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Post by Deleted on Apr 14, 2014 22:30:15 GMT -6
The music was haunting, unnatural, misplaced, yet familiar, beautiful, and ultimately, his own. The melody that struck Welsh his were of his own composition, he had written every note, yet had not heard the song for over fifty years, maybe even more, he wasn’t even that sure anymore and to be honest; in this house thinking about this certain piece of and what it meant was at the bottom of the list of things to think about. Here Howell had been, walking down one of the manor’s many halls, swordstick in hand, hiding at every sound and wary of every corner when a pair of ornate French doors he found himself facing, one door ajar, and the music drifting out from the space beyond, enticing him. This was most certainly a trap, no one else knew that music except for him and…
“Ridiculous…” the Welshman grumbled, a blush filling his cheeks and he instantly looked around to see if anyone saw, though thankfully there was nothing. Signing and scratching the back of his neck, each new cord struck of his personal composition also struck a cord on Wakes; curiosity and irritation. Firmly setting both hands on the dragon’s head of his cane, the blond stared at the beautiful doors, at the open crack into darkness, when the melody hauntingly beckoned him echolike. A frown was deeply set in his expression and his eye twitched as the melody coaxed lyrics into his head and the image of a blackbird soaring through the air. His foot began to tap as agitation began to set in, from his curiosity ad standing way out in the open like he was.
“Oh, the ‘ell whit et!” he sighed, rolling his eyes at himself; if the evil of this house wanted to torture him by stirring up memories he’d rather not recall, well then so be it! Wales’ expression softened into one of self-exasperation and slowly reached out to open the door and peered inside, and was bewildered by what he saw. Though it was small in comparison to the grander venues that existed, the manor’s theatre was small but still exhibited some taste, with only ten rows of seating and was only wide enough to house the stage and a small side stage area. Gazing about in wonder, Howell’s sense of precaution faltered by his surprise at seeing a theatre but his eyes were glued onto the stage itself. Lit by a single spotlight was an old record player, and out from the phonograph his music was playing.
Staring up at record player, Howell paused midway down the aisle, cane tucked under one arm, looking rather proper. “Well now… Yah ‘ad ta pick this from me brain?” The Welshman muttered to no one but had a feeling that he was heard, which was rather unnerving. Looking around and seeing no movement, nothing was dark corners and plenty of hiding places so Howell did the most logical thing… he climbed the stage and loomed over the music player, centre stage and illuminated by the spotlight and he frowned, memories begging to be seen in his mind, but he shut them all up by removing the needle from the spinning record. Some things are better left repressed and forgotten about.
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Post by Deleted on Apr 16, 2014 21:22:09 GMT -6
“Damn it!” He cursed, coming to yet another locked door. It was beginning to feel like he had been walking around here for days, maybe even weeks trying to find his sister. None of these damned doors would open and he wasn’t about to waste his ammunition by blasting through every locked door he saw. It wasn’t helping that every corridor led to two more that split off in opposite directions…so he had absolutely no idea where he was in this cursed place.
He could feel his pulse starting to race as reality began to slowly sink in as to how dire his entire situation was. He had no idea where his sister was, he had no idea how he got into this place and had no idea how to get out…or even what the door to the exit looked like. He was at a loss as to what exactly he had to do, he couldn’t FIX this and it was eating away at him.
Click.
Vash jumped, his nerves beginning to make his hands twitch dangerously over the trigger of the laded weapon that he had out in front of him.
Click.
He spun around, the quiet noise was deafening in the dark hallways that made even the sound of his pulse set him on edge.
Click.
Vash cleared his throat and pressed himself up against the wall and reassessed everything within eyesight. The corners were just far too dark…and there were far too many places for something—no someone to hide.
Click.
A slight shiver rolled down his spine…the sound wasn’t getting any closer or any farther, nothing was coming. Nothing was coming for him..not just yet, no. No everything would be just fine and he would find his Lili and then they would find the exit together and everything would be okay. He also needed to find Tino.
How had they gotten separated?
