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Post by Ireland on Oct 29, 2013 21:42:36 GMT -6
Smoke clouds were snaking into the hazy night air, winding their trails into the atmosphere to vanish into the void overhead. Michael had come out onto the roof for lack of a better place to be. Most of his time here had been spent wandering in an effort to explore the place. That had gotten old quickly. There was only so much opening doors to empty rooms that a guy could do before needing to find a little variety. For the Irishman that had been making his way up to the highest point that he managed to find and turning it into a lounging spot.
His long, lean body was stretched out over worn roof tiles, an arm folded beneath his head to act as a substitute pillow. He'd been hoping for stars to gaze at, or a moon to see -- familiar things that would prove to Michael that this all wasn't just some fever dream. The Irishman had experienced his fair share of hallucinations brought on by sickness or too much alcohol. Going through the first Famine, for example, had given him the kinds of visions that would have made Freddy Krueger take notes. Not that Michael ever reflected on them. Just as he never spoke about them. When it came to sharing the tales of his demons the Irishman was mum on the subject.
A ruckus lured his attention away from the sky. The sound of rushing water. Michael's head lifted up, lips tightening around his cigarette as he squinted off to the edge of the building. Odd happenings were common here yet this seemed to be a more intense level of mindfuckery. The Irishman peeled himself from where he lay to go striding over to the edge of the roof, peering down. That smoke almost dropped out of his mouth in his surprise at seeing that the lower levels had managed to fill with water. The swamp had reclaimed the land. This wasn't a type of flooding that the Irishman had ever seen before.
Michael lifted a hand up to tousle orange hair as he puzzled over this happenstance. "Aye'll be fecked. Looks loike t'ings have sare gone wet down below." His fingers moved to grip his cigarette as he pulled it free of his mouth to shape a sudden leering grin of humor at his unintended joke. Ash was tapped out over the gutters as he added amusedly, "Not t'at Aye'm not used t't'ings bein' wet down below after a few minutes o' m'company, but still. Whit t'hell is goin' on hare? Did t'place spring a leak?"
He didn't trust the look of those waters. There were no visible stars and the moon was nothing more than a hazy phantom overhead. Even so, the eerie light from above reflected off the churning blackness of those waters to give them a sinister quality. It was like looking into the mouth of a cave and knowing that there was a monster inside that wanted to become personally acquainted with your internal organs. As long as the water stayed down there, Michael would remain up here. He was satisfied keeping this higher perch to gaze down on the waters below that churned like the black ink on a death certificate. It wasn't as if this land belonged to him so he wasn't personally invested in unraveling this latest mystery.
The door leading downstairs opened behind him. Michael heard it and his shoulders squared as the Irishman's musing humor faded into alert hostility. He twisted halfway to view the door with narrowing green eyes. If it was a stranger, he'd tell them to get lost. Or toss them in the water. If it were a ghost, he'd just go on ignoring them as he did all the others. And if it were a monster, then the beast was going to be taking a swan-dive into those waters before too long. The Irishman's fists were already balling up at his sides, lifting up as he adjusted his stance and called out to the new arrival. "Y'got ten seconds t'show yer face befare Aye rearrange it."
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Hamish Kirkland
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Post by Scotland on Nov 1, 2013 18:13:02 GMT -6
Water seemed to pour endlessly from clouds was almost relaxing, rain was common back home and just made Scotland was to stand beneath the clouds and feel the cold on his pale flesh. Just as the rain had begun it stopped leaving the lower levels completely flooded as if it was meant to trap the nations in a smaller area. The hunting ground for all the creatures had been drastically altered giving them less area to search in order to find their next meal. Knowing how things worked in the manor Scotland knew the waters was not just there to be a deterrent to any nation, something had to hide under the surface waiting for a fool to enter the water. Few nations had a chance when water was the fighting ground.
Plans of how to check what hid in the water came to mind but one piece was missing for each plan, a light source. Even if he were to dive into the waters and look for anything that could be hiding the waters were too dark for him to see even the furniture he knew still present below the water. If he had a light he could use it explore the waters or find a rope to drag it along under the water to illuminate anything that might be waiting to strike.
Hamish knew the first plan could end with him being eaten even with though he possessed experience with creatures living in his waters. The longer he looked at the water the debating being the fool to explore it without any knowledge of what might attack him. Holding out his scythe he used the blade to create ripples in the surface of the water.
Scotland needed to get away from the water before he gave in to the urge and went for his final swim. Bringing his scythe back to his side he turned his attention the limited area of the third floor, so many nations roamed the area. The sound of their footsteps and voices were going to drive him mad if he didn’t find someway to escape the others. Carrying himself in any direction he looked for a way to escape the presence of all the surrounding nations. Who cared if there was safety in numbers? He’d rather be picked off for leaving the group then driven into madness from being trapped near some of the fools America invited. After some searching he managed to find the stairs that would lead him to the roof. Finally there was a promise of fresh air and possibly stars to help calm him some from being trapped for so long. He could calm himself and make a plan of what he should do to escape the hell this manor created.
Stepping onto the roof his hopes of seeing stars were dashed, the sky seemed to be blanketed in clouds and fog that prevented anything from getting through. Even with the lack of stars there was something that brought back some hope, someone with orange hair already was present on the roof. Hamish didn’t need to see the face to know it was Michael, he didn’t know of anyone else that possessed pumpkin coloured locks. His eyes were no longer the best but Hamish could still see Michael’s scowl when he turned to threaten whoever disturbed his peace.
“If ye rearrange mah face fowk micht nae mistake us fur twins anymair.” A slight smile came to his lips knowing his accent was all he needed to announce who it was intruding on Ireland’s alone time. “Sorry tae disturb ye ah wantit some fresh air 'n' bein' up 'ere reminds me lookin oot th' castles back hame.” Hamish hummed a bit and looked over the land from the roof, he had yet to explore outside the manor to see what might be hidden outside.
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Post by Ireland on Nov 12, 2013 8:00:52 GMT -6
Michael's tension subsided when he saw that it was Hamish coming out onto the rooftop. The Scotsman counted among the few people that he would tolerate interrupting his quiet time. It wasn't often that Michael craved any kind of peace. Normally he was more comfortable in chaos and activity; excitement over stillness. That was only when he was in his own territory, or in a foreign place on his terms. In this case, it was neither. The whim that had brought him to attend America's party had succeeded in trapping him here along with everyone else. Just that fact was enough to make Michael a ticking time bomb of underlying anger.
He turned his back on Hamish to face back out over the roof, a long finger tapping ashes directly on the roof. There wasn't any reason in his mind to respect the location. After all, the location was sorely disrespecting him by keeping him here. Michael blew out a thick stream of smoke as he shook his head. "Aye wouldn't want t'ruin t'at pretty face. Paple moight start t't'ink yer mare manly. Ruinin' t'em girlish good looks o' yers would be a tragedy."
His mood was foul enough that he was taking it out to Hamish to a degree with a comment like that. It wouldn't earn him any love from the other redhead, insinuating that he was the more feminine between them. Even if Michael did find that true whenever Hamish went around clean-shaven. He'd just been shaped from rougher stuff than his younger siblings. Maybe if he'd hit them all more when they were kids then they wouldn't have all turned out to be such pretty boys? They really took after their mother in the looks department. And he -- well. Michael often mused that he fell out as a newborn and landed face first. It explained why his brain worked so bizarrely, too.
