Paradox -- [UK/Romania]

[England]

Arthur was building up defenses. More specifically, he was preparing defenses until he could think of a great enough offensive manuever to get himself out of this situation. The Englishman had been weaving in and out under the radar of the creatures he'd glimpsed in the Manor. It wasn't difficult for him. Their evil energy licked at his magical aura, repelling Arthur from their areas. It was rare that he was forced to rely on this extra-sensory gifts; he was just glad that he had not fallen to the pressure of others who teased him for them, and given up on them completely.

He established a 'base' for himself. One of the bedrooms that had one door in, along with a secret passageway out that he'd tripped upon quite by accident. Arthur surmised that if something unwanted came through one, he could make a quick departure out the other. What he needed now was to finish gathering the supplies that he'd jotted down from the list in his head. Warding against spirits, warding off evil -- these were things that Arthur could do with the right tools. As it was, he came prowling down the hallway with a small torch that he'd made out of a stick of broken wood, wrapped linens from one of the pieces of bedding, and oil from one of the lamps.

The difficult choice was determining where to go first. If he went to the kitchen, he could raid it for some of the other supplies that he needed. Or else outside, into the open air, to scrounge for other herbs and plants that he could use as warding tools. To protect himself, and perhaps whomever was lucky enough to come stumbling across him in this place. Arthur had no idea how everyone else was faring; he'd seen no trace of another living soul in days now. He might very well have been the lasting one standing, as far as he knew. The idea didn't bring him any comfort. Just more despair.

Rounding the corner of the corridor, the light of Arthur's torch shuddered with a subtle shift in the air. He felt a chill rippling through him. It didn't cause him more than a discomforting shiver. Passing through spirits wasn't uncommon here. The phenomenon was so regular here that Arthur hardly paid it any mind. He swung his torch slowly ahead of him to cast light down through the corridor ahead, to check for anything out of the ordinary or other hidden dangers. The Englishman's green eyes squinted, thinking that he saw movement there on the other end of the hall. His voice was a shouted whisper to that moving figure. "Hello? Is someone there?"

[Romania]

(Oooh, an open thread! *shamelessly jumps in*)

Once again, Vasile was doing nothing but wandering around the manor, going wherever his legs took him and only turning when he hit a dead end. He was humming to himself as always, but though he seemed relaxed and leaned his neck against his arms in the usual manner, there was something missing from his face, something that was usually there; Vasile’s trademark curious smirk was nowhere to be found, and his usually sharp eyes seemed dull and uninterested as he eyed the various corridors and doors he passed by.

Simply put, the young Romanian was bored out of his mind, and not even the ghosts he could see – and more importantly, feel – did nothing to ease the situation. Listening to dead people moaning and growling at you could only hold one’s interest for so long. Maybe it was interesting to those not used to seeing such things, but to Vasile, who interacted with supernatural creatures on a daily basis? Nothing new.

He had enjoyed the first days in the manor, that wasn’t to be denied. The constant screams of terror, people passing him by and looking frightened, the constant stirring of the monsters lurking in the shadows… the whole manor seemed alive back then. Full of terror, abominations and excitement, it was like a Halloween party kicked up to eleven. But slowly, as days flowed by everything seemed to… grow quiet. Dull. Sure, there was still the occasional scream he could catch echoing from somewhere further inside the manor, and every now and then he did feel something else but ghosts pass him by – even stalk him at times. But what he really graved for even more than an encounter with a monster was… was the company of another human being. He didn’t like being alone, and although he didn’t want to admit it, not having seen another living soul in more than a day did make him feel concerned. It was one thing to enjoy other people’s screams of terror, completely another to have them die on you. He could be called sadistic, but not to that extent. He didn’t want anyone to get too hurt.

Vasile walked right through another wandering ghost, and a familiar eruption of emotions filled his mind for a moment. Sadness, sorrow, pain. This one hadn’t died too pleasant a death it seemed. Vasile meant to turn around and comment on that, but by the time he turned the ghost was already gone, having left behind nothing but a cold feeling and a string of lingering emotions Vasile couldn’t call his own. Aww, it could have at least stayed to chat for a while.

The young Romanian shook his head and turned to continue his little walk. Well, so much for that, he’d better keep going. He’d go through the entirety of the first floor, and then move upwards until he found something or someone interesting. He wouldn’t – couldn’t believe everyone else was already dead. No way. They were probably just hiding somewhere, or maybe locked inside one of the rooms? The time was all messed up, could be that they hadn’t been gone for more than a few minutes where they were, even if it felt like a day and a half to everyone in the manor’s main hall.

Reassuring himself things were just so, Vasile took yet another step forward, his cape picking up as his steps grew faster.

Only to stop about three steps later.

Eyes slightly widened, the Romanian took a careful step backwards at the sight. Far off at the other end of the hallway, there was light. Fire? It flickered, and certainly didn’t seem to be produced by mechanical means. Instantly, Romania’s interest was piqued. He could feel his heart start beating faster like it had forgotten to even do that up until now. There was someone there. A monster or a human, Vasile didn’t know, but at this point either option sounded good to him. He just wanted something to do.

It was the stranger who raised their voice first, before Vasile could properly come up with anything to say.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

There sure is!

Grinning with glee, Vasile had to make an effort not to start jumping up and down or let out a sound the other could identify him by. The voice was familiar, but not enough for him to make it out from such a short piece of monologue alone. That was fine, though. The fact that he couldn’t recognize the other most likely meant the other wouldn’t recognize him at first, either. That opened up a great opportunity for a little prank before he went and did his introductions.

Vasile smirked and nodded to himself. Yup, time to have fun again, at last! He cleared his throat and prepared his little act, moving so that the darkness of the walls concealed him from sight. He started to advance, his steps loud and echoing off the empty walls.

“There is indeed,” Romania rumbled, doing his best to keep his voice low and ghastly. “I am your death. I have come for you, foolish human. Play whatever tricks you will, but nothing short of a miracle can save you from the Lord of the Night. I wil- Ack!”

Forgetting to keep up his new-found tone of voice as he tripped over his cape, Romania cursed and landed face first on the ground. There was a loud banging sound, followed by a string of whimpers and unidentifiable curses before he could get on all fours again. His face stinging Vasile rubbed his nose, annoyed at the sudden interruption more than the slight pain.