Another thing that Vash couldn’t remember, all he could recall was that Finland was the first face he found in this manor upon waking up in his present state, his shoulder was still stiff and was only getting worse. He couldn’t be bothered by that now though, no there were much more important things to take care of rather than a stiff shoulder and blood stained clothing.
Like figuring out how exactly he got in here and what happened to him. But first, where was Lili?
Click.
Vash took a deep breath, his hands were getting clammy around the weapon he had poised in front of him and he knew he couldn’t think if he panicked. Everything was going to be okay. He always figured everything out, no matter what. After all, life was just one giant puzzle, right?
Well this was some twisted game indeed and he was sick of playing it. He had to keep moving, and he had to keep his head, it was either that or he may very well never find his sister and just give up to the manor now and lay down—playing dead.
With that, he resumed his quiet, and slow darting in the shadows along the hallways and keeping one hand along the wall at all times in the event that he found some sort of secret passage way. In a house like this, that sort of thing was highly likely…whether it provided a useful form of travel for him or whatever demons lurked in this house was yet to be determined. But regardless, it was good to know where they were just in case.
Click.
A light tune began to play down the halls; it was beautiful…but also terribly misplaced in this dark, unwelcoming place. The music was upbeat and clearly meant for a happier time…at least, that was how Vash remembered it. This time, however, the song produced shivers for a whole other reason. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was just from the placement of the music, or because the keys themselves had been warped and distorted as such—it had been far too long since the last time he heard it. But the song was bone chilling and it stopped any sense of calm that he had managed to regain from the small panic, which he had experienced earlier.
A sharp pain twisted its way into his stomach and it almost made him stumble over the uneven ground—guilt. Guilt that he had tried to bury over and over again when it had proven that he did exactly what he hated. He had toyed with the heart of someone who he held dear and then hurt it…whether or not he was being over dramatic about this didn’t matter though. He had still hurt someone, someone that he would easily give his life for if he could.
“Howell…”
He swallowed and tried to press onwards, towards the music. If that music was in here then it meant that Howell was too…it had to be that. And if he was the one playing the music…well, Vash would have to take it upon himself to stop it as he’d rather have the man beat him to a bloodied pulp than get himself tortured in this house.
And well, it could very well have been a trap…. there was also the chance that Howell wasn’t there and this was all just some sort of terrible, twisted form of torture or a setup for him. That thought was enough to cause Vash to stop at the end of the hallway when he had finally found the small, black door that seemed to be separating him from the music. If this was a trap, he would be walking into his own death trap….and he knew it too, this…well this was the sort of thing that he tried to avoid.
This was why he should have just dropped the topic of romance all together before he had hurt someone that didn’t know any better.
If Howell was in there, Vash couldn’t just let him get himself hurt and killed…no…he owed it to the man to at least get him out of this place alive. Vash was no hero, he avoided wars and sat in his own house with his surplus of weaponry and money…that’s how he did things and he was perfectly fine keeping it that way. However, he would never forgive himself if he just left Howell here, knowing that there was the possibility of helping him out and keeping him alive. He would get him and his sister out of here in one piece…if that cost him an arm, well so be it.
Taking a deep breath, Vash turned the small doorknob, half expecting him to have to do something stupid like breaking the door down due to the fact that it was locked—but alas, it opened. It opened into pitch darkness, but the music was louder now and it caused another shiver to run down his spine.
This was most definitely a trap.
Vash took a deep breath and walked in through the doorway, feeling his ways along the darkness with his fingers again. The music was making it impossible for him to pick up small, subtle noises, however he was able to make out that the floor seemed to be hollow—fake, and the walls were lined with curtains. Had he walked into the backstage of a theatre?
Before he could answer that, he heard an all too familiar voice. Vash wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or distressed that Howell was here…for a multitude of reasons. If he was also brought to this room, then it meant that Vash wasn’t about to die in this dark backstage maze, but it also meant that Howell was most definitely in danger. And this was a trap—one that was meant for the both of them.
Vash had finally managed to find his way through the curtains when he saw Howell take the needle off of the record and he nearly yelled at him to stop. However, Vash was no fool—far from it, and kept to the shadows for a moment. His eyes dotted around the theatre room and assessed how many hiding places there were for “monsters” to hide.
