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Post by Deleted on Dec 26, 2014 4:23:05 GMT -6
Costume: Templar Knight Weapon: Sword Flower: Yellow Mimosa Deaths: 0
| “…end your captivity here.”
Marcello turned the little slip of paper over in his hand again and again, his gaze narrowed at the bleeding words on its tattered surface.
Even after the meeting in the ballroom, he was terribly unsure about this. Yes, it was a chance—a chance to escape at last, perhaps, but at the same time, the mansion could be luring them into a game again. Hadn’t the note stated that it had been penned by a demon after all? If there was anything Marcello was sure of, it was that demons were not to be trusted—they never meant well regardless of what they promised and only a full would take their word at face value. But perhaps that’s what he had suddenly become since he was following this being’s instructions? No, no... no he was not a fool—he knew to keep his wits about him and to not trust it completely. That’s what the manor itself had taught him and he was not nearly as stupid as some may think him to be; he wouldn’t simply let his experiences here be forgotten just because a slip of mysterious paper appeared in his pocket and offered him salvation. There was always a catch with these sorts of things—would he have to kill someone to leave? Would he have to denounce someone, or would he have to sacrifice a part of himself? For all he knew, this was just some twisted way of getting his and the others’ hopes up before slamming another door shut in their face. Still, he had to try—he’d not completely lost hope yet, and he definitely had not lost the will to live (and thank God he was able to maintain that after all the horrors this place had thrown at him)!
“…united makes you stronger… take stock in your peers.”
The words echoed with a strangely familiar voice when he read it over a third and a fourth time.
"…There is strength in numbers…. …we should do our best to stay together.”
Marcello’s jaw clenched as his hand balled into a fist, and he only ceased the action when he heard the paper begin to crumple up under his fingers. He remembered now exactly how similar those words were to what Lovi had told him when he first came to the manor and just how true they rang. Surely he had been snatched way time and time again from his friends and family and thrust back into the bowels of the darkness that lurked around and consumed the manor in its entirety. Still, for those moments he had been reunited with his old friends, there was a feeling of unity and strength. Just seeing them from time to time had probably helped Marco keep his head up and keep trekking onward. After all, had he been blinded to the completely, then his hope and will would definitely have dwindled and he would have thought them all dead or that he was completely and entirely alone.
The ballroom meeting had shown him contrary, however. He was not alone; he and a number of others were still fighting and they were fighting together this time. However, the group in the ballroom upset him somewhat. There were people missing… and people that SHOULDN’T have been there--or at least his logic told him that they didn't belong there.
His Micronation friends were among the absentees, of course, but he was still unsure if they had been invited into the manor to begin with. Then again everything was just so …murky. He could hardly recall which memories of his were real and which ones were formed under the influence of the manor. Regardless, he didn’t see them, and it made his stomach churn a bit. He Also hadn’t seen Lovino—or perhaps he was running late? That would be like Lovi, running late or simply avoiding meetings if he didn’t have to go. “Knowing him, he probably just didn’t trust it at all and didn’t want to take the chance…” Marcello’s face sank into a mild frown at another thought. “Or he was immobilized—“ he tried to purge the notion from his mind, but it remained there—it was a very real chance that Italia Romano had finally fallen. Though, at the same time…
“Feliciano was there…”
Marcello froze for a moment at the gates and gazed upon the vast number of graves beyond them. He’d been here at least once—no…twice? Regardless of his visitation count, he had been here before, and the image of his brother’s grave was burned into his mind. By all logic, Feliciano should still have been dead; he should not have been at the Ballroom with the others and he should not have been nearly as corporeal as he seemed. Several times during the assembly, Marco found himself staring over at the Northern Italian and had almost reached out to touch him to be sure, but he was intercepted by moving bodies or his own hesitations each time. Still…he didn’t look like a ghost. A bit worse for the wear, yes, but he didn’t seem like he was still dead.
His brows furrowed in thought. “Unless that means…we need not really fear death here? We…return somehow if only to become the toys of the mansion once again?" Again, he shook his head. He would still very much like to remain alive and not ever have to face the pain of death—and yes, he was quite certain there would be pain if his life was taken in this unholy place.
