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Post by The First Inhabitant on Aug 23, 2013 22:57:37 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 France and Indonesia 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, France/Indonesia,
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. Indonesia/France, 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 France/Indonesia 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 France and Indonesia are loosely bound and the letters in their clothing is addressed to them only. The posting order will be France then Indonesia. 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 Deleted on Aug 31, 2013 18:03:56 GMT -6
A voice sounded within the room, its utterance of "Awaken" now meshed with the music and lying on the brim of Francis's conscience - his senses were aware, he had heard it, but upon awakening he wouldn't be able to tell whether that single word was heard in his dreams or in reality. As he rose from sleep and his eyes opened, his dreaming state was quickly vanished and extinguished like a pinched candle. He was indeed aware now that there was music present, grim in its melody; it sounded medieval, like something meant to be surreal. Sound was the first sense to arise, yes, and the rest of him would quickly follow suit.
His head rose, throbbing and stiff at the curve of his neck - and that unrelenting music paid him no relief. The melody itself had his heart rate rising, for even with its lack of lyrics its eerie theme seemed to underlie a promise of death. Turning his head Francis could detect the single source of light, which, unsurprisingly, didn't bring light to the whole room. It was appreciated as opposed to an entirely pitch black room, though by this point Francis knew that things wouldn't come that easily. His gaze passed briefly over the darker corners that surrounded him, given no time to worry about that once he realized where his hands were.
A twitch of his arm muscles brought his attention down, noticing what he was sitting on and that his arms were behind him. A wiggling of his fingers and turning of his wrists told him that he was both bound and, thankfully, uninjured, not to mention with ropes that were so poorly tied they didn't even cause him any harm. Bound but not gagged, huh? I hope you know that this situation is painfully familiar to me by now. Francis flexed his arms a few more times until he was able to loosen those ropes, deftly using his fingers to assist in untying the loose knots and getting them to fall. Who knew being tied up before in the past would prove useful to this day.
All that movement brought Francis to notice that something was crinkling in his outfit. A freed hand lifted to pull that paper free from its tucked spot, and after a quick look around, he paid dutiful attention to opening the envelope and reading the letter inside.
Greetings, France,
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. France, 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
Worm was rather degrading, but Francis would make a point to play this nonchalantly. There was no use panicking. He blew a stray strand of golden hair from his face, swallowed his nerves and stood up from his chair. Ah, thankfully 'little friend' didn't mean a friend of the Manor, but another nation like himself. He was observing Nesia hesitantly, relieved that there was at least someone else sane in the room with him - going through this fiasco alone would probably have set Francis's fear triggers off. He folded the note back up, keeping its message in memory as he tucked it back into his clothing. He stepped a little to the side, slowly entering himself into the woman's peripheral vision; after all, he wouldn't want to startle her. "Indonésie.. do you need any 'elp getting out of your binds?"
Acting calm wasn't working so far. Francis's voice sounded terrified, shaky at points. But if he and Indonesia wanted to get anywhere, he would have to try his best for the two of them. "Ze two of us will make it out of 'ere.. we just 'ave to find ze way." The blue of Francis's eyes was dulled, a clear view into the stress and forcefully hidden panic he was going through.
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Nesia Pertiwi Annisa Ingkiriwang Notonegoro
Survivor
heterosexual.
single.
23.
Played by Derp.
Offline.
panda suit. bamboo spear. rafflesia arnoldii. died twice. speaks "chocolate"
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Post by Indonesia on Sept 5, 2013 11:22:28 GMT -6
She remembered a conversation. A silent one. Her lips were moving, and theirs too, but there was no voice. Even movements - footsteps - didn't make any sound. Concern and worry flowed from their mouths. Was she injured? Was something chased her? Were they offering comfort and help to her? The archipelago nation recalled about the soothing feel she got upon meeting those figures, even though they looked inhumane in her memory. Also, Nesia had a strange feeling that the people in her dream had no faces. Or they had, but Nesia could not recall any details except for slits they used as mouths. They might looked strange, but their intention was pure.
"Awaken."
Then the faceless people simply faded away from her mind, swept by a booming new voice. It must be someone physically close to her, because the single word successfully pulled her consciousness from the dream back into reality. She became aware of the dry air around her, that hurt her nostrils every time she breathe. The young woman disliked it; it was so dry, so dead, so unlike the air in her thick jungle - always pulsing with a life on its own. She also noticed the soft noise - music, eerie music to be precise, that being played softly from somewhere in the room. Clearly anyone who picked this so called music had a very bad taste. Then again, with a manor so gloomy like this, Nesia couldn't say anything about its owner's taste.
Once she opened her eyes, Nesia quickly tried to stand up, didn't realize that someone - or something - had put her in sitting position and tied her hands behind her. Lucky for her, the chair was heavy enough to keep her from falling to the ground and injured her nose . Panting, Indonesia studied her surroundings. She was put in a dimly lit room. The wall was covered with mirrors, making the room a tad brighter with the light they reflected. Apart from the decorations, looks like there were nothing else in the room. Strangely, Nesia didn't find the person who woke her up earlier, nor she saw any other living being but her until another voice spoke up, offering to help her with her bind.
