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Post by The First Inhabitant on Aug 23, 2013 22:53:51 GMT -6
It was ever so easy to manipulate these bent and broken Nations to their whims, all it took was a bit of their master’s vast power and they moved how them like pieces on a chessboard. Now for instance was a good example. For their new surprise for them, the Inhabitants needed them to sleep before everything could get set up, so they made it so. They themselves went and knocked out Mexico and Italia Romano for this little game and brought them to the room. It was a plain, decent sized room that was lined with mirrors with only two chairs that faced away from each other and one lone wall sconce that illuminated only partially illuminated the room. Shadows lined the corners, leaving the nations to wonder just what could be hiding in the room with them, potentially watching everything that took place. Looking at the unconscious nations that were loosely bound to the chairs with their hands tied behind their back, the two skeletal inhabitants, brothers by life and brothers in death, looked at each other and grinned. With a snap of their fingers, an envelope appeared before each of the brothers. Breathing a mist of cold air over the paper, the words appeared. Greetings, Mexico/Italia Romano,
As you may have noticed, you are trapped in a room with another vermin just like you. For what purpose, you ask? Yes, it’s my pleasure to inform you that you have been lucky enough to be chosen for a very, very special game, along with your little friend over there.
The door to the room is locked, and no amount of force can pry it open. But be not alarmed; there is a key, a key to your salvation. I will even give you a hint, as I believe an insect like you would never figure it out on your own. Italia Romano/Mexico, that other vermin in the room,they know where the key is. All you have to do is ask them. Simple enough for even you to accomplish.
Or is it?
You would do well not to communicate about this letter to them; should you attempt to, you would be faced with an unfortunate, immediate death. And that would bore us immensely.
Oh, and please do try to hurry. We would not want either of you to face the consequences of dilly-dallying.
Good luck, worm The Inhabitants The paper folding and on the outside, readable to only the intended Nation, For Your Eyes Only Mexico/Italia Romano appeared in neat cursive print. Tucking the letters into each of the Nations clothes, they grinned at each other again. The nations would find them and then the game would commence. Snapping one more time, unearthly music filled the room. ”Think they’ll like our little song Second? “Indeed First, creates the perfect atmosphere.”Vanishing from sight, the brothers muttered a single word simultaneously before they vanished from the room. "Awaken"
((In case it was not clear, both Mexico and Italia Romano are loosely bound and the letters in their clothing is addressed to them only. The posting order will be Mexico then Italia Romano. Responses must be posted within two weeks of the last post or it will be considered a refusal to participate and consequences await. ))
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Post by Mexico on Aug 26, 2013 14:55:06 GMT -6
Mexico's head lifted slowly from her position of looking at the floor. Her eyes blinked in small motions, almost as if it was physically exhausting to open her eyes. Her head pounded. It was a nagging feeling of being poked with a hammer on her temples. She felt sick, a nauseating sensation was building up inside the twist of knots that was forming on her throat, almost like it was closing up and she was chocking. This sensation was like a hangover feeling, which in all honesty felt strange to her, for it was something that she hadn't experienced in years.
Groaning, Mexico moved her neck from side to side to help relieve the soreness that had built up. Only was it then, that she tried to brush some strands of hair from her face, that she noticed that her hands were tied and she herself was sitting on a chair, unable to stand up. Mexico's red flags began to shoot. She tried to remove her hands from the rope but they were stuck. It was a moment of fear in which she felt a target. All that flashed across her mind was to get out of there, but with every tug she felt the rope cutting across her skin and that kind of pain, perhaps insignificant, was enough to stop.
Ana María took a deep breath. A drop of sweat fell down the side of her cheeks. She had woken up in a dark room, feeling completely powerless. It was happening again, and that thought panicked Mexico. No no no kept flashing through her thoughts. It couldn't be, not again. Mexico looked around, trying to figure out what sick and sadistic game she was gonna be forced to play. It almost made her insides fall all over her body. She leaned across her chair, trying to smoothen every possible feeling of complete agitation. She needed to relax, even if the thought of such seemed unwise. Her mind was not thinking clearly and she really needed to analyze the situation.
In intervals of slow and controlled breaths, something caught the young nation's eyes. It was a paper, or more like a note, lying neatly in front of her. It was written for her, and in a moment of curiosity that greatly trumped the warning signs of her instincts, she picked it up.
Greetings, Mexico,
As you may have noticed, you are trapped in a room with another vermin just like you. For what purpose, you ask? Yes, it’s my pleasure to inform you that you have been lucky enough to be chosen for a very, very special game, along with your little friend over there.
Oh no.
The door to the room is locked, and no amount of force can pry it open. But be not alarmed; there is a key, a key to your salvation. I will even give you a hint, as I believe an insect like you would never figure it out on your own. Mexico, that other vermin in the room, they know where the key is. All you have to do is ask them. Simple enough for even you to accomplish.
No, no, no.
[i[Or is it?
You would do well not to communicate about this letter to them; should you attempt to, you would be faced with an unfortunate, immediate death. And that would bore us immensely.