“Ow, stupid cape,” he groaned to himself as he stood up rather shakily, having to use the wall to support himself. He kicked his Dracula costume's cape away from his path. “Why do vampires wear these anyway? Sooo impractical! Ugh.”

Sighing, Romania realized his little gig was probably up. There was no way even the worst scaredy cat out there could think of him as a monster now. Damn it, he had been doing so well too. He sighed again, this time louder and rubbed his head in defeat, still some distance away from the other, still at least partially shrouded in shadows.

Well, at least he knew there was someone else alive still.

[England]

Hearing that voice, it held a prickle of some familiarity to it. Arthur might have been associated with a lion -- and while true that his nobility and ferocity in character were commonly without compare -- he often felt better aligned with an elephant. A creature forgetting nothing. Even the most minute details had a habit of latching on in the Englishman's mind; the distinct colour of a jewel in a brooch worn by a queen long dead during a gala, how the fabric of a mast sounded when struck by a sudden gust of wind off the coast of the Caribbean, and even how the rain of London had felt mixed with ash on some dark December evening in 1942. All of these things ever in Arthur's brain, categorized into a haphazard library of reference that he could select from as needed. A vast library of personal history, in a brain that had a little over two millenia to process its lifetime.

This reference material was tapped even as the Englishman listened to the ominous affected tone of the creature down the corridor. Jade eyes squinted against that distant darkness as his quick mental fingers reached for it, strained for it--

Then they popped back open wide upon hearing the unmistakeable sound of someone taking a heavy tumble. Arthur winced sympathetically as curses reached his ears. If the noise were any indication, he didn't envy this unfortunate 'wraith'. He twisted further around the corner to close in upon the noise. Few things in this world or any other struck fear into the Englishman's heart. A bumbling monstrosity held little chance to garner anything except Arthur's curiousity, as he approached with cautious steps. The torch in his hand was stretched further forward, to cast its light across the peeling wallpaper once might have been fanciful yet now only bore the scars of time.

As the firelight stretched, it bent the shadows deeper, until casting upon the fallen figure of the Romanian. Arthur's mouth twisted with a smirk of amusement as he watched Vasile struggle to untangle himself from that garment. The gentleman in him felt it was worth sparing a moment of appreciation for the other's satin cape. He held that torch aloft to avoid any chance of its wildly licking flame from touching the Romanian, twisting it out to an angle beside him as Arthur crouched down just out of arm's length of the other nation. Having heard the groaned question from Vasile, the Englishman couldn't resist supplying an answer. "They wear capes because Dracula wore one. He wore one because the book was written by an Irishman in English society, and at that time all gentlemen wore capes -- even those that were strictly of the nocturnal variety. So, you could blame me for the trend of the times?"

A gloved hand was offered out to the other man as Arthur stood again. Contact with another person wasn't so intolerable to him when it was on his terms. And in this case it would have been impolite not to at least try to assist the Romanian out of his current fashion dilemma. Vasile's face was the first one that he'd seen in a number of days that didn't belong to someone already dead. Breaking his boundaries to extend his hand to another living, breathing person actually sounded like a charming break from what was becoming normal. "Here. I'll help you up. Speaking from personal experience, capes like that can swallow a man whole if you're not careful. It would be a shame to have you expire here on the corridor floor due to fashion asphyxiation. I'd not be able to recite the tale at future parties without dissolving into laughter."

[Romania]

Vasile was still busy rubbing his nose and trying to untangle his feet from his costume’s cape when he heard the other nation approaching. Like expected, the man’s steps were calm, slow, and not the least bit hesitant. Vasile would had been very surprised had his monster-façade survived the trip and the complaining he had become guilty of just minutes prior. Oh well, there was always next time and he could, at the very least, try to scare the other with his stories later on, right? The Romanian nodded to himself and clung to that promise of success, straightening himself a little as he faced the other person. He hadn’t yet found out who the his new little friend was, and he was admittedly curious.

So, when the other drew close enough for his torch to illuminate the both of them, Vasile cocked a curious eyebrow at the face he was presented with. He recognized the man, if not from the thick, messy brows sitting atop his eyes, then from the other’s expression; unshaken, calm, made so by years upon years of experience and knowledge. This here was none other than the United Kingdom, Arthur, once a mighty nation with a mighty history, now nothing but a human like the rest of them. Vasile couldn’t help but wonder, did the man retain his magic powers like he did? ‘Tis a real shame if he didn’t; he had always yearned for a little match between the two of them, and he felt like the Manor was a good place to hold one.

"They wear capes because Dracula wore one. He wore one because the book was written by an Irishman in English society, and at that time all gentlemen wore capes -- even those that were strictly of the nocturnal variety. So, you could blame me for the trend of the times?"

It took Vasile a while to make the connection between what England said and his own comment on the cape earlier on. And once he understood the other’s words, he couldn’t but be a little surprised to receive an actual reply to his purely rhetorical mumblings. He hadn’t meant it as a serious question by any means, but something told him the Englishman knew that already. His voice and word choice suggested he was just teasing him, and so Vasile knew to just let out a slightly amused sigh in return and not grace him with an actual, serious reply of his own. Instead he just accepted that the cape was England’s fault and decided to be done with it. At least he now had someone to blame for his little tripping. He never did like being the one at fault anyway.

Shaking his head and chuckling a tad to indicate he had heard the man, Vasile started to dust himself off once again.

“Well,” he began, amusement ringing in his tone still, even if there was a hint of bitterness mixed in. “More than the cape, I should blame you – or rather, the author – for creating both a very a nasty stereotype and for making famous an entirely wrong kind of vampire. Our strigoi and moroi are nothing like what the guy depicted. They’re muuuch more interesting, and their legends and history much richer. ”

Well, he said that, but he was still dressed up as Dracula for the occasion. It was admittedly lot easier to go around as the Western sort of vampire, as that was what most knew and feared. Prancing around with red hair and piercing blue eyes would probably not make anyone associate him with a creature of the night and, if he chose to go with the more monstrous depiction, he might be feared indeed – but not as a vampire. That wasn’t what the Westerners wanted to see. They wanted to see blood-sucking charmers, not lost souls of the unfortunate. It was sort of sad, really. Humans could be so superficial in their pursue for excitement.