Guilt was already surfacing. Hamish hadn't done anything wrong by coming out onto the roof with him. Whatever tumult his emotions were in, driving the Scotsman off with insults wasn't fair. While other nations suffered a decrease in their rationale, his seemed to be improving the longer he remained here. Perhaps he'd even end up being a nice, thoughtful individual by the time they finally got out of the place. It would be a miracle of the Manor to be sure.
Michael turned back around to approach Hamish. He slid an arm around the Scotsman's waist to pull him close. Having a warm body pressed close didn't normally help him think. The Irishman usually used a warm body to avoid it in the best distractions possible. As open as he was to the idea of getting up to mischief with the likes of Hamish, that wasn't his aim here in the open night air. He was content with the feeling of warmth and the closeness of someone familiar. Michael pulled his fag from his mouth to press a quick kiss to Hamish's forehead in apology. "Sarry. Aye'm in a shite mood. Yer manly an' tough. E'en if yer t'ighs are softer t'an a woman's. Must be from wearin' all t'ose kilts."
His hand lowered down, trailing smoke, to pat affectionately at Hamish's thigh. Teasing the Scotsman like that seemed safer territory. Hamish responded well to affection and Michael didn't mind giving it to the other man. It distracted him from the situation. Hopefully it also comforted the Scotsman. "It's a shame yer stuck out hare wit' me. If ye'd come out wit' anyone else, t'is moight actually be romantic. Standin' toget'er. In t'open air. Unable t'escape. Marderous beasts below. Almost certain deat'. .....Or maybe it's not s'romantic after all."
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Hamish Kirkland
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Post by Scotland on Nov 12, 2013 12:48:35 GMT -6
It never was one of his concerns to see if Michael wanted to be alone or not before he invited himself in for a moment. He trusted the elder would shoo him away if he were not welcome to intrude on this quiet moment but it was rare he found himself being told to leave. No, he often invited himself into the house of any of his siblings without an invite, they were family after all. Intruding on Michael’s alone time was different this time. Something set it apart from the rest of the times he appeared unannounced, Michael was actual quiet this time. With his elder brother he wasn’t often shocked by any of the sights he witnessed but this silence wasn’t normal, it frightened him. Even during their childhood Michael didn’t show his feelings often he was the harsh older brother who seemed to always come to the Scotsman rescue but that didn’t mean Hamish was blind to when something was off with the other redhead.
"Aye wouldn't want t'ruin t'at pretty face. Paple moight start t't'ink yer mare manly. Ruinin' t'em girlish good looks o' yers would be a tragedy." The insulting comment was something Hamish hadn’t expected and the words stung a bit but it only proved something in fact was wrong. It wasn’t often his brothers used his issue with women and also feminine to get a low blow with him but each time it happened it stung more than most insults. If he were to allow his beard to grow in he could possibly compete with Michael for who is manlier but he wasn’t a fan of facial hair on himself he’d rather his face remain, dare he say it, feminine. Scotland was rather sure Michael also knew his preference in relationship was to be submissive so he avoided ways that might make someone feel challenged by him when a challenge was not what he was looking for. “Mibbie ah shuid allow someone tae beat mah face in sae mibbie ah kin appear manly. Mibbie a scar wid mak' it mair pleasant fur ye.” Clicking his tongue a bit he turned away from Michael no longer wishing to give his brother the affection he often only offered to the eldest. “Sorry ah wasn't born wi' yer dashing looks ah jalouse alang wi' th' looks ye wur born wi' a' th' luck.”
It was no secret that comments from Michael were usually the ones that caused Hamish to lose confidence and even occasionally insult himself. From an early age he grew used to teasing comments that sounded mean but didn’t mean anything but he knew the difference between those and ones meant to cut him down. Either way he never allowed himself to be driven off by such things, no he was enough of a man to stand there and take any insult he suddenly deserved for whatever reason.
Hearing footsteps behind him the redhead turned back to see what was to come now. Were insulting words not enough? Maybe Michael decided to ruin his pretty face this time. The result of having Michael pull him close by his waist wasn’t what he had been expecting. Even with his elder brother Hamish didn’t always find himself able to understand what was happening and instead starred in confusion as to why his brother would hold him close after lashing at him. The words caught him off guard again, it wasn’t normal to hear an apology for such comments. “Tis a'richt ah likelie deserved it in some wey.” There now was no scowl present now just a playful grin, “Mibbie ah keep thaim that wey juist fur ye.”
The taller of the two pressed his body more against Michael and rested his head against the broader shoulders. His body shivered a bit in reaction to having his thighs touched but he tried to suppress any form of reaction. “Ah micht gilravage romance bit ah wid always ower bein' up 'ere wi' ye than some flirt. Bein' loved is better than bein' romanced.” Scotland was sure to make his warm breath was felt against the freckled neck.
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Post by Ireland on Nov 22, 2013 7:00:33 GMT -6
Listening to Hamish's comments about himself had Michael frowning. He struggled not to roll his eyes as the Scotsman suggested getting beaten up by someone in an effort to ruin his appearance. Michael pinched him harshly on the hip and loosened his hold around the other redhead in response. "Jaysus. When t'hell did ye get t'be such a complainer? Y'sound loike one o' t'ose kids in an emo band sangin' about how t'eir loife is over because t'ey smudged t'eir eyeliner."
Michael didn't know how to handle comments like that. He had enough of his own issues to work through without trying to puzzle over Hamish's as well. The self-loathing talk of the other man just left him feeling twitchy, tempted to walk away and leave the roof to escape it. That was far out of his comfort zone when it came to dealing with other people. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to Hamish to make it better anyway. His head shook in disapproval.
The only thing that stopped him was the fact that Hamish had taken hold of him. Feeling hot breath on his neck was nice. That didn't do anything to erase the discomfort that had mounted heavily in his gut from the Scotsman's behavior but it was at least a start in preventing the Irishman from abandoning him right then and there. If Hamish was looking for someone to comfort him with words or actions he had come to the wrong source. Michael's bright eyes just viewed him warily.
Changing the subject seemed a good course of action. "Ye seem t'still be on yer two feet. Looks loike ye haven't collapsed yet. Aye take it ye've been managin' t'keep yer head ducked out o' trouble since we last ran into each ot'er? Or are y'a clever ghost sent t'trick me into lettin' m'guard down?" That wouldn't bother him all that much. More likely than not he'd be pissed off that a spirit managed to gain his acknowledgement. Michael had been making it a point to ignore all the others that kept trying to flag down his attention in his wanderings throughout the corridors.
As vehemently as Michael would deny it he did feel a sense of obligation towards his brothers, in making sure they were at least getting through this place without dying on him. Being the eldest put him in a position where he felt like it was expected of him to do so. The Irishman had been around longer than them, had suffered through his own trials in history that he got through alone, stronger than before those tests had tempered the mettle of his strength. He didn't have their scruples about playing fair, being diplomatic or morality towards his peers. Michael was out for his own survival here. If he could manipulate the situation enough to see that Hamish, Howell and even Arthur got by with minimal damage, he'd try to swing it. Just as the Scotsman pointed out, luck was often in his favor.
"Whit would ye say if Aye told ye Aye was tempted t'set a foire up hare? Foire is a purifyin' element, or so Aye heard somewhere. T'ink maybe t'at would get us on our way a little faster?"