Oh, and please do try to hurry. We would not want either of you to face the consequences of dilly-dallying.
Good luck, worm The Inhabitants[/i]
The note felt to side of her body, paper slowly echoing with the words she had just read. It was a nightmare playing all over her head. She knew that this was not going to end good. It was destined for failure. A losing battle. When she turned to face her companion her heart ultimately sank. South Italy Romano. A waterfall of curse words fell all over her brain. It was absolutely out of the question. If fighting was the objective, and no doubt that it was, then she couldn't just fight Romano, because despite the fact that they weren't close, he was still like a relative, a cousin and evidently family.
"Hey Romano, are you alright querido?"[/color] She asked in a quiet voice, unsure as to what was to follow and how they would make it through.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 30, 2013 0:17:13 GMT -6
"Awaken."
The word echoed clear in Romano's mind, calling him to consciousness. Not because it was loud, but because it sounded so real. But it couldn't possibly have been real; when he opened his eyes, there was no one there who could have uttered it. It must have been a dream…
No…
He was still dreaming. Why else would there be such loud music? He moaned softly, trying to stretch his cramped arms, but he found he couldn't move. Oh…it's one of those dreams, eh? Or a fever dream, maybe? He definitely felt ill, his head throbbing with every chord progression, his muscles twitching with every note. It was not pleasant, and in fact it was very dark. So ominous… Wake me up…now, please…Wake me up now! He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will himself awake. When that didn't work, he pinched one hand with the other.
"Ohi!" he hissed as the sharp pain shot from his fingertips. He…was already awake?!
Suddenly, he remembered. He was in that accursed mansion, he had never left. He had been wandering for what seemed like days, but he hadn't slept. He never allowed himself to sleep. It was too risky. But he must have given in to the fatigue eventually, or else he wouldn't have found himself waking up in…where was he? He lifted his head, eyes adjusting to the darkness.
Icy fingers gripped his heart when amber eyes glared back at him. Breath hitching, he tried to leap up and scramble away, but all he managed to do was rock the chair to which he was bound. The face in front of him contorted into a horrifying expression, eyes bugged out and mouth hanging open in a silent scream. The dim lighting only served to obscure the most part of the specter, illuminating only a vague outline and making it all the more haunting. But wait…wasn't that curl familiar?
Romano let out the breath he had been holding. It was a mirror! He looked around the room. It seemed to be made of mirrors. But where was the exit? Was there no way out? Could he possibly be trapped here forever? His heart pounded in time to the music, beads of sweat forming on his brow. It was getting borderline painful. Was there no end?
But at least there is nothing here that wants to eat me… he reminded himself. Could I…maybe fall back asleep? The instrumental was loud and penetrating, but just maybe, in its own hypnotic way… No more pain, no more running…only… He grinned a shaky smile, head bowing once again. Just a few minutes of rest while he waited for his head to clear. Then he could worry about escape. Just a few minutes…
"Hey Romano, are you alright querido?" The voice was soft and feminine. Romano's first instinct was to start in surprise, head whipping around to make sure the voice had a source, and wasn't just another trick of his imagination.
Dammit! There's someone else here? Not only that, but she knew his name! He peered at her through the dimness. Or…do I know her?
"Mexico…?" His voice trembled, although whether it was from fear, relief, or simply mental strain from the heavy song he was not sure. He winced. He sounded so weak. "I'm fine," he spat, trying to regain the gruff tone he usually possessed.
Romano had never known Mexico that well. He had always known her as one of those "bratty kids" who stole all of Spain's attention. His former boss would always leave him behind to visit the Americas, and would come home gushing with more stories of his colonies than Romano cared to listen to. If he was to be honest with himself, he was more than a little jealous. But he had his tomatoes, and that was all that mattered for a time. Eventually, Spain's visits to the Americas came to a halt. Centuries later, Romano still never cared enough to interact with Mexico more than necessary.
Did she tie me up and bring me here? The thought angered him. Sure, he hadn't exactly been on the best of terms with her, but was that really reason to tie him up and scare him half to death like that? And after spending so long trapped in a haunted mansion too! He writhed in his bonds, and to his surprise, he managed to slip them off from around his wrists.
"You'd have to tie a real shitty knot if I can escape," he scoffed, lips curling into a snarl. "Why did you bring me here?" He stood up, and was about to step forward when he noticed a slip of paper at his feet. For Your Eyes Only, Italia Romano, it read clear as day. He picked it up and waved it at his fellow nation. "What is this shit, eh?" It was then that he noticed she was tied up too.
"Oh, mio Dio!" He quickly shoved the paper in his shirt pocket (he intended to read it later; this seemed more important) and dashed to her side to see what he could do. She was tied up with more care than Romano was, as evidenced by the rope burns on her wrists. He muttered a quick apology for the misunderstanding and began to work at untying the knots. He was just as confused as ever, and the music – that unearthly music that seemed to come from the walls themselves – was definitely not helping. Maybe that letter could clear things up a little more? But first thing's first: he had to make sure his fellow nation was all right.