“Well, it’s easier to dress up this way though, so I guess I shouldn’t complain, ” Vasile added with a shrug in a moment's time. Maybe one day he could spread his own folklore and myths far and wide enough to get the kind of recognition for them they deserved. But, this was neither the time nor place to carry grudges over something like that. He was sure his strigoi friends at home would understand.

Vasile took England’s hand as it was offered, pulling himself to stand fully from his hunched position against the wall. He didn’t quite understand the eloquent musings of the other, but he did catch from his tone alone that he was yet again making a joke. Vasile grinned at that, a small, mischievous grin as he dusted himself off once more.

“Look, if you wanna tell a joke, speak so that people actually understand what you’re saying,” the Romanian laughed with a grin, happy to finally be able to converse with someone again. It had indeed been a while since he had last met another living soul. “There’s not much point to a joke otherwise. Every performer knows the most important thing is to connect with the audience.”

Suddenly remembering he had yet to ask the important question, Vasile changed the subject for a while in favor of tilting his head and asking: “Oh yeah, what are you doing here on the hallways, anyway?” He smirked, continuing with no ill intent in particular: “Looking to get yourself killed?”

--

(Fssst, really sorry this took like… an eternity and a half andthatit'snoteventhatgoodanyway.)

[England]

Arthur was used to people staring at him. It didn't make him entirely comfortable, yet he couldn't begrudge other people their natural curiosity. Most of the time they were fascinated by his eyebrows -- much to his irritation. He remained composed while Vasile looked him over, emerald eyes evading ruby to avoid making a direct connection that might give away the Romanian's thoughts. The other man was just as much as mystery to him; a culture that the Englishman had only minor experience with, though felt tantalized by the tidbits that managed to catch his attention. He thought at first that his teasing might have caused the other man to be annoyed. Hearing Vasile chuckle was a relief.

His head tilted to an angle as he listened to the Romanian disparage the popular version of vampire that had caused the creatures to become such a romanticized item in literature. Really, one could almost hold Stoker accountable for the entire phenomenon of Twilight. So being responsible for making vampires into those old stereotypes was the lesser of evils, as far as Arthur was concerned. His polite smile was threaded with curiosity. "Strigoi? Moroi? To be honest, those sound like names one might find in one of America's popular cartoons. Or his comic books. 'The dynamic duo of Strigoi and Moroi'. Though I am sure that they are creatures worthy of nothing except respect. I haven't personally researched them at all. You'd have to educate me."

He released Vasile's hand the second the other was stable. Arthur wasn't someone that kept people in his personal space for long. Especially ones that he didn't know well. While he'd had occasions of being in Vasile's company in the past, it was always during some event where they were being professional, polite, and that was about it. Or fleeting meetings across a war room table, either as opposing forces or allies. Arthur didn't have a strong handle on who Vasile was, how he operated, or any such insight into the other man. He'd remain guarded until that changed.

At least the man's laughter was pleasant. Its sound was welcome to Arthur's ears. He couldn't resist his own sardonic smile in response to the grin that seemed to appear so easily on Vasile's face. Even the flash of sharp canines looked harmless in comparison with all the sights and experiences he'd had in the Manor thus far. And when the Romanian called him out over his joking, the Englishman's cheeks were painted with a wash of pink in the light of his torch, awkward in reaction to the man's remarks about his efforts to build a rapport. "Sorry. Jokes aren't my strong suit. I'd be better off sticking to polite chit-chat than trying to be funny. I'm rubbish with it."

He jolted when Vasile asked him about his wandering. Arthur twisted left to right, swinging the torch's light along with his motions. "I'm just making a quick stop out to check for familiar faces. I haven't run into anyone, really, since everything went pear-shaped. Mostly, I have been keeping myself tucked away to avoid drawing anything's attention. Though the spirits here tend to come and go as they please. I don't suppose that you're having any similar troubles, are you? You've got Gifts as well, right? I can see that in your aura..."

[Romania]

Vasile visibly shuddered as he heard England liken the names of his mythical creatures to America’s comic characters. He let show a disdainful sulk at that, shaking his head violently.

“No,” he began, one hand outstretched as if to prevent the Britt from uttering anything else as repulsive ever again. “No, no, no, don’t even joke about that! I fear to even think what might happen if that guy ever got his hands on my actual myths and legends. His citizens have already screwed over the current vampire lore like no other, and that’s without mentioning all the other tales those guys have twisted and bent to fill their lust for action and romance.”

He shook his head again. “I’m serious too. You keep silent about my friends, and I won’t suggest him to make a ‘Unicornman’ or something. Because you know I could make him do it. I’m a surprisingly good negotiator, and the guy isn’t particularly tough to convince.”

Vasile chuckled at this point, realizing his initial horror had turned back into amusement once the subject had taken a turn for the more light-hearted once more. Really, he didn’t have that much against the American, but nobody could deny nothing good could come out of using creatures and concepts you don’t fully comprehend to make stories and money. Myths lost their meaning once they became nothing more than a part of popular culture and once the scary, mysterious atmosphere of a tale told near campfire turned into two teens conversing over the matter during lunch break. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more grateful the Romanian started to feel over many not knowing the tales passed on in his country. True, his friends didn’t get much recognition like that, but at least they didn’t have to suffer from embarrassment and misrepresentation. If he had to pick a poison, it’d be obscurity. It was the lesser evil here.

It was then that Vasile noticed the other had pulled his hand away. The Romanian blinked at that at first, before he recalled the other came from a slightly different culture than him. True, even from where he came from, touching strangers wasn’t the norm, but the Romanian didn’t really consider the two complete strangers. They might’ve not held a long history together like he did with his neighboring countries, but just the fact that they were both nations, both immortals, got to mean something, right? He wouldn’t call them friends, but he didn’t feel that averse to physical contact with the other nations. It seemed like the Britt didn’t think the same, though. So then, should he lock arms with him once they started to walk, just to see the other’s reaction?