The Seborgan folded the letter back up and tucked it into his tunic as he reached out to rest a hand on the gate of the graveyard. He cut his eyes over to his partner for this mission. He wondered what the Spaniard was thinking or exactly how this alliance was going to work out. After all, unlike his other brothers, he didn’t have much of a distinct history with Antonio and the two hadn’t exactly interacted much –regardless, he still considered Spain a friend. The only thing he wasn’t certain about was how the other’s stay had affected him. Had he lost that spark that always seemed to twinkle in his deep emerald eyes? Had he forgotten how to laugh so cheerfully like he was apt to do around others? Had he, like some others, become desensitized or driven to the brink of insanity and paranoia? Despite their trek from the Ballroom to the Graveyard, Marcello couldn’t quite tell. After all, they had both either been lost in their own thoughts and didn’t hear when the other spoke, or were more concerned with being sneaking about so they wouldn’t attract unwanted attention, i.e. the monsters—they had to know something was up right? They had to be watching—watching as the nations entered and exited the Ballroom… It would have been foolish to believe such a conglomeration had escaped their attention completely.
Now he was starting to become paranoid, wasn’t he? “Get it together, Marcello—if this is really a way out, you don’t have to fret anymore… just take it as it comes like you always have. You have someone watching your back this time anyway.” That was a mild relief at least. Something of a murmur caught his attention, and though he hadn’t realized it until now, his free hand was clenched firmly around the pommel of his sword. Releasing it slowly, he blinked over at Antonio, forcing a bit more of a smile to his face—thankfully, he was still capable of at least doing that, but it seemed that, compared to the rest of the nations, he’d been strangely lucky enough to avoid most tragedies—that or his mind had somehow blocked the most traumatic experiences of his stay from memory… allowing him to keep hold of the delusion that he was safer than he thought he was.
“Did-a you say something, Tonio?” he finally addressed his partner, waiting for a moment before speaking again. “We-a should probably start looking, sci? By-a the looks of it, I-a doubt that the-a graves we’re looking for will-a.. um.. have-a much differentiation from-a the others,” he gave a bit of a dry laugh, “Not-a like they’ve made things easy on-a us before anyway.”
He pushed lightly at the gate and took his first step onto ‘hallowed’ ground. Normally, he wouldn’t have taken such initiative, but dammit, he was determined and he wanted out of this hellhole! It’s not like he was actually charging headlong into battle quite yet anyway—he was just taking a small step forward. Regardless, it needed to be done and he’d told himself he’d try to make sure any and all of his friends made it out with him—this was simply part of reaching that goal. Curse him if he decided to back out of it now or decide it was too much effort—especially with his own life and others on the line.
“Um... Do-a you know what kind of Reapers they are exactly? I-I-a mean…,” he paused for a moment, brows furrowed in mild concern as he spoke. “Are-a they crop worker ‘reapers’ or-a like Grim Reaper ‘reapers’?”
“Why would they have graves anyway?” he mused silently, keeping his gaze on Tonio for a moment before taking in the rest of the graveyard. “Death—the Grim Reaper—doesn’t exactly die, it was never mortal…so maybe it’s not that sort of reaper--unless the graves are a cover or a fake or something,” he rationalized, returning his hand to the pommel of his sword just in case anything tried to drop in unexpectedly. If the manor had taught him anything, it was that if he wanted to survive, he needed to actually put that brain of his to good use, and to almost always remain cautious.
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OoC: Ok... Well... Apparently Marco has had a lot on his mind @_@ Forgive my lack of engagement until the very bottom! Spain, it's all you now. Template by Iso
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Antonio Fernández Carriedo
Fresh Meat
Pansexual.
Single.
25.
Played by Roma.
Offline.
"No se acuerda el cura de cuando fue sacristán"
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Post by Spain on Jan 7, 2015 17:15:34 GMT -6
Antonio was a religious man.