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Post by Mexico on Sept 3, 2013 19:43:01 GMT -6
Mexico would be lying if she said she didn't feel the annoyance that Romano displayed in his tone. The girl should've grown used to it by now. In the best of times there was some tension between the two. Ana María couldn't understand why. As far as she was concerned, Romano had everything. Even while they were growing up he was always the favorite and the one Spain always talked about. He was the reason Spain would go back to Europe and spend months at a time without bothering to leave a note or write a letter.
Lovino was the favorite child, and still Mexico did not present any type of juvenile grudge against him. So why did he held one against her? She ignored it for the time being, but in all honesty she had no idea how much longer she would be able to pretend his hostility didn't bother her and snap. Given their current situation she hoped not soon.
"I did not tie you and I don't know what is going on. All I know is that we're here and that is that." She said in a distant tone.
When Romano walked towards her and helped her set her hands free, she couldn't help but think about what the letter said. Mexico, that other vermin in the room, they know where the key is. All you have to do is ask them. Simple enough for even you to accomplish. She looked him over with such intensity that had the roles been reversed it would've made her uncomfortable. This key, was this their final salvation? Was this literally the key that would set her and everyone around her free? If such was true, then why would Italia Romano keep it for himself?
The boy was many things, but she was sure he wouldn't do that to them. After all, if he did have it, wouldn't he have gotten out of there by now? It was all very confusing and as Mexico held her wrists trying to examine the damage caused by the rope, she couldn't help but be insecure. What if she didn't know him as well as she thought she did? What if he was someone completely and radically different from the memory she had created? Mexico took a step forward, she looked around the room, then back at Romano but the words she wanted to say did not come out of her mouth.
She looked down at her letter, her fingers playing through the paper like they might uncover some obscure secret that she had failed to notice before. She didn't know what this was about. What were they supposed to do? At least the other times she had woken up she knew what her task was, even if it was a malevolent and gruesome one at that. But at least she had a clue. All she could do now was wonder.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2013 1:46:26 GMT -6
Romano furrowed his brow as his skilled hands managed to loosen the bonds enough to slide them off Mexico's hands. As he worked, the same questions flashed in his mind as when he woke up. Mexico couldn't have captured him and tied him up if she was tied up as well. And if she didn't, then who did? Who waited until, in his weakness, he fell into a deep enough sleep to be carried away and bound to a chair? Perhaps Mexico wasn't so innocent as she seemed, and she had tied herself up to throw Romano off the trail! But…how could she get the knots so tight if that were the case?
Still, she claimed not to have any part in this, but something about the way she said it made Romano think she had something to hide. She sounded distracted, indifferent. She was thinking about something else, ignoring entirely the dilemma at hand. And that aggravated Romano very much.
"Okay. We're here," he said, stretching the length of the first word as he looked around "here". "What are we supposed to do now? Sit around and starve to death? There isn't exactly a neon red 'exit' sign in here." The sneer in his voice hid his panic. What if he couldn't get out of this hellish funhouse? But at least she had partway answered one of his questions…or so he thought.
For now, he would believe her on the first part of her claim, but that still left much to be desired. If she didn't tie him, who did? More so, why? And why with Mexico, of all people? If they only wanted to torture him (which no doubt, they did), they could have trapped him with many other people. That perverted creep France, for example. Or the German potato bastard his little brother stuck to like gum on the bottom of a shoe. Romano offered a quick thanks that neither of these were the case; in fact, he was fortunate enough that the person he was trapped with was a female…a snobbish relative of a female, but at least a cute snobbish relative–
Ugh! What am I thinking! Focus! What could they want?
Mexico was staring at him. He just noticed. Not wanting to be subject to the girl, he glared at her right back, watching her every move as his mind whirred possibilities.
Could they…maybe want me to make up with her? he thought to himself, almost immediately trashing the idea simply for it being so unsavory. Whoever did this…are they that concerned for my family affairs? For a brief moment, perhaps in some kind of desperate hope, he imagined that the mastermind behind this abduction was Spain, hoping to sow peace between the two nations. Well, it wasn't going to work. She hadn't done anything to warrant his forgiveness (because surely she was the one at fault here), and Romano wasn't about to do anything that could potentially please someone who tied him up in a dark room.
Just then, Mexico took a step forward. Romano narrowed his eyes. She looked like she was about to say something, and Romano tilted his chin up as though trying to draw out her words. It was all to no avail; she said nothing. Romano rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and blowing his bangs out of his face. If she had something useful to say, she should just say it. If not…then there was no reason to get his hopes up. Her eyes fell down to a familiar slip of paper that she held in her hand. Curiously, Romano slid his own letter out of his shirt pocket just enough to compare the two. They were practically identical in his perspective. Stuffing it back in, he approached her while she was still distracted.
"Oi, ragazza! What's this?" Like an annoying older brother, he ripped it right out of her grasp and looked it over. Oddly enough, the sheet of paper was blank. There was not a word written on the scrap, leave for an ornate "For Your Eyes Only Mexico" on the front. Confused, Romano searched all over the paper, even holding it up to whatever light was in the room in hopes of finding some sort of secret writing (the whole time, he held out an arm so as to keep the girl from reclaiming her letter). But the page was clean. He handed it back to Mexico. "There's nothing there," he informed scornfully, as though she were a child and Romano was telling her there was no such thing as Santa. "If we want to get out of here, blank sheets of paper won't help us."