Shaking her hands a bit, Nesia found that the rope was rather loose. Maybe her attempt to stand up had loosened it. "N-no, thank you... I feel I can do it myself," she replied, working on it as she spoke. There was another person in the room, and from the voice Nesia concluded that it was a male voice. He knew her as a nation. He spoke with an accent, so probably he wasn't a representative from an English-speaking country. Nesia heard him moved closer. Glancing, she recognized that it was France. Indonesia felt relieved, at least he's much more friendly than some others.
After freeing her right hand, Nesia pulled herself up a bit to undo the bind on her left. That was when she felt something tucked under her costume, something flat and thin. Curious, she seated herself on the chair again and pulled the zipper down, facing away from France. Someone had put an envelope there, the words For Your Eyes Only Indonesia were written on it. She frowned, confused. Who sent me a letter? she thought while her fingers carefully tore the envelope and opened the letter.
Greetings, Indonesia,
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. France, 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
Well, that sounds easy enough, she mused. All she needed to do was asking. But her intuition pushed her to read the letter again, alarming that something bad might happen if she acted recklessly.
And that would bore us immensely.
With her mind still echoing those words, Nesia folded the letter and put it under her costume again before she's working to free her left hand. France tried to reassure her, although his voice was a tad shaking. There was no reason for him to be panic - he had the key. "I feel... we're going to leave this place soon, so don't worry." Nesia smiled, then she stretched her right hand to him, with the palm facing upwards.
"So where's the key?"
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Post by Deleted on Sept 24, 2013 15:51:22 GMT -6
Luckily he didn't end up startling the younger woman any worse, nor did she seem to display any distrust toward him. If anything, that spurred a small sense of relief in him, enough that just a small smile could appear on his worn face - as dull as the light in his eyes. He had stepped away from Nesia when she turned down his help, turning his eyes away so he wouldn't get a glimpse of the woman retrieving the letter from her clothing. And in that time while she was reading, he decided to try and make use of it.
His attention was distracted again by the interior of the room, eyes drawn to the darkest corners to see whether the light could illuminate at least a little portion of them. The room itself was so familiar, a room that wouldn't have been as haunting if it weren't for the other elements - the music, the plentiful mirrors, the nagging possibility that there could be creatures lurking in any shadow. Those thoughts liked to creep up on Francis, though he made an effort to keep them down. Even the mirrors were unsettling. A part of him didn't want to look at any of them, lest he'd find something hovering behind him, over his shoulder. He also couldn't bear to imagine how terrible he might look right now.
When he heard Nesia's voice, immediately his head turned to view her again - only to see her hand extended and held out to him. "So where's the key?"
He blinked, dropped his focus down onto that upturned palm. "I..." A heightened examination of Nesia's facial expression could tell him she meant that seriously. Just in case he hadn't checked his clothing thoroughly and there was another item stuffed somewhere in there, his hands lifted to pat down his outfit for anything out of the ordinary. He glimpsed down at himself in frustration upon realizing he didn't have anything else on him, nothing aside from that single envelope and letter.
He held his breath, again meeting eye contact with the Indonesian nation and dreading having to say his next words to her. "I don't 'ave ze key on me.. et I don't suppose you do eizer. Zis just means we 'ave to search zis room as much as we can. Even if zere isn't a key in 'ere at all, we'll never know zat wizout looking first. A-and zen we will be able to leave zis place." He wasn't sure whether his own words sounded reassuring enough, but he might as well not dwell on that guilty feeling - he or Indonesia even having the key on them in the first place would be too easy. Too easy for a 'game' held by the Manor's inhabitants, of course, he should have realized that by now.
Francis gave a nod of affirmation, at the very least trying to reassure himself - even if it doesn't work as well on her. His hands lowered, body turning to view the open spaces of the room. Spaces that loomed and waited with dark fingers to lure in these poor nations. "Where do you zink we should start? We should probably be searching different sides of ze room."
It wasn't as if anything better was waiting for them outside of this particular room, but being confined to these walls in particular seemed a less favorable death than anywhere else.
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Nesia Pertiwi Annisa Ingkiriwang Notonegoro
Survivor
heterosexual.
single.
23.
Played by Derp.
Offline.
panda suit. bamboo spear. rafflesia arnoldii. died twice. speaks "chocolate"
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Post by Indonesia on Oct 9, 2013 22:41:23 GMT -6
She watched him closely as France checked his costume, trying to feel if something was hidden under the fabric. And when the man stated that the key wasn't in his possession, she let out a soft "...huh?" and tilted her head. France didn't have the key? The letter said otherwise, so which one is the truth? She rested a hand on her chest, right on top of the letter tucked under her costume. Between him and the letter sent by The Inhabitants, Nesia chose to trust her fellow nation. He had no reason to lie to her... right?
And who were The Inhabitants anyway?
France guessed that the key was nothing in her custody too, which prompted her to search in her costume. First she checked the inside of her hood and her hair, thinking that the key tangled somewhere between her dark strands. There was nothing that felt different, so then Nesia patted her whole outfit but she felt nothing peculiar except the letter addressed to her. "This is not funny," Indonesia complained softly. "I don't even know what the key looked like. Nor do you." The worst case was if the key mentioned in the letter was nothing but a tool to divert the two nations' attention away... from who-knows-what.