That alone should have been reason enough to tear the ominous letter to shreds upon receiving it and not give its contents a second thought afterwards. Because as simple a man as he might have been, he wasn't stupid when it came to spiritual matters. He knew full well the kind of tricks demons played on mortals' minds, the empty promises they offered and the pain and ridicule they left in their wake. He'd witnessed it, from both sides of the equation during his long years as a nation - and the years before, when he'd been nothing but a kid in hiding, trying to avoid becoming part of the slave trade going on with the Vikings. That was so horribly long ago that the memories he still held were blurry - and yet, they were decidedly unaltered by the years that had passed since. It was strange, but he figured that was just part of what it meant to be a nation; you remembered things. A lot of them.
Regardless, he'd been tempted and he'd done the tempting before during his time, back when he was so young and so drunk on power that he couldn't see his own corruption - or at the very least, he couldn't admit it back then. He knew how this worked. Sure, the contents of the letter they'd received had been promising - the Devil's whispers always were - but that was hardly a reason to blindly believe in them or, God forbid, obey them. He should have known better.
Alas, he'd went to the gathering in the ballroom as instructed, his bleeding finger a reminder of the contract he'd unwittingly agreed to due to his curiosity, and he'd remained there and listened until the end, his usual smile unbreached.
And now here he was, carrying out a mission given by those very same demons he claimed to detest. Why? He had no idea, but he did have theories. Perhaps it was the way they had outed themselves in the letter, openly calling themselves demons as opposed to trying to pretend to be messenger from above. Perhaps it was him seeing that most everyone else was there as well, all gathered after such a long time of separation, all trusting in one common goal. Or perhaps it was just desperation, plain and simple, as depressing a thought as it was. Either way, it hardly mattered now. Gilbert and Francis had been there. So had Arthur, Feliciano... Demetrio. Friends, rivals, old enemies and members of his family all believed in this chance to escape; who was he to rain on their parade? He was supposed to be the trusting, positive one. The world wasn't quite upside down enough for him to abandon that role.
He chuckled to himself, relaxing slightly.
Besiiides, it wasn't like things could get any worse, anyway. They'd been trapped so long they'd started to lose touch of time, place, and even their own persona. What could the Manor take from them anymore? Their life? Oh, it had already tried and if it truly wanted another go, well, he still carried his trusted axe and years' experience of using it. The Manor was welcome to give it another go; he needed the exercise anyway. He was ready, blood burning just from the thought. Risking his life for a chance to get out didn't worry him.
If something did actually worry him, it was the well being of Lovino and Aná Maria. He'd searched and searched, standing on his tiptoes and even jumping up a couple of times to see past the taller nations, but hadn't managed to locate either of the two among the nations gathered in the ballroom. Of course, those two weren't the only family members he worried for, but they were the only ones who he knew to have entered the Manor and not been present in the meeting. He hadn't seen the rest of the Latin countries during the opening ceremony of the event, and was fairly sure he hadn't seen them arrive late, either (he knew, because he'd been one of the people to arrive late. Fashionable fifteen minutes and all). But those two... He'd seen the Mexican in the kitchen only some time ago, and he'd seen Lovino before the Manor gulped them all up. He knew those two were around.
So why hadn't they shown up during the meeting?
The Spaniard's lips curled in thought. Hum.
Maybe they just didn't get the letter? Or just didn't open it? Or maybe they got lost? All of those made sense. There was no reason to think the worst had happened when there was no evidence whatsoever supporting it. Once they were done with this task and all returned with their findings, the two would most likely show up for the aftermath too. And if not, he'd go find them, no matter where they were. It was that easy.
And just like that, with years' worth of experience, Antonio managed to push away his worries. They didn't disappear, no, but they were tucked away deep enough to keep them from getting in the way of his mission. Which was... um, wait, what was it again? Something about graves? ... Ah! Right, they had to find The Reapers' graves and get dirt from it. Not exactly the most appealing task, but if it was somehow important, hey, someone had to do it. He just hoped this wasn't all a joke the demon was playing on them. Two of the more... ah, carefree nations tasked to find dirt, while the others searched for the actually important things? Ah well. He wasn't about to be found guilty of overthinking again.
