Untouchable
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Post by Finland (x) on Apr 26, 2012 23:56:55 GMT -6
WARNING: This may contain graphic content that may disturb sensitive readers. Reader discretion is advised. _____________________________________ The border between consciousness and unconsciousness was so blurred in Tino's head that he didn't even realize that he were still alive. His mind was dulled, thick with pain and overwhelming emotions from the past few days. Or were they months? He honestly didn't have the capacity to think that through at the moment. It was like his thoughts were moving through jelly. Stuck drowning in the useless limbo of consciousness that he was in.
A groan passed through the man's lips as he slowly began to come around. Honestly though, he wished he hadn't, if he could go back and stay unconscious and unaware. There was an amount of pain that had been there as he stirred, but the first thing that really hit him was the smell. Horrid, rotten and rancid. Tino immediately coughed, his body trying to expel the putrid scent that had made its way into his lungs. He couldn't. The more he gagged, the more he sucked in the toxic air. Gasping, Tino's eyes flew open.
He was... staring up. At an... opening? Tino blinked as his breath calmed, temporarily allowing the soiling scent to slip to the back of his mind. He squinted, trying to make out the details of the far away light. Wait... Was that... a bucket? And... a rope? An... apparatus? But wait... that was only supposed to... be at the top of a...
Tino's mind finally burst out of its sluggish state. Oh god! He was... at the bottom of a well. How did he get here? Was this why he was so sore? So achy? Had he fallen? Feeling like he did, Tino didn't think that the latter thought was that out there at the moment. The fall was enough to kill a man, so why hadn't he broken his neck? Where was the water? Tino looked down, before instantly turning his head and retching up whatever he had eaten in over the span of his entire life.
Bones. He was sitting in bones. Not just any bones either. Human shells. Half decrepit remains that had been hopelessly trapped in this hell pit. Tino leaped to his feet, pressing himself to the side of the slimy stone wall as he he clasped a hand over his mouth. He didn't want to, but he stared down, unable to distract himself from what he had been laying in for God knows how long.
The corpses were rotting, half devoured bodies of countless people. The smell suddenly became oh so evident as Tino threw his head to the side, choking on spit and bile that came up from his empty stomach. When he opened his eyes, his whites went wide as he stopped breathing.
He stared at a skull of some poor soul that had died perhaps a few weeks past. Her skin had melted away from her skull, rolling off in decaying chunks of rot and atrophied muscle. The eyes were gone, but not after they had sunk deep into the skull, leaving holes as black as night as a former reminder of the poor soul's last glimpse at freedom above before they passed on. Thick brown hair that may have once been beautiful was stained and matted, as clumps were still connected to the skull, but most of the mass had pooled round the former head. A flower that had wilted long ago was scattered on the pile, along with the remnants of what looked like an ear. But what bother Tino the most was the pink kimono dress and fans. This was...
Taiwan.
Tears spilled down Tino's cheeks as he couldn't keep from gagging and heaving up bile. He needed to get out of here. Turning away from the body, Tino to take a few steps away, cringing at the sickening way that his moccasins sunk into the rotting mass. Reaching up, he tried to find a grip. Something that he could pull himself up with. The well was too wide to try as press his legs and arms against. But... the walls were... slimy with something. Mold? Moisture? He was deep... he wouldn't doubt that this well once did hold water. Trying to use his fingernails, Tino scratched at the brick surfacing. There were no flaws in the masonry and the bricks were was to slippery to cling to.
Tino began to panic. He jumped, desperately raking his claws against the sides, only to be pulled down by gravity as his feet landed in a soggy mass. Screaming as he sunk into god knows what, the Nordic boy, screamed and shouted, throwing himself at the sides as his eyes and nose streamed. Sheer terror began to set in as Tino acted primitively, hollering and flinging himself this way and that until he wore himself out. Desperate, Tino tried to jump and kick off the wall, but he couldn't get enough power out of his takeoff on his mushy surface, resulting in him coming crashing back down, falling in the mess.
Tino screamed, but nothing came out. He kicked out his legs and propelled himself until his back slammed into a wall. He began hyperventilation between spitting up saliva, though his mouth was getting rather dry. People died down here. He could see another fallen body, slightly more aged and more like a skeleton, clawing at the sides. Others had died trying to climb out.