She nodded in agreement on his suggestion to search the room. "I guess we can split the room in half. But first, we can search our chairs." With that, she squatted in front of her chair and looked underneath it. Indonesia fumbled the floor, only to discover a thin layer of dust between her skin and the floor itself. Next she inspected the back of the chair, but again she discovered nothing. Leaving the other half of the room to France, Indonesia carefully inspected every centimeter of the floor, trying to see a glint of metal in the dim light. Her search would be easier if she had a magnet, but she only had her bamboo spear now, and that didn't help her much.
Come to think of it, France's voice sounded... shaky. As if he knew something she didn't and it frightened him. Not many things could scare a nation like him. She dug her memory. As far as she could remember, the French nation had no dangerous issues that would result in its personification's death. Indonesia kept on searching in silent, leaving the corners of the room undisturbed - those were too dark and somehow her instincts drove the female nation away from going there. Once she examined half of the room, Indonesia stood and tapped her hands repeatedly to clean the dust.
"France," she called in her soft voice, not wanting to make him more afraid. "France, what do you think... what would happen to us if we can't find the key?" Her question clearly implied that she knew that they would face something, but Indonesia had no idea what is it. Normally she would ask what should they do, but Nesia guessed they had to deal with whatever The Inhabitants threw to them before they could leave this room. "Do you think we..." she glanced to the corner of the room, "do you want to search that place?"
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Post by The First Inhabitant on Oct 21, 2013 19:01:50 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 Deleted on Nov 2, 2013 22:21:54 GMT -6
Francis didn't think to check the chairs next. It seemed too obvious, and something told him the key would be hidden somewhere more emasculate - or, God forbid, there was not even a key here in the first place. Thoughts like that he'd dismiss quickly. Of course there was a key here somewhere. The Inhabitants just wanted to watch the nations drift around the room looking for something whose whereabouts they can't figure out. And at this point, that ghastly music was serving a sole purpose of making him feel more pressured. It was unpleasant, though on the other hand, he couldn't imagine how worse it would be if the room were completely silent. Either way, the softer and calmer voice of the Indonesian was one thing to keep Francis leveled.
He knelt, sweeping the palm over the seat and back of the chair, using his fingers to feel through any smaller crevices. That hand lowered to feel underneath the chair next, though his findings were the same as Nesia's; dust and whatever awful other things collected on these floors. While he was at this low angle, he turned and searched with his eyes on his designated side of the room - with the faint light that they had to go by, perhaps he could see a glint of color down on the floor. That made him realize that neither nation even knew what the key could possibly look like; in color, shape nor size. It could be blending in easily with something else in the room, swallowed up by shadows.
As degrading as it was to have to be reduced to searching a dirty floor like this, Francis didn't yet rise from his knelt position. He crawled closer to the wall opposing Nesia's, reluctantly feeling along its crease. His fingers traveled up, prodding at the wall in case there might be any hidden holes, or somewhere where the plaster is weak. Patience was thinning the more this searching went on. He, too, was avoiding the corners for now, keeping his hands from shaking and his breathing in control. He crossed over to the other walls of the area, repeating the process of looking for anything hidden, something he wouldn't be expecting to find. He came across a single painting that had been hung, not bothering to look over what it contained - instead his hands were working to pull it right off the wall, leaving a bare space for him to check. No luck on finding any secret tricks there.
He dropped the painting onto the floor, about to observe one such darker corner of the room when Nesia began to speak again. He listened, but his answer didn't come so soon. His head turned to view her standing there on the other side of the room, maintaining herself even better than he seemed to be doing. Concern was evident in sapphire blue eyes, perhaps traces of fear and denial to accept that she was right. That question wasn't one to escape. The answer could be infinite. They had no idea what would happen to them now, but the fact was concrete that it wouldn't be good. A wrong move in the eyes of the Inhabitants and you were most likely dead.
Francis frowned, attention drawn back to the corner he was closest to. They didn't have any other option than to risk it. If something captured them in the corners, who's to say it wouldn't be any worse than what would happen to them if they failed to find the key? "We're going to 'ave to look zere, oui," came his muttered response. Indonesia's first question received no answer other than a shake of his head. It was best that he didn't try to bring their possible fate to words.
But before Francis could advance any further, he felt heat. The temperature of the room was rising, and the lights were glowing brighter. When he looked to see why that was, his eyes were not drawn to the dim lights but to the mirror. Fire was spreading across the glass in elegant strokes, its appearance so bright that he had to squint and take a step back. His heartbeat was beginning to quicken, but he stayed put to read what those letters were spelling out.
Not like the rules, do we? Let us spell it out.
The rules, of course. The letter specifically warned him not to discuss its contents. He was certain he had done that. The first thing he had done was suggest that they would find a way out of here, not that they needed to find a key. Perhaps it was Indonesia who spoke of the key first - but Francis wouldn't blame her. How could they possibly not talk about the letter they received?
You have the key at your fingertips.
Well, no, neither of them did, did they? Francis's finger twitched, wondering what exactly that had to mean. The key must be somewhere obvious, even if it wasn't on their person.
War was your pastime, time to bring out that hatred again and fight to survive, otherwise....