Was…was his letter blank too? His eyes darted to his pocket, torn between reading it right then or waiting for Mexico to turn away. If it really was blank, to read it now would make him look like an idiot and a hypocrite…not the vision he wanted for someone he was currently holding a grudge against.
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Post by Mexico on Oct 6, 2013 21:27:49 GMT -6
Mexico cringed her teeth as she watched Romano rip the letter from her hands like it belonged to him. She frowned as she tried to take it back. It was something that really annoyed her. She wasn't selfish, but really what was her was hers. Perhaps it was a childhood trauma, but she was certainly apprehensive as to not fall into that loop of being deprived of everything that made her by someone bigger and stronger. Besides, this was a letter addressed to her and her only. She hated when people snooped around her things like they were entitled to know every single little detail of who she was. Couldn't they respect her privacy? It was infuriating.
"Give it back, Lovino," she said. When he handed it over she looked at him with interest. It was odd, however, how he looked it up to the light like he couldn't read what was in it. She opened it again, but nothing seemed strange. Except for the obvious message that was in it. "I think you're making stuff up in your mind," she said in the same tone in which he spoke to her. "It's not blank. But then again you shouldn't be looking at stuff that doesn't belong to you."
Ana María sighed as she read her letter again. She walked away from the Italian to search the room on her own. His presence was starting to get on her nerves. Even though she really couldn't care less of what he thought of her, his attitude was frustrating to deal with. She didn't want to be stuck in this place as much as he did, and if they wanted to get out they would have to work together. Or at least that's what she thought.
Why did he hated her so much anyway? She couldn't recall messing with him in a way that would incite that grudge that was almost too clear he had for her. Maybe if she placed him on the chair and tie him up and then force his reasons out then maybe she could get him to cut out his nonsense and be useful for once. But no, that wasn't what she was going to do. It would involve actual effort and she really didn't have the energy left to deal with things that could not be fixed anyway.
"We need a key to get out," she spoke as a matter of fact. "So instead of reading letters try to see if there's anything here that can help." A key, a key. It all came down to a key. Mexico placed her hand over her collarbones, remembering how she had once placed that key around her neck. It was the one that had appeared after she had defeated that treacherous creature. It was the one that led to that safe and nice place inside the manor. She now regretted using it, for maybe that was the key that could get them out of there now.
She began walking around the room. There had to be something there that could help them. Anything. She probably looked ridiculous, hands and knees on the ground trying to find something she hadn't lost, but she worked with the idea she had. She just hoped it wouldn't be the only one.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 12, 2013 16:19:24 GMT -6
Romano froze, staring at her with hollow eyes. Making stuff up with his mind?
Wouldn't put it past me, he thought dryly. Hadn't he just spent a good portion of his time here trying to decide whether or not anything was real? He couldn't recall what his conclusion had been. Was this room even real? He was awake for certain, but maybe everything here was only in his imagination. It would certainly explain the music with no source. And he seemed to recall that the subconscious had trouble conjuring the written word…
Faced with this new possibility factoring itself in, he found he had no clever comeback to toss at Mexico. He grew uncharacteristically solemn, turning away with a blank expression as he let this sink in. What was he supposed to do if he was imagining this? Wait for the dream to end? Try to wake himself up somehow?
He noted that Mexico had peeled of to search the room. Once more, he looked to the letter in his pocket. He gingerly picked it out and began to open it.
"We need a key to get out."
The words startled Romano into almost dropping his note. Annoyed by the interruption, he growled and shot her a glare from the side. "No shit, Sherlock!" he commented sarcastically.
"So instead of reading letters try to see if there's anything here that can help."
He glanced over at her suspiciously as he quickly tucked the letter back in his pocket. Had she seen him? No…she was still busy looking…for something. The key? He gave the room a quick once over himself. "And just what is this key supposed to unlock anyway? The wall?" He couldn't see a door, or window, or any discernible way out really. It was pointless. Why didn't she just give up and rest until someone came to their rescue? There was nothing there to hurt them except for each other. Who knew when the next chance they'd get to sleep with that kind of security would be? Or…was it really safe after all?
He weighed in the situation. There was no way out, but that didn't necessarily mean there wasn't a way in. Heck, there'd have to be a way in if they were in there to begin with. And that meant other things could get in as well, including malevolent things. That wasn't even including the possibility that this enclosed space was just a figment of his imagination (and by extent, Mexico herself), meaning he could still be in the manor, out in the open, and completely vulnerable to any monster that roamed the halls.
Ugh, this is so frustrating! He rammed his head against the mirror, sending a loud bang across the room. There was a moment of silence as the impact sent his head reeling, the pain registering in his mind a second later.