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Hamish Kirkland
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Post by Scotland on Nov 24, 2013 15:50:22 GMT -6
Taking note of the frown and the uncomfortable reaction Michael gave to his words Hamish seemed to notice Michael didn’t take what he said as a joke. He had meant to insult himself but in a way it was also an exaggeration of what he felt for himself. Of his brothers Michael always was the more manly one but Hamish wasn’t what they would call feminine is looks. The two that Hamish believed to get the feminine looks of their mother were both Arthur and Howell. Both still appeared young with more feminine traits than the elder brothers. Admitting that the other two were indeed attractive was not something difficult for Hamish but he preferred men to be more gruff, masculine in comparison to him who leaned closer to the feminine side.
Feeling a harsh pinch to his hip earned a groan, the pain wasn’t a negative feeling but he did understand that it was meant to show the Irishman’s annoyance. Having the hold loosen was disappointing for him cause Hamish to attempt to pull Michael closer. “Mìcheal ah wis kidding. Ah lik' mah face howfur it's. Bit yer still th' best lookin in th' family.” In attempt to make the uncomfortable feeling be forgotten he kissed along the pale freckled neck of his elder brother.
If he had wanted to cry to someone and be comforted he would surely not bother Michael. Sometimes the two seemed to cross the line between siblings and friends with benefits with their actions. Even with the odd bond the two seemed to have Hamish understood his brother’s dislike for emotions. When looking for someone to listen to his feelings Michael would only be his choice if he for some reason couldn’t bother the other three of their brothers. Howell was whom Hamish would rather turn to for consoling but Arthur was another easy choice. Any time in the past Hamish had ventured to the Ireland’s home seeking comfort seemed to be when violence was the solution he was in search of.
Growing bored with only paying attention to the pale flesh of Ireland’s neck Scotland’s lips traveled up his neck, along his jaw, and eventually found his lips but his hands made sure to pluck the cigarette from his brother’s lips before pressing against them. Pulling away he snuck a quick drag before returning the cigarette to its owner. “Sorry Mìcheal ah didnae mean tae mak' ye uncomfortable.”
Not pushing anymore he allowed the subject to be changed to something his brother would feel more at home with. Snickering at the thought of a ghost being able to trick Michael, it was impossible. “Howfur insulting thinking a ghost cuid imitate me 'n' trick ye intae believing it. Thare isnae a freckle oan mah body that ye dinnae ken.” This was something Scotland had been sure of, Michael knew every inch of his body too well not to notice some flaw made by a ghost. “Thay cuid ne'er trick th' likes o' ye.” Ghost did; however, seem to enjoy trying to get Michael’s attention, Hamish noticed how they were always brushed off if he even paid them any mind.
"Whit would ye say if Aye told ye Aye was tempted t'set a foire up hare? Foire is a purifyin' element, or so Aye heard somewhere. T'ink maybe t'at would get us on our way a little faster?" The idea made Hamish shiver a bit. Fire was a purifying agent often used through history such as the cleansing the world of witches. Burning away demonic presences always made him feel uncomfortable and think of all the people who suffered due to such ideas. “Fire doesn’t wirk that wey. If ye burn doon th' manor ye wull be destroying th' resting place o' a' body wha suffered afore us. Ye micht ignore th' spirits bit ye ken better than tae anger thaim!” It might have been due to having humans as his lovers but Hamish had a respect for the human spirits that crossed his path. “Th' building is an' a' filled wi' water it wid murdurr th' fire afore it cuid dae muckle damage.”
There didn’t seem to be any way to cleanse the land with the normal means. Magic was useless for Hamish unless he managed to find a spell book. He might have not liked their mother but she did have him focus his magic on the stronger type found within books and required seals instead of simple chants. Then it came to him Michael studying different magic from him. “Kin ye uise yer magic 'ere Mìcheal? Ye still ken mair pure magic 'n' if we uise that we kin cleanse th' area richt?”
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Post by Ireland on Dec 2, 2013 21:10:41 GMT -6
Once Hamish started to backpedal from all that self-loathing talk then Michael was able to better recover. He still watched the Scotsman with bright eyes full of wariness, until his smoke was pilfered from him for Hamish to claim a puff from. Michael drew the fag from his mouth a second time to tap ashes off carelessly to the roof tiles. "Y'shouldn't smoke, Hamface. It's a nasty, dirty habit. Can't have y'followin' m'bad example."
His comment was just stalling before he had to reluctantly address the topic of ghosts. The Irishman's eyes moved off to where there were shadows milling around them even while they stood there talking, then quickly swiveled to Hamish's face before any of those dim shades knew he had acknowledged their presence. "Ghosts can be tricky fecks. If y'had managed t'get one gettin' a peeker at y'far too long, t'ey moight learn how t'pass far t'at face o' yers." He paused, passing another head to toe measure of the Scotsman. Then his face split in a roguish grin. "T'ough if yer offerin' t'let me give y'a full body inspection t'be sare, Aye have no problem checkin' t'make sare yer t'real deal."
Sure, it was freezing. Yes, they were surrounded by danger. That didn't prevent Michael from flirting or being outright lewd. He'd have had no qualms about stripping Hamish down for dirty deeds no matter what might witness it. That'd probably be one hell of a show to comfort the lost souls stuck here around them. They could live vicariously through two hot men courting danger for the sake of a shag. Hollywood couldn't produce material like that. And if it did, most likely the rating would be a solid X.
Michael was so caught up in those musings that he didn't listen to half of what Hamish said in his lecture about burning the remains of the dead. Then again, the Irishman had a penchant for tuning out people any time that they were lecturing him. If he ever bothered to pay attention for those times then he might have actually learned to be a better man by now. Hamish did raise a valid point about them being surrounded by water. So much for his fantasy of standing above the ruins of a smoldering building with Hamish clinging to his side like a worshipful damsel.
He dropped his cigarette to the ground when Hamish brought up his magic, grinding it out underfoot and spitting disdainfully to the side. They were exploring all kinds of subjects that weren't high on Michael's list of enjoyable ones. His arms wrapped around the Scotsman's body to pull him in close once more, lips peppering on the side of Hamish's jaw. Maybe if he distracted the other man enough then they wouldn't have to talk about much else. "M'magic. O' carse Aye still could use it hare. It prob'ly wouldn't wark too well. Whit Aye do requires havin' somet'ing pure t'focus from. Not'in' hare is pure. It's all tainted by evil. So if Aye tried t'use anyt'ing t'en it would loikely just taint m'magic. And y'know t'at Aye haven't bot'ered t'use it in a vary long toime."
"If y'wanted someone t'do t'at koind o' magic, t'en y'should look t'Art'ur. He's t'one t'at got all t'strong stuff from our dear ol' Mumsie." Michael rolled his eyes when referencing their long deceased mother. Britannia was a distant memory for him now even if he had been around to know her the longest. He couldn't sort whether those memories were good ones or not, as muddled as that ancient history was with all the strife that had taken place during the most volatile time of his brutal, bloody childhood. "Or else ye'd have t'foind somet'ing Aye could purify a little easier. Maybe Aye could even clean t'is whole place up in one massive cleansin' ritual. Aye have enough power stared up. T'trade off would be t'at Aye'd get sick from it, or warse. It would take mare t'an me. It would take all o' us cooperatin' t'make it happen, and t'at will never happen."