Before Francis could even react to the last statement of those flaming words, he heard the small sound. With his fists clenched, he looked aside to one of the walls... and that's when they started to move. It was no illusion, all four of them were certainly closing in on himself and Nesia. But it was the sound, the grinding and cracking of floorboards that was so overpowering. Francis's hands flew to cover his ears, eyes clenched shut, barely bearing the noise until it was over. For a fleeting panicked moment, Francis thought that this was the fate they had been waiting upon. His heart was beating at an irregular rate, hands trembling as they struggled to stay over his ears. The walls wouldn't be stopping, would they? They would continue until both nations were enclosed, weak and unable to push back until...
...death. No, no, Francis wasn't ready to go this way. This was so sudden. Each inch that the walls moved meant less and less time that he had to think. This couldn't possibly be the end of a nation, could it? He had so much of his home to live for, he had family and love and England--
The walls stopped, and so did that flurry of thoughts. Shaking hands moved slowly away from his ears, lifting his head to cautiously open his eyes. The room was still in tact, if not uncomfortably smaller now, and he and Indonesia were alive. But after that experience, there wasn't any way Francis would be calming down now. He hesitantly stood and straightened himself up, owing his attention once more to those words on the mirror. War was your pastime. A voice inside of Francis snapped.
Pastime?! As if we had any choice in having to go to war! It wasn't a damn hobby or anything that we enjoyed! It wasn't just for survival either, all we went through was watching as millions of our people died, watching someone we once adored turn to our enemy, causing pain when we didn't mean to... If you inconsiderate filth even think you know a thing about the wars we went through--!!
The Frenchman's hands clenched again to form fists, expression twisted into nothing other than vile anger toward the skeletal faces he saw there in the mirror. He saw absolutely no reason to feel any hatred for the female nation in the room with him. She has done nothing to deserve to die.
It took all he had not to punch the glass then and there. He was shaking again, trembling in a mesh of emotions that pounded down on him all at once: anger, fear, the urge to break down and cry. The Inhabitants did, in fact, succeed in bringing out Francis's hatred. But he resisted destroying the mirror. There was someone else in here he had to pay attention too, after all. Forcing in a steady breath, Francis turned one final time to face Nesia, staring at her with eyes that properly portrayed what he was feeling right now. They twitched, but Francis knew not to act upon his anger yet. His hand was resting on the handle of his rapier.
There was no mistaking the meaning of those words. Fighting for survival. One of these nations would make it out alive, unless they both refused. Francis wasn't yet sure which of the options he'd choose. Right now, Indonesia could either be his prey or his predator.
"Indonésie. Are you alright?"
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Nesia Pertiwi Annisa Ingkiriwang Notonegoro
Survivor
heterosexual.
single.
23.
Played by Derp.
Offline.
panda suit. bamboo spear. rafflesia arnoldii. died twice. speaks "chocolate"
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Post by Indonesia on Nov 15, 2013 12:38:54 GMT -6
"We're going to 'ave to look zere, oui."
Indonesia waited, but France didn't answer her other question with more than a reluctant shake of his head. If he really didn't know, he'd say it and he wouldn't be that scared. He's a strong nation, perhaps even older than her, and Nesia knew he had won countless wars. She kept looking at the French man, hoping he'd answer her with words. Thinking that asking him again might make him more scared, Nesia surrendered and moved her gaze to the nearest corner. The dim light didn't reach that place. She gripped her bamboo tightly. It wasn't the darkness she was afraid of; it was something that might be lurking in the shadows. Nesia planned to use her weapon to check the corner in case something jumped and bite her outstretched hand.
Nesia just about to proceed her plan when she started sweating. Apparently the temperature in the room started to rise a few degrees. Both hands were raised to push her hood back, then she pulled her zipper halfway down, showing her shirt underneath. The usual coldness was now gone, making the female nation a tad uncomfortable under her costume. The next thing that happened made her jumped a step back further to the chairs. Blazing words appeared on the mirror, as if a giant invisible hand wrote it with fire as its ink. The room turned brighter as more words were added, forming full sentence:
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...
The text disappeared in a split second, followed by a noise from somewhere. Then the walls started to move forward. The noise turned louder, showing a grinding movement behind the walls.
Indonesia didn't waste any second to run to her chair and crouched behind it. It's not just the wall near her that moved; all four of them were moving towards the center of the room. She covered her ears and shut her eyes, trying to make herself as small as possible behind the chair. They're going to die, aren't they? Crushed by these moving walls, nonetheless. No one will ever heard her cry of help; the room had no exit whatsoever. And if it did, maybe it would be swallowed by these walls or, perhaps, it's already gone beyond her reach. Indonesia felt her heartbeat quickened, as if it would throw itself out from her chest.
I will not die here. Nesia repeated the sentence over and over. Her body was trembled in fear and her eyes were shedding tears. She's a nation; an independent, large nation! She had survived countless disasters: flood, famine, tsunami and volcanic eruption! Not to mention all those wars too. She would not be killed just by these moving walls, no! It's the worst way to die. Waiting and watching them moving ever so slowly until she couldn't even take a single breath. No, the fear itself might would kill her first. Or she'd driven mad and took her own life...
Nesia cried aloud, "NO!" and she was ready to leap to the nearest wall to crush the mirror. But a voice... his voice stopped her, restoring some sense to her bewildered mind.
"Indonésie. Are you alright?"