It was just too dark to know for sure what was waiting for them in the little theatre…far too many hiding places, and Vash could bet that there were several trap doors and hidden dressing rooms to make a play just that much more dramatic. He wanted to leave here as soon as possible, just get Howell and get out. He wanted to do so without any sign that they were here.
With that, Vash slowly and quietly walked up to record player—not wanting to startle Howell as he wasn’t sure of the weapons he had on him…if any—and placed the needle back on the record. The eerie and demented form of the song began to play again, and it only made Vash feel worse that he was staring at Howell right now.
“There can be no evidence that we’ve been here.” He whispered, finally facing the Welsh who had made it here before him. He then nodded to back the way he came, motioning that Howell should follow him. He didn’t want to go back through that dark set of curtains, but it was a lot less obvious than the grand entrance at the other end of the theatre.
“It’s a trap.”
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Post by Deleted on May 11, 2014 10:57:47 GMT -6
“It’s a trap.”
“Es et now?” Howell drawled, his expression having gotten passed the initial shock and he had managed to retain his posture and position when the figure crept up behind him and now stood before him. It had been some time since Howell had seen the Swiss because, Wales did not attend international meetings, England was Britain’s representative and frankly, Howell didn’t mind that one bit, he liked saying at home anyway. Still seeing Vash now, acting all in-control and secretive did not strike the right cord in Howell mind and his grip on the dragon’s head of his cane had increased, ready to draw.
How perfect it was, Vash being to person to find Howell lone upon that stage, their music playing, literally. Howell had written the piece for the man like a million years ago and that’s where the history should have remained, in the past. Howell didn’t quite enjoy seeing Vash at the moment; all the repressed memories already stirred up by the music were receiving new vibrancy from the distorted melody. Without his eyes leaving the other man’s face, he took in his appearance and if caution and terror was’ tightening up his posture and features, he would have laughed at the ridiculousness of Vash’s appearance; he look positively ridiculous and like a big dork… not to mention a bit cute but Howell squished that thought.
In fact, rather then gush on how well Swiss was looking or the absurdness of this encounter or focus on the danger they were actually in, it all came down to the fact that Vash meeting Howell there was again, too perfect. So, Howell reacted like any British Brother would: he kicked Vash square in the chest while he drew his swordstick, before solidly pressed his foot down on the other man’s chest and pressed the sharp tip of his blade to Vash’s throat. Even if this wasn’t the real Vash and some monster in disguise, this felt good… the bastard….
“Ye move’nd Ay’ll stick ya layke a stuck pig….” Oh those words brought some satisfaction for some past heartache but no smile breached Howell’s mouth, in fact he had on the hardness of disapproval perfected by the youngest of the British brood, England. “Yah mayght’ave fast ‘ands but reach faw thayt gun Ay know ye ‘ave’nd we’ll ‘ave a rayl problem…” Howell was not good at talking big and touch but his point came across, literally, when he pressed his cane sword further against Vash’s neck until a small stream of blood flowed towards the man’s colloar. “Now… whayt sort of beasteh doo’wae ‘ave’ere, aye?”
Yeah... sorry for the huge delay.. I really had to force this one out =____=;;
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Post by Deleted on May 24, 2014 18:25:42 GMT -6
Vash wasn’t one to dwindle too much on explanations when he knew of a potential threat—as a matter of fact he had a nasty habit of not explaining anything if h knew what was going on in an emergency. Too many times would he get frustrated and find having to explain himself too complicated and ultimately a waste of time when time itself was the main concern. Now was no different.
His eyes began darting around the room; he double and triple checked every single shadow as best he could while he stood there. Finally, his eyes rested back on Howell. It had been so long—too long since he had spoken to his last partner, and it was the first of past relationships that he didn’t willingly try to end. He had to admit that he still very much so cared for the man who stood in front of him, and he needed to see to it that he got out of here safe and sound. At least so that he could provide him with some sort of peace offering to the poor nation for his sudden absence.
