Demetrio Fortuna
Fresh Meat
Heteroflexable.
22.
Played by Silv.
Offline.
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Post by Portugal on Dec 31, 2014 2:44:17 GMT -6
This situation was interesting to him. Never in his life had he thought he would be in a situation quite like this. Throughout the centuries, he had been in life or death battles with friends and enemies and even family, fighting for the right to live and rule independently of others and keep his own people free. Looking to his two companions who had traveled to the roof with him, he honestly was glad he got put with these two, even if it could be awkward with them.
First he looked to England, sometimes called Great Britain, but mostly to his friends, Arthur. He looked a little worse for wear, but he always had done his best to look presentable and like nothing could hurt him. It still seemed that Arthur had that about him, the need to seem as if nothing could hurt him even if he was damaged inside Demetrio had a long standing alliance with him, had given him access to his ports during the last World War, and had helped the effort as much as he could. The only time there friendship and alliance had ever been strained was after he was taken under Spanish control. He hated that time, hated every second of it. His people were forced to become enemies to their once trusted allies. Arthur had even come through to help fright the Spanish that had taken part of his land during this age. Sighing as he came back to the present, he could only be thankful that this place hadn’t turned Arthur against him. Honestly it had been expected, turning your allies into enemy’s and your enemies into worse, but he was at least content.
Turning his gaze over to the blond in the group, he looked him over too. The blond was well, he had seen him look worse, had seen him look better. Right now, the man that usually represented the country of France looked… was he singed? His clothes looked like they had traces of ashes and his hair seemed a bit shorter than the last time Demetrio saw him. Was he imagining things, or did something happen to the man? He wasn’t about to ask, if Francis wanted people to know he would tell him. His relationship with the blond man was interesting really, he had been a power that could ease Antonio off of him when they were the Iberian union, but sometimes, he helped Antonio against him, helped keep Portugal under Spain’s rule. Really he shouldn’t be surprised. All nations at one time or another were betrayers and could be the worst enemy anyone could face.
Turning back to look into the sky as he sat down on the tiles, one digging into his leg, he sighed and scratched the back of this head. He couldn’t remember whose idea this had been to head to the roof to find this… Departed, whatever it was, but it was a good a place as any. Taking a deep breath, he pulled some of his hair over his face and looked at it. He needed a trim. It was getting to long for his personal liking. He liked his hair in a ponytail, but now it would be down to his mid back if it kept going instead of his shoulders. Not that his hair would attract this Departed, he didn’t know what would. Taking it down out of the tie, he shook it out and slipped it over his wrist.
“Does anyone know how to get the Departed’s attention? Or what we need to do to get a contract with it? I’d like to get this over with before my nervosa(nerves) drives me up a wall.”
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Post by Deleted on Jan 10, 2015 20:31:55 GMT -6
It would have provided him an ounce of satisfaction to be rid of the written note. Rip it, toss it over a shoulder, let its morbid calligraphy smear maroon upon old, abused floorboards. The meager little act of defiance would have shown just what he thought of the manor's tiresome games, but the words that were written this time wove together such compelling hope and risky relief that, in the end, the note was tucked back into a pocket and there arrived Francis with two fellow nations on the roof.
He supposed it was the first time he had seen Demetrio's face in Baudeau. It was ever calming to see more and more familiar faces around, if only it hadn't forced Francis to see that there were more allies trapped here than he might wish to realize. At this point, national relations didn't matter. Everyone was miserable, beaten, and set on one goal.
Seeing that Arthur had been roped in with them as well, he felt the hand of fate rest once more upon his shoulder. Each of their previous reunions had brought those feelings of hope and relief upon Francis in small ocean waves, but this time around... those emotions might finally be too good to be true. The idea of escape was most coveted and a word most melodic to the nations' ears -- but none should be foolish enough to believe that this last event would run smoothly. Francis wished he had an inkling of optimism left in him, for then might he believe that he and the Englishman would actually make it without another separation of some sort.
Still, their chance of making it out alive and together would serve as proper motivation, wouldn't it? Yes, perhaps once they knew exactly what they were doing...
Gracing Francis's lips was a faux smile, not unlike a Russian friend he knew so well. A scoff preceded his sardonic response to the Portuguese's question, signaling his distaste for speaking of the manor's beasts at all. "Je ne sais pas. Die? Fall off of the roof? Sustain horrid injuries? We must be nearly succeeding by now." Although most monsters maintained similar levels of sadism, it was their ways of showcasing it that made each one unique. The Departed was not one that the Frenchman could precisely pinpoint.