Speaking of the nation that accompanied him, he'd been looking at the letter they received for a while now, clearly deep in thought. Was the smaller nation - um, Marcello, right? - alright? Would he be alright if they needed to fight? Antonio felt a bit ashamed to admit, but he didn't know much about the guy. He recalled a few instances when they'd briefly met (in the context of the Templar Knights, if he recalls) and he knew that their language shared similarities and that they both appreciated the simpler things in life, but that... was pretty much it. He wasn't the most perceptive person out there, he had to admit, and that went double when it came to micronations. Hm, he'd need to invite the guy over to his place once this was over and fix that.
"I'm sure you'd like the beach~," he hummed with a serene smile, the mere thought taking him to his happy place by the sea.
Only to be quickly pulled back by the other's voice.
"Did-a you say something, Tonio?”
"¿Eh? Ah, nothing, nothing!" It'd probably be best if they left the beach discussion for later, all things considered. He had to focus now. So he turned to Marcello, head tilted curiously as he listened the younger man speak. The notion of having to start their search confused the Spaniard for a second, before he realized that they were actually standing right at the graveyard's gates already, their long walk done and over with. Oh. He'd completely missed their arrival. He also completely missed why Marcello would be concerned over finding the graves.
"Well, they're graves. They should have names, ¿sí? We'll just look for ones that say "Reapers"!"
Hey, it had sounded like a good idea in his head, at least.
Luckily for him, he wasn't sure if the other nation heard his absurd suggestion, as he seemed to be preoccupied with pushing open the old, rusted gate that stood between them and the graveyard. And with a brief delay, Spain followed suit, quietly apologizing for disturbing the peace of whoever lay in rest there. If they were actually laying in rest; something told him the Manor didn't let its deceased off easily. It frustrated him.
Focus, Tonio.
Marcello was trying to make sense out of their situation, and he should probably contribute. And so he did, with a laugh and a wave of his hand as he walked further into the graveyard. "Ay, aren't you thinking on this a bit too much?" Either that, or he wasn't thinking enough. Either or. "Important places always have things around them to protect them, ¿sí? So if we just walk around, we're bound to run into some sort of a clue as to where the graves are!"
He nodded, confident, and took a few steps forward - or backwards, rather, considering he was still facing Marcello.
"And if these Reapers are so important, their graves must be all pretty and special too. Hmm, so we should just scout for graves that are different from the regular ones. Bigger, better, creepier, something like that~"
... Well, alright, those might not have been the most useful contributions ever, but they were something. He didn't really have any other answers to give right now.
Although he did have to admit that he would have preferred if the graves actually did read "The Reapers" for names. That would have been cool.
ooc: alright, this ended up more rambly than I intended too >> also yee, since Spain hasn't seen the Inhabitants, he doesn't make the reaper connection either. let the search begin!
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Post by Deleted on Jan 16, 2015 20:36:42 GMT -6
Costume: Templar Knight Weapon: Sword Flower: Yellow Mimosa Deaths: 0
| "¿Eh? Ah, nothing, nothing!"
A slight hum left his throat as he looked back over to the Spaniard, a smaller smile creeping over his face as he toyed with the pommel of his weapon, pushing against it to lift the blade up behind him just a bit. “If-a you say so, amîgo,” he offered an amused chuckle, thinking that he probably had said something…but it was either of little importance and thus not worth repeating, or that it was just something Antonio would rather not mention again for other reasons. Regardless, it didn’t matter all that much and Marco simply gave a single nod as the other continued.
“Um…Maybe? But-a I don’t think it’d be that easy,” Marco shrugged a bit and let his gaze drift again to the numerous graves before them. If anything, that’d be a lot of graves to check the names of and depending on their age, it was quite possible that the names had been worn off of the markers. “I’mma not so sure their names are ‘Reaper’… I-a mean it could be, but that-a seems really, really weird.” Especially since he’d never actually heard that used as a given or a surname before. Besides it was just too easy, as he’d said before, but maybe it was just that he thought it was too good to be true. All of this escape plan was seemingly just that. In truth, Marco, or part of him, was waiting for the tides to turn, but he sincerely hoped and prayed that wasn’t going to happen.
