Untouchable
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Your head will collapse, but there's nothing in it and you'll ask yourself: Where is my mind?
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Post by Finland (x) on Nov 16, 2013 23:43:21 GMT -6
| time falls away but These small hours still remain It had rained. Violet eyes slowly opened, gazing down the flight of stairs to the murky water that gently lapsed against the ancient wooden steps. How had rain within the mansion been possible? Science dictated the laws of nature, and that law rightfully stated that rain fell from clouds in the sky. Yet, six days had passed since the torrent of water poured from thunderheads below the ceiling, flooding each of the lower floors. Bony hands knotted in the multicoloured fabric of his sweater. Damn mansion had damn near tried to drown him; he had been in the basement at the time. A white sigh passed through chapped lips, ruffling the bangs that hung across his forehead. They were uneven, cut two days ago while he tried to ‘wait out’ the flood, but appearances were irrelevant in this time and place. He debated another shower, but decided against it; he was already clean. He should have been hiding, resting somewhere safer than the hallway, but the walls and water sucked away the heat. Fires would not take from friction and he had lost his lighter while frantically swimming through rising waters. He hadn’t seen anyone since the flood, but he knew he wasn’t alone. Did anyone perish in the rapidly rising waters? The man gripped himself tighter, pushing the thought out of his mind as he focused on the churning water below. 6 days past, after the rain stopped, Tino Väinämöinen had placed a marker on the wooden railing, right where the water met wood. He had tied it hastily, and the ribbon of fabric cut from the upholstery of a chair weaved lazily through the gentle current. The level had not risen or fallen for six days; Tino knew this because he spent most of his time in the hall, trying to evade the distortion in time. It was not physically possible for the Manor to contain a storm, nor was it plausible to think that it would leak the excess flood by small increments. However, Tino reminded himself that this was the Manor; anything was possible within its walls. Supressing a shiver, Tino stiffly uncurled his fingers from his arms and tried to stand. His stupid costume provided little warmth, but the overalls and ugly sweater were better than nothing. Amethysts traced back to the current as he watched the ripples churn and flow, changing direction every few hours. Tino was waiting, but he wasn’t sure what for. Was this patient behaviour normal? Tino shook his head in response to his thoughts. Perhaps he had left some of his sanity in the Puppeteer’s Well. Tino paced for a few steps before glancing back at the water, like something had changed over the past few seconds. There was something about it… something about the depth… the way it didn’t flow properly, the way it wouldn’t become still… Tino narrowed his eyes at it. The thought of going near it made his body seize up and his heart pound. It alarmed him, and he was unsure as to why. Nothing had happened in regards to it… but… that was why it was so strange. Not once did Tino face threat in the hall. Not once had he been ambushed, attacked, or even visited by a presence other than his own. After being a magnet for monsters, always bearing injury from the encounter, it was eerie to not be stalked, as strange as it sounded. The soldier within him stirred. It was too quiet, too still. Tino’s stomach growled as he stopped and placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was starving, in a literal sense. Before the calamity, he had been looking for food. He had fled when a monster appeared and tumbled into the basement before the storm flushed him out. Tino closed his eyes and pinched his nose, trying to piece together the last time he had eaten. A week? Two weeks? Despite the fact that he was a nation, he still needed food, fuel to feed the fire in the health of his body. Aside from staying at the top of the stairs, Tino had wandered to the Smoking Room, finding only half a bottle of whisky. The Fin had taken it, and he took a sip every few hours. While a large amount alcohol would impair his judgement, it held precious calories that he could potential survive on, at least for a little while. It was a trick he had learned through years of famine and war, but other than the drink, Tino found no rations and wandered back to the stairway. He couldn’t even fill his stomach with snow to ebb away the pangs. Tino sighed, straightening himself before he heard a low moan, the creaking of pressure on wood. Footsteps. His weight shifted, body twisted as he turned sharply, every fibre of his starved body ready to fight or flee. He could feel the throwing device stashed up his sleeve, ready to be thrown, before his eyes met another shade of violet. The Fin stopped, blinking twice to ensure he wasn’t imagining the boy. It only took a second before Tino cracked a lopsided smile. “Emil…” he said, breathing the word like a sigh of relief in the chilled air. WORDS! 879 TAGS! Tino and Emil NOTES! Go go Nordicssss! We need to figure out an actual order but for now it's Finland --> Iceland | |
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Post by Deleted on Jan 2, 2014 11:55:41 GMT -6
The rain was careless, tapping and tittering away to relish in its mysterious nature. Emil could not understand what was going on, though there were hardly moments that he had understood the happenings within this manor. He would wish this were his first time here, just to experience the excitement and confusion, one that ebbed and flowed like the consistency of the moving flood. However, he was a long veteran of this place and had taken residence here for as long as he could remember. It was infuriating, however, that he had been having memory lapses from time to time. His memories were broken, tiny shards of time that were filled with a black void where it was left unfinished.