Vasile smiled mischievously at the thought, but let it be for now as the other continued talking. And he had heard Arthur was usually quiet. Not that he minded; he quite enjoyed this little exchange so far, and it seemed like England didn't mind it either. Vasile had assumed so much from the other's tone and the smile that momentarily graced his lips. Seemed like they both really needed someone to talk to after so long.

And, as the other spoke again, Vasile could catch a slight – yet unmistakable – blush decorating the other’s cheeks. Vasile felt immensely amused by the sight, and it probably shone from his face to England if the latter just as much as glanced at him then. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help being glad that his little comment on the other’s ability to tell jokes had gotten him such an unusual, delightful reaction. For a while he had wondered whether or not his words would make the other mad – he had heard England didn’t have the best of tolerances to teasing and jokes. Not that he would have minded a small fight, but he had to admit he preferred it this way. It was refreshing.

The man even admitted jokes weren’t his strong point, at which point Vasile couldn’t help but interject with a small, entertained, “I noticed.” Still, the Romanian knew full well he was one to talk; he was very adept when it came to more light-hearted debates, useless chitchat and scary stories, but he could hardly make others laugh – at least, not on purpose – and if it ever came to him having to hold a serious, deep conversation with someone over something, he’d be likely to bail from the spot. That was not at all where his talents lay.

"I'm just making a quick stop out to check for familiar faces. I haven't run into anyone, really, since everything went pear-shaped. Mostly, I have been keeping myself tucked away to avoid drawing anything's attention. Though the spirits here tend to come and go as they please. I don't suppose that you're having any similar troubles, are you? You've got Gifts as well, right? I can see that in your aura..."

England’s words invoked numerous thoughts in the Romanian’s mind. The first thing that caught Vasile’s attention was the fact that, according to him, England hadn’t run into anyone. That was certainly worrisome, as neither had he for a few days now. The manor wasn’t that big, and yet two individual people roaming in completely different parts of the manor hadn’t met with anyone for a while? Alerting. Vasile really hoped the others were alright. Then again, the Britt did he say he had been deliberately hiding, likely also avoiding detection from their fellow nations in the process. Yes, Vasile liked to think that was a big part of the reason as to why he hadn’t seen anyone. Positivity was gold during times like these.

The second thing was, yes, the Englishman’s mention of the ‘Gift’ the two shared.

“Yeah, I’ve got it too,” Vasile confirmed with a nod of his head. “Though, I kinda hesitate to call it a ‘gift’. That would imply all it has brought was good, and that I didn’t have to work for it. That it was just given to me by someone or something to use as I pleased.”

He shook his head.

“Didn’t work like that for me. I worked for it.”

Though now that the subject was brought up, it did make the Romanian curious as to how England and Norway received their abilities. Was England’s word choice just slightly off, or was he indeed just gifted with the ability to see the supernatural? Was Norway, too? Was Vasile himself the odd one out? He tilted his head, genuine curiosity lighting up his eyes as he muttered a slightly surprised, slightly nervous: “Didn’t you?”

(I dare you to google Unicornman, btw. Just. G’bye, brain)

[England]

The threat from Vasile to make one of his most beloved animals into an American mockery was effective. Arthur's tiny smile at witnessing the Romanian's reaction to his suggestions bled away from him into a wary stare. He couldn't disagree that the American culture would turn it into a farce -- anymore than it already had, if the media upon the internet were viewed as a measure of how far the proud creature's portrayal had gone sour. Alfred just couldn't leave well enough alone much of the time.

He raised both hands to flag them hastily, seeking to negate the idea from Vasile's mind. In case the implied threat had any true merit. "N-no. No, that's all right. The less that he knows, the better. Mum's the word when it comes to our respected cultural icons, hm? Not that much of mine have managed to escape his attention. Alfred's people tend to pick and choose. If he ever learns anything of your culture, it won't be from me. So you ought to be safe because we know that half the time America can't be arsed to educate himself on anything more than a shallow education of the world around him."

Hopefully those words were satisfactory enough for a truce on the matter. For the sake of his unicorns, and unicornmen, and all centaurs in general. They didn't much care for publicity anyway. Rather preferred to keep their existence under the radar. Arthur couldn't blame them for that preference. If the truth of them got out then it would likely be unending harrassment from the press as well as curious fans or admirers. Better to avoid it altogether.

His gaze flitted to Vasile to check on if they'd put that particular topic behind them. That's when he noticed the Romanian's eyes were searching him with what transmitted to Arthur as amusement. Having that study of his features felt as palpable as a physical touch; the Englishman reacted accordingly. He turned his head slightly, red spiking hotter upon his cheek that the torch betrayed, and he fixed his own green eyes upon a table nearby. The vase on it was treated like it were the most fascinating thing in the world. Yes, such a charming vase.

Arthur was rubbish with these one-on-one interactions. Especially when Vasile was grinning at him. Looking like he were immensely entertaining. Arthur didn't want someone to find him entertaining. Or fascinating. The only '-ing' that he considered safe in terms of a behavioural assessment was boring. If the Englishman weren't careful enough to put it in check, he was going to end up completely flustered. Really, things would be heaps better if the man just stopped grinning like that. That verbal retort didn't help.

When Vasile responded on the topic of magical abilities, Arthur was able to recover. Here was something that he could speak on with confidence. The Romanian had not laughed at him when he mentioned being able to see auras. That helped to relax him, since it demonstrated that he was in the company of someone that understood these things. He smiled wryly as he listened to Vasile articulate those tidbits about his abilities.

"Mm. I can see where one might hesitate to consider it a 'gift'. It's a mixed bag, isn't it? The bitter and the sweet. My own power hasn't always been kind to me -- sometimes it's a bloody hassle. For the most part, though, it has been a blessing when I have needed something beyond the natural to help me."

He shifted the torch to his other hand. It was getting heavy to hold since his arm was getting tired. Arthur didn't want to set it down for fear of being left without the light. He didn't fare well in the darkness. As he exchanged it between hands, he continued to answer Vasile's questions. "I was born with my power. Sprouted up right out of the convergence of ley lines at the center of Stonehenge, they said. They being the remaining Druidic tribes that the Romans had not yet eradicated by the time I had sentience enough to exist as a forming country. So I've always been used to having it there."