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Hamish Kirkland
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Post by Scotland on Dec 11, 2013 21:05:26 GMT -6
It wasn’t obvious if Hamish took notice of those watchful eyes that seemed to still be wary from previous comments. There appeared to be a chance that he had taken notice of the look the ways his eyes seemed to always move studying the features of Michael’s face. His eyes snapped to Michael’s with a confusion with the next comment made. While he had known his brother smoked never thought much on the topic. Smoking had become a comfort to Hamish always able to calm his nerves and give him clarity for his surroundings never was it meant to follow any example set by his brother. “Tis yin o' mah addictions. Trying tae tak' credit fur teaching me something clatty?”
Truth be told smoking was also viewed as a way to bond with others in Hamish’s case. In the past he had used smoking as an excuse to hang around someone as their cigarette was exchanged between the two serving as a medium to get the person to converse with him. In some ways the act of sharing a cigarette could be seen as intimate to him not that he would ever share this thought with Michael.
Reaching out thin fingers phased through the form of one of the spirits before the being gave a hiss and moved away from him. Addressing their presence was not something Scotland found difficult, he has castles that seemed to always have the dead wondering. Sometimes he even saw them lurking among headstones in cemeteries giving pleading looks as if dying to be noticed. “Ah dinnae think mah face it that easy tae copy.” That grin made the Scot’s thin frame shiver with excitement. “Check anywhere yi'll waant Mìcheal. Ye ken mah body 'n' awready ken howfur it submits tae ye,” his warm breath was against the Irishman’s ear as he whispered the words in a lustful voice. Teeth took hold of the ear giving the earrings a gentle pull. “Unless ye dinnae ken ken mah body anymair.“ It was a challenge toward Ireland questioning his skill in this land of death.
Death was constant threat within the manor but somehow that added to the thrill of the idea of being stripped on the roof. Who knew if someone would find them tangled together preforming some intimate act amidst the dangers. Being caught did add its own danger to this encounter if the two manage to take things to a realm driven by lust. If anything dared to disturb them Hamish was not afraid to put them to death.
Magic was something Hamish hadn’t been too fond of himself but the topic was alright if that meant that the two would find a way to escape the manor. Voices were slowly arising in Hamish’s head trying to call forth his darkened thoughts. Michael remained what kept him from fading into the darkness, what normally was something encourage him to abandon purity was now his beacon of light for the time being. Rough lips against his still cleanly shaven face was relaxing and almost convinced him to abandon the topic in order to focus on the affection. Voice once echoing of that he would never find happiness with Michael were pushed out by the simple action. There was no reason to let his voice drift into depression of not having his feelings returned when Michael still granted him a level of affection that often wasn’t seen given to the other British Isles. Giving a small nod he didn’t reply to the words showing Michael was able to silence him with the slightest affection.
Disgust came to his relaxed features at the mention of Arthur’s magic. “Arthur's lucky if he doesn't set his-sel o' fire hauf th' time. A'd ower hae tae trust Francis wi' saving mah lee than trust Arthur tae git a spell richt.” A hiss came with the comment to expression his displeasure but Scotland wasn’t sure it was due to the mention of Arthur or just their mother. Britannia wasn’t much of a pleasant memory for Hamish but surely there were a few happy moments with the woman. Michael was almost the support system that helped the Scotsman through troubled times and it was if their mother focused more on the two blondes. Snapped by Michael’s words Hamish didn’t look thrilled by this thought either. “Ye'r nae aff tae git ill again. If magic is oor ainlie wey oot o' this hell then ah will fin' some wey that doesn't involve ye. Whin we git oot ye aye hae an independent land tae run.” He wasn’t sure if Michael caught onto what he meant with his words. Seeing sickness almost take Michael during the famine was sickening enough, asking Michael to endure the pain again to shave him was too much. Hamish knew sickness and also knew was it felt to nearly die it was not a feeling he would allow Michael to suffer through. If given the option he would stay in the manor or die if that meant his family could leave.
Once more the voice of the manor returned with those thoughts. 'You’d die for a man who will never love you?' He couldn’t deny that he would die for Michael but he would die for any of his brothers. There didn't seem a reason to live if those he loved were no longer around. His death wouldn't be in vain if it saved his family from the current hell they found.
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Post by Ireland on Dec 26, 2013 18:33:31 GMT -6
"Aye try t'take credit far everyt'in' everyone does t'at moight be bad." Michael chuckled his answer in response to Hamish's words in regards to smoking. He was distracted from his humor by watching the Scotsman push away a spirit that he'd been trying very hard to ignore. His urge to retreat from its location was stopped when Hamish turned to the topic of himself and his body. Teeth plucking at the earrings on his ear -- yes, that, just a little harder -- caused Michael to forget all about the presence of ghosts around them for a few seconds of delicious escape.
He growled in his throat, lusty and approving, then sent his own teeth to rake on Hamish's jawline. The redhead was right in reminding Michael of his intimate knowledge of the Scotsman's body. That they were both creatures motivated by their baser desires was no secret. It had been easy so far to cage those instincts considering the environment around them. The age and decay and atmosphere of evil hadn't done much to get Michael's lust raging. Hamish, right at this moment, was managing to spoil his good behavior.
Thick, strong fingers slid their way up the Scotsman's back, tripping beneath the fabric of the man's shirt until they could touch bare skin. That skin to skin contact, innocent by most standards, held the promise of sin in every stroke of his calloused fingertips upon Hamish's spine. He felt the ridges of those bones with greedy, possessive confidence. Hamish was playing with fire in making that open invitation. Michael bit on the redhead's jaw one more time to indent a mark as evidence of his ownership over all the promises being spouted to him in the Scotsman's dialect. Yes, mine, all of this.
Reigniting the subject of Arthur cooled that brewing passion. He grunted unhappily, fingernails digging in at Hamish's skin as a subtle punishment for continuing the topic. Hearing the man insinuate that he couldn't handle the ill effects of using his magic also left the Irishman feeling slighted. His pride was as immense as those of his brothers, and his stubborn nature had had centuries longer than them to become an unbreakable part of his nature. "Aye'm not afraid o' any sickness. T'is place isn't goin' t'beat me. It has not'in' hare t'at frightens me. Not even t'promise o' deat'. So if me usin' m'power helps t'get me out o' hare faster t'en Aye'm mare t'an ready far it t'get started. Aye can do t'is."
Michael adamantly refused to recollect his difficult time during the Famine. That which had not destroyed him had made him stronger. Strong enough to handle a paltry little house with its ghosts and monsters and evil. He'd encountered older, dangerous supernatural forces just exploring the lands of his people. Ancient evils were nothing new for him. He shook his head to chase away those thoughts and blanketed a kiss on Hamish's lips instead to vanish the rest of them in the taste of tobacco and the Scotsman's distinct flavor. "Enough o' t'at talk. And no mare sayin' Aye'm doomed befare Aye even try. Are we goin' t'foind a way out o' hare or not?"