The sudden realization made Tino stop all together. He was.. he was going to die down here. He would join the mass of rot and cage the next poor soul that was unlucky enough to fall down here. Tino was unusually optimistic, but there was no hope here. Only despair. No one would come. He didn't know where this well was, nor did that mean that anyone would try and rescue him. How would they know? He was so far from the surface. A person would have to be leaning over the well to even hear him, and he doubted that any light would illuminate the bottom of the well from any lookers.
The abrupt understanding left Tino shaken. Numb. Hollow. He was going to die a slow, painful death. He'd probably die of dehydration first. That, or something else slow. He'd decay away like the others. Tino glanced across the well, just able to make out Taiwan's sunken eyes and body.
Tino laid his head in his arms and began to quietly weep. [/font]
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Post by Deleted on Apr 27, 2012 12:58:24 GMT -6
Time stilled and everything relative fell away and the man closed his eyes and braced himself for what was to come. Around him was nothing but air, cold windless air, with a chilling texture to his skin that made him shiver, but he only had a second or so to contemplate this before a jarring collision commenced at his feet. A shock of pain traveled upwards until it met his head, which slammed against the ground soon after his feet did. The peace of the fall had ended too quickly, and Norway found himself flat against damp grass and his breathing was heavy and his eyes were shut tight. He dared not move, for fear that the fall had succeeded in breaking at least one of his legs. Then again, the alternative was by far worse and at the howls above, Lukas opened his eye.
Twenty or so feet above him, loomed the open window of the second story window he had just leapt from, and stationed within the square of light, sat the dark creature whom he had narrowly escaped from. It had been a mere moments window of decision whether or not he should leap to his possible death or turn and fight for his against fang and claw; he had chosen the ironic leap of faith. True he had his sword and had the determination, but the coax of being away from the imprisoning presence of the Manor for the freedom of outdoors, aided him with his decision. Yet now, his reckless choice may have broken his legs.
Keeping his eye on the window, now empty, Lukas began with his fingers, than his hand, following by his arms and so forth until he had painfully turned onto his back and could wiggle all of his toes. “Takk gudene ... Jeg har ikke brutt noe.” Forgoing subtlety, his words came out hoarse, dry, and quiet and he risked laying there for a few more moments, staring up at thick, gray clouds hanging low in the sky; a heavy impermeable blanket covering the sun. Outside…. How long had he been in that cursed house? Ever as he tried, he could not find the front door, and with the endless halls and rooms, the labyrinth kept him within. All the windows were always barred and it must have been luck or preordained that he had come across the outer walls of the house and an unbarred window.
As much as he wanted to close his eyes and simply rest in the cool grass until either his bruises stopped hurting or he became absorbed into the ground, a flash of green light caught his attention from his peripheral and in an instant, Lukas had spun into a half crouch and had his sword half drawn, but froze when he came face to face with a rather large face. Norway’s eyes went wide, his mouth fell slightly open, and if he were any other person, they would not being seeing what he saw now, and if they did they would surely be terrified. Instead, Lukas blinked and tears fell from his eyes and the ‘stoic nation’, smiled wide with relief.
“Alv! Oh ... min kjære venn. Du aner ikke hvor glad jeg er å se deg”.
Norway actually began to laugh as tears fell from his eyes as his centuries-old friend grabbed him with his huge hands and pulled him into a great hug. Lukas had not seen his mythical companion since the two had become separated, who knows how long ago, and he was surely a sight for sore eyes. Their embrace ended and Lukas looked up to his friend and opened his mouth to say more, when the great green, forest troll leaned away and motioned for him to follow. Confused, Norway sheathed his sword and stood with every bruise on his body shouting out in protest.
“Alv… where are we going?”
The troll, a being even more silent that Norway himself, said nothing but continued to float above the ground, leading the Norwegian further away from the Manor into a wide expanse of estate. Lukas had no hope that his friend was possibly leading him to safety, as in away from the grasp of the Manor, for the troll would never lead Norway to salvation without the presence of his younger brother, Iceland; to do so otherwise would be the worse act of friendship Norway could think of in this place. No, there must be another reason way the troll as leading him down an overgrown, dirt path through abused fields, until they came to what looked like….