He might bitterly say that he has been a magnet for fire-type savages, anyway. At least one had left their mark on him, though no longer did Francis care to take note of what tolls had been taken on his attire. His appearance was too abysmal for admiration (an exaggeration in his mind, probably), but that was all the more reason to want to triumph over the horrid place and its inhabitants. Heat rash had left unsightly blotches of red upon a fair face, though the cool outdoor air should aid in clearing that away. What also helped null the man's mind was the bout of wine he had drunk not too long ago with Feliciano. (How long ago, exactly? Mm... that was a blur. The memory was numb. He knew, at least, that he had not consumed enough to become drunk.)
His squinted gaze, too, turned itself to the sky, watching as an ensemble of stars winked upon him. Even the beauty above could not cleanse the grim ugliness of Baudeau's many horrors. After a moment, he decided it wouldn't hurt to attempt a more serious answer this time. "Don't they all like to show up when they feel we aren't in enough danger for their liking? Or maybe the Departed is a special bastard who needs his name chanted." If there was anyone here who was capable of summoning (with an 80% chance of mucking it up), well... Arthur was next in line to offer his suggestion. Worn blue eyes had already proven fond of glimpsing in his direction.
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Arthur Kirkland
Administrator
23.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by England on Jan 12, 2015 0:58:50 GMT -6
Standing slightly apart from the pair of Nations remaining in this space with him, Arthur appeared outwardly oblivious to their words. That note had him absorbed. Green eyes stared down upon the document where it was opened up in the grip of gloved hands -- the leather worn practically threadbare in places. He'd arrived here as a polished policeman, all crisp edges and meticulous buttons. Given the comparison between then and this point, after a lengthy path of abuses, trials, and fighting for his life, the Englishman better resembled a pauper for the tattered condition of his costume. Even the hat upon his head was long gone. Lost somewhere along the way. Didn't matter. He couldn't recall the location where it had fallen. Also lacked the energy to track it down. So what if it left his hair exposed, tangled and spike and matted with all manner of things best left unexplained? Both of these men had seen him in this condition before plenty of times.
Arthur finally folded the letter shut. He could smell the blood of the letters; coppery essence. Powerful. Blood was an intensely strong means to seal any contract. It was the elixir of twin forces; life and death. The symbolism was elementary -- life and death being eternal forces, and blood being merely the conduit to that core. All quite permanent. And now they were intended to bind a contract with a demonic creature. Even if it did secure them a passage out of the Manor, what would prevent The Departed from abusing the contract beyond? Pacts with spirits were ever so tricky. Arthur knew better than to take it lightly.
His face rose from the shadows the inclined angle had cast over it. Familiar was the expression. Composed, with a carefully neutral set to his features. Chin lifted determinedly. That the Englishman already intended to see this through was no question. There were other people's fate at stake here. If their trio failed to obtain their portion of the assignment, then the efforts of those others would be in vain. Arthur wasn't going to give anyone the opportunity to lord such a failure over his head. Only his eyes betrayed the truth of him; that he was exhausted, far too worn for this type of quest. That tiredness was already being burnt away by the spark of that iron will which fueled him, a furnace constructed purely from stubbornness.
"I doubt we'll have to do anything so dramatic as all that. We've bled and suffered for this place enough. I for one have no intention of humouring the evil of this house any longer." He stated, voice low yet the lilt of his accent caused it to naturally resonate in the empty space around them. Arthur tucked the folded note into an interior pocket of his jacket and sent both sets of fingers passing through his hair to try smoothing it into better order. Control. All he required was a sense of control. Here in the company of these two men, he felt he had plenty of it. These were faces that he trusted.
Arthur's eyes swept over to meet the Frenchman's. Reason enough right there to see this through. They had met enough times in the Manor before the intervention of forces to wrench them separated again, and talked about happier moments. If there existed a genuine chance to escape from this miserable stasis, if there existed a chance for the future, well. It was worth a shot. He allowed himself a momentary indulgence of letting his gaze turn warm, soft upon the other man, before they went melancholy with silent apology.
Turning away from both of the other Nations, Arthur's voice increased its volume to call out to the air around them. "We do not need to go far because you're already here, aren't you? Listening in upon us talking. I sense you, demon. You're the one that set us upon this quest and you choose now to hide? Show yourself! We have business to deal in."
