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Post by The First Inhabitant on Aug 23, 2013 23:02:26 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 Japan and Monaco 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, Monaco/Vietnam,
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. Vietnam/Monaco, 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 Monaco/Vietnam 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 Japan and Monaco are loosely bound and the letters in their clothing is addressed to them only. The posting order will be Japan then Monaco. 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 26, 2013 11:16:21 GMT -6
The faint melodic tune, slowly brought him out of whatever form of sleep had taken over him. A bit too faint at first, before he could begin to make out the various instruments that formed together to create such an eerie masterpiece. Aah, it was becoming difficult to think with all this static noise in his mind; a noise that didn't seem likely to leave any time soon. Head pounding as he rolled it to the side in a futile attempt to catch a glance at his surroundings. A light groan of pain left him, and he found himself faced with problem number one. Whatever blow he had suffered to his head, whether it be from falling to the ground or the doing of whomever knocked him out to begin with, had done its job rather well. Japan was well aware that his vision would remain blurred for a second or so longer. A short, easily handled problem, but a problem all the same. Being none too fond of having his sight removed for a moment longer, chocolate orbs fluttering open and then shutting almost immediately. Forcing himself to blink to try to adjust to the faint light source within the room; however, the blurriness only caused his headache to worsen further. Arm reaching up to take hold of the pounding head, well, that led him to problem number two. A rush of fear zipped through his body upon realizing he was tied; tied down and unable to see? Well, that didn't sit well with him. It didn't sit well with him in the least. Scowling at the new annoyance that faced him, Kiku gave a light tug at one of the ropes with his arm. Relieved that they weren't tied to the point he'd have to use extreme force to break out, in fact, they didn't appear to have been tied too tightly. As if whoever tied him here didn't feel the need to make sure he wouldn't be able to escape. ...Was this a joke? Or perhaps he'd been caught up in a game of some kind. Trying to remember what had happened to him proved to be useless, and so, after freeing one arm he proceeded to remove the rest of the irritating bounds. It was then that something caught his eye. It'd only been for a moment, but Kiku swore something had fallen from his Shinsengumi attire. Kneeling down, he picked up a letter that seemed to be addressed to him, amusement flickering deep within his eyes. Well, it'd be rude to ignore a message from our hosts. Though, unless they're willingly offering a way out of this place...He found it unlikely. Giving the letter another look, flipping it from side to side, the Japanese nation sighed and tore off the side before removing the paper from it's confines. Reading the words that stared up towards him over and over again, headache worsening each and every time he re-read a sentence. Greetings, Japan.
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. Japan, 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, this was certainly a clever game the Manor had created for them; but, they'd soon find out this man did not fall to temptation so easily. Was he seriously supposed to believe a fellow nation, who would undoubtedly be in the same position he'd been in a mere moment ago, would have the key to salvation? Highly unlikely. The question is, if they failed to locate a key, what would happen then? Time was short and he didn't want to be forced to fight the other nation in order to get out of a room, however, that's probably what these monsters were waiting for. A source of entertainment from their new victims.
Sighing, he pocketed the letter once more, promising to dispose of it once they were safely out of the room. They? Was he seriously going to stand here and try to reassure himself that if the key was found the both of them would be getting out? From what he'd seen of the Manor thus far the chances of that being even a remote possibility were slim to none. It's not as though he could wish the other nation was one he held little knowledge of or cared little for either, that would be throwing away whatever humanity beings as themselves were supposed to hold. Speaking of his fellow captive...
A glance, and upon better look at the small child tied to the chair in the same manner he'd been held; Japan couldn't say the face was one he recognized. In fact, despite how bad his memory could get from time to time, he knew the two of them had never met or crossed paths. That made this a little harder, and yet, it lifted a weight off his chest as well. Moving behind the chair and to the ropes that bound her, he made quick work to begin untying them if she hadn't begun to do so. "I'll keep this brief, it's not usually how I handle things, but time of of the essence. The location of the key is not known to me, do you have any idea where it might be?"
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Post by Deleted on Aug 28, 2013 2:13:55 GMT -6
The haunting refrain filled the room eerily, and began to distill the musty air of the room with its rich, melodious notes. It rose slowly like the way fog thickened on the darkest of nights to cloud people's sight and rose just as surely, rousing Ciel from the unconsciousness she was not aware she was in. Normally, even though the instrumental piece was clearly a minor tune and interred a unsettling feeling deep within her heart and soul, she would listen closely, close her eyes and embrace the music's loveliness; but not now. Her brain was a horribly, unorganized, and muddled mess – foggy and in a grey haze. She was confused as to where her current location specifically was and how she had come to be here, and she had yet to be completely aware of her bleak surroundings; she did not need her eyes to tell her there was something troubling here. Her gut instinct, which she rarely relied on as she preferred the cold, hard facts if accessible, was enough. She had no recollection of anything that may have occurred previous to this – try as she might, she could only draw a completely white, blank slate in the black gorge of her mind.