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Post by Scotland on Jan 4, 2014 17:08:40 GMT -6
Managing to chuckle at Michael’s words he couldn’t say Michael wasn’t to blame for some of his actions. There were times he was a child trying to follow in his brother’s footsteps but other moments all trace of caring was washed away. “Och sae ah kin blame ye fur everything naughty ah dae?” With the word naughty Hamish added a smirk to it showing Michael what he meant with that choice of wording. Even with the ghosts hovering around the two of them Hamish could only focus on his brother and the flesh between his teeth. Before releasing the ear one of his teeth dug in threatening to give the ear another piercing before his mouth pulled away giving one more lap to the ear. Giving a soft growl into the elder man’s ear his green eyes appeared to have a playful glint to them. This always seemed to keep Michael from leaving ghosts or not his body seemed to remain where there was pleasure to be had.
The scrapping along his jaw made Hamish shiver against Michael giving a needy sound. Even in his hell Michael knew how to play Hamish and make him wither with the slightest touch. Lust did seem to work as a guide for the two of them whenever they were alone together, or sometimes if they didn’t care about their company. Death and decay meant little to Hamish when he was trapped at Michael’s side. Lust was already starting to affect his choices,
Calloused fingers were a nice contrast against the smooth soft flesh of Hamish’s back. Once more his body shiver but pressed back into the fingers showing he wanted most of the touch. He took this as Michael accepting the invitation he had presented moments prior to the touch against his bare skin. Being claimed was something he fought against in Arthur’s case but when Michael showed dominance Hamish seemed to melt with no question just allowing his body to be led. Part of him wondered if Michael just there thought about leaving a scar to have proof of his ownership of the younger ginger. Taking the moment to use their proximity to his advantage Scotland’s teeth ran along Ireland’s freckles skin before biting into it. Even without a scar or anything if it wasn’t clear whom he belonged to the Irishman’s fist would probably clear that up for the other.
Giving a pained moan Hamish regretted continuing mentioning their youngest brother seeing as Michael wanted the topic to die. It wasn’t that Hamish didn’t believe Michael would handle the effects of his magic but didn’t wish to see the man sick ever again. The famine was dreadful and knowing he couldn’t help made him never wish to see his brother go through such pain again. “Ah ken ye kin dae it bit tis nae worth risking yer health.” Once more his mouth attacked Michael’s neck trying to get the thought away from this and back to their previous actions. Taking a deep breath Hamish gave a soft smile at his prideful brother, “We wull fin' a wey oot or die trying.”
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Post by Ireland on Jan 31, 2014 15:38:57 GMT -6
"Aye, we will. And no toime better t'an now t'get started." Michael was adamant now about not allowing Hamish to continue with that affection. His mood for it had been plunged into ice as cold as the air around them, and he couldn't be swayed back even if the Scotsman's mouth was working marvelously well upon his skin. He gave a slight shove of his hand to put distance between their bodies that would allow his head to clear a little further. Hamish was an overwhelming distraction in his company; not one he was opposed to when he wasn't trying to puzzle through escaping a haunted house.
The Irishman shook his limbs free to stand on his own, straightening his costume up. He patted himself down out of habit and wished once again that he'd brought his jacket with him from the hotel for this party. His fingers dug into the pocket of his costume until they snagged around the beads of his rosary. Michael never went anywhere without it. He pulled it free to gaze upon the religious item, face thoughtful. It was too small for him to pull much power from it even if it were a blessed object. He'd need more than this for a focus.
His gaze returned to Hamish nearby, bright green steady on the other redhead's face. "Aye t'ink Aye went by a chapel hare earlier. Maybe we can foind somet'in' insoide t'at Aye can use t'boost t'is? Even if t'is place is cursed, which Aye can only guess it must be, someone had t'bless t'at space. And evil can't completely destroy good. So if we're lucky, Aye can foind a way t'make t'is wark far us. D'ye know where t'place was?"
Odds weren't great that Hamish would recall the exact location of the chapel. Michael had just glimpsed it in passing and didn't think to explore or mark the spot for later. Worst case scenario is that they would have to go exploring through the building together which increased their risk of running into unwelcome forces. That meant he'd have to look out for Hamish along with himself. Protecting two people was a greater chore than just covering his own ass. Not that he didn't believe Hamish couldn't fend for himself. Michael just didn't want to feel responsible if anything happened to the Scotsman while in his company.
He'd deal with that if it became an issue. No sense in jinxing himself with bad luck by thinking thoughts of them encountering danger. If there was one thing Michael knew for a fact, it was that if you thought too much about the Devil, the Devil started to listen. He headed for the door back into the house, reluctant to leave the night air even if it were thick with spirits. Maybe he'd return out here later to see if any stars had appeared through the cloud cover. By that time he might have forgotten all about his sour mood over Arthur and perhaps he would pull Hamish along to resume where they had left off.
"Let's go take a peep."
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Post by Scotland on Mar 13, 2014 19:27:51 GMT -6
Whenever dealing with his elder brother Hamish felt like he was trying to disarm a bomb or better yet dealing with a woman, at least the women he hears men complain about all the time. One wrong move or word suddenly he would be shoved away and his brother would have not want to his affections and occasionally snap at him. The lack of social skills on his part made it difficult to navigate around topics that would make most nations ready to due him harm. This might be the reason that it was best that he remained home during the meetings. Who was to say that within the first moments of the meetings that he wouldn’t be the cause of World War III? It seemed that he knew what buttons to push when trying to upset someone but if that wasn’t the goal he had not idea where to begin. Speaking with just Michael was difficult enough and he clung to the Irishman most of his childhood. His need to be around Michael probably would earn him a story of how he still has a pretty boy face because he always hid behind Michael as they grew up. It wasn’t untrue that his brother shielded him from pain and to this day he was grateful to have a brother such a Michael around. The shove tempted him to be a little more aggressive with his actions but he felt that by doing this Michael would be more forceful with the shove. His lips curled down with a frown as he wished only to continue to kiss his brother and give affection to the areas he knew would make his brother shiver. His need to touch his brother always seemed to be more than the need for affection.
Fixing the cape that hangs loose around his shoulders so it didn’t touch the floor gave something to do with his hands now that he no longer was allowed to touch the ginger. Noticing the rosary pulled from his pocket Hamish gave a soft smile knowing that Michael always carried one on him. It was amusing to him seeing that Michael never stopped his beliefs and even a party like this didn’t cause him to abandon the rosary at home. Even if Hamish shared the beliefs he didn’t often practice them as he should and the only rosary he owned was one Michael gave to him years ago. That rosary was made by his brother and now sat in a box to shield it from harm as the years of use had left it damaged and soon to fall apart. Surely if he had brought it along and shown Michael the teasing would begin that he held onto the simple piece for so many years.
The chapel? Yes, they had been able to see one when they first walked up to the house but it looked as if it were soon to collapse upon itself if the wind were to blow upon it. “Ah mind seeing it bit i’m nae sure thare wull be anythin' thare. If it haes bin met wi' fire th' flames micht hae eaten anythin' pure.” For all he knew there was a creature inside waiting to strike them down. “If mah memory is correct it's tae th' left whin you’re entering th' gate tae th' manor. Ah ainlie caught a glimpse whin arriving.” Moving to the edge of the roof Hamish began to look about trying to catch glimpse of the building that would either prove him right or wrong. Fog blocked the view but Hamish was almost positive he was correct.
While Michael thought Hamish moved around the roof picking up rocking and placed them in a circle. He continued doing this a few more times making a few circles about the roof before looking up at Michael when he spoke again. The fairy circles wouldn’t do any good but they were a pure sign and always did appear around his forests and such.