"I..." a lump in her throat prevented her voice from coming out. Nesia pulled herself up slowly, only to slump down on the chair shortly after. She was trembling still, just not as violent as before. But at least her heart that was previously beating in an inhuman rate now had returned to its normal pace, almost. The loud grinding noise was gone, and the walls didn't move forward anymore although their initial movements had made the room smaller. She cried again, but this time because she was relieved.
She's not going to die soon...
"I am alright, France," Indonesia replied once she calmed down enough to not screw her pronunciation. "Are you... " the female nation wiped her tears before looking at him. "A-are you alright too?" sure France didn't look hurt or physically injured, but since the whole incident earlier had nearly driven her crazy... he might felt the same way too. But the blond, strangely, looked angry. No, it wasn't strange; it completely understandable. He knew, or at least had guessed, that this would happen, therefore he refused to talk about it. That was what had been scaring him since they both woke up here.
Her bamboo was carefully placed down on the floor. Her palm had been sweating because of the earlier fear and adrenaline. Now that the danger had momentarily passed, Nesia had time to think about the fiery sentence.
The rules. Her eyebrows furrowed. What rules? And how did they... The Inhabitants know that they didn't like it? Minutes passed as Nesia's mind trying to search for this answer until she tried to straighten her back. Her hand instantly flew to her chest, where she had tucked her letter earlier. The letter. She was tempted to pull it out and read it again, but it'd be hard to do without him knowing. Indonesia remembered that it had forbidden her from talking about it to France, and from her perspective she didn't do anything like that. Nesia did ask him for key, because that's what the letter instructed to her...
The female nation gasped, eyes widening once she fully realized it. It wasn't an instruction; it was a trap. Stupid stupid stupid! her hands struck her cheeks repeatedly. She should have think everything through first instead jumping into action! It was her fault the room had became smaller. If anything bad happened to France later, it'd be her fault too. She should have known that those Inhabitants had a very twisted sense of humor.
The key. Now Indonesia believed that there was no key ever existed from the beginning... or is it? She knew that they both had searched the room earlier, but they only looked on the different half of the room. Nesia found nothing but dust from her half. So what about him? He might had found it and now the key was hidden in his possession. Their only way to salvation...
No, no. Indonesia shook her head. For a moment, there was a whisper in the back of her mind, that France had found it and decided to keep it from himself because she was too stupid to not recognize the trap in the letter. It was such an evil thought, and the woman didn't want the only person she could rely on now turned into her enemy. There's one way to erase her doubt, though. So she swallowed her saliva, then spoke up.
"Did you find anything from... from your search, France?" Indonesia chose her words carefully, not wanting to make the walls moving again because she said 'key'. "Anything other than dust?"
As she waited for his answer, the last part of the sentence came to her mind. War. Pastime. That was crazy. No one ever enjoyed war, let alone doing it to kill some time! Madness! Just because she had fought many wars, it didn't mean she enjoyed every single killings she had done! It was a terrible thing to do, although sometimes it's necessary as a last resort. Still, no nations would ever love the sight of their countrymen dying and their children suffering. Only a madman would call war a pastime.
Bring out hatred again. The only hatred she felt now was towards The Inhabitants. Oh, if they were present in the room Indonesia would be happy to thrust her bamboo spear through their heart. Although with mind so twisted like that Indonesia doubt they had any hearts at all. As for France... no, he had no major reason for her to hate him. His country was quite well liked among her citizens.
Fight to survive. Wasn't that what she excelled in? Surviving? But survive against what, another moving of the walls? She would smash every single mirror before the room had shrunk so little and no more space left for her to do so.
Otherwise... Otherwise what? Whatever The Inhabitants threw to her, Nesia would not surrender without a fight, that's for sure.
Indonesia raised her head a little, glancing to her reflection on the mirror. Still, this wouldn't happen if she didn't ask France for key. She turned her head to face her fellow nation. "If this is happened because of my action, I am sorry. I was reckless..." Nesia turned her gaze down, on her bamboo spear that was still lying on the floor. She was too ashamed to look at him in the eye. But her guilt made her determined to protect France, if those wicked beings sent more dangers to the room. Indonesia would make sure he could get away from this room safely, even if it would cost her life.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 23, 2013 15:10:03 GMT -6
No doubt Francis's anger visibly glinted in his eyes, burning like the fire had been on those glass mirrors. He was patient while Nesia was answering his question, but his mind was completely swarmed. Everything about their current situation came crashing down on him at once, like an attack on his sanity. His hand was still on his rapier, determined and confident as he held onto it. Seeing the Indonesian's tears almost faltered him, but he would prevail. "I am alright," came her answer. He rather doubted that, because she seemed as fearful and broken as he was after that threat of death. And he knew that he was not alright now, either.
Concern was harbored in Nesia's voice, and Francis could also tell that she was not taking the Inhabitants' message lightly. That one question of "Are you alright too?" betrayed everything that Francis was actually feeling. His answer did not clearly portray that, but he was not going to lie to her, either.
"I can't say zat I am alright. But at least I am alive, oui? I am not terribly injured and neizer are you," he replied, and then his hand moved. He was shaking and overrun by his own adrenaline, but he was standing completely still where he was. That movement was his hand lifting, pulling his rapier free from its holster at his hip. How attentive he was as he watched the Indonesian. His weapon was held low at his side, unlike Nesia's weapon which was now on the floor, and his blue eyes watched each move that the younger girl made. He saw that her hand had flown to her chest and he heard her gasping. His eyebrows lifted, not having expected to see this reaction from her - but he assumed it had something to do with the key. She must realize now that the key was the reason why all of this has happened.