His shoulders lifted in a brief shrug. "It took time for me to learn how to use it, how to control it, and to understand that it wasn't something everyone had the ability to do. There were periods of time where I wouldn't use or acknowledge my abilities -- it still isn't entirely popular amongst those who believe it goes against the 'natural order', or what have you. So you say that you gained your abilities? What is that transition like?"

[England]

[Romania]

The second Vasile let loose his question, a wave of both worry and curiosity washed over his form, leaving the Romanian shuddering slightly in its wake. As interested as he was to hear the Brit's story, he couldn't help but fear the time it was his turn to tell his own. Up until now he had assumed - and he figured so had both Norway and England, which would explain why none of the three had brought up such an obvious topic before despite their many conversations - that they had all had similar experiences when young, which had led to them all acquiring their skills. He had assumed that they would all share his sentiments on the burden they were bestowed with. But, evidently, that was not the case at all, which, surely enough, was obvious in hindsight. Indeed, how foolish of him; he should have known better than to assume everyone acquired their powers in such an unorthodox manner as he had. The things he'd participated in were something he was not all that proud of today, even if, as a kid, he had felt certain pride over them, and over the powers they granted him.

Pride that, as much as he hated to admit, at least partially survived to this day. It was such a curious situation, to be both proud and ashamed of something at the same time. Perhaps it was something only a nation, armed with so many centuries of time to change and grow, could truly experience. Humans rarely went through too many changes of heart in their lives. Their lives were too short, too uneventful and most certainly too peaceful to warrant any of that.

For a fleeting moment, Vasile almost felt envious.

Finally, the Englishman answered, a smile of some kind dancing on his lips. Vasile held his breath. Would the Brit shun him for speaking ill of their supposed 'gift'? Would he consider his powers lesser than his own for not having held them ever since birth? Should he not listen to the answer? Did he want to know?

In the end, curiosity won over anxiety of being ousted as the odd one out of this "magic trio" of theirs. The Romanian wanted to hear. He wanted to know, to learn, because knowledge was power and he sure didn't want to feel weak in a place like this. You never knew what information you would find useful later.

And, well, he was basically just curious by nature.

So when the Brit confirmed that he had had times when his power hadn't been that big a blessing, as well as ascertained that he had indeed received his powers the moment he was born, Vasile couldn't stop himself from leaning forward out of habit. He was standing on his toes again, slightly rocking back and forth as he kept his crimson, curious gaze fixed on the older man.

He almost wanted to ask for an example of a time when the Brit's powers had caused him trouble, as that sounded like a topic both fascinating and potentially humorous - both things the Romanian very much enjoyed, especially now that he was stuck in the Manor with people who rarely could offer him either. He resisted though, settling to just being glad he wasn’t the only one who had had to suffer because of his ‘gift’.

As expected, Arthur confirmed having been born with his abilities. And, as soon as the confirmation of that came, Vasile felt a slight sting of frustration towards the older man. After all, unlike the Brit, he had had to work for his own powers. He’d had to go through so much to be able to do what he could today. Oh, what he would have given if he could have just been born with such talent. But no. Perhaps he wasn’t as talented, as gifted as the other, or perhaps he just happened to be born into a place that wasn’t able to bestow such things to its children, but either way it felt just a bit unfair. Then again, that also meant that the Englishman had a weakness he did not; should they ever, for whatever reason, lose their so called gift, he would know how to deal. The other might not.

Vasile’s lips curled upward once more as he mused that thought. The slightly more devilish side of him very much wanted to see that situation now. Wanted to see how the man, always so cool and collected, would cope if his powers were ever stripped away from him. It would definitely be an interesting sight. Then again, this was the guy who had once owned a big part of the World - he might not be as shaken as the Romanian wished. Unless he used his powers for his past conquests as well? How much was the man's own doing, how much his gift's? He almost wanted to ask. Who knew such a short amount of speech could invoke so many questions.

Before Vasile could even think about asking his own questions however, he knew he had to answer Arthur's. So, allowing his shoulders a casual shrug as if to appear uncaring when it came to the subject (a lie if there ever was one), he began: "Hmm, well..."

Part of him wondered how to describe it. It had happened such a long time ago, back when he had had no name, no purpose and no knowledge of his future role as a nation. The language he'd used then had been different as well, and so he couldn't find the appropriate words to paint the right picture - just like he hadn't back then.

"There are no words for it in any language I know," was probably the best he could manage. "I purposefully sought to obtain power. It was something I needed back then." To put it mildly. "So when I succeeded, it was, see, like I found what had been missing all along. Like someone placed the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle in the right place. And at the same time, it was kinda scary. Like a wall of some sort had shattered around me and revealed all that had always been there, just hidden. Well."

He had meant to give out a vague answer as if to sound mysterious, but now found himself actually pondering an answer, arms crossed and gaze raised to the ceiling as if the dusty wood up there had somehow helped him remember. "To describe it in short, it was like waking up and realizing your reality had been a dream, and that a dream was now your reality."

He wasn't making any sense by this point, so he just shook his head and figured he'd let it go. He didn't really want to remember the times directly after obtaining his power, anyway. They hadn't been exactly pleasant, and he didn't want to scare the Brit away. Not this time.

"So now, it's my turn to ask questions again," Vasile announced shortly after, stepping a step closer and leaning in. He wanted to see if he could spark another blush while he was at it. That had been fun. "So, tell me~ "

Now he just had to pick a question he most wanted to hear the answer to. He thought on that for a while, and then decided, grin growing.

"You said you'd always had yours, so, what would you do if you had to fight without your powers? Could you do it?" It was then, completely on impulse, that Vasile got an idea he considered pretty great. He was getting bored of just standing around, anyway. "Would you like to show me~?"

He didn't even bother trying to hide the glint in his eyes as he leaned closer, fangs flashing from behind an excited smirk. Mock fight was just what he needed to brighten up a boring day and learn more about the other man. So far he'd only seen glimpses of what lay behind that reserved, cool exterior. It was hardly enough to satisfy him.

----

OOC: Yeah, wow, this took long. Next one won't.