“A well? Forgive me, min venn…. But my thirst is-“
Norway froze when the screaming began. The shrieks were of terrified desperation, the calls of hysteria, and the chilling echoes were frightening to say the least and with wide eyes, Lukas stared at the well as the source of such torture. Someone, or thing was down there, and Norway didn’t need the groan from the troll to know that this was the reason why he was lead here. The weeping sounds of despair stung the blonds’ ears and at first he approached slowly, with caution, but with an uncharacteristic yelp he was suddenly thrown forwards to land jarringly against the wall of the well. Groaning through clamped teeth, he whipped his head with an accusing scowl at Alv, who pointed at the well and said a single word that made Norway’s heart miss a beat and in a voice of hushed astonishment, he repeated what the creature spoke with a shaking tone.
“Finland?”
Everything after that happened in a rush. Norway nearly threw himself over the side of the well to peer down into the dim abyss, and true to the troll’s word, there standing at the bottom of the pit stood the pitiful form of a weeping Finnish man, one of the dearest friends to Norway. “Finland! Stå fast! Jeg vil få deg ut dit!” His voice was high with panic and fear, barely recognizable from his naturally smooth, even, and expressionless tone. At the moment, he felt far from even and smooth. As quickly as he could, he reached for the crank handle and lowered the bucket attached to a rope, originally meant for fetching water, but now it would gave to fetch a Fin.
“Tino! Grab the rope, or step into the bucket! I will haul you up!”
Around and around Lukas spun the handle, lowering the bucket, until the rope went slack, signaling he had reached the bottom. In his mind he prayed over and over to all the gods he as a country had come into contact with, old and new, that the rope would not snap or frail from age and mold, that it would withstand the small man’s weight long enough for Norway to reach Tino to get him up. “Alv, watch my back”.
It was a not necessary to say so, Lukas already knew that his friend was standing guard even before he said it, but the words were something for his mind to hold onto to as he waited for some sort of signal from Tino that he was ready to be pulled up. Sweat itched the back of Lukas’ neck, adrenaline had drowned out his body’s bruises, and with shaking breath he waited…. Something terrible was going to happen if Finland remained down in that well for much longer. Alv had known it, and Lukas could feel it… in the distance, in the howl of the wind, came the indistinct sounds of moaning and wails. They were not alone, or at least Tino was not where he was.
~Translation (In order of appearance)
-Thank the gods ... I have not broken anything -Alv! Oh... my dear friend. You have no idea how glad I am to see you. -Min venn= my friend -Finland! Stand fast! I will get you outta there!
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Untouchable
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Your head will collapse, but there's nothing in it and you'll ask yourself: Where is my mind?
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Post by Finland (x) on Apr 28, 2012 1:31:25 GMT -6
How long would it take? How many hours? How many days? He was a country dammit, did that mean he'd be preserved to last longer than the regular torture? If he could last, say one week without proper hydration... dammit. He'd be left to go insane in this hell pit until he died of 'natural' causes. Tino would not wait around to live out the remainder of his life like that. Even with the single tiny shred of hope that someone might here his cries, he could not bear this place. The smell, the dread that was pitted in his stomach, the sights and sounds of the fallen, rotting bodies around him... Tino reached to his side, feeling the hilt of his sharp dagger. He could end it here... commit suicide so he wouldn't have to suffer through the agony of laying in the pile of decaying flesh that he'd, sooner or later, eventually be joining.
At the moment though, Tino just wanted to screw his eyes shut and press his face into his sleeves. He hated crying. He hated it so fucking much, but what was the point now? What did he have? His pride? Yeah, where would that get him? No where. There was no way that Tino could get himself out of this well. Not without help from the outside, and the chances of getting that were slim to none. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling out even though his eyelids were clamped shut. He couldn't stop the weeping. The crushing atmosphere, the sheer terror of what he was currently sitting in.... Tino couldn't take it. He just couldn't.
Don't get him wrong, as Tino was a pretty resilient country. He had seen his fair share of bloodshed and bodies, but he had never been forced to wallow in them. Not like this. Usually, bodies were buried before they could rot and encourage the spread of disease. Tino rose his eyes, squinting into the remains of some person's leg. He gagged when he saw the infestation of maggots and cockroaches that devoured the limb. Tino's hand shot to his mouth, trying to hold down whatever was coming up. There was nothing left... but he couldn't stop. Tino vomited air and saliva, unable to keep it in. He felt so ill as his stomach and obliques ached from the constant heaving motions, even if nothing was coming up from the repetitive actions. Everything around him was so goddamn repulsive that he couldn't stop the natural reflex.