"…Ow!" That was definitely going to leave a bruise. He kept his face planted against the mirror, the cold glass feeling good against his new injury. A thought flickered in his mind. He lifted his head to look at the other person in the room (but not before wincing at the crack he made in the mirror), who was now on her hands and knees searching the ground.
"Hey, María," he called, all bitterness in his voice gone and replaced with hope. "Do you think there's anything behind these mirrors? Like a door, or window, or tunnel…" …or a speaker I can destroy to stop this creepy-ass music.
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Post by The First Inhabitant on Oct 21, 2013 19:02:45 GMT -6
The light was the same as it always was, dim, not allowing the corners of the room to be seen, but enough to let the mirrors show their reflections. The temperature was a constant temperature, but it started increasing. Out of the corner of the mirror closest to the nations, fire spread across it, slowly forming words. "Not like the rules do we? Let us spell it out. You have the key at your fingertips. War was your past time, time to bring out that hatred again and fight to survive, otherwise...." And the text trailed off. A small sound was heard and the walls started moving, a loud grinding noise sounded and echoed through the room, stopping after the walls had moved about a foot inward.
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Post by Mexico on Oct 29, 2013 20:24:52 GMT -6
In a moment something strange happened. For the first time since her arrival, sweat formed around her forehead. The room increased temperatures. She could feel the Celsius raising. The permanent chill that had come to set its place around her spine vanished. She was warm, and suddenly a splash of optimism watched her face. Warmth was so much like her home. Such a vital part of her being that being ripped away from it, like a bad aid holding pieces together, was like pulling her away from her own being. There was relief.
But nothing that's calm ever lasts forever. The room grew clearer. She began to recognize patterns and objects. Mirrors. On the mirror closer to her, fire roared to life. It formed, words... "Not like the rules do we? Let us spell it out. You have the key at your fingertips. War was your past time, time to bring out that hatred again and fight to survive, otherwise...."
Mexico took a step forward, wanting to touch such mystical fire that tempted even the strongest of doubts. It was beautiful. It was like placing a hand on a fryer and feeling only the warmth, not the burning flesh that made the skin bubble and peel off. But as she took that step, something made her stop. It was the most excruciating sound. Like stone being bruised and broken. Torn apart and bones becoming dust. The room moved. The walls came closer to themselves, almost like closing them in. Everything was much stronger. Everything was smaller.
No.
It was that time again, wasn't it? Two was a crowd. Two was always going to hold her back. Kill to survive. Kill to see the light of day. Kill for the mere pleasure of killing. "I'm afraid we are at that point again, querido," she said. "Only one of us can get out." She moved forward, looking at the structure dimly lit, trying to come to a valid answer. Oh how she wished she still had that key. That small key that levitated away from the neck the moment when it seemed most valuable. How it had guided her to the safest of places in this forgotten place. How it had builded a sanctuary. The only place she felt safe.
But that key was no more.
The inhabitants were right. She hated to admit it, but they were right. War was so much a part of them as was misery and treachery. For centuries when they were threatened, the way to deal with things was war. And so, it was only logical that this was truly a battle, not against the Manor or the Inhabitants. It was a battle against themselves, like it had always been.
Joy.
Ana María turned to look at Lovino and images began to burst into her head. The memories of what had happened the last time she had to fight were creeping on her sanity. It was one thing to kill a human, but to kill a nation, and by definition a group of people, all sharing the same ideals and culture, the same way of life, was another matter entirely. Was Italia Romano to be the next heartache on her list? Just another like Serbia and Monaco? Why must it be someone who she truly cared about? She couldn't kill a part of her. Because as much as he claimed to dislike her, she still knew that deep inside they were family. They had to be. They both shared something so vital to their existence and integrity as a nation that it was impossible to simply ignore. Spain.
So it was a doubting moment. To allow him to kill her or to go ahead and do the job herself? Just how great was her desire to stay alive? When she knew the answer to that question then things would start falling into place. She touched the border of her knife. It was still there. Still stained with blood. Still standing firm by her side. All she had to do was make a decision.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 18, 2013 2:17:32 GMT -6
Before Mexico could reply to his theorizing, Romano felt the temperature rise. It was hardly noticeable at first, but grew warmer and warmer until he had to wipe the sweat off his brow using his sleeve. Breath hitching, Romano started to panic. Did they plan to broil the nations alive? Suddenly, a fire erupted on the mirror closest to them. Surprised, Romano backed away several steps from the flames, watching in awe as they wrote across the mirror.
"'Not like the rules…'?" he read aloud. "What rules?" He turned to Mexico, looking at her in hopes she would clear his confusion. All he got as a response was the sight of Mexico moving forward to touch the flames. "Don't touch it, idiota! Are you dense?!" Without thinking, he leapt forward and wrapped his hand around her wrist, yanking her back. He read the message in the flames again. It was bizarre. How could things like this happen and not be a dream? And it said the key was at their fingertips, but he still couldn't see what they were getting at.
And then the walls moved in.