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Post by The Departed on Jan 20, 2015 0:22:39 GMT -6
The Nations had begun to scatter themselves across the Manor. They were a trusting group, or a hopeful one. Either way it didn't matter much to the likes of The Departed. If they managed to break the spell binding him to the property then that's all that really mattered. Whatever pain or suffering they encountered on their way to doing so -- well. Human beings seemed to be in love with the idea of putting themselves through both on a regular basis. Given all that he had heard or witnessed of them throughout the history of his existence before circumstances had captured him here in this place.
Being summoned out by one of them now was a treat. He'd been waiting for this. Biding his time just beyond their ability to see him. The Departed had been waiting in a state of boredom for one of them to call him out. At least the blond magic user didn't leave him disappointed. Once they got that out of the way, The Departed peeled himself out of the shadows that surrounded the three men as he materialized for their eyes. He wasn't anything like the more monstrous creatures that resided here.
Unlike others, The Departed was beautiful. Painfully so. A demonic entity shaped to be beautiful, flawless to the eyes of mortals. His face (for it was a shade more masculine than androgynous) was already shaping into a serene smile edged by a hint of darkness. He reached up immediately to push waves of hair out of his face so that its weight could be tossed off his shoulders, primping himself vainly for this formal meeting with this particular trio. As they became accustomed to seeing him, the demon's body bent itself into a graceful bow, arm sweeping out, The Departed's sleeve billowing out like a spill of moving shadows. Mocking them? Perhaps. While it was his doing that might take them to freedom he was still very much evil in nature.
"Finally, you call upon me. I thought you three might be standing there all night long before any of you thought to do so. I am The Departed. And you are seeking to escape this realm of Hell on Earth, yes?"
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Demetrio Fortuna
Fresh Meat
Heteroflexable.
22.
Played by Silv.
Offline.
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Post by Portugal on Jan 21, 2015 20:10:49 GMT -6
“Je ne sais pas. Die? Fall off of the roof? Sustain horrid injuries? We must be nearly succeeding by now."
Demetrio couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling, even if he tried. It was so like the Frenchman to make a comment like that. He could see it from just looking at his two companions. What had this place done to them, what had it done to make the Frenchman more sarcastic than usual? What had it done to Englishman to make him dig within himself to find what looked like the last spark of will. What had made them both these…. He didn’t quite know the word he was thinking of, but they were both different.
"Don't they all like to show up when they feel we aren't in enough danger for their liking? Or maybe the Departed is a special bastard who needs his name chanted."
Quirking an eyebrow up at those words, an idea he had been dreading about thinking had been confirmed. They had faced horrible things here, and it had damaged them. Looking down at his own hands, he could only imagine what he’d do if faced with such a thing. Would he survive as these two had? Or would he succumb to the creatures and perish here, here where no one would know what had become of him. Really, how many of his fellow nations had met the same fate? Frowning with the thought, he looked up at his two comrades again. If some sacrifice had to be made to ensure everyone’s survival, he’d do it. After all, Antonio could take control of Portugal, he’d done it before and he’d grown since then. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, he’d do alright ruling both countries. France and England… they had no one else to take over for them, they were all their Nations had and they were needed. In the long run of things, Demetrio knew he was expendable, but it didn’t bother him; it didn’t make him depressed to admit this. Having such a nature of his own, sad things never bothered him, he knew how to look on the slightly less dark side of the situation.
"I doubt we'll have to do anything so dramatic as all that. We've bled and suffered for this place enough. I for one have no intention of humouring the evil of this house any longer.”
“I sense you have a plan Arthur… whatever you have up your sleeve, count me in.”
"We do not need to go far because you're already here, aren't you? Listening in upon us talking. I sense you, demon. You're the one that set us upon this quest and you choose now to hide? Show yourself! We have business to deal in."
And with those words said, something started to appear. It was as if he removed the cover of invisibility as easily as shedding a cloak. This man… well… creature… was handsome. He was beyond handsome. From the second his face was viewable, Demetrio felt himself starting to react to him. His blood warmed in his veins and his face flushed. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, it was possible to see him swallow harshly. Part of his mind knew that his was ridiculous, but his body didn’t care. Something within him had responded to this man and he was fighting the urge to shudder, especially when the Departed spoke with his silky voice that danced its marry way along his spine to settle deep in his stomach.
“Yes, but we need a contract with you.”
He wanted to throw himself to the mercy of this man, and the only thing stopping him was that he was a demon and now was not the time for those sort of actions.Though he hoped he didn't give himself away with the hesitance in his voice, as if he were holding himself back.
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