beast’s attack, shouting out with venom through clenched teeth, “He’s mine!”
It worked. The panther was pulled back and turned, enraged, to face Norway laying there holding it’s tail, but Lukas met it's eyes with a challenge and knew that this was the end; until a loud crack filled the hall. One moment the panther looked as if it was about to attack, retaliate against it’s misbehaving victim, when all of a sudden the cats neck bent upwards at an unnatural angle and an ear-splintering yowl of pain and anguish filled the hallway. Lukas’ lips fell open, unbidden, as he watched the cat’s eyes sink back into it’s skull, dissolving, as the cats black fur began to literally melt off it’s skin, falling to the floor like oil, where it vanished from sight. Exposed muscles shrivelled and dissolved as well, bones shone through the horror, until after only a few seconds later only the frozen skeleton of the panther remained, standing in the beast’s last moment of apparent death, before the bones collapsed in on themselves into a heap in the space between the two Nordics. Norway’s eyes were wide, the whole process had been so unexpected, that he was able to look at the tailbone gripped in his bloodied glove before the thing crumbled into dust along with the rest, leaving nothing of the cat’s threat but a pile of white filth.
Shallow, shaken breaths made Lukas blink, his hand tightened and finally, he couldn’t hold his head up any longer. Dropping his arm and curling it around, he set his torn forehead against his arm, beaten and bloody. The blonde was hanging by a string to consciousnesses but he still was aware enough of how much he hurt, that where his chin was touching the hall’s carpet, that it was slowly sitting in a growing pool of his blood, and that once again his left arm was useless in this house from saving yet another of his Nordic family.
Someone was going to need to save Lukas now, it was his turn finally.
|
|
|
Post by The Second Inhabitant on Oct 3, 2013 18:42:48 GMT -6
Watching from down the hall, the Inhabitant grinned. He was angry that another two nations had failed to be killed, but he was also impressed with the tenacity of the two. Out of all the Nations that had been attacked, killed and slain their own monsters, these two surpassed them all. Those wounds would have incapacitated humans, if not have killed them already. Even their other nations fell to less.
Floating unseen, the darkly cloaked skeleton left the hallway and entered the bedroom the two had just left and looked around. They deserved some type of reward for their kill of the black pelted hunter. Getting an idea for the perfect prize, he raised his hand and snapped his boney fingers to summon it. Seemingly to materialize out of thin air, soft blankets appeared before the fireplace and two new costumes appeared with it, one for them both; unbloodies and in one piece.The tations that appeared with it were the simple fare of breads and cheeses. On the bricks of the fireplace set boxes of supplies, needles, stitching material, any medical supplies they could need to bandage each other up, and lots of them. Including two jars of Heal All Cream. The instructions were printed clearly on the jar. There was just one thing missing. With another snap of his fingers, a fire erupted in the fireplace and settled into a gentle roar and what he could only assume, a constant warm heat that wouldn't be extinguished.
Satisfied with his work, the inhabitant vanished and a note appeared on the fireplace in plain view for anyone to see. The outside of the note held a simple word, congratulations. One the inside was a slightly different message.
Norway and Denmark, Congratulations on your successful kill of Tagamar, the Umbra Bestia Enjoy the fruits of your labor. While you can~ From now until you leave the room, no monsters will bother you. We need you at full strength later on after all. The food is safe to eat, there are enough medical supplies to treat your wounds, and the fire will not go out. Enjoy~ The inhabitants
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 5, 2013 19:16:57 GMT -6
A sudden, almost desperate shove succeed in its purpose of getting Denmark out of the way. Pinpricks of pain shot up his back in protest, but he managed to keep himself upright. What Norway said shook Denmark to his core, but he didn’t have much time to fully absorb the Norwegian’s words before the creature hunting them pounced. To his horror, it went for Norway first, and time seemed to slow, so Denmark could each painful, horrible part of the creature’s attack in perfect clarity . Sharp, knife-like claws dug into Norway’s wounded shoulder first; ripping sensitive skin and muscle open even wider, spilling even more blood onto the carpet. Norway was thrown to the ground next, pounced on by a creature that seemed to be made of shadows. Large and heavy; crushing Norway’s sternum under its sheer mass. Lukas’ sword scattered somewhere, but Denmark didn’t acknowledge it, too struck by the attack taking place before his eyes. The creature drug its claws down Lukas’ face, and the resulting cry of pain made something in Denmark snap.