"Did you find anything from... from your search, France? Anything other than dust?" That question brought him back to what they had been doing before the walls closed in. His mind had become so obsessed with those accursed, filthy words on the mirror that he had almost forgotten about what he and Indonesia were doing before. He felt so calm back then compared to how he felt now.
He shook his head, having to be just as careful when he spoke. Perhaps it didn't matter now, but at least now they were aware of what would trigger reactions from the Inhabitants. "Absolutely nozing, cherie. But I know we were looking for ze same zing. And now we know just 'ow to find zat one zing, don't we...?"
He was beginning to wonder if Nesia felt the same anger that he had. Francis realized how little he knew of the woman's history, but he could imagine she has been through enough tragedy to understand the sheer inconsiderateness of the Inhabitants' words - perhaps not as much as he has been through - but enough to make them feel that they could understand each other. Francis did not feel hatred toward her, no, but he felt sincerity and pity. Her visage struck him as innocent and her apology felt genuine. "If this is happened because of my action, I am sorry. I was reckless..."
But by now, Francis's mind was already made up.
Although his anger had not subsided, the Frenchman sent a small smile in Nesia's direction. While her head was down, he took the chance to move closer to her. "Now, no need to put all of ze blame on yourself. I presume you want to get out of zis room as much as I do, so of course we 'ad no choice but to act upon impulse."
Another step closer.
Francis noticed that she wasn't making eye contact with him, but he didn't terribly mind that either. His voice softened as he continued. "But I can't allow us to try searching again. No use in zat now. If zere is anyone who should apologize, it is me."
As Francis closed in, he caught Nesia's bamboo spear under his boot to trap it there, kicking it back to get it out of the woman's reach. While war was never something Francis would consider a pastime, it was something he had excelled in. In wars he had no option but to fight, and he improved his fighting each time. He learned countless maneuvers, methods of defense and survival, and if anything, had become more than accustomed to killing when the time came. And needless to say, this was a much easier situation than ones he's been in before. This was a girl who was, for the most part, defenseless and easier to have to take down than any soldier in full gear. Francis did not always enjoy killing, but lack of choice caused him to resort to such a thing on countless occasions.
This was not the enemy, but... Francis did not want to die. Nesia probably did not want to either, but the desires of a person do not always determine what they actually receive. In a place where people (in this case, nations) have to count on survival, nothing is fair.
There were tears welled in the Frenchman's eyes, falling cleanly down his cheeks, but he did not sob. His expression was as apologetic as it was angered, but he was not stopping himself now. Once he was close enough to Nesia, he lifted his rapier higher to thrust the sharp point straight through Nesia's left breast. There would be no white flags raised on this day.
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Nesia Pertiwi Annisa Ingkiriwang Notonegoro
Survivor
heterosexual.
single.
23.
Played by Derp.
Offline.
panda suit. bamboo spear. rafflesia arnoldii. died twice. speaks "chocolate"
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Post by Indonesia on Dec 2, 2013 9:40:34 GMT -6
"And now we know just 'ow to find zat one zing, don't we...?"
She didn't. She had no idea how. Her own reflection blinked back at her in confusion as Francis's moved closer to hers. Nesia's mind was still mulling about their now smaller room, the walls that probably could move even closer and the invisible hand who wrote that mysterious message. What does it mean by 'otherwise'? It said something about fighting, but what would they send to attack her? More questions popped up in her mind, making her even more confused. Eventually they were dwindled, replaced by one single question: what The Inhabitants wanted from them? It seems they only urged them to look for a way out.
"Now, no need to put all of ze blame on yourself. I presume you want to get out of zis room as much as I do, so of course we 'ad no choice but to act upon impulse."
The woman glanced to the Frenchman, silently nodding in agreement. It wasn't entirely her fault, it was just what her instinct told her to do. She let out a relieved sigh. There's no use panicking now. They better move to look for an exit. A door might be hidden behind these mirrors, right? Or perhaps there was a trap door on the floor or ceiling. Considering that this was a large old mansion it might have things like that built as a secret entrance or escape route. A hope flickered within her. They only needed to look for another way out!
"What if there's a secret door?" Nesia asked, rising from the chair. Her expression turned brighter as she figured out about this possibility. She looked at Francis's image on the mirror. There was something long hanging by the side of his reflection, something she hadn't seen before on him. But she ignored it and continued with her question. "We should check the whole room: behind mirror, the ceiling, and the floor again. We might have missed something."
"But I can't allow us to try searching again. No use in zat now. If zere is anyone who should apologize, it is me."
She couldn't help but notice that his voice sounded different from before. It was steadier, but still in the verge of trembling. Before she had a chance to inquire about his reason, another sound brought her attention to his reflection's leg. It kicked something long and the thing was sent far behind him, out from their reach. It was her weapon.
Why would he kick her bamboo spear away?
Nesia turned to face the Frenchman and immediately found her answer. His right arm was raised. His weapon was held firm in his grasp, its blade gleaming in the darkness. And it's going to stab her chest--
MINGGIR!