"Ay, aren't you thinking on this a bit too much?"
The Seborgan blinked a few times and remained silent, mouth slightly agape at such a statement. Was he? Really, he’d never ever been accused of thinking too much—not enough, yes, but never too much. Perhaps his stay at the manor had changed that now… Perhaps Marcello had become more concerned and had forced himself to become more conscientious and think before he leapt—it could very well cost him his life if he did not.
“Hahaaaaa…” the brunette’s eyes shut for a moment as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. A light shade of rose fell over his cheeks and his hand fell back to his side as he exhaled. Truthfully, it was a touch embarrassing to be called out on his over-thinking (if he was actually over-thinking)… it just seemed to prove that the Manor had got to him in one way or another. “You’re-a probably right though… if they’re so important, we-a should check for the biggest and best or-a whatever.”
He took a few steps forward, meeting with Tonio and patting him on the shoulder, trying to get him to turn so that they could walk side by side together. For a moment, Marco’s face brightened with an Idea and he opened his mouth as if he were to speak but he wisely closed his mouth and continued forward. “Dirt—the note specifically said dirt from a grave, Marcello. Mausoleums don’t have dirt…ah it woulda been easier to find if it was in one of those though.” It was wishful thinking, but a second notion popped into his mind just as swiftly.
“OH! Hey, Tonio! We-a should check the very back of the cemetery—that’s-a where the oldest graves are usually kept, sci? And probably where we’ll find what we’re looking for,” his peridot eyes glimmered with a sort of glee for providing that little tidbit. “If-a they were some of the first to live and work here, then it’d make sense they’d be among some of-a the first graves laid here and would be more to the back to leave room for-a whoever, right?” It made sense to him since that’s how most of the smaller cemeteries he knew of organized their ‘inhabitants’.
As Marcello marched onward with Antonio by his side, he kept his fingers lightly curled around the pommel of his blade and his eyes forward (so that he wouldn’t accidently spy Feliciano’s grave again), though he did increase his gait ever so slightly. The prospect of getting it done and getting back to the others was far more appealing than remaining in the graveyard alone with Antonio and God knows what else (not that he minded Antonio’s company of course, but he was not so keen on the idea of being stalked by monsters while he was out there with the Spaniard).
His brows furrowed, however, as a thick fog rolled in, churning about his ankles as they delved deeper into the cemetery. As if the setting wasn’t creepy enough, now it was just turning completely ominous and the echoing snap of a twig somewhere to the right only heightened the feeling of being watched. Marcello bit his tongue to keep from calling out and giving away their position, but he dared not linger in the same spot. With a look to Antonio and a jerk of his head to keep walking, he couldn’t keep himself from not looking around now—to ensure that nothing was about to jump out at them if anything. His heart slowly began to sink into the pit of his stomach. Undoubtedly, the beings of the manor had caught on to their actions already or the manor itself was taking action to impede them on their quest.
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OoC: FFfff we both have a case of the rambles and unknwoing muses. Marco still thinks the reapers are field workers or something, I'm certain XD I just hope I'm not making things seem too rushed;; Template by Iso
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Antonio Fernández Carriedo
Fresh Meat
Pansexual.
Single.
25.
Played by Roma.
Offline.
"No se acuerda el cura de cuando fue sacristán"
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Post by Spain on Feb 10, 2015 14:17:09 GMT -6
The Spaniard hadn't associated with the Seborgan as much as he had with the other two Italian brothers - that was much definitely a fact. But when Marcello's cheeks grew rosy and a somewhat awkward, adorable laugh passed past the boy's lips, Antonio couldn't help himself from letting show a dorky grin despite their predicament. Qué monoo~! Marcello was definitely related to Feliciano and Lovino, alright! He had that same, cute face and ador-
“You’re-a probably right though… if they’re so important, we-a should check for the biggest and best or-a whatever.” A pat landed on the Spaniard's shoulder, effectively bringing him back from his dreamy state right into the harsh reality of the present - even if his smile still persisted, wide as ever when his suggestion had received at least some support from the younger nation. Turning so that he was facing the appropriate way, Antonio began walking alongside Marcello, looking around the graveyard for... something that could prove useful for their quest. The silence grated him however, and truth be told, if the Seborgan hadn't piped up first, Antonio probably would have in a moment. It was good that Marcello was faster, though, as he apparently had something important to talk about; Antonio would have just commented on the weather or the like.