Suddenly, Romano felt suffocated. The room had shrunk, albeit not a lot, and it was warm enough to drench his head in sweat. He couldn't breath, and even if it was a dream, he didn't want to stick around to see what happened when the walls crushed his lifeless body between them. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to get out? He was really beginning to regret not reading that letter, and now he feared it was too late. It couldn't help him now. Once again, he looked to Mexico for clarity.
"I'm afraid we are at that point again, querido," she said sorrowfully, regret in her eyes.
"What point?" he asked, face slipping into a variety of expressions: a nervous grin, a fearful grimace, a dead stare…
"Only one of us can get out."
Romano's eyes widened, head shaking ever slightly. "Wh…what are you talking about?" But he knew what she meant. It had already come together in his mind. The key, the only way out of here was to kill Mexico. He couldn't do that. Sure, they were never close, and yes, she made him angry, but they were still practically family. And she was a girl besides – call it chivalry, but Romano could not bring himself to harm a lady. What was he to do? His eyes darted back to where he had began; he had left his gun by his chair. All it would take is one shot, and it would all be over. He ran his eyes over her figure. By the light of the fire, he could see her weapon glinting from the flames: a knife. If he could just reach his gun, he could shoot her before she even came close. It would be over so quickly, so easily…but he couldn't. Not even if it meant getting out of this alive. All he could do was stall.
"Nooo nononono, Mexico…please…" he begged, unable to hide the terror on his face. Y-you…why would you do this? It'll only make them happy. You don't wanna make them happy, do you?" He was backing away from her, nearing his weapon. Whether or not he would use it, he would still feel better if it was still in his hands. "Don't kill me…Ana María."
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Post by Mexico on Dec 15, 2013 17:33:35 GMT -6
We carry with us the blood of our people.
She wasn't going to do it. Not again. When she had found herself trapped in a room with the other two nations she hadn't really grasped the idea of what it meant to kill the others. She wasn't aware of the emotional repercussions that came with depriving them of their living scent. She genuinely thought she wouldn't feel it. After all, having taken everything into account, they were just strangers.
Italia Romano however, wasn't.
So Mexico was at the point again when she wasn't sure of what decision to make. It was ultimately her choice. Both of them knew that. If she decided to attack the italian, she knew he wouldn't really stand a chance. She was already gifted with the curse of having done this before and this time, lesson learned, she wouldn't stop to hear final last words. Turning every warm cell in her body to a first class cold blooded murdered, she would simply kill him.
If only it was that easy.
Mexico turned to look at Italia Romano. His eyes widened. Terror illustrated all the corners of his eyes, painting over every line in his body, tracing throughout all his persona that he was afraid... of her. And with reason. Ana María became painfully aware of the blade that hanged from the side of her dress by a hand-made belt. It hit her side when she ran and when she walked she barely felt the blood stains that were engraved on the metal. But in the moment that she looked at the italian square in the eyes, she felt the weight of her sins, the weight of what she knew she was capable of doing.
She could kill him if she wanted to.
Except she didn't want to.
So what was the difference between the grumpy italian and the two females that had stood before her in a death match? Why would she spare his life while taking theirs? What about her made her feel the guilt poisoning her veins that even the thought of harming Italia Romano made her reject the idea?
He was family.
That was were the really messed up part was.
Ana María didn't have it in her. She didn't possess such attributes that would make her stab Italia Romano. How could she show her face again? It would crush all those around them. It would destroy Spain to know she killed his favorite colony. It would hurt Italy to know she murdered her brother. So her choice was made. "I am not going to hurt you," she said when he backed away from her. She grabbed the handle of her machete. She leaned down to place it very carefully next to her, then she stood. She was backing away from a fight. A concept very clear but very odd to her.
"I could never kill you. So you have two choices." She took a step toward him so he could understand with outmost clarity what she was about to say. "You can either use your gun or my knife. You can kill me or I do it myself. The choice is yours." Just choose soon, she thought.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 9, 2014 12:35:49 GMT -6
Romano's eyes never left the nation before him, and as she drew closer, it became painfully obvious what was expected of him. He didn't want to believe it. Two in the room, and only one could leave. But why? What could whoever – or whatever – put them in the room possibly hope to accomplish by forcing them to do this? Entertainment, he decided. This is some kind of sick game. And I don't want to play.
"I am not going to hurt you." Those were Mexico's reassuring words, but they only seemed to make him panic all the more. And as she forfeited her weapon, he could swear his heart stopped beating. He didn't need her to lay his choices down before him to know what she wanted him to do. How could she ask him to end her life so calmly? It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair that only one of them could be victorious. It wasn't fair that one of them would have to sacrifice their life so the other could live. Most of all, it wasn't fair that Mexico would force him to make such a heavy decision– which, in all reality, wasn't even a choice at all. Either way, she would die, and Romano would live to see another day. Another day of what, though? Of this endless hell? Or would he be released, free to have his old life back? Either way, he would no doubt be left with the bitter memory of the one who died to save him. It wasn't fair for either of them.