He could see the tension build up in Howell’s shoulders and Vash tensed a little as well, he hadn’t managed to find any weapons on Howell—well, except for the cane, and so his eyes flickered to it momentarily. However he couldn’t help but grow a little distracted from this whole thing by seeing Howell again, it was bringing up a series of old and buried emotions that he knew were best left in the past…well at least if he wanted to survive. Vash had always been a sucker for seeing Howell dressed up, and he had to admit that it suited his companion, though what didn’t was the grim and calculated expression on Howell’s face—it wasn’t like him…not from what Vash could remember. Yes he had first met him at the end of the Second World War, and there was definitely a lot of tension…but the expression and stance that he saw now was like seeing your opponent trying to figure out how exactly to be your undoing. That look, well that look was not something that Vash was exactly used to being directed at him from the man in front of him, and for that the guilt only sunk in further.
That guilt was just enough to start to distract him so that his defensive position relaxed just a little and he momentarily forgot about the cane altogether. And before he knew it, he felt the impact of Howell’s boot on his chest and he was immediately thrown off balance and landed with his back on the floor.
At least his instincts had proven to save him from a minor concussion due to automatically tucking his head in so that it would not impact the ground first, however that didn’t help the minor aching that he would attain from his shoulder blades hitting the ground. This whole mortality thing…yeah Vash was becoming less and less a fan by the moment.
He grunted quietly when he hit the ground and immediately went to move into a more defensive stance—he wasn’t going to hurt Howell, no matter how much he hurt him. And the moment that everyone who was trapped in the house started killing each other, well that was when this godforsaken place won.
The cold blade sticking in very closely to his neck was enough to stop Vash from moving; again, he had to remind himself that he could in fact die here. Every word that Howell spoke sunk in and only twisted those knots of guilt tighter and tighter.
Was he doing this just out of spite? Was he really this angry from what had happened?
Well, Vash couldn’t say that he would blame Howell for wanting to kill him, but now was just not the time to stark bickering and fighting…no now was the time to actually try and figure out a way out of here, and better yet, how to destroy the place once and for all. That look of malice on Howell’s face wasn’t helping matters, what had happened to the Howell he had known? Vash didn’t think he had changed all that much….his sleeping was still as terrible as it had always been, and even in a scenario like this one…he was acting no different. Though he had to admit that it was strange acting more directly on offense now after the couple of centuries he had of neutrality. But his way of dealing with things was just the same.
What had Howell been through?
Looking at his expression now, it was evident that this house was working wonders on everyone who was in it, and that was starting to worry Vash. He didn’t want his sister having to face such horrid realities…he never did and just knowing that she was in this hell hole on her own was enough to make him think of all of the ways he could burn down this entire house so he could find her.
Vash had no intention of pulling out his gun as he didn’t want to hurt Howell if he could avoid it, though he knew that he was likely stronger than Howell and if worse came to worst, he would have to at least get that damned cane out of Howell’s hand.
Vash cringed a little as he felt the thin blade dig into his neck a bit, he was mortal here and Howell was just a flick of the wrist away from killing him.
As Howell spoke, Vash couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief at the fact that at least PART of the reason that he was acting this way was because he thought he was some sort of monster that the house had conjured up.
Could the house really play with their mind that badly into thinking that monsters were nations?
This slight relief however, was only temporary as he quickly realized that he would have to somehow prove to Howell that it was he and not some evil creature of sorts.
Creature…yeah that word left a bad taste in Vash’s mouth, he really didn’t like to dwell to much on thoughts of the magical….as in the end, everything had to have some sort of logical explanation…right?
But for now, Vash had no other word to call or think of the inhabitants of the manor as; so creatures would have to do. And well, at the moment he presently had another thing to worry about, as the most immediate threat seemed to not be directly the manor itself…but his ex boyfriend.