At his words, Antonio brought a hand to his chin, contemplating the words for a while. Oldest graves at the back of the cemetery... Reapers were probably old. Old, oldest place. The logic was sound as far as he was concerned, at least. It was definitely worth a shot. And, really, how could he not agree to the plan, when the other's eyes were practically burning with excitement over the idea?
"¡Qué listo!" He exclaimed, nodding his head as a sign of approval, hands talking as usual. "Y if we don't find the graves themselves, then at least we'll run into some clues for sure."
And, sure enough, the deeper into the graveyard they ventured, the higher the hairs at the back of the Spaniard's neck stood. He might have been dense when it came to reading emotions or intentions, but both spiritual matters and things relating to defending yourself against surprise attacks were a thing on their own. Something was weird. Something was watching them, and Antonio couldn't shake the feeling that the fog that slowly enveloped them wasn't entirely natural. It was almost a warning, he felt; stay away - turn back when you can. Well, this wouldn't be the first warning he'd ignored during his pursuits, and if he could help it, it certainly wouldn't be the last.
Although his expression didn't change the slightest, the Spaniard's stance as he walked sure did. His muscles tensed, one lazy hand slowly edging closer to the hilt of his axe in case he needed to grab it for protection, and every step he took was taken so that he could sidestep at any given moment. He wasn't good at solving riddles, but he wouldn't get caught off guard when it came to a brawl. A twig snapped and somewhere further ahead, the wind howled in an all too human-sounding manner. Well, that answered his question about the dead and them lying in rest, then; this place didn't give its inhabitants the sleep they deserved, after all.
And yet again, that thought infuriated him.
"This place sure doesn't like us, huh. So we're probably headed in the right direction~," He commented casually to hopefully help keep his companion at ease - and to help keep his own calm. While Marcello looked around to locate anything off around them, the Spaniard opted to listen instead. He did allow himself to focus onto the sights in his peripheral vision every now and again, but mostly he just looked ahead and smiled, as if the two of them were on a Sunday walk on the Costa del Sol - a place he would have given almost anything to be in at the moment, by the way. He missed the sun. The Manor was a gloomy, dark and cramped space and its grounds were hardly better, caught in what seemed to be a perpetual dusk. It was draining. Exhausting. He'd need to keep in mind where he saw the kitchen; he'd be sure to need it later. Food made things better.
While his thoughts wandered, the duo edged ever closer to the older parts of the cemetery, where the fog was the thickest and the atmosphere the heaviest. The graves littered around the place were difficult to make out due to the poor visibility, and age had clearly left its toll on the names the stones displayed; most of them were completely illegible. But that... that was okay. It's not like the names would help them any, anyway. Still, they did have to start from somewhere, so when a grave standing on slightly higher ground than many around it came into partial view, Antonio edged closer to see if it was at all special. Could this be the Reapers' grave? Wait-
"Uh..." Antonio suddenly mumbled, straightening himself and stepping away from the grave he'd inspected in favor of turning to his friend. "Mm, they said Reapers' graves, ¿sí? So it should be more than one grave we're looking for... and they'll probably look similar, or be near each other."
That... would make sense, right? It might have been something the Seborgan had realized a while ago already, but as usual the Spaniard wasn't the sharpest or the fastest tool in the shed, so he figured he'd think aloud just in case, anyway. If that was the case though, the grave he was inspecting wasn't it.
"More than one, more than one, más de una..."
And his gaze began to wander.
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ooc: yeah, I'm still technically on an universal hiatus I guess, but updating Spain's app and stuff gave me inspiration to finish this post. so. here we go? I'm sorry if it's too rambly again I tried orz
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