[England]

Arthur listened to Vasile explain the manifestation of his powers, fascinated. It was refreshing to discuss the topic with someone that wasn't a sibling. His brothers could barely manage civil conversation with him long enough to discuss the weather; having any in-depth talk upon any topic was out of the question. Vasile seemed to have sincere interest in conversing with him. That was deemed as good as friendly in the Englishman's perspective. He nodded faintly once the Romanian had finished with his description. "I can understand what you mean. If I didn't have my power, it would feel like part of me was missing. I would be an incomplete person. They really do feel ... erm ... correct. Like it would be unthinkable for them not to be there now."

He hesitated on his next comment. It was difficult for him to judge how others responded to a history of their territory that Arthur had previous knowledge of. Romania was relatively young in comparison to his own stretch of years. Who knew if there was bad blood between Vasile and those who had come before him? "Your predecessors had powers of their own as well. Wallachia, I recall, was especially sharp with them. Not that they relied on those abilities. Wallachia, Transylvania and Moldavia were capable warriors all on their own. I wasn't able to have much interaction with them before they had gone, aside from a few skirmishes here and there that I was involved in around that part of the globe."

Having Vasile step into his space again, face coming so close, did indeed have the effect of sending Arthur into a more flustered state. His steady gaze wavered aside while he stood his ground, unable to face that grin with a polite regard. Vasile being in his personal space wasn't an experience he'd had much, unlike with a flirtatious Francis or an oblivious Alfred. He was desensitized to their occasional close proximity. Red was awash upon Arthur's cheeks as he fought not to visibly retreat from that toothy grin.

The Romanian's words snapped his gaze back immediately, as the Englishman blinked in surprise. A fight? He couldn't say that he'd had a friendly spar in recent memory. "Fighting without magic? Of course I've done it. Using magic on a field of combat would be an unfair advantage when it comes to honourable warfare. Except for that one time with Spain's armada, of course. I might have had a hand in making a particularly nasty patch of fog on the day of our battle." Shrugs his shoulders at this admission, shameless. "To be fair, I was going through my privateering phase at that time and wasn't above cheating to achieve my ends."

A hand lifted to brace against Vasile's chest when the man leaned even closer. He could practically feel the warmth of the man's breath on his face and that was just making the heat of his face even worse. Arthur cleared his throat, Adam's apple bobbing thickly in the center of his neck as he angled his head away to leave that column further exposed, pink creeping down it towards his shirt collar. The vampiric reputation of the Romanian was beginning to make more sense. Vasile's words and manners were tempting him.

"I'm older and stronger than you. Don't be daft. You might regret it if you challenge me in combat even if it's just for a lark. My impression is that you're an intelligent young man. It would be a shame to leave you broken and embarrassed on the floor of this corridor." A spark of challenge had entered the surface of emerald eyes. Whatever creature was hidden beneath the demeanour of a polished gentleman was highly interested in the idea of unleashing its strength upon someone. It had been far, far too long. "I wouldn't want to make you dislike me already."

[Romania]

Vasile honestly hadn't expected the Englishman to suddenly bring up his 'ancestors' (as he found many of the people around him - the Brit included - referring to them as). He most certainly had not expected to hear them brought up in the middle of such a light-hearted - if profound - discussion on magic, no less! Vasile found it nothing sort of ironic, and try as he might to show otherwise, his expression was quick to draw just a bit sour at the sudden topic change. After all, part of the reason he possessed his powers, part of the reason why he had felt the need to seek them out in the first place, had to do with those three men that had preceded him.

Well... he might have said preceded, and they might have been called his ancestors, but the truth was that he hesitated just a bit to call them such. Ancestors were supposed to precede your time, right? And yet, Vasile... he remembered them. They were neither his most fond memories nor his clearest ones - after all, not only had he been extremely young back then, he hadn't exactly had the status or mind of a nation, meaning whatever 'memories' he held of the time were nothing but fragments further tattered by time - but he remembered them regardless. And he remembered the things he got involved in when associating with them. He didn't hate the men, but he found those early times he spent with them... complex, at best.

That, and he couldn't help but wonder if that was where his disdain for blood originated from.

It was almost relieving for Vasile to glance back at Arthur at this point and find him flustered just like he'd wanted to. Grin slowly returning, the Romanian welcomed the change in topic with open (metaphorical) arms and a slight chuckle. Unfortunately, the other's moment of hesitation lasted but a moment, as the prospect of a fight seemed to be very successful in garnering the man's full attention. As one would expect from a man with such history of war and bloodshed, huh. He even admitted to having used magic to aid him with Spain in the past - a fact that Arthur apparently saw the need to try and explain away for some reason. Vasile saw no point in that. He hardly considered the use of magic unfair, and he decided to voice it.

"That's a funny way to think about it," he spoke with honesty, shoulders raised in a shrug. "About using your powers, I mean. Why would they ever be unfair? You said it yourself- they're a part of you. So... Aren't you just holding back if you don't use them?"

Vasile crossed his arms, one finger finding its way to tap at his chin in though. "Isn't that just like a man, born particularly tall and muscular, staying his hand in every fight out of the fear that his blows might be too powerful? Is that truly 'fair'? Truly honourable? Or just... truly stupid?"

Maybe it was just because England had never found himself in a situation quite like he had with the Ottomans, but Vasile couldn't fathom the logic behind the Brit's words.In a war, you did what you needed to win, right? Particularly so if you were defending an entire nation of people; your people, no less There was fighting with honour, and then there was dying a dog's death because you refused to use all your resources to their fullest.

A hand suddenly pressing against his chest brought Vasile back from his thoughts, and it was then that the European noticed he'd never stepped away from the Brit after his initial step forward. Oh, woopsy. He had barely noticed - while the Englishman seemed to have been struggling with the seemingly uncomfortable situation for a while now. Vasile found that utterly amusing, but he straightened his back and took that one decisive step away from the other regardless. For now, anyway. He had plenty of time to step right back up against him come the time for their little mock duel.

Speaking of...

"I'm older and stronger than you. Don't be daft. You might regret it if you challenge me in combat even if it's just for a lark. My impression is that you're an intelligent young man. It would be a shame to leave you broken and embarrassed on the floor of this corridor. I wouldn't want to make you dislike me already."