There was a pattern. Emil had fallen asleep for the first time somehow, only to wake up in stupor, and then somehow ended up gone again, just to arise in a room similar to the first. Frankly, every other room in this damned place looked alike, aside from the little nick-nacks here and there.
Emil took a meek glance at the decor of the room that was sheepishly lit by a small candle. Everything appeared frozen, fixed at a designated time, with miscellaneous objects perched in haphazard places according to the manor's law of physics. The shadows danced, tantalizing him with its flickering movement, yet Emil found himself unaffected.
He had been lounging on the bed for some time now, and so he decided to push himself off the bed. This was annoying. Everything was damn annoying. He couldn't understand why it was raining in the hallway, and he sure didn't want to open the door to find out.
Emil began to fiddle with the handle of his epee since it was the only thing that was safe to hold. He rubbed his thumb against the gilded steel before he began to press the sheathed blade against the floorboard irritatedly. Yeah, he was going to get no where if he stayed here.
He fastened the blade back on his belt and then walked towards the door. His gloved fingers grazed the brass of the handle, yet he began to feel pretty anxious. Whatever chiasmic dream he had fallen to earlier, it was so much better than waking up in this reality. All of the sudden, he found a little tight knot in his chest on the idea of being back in reality. He could not discern whether it was excitement, or despair.
Once he approached the door, the boy brushed the doorknob with hesitation before gripping it in his palm and turning it to the side. Water rushed in, washing the floorboards with a gleam and ripples. He lifted up his boot and grumbled, making amends with the idea that he can’t avoid getting his boots wet, and then continued forward. Close the door.
Right. Always need to close the door. Emil closed the door behind him and exhaled against the frigid air. There was no rain, thank goodness. He didn’t intend to have his glorious return soaking wet, but his boots and drenched feet would beg to differ. He paused, looked left and right, chose right, and began to walk down the hallway with a steady hand on the epee handle. Choose quickly, don’t stand around.
The water swayed and crinkled to every step he made. As he walked down the familiar hallway, drips of memories began to pool in his mind. There was a girl who had been here on the hallways with him, and she fought with him once against a beast. That was so long ago, so he could barely remember her face. A name was impossible to conjure.
He liked to drown his mind in thoughts, which is itself in this situation, not a very good habit to do. Yet, it was his way of calming down and braving forward. Emil had done that many times as a child, mostly because he had no choice. Solitude was normalcy, but it was always accompanied by shadows. The worst that shadows can do is toy with your thoughts.
A breathy voice uttered, “Emil…”
It became clear to him, right then, that some physical was within his presence. Either that, or his mind was playing tricks on him, but he saved the doubt for later and pulled out his epee instead. He spun around, and like a ghost in the night, there Tino was.
“Tino…” Emil replied, his expression stiff with surprise. He sheathed the blade and trudged forward a few steps, staring straight at Tino to confirm whether he was real or not. “Is that you?”
He wanted to run to him, but at the same time, he could not be sure. The possibility of deceit was always there, and he did not want to risk the grace to be beguiled. Therefore, he stood there with a flustered expression, the hue of red crawling to his cheeks from the emotion that churned within his chest.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 5, 2014 18:49:52 GMT -6
When water starting swirling around his ankles, he passed it off as bad plumbing or isolation- the manor was old after all. A pipe had burst, or maybe a bad storm from outside was finally starting to leak in. Regardless of what it was, Denmark ignored it and continued Operation: Find Out What The Fuck Was Up With This Place. By the time he realized that he had, once again, underestimated this place he was already pulled under the water, it swiftly rising past his waist and engulfing his head before he even came close to a staircase leading to higher ground. Brynhildr weighed him down, as if his own beloved weapon was trying to sweetly tempt him into drowning with her. Just to... let go, escape from this madness, and float away with her. Denmark, being Denmark, of course, wasn't going to give into such a sweet temptation, but he wasn't going to let Brynhildr go either, even if it did feel like she was a hundred pounds heavier. When he finally broke through surface, gasping and sputtering for air (water wasn't supposed to be this cold- siphon so much oxygen from his lungs), he swam desperately towards the railings of the second floor, trying to reach for them, keep a hold of his axe, and keep his head above water all at the same time. It took forever, he probably inhaled more water than was really healthy, and he was completely exhausted by the end of it, but he managed to pull himself over the railing.