Nesia jumped back, but Francis was quite fast. The tip of the rapier pierced through her costume and the letter she had tucked in there. In reflex, she tried to stop the blade with her hands, but it kept going through her body. She opened her mouth, her muscles tense as if she was screaming. But there was no sound coming out from her throat. And slowly her lips formed a whispered question.
"...Why?"
Just a moment ago Nesia swore to protect him, would even going as far as sacrificing herself if he was in grave danger. She thought he was her friend. She thought they were going against the Inhabitants together. She thought they both going to protect each other. She thought...
Tears now falling down her cheeks. They were mere thoughts after all. In reality, looks like Francis had taken the Inhabitants's message as a clue that he had to kill her in order to leave the room. He just hesitated at first... no, he was waiting for her to let her guard down. When Nesia dropped her spear, she had created a chance he'd been waiting for. That's why Francis refused to tell her what would happen if they couldn't find the key. He knew that this would happen. He knew it from the moment they woke up. She looked at his eyes, trying to convey her thoughts through eye contact. Nesia was confused, angry, shocked, betrayed, hurt. She was too innocent, too naïve for ever considering Francis as her ally. She should have known this, should have predicted this.
But it was too late. Heh. She was always late, wasn't she? She was a disappointment, a disgrace...
She coughed and gasped for air. Her breath was short and faster. Her costume was drenched in iron-scented red. The blood was dripping to the floor. Her legs were no longer able to support her body.
As she was falling, Nesia thought that it'd be nice if she could stay longer to hear Francis's reason. At least she might hear something that would make it easier to forgive him. Oh, and a cup of jasmine tea too.
But Nesia already left before her body touched the floor.
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Post by The First Inhabitant on Dec 2, 2013 17:03:18 GMT -6
As the blade pierced the woman’s chest and her last breath was released, 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 Republic of France. 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 ‘Ouvrir la Flamme’ to unlock the door” We want you at your strongest after all~
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Post by Deleted on Dec 4, 2013 20:59:23 GMT -6
He heard the click of the lock and the creak of hinges, distant and insignificant compared to what was happening before him, but he did not turn to look. His hand still gripped his weapon, its pointed blade buried deep just where he had meant to strike. Blood coated the thin metal, dripping from that punctured skin in thick dark drops, but he wasn't paying attention to that. He watched Nesia's eyes while the life in them waned, hearing her question posed in one final breath. Why? He wished he could answer that.
Her expression reflected the pain she felt beyond a physical level: the shock, anger and betrayal were all clear to see. Her motives here had been innocent, driven to help him just as she wanted to help herself. He had maneuvered this perfectly, but the look in her eyes was, for a moment, a weight hard to bear. He watched the path of those tears as they fell and traced around the curve of Nesia's mouth, just as she lapsed into a fit of coughing. He did not feel like speaking, but time was shortening and he knew he had not done this out of hatred. The blue of Francis's eyes had dulled, his face weary and hardened instead of holding true to his usual warm and affectionate demeanor. But his voice cracked with its final expression of apology and sincerity, low in a barely audible murmur: "Désolé."
He looked up in time to see the light vanish from Nesia's eyes, staring lifelessly ahead of her as her body fell soundly to the floor. Francis drew his arm back to pry his rapier out from the woman's body, taking a step back. He saw the mirror's glow in his peripheral vision, but he did not care to look just yet. He was not going to turn from the woman's body as if it were nothing. His victory could wait.
The rapier was set on the ground for a moment, using his free hand to reach up and pluck the three red roses that resided as part of his costume's hat. They were fake roses and had been attached to the hat by clips, but they would have to do. Francis bent down to set the flowers down by Nesia's body, red as the blood that now marked her, before moving his hand to close her eyelids. He had no reason to hate her.
And once that had been done, he picked his rapier back up and stood straight. He expressed little concern for the words that had appeared on the mirror but turned to read them, indifferent to what they had to tell him. But that anger in him had not quelled just yet, either. His eyes passed over that wine on their way to view the opened door. As much as he wanted to be out of this damned room, he would take advantage of that.
He was no longer cautious to walk around, not standing his guard against anything that could be lurking in the shadows. He approached the washroom door to push it further open and invite himself inside, walking over to the cabinet to see what was offered. His first concern was finding a towel and, once locating one, he put it to use to wipe and scrub off his blade. He would then wash his hands free of the dirt and dust they collected earlier, but did not linger in that washroom for long.
Without intention to take a rest, he exited that room to head over to the wine provided for him. It could be poisoned for all he knew, but the label looked authentic enough - and at this point, honestly, his concern for anything around him had drained. His rapier was set aside again, hands then working to pour himself a glass of his favorite beverage. It was consumed like a round of shots, and one was all he needed.
We want you at your strongest after all. Francis scoffed. He didn't want them associating anything with him at all. In one swift action, free of hesitance, the Frenchman grabbed the wine bottle by its neck and chucked it hard at the accursed mirror. Hearing the crack of glass satisfied him, even as the wine went splashing down to sprawl over the floor.
"Bon, I 'ope all of you bastards are 'appy now," spat the nation with dripping sarcasm. "Ouvrir la flamme."
Swiping his weapon back into possession and holding it at his side, he opened the unlocked door to finally walk out, bitter and smoldering and marked by the blood he had just spilled.