Thinking about Michael’s connection to pure things almost always made Hamish have to laugh because looking at him one might believe he was like Arthur and practice more dark arts. Hamish, unlike the two brothers, didn’t excel in either light or dark magic. Spells he could manage were often not weak but required the memorization of endless text that often didn’t sound like more than jumbles of words. That seemed to always be what he was the best at. If you gave him a page from a book he would be able to say the words clear and never seemed to perform one wrong but that didn’t do him well in this manor. Arthur probably was the only one with any magic that was worth a damn in such a hellhole as this manor.
Giving a short nod Hamish lifted his scythe and turned to follow Michael.
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Post by Ireland on Mar 31, 2014 6:00:24 GMT -6
"It's no matter. Aye'll foind it. Aye always manage t'stumble upon holy places, no matter how drunk or hurt Aye am. It's loike Aye've got a built in magnet far 'em or somet'ing." Michael reassured Hamish over his shoulder as he led the way back inside the building. The temperature felt better inside. However, the feeling of oppression in the air didn't improve. If anything, being inside was worse. Their trek to the chapel would hopefully stir his body temperature enough that the rest of the chill would leave his bones.
Michael paused to let Hamish catch up to him. His long legs made it easy for him to get ahead of other people if he wasn't careful. He didn't want to let too much distance form between them. It would be harder for any surprises to wedge in the span if he kept the Scotsman within arm's reach. Michael even went so far as to wind his arm around Hamish's back, lending him warmth as he escorted the other redhead down to the lower level of the house. "Ye're probably roight. Aye doubt t'ere's any holy essence left in t'chapel. Aye would have felt it. Loike a beacon in t'dark, it would have called to me from where it was hidden away. Doesn't hart t'try."
It would be impossible for him to discuss how his magic worked without breaching the subject of those arts. Michael never talked about it if the topic could be avoided. 'Magic' and 'sorcery' and 'spells' were taboo concepts; many a time when he'd brought it up, those around him had responded with the rushed whispered prayers and frantic Signs of the Cross of the truly devout. His abilities were a contradiction for him and always had been. It was created out of purity, yet the very act of creating it felt impure. And for all his questioning prayers to a Higher Power, Michael had yet to receive any definitive answer on whether it was simply part of his identity as a Nation or if it was a corruption of his nature.
Perhaps one day when he'd had enough alcohol mixed with good spirits, he'd share the existence of his internal conflict with someone. Maybe with Hamish? The Scotsman was a decent listener when he wasn't caught up with trying to get his hands beneath Michael's clothes. Being drunk generally meant that Michael wasn't opposed to the wandering of those hands, either, and so the more profound conversations that might spring between them were often lost to his baser desires. His hand squeezed at Hamish's far shoulder.
And wasn't he just a walking contradiction in all aspects of his life? Acts of violence, reckless behavior, apathy towards others -- hardly the model behavior of a pure soul. Why, right here in the bend of his arm he had his brother, bound by blood to him and linked with bits of land far beneath a deep, fathomless ocean, with whom Michael had an intimate relationship. He often berated himself over it. As the eldest brother, he should have been the one setting the better example by not taking advantage of Hamish's adoration of him.
Not that he had any intention of stopping. Michael was just greedy enough to require that neediness from Hamish. He counted on the devotion of the Scotsman. He needed it as badly. Clearing his throat, Michael applied another light squeeze around Hamish, before murmuring. "We should foind ye somet'ing warmer t'wear while we're at it. Yer so skinny t'at yer loikely t'freeze if it gets any colder."
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Post by Scotland on Apr 19, 2014 3:58:33 GMT -6
There wasn’t much Hamish could do when Michael had set his mind to something there was no changing it even if he argued. If there was a certain way to change Michael’s mind Hamish wasn’t sure he’d even use it knowing that Michael seemed to know what was best. Years of life during the power struggle of the ancient was sure to give Michael knowledge of how to react to things Hamish might have never struggled through. Even in a house of death Michael stood as his hero and the figure that made him feel safe even in the worst of times. “A saint cannae hulp bit always be led back tae God?” There was a bit of teasing in his tone but cruel actions or not Michael was probably more of a saint than the younger ginger could ever wish to be.
Even inside the manor the darkness along with a chilled dead air made Hamish shiver a bit. Not wanting to seem weak Hamish continued on ignoring the random shivers working over his form as they continued into the manor. Shaking off the focus of the cold Hamish began to pick up his pace to remain at Michael’s side; both able to take long strides Hamish only trailed behind not having the determination to charge ahead in the same manner. The sharp and clean blade of the scythe rested against Hamish shoulder relaxed not expecting a creature to go after the two large men when together. Feeling an arm against his back a slight pink tint appeared on Hamish’s lips for a moment only to fade as if it was never there. Reaching to his side Hamish fingers grabbed onto the corner of Michael’s jacket. “Ye'r th' ainlie light bein' ah kin sense 'ere bit a'm weak at th' compared tae ye. Better tae keek 'n' fin' nothin' than miss something.”
None of the family seemed to talk much of magic skill usually leaving it unknown of the level of talent that was among each other. Hamish always felt a little embarrassed that he wasn’t able to do spells as Michael and Arthur could but always kept this to himself. Talking about magic outside the family was a mistake Hamish made rarely; being ginger already caused him issue but he knew at the voicing of magic he’d find himself burnt deemed a witch. Not able to do much with pure magic also made Hamish feel his magic was tainted as many would believe it to be. To use it spells and symbols were needed to be used often drawing from the nation until he was almost stripped of all energy. The pure magic granted to magic seemed to be a sign of his light side that didn’t surface much in Hamish’s opinion.
Asking would be too much but Hamish always wished to know what his brother thought and reacted as he did. Michael always seemed to be closed to most and yet Hamish felt himself attached possibly understanding more than the other nations when dealing with the cruel Irishman. Turning green eyes were softened at the gentle nature Michael presented him with even when not pressed for it. His arm slipped around Michael and his head pressed into his brother’s shoulder for a moment. Warm between them had been enough to fight most the shivers off but Hamish managed to shiver a bit even with the warm of his brother keeping him close.
The selfish side of Hamish didn’t care anymore if Michael held any emotional feeling or if he used the Scot for sexual desires. Even if he felt shameful deep down Scotland only cared that he was able to please his brother for the time being. It would always be Michael’s choice if he deserved more than just that swallow affection or if he even deserved any at all.
Hearing Michael voice concern over Hamish going too cold the ginger blushed a bit and looked at his brother in disbelief. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Michael to care it was just he hadn’t grown used to his brothers have any concern for him. “Ah will be a'richt. We hae tae fin' oor wey tae th' kirk foremaist 'n' then if nothin' turns up thare we kin fin' something fur me.” Shifting the scythe on his shoulder he tried to refuse the pain from lugging the weight around for the endless time he had been in the manor. It wasn’t a pain enough that he’d as Michael for assistance but he could feel even now the building of the pain in his shoulder and arm.
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Post by Ireland on May 1, 2014 4:45:14 GMT -6
That teasing comment about sainthood from Hamish had Michael snorting, his head shaking as he dismissed it. "Aye'm no saint. Not even close to one. Saints are paple t'at are endlessly good. Aye may be able t'use pure magic but t'at by no means puts me anywhare near t'paple loike t'at."