Vasile didn't even bother to try and hide the absolute excitement he felt rise in the back of his mind at those words. There was nothing he quite enjoyed like friendly banter such as this. A battle of wits, if you willed.

"Oh? That so?" He teased, lips curled and eyes focused. "How considerate of you to worry about my feelings like that. Really, appreciate it, but..." Vasile took that step back forward again now, and this time without an ounce of hesitation - or consideration for one's personal bubble. Chest almost pressed against chest, the Romanian left the other with little space to breathe as he brought a hand to his side and cocked his head. Part of him was being genuinely cocky, part of him was just having fun seeing where behaviour like this would lead him - which hopefully was that mock battle he so longed for. He could respect the Brit's age and the skill that most likely came with it, but hell would freeze before he'd let that deter him from his goal of having fun - or before he'd admit thinking so highly of the other. No, if Arthur wanted to know what he really thought, he'd need to dig up the truth. What fun would there be to an interaction otherwise?

"Being older only means you've been around for more years than I have."

Vasile leaned forward once more, this time close enough to feel his blond strands of hair falling on the older man's forehead. "It doesn't denote skill or..." His words came out as nothing but a sly whisper: "Experience of any kind, you know."

He raised a brow, red staring relentlessly into emerald. "Unless of course, you'd like to refuse because you're afraid? 'Cause I can respect that. Old bones not being what they used to and all~"

[England]

"That's a funny way to think about it. About using your powers, I mean. Why would they ever be unfair? You said it yourself- they're a part of you. So... Aren't you just holding back if you don't use them? Isn't that just like a man, born particularly tall and muscular, staying his hand in every fight out of the fear that his blows might be too powerful? Is that truly 'fair'? Truly honourable? Or just... truly stupid?"

Arthur stared at Vasile in puzzlement. Tried to follow the Romanian's logic. Yes, it was true that in terms of combat, using every available resource was the wiser choice. How was he going to articulate his reservations about his magic to someone that clearly didn't feel so conservative over its use? He let his eyes drift aside, partly due to the lingering discomfort of having Vasile mingled so much in his personal space. "It's not like that. Not really. Just because I possess a unique power in my arsenal doesn't mean I ought to use it willy-nilly. For one, it's never wise to show your full hand to an enemy. Secondly, having such a gift to use that most men don't understand might put me in the position of being feared. Who wants that?"

Since his childhood, Arthur had known how much these gifts set him apart from others. The Druids of his youth had warned him that his magic was beyond the understanding of common men. A mystery that would drive people to distrust, fear, even anger towards him. Arthur had witnessed this for himself with the massacre of those Druids at the sword points of Roman soldiers. Magic became a taboo; fashionable only as parlour tricks or magician's spectacle to the masses, safe so long as it could be explained away in a process of science blended with illusion.

People always favoured a miracle until they couldn't find the strings attached. In the absence of logical explanation there was always inevitably scorn. He'd always practiced discreetly, hiding it away like a shameful secret, and even during the heyday of his Victorian years when the macabre and mysticism were in vogue, Arthur never let on that he was capable of the real thing. His peers already suspected that the Englishman was crackers. Speaking with the dead or carrying on conversations with the Unseen likely didn't help their perceptions of him. The danger of it all was how invested Arthur was in the opinions of others in regards to himself. All stemming from a desperation in his youth for love and acceptance, with a lack of fulfillment in either.

"It's the habit of combat, you see. Escalation is the business of war. You bring a knife, so I bring a gun. You bring a cannon, so I bring a tank. You bring a bomb, so I bring a nuclear one, and the entire world gets left in ruin in the wake. Were I to use my magic in combat then my enemies would find a way to counter with an even greater, frightening threat. Warfare is out of control enough as it is these days." Arthur explained, shaking his head.

His effort to bar Vasile away from his body wasn't panning out. In fact, as he answered the Romanian's challenge, the man just got even closer. He might have set fire to the environment around them with as hot as his face felt with a closeness that under any other circumstance might have felt intimate. Not that Arthur was going to back down from it. Vasile's refusal to give him any room only prodded his pride further.

Green did not waver from red as Arthur puckered his lips and blew the Romanian's hair away from where it was tickling his forehead. Cocky upstarts were nothing new to him, especially considering the fact that he had managed to raise the Supreme Cocky Upstart of the World, America. One of the Englishman's thick eyebrows lifted when Vasile mentioned experience, the corner of his mouth following suit as it quirked up into a smirk. "You couldn't hope to have half as much experience as I do. In any aspect. Apparently you need a proper lesson in how to respect your elders."

His hands both lifted together this time, applying a strong shove to the Romanian's mid-section. Arthur wasn't one for fisticuffs, and frankly this situation seemed more for fun than for violence. Still, he wanted enough space to separate the flavour of his power from Vasile's, to gather that focus inwards of his arcane energies. The Englishman rolled his head on his shoulders until his neck popped.

Arthur's power was gathering. Feeding off the negative threads of residual energy in the space around them, piecing together into a channeled network of potency. It had been a very long time since he'd been allowed to cut loose like this; let his hair down, so to speak. He was already assessing Vasile on another level, giving the Romanian a sense of what he was getting into by the strong ripples that were radiating behind the steady focus of green eyes.

"To prove what a nice chap I am, I'll even let you have the honour of going first. Let's see what you've got, youngling."

[Romania]

The more Vasile listened to the Brit's words, the clearer it became that their views were drastically different, and no amount of debate was likely going to change that. Not that the Romanian minded, really - he actually found himself rather enjoying the back and forth of views and priorities. It was refreshing to have your mind occupied by something else than survival and fear, even it was for only a brief moment. That, and in the first place, he'd always been interested in psychology and the logic behind people's actions.

It was fascinating how two people, two nations who grew up on the same small continent could have such opposite stances, and it made Vasile jump straight into wondering why. He was fairly certain that history played a rather huge role, like he'd figured for a while now. They came from two very different backgrounds of servitude and conquering respectively, so of course their priorities would not comparable. Then, what else factored? Age? Personality? Likely a lot of things he wasn't about to analyze right now.