”Awaken.”
The cold command appeared out of nowhere, and Ciel concentrated with all of her ability to see exactly what was in front of her. Her glasses were sliding down the bridge of her nose, and she was unable to fix them like she normally would. She could make out something with a white face – a skull, perhaps? – clothed in a black cloak, and it reminded her very much of the supposed stereotypical Grim Reaper every Nation has tales about.
A nostalgic sense of déjà vu ran throughout her entire body, causing her to cringe in discomfort. It was not nostalgic because it was something pleasant or happy; no, even though she couldn't fish the exact memory out, Ciel could tell she would most likely regret uncovering it when she did. But what it was, it was familiar. Why was it familiar? Was this some nightmare she was trapped in, forced to be living in some Hell over and over again until the end of eternity? That was her first theory; sadly, her theories had a nerve-wracking tendency of being correct in the past.
Ciel forced her eyes to open, and immediately squeezed them shut again reflexively as she was blinded by a harsh, bright light. It could be compared to waking up from a horrible hangover, she noted, and gingerly tried once more to open her eyes, taking care to slowly adjust them to this time. The harsh touch of ropes prompted an analysis of her current physical situation, startling her to awareness of her surroundings. It shrugged away the drowsiness quickly and efficiently, much like a splash of ice cold water to the face would do. Her mind was startled awake, dragged against its will to the trenchant clarity of reality. Ropes confined her arms which were hanging limply on both sides, and her posture was poorly straightened and stiff against the cold chair her back was pressed against. The moment of realization of her predicament, being bound to a chair in a room with dreadful music echoing off the walls, stimulated her instinctive fear and adrenaline, and caused her to fly into a panic. Her breath was caught in her dry, parched throat as she forgot how to breathe, choking on nothing but the empty air. It soon became more and more rapid, developing to the point where she was on the verge of hyperventilating, inhaling and exhaling far too quickly, and stirred her body into a fit of hysteria. The music was doing nothing to help calm her nerves, and instead worsening her agitation as she started the struggle against the bindings coiled around her person; she could swear they were wrapping tighter and tighter around her the more she thrashed.
She tested her mobility by attempting to lift her arms. She quickly discovered, however, that she was bound by rough rope that began to rub painfully against her skin as she began to try and move. There was also an unwelcome dirtied rag present in her mouth, which only served to frustrate the Monegasque more.
A letter fell delicately out of the folds of her clothing, landing softly on the ground with hardly a sound as the song swelled around her. Ciel stilled; discovering she had much more room than she should be allowed to have, if the ropes were meant to keep her pinned tightly against the chair, but it seemed not to be the case. There was no rag with a horrible taste in her mouth this time – this time? – but that did not matter much, she still found that her skin was crawling with alarmed apprehension; but her breathing was slowing to a regulated pace, and her initial fear was ebbing away into the dull sense of poorly constructed relief. Already recovering from her momentary breakdown and recomposing herself and her typical placid exterior, she fumbled some with the ropes, and they came loose. They fell down at her sides into a relaxed pool around her, the loops still clinging to her arms, and she extended one arm to reach down and pick up the letter. As she took it carefully in her hands she could read that it was obviously addressed to her; scrawled on the front were the words “For Your Eyes Only, Monaco” in possibly the most beautiful handwriting Ciel had ever seen before.
Something inside her was urging her to peruse the room she was sitting in before reading the letter's contents, but Ciel could not tear her eyes away from the envelope. Her curiosity, her desire to know, was rising up easily inside and swallowing all other emotions, and she wanted to immediately be bestowed with the knowledge of the words on the paper. She turned it over, seeing nothing else embellishing the smooth envelope, and she tore it open – fingers becoming caught on the white flap, and she nearly gave herself a paper cut in her clumsy haste.