[désolé = sorry, ouvrir la flamme = unlock the flame]
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Post by Spartan of Fire on Dec 7, 2013 13:32:27 GMT -6
Fire.That was this man’s world now. Fire and the ever present bloodlust that ran through his body. He had been waiting for this moment ever since he had awoken from his millennium slumber. For all those centuries of being stuck in the Amphora, his lust hadn’t eased, and neither had the flame that burned under the armor, the eternal flames that consumed and offered no rest to him. But this place, this manor he had come to reside in had offered him a chance to sate the urges for blood, for the feeling of his sword sinking though flesh and bone. To see the splatter of blood and know that it was by your hands that your foe lay dying was what he yearned for. That’s what this whole thing was for after all, this whole event. To narrow down the nations that had a chance of winning against him, but of course wouldn’t. This was all for him. He was a Spartan though and through and wouldn’t lose to some immortal, not again. Rage burned through him, rage at the immortal beings that caused him to forever burn. He would find his way to get his revenge. His forever reminder was his Amphora that was his home, always in his presence. Currently it was situated on a table against the back wall of the room, forever guarded by the Spartan.
Coming out of his inner thoughts as the door opened, he watched the blond man stride into the room, determined. But he knew that would soon change. Where his mouth would have been, the fire moved into a smirk with the eyes narrowing. This was too perfect, the surprise of a century, the perfect way to get an enemy off guard. Raising his spear to point at the man, he nodded his head, his helm dipping in a greeting. The voice that emerged from the inferno was gravely, a throat scorched with smoke that has yet to heal.
“You have been found worthy to face me. Prepare for your death. Do fight, it’s been centuries since I’ve been able to stretch my bones and fill my battle hunger. At least with fighting you die with honor. ”
As those words left the Spartan’s lips, he started forward, quickly picking up his pace, spear raised into a strike position, to injure, not to kill. At least not yet. There would be time for that later when he got bored of fighting with this man.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 7, 2013 16:24:18 GMT -6
The room he entered was not at all what he expected next. The air was enveloped by an uncomfortable warmth and breathed of a burning scent, contrary to how the halls of the Manor had been before. Was someone trying to burn the entire place down? The warmth was immense in comparison to the flaming words that licked along the surface of the mirror back in that room, and that light had not been enough for Francis's eyes to adjust. It was not long before those eyes would be drawn to the source of this glow. It hurt to look at, but this fire was alive. It was the size he was and clad in armor better than his own, mad enough to perhaps represent what Francis was feeling inside.
The French nation took a step back, lifting his blade higher with a subtle shift of the wrist. He listened as its voice rose in harsh tone, speaking to him with words that did not strike fear into him. Not just yet. Francis had his gazed trained on the thing's face; rather, the manipulation of flames that looked to be humanistic features, fit cozily behind the helmet it wore.
“You have been found worthy to face me. Prepare for your death. Do fight, it’s been centuries since I’ve been able to stretch my bones and fill my battle hunger. At least with fighting you die with honor.”
The gear that this inferno wore was not hard to recognize. An Ancient Greek warrior, was it not? Francis couldn't imagine why this reincarnation would want to be here, if it were even his choice. Perhaps he had been seeking certain nations out. Remembering back to the era of Sparta was not an easy task for his mind, but he could remember vaguely the images he had seen as a child, the stories of Gaul that had been passed down to him. The Greeks were not the primary enemy during the Gallic Wars, though Francis's ancestors had performed an invasion of the ancient civilization.
Of course killing Indonesia would not be enough. Should he have expected that anything would let him off so easily? There was another twinge of irritation in Francis to think that they expected more of him. As if killing a fellow nation of his was not enough. Though on the other hand, it was clear to see that this once Spartan fighter, probably a great warrior of his time, was meaningless to Francis. A being upon which he would take no pity. He had never dappled with anything made of fire, no, but something like that would not stop Francis from releasing what ruthless wrath he had pent up inside him.
A smirk tugged on Francis's lips, cold to contrast the hellfire before him. He returned Spartan's nod in accordance to his offer. "So confident of victory, are you? Alright. Zough it doesn't look to me like you 'ave any bones to stretch. And if you are ze one to make it out of 'ere 'alive', I'd like for you to be introduced to somezing called ze fire 'ose, mon cher."
The Frenchman was far from taking anything seriously after his last encounter. The Manor has done enough to rouse a side of him that's been locked away ever since France was an active fighter, an ever haughty master of his sword. He was quick to remember his own techniques. Remember your stance and your footing, don't grip the sword handle too tightly. He would never have expected situations like this to come again, but he knew better than to forget his fighting ways. Here was his chance to check that he still knew what he was doing, and most of all, an opportunity to prove just what he thought of the Manor and its residents.
Francis took another step back with only one foot, ready to be swift an evade an attack if so needed. His rapier was raised higher, swept to the side to fend off a strike from Spartan's spear. "Well, I suppose it isn't too fair zat you're ze one wiz ze shield." It occurred then to Francis that he didn't have a solid idea on how this entity would be defeated. Perhaps a strike to his chest, where the heart should be? Water must be a weakness to him, and perhaps there was some in that pot he noted in the back of the room, reflecting the shine of Spartan's fire - though that might be too easy. For now, Francis would continue to fend the thing off and keep himself from that promised death (also with consideration of possibly stealing that shield from him), until the one answer would come to him.
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