“…our healing, strength… immortality, reduced.” Echoed through his mind cruelly. Denmark felt his heart clench as the realization crashed down on him with the strength and fury avalanche. Sure, nations could die, like any other living creature, but they usually jumped right back up, depending on the severity of their injury. Hell, Sweden had been burned alive during the The Torsåker witch trials , and he was back on his feet in about a week. Albeit in agonizing pain, but still-- The creature lunging at him snapped Denmark to attention. He swiftly guarded against the attack with Brynnhildr's shaft. Long, dagger like fangs snapping in the direction of his throat. A throat that suddenly felt more vulnerable than it ever had in Denmark's centuries of life.
“He’s mine!” Came Norway's sharp declaration. Denmark glanced down at the fallen nation; the fallen, battered, bruised, bloody nation that could very well be standing at death's door. And he was using the last bit of his life to save him.
Shock melted away into blind rage as the creature turned its attention back to Lukas. Mathias reached deep inside for that long buried part of himself; the blood thirsty viking that he used to be. The monster that laughed as he pillaged villages and spilled innocent blood. He willed the pain in his back away and charged forward with a wordless cry of fury. Brynhildr struck true against the creature's neck. Had she had been as sharpened and battle ready as she once had been, the creature's head would have been cut cleanly off. The loud cracking of bone and the unearthly yowl of pain fueled Mathias' fury, and a devilish grin spread across his face. Raising his weapon again he brought it down on the creature's back, even as its fur began to melt off and spill onto the floor. Another strike. Glossy, red muscles were exposed to him, and Denmark nearly laughed in delight at the sight. The muscles soon gave way to bone; bone that cracked and popped and shattered under the Brynhildr's blade.
Even as the creature dissolved into an ashen pile on the floor, Denmark's attacks didn't still, slamming his weapon into the spot.
It had almost killed Lukas.
Thwack!
It had almost taken Lukas away forever.
Thwack!
It—Almost—Killed—Lukas.
The wood finally splintered, Brynhildr's head sticking fast in the wood. Breathing heavily through his teeth, Denmark glared at the spot.
If there are any Valkyries present, Denmark thought as the rage started to subside . I'm sorry, but you can't have him. I won't let you take him. Even though Valhalla would have been the preferable, far away from the troubles of this world and the horrors of the manor, Mathias selfishly, stubbornly, didn't want Lukas to go.
He fell to his knees as the adrenaline finally left his system, and his back was not at all pleased with the physical strain Mathias had inflicted on himself. Falling to his side, Mathias tried to push himself back up, but his body wouldn't listen. Heh. He had really done it now.
“I'm sorry.” The Dane managed to say, hoping that Lukas was still able to hear; that the Valkyrie had listened and not taken him away with her.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 11, 2013 13:06:54 GMT -6
In that moment, more than ever before, Lukas truly felt his near three thousand years worth of age. He was so tired, so terribly weak, that somewhere in his foggy mind he knew that if he fell asleep he might not wake up ever again, an eternal sleep to satisfy his exhausted energy. Still, the Scandinavian nation fought to keep his eyes open on slits, staring at the bloody cloth on his arm, and slightly considered the streams of blood dripping from his chin. The pain emitted from his wounds was so overwhelming, he felt numb, his conscious unwilling to bear the weight of injuries. His numbness disturbed him, for he was aware enough that pain meant life, and the absence of that meant death, in other words Lukas was in a most uncomfortable of positions. Norway had died before, had experienced both slow and quick deaths, and while they were all excruciatingly painful, especially the reanimating and extensive healing, he could not recall feeling this weak, this pathetic, this human.