The Irishman felt ashamed. Admitting that out loud reminded Michael of the fact that while he dutifully worshiped, he hardly molded his life to one of good living. True, Confession was a good way to absolve himself of the bad things he did yet it didn't excuse the fact that he was often a repeat sinner. Michael had tried his hardest to follow those basic, golden rules: Be good to your neighbor, do unto others as you wish done to yourself, be charitable and without violence -- all of those standards that set good people apart from the wicked.
Being trapped in this place was giving him far too much time to think. When deep thoughts like this stirred in his head back home Michael would always find a means to silence them with distractions. Getting into trouble or causing trouble for others often took care of that. The idle time he found here, along with the presence of silence, was making Michael's mind restless enough that it kept turning up all sorts of thoughts that he didn't want to contemplate.
His head bobbed a quick nod in agreement with Hamish about not missing a chance to see if the chapel would turn up anything beneficial. "It's not loike we don't have toime t'waste. Even if it's a wasted trip t'en we'll at least know far sure t'at it isn't useful. Ruling out rooms loike t'at would be a good start. Aye'm not all t'at hopeful t'foind anyt'ing in it anyway."
Michael's arm remained draped around Hamish. He grunted when the other redhead turned down the offer to find something warm to put on. His concern would only go so far. If Hamish had decided he was fine then that was all Michael needed to hear to stop worrying. The major issue would be if the Scotsman went and passed out on him, or froze from the cold. He'd have to trust that Hamish was being smart enough to factor in his own survival -- otherwise, Michael would have a burden on his hands to deal with caring for himself and his younger brother at the same time. Not a concept he was used to.
He squinted around their location as they walked along together. Everything looked alike so it was proving difficult for him to navigate with any accuracy. "Aye t'ink t'is is where we all arrived at t'beginning. Hard t'tell now t'at it all looks so different. My sense o' direction is all out of sarts from gettin' turned around s'much. Can y'tell which way we should go from hare?"
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Post by Scotland on Jun 16, 2014 14:58:31 GMT -6
Hamish have a silly smile and pulled Michael close to him so he could be eye to eye with the man. Neither would ever be a saint or even close to it, while Hamish might be better behaved Michael was more loyal to the church and often was the only figure that kept Hamish attending the services. In some ways Michael was good for him and kept him on track. “Na mair tell me ye'r aff tae graw tae be a saint as brilliant as Saint Patrick?” he teased with a take look of horror. Getting in another laugh he presses Michael into another kiss before they kept along their path.
It was hard to say if Hamish thought Michael could give up all of his sinning to become a saint and devote himself to the church as he knew it would mean he’d be given up too. Hamish didn’t believe Michael to be the type to owe any rules that weren’t his own and had always loved him for just that. To give himself to the church Hamish feared all who Michael was would be lost as he was molded into a being Hamish isn’t sure he’d be able to recognize as his brother. Selfishly Hamish prayed that Michael would never give it that much. Hamish didn’t want to live up Michael and watch him be molded into someone’s ideal figure when he already was ideal. Both brother were repeat sinners and if mentioned their relationship would probably be the sin that some would condemn them for. This all meant nothing to Hamish as he’d be willing to rot in eternal flames if it meant he got to be in the embrace of his brother. Surely God could forgive them for finding love within each other. It had never been a sin out of spite but both sides seemed to love something within each other.
Going to a church with Michael wasn’t that odd but part of Hamish feared it had been tainted. Holy land that had been swallowed in this madness wasn’t much of a sign that Hamish wished to see placed in his path. It was hard to say if anything waited for them there. “It cuid gies a base tae think oot oor neist move.” Hamish wanted to see some hope in this when there was little about them.
Hamish had doubt that Michael knew how much the offer alone meant to him. Even if he felt his body growing cold and muscles aching he didn’t wish to slow them down more by trying to find something to keep his thin body warm. A soft ashamed blush came to his face and his eyes darted away from Michael’s not wanting to look as he requested this, “Kin ye tak' mah scythe fur a bawherr? mah arms feel lik' a've bin carrying it aroond fur a year straecht.” Bothering the more muscular man with such an idiotic task made Hamish feel idiotic but his arms ached as did he shoulder. Now he didn’t want to leave the weapon in fear that it could be used to save them moment after they abandoned it.
Moving passages and earlier swimming away from a monster in fear left Hamish unsure of the ways they had taken trying to find safety. Seeing a green colored lantern he grabbed it and peered down every direction to see if he could tell where the exit was located. Freezing he listened carefully before turning back to look at Michael. “Ah smell fresh air 'n' kin hear a breeze. This mist be th' wey.” Moving back toward Michael he wondered if the man would agree. Deciding the lantern could help later Hamish turned it off and attached it to his hip keeping it hidden under his cape. If they needed to see in the dark this would at least be able to aid them if not be used as a crude weapon.
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Post by Ireland on Jul 1, 2014 0:10:47 GMT -6
Michael scoffed at Hamish's continued comments about him and sainthood. "T'ere's no way far me t'become a Saint. Aye'm too far gone down t'road t'sin. And Aye'm not a human bein'. Let t'em have t'at part o' bein' special." He looked to Hamish beside him. "It'd also mean Aye'd have t'die. So Aye'd rat'er not."
He craned his head around to try keeping an eye on their surroundings. The atmosphere down here wasn't welcoming, and the Irishman's hackles had risen with an instinctive wariness. It felt like it did when he was younger. There was the same tension in the air as there had been when he'd been ambushed by hostiles. Michael had learned to trust that feeling. It saved his hide plenty of times. Hamish seemed less focused on their environment than he was. The Scotsman was wrapped up in his own head.
His hand reached for the scythe when Hamish requested that he carry it. The weight of it didn't feel like much for him but the other redhead was more or less skin with bones in comparison. Michael tucked the scythe into his arm so the blade pointed up above their heads. If Hamish had expected him to tease him for being unable to carry the weapon anymore then the Scotsman was all out of luck. The Irishman's normally mischievous face was hardened into one of concentration; eyes continuously roaming around them to watch the shadows like he expected them to move.
"Aye don't like t'is. Somet'in' feels off. Can't quite put m'finger on it." Twisting his torso around, bright green eyes squinted as Michael took notice of a faded cross on the wall nearby, located just above a door. On closer inspection he saw that it was the imprint left by a cross that was no longer there. The ghost of a religious icon that someone had stripped away after a long time. If the cross had belonged there for so long what had prompted its removal? "Looks loike we're hare. You're roight -- Aye don't feel any pure vibes from t'is place. Feels mare t'me loike somet'in' tainted."
Michael reached out to pull Hamish back behind him. He didn't want the redhead going in first. For some reason it didn't seem like a good idea. The Irishman nudged the door open with his elbow to let the wood swing wide. There was only silence inside of the chapel. Still, his skin was crawling with a touch of darkness that was scratching at him like thousands of tiny pinpoints. Evil had been here. Considerable evil that had left its stamp on this place. Some wicked acts couldn't be covered up even over time -- the molecules of the air here remained tainted.
"Eh. Y'know, Aye change m'mind. Let's go back up. Hamish, come on."