"I'm not going to kill you, dammit!" he firmly stated. He couldn't! He wouldn't! But you would… His words were empty. The options were limited. She would die, or he could kill himself to spare her. But he was not Mexico. She might be willing to make that kind of sacrifice; he wasn't. He was a coward, a selfish child who was willing to pay any price to sustain himself, even the blood of another nation. She's offering– no, insisting, he tried to justify. It's not like she's giving me any say in the matter! But he knew this was no excuse, even as he closed his fingers around his gun, picking it up from the floor. She wants to die to save me. Who am I to deny her final wish? He made himself sick, pointing the gun square at her forehead. The least I can do is make her death as quick and painless as possible. It will be easier from me than from herself.
He felt warm liquid trickling down his cheeks, making his face twitch. He was crying. He could feel his stomach twisting as his finger tightened around the trigger. Just shoot, you bastard! he ordered himself. Before she changes her mind. Or the walls crush you both and her sacrifice is wasted! It was a shock to realize just how close they had come in his tarrying. His hands shook, and his knees wobbled. He hated himself, but he knew that inevitably he would follow through. He forced himself steady. He would do it in one shot, and then it would be all over.
Romano never took it upon himself to learn Spanish fluently, but he had been with Spain long enough to have picked up a decent vocabulary. As far as goodbyes went, he kept it short, simple, and to the point. "Adios, Ana María…" he sighed, his voice trembling with the threat of sobbing and riddled with rough, shaky breathing. "…Lo siento."
He didn't ask for her last words. He didn't give her a chance to change her mind. His face remained perfectly stoic, despite the tears that would not stop falling. But when he pulled that trigger, and the shots resounded in the rapidly shrinking room, he could have sworn the bullets that ripped through Mexico's relinquished body tore right through his own heart.
He didn't deserve to live.
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Why would I want to destroy something I helped build?
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Post by Mexico on Jan 11, 2014 23:20:59 GMT -6
Mexico knew it was time, though it felt like a sacrifice that she didn't want to make. As she stood in front of the Italian, the walls closing in on them, she hoped even for a small moment that he might reconsider, that he might be willing to make the choice himself and allow her to walk away. Truth was she didn't want to die, not after everything she had been through. Dying now, after she had purposely taken the lives of two nations and emerged victorious in a battle with all odds against her, seemed like a waste of time. Why would she come so far when she was ready to throw it all away? Was this a sign of courage and strength or was this the ultimate goodbye, a self-inflicted murder... suicide?
Ana María wanted Romano to kill her. She didn't want to have to carry with her his death too. Guilt weighs nothing, yet she still had to carry it around. She wasn't willing to mourn over someone else's dead body, especially someone in her family. She didn't have the strength to stab him or cut him or chop his head off. Mexico wanted to run around free of charge. She couldn't kill someone else. Her mind would not be able to take. She would break. So her ultimate wish had been to lay Romano's choices in front of him. Either way she was going to die. Had it been through her own hand or his, it didn't matter.
Ana María was selfish.
She didn't want to kill so she was forcing another nation to do that for her. She knew that once she made her choice and Romano made his that it would be him who would carry her death around. It would be him who would see her body hit the floor, watch the blood flow away from her skin and the life be sucked from her eyes. It would be him who would watch her fall without a choice. See her die. Mexico knew how much that hurt. But she couldn't bear it again. Besides, if she killed Romano, Spain would never forgive her. Italia Romano was like the small brother who could get away with anything. Antonio would never see him as less than he was. He would never label him a murderer for taking the most precious thing he possessed. Ana María wouldn't be as lucky. After all she was just a colony. Had been just one of the rest. It didn't matter.
He mattered.
When Romano raised his gun, her body began to tremble. He had made his choice and there was no going back now. Any moment now a bullet would pierce her skull, dig into her brain and kill her. She would die in that place. Die in the American South, far away from her home. She would die at the mercy of a game, and not just to save Romano, She was also saving herself. Nothing could hurt her when Death came upon her.
Mexico didn't say anything as Romano looked at her. Tears escaped his eyes. She knew he wouldn't do it had he had a choice. She forgave him the moment he made his choice. It was for the best. At the sound of the rhythm of the Spanish he spoke, Ana María's shoulders relaxed. It was comforting to hear something familiar so she closed her eyes and trusted him. Darkness came almost as a relief.
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Post by The First Inhabitant on Jan 24, 2014 17:03:04 GMT -6
As the bullet tore through flesh and the last breath was released from the dying Nation, the door unlatched and swung open with a slight creaking of the hinges. Not all the way open no, but part way. On the other side of the door, there was a washroom with a small cabinet with soap to wash away any blood that had gotten them. A small light hug on the wall, giving off a faint glow that complimented the fire light. Also present was a bottle of wine and a glass. Blazoned across the mirror was another message. No head radiated from the fire. This message would be present until the Nation walked through the second door.
"Congrats on your victory Italia Romano . You have proven to have the mettle to kill in cold blood, to face any foe. Take a rest and have a glass of wine. When ready, say ‘aprire la fiamma to unlock the door” We want you at your strongest after all~
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Post by Deleted on Apr 5, 2014 12:58:29 GMT -6
Mexico's body hit the floor, the thump silenced by the ringing in Romano's ears. It was likely from the sheer volume of the gunshots, but as his heart raced, he couldn't help but feel it was from the shock of what just happened.