What startled Tino was some sort of call. His name? Was he hallucinating now? Tino's gaze barely moved. Had he lost that much fluid already from his vomiting? That wasn't possible, unless he had been unconscious down here for days. That seemed more plausible. Tino raised his hands, clasping them over his ears. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to envision some rescue that would never happen. Hadn't he been tortured enough? His mind was already fraying at the edges. He did not need voices whispering to him as his life-light flickered out. The voice sounded again, but Tino could not make out the words through his hands. He did not want to hear any voices. He was damn sure about that.
Splat.
Tino heard that, so he opened his eyes, seeing a bucket positioned in the centre, and peak of the pile. A bucket with a rope. Tino didn't move for a few moments. Was... was he hallucinating visually now? He couldn't be. Tipping his head upwards, he narrowed his eyes and was able to make out a figure leaning over the edge of the stone wall. That was... Norway. Lukas was here... Lukas... Lukas was going... to get him out. Swallowing the dry lump in his throat. Tino's face cracked into a smile of relief, though his brow was still arched in a terrified manner and his tone cracked as he called, “Norway...”
Fresh tears replaced the old ones that had left stained rivers down the pale Nordic's face as he rose to unsteady feet. He quickly took a couple of uneven steps, before lurching towards the rope. As soon as his fingers grazed the course material, he felt something. Something tight on his foot. Looking down, the male paled. A bony hand had curled its stained fingers round his ankle in a vice grip. Tino screeched as the rotting mass beneath him began to move.
The first hand was not alone. Others soon rose as the rot beneath Tino's legs suddenly seem to disappear. The Finn lost his balance, aided by the fact that... things were sprouting from the putrefied mess and latching onto his squirming limbs. “Lukas! Help me!” he called out in sheer terror and panic, his shrill voice an octave higher as his tone spelled out his immanent death. Tino finally caved on his right leg. With his hand still on the rope, he felt it either give way or jerk downward as Tino caught himself with his left open palm.
What made the man scream more than ever before was the fact that another bony hand snared his wrist and pulled down. Tino's chest slammed into the rot as it began to reform, piling over his arms and legs. His face was pressed into something rancid as he felt disturbed insects flee from the sudden motion. Tino tried to scream, but he was soon covered by the mass of cursed crumbling bodies. His eyes snapped open as he stared into the face of death itself, or some skull with its eyes still in tact. They glowed furiously back as Tino tried to jerk away, but his limbs were completely submerged in the rot.
The one thing the man did feel, was a pull on his right hand. He was still hanging onto the rope! Lukas! Gripping with all his might as he threw everything he had into thrashing against his burial, the man prayed that the nation above had enough strength to unearth the freshly buried Finnish man. Tino wasn't sure what happened, if he got a small spurt of his national strength back or what, but his snared arm broke the hold of the bones, or... at least, cracked the wrist of the captor as it flew upward. Tino struggled to keep jostling so he couldn't be held down so easily as his iron grip on the rope did not fail him. Lukas must have pulled with all his might, as Tino soon found himself breathing air, not rot or maggots. Gasping, his free hand found his dagger as he stabbed at the hands and bodies that tried to pin him down once more. He had little effect, as these things were clearly not living, but he kept them at bay as he soon freed his legs. Leaping awkwardly at the rope, Tino slammed his dagger into his hilt and clung to the material for dear life. Was he going to wait for Norway to pull him up? Like hell!
Tino began climbing frantically, but his body was more suited to other activities other than rope climbing. Coupled with the exhausting struggle from his premature burial in dead flesh, he was not as fast nor as efficient as he could have been. Tino yelped as he felt the bony hands that were still on his body tighten, almost enough to crush his bones. Tino panicked as he tried his hardest to go faster while still being careful enough to not slip and fall back down into that hellhole. He knew that if he messed this up, he wouldn't be waiting for dehydration to kill him off. The belly of the well was hungry, and it was not going to let Tino go without a fight.
Tino gasped as he felt something heavy latch its teeth into his leg. The man screeched, kicking with his free limb to send the zombie-like creature down to the depth. But there were only more climbing after him. An entire mass of them. Good god, the rope! Tino snapped his gaze up, not far from the surface now. However, he could see a point in the cable where the threads were beginning to give and snap. He had to hurry. Now!