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Post by Scotland on Sept 2, 2014 22:33:48 GMT -6
Giving a pinch to his brother’s side there was a teasing smirk at Michael, knowing the man wasn’t one to pretend that he hadn’t done wrong or even that he would be considered a saint in his own eyes was always refreshing. Too many humans thought highly of themselves, even considering themselves saints without embodying the laws of the bible, no matter what they did a simple confession they believed enough to cleanse them of any wrong act to the level of sainthood even if they intended to be such wrong again. “Howfur admirable o' ye.” Looking over to the rougher man there was a hint of happiness in his eyes, “A'd ower nae lose ye juist sae ye cuid become a freish saint fur yer fowk. Ye'r awready better than that.”
While Michael seemed to be sensing the surrounding Hamish didn’t worry about such thing as he felt not change in the darkness that was surrounding them. Even with his eyes closed he could often tell when something approached, this sometimes happened when a certain Nordic same around causing hair to stand on the back of his neck and a hiss to come from his throat. Despite others fearing the unknown Hamish welcomed it.
Reaching back over to his scythe he wrapped something around one of the intricate pieces jutting off the handle of the curved blade. Pulling back he admired the cross that now hung from the piece. Being with him for a good portion of his life the cross probably held little purity to it, fire had charred the wood and blood left stains over the piece. Cracks appeared in the beads but most had been repaired enough to keep them in a single piece for the time being. Age had worn the piece but it should be enough to make the blade suit Michael more. “Whit a pity, if ah teuk proper care o' th' thing it micht hae given ye anither holy artifact tae hulp.” It felt almost like the days of their youth with the lack of mischief, once more they were living as if just trying to survive but just like before it seemed Michael was willing to take risk to keep the younger alive. With what his brother endure from England and also to protect him he’d never dare to seek pity from the man when it came to the treatment he has previously received from other nations.
Moving around the arm Hamish continued to move toward the building running his hands over the stones as if looking for something. "Eh. Y'know, Aye change m'mind. Let's go back up. Hamish, come on." The words didn’t seem to reach his ears as he began to move away more walking along the side of the build feeling along the walls and walking over the pieces of the crumbled chapel. “Thare is something 'ere 'n' a'm feelin' it. Haud onto mah scythe, if ah yell git oot o' 'ere a'richt?” Moving over to the window his foot broke the glass causing sharps to fall into the grass along with into the opening. Moving his sleeve to protect his fingers he dragged one of the shards that lay next to his foot. Winking he held the glass tight and moved to go through the hole he created.
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Post by Ireland on Sept 16, 2014 17:25:21 GMT -6
Michael was unable to suppress a roll of his eyes. Having the topic of him achieving any type of sainthood was one he hoped would drop. He had no desire to embrace a lifestyle of sacrifice or suffering, as many saints did. Michael knew that he was selfish, brutal, and in no way aligned with the goodly nature of those elevated souls. Even if Hamish wanted to worship him that was entirely different. And in and of itself, far from healthy. The Irishman couldn't fathom any reason why the Scotsman held him in such high regard. Most of what he did was in deliberate provocation of his younger sibling, even when he was being cooperative.
He gave an irked look at the condition of Hamish's cross. However, part of him was touched that the other ginger had bothered to keep it for so long. Michael had replaced many of them in his span of time. Most of them were worn down, the clay eroding under the regular touch of praying fingers. Glass beads broke. At one point in his life, when times were darker, he'd even gone so far as to have the metal salvaged off his enemies melted down to fashion into crosses, until a priest had warned him that the very nature of the item could never be truly blessed. He'd stopped doing so after that.
When Hamish pulled away from him to head forward after his warning, Michael swore under his breath. Thick eyebrows furrowed together -- a common Kirkland expression -- as he watched the stubborn Scotsman go moving into the chapel. "Hamish! Get yer arse back hare! Aye swear t'God, if ye don't listen t'me Aye'll lump y'so hard."
The Irishman went stalking after Hamish to chase the younger man down. Considering the level of evil energies around he didn't want to be responsible for leaving the Scotsman to deal with that alone. A smarter person would have shrugged it off as a loss and gone the other way. If his negligence resulted in Hamish getting hurt or worse, Michael wouldn't forgive himself. Granted, that didn't mean that he wasn't well within his rights to smash the Scotsman himself. Having Hamish ignore him didn't earn his brother any points. So smiting him was still in the cards. Like the one that was in his pocket, stumbled across in his journey throughout the Manor.
He came stomping into the chapel to check it out for himself, still in a fuss and blackened mood, as he hissed after Hamish. "If Aye have t'repeat m'self in a feckin' Aynglish accent just so ye'll listen t'me, I am goin' t'bust your head o'er one o' t'ese pews. Get t'hell out o' hare, Hamish. Now."
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Hamish Kirkland
Administrator
Homosexual.
Single.
27.
Played by Dee.
Offline.
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Post by Scotland on Sept 16, 2014 21:20:13 GMT -6
Seeing the usually stern taunting eyes roll at his comments made Hamish have to laugh ever so slightly that he managed to annoy his elder brother. It probably was disgusting to the shorter ginger that Hamish seemed to worship him more than he ever worshiped God yet didn’t ever seem to have much reason to. Neither seemed to ever speak of their feelings making it even more difficult to know what one might be thinking to explain their actions and yet that seemed to be how their relationship had always been. If some thought about their history that still might question any reason that Michael seemed to be on a pedestal despite Hamish having aided him in secret over the years. It wasn’t as though it was a secret anymore that Hamish had sent soldiers to fight as Irish when Arthur worked to take over the Michael’s land. Unless asked though Hamish never felt required to explain anything of himself to anyone, no one needed to understand him after all.
The scowl on Michael’s face earned a slight pout from Hamish, “Sorry it haes git some wear. A've meant tae ask ye tae fix it up fur me bit ah lik' that tis worn, reminds me o' ye.” Childish as it may sound Hamish refused to replace the cross, it held more meaning to him than most would to him and have suffered at his side over the many years. There were none other cross that could hold as much meaning to him, this cross instead was often cared for and protected as if a piece of treasure. Part of him always felt surprised the tarnished cross had never burnt his skin or had the purity erased by being touched by such filthy hands. Michael would surely would agree that he didn’t attend church often enough and confessed his sins even less. The thin ginger never seemed to go alone but also refused to go to just any church, if it wasn’t a Catholic church he often declined remaining home instead of attending with any of his siblings that invited him to join.
Curses were common placed in their family causing Hamish to not fret much when he heard a whisper of one from Michael. Even if he cared to look back the furrowed brows wouldn’t have been enough of a warning anymore with how serious Michael had been acting recently. A chuckled came from Hamish in response to the threats as he continued to work his way into the chapel from the opening he had created for himself. “Mìcheal dinna fash yirsel ah will be okay, juist hush 'n' wait thare,” his voice was teasing as he felt joy hearing Michael scold him as though he were worried about the Scot’s safety.
At the next warning Hamish still didn’t immediately rush to Michael’s side afraid of the trashing he might get soon. Looking at something he dipped his fingers in it and brought them to his nose sniffing it inspecting what he had come across. Making a loud cheerful laugh he spun around to see his angered brother entering the chapel behind him with a darkened expression that was beyond warning. “Michael!” Hamish called out trotting over to the ginger and tugged on his arm, “Ah tellt ye ah knew something wis 'ere!” The joy didn’t seem to explain what he had found but he held up a slightly dampened hand for Michael to see for himself. “Holy water,” it was a soft whisper came from Hamish and yet it was still fueled by joy.
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