That had been... Gods, hos long ago now? How long had it been since he and Norway had dealt with that monster on the third floor? The healed wounds on his back signified that a sufficient amount of time had passed, but he didn't know anymore. Time seemed to have lost any sort of meaning. And Lukas.... Mathias had stepped out of their haven for two seconds, and then suddenly Lukas was gone. He feared the worst, and constantly scanned the water's surface for any sign of his best friend- his most precious person. Maybe he had left Lukas alone to drown and just forgot about it out of guilt. No. No, no,no no, he wouldn't do that. Not ever. So then, where did he go? His continued search of the third floor after the flooding had been fruitless, and no matter how long he had waited in their little haven on the third floor, Lukas didn't come back. Was he... even there to begin with? Had the Lukas who had tended to him, saved him, and cared for him just the figment of a desperate mind? Had he been alone through that whole scenario? He didn't know anymore...
After another fruitless search of the third floor, he dejectedly walked back down to the second. Did he dare dive into the water in search for anything, for anyone? He was a strong swimmer, sure, but a part of him feared if he delved under the surface a second time, he wouldn't come back up. That something in the water was waiting to ensnare him and squeeze all the air from his lungs. And what would that accomplish, other than leaving behind his bloated corpse once the water receded? His enthralled staring at the water was broken when he heard voices from down the hall. Faint familiar voices. Finny? Icy? His spirits rose all the way to the heavens, and he smiled for what felt like the first time in forever. As much as he wanted to run to them, his caution kept him from acting so impulsive. The last time he was so stupidly optimistic it made him careless, and that had left to complete and utter disaster. He actually had to be careful about this. Licking his lips he crept down the hall, hands gripping his ax so tightly his knuckles cracked.
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Untouchable
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Your head will collapse, but there's nothing in it and you'll ask yourself: Where is my mind?
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Post by Finland (x) on Jan 28, 2014 0:47:49 GMT -6
| time falls away but These small hours still remain Emil. Emil Steilsson. The youngest. The naïve. The misunderstood. He was one of the members of the Nordic group, and Tino had not seen him in quite some time. The Fin dropped his arm, but his guard and cautious voice of reason remained in effect. Emil, was this really Emil? It could be a trap. Nothing had appeared in 6 days’ time, according to the crude scratches he had made in the floor. No threats, no warnings, not a soul, and now Emil suddenly appears without warning? True, the walls distorted the passage of time, but it was all too easy. Something was lurking, something was waiting. Tino stared ahead, lost eyes searching for something unseen. Any sort of sign that this was in fact his friend that he grew up with many years ago, long before they had ever even met other nations. Tino took a step forward. Emil wore what he had when he showed up with Norway many eons ago; a princely outfit that Mathias had teasingly mocked. It was not white as it had been when he first entered. No, it was dirtied to an off-white colour and it harboured stains that Tino didn’t remember seeing before. That was a lifetime ago though, and Tino found it hard to think that far back. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if his memory was even holding correctly; Tino had difficulties recalling what he did hours ago, nevertheless what he did in his long-term past. His memory was failing… probably a consequence of insanity. Was Tino insane? Maybe? He wasn’t sure at this point... not a good sign. Self-diagnosis was never spot on anyways… but Tino did dully notice that he did things differently. He walked the same path for hours. He laid but didn’t sleep. He stared at a churning current for almost 6 days. Was he mad? Perhaps, but mad with the body of caution. Tino brought his mind back into focus and away from such pointless thoughts, staring at the silver-haired boy before him. Emil looked about as tired as Tino felt. Not physically, but mentally. Tino could see it in Emil’s icy eyes. There was mental fatigue from the constant apprehension and forced alertness, the drawbacks of being permanently hyped on adrenaline. Wars were one thing where one could draw upon the energy of their people. This was something else. It was wrong. It was killing them slowly, and even the innocent Emil Steilsson hadn’t escaped the Manor’s cruel pressure. “You look tired…” Tino said quietly in response, misinterpreting the question as it muddled into his ever swirling thought process. He missed company. He missed his friends dearly and to see one before him and question whether his existence was valid or not was too much. He wanted to run to the red-faced boy. He wanted to smile and laugh like he always had. Tino wanted all of them to go out to a bar and have Mathias and Berwald argue while Lukas would curse and break the brawl up causing Emil to audibly question his life choices and heritage. He missed that. He desperately missed it to the point that Tino tossed caution out the window as he closed the gap between Iceland and himself in a matter of calm strides. Another second saw Tino wrapping his arms around the slightly taller male, gripping him tightly in a hug that they both desperately needed. If Emil were a monster or some sort of trick, Tino damned himself to death. He didn’t care anymore. He was halfway home. “I’ve missed you, Ísland…” Tino said quietly, tucking his face against the soiled material of Emil’s military uniform. “I thought you were dead.” WORDS! 616 TAGS! Tino and Emil (and Denny but Tino hasn't noticed your sneaking yet) NOTES! Sorry this is short and crappy! Nor said she wanted to wait a round and be fashionably late, so the order is Finland --> Iceland--> Denmark --> Norway | |
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