The bony fingers that were still on his hand and ankle tightened further, causing tears to slip from the man's eyes as painful gasps filled the air. He was so close dammit. Wide violet eyes could clearly make out Norway's rigid form that hovered at the entrance. What was he? Seven feet from the male. He could see the fright in Lukas's normally stoic face as the male was reeling, or trying to, reel the line in. Tino clawed furiously as he heard the threads of the ancient rope give way. He only had a second! “Lukas!” he cried frantically as his legs were grabbed by another creature that had caught up to him. Knowing this was his only chance and he was inches from his Nordic friend, Tino jerked himself upward and stretched out his good hand just as the rope snapped.
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Post by Deleted on Apr 30, 2012 19:18:11 GMT -6
After centuries of knowing Tino, considering him one of his closest friends, Lukas’ heart dropped with dread when he could only gaze into the hell pit which his friend was imprisoned, and knew that there was little to do but wait and watch. Even if he tried to leap down into the well, to save the terrified, screaming Finnish man from the dark nightmare, which he was currently immersed in, Norway was sure that Alv would not allow him even if he begged. The troll kept it’s distance away, Lukas had noted from a quick glance, keeping an eye out for oncoming danger almost from a safe distance, as if the creature could or did not want to venture too near to the evil spilling over the brim from the well; Lukas didn’t blame him.
Having been always able to see the unseen, bearing the gift of Sight, Norway was immune to the blinding shrouds, which covered the entire world relativity, and could see the paranormal and supernatural. Tino’s screams were high and painful in the Norwegian’s ears, yet what he could see down in the well accompanying Tino was just as real. He was sure that the Fin was very much aware of the possession of the felled bodies laying at the bottom of the well, all who were hell bent on keeping their newly arrived, still-breathing brother down there, but Lukas could see so much more. Hanging from and even through the damp and moldy walls of the well, were the translucent forms of at least a dozen spirits, all who were wailing mournfully and revengefully and who all in their possession, held the strings to their bodies’ animation.
This well, was infested with puppeteers of the dead. The shrieks of the fallen were like stabs of pain in Norway’s head, but he dared himself to hell if he even considered clasping his hands over his ears or distancing himself away from the well; he was Tino’s sole lifeline and it burned his soul to hear his friend’s calls for help for him. His hands were on fire, he could feel the blisters forming and tearing all along both of his palms and his arms and shoulders were taunt and beginning to scream. Hunched over the apparatus, which was the crank to reel up the mechanism for the rope and bucket, Norway rebelled against allowing the handle to even twitch backwards from which he had just painstakingly cranked, and was ever so slowly trying to turn the handle to raise the bucket further.
By now, he knew that Finland was upon the rope and while his fellow Northern nation was reasonably light like himself, the weight that he supported now was complete deadweight; ironically, he knew this to be true. His teeth were sheered together, sweat dripped down his brow and stung his eyes, which were sealed tight beneath his intense furrow; his shoes were dug deep into the loose soil encircling the well. If he were to fail and he lost his grip upon the mechanism holding the rope and Tino, the Finnish man would be dropped back into the belly of the well and….
“Nei! I won’t…. Tino! H-hurry!”
His voice was still caught in a fear, adrenaline heightened tone that was completely not his at all, it was foreign and the sound of it almost scared him as much as the wails of the well’s inhabitants did. Cracking open an eyelid to squint down into the dank interior of the well to see Tino’s progress, he saw that the blond man was only a few feet now, and with a uncharacteristic grunt, he forced his muscles to turn the handle a few more cranks; his blood staining the wood of the handle. He got to the point where he could no longer turn and Lukas froze, fear shadowing his taunt expression, as he peered into the well once more, not directly at Tino’s face, but a few inches above the Fin where he could see the rope’s threads snapping.
“Lukas!”
Time, as it had when he was freefalling from the window of the second story floor of the Manor, seemed to slow once more when Lukas saw the rope break as Tino’s hand ascending towards him in a last desperate attempt to escape certain doom. The usually dull, bluish-violet eyes of Norway were wide with fear, yet spiked with determination, his bloodied hands released their grip on the handle and while one shot downward below the rim of the well, the other blindly sought the sturdiness of the stone of the well’s rim for support. He reached out with bloody fingers, shouting deafly to his own ears, to the small target that was Tino’s raised hand that was beginning to fall.
“Tino!”
Fingers clasped around the thin wrist of the falling man, as his name was shouted out of desperation, and tightened into an iron grip as to secure Lukas’ hold on Finland. The weight was unbearable; Norway screamed in pain once his body registered the sudden additional mass to Lukas’ left arm, which nearly was bent backwards as it slammed into the interior wall of the well, but he held fast. If he hadn’t grabbed hold of the stonewall as well, it was probable that Norway may have fallen into the well to join Finland for eternity. Not only had Lukas saved Finland from falling back down into the pit with the rope, bucket, and puppet bodies that had been climbing in Tino’s wake, but also the heaviness of a parasitic body attached to the Fin's leg was threatening to dislocate Norway’s shoulder. He would not let go.