"Hm, I guess I see your point," Vasile admitted with a knowing nod, one hand on his hip. "I just... can't really agree with it. Even if you don't bring a gun to a swordfight, your opponent will. Even if you don't drop a bomb on them, they will build a nuclear one anyway. If the world was ideal and you could trust everyone to think the way you do, yes, your view'd be honorable and praiseworthy. Right now, you're trying to play fair in an unfair world. And it won't end well for you."

Vasile knew; he'd been there and done that. Even so, he felt like he could truly understand where the other was coming from, a little. Arthur was powerful, and there was no point in denying that he'd achieved more and affected the world far deeper than he ever had. He'd had more responsibility. To someone like that, knowing when to stay your hand and keep balance might be important. To someone strong, not using all your strength might have sounded reasonable. Why waste your energy if you can acquire a win with less? But Vasile, well, he was different.

He had had to retort to dirty tactics more often than he could remember, just to stay standing, to stay existing. There was no way he could ever truly grasp the other man's logic. There was no way he would refuse to use every resource he had. There was no way he would think about the good of the entire world, when there were problems right under his nose he could easily solve. He couldn't see the big picture. He had no need to.

Huh, he was starting to sound more and more selfish by the minute, wasn't he?

A smirk forming on Arthur's face brought Vasile away from their previous topic and back to the concept of a fight here and now.

"You couldn't hope to have half as much experience as I do. In any aspect. Apparently you need a proper lesson in how to respect your elders."

At those words, Vasile immediately returned the older man's smirk. That's exactly what he wanted to see; determination, pride, confidence one should expect from such an old and influential nation. Truly, even if Vasile's words seemed boisterous, and although he spoke lightly of the other's experience and age, acting like it was no big deal, in all honesty he did respect the other quite a bit - he just wasn't willing to show it willy-nilly. The Brit would need to earn any compliments he'd be about to offer.

The Romanian took a voluntary step backwards with a small wince at the blow to his chest. He took a while to gather back the air that had escaped his lungs, coughing into the darkness that surrounded them before speaking up with newly found oxygen.

"Oww, how violent," he complained with an obviously fake pout that quickly melted into a grin, one gloved hand rubbing the area of impact. Physical strength was probably not the man's strongest suite, but he did have to admit that the blow had been stronger than he'd expected still - especially since he couldn't really claim to be all that muscular himself. He wondered which of them would win in a pure fistfight? It made him curious, but not to the point he'd wanted to try it out. Mindless brawls were not his style, and he suspected the Englishman shared his sentiments.

"To prove what a nice chap I am, I'll even let you have the honour of going first. Let's see what you've got, youngling."

"Well, don't I feel just honoured," Vasile mocked, letting his hands fall from his chest to his sides. Honour, my ass. It did not take a master of combat to know that defense was the best start to a fight. Not only did it give you an opportunity to assess your opponent's skills before they had any idea of yours, it was a perfect set up for a counter attack. The reckless were always the first to fall, he'd found - even if he sometimes fell into that category, himself.

"But okay," he continued still, body tense and eyes focused as he sensed the Englishman's overflowing power gathering like a dark cloud about to loom over him before the lighting struck. His own powers swirled as well, tongue brushing across his lips to keep his mouth from drying up before moments before he'd begin his summoning. He was excited and he was anxious, and he loved how the mix of those two somehow energized his tire form. He couldn't help but wonder if Arthur felt the same.

Regardless, hiding the pressure Vasile felt from the other's powers underneath a carefree shrug, he lowered his back. "If you really need that extra minute of rest, gramps, I'll amuse you."

And with that, Vasile's English melted into a completely other tongue, words flowing in rapid succession and energy gathering around his feet and onto the floor below, ready to birth a creature to fight by his side, hopefully before Artthur could interfere too severely. With his powers limited by the Manor, there wasn't much else Vasile could do with his magic as far as combat went, since his charm creation was more geared towards monsters than men.

Thinking about it now, it sounded kind of pathetic. Maybe he'd bitten off more than he could chew, after all.

But hell if he was ever going to admit it.

[England]

If Vasile thought he was violent from that physical shove then the Romanian had a surprise in store for him. Arthur watched the younger nation with a calculating glint on the surface of steady green eyes. It was indeed revitalizing to him to feel the threads of Vasile's power weaving, brushing near his own, and those tendrils of energy might have crackled like sparks of electricity if it had been visible. Hearing those fluid, rapid words sounding in a language he didn't understand, the Englishman grinned.

Vasile had practically given him permission to use underhanded tactics. That lecture about not using his power against others, implying that he was handicapping himself -- well. Just because Arthur implied to the Romanian that he practiced fair play in matters of combat didn't mean it was the full truth. England conducted himself with a gentlemanly demeanour, yes. Apparently it had slipped the Romanian's mind that his well-mannered exterior housed the same heart and mind of a former empire and savvy pirate. Deception, trickery, those were just part of his nature.

He had given the Romanian just enough time to believe that he was going to actually intending to allow him a turn. Arthur wasn't a man that stood idle to take shots from others. He never had any intention of permitting Vasile to strike out at him despite those polite words. Their "game" began the moment Vasile had suggested it, and all those words from Arthur since had been manipulating the situation right to this very outcome.

His gathered power went lashing out at the Romanian mid-summons. That dark, looming cloud pushed out ahead of the silent Englishman to lance through the air between them, a cresting wave of power that went crashing with heavy force against whatever shields of protection Vasile had. Arthur didn't use his full level of power for it. This was just a means to tease the younger magic user for having the gall to lecture him; teaching Vasile a lesson for thinking that someone like Arthur was above dishonesty to achieve a victory.  Arthur's power, in its raw form like this, was quite a potent force.  The energy was of a pure nature in its origin, yet if Vasile's senses were as attuned as the Englishman's in the flavour of magic, then he'd definitely detect the thread of darkness that was imbedded in it.  There was no telling if it was an effect of the Manor's influence corrupting his power or if it had always been so.  Arthur tried not to dwell on figuring it out.  Power was power, even if it was tainted.

Didn't the man know anything about his history? Arthur's grin held in place, challenging Vasile as he drawled sardonically, "Has no one ever warned you about how risky it is to challenge the likes of England? My dear lad, I really hope you have something good coming to your aid, or else this fight is going to be over before it's even begun. Don't disappoint me after all that boasting."