Lukas’ eyelids flickered closed, almost, sleep coaxed from the edges of gray in his vision, but the relentless thudding of the floor and clanging of metal was seriously pissing him off and a faint frown appeared on his lips. Blinking slowly, with each thwack, Lukas considered lifting up his head to tell Denmark to knock it off, that the cat was dead, and to leave him alone, but he didn’t and remained unmoving, until silence finally did fill the hallway. Creasing his brow in confusion caused Norway to shudder in pain, his torn up forehead screaming in rebellion against expression, but a sudden thud of weight falling beside him made him jump and only then did the Norwegian sluggishly pull back him arm to meet none other than Mathias’ eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
Lukas blinked, his long, bloody bangs shadowing his face that was wet crimson instead of fair skinned. Not that Lukas wanted Denmark to see his face, In fact, if he had the strength to turn away he would have, to hide, to curl up and hope to all of the Old Norse gods that his national healing was enough to erase all traces of his wounds form his face, no scars. While it may sound like vanity, though there was some element of that, it was more that if he was to bear scars from this hellish place, he’d rather they not be visible and obscure his honour to represent his great nation. Besides, his king would question why he has such severe scars and frankly, Lukas would not wish to answer him. Ever.
Blinking once more, studying Mathias’ face and wondering why it was so blurry, he thought over as to why the Dane was apologizing. That he was an idiot? That Lukas had gotten hurt? The Mathias hadn’t been able to protect him? That could be why… or it could be that the huge brute had fallen down and there was no way in Lukas’ current condition to heave the big lug up. Yes, that was probably it. Nevertheless, Lukas didn’t know how to reply so instead, the blonde crept his one good arm across the floor until his fingers touched something soft. Lukas didn’t know if he was touching Mathias’ face or fingers but at least he had made contact. They were both badly injured, that much Lukas knew, but he also knew that lying in a monster-infested hallway, bleeding no less, was by far the stupidest thing they could be doing.
His fingers flinched upon Denmark’s skin, whatever it was, before he slid back his arm, and Norway opened hi s lips to whisper out, “We have to go, Mathias…” Instantly blood dropped into his mouth, filing his senses with sickening metallic iron and resulted in spurring a coughing fit. Pain flared across his body as the blonde coughed and heaved, rising up onto his singe forearm, and he shook from the effort of lifting his weight. The pain felt so good though, it snapped Lukas’ eyes open and to indulge in more, he coughed and breathed heavy, short breaths and managed to slid his knees into a weak kneel; his head dipped low towards the floor.
“Come on, Dane… don’t make me… Kick your ass to get up, because you have to help me….” He ended with a grunt, his eyes shut so tight that he saw stars, and he spat a heart gob of blood onto the floor, finally his coughing ceased. Moving hurt, his left arm hung uselessly and his face felt as though it was on fire with the flames of Ragnarok. All the same, he knew that he had to sit up, sheath his sword, and maybe eve wipe the blood form his eyes because now he couldn’t even open them.
‘For the sake of faen, Lukas… you’ve experienced worse then this. A couple of scratched is nothing compared to having your limbs chopped off, which has happened…’. Self-stimulating himself was just enough for him to throw himself back on his knees, a cry passing his lips and stars danced in his vision and he swayed so-close to passing out. Drooping his head, he fought passing out just yet and reached into his pocket blindly, received his handkerchief, and wiped his eyes, somewhat mindful of his wounds, but his hisses aroused more pain, enough that he could open his eyes. Once his face was somewhat wiped, he dropped the cloth and glanced down at Denmark. “Lazy ass….” He muttered, reaching backwards felt his sword and dragged it across the floor to single-handedly sheath it. God it hurt, oh god it hurt, but being numb frightened him much more. Still swaying a bit, he managed to hold his upright position, his chin touching his chest, his good hand on his leg; he sighed.
|
|