Pulling open the paper with little patience and unfolding it messily and with little tact, blue eyes eagerly read over the gracefully written words:
“Greetings, Monaco,
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. Monaco, 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”
She had not, in fact, noticed someone else in the room with her, being too preoccupied with the discovery of the letter. Her chair was placed facing a wall, positioned a couple of meters away from it – a first and foremost sign she was turned away from something. She had not taken the time to notice this earlier, and a jolt of fear there were other small but extremely crucial details she was missing – simply because she was distracted – burned through her, and her stomach dropped. Her eyes flashed gingerly up as she twisted around to see who else was in this room with her, examining the other Nation with tense wariness. It was a woman – a woman who had black hair, long and kept neatly in a ponytail – longer than most typical females, but only by a little. She was taller than she was – although most were, but from what she could discern, there was not a big gap between their heights. Unable to see her face and its specific features, she was not as confident as would be if she could see them for herself, but she was certain enough she was most likely Asian. There were very few in the rest of the continents in the world who could fit the physical profile of having black hair and were the approximate height she had observed. Her head was turned downward, settled on what Ciel presumed to be her own letter so kindly bestowed upon her from the Manor – she took that into consideration for later, tucking a mental reminder away – and she identified her as Vietnam. A sense of relief washed over her, ephemeral, but there all the same. Vietnam was reasonable, sensible, and intelligent from what she recalled from her observations scrupulously taken at several of many among many World Meetings; she was grateful it was her, out of all other Nations it possibly could have been – but then she remembered exactly where they were trapped as she turned her head back down to the letter sitting innocuously in her lap.
The Baudeau Manor had shown it's true colors (mainly red and black) of being responsible for cruel hallucinations of instilling a false sense of security, lusting for the blood of the innocent trapped in its harsh grasp, and wanting to drive its guests to the brink of insanity for the sake of the permanent occupants of the Manor's twisted amusement. Ciel turned to eye Vietnam carefully once more, alert and cautious for anything in her body language that was an obvious signal he was not safe to be around; there was no telling what he had been subjected to during her time here. There was most certainly something off about time in this place; she had met with others who had apparently been wandering for days, while she had only been alone for what she estimated to be only several hours in comparison.
“You have been chosen to partake in a little game.” A game? Ciel had had enough games. As far as she was concerned, she never wanted to be a pawn in a game ever again. But the seemingly innocent sentence only led to endless questions in the Nation’s mind: Were all of the nations involved? But the thing had said ‘chosen’, so perhaps it was only a percentage? And of course, what was the game and what was its requirements? If she was lucky, she would most likely receive knowledge of the answer to only one of those questions.
The words 'game' and 'chosen' flooded more memories through her weary mind, riling up more self-loathing for her pathetic attempts to remember and perpetual failures to do so. Ciel was forgetting something, something big, that much she knew. But a thick blanket, wet, cold and refusing to be moved remained covering the box holding these particular memories. She was positive now that it wasn't a dream or a nightmare, but something more. It had been part of her reality – at one point in time, but she was not sure at which point. Somewhere along her quest to seek out more information of the Manor and the creatures it housed, she had lost it, watching helplessly as it slipped through her fingers and out of her grasp. From her other interactions and inquiries of her fellow Nations, this seemed to be something common among those who lingered in the Manor; she had believed she had not yet experienced it, but it seemed she was being proven incorrect. There was something missing, something wrong, something off. At some time, she had been subjected to losing track of exactly how long she had spent in the Manor and the events that had transpired.
The unnerving melody continued to play, continuing on in loops and loops over and over again, seemingly never going to end – and maybe it wouldn't. Noticeably, however, the music was not something that offered any sense of déjà vu; that part at least must be something different or new than whatever had occurred before. It was not prompting any blurred images, starting abruptly, and being cut short just as abruptly as it had began. Ciel took the time now to observe the remaining bits of her surroundings, being sure to be especially careful, as she mused over the rest of the Inhabitants' hardly informative letter – there was so much more she wanted to know, but she wouldn't be obtaining any answers anytime soon. Beautifully crafted mirrors, old with a thin layer of dust covering the frames, lined the walls. The designs were intricate, carving a pattern she had not ever seen quite like before, and the architect within her swooned with her analysis of the faded, wooden frames. Careful, loving hands had worked with much effort to create such charming architecture; a deep sense of regret for having to be in the situation she was to lay eyes on its elegance was truly unfortunate. She was reminded of Francis and his love for anything and everything beautiful; he would certainly appreciate such incredible markings – but Ciel hoped, a faint feeling drumming up in her chest – he would never have to lay eyes on the mirrors for himself. Even roaming alone throughout the ominous corridors the Manor was home to was better than being forced to be an unwilling participant in one of the Manor's many sick games.
The door mentioned in the letter was on her right side, mirrors on both sides of the large entrance. It was an old-fashioned door, most likely standing at approximately two and a half meters tall; looking quite elegant in its own right, but rickety and aging all the same. Ciel presumed it was very thick as most old-fashioned doors were, and it did have a keyhole; a noticeable one with the usual decorated plate surrounding it, to indicate to even those with the poorest eyesight a general area where the key belonged. It seemed to be a normal, average hole for where any key could go, but only one key was the perfect pair for this door.