“If you know I have fast hands, and that I have a particular gun on me…then you also know that I’m not coming to kill you. You probably know exactly where the gun is hidden and what its matching piece is…”
He stared at Howell evenly, trying to keep himself calm and in control…it was impractical to panic and worrying was just something to distract him. The gun that he was referring to was indeed that good old thing that he had made back at the end of the Second World War and was covered in the carvings that he had made over all of the wooden surfaces of the weapon. There were also quite a few knicks in the wood from being a little too rough with it on a hunting excursion or fiddling with it when he couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night. He had made Howell a matching one in hopes of making him feel less homesick when he was stuck away from home after the war was done. Vash had hoped Howell still had it, even though he wasn’t all that fond of weapons like that, Vash had still put a lot of work into carving that thing.
“You can take it out and look at it if you want, if that proves to you at all that I’m not…whatever it is that keeps on attacking us. I know I’m a monster Howell, but not in the way that you think…”
He took a deep breath; he had never been so honest before, not even with himself, however the moment he let those words slide out he could feel the truth of them sink in. He had felt like a monster for what he did to Howell, his fault or not…he was a monster.
“How else do you want me to prove it to you?”
His voice grew a little quieter and the calm in his tone wavered just slightly, finding it nearly impossible to hold down all of the guilt that he had buried away for so long.
“This is what this place wants…for us to start attacking each other like we are pent up animals for their amusement. Do you really want to give it that satisfaction?”
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Post by Deleted on Jun 25, 2014 19:42:26 GMT -6
“If you know I have fast hands, and that I have a particular gun on me…then you also know that I’m not coming to kill you. You probably know exactly where the gun is hidden and what its matching piece is…”
Green eyes narrowed and Howell’s mouth tight; so it was going to be this ole’ song and dance. In that one sentence, Wales did know that the man at the tip of his swordstick was in fact Switzerland and not some conjured doppelganger of malice but still, he did not move his hand nor lessen the pressure of the blade on Vash’s fragile neck. The bastard deserved to feel a bit of pain, and that thought in itself scared Howell because he was the one thinking it. He was not a brutal or violent person, well maybe when he was drunk but that was just a family trait, but that was exactly how he was feeling right now. Truth of the matter was, once upon a time Swiss had hurt Howell and it had sucked, but he had gotten over it but this place…
“You can take it out and look at it if you want, if that proves to you at all that I’m not…whatever it is that keeps on attacking us. I know I’m a monster Howell, but not in the way that you think…”
Oh, here we go. Howell tried minimally not to roll his eyes, but did so anyways, for he had been with Vash long enough in the past to know that the man had a flair for being dramatic, and him bringing up a gun he’d received as a present was going to soften up Howell’s Welsh heart. Well, that’s what he would want to happen but, once again, Howell was not a violent person so his lips did frown a bit in sadness. Howell not looked at Swiss’ present in nearly half a century, but remembered it well, for it had been a beautiful gift, yet it still annoyed the blond that Vash thought he could bring it up and everything and all would be peachy between them. Even though Howell was 99% sure that this man was Switzerland, there was still that 1%, that nagging voice at the back of his head, that warned him of a possibility of a trick or a trap. Looking down into the man’s face, Howell’s green eyes, as green as the Welsh hills, began to rain and he couldn’t help it.
“How else do you want me to prove it to you?”
Looking down into the man’s face, Howell’s green eyes, as green as the Welsh hills, began to rain and he couldn’t help it.
“This is what this place wants…for us to start attacking each other like we are pent up animals for their amusement. Do you really want to give it that satisfaction?”
“Yah cayne stahp with the damn dramatics, faw’one…” he grumbled, finally flicking away his blade with a jerk of his wrist, before turning on his heel to sheath his cane-sword back into its sheath while he swiftly killed the tears in his eyes. Now that he was no longer facing Swiss, his face could return to normal so that his pout could breach through the unfamiliar hardness in his features. Sniffling quietly and wiping his sleeve across his face before he smoothed the front of coat, cracked his neck to the side, and walked off stage. “Well, ‘urreh the ‘ell up…” he muttered, irritated more with himself than anything else. Keeping his pout and frown strong, he fixed his gloves, stood up straight, and refused to look back at Swiss but simply listened to their song, twisted as it was, before he entered the darkness of the side curtains.
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