Cursing loudly, ignoring the wails of the dead, the screams of Tino, and his own pain, Norway summoned from somewhere deep inside him in some hidden-away reservs what felt like his natural national strength, and with a mighty holler, he fought against his bicep’s burring pain, flexed, and lifted both Finland and his dead puppet above the rim of the well, almost above his head, before basically throwing the pair out a good five feet away from the well, before following through with his throw and falling hard onto the ground.
His eyes were shut tight, his entre body was one huge bruise, even with the dulling agent of adrenaline, he felt the thud of vibration from Alv’s giant fist crashing down onto the dead corpse attached the Tino’s leg, leaving it nothing but dust. Once more, Lukas heard the voice of want, to do nothing more but lie where he was until the pain in his body evaporated, but he had a friend to see to. Forcing himself up using his right arm, he half crawled, half scrambled away from the well over the grass to where Tino was laying. Not stopping, Lukas began beating with his fist the two hands clasping Finland’s limbs: one on his wrist, the other on his leg.
Just as the troll had done, the dead body parts disintegrated into dust, completely freeing the Fin. Lukas’ heart beat so loudly in his ears that he was deaf, yet his nose had yet to be injured, though in a way, it was under attack. The same stench that radiated from the mouth of the well was even stronger now, for Norway looked on in disgust to see that Finland was nearly covered in the brackish fifth of mud and decomposition from the pit.
“For the love of the gods, Tino! Take off your clothes or I swear, I will leave you where you lay!”
Norway only half meant it, as he scrambled away before finally collapsing in the cool grass. He couldn’t move his left arm, dislocated, and he felt awful… though at least he didn’t smell as Tino did. Lukas felt just as soiled though, his costume was damp with moisture and his own sweat, and he felt raw and dirty. Lifting his right hand to his face, Norway’s expression eased out of mass emotion into its usual indifference, though with a touch of annoyance, when he saw the state that his hand was in. Huge blisters from the great friction caused from the handle had torn deep and his hand was inflamed and covered in blood with jagged tears across his palm; he assumed that his left hand was in no better a condition.
“Great….” Dropping his hand, the Norwegian laid there, staring once more up at the sky until the troll floated into his line of vision, looking down at him, and the nation knew that they couldn’t remain there. Alv had known Tino was out there and now that he was saved, they had no choice but return to the Manor. It was by far not the best option, but it was the only one they had less they risked facing the outdoor elements and unknown dangers. Besides, both Tino and he could do with a shower or bath.
“Tino. I was serious. Strip down out of those disgusting clothes… you can wear my coat for now. We’re heading back to the mansion and I’m making sure you get into a bath,” Norway said evenly before inhaling sharply and rolling his shoulder back into place with a snap, accompanied by a grunt of pain that escaped through tight lips.
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Post by Finland (x) on May 1, 2012 20:46:14 GMT -6
The moment when Tino stretched out his mangled hand for Lukas to grab seemed to last an eternity. Tino first thought that the other Nordic wouldn't make it, that he would fall, but Lukas did not fail him. Tino didn't hear his name screamed by the other, but he saw the frantic, rare expression of fear on his friend's face as his name was mouthed.
Lukas snagged Tino's splayed fingers in mid-air and somehow hung on as gravity tore at both of them. Tino gasped as he thumped against the well wall, hard. The action was almost enough to stun the mentally exhausted man, but the immense pain that flooded his brain kept him going. His wrist just throbbed as he felt the bone compress and compact together in an excruciatingly unnatural way. He gasped in fear when he realized that he was not the only one experiencing a horrid pain. Lukas's cries were loud and clear in portraying the Nordic's pain. The Norwegian's hand was wet with something, and Tino could see the sticky red liquid tricked down his own arm. Lukas was bleeding, and he couldn't be comfortable holding this much weight, especially after the jarring grab-out-of-mid-air. Tino felt rip at his arm too, but his body was almost hitting its limit on how much pain he could actually feel.