She could see the dust particles floating blithely in the dank air; almost as if waltzing to the sinister song ringing in her ears as she focused on the presence of the light and darkness in the room. It was illuminated enough by a sconce to read words so fancily written on the paper, but not enough to expose the contents of the entire room. Long shadows ran along where the floor and the walls holding the mirrors lay cloaked in inky darkness, holding the unknown. Paranoia creeped easily past her weakened defenses, and Ciel wondered if it truly was only her and Japan locked together in this room. The letter had not specified anything about the possibility of monsters as an incentive to increase their efforts to find the key the other supposedly possessed to open the door and once more be free.
Which brought her back to her current and primary dilemma. There was apparently a key. According to the letter, Japan was the one who held it, and all she had to do was ask politely for it and she would receive it. But she highly doubted that would happen; it was far too ideal for her liking, and there was not the slightest chance the Inhabitants would refer to their being locked into the room as a “very special game” if it were so easy. But that was when the possibility of it being a game solely cultivated in the mind began to grow. It was much more likely that neither of them held the key.
However, if that was true, how could they possibly get out? Surely it wasn't a test of wit or strategy; the Manor was not that sophisticated. It was much more likely to, in actuality, a game to turn the two occupants of the room against each other. Cause distrust, breed more paranoia, and increase the likelihood of one of them snapping completely and simply killing the other in a fit of frustration. That would most certainly provide enough entertainment for the Manor, but this was only one out of the many possibilities that it could actually be.
Ciel tucked the letter away into her breast pocket, and was about to remove the rest of the coil of rope from her person, and considered how Vietnam might be fairing. Everyone and their stay at the Manor had warped their personalities at in at least some way; she was positive she was no exception. Ciel told herself and her body to calm down, and she attempted to focus on the still playing music's hardly soothing lull, but it was just enough to calm her down, ironically enough, seeing as it was a source of nervousness only a few minutes before.
It was time Ciel took into consideration what Vietnam's own letter – if it had been that – may have said. There were two possibilities she could think of immediately in this situation; one, the letter was exactly the same, identical to hers, but addressed to Vietnam. That would be an easy way to rouse some havoc and stir some animosity between them with little effort or intervention on the Manor's part by giving the key to neither of them. Two, the letter told Vietnam specifically to pretend she didn't have the key, when in truth, she did have it in her possession, and had to go along with this until she realized something was suspicious about her demeanor.
Unfortunately, the theory of the latter was much weaker than the first. The letter could have said practically anything if not the former option, and she was willing to bet – something she did not take likely, saying or not – the letter contained the same contents as hers. It also stated to be brief and quick, which backed up her first theory, but it was still enough. Alas, she could not ask and find out the honest truth now, or otherwise they would be facing inevitable death; she found it much more to her liking to at least have a chance of survival than none at all. For now, she would assume it did, and act in that manner until she was given any sign she was incorrect. Either way, the letter had most certainly mentioned something about a key to get out of the room. She thought back to the letter's words: “Monaco, 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.” Perhaps it was a riddle of sorts; she would not be surprised if this was the case. Both of them interrogating each other of the location of the key's whereabouts... there had to be some privy meaning to the words themselves. Not a code, per say, but a hint as to what else to do.
”Or is it?”
Those three words unnerved Ciel the most, sending a cold shiver down her spine, all the way through her entire body. There was always the chance the Manor and its servants were just giving them faux hope, something to cling on to the very end – so they could tear it away at the last moment with sadistic glee, pushing them over the edge to the unknown pit below to insanity. That was the other option, the third one; there was no key at all, and they were to be confined in this room of mirrors, staring at each other and their own reflections until they went mad, could not stand it anymore, and committed a double suicide.
She would have squeezed her eyes shut if the thing wasn’t standing in front of her, planning God knows what. She had been right. And for once, Ciel had wished she hadn’t been.
There it was again. Something her memory was trying hard to recall – she almost had it, it felt like it was right in her grasp – but it wasn't. It slipped away once more, lost to her, and she frustratingly cursed the feeling of presque vu. But this was more than just being unable to grab a hold of something she was so close to remembering, but could not quite reach it – it was foreshadowing, of sorts; an ominous sign to tell her there's another critical thing she has forgotten, and it's imperative she remembers. Ciel was ready to start smashing her head against one of the mirrors to see if that would do anything to jump start her brain, if that would do the trick. Of course, after her entire life of being able to memorize pages after pages of information, she can't force herself to extract one simple event from her mind's limitless abyss. It was irritably disheartening, and she was becoming more and more angry with herself as each moment passed.
Untangling the ropes from the rest of her body, Ciel stood and turned to directly face Vietnam, but leaving some distance between them as precautionary measures - just to be safe. In one of the Manor's games, one really could never be too careful. And to make matters worse, she still was not sure of how stable Vietnam's mind really was.
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Post by The First Inhabitant on Oct 21, 2013 18:55:40 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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