I just killed someone.
I JUST FUCKING KILLED SOMEONE!!!
He let his weapon fall to the ground, taking several steps away from the lifeless body. He was sure he was screaming, but he could barely hear his own voice over the ever-increasing horror that welled up within him. He put his hands over his ears, knees weak as he dropped to the floor. Oh, my God… Oh, my God, what have I done? He knew what he did; he could see it clear as day, right there before him. Blood poured from the bullet holes. Dead, cold eyes stared back at him, and he found he couldn't look at her any longer. It wasn't as though this was the first time he had killed someone. He had been in countless wars before. So many centuries of bloodshed painted his past, so what made this any different? She was a fellow nation. She was family. She was practically a sister. And now her blood is on my hands…
"FUCK!!!!" he screamed, his voice bouncing off the mirrored walls. "ARE YOU FUCKING SATISFIED?!?!" he asked the malevolent forces that dared make him commit such an atrocity. "FUCK YOU!!!" He curled into himself, his voice riddled with sobs, shaking as it dropped to a near whisper. "Fuck me…" This wasn't anybody's fault but his own. He could have taken his own life. He should have been the one to make the sacrifice, but no. He was the one who had raised his gun. He was the one who pulled the trigger. There was no one to blame but himself. He had murdered. Why?
I had no choice, he reminded himself. He had to keep himself alive. After all, he had actual family he needed to find. His little brothers were somewhere in this mess, Spain too. He had to live for their sake. And she didn't? he argued with himself. Just because you have people you care about here doesn't mean she didn't, you asshole! She deserved to live ten times more than you did, "…you self-centered piece of SHIT!!!" He wasn't sure when he started talking out loud. He didn't care. He had too much bottled inside him to keep silent. It felt good to scream and curse, even if it was just to curse himself. He deserved it.
It was a mercy killing. Hell knows what's beyond that door, he thought as he looked to the open door, holding himself as he tried to stop his shaking. There is no such thing as escape from this hell. She will die here, or she will die out there. Why not end it all the sooner so she won't have to suffer more than she already has? The words burning on the mirror, hurting his eyes from the light as well as their content, jostled this notion. "…kill in cold blood," the flames read. "…cold blood." This was no mercy killing. He just wanted to live. He didn't want to die, and he was willing to pay any price to make sure he wouldn't. "Even at the price of others, you SICK BASTARD! EVEN IF IT MEANT TAKING THE LIFE OF AN INNOCENT PERSON. Son of a BITCH!" He felt like he might throw up. Every glance that slipped over the unmoving corpse of Mexico made his stomach twist, and he found himself swallowing repeatedly to keep from gagging. That's all it was. The walls were closing in, and he was afraid. He acted out of fear, not nobility, not necessity. He was a coward, and Mexico payed the price. What was left for him now? What would he have to do to atone for this sin of his?
…What would become of Mexico? Her people? If he ever did leave this place, what would he find? He didn't just kill a person. He killed a nation, the very representation of a group of people. This was no longer murder– it was genocide. "Monster…" he whispered, wiping the tears off his face. He turned to the mirror. It was ironic, how he had been so needlessly afraid of his own reflection before. Now those bloodshot eyes and sweat-drenched hair that had frightened him so were a force to be feared. He had been running from monsters his entire time here, and now…he was the only monster in the room. He wanted to run from himself, and never look back at what he did. But he knew he could never escape this.
Picking up his gun, Romano was half-tempted to shoot himself. There's no point anymore, he thought with a bitter smile that soon twisted into a pained grimace. You did this to live. Why let Ana María's sacrifice go to waste? He pulled himself to his feet, still sobbing despite not having any more tears to shed. Braving the overwhelming disgust of his actions, he made his way over to Mexico's crumpled form and took her knife. She wouldn't be needing it anymore, and as he noted earlier, there was no telling what was beyond that door.
He retreated to the washroom, splashing his face with cool water. Despite not having much blood on him at all, he continuously scrubbed at himself as if he could just wash the guilt off his face and hands. How long would it be before the images of what he did would be nothing more than a bad dream? Would he live with this gut-wrenching guilt for eternity? He ran his fingers through his damp hair, holding it out of his eyes. So many regrets…
The wine bottle and glass were almost surreal for their familiar comfort, though he only needed one of them. The glass was tossed aside to shatter in a fit of rebellion– a sad attempt on Romano's part to relieve his frustrations. He popped open the bottle and drank, perhaps a little too eagerly as wine dribbled down his chin from the corners of his mouth. It was an attempted escape, a welcome and much needed drink. Fighting back the nausea that threatened to return once again, he cradled the bottle close to himself, taking up his weapon once again (despite the fact the very feel of it made him cringe, he knew he wouldn't last long without it). Facing the door, he stood as tall as he was able with so much guilt weighing him down.
"Aprire la fiamma," were his words, though he barely knew he uttered them as his mind shut down and shut out everything about that accursed room. He was getting out of this hellhole.
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