What he was feeling right now, were two layers of teeth gnawing through the leather that housed his foot and ankle. Tino didn't want to jerk around because he was scared that Lukas would drop him, but the biting pain (no pun intended) was unbearable. He kicked and twisted as he threw his free arm up, trying to grasp something to secure himself, but the surface of the well was still out of reach. He clenched his jaws together as he suffered though the pain as the corpse made a bloody mess of his lower body.
Tino hung in limbo for what seemed like an eternity as he heard Lukas's uncharacteristic cries silence themselves into Norwegian curses. Tino wasn't fat, but the other Nordic had not only sustained Tino's weight, but the weight of the thing on his legs, as well as the force of gravity that had accelerated the two downward. Tino knew that that was what had hurt his friend, not his current, suspending weight. Though, the fact that Lukas was holding the small man and the rotting body could not be helping the task of pulling his ally up. Tino tried to kick at the thing on his feet, but this one's brains hadn't yet degraded as it grasped both ankles, making the task of shaking it off very difficult.
Before Tino could worry about it much longer, he felt his body lift as Lukas demonstrated an incredible amount of strength, literally throwing the Fin and the zombie-thing up and out of the well. Tino landed on his back with a heavy thud as his breath was jarred from his body. Gasping like a fish out of water, Tino clawed at the damp grass to try and sit up. He no longer felt teeth grazing on his calf, but he had no intentions of waiting for the sensation to return. Tino got one look at the bag of bones and flesh before its skull was physically bashed in by a green, humongous hand. Tino's mind registered the glowing abomination as a threat as he nearly tried to roll over and flee, but the better part of his head reminded him that the brief sighting was of Norway's companion. Tino was not gifted with the gift of Sight, but he did have mythical legends back in his own country and found that he could see traces of the troll when it interacted directly with him. Though rare, it happened on occasion.
Now, with the parasite at his heels nothing more than dust, he could no longer see the Norwegian beast. It was like a fleeting glimpse. No details... just a rushed blur of green. The thought fell back into the abyss of emotions that channelled through as the Fin just shut out all of it. Tino gasped as air rushed into his starved lungs as he collapsed backwards, eyes wide as he stared into the sky. He did not move. He did not twitch or show any signs of response as his friend managed to crawl over and tear the remaining skeletal hands from his wrist and ankle. Blood rush to the cut off areas as sharp pins and needles pricked at each of his digits.
Lukas's words fell on deaf ears as Tino just laid there, showing no signs of voluntary brain activity. He just stared at the sky in a manner that almost seemed lifeless, save for the fast but rhythmic breathing. He did not blink. He did not move. He did not speak. He didn't even close his ever-so-slightly-ajar mouth. While the Norwegian beside him checked himself over and surveyed his injuries, Tino didn't.
Tino was locked in a world of his own as his frail mind reeled. He was free. He was not in that godforsaken well that had been oh so determined to damn him all the way to the blackest regions of hell. Wait, no... that well was far worse than anything hell could actually offer. He was out of there... Out of that place... True, he could not feel the gentle breeze of the coast, nor could he hear his native birds chiming gleefully, but he was free from that well. Free from death, for now.
Tino blinked as he sat up, the first signs of life that he exhibited since Norway's troll had crushed his trailing follower. Pain that had been missing from Tino's brain-dead equation began trickling through his guard. He had countless scratch marks and a good portion of bites that stung, but his arm and ankle were the things that hurt the most. Par none. Tino lifelessly rose his hand, staring at the bright red marks crept under his skin, soon to settle into deep, painful black bruises. The thought didn't really register. Tino was still locked deep within the realm of shock that muted the majority of pain that would come later. The raised hand dropped to the ground without a second thought as it fell on the ground with a soft thump.
Bodily pain wasn't the only thing that was absent from Tino's senses. His emotions were as well as he stared blankly at the Norwegian. The man was clearly injured and in pain, but the thoughts just seemed to loosely orbit planet Tino as the Fin slowly moved to obey the command that Lukas had ordered. First, the tunic that Tino had once treasured was mechanically yanked off of his filth-covered head. Now, the cloth was nothing more to the Finnish man than the dust at his feet. His mind was completely shut off as authentic, historical wear was tossed carelessly in a worthless pile. The tunic, the undershirt and pants, the embroidered laces that had been torn and frayed, everything. Even Tino's dagger was mindlessly discarded as Tino stripped down to almost nothing, leaving his boxers as the only thing left to shield his pale, marred body from the elements.
Tino himself wasn't in much better shape than his Nordic ally. His barren body, now exposed, showed painful stretches of bruises that etched their way into the small man's form. His back had a stretch of yellow, ugly coloured reminders that the Fin simply hadn't climbed the long distance down into the hell pit. Others had formed when the Fin had thrashed about in his panicked hysteria, while the newest tattooed his arm and leg. Small nicks could be found all over, while the back of his legs looked raw, bitten and soiled. Tino wouldn't only have to worry about the pain of his injuries, but the likely chance of infection as well, as the well was filled to the brim with festering bodies and maggots.
However, such worries did not reach the man's head. Wide violet eyes looked over at the Norwegian who was still collapsed in the grass. Tino's lack of speech and coherent behaviour was obvious. He was in utter shock and still had not recovered from it. He was nothing more than an obeying doll at this time that would probably do anything requested, except maybe jump back into that nightmare. As some sort of defence mechanism, Tino had locked himself away, voluntary or not.
Splayed out on his knees, Tino just stared at Lukas with an unnerving lack of focus. He was staring, but he clearly wasn't there. The normal, cheerful life that reverberated through Tino's laughs and voice was gone. Even the regular spark in his eyes had faded. Messy, grime-coated pieces of hair trickled across his forehead as he allowed his dirty knuckles to brush against the dead, damp grass. He awaited the movement of the other body, or another command that would register on the still-functioning part of his mind.
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Post by Deleted on May 3, 2012 20:17:15 GMT -6
Lukas did not want to get up. In fact, he could of probably fallen asleep right there but when you have someone staring at you without breaking away…. It was annoying to say the least. Sighing, the Norwegian began to sit up from his laying position on the ground, relishing the coolness of the grass’s dew against his aching back, and fought against the tightness of pain in his abdominal muscles. His left arm remained lifeless at his side, the slightest of movements sent shocks of pain into his spine. He had successfully popped his shoulder back into place, so he could move it, but he could only imagine the true extent of damage that had befallen his arm while saving Finland. Speaking of Tino… Norway looked up from his position on the grass into his fellow nation’s eyes from the Finnish man’s half-kneeling position in front of him. Tino had not spoken a word, and looking at him now, Lukas could see that he had complied with Norway’s words and had stripped down to nothing but his boxers. The small man just stared at Lukas, yet not truly… Tino’s eyes seemed to looked right through Lukas, not focused, as if his mind were far away and that he was simply adhering to what Norway said, but not completely processing. In a matter of words, Tino’s eyes were dead. His facial expression had lost the life that was the nation’s norm and he had gained a mask similar to Norway’s own, natural composure. Lukas stared back at his friend, though he was actually looking at Finland. Norway saw a glazed, empty expression, dirty soiled face, matted hair that was clumped with mud and other substances, and a pale complexion hidden beneath the filth and dimness of the day. Basically, Tino looked like crap but Norway knew with coldness in his stomach, that something was terribly wrong with his friend, and Lukas was worried. His expression, however, did not reveal this tone of concern, but remained its normal vacancy of aloofness, though the areas around his eyes hued a darker shade, with a tightness of the corners that comes from exhaustion, stress, and extreme apprehension. Norway looked long and hard at Tino, without moving, and ignoring for the moment the dark world around them and simply looked at his friend; a shiver of fear slithered up his spine, before latching itself into his heart to hatch a seed of dread. Reaching forward with his right arm, to cross the foot of gap between he and Tino, Lukas placed just the tip of his index finger breath Tino’s chin and lifted slowly. As he thought, the Fin’s head lifted so that Norway could look into Tino’s face straight on. Lukas’ eyes twitched as he searched for something in Finland’s dulled, violet eyes, and whether he found something or not, the Norwegian removed his finger and the slightest of frowns pulled at the corners of his lips. “I hope I have not failed and have lost you, Tino,” he said with a tinge of remorse. Norway stood after he spoke, rather stiffly compared to his normal gracefulness due to his mass amount of soreness and tenseness, without releasing Tino’s face from his view. While he considered removing his own long, blue coat of his pirate costume to at least cover Finland’s shoulders, he concluded that doing that where they were was not the best idea. His left arm was incredibly sensitive, and removing it from the coat’s sleeve would be too painful, and could injure himself further. Instead, he reached with his right hand around to grasp the hilt of his sword and drew the blade out slowly from his sheath, still unwavering his eyes from Tino. The moment his hand came in contact with the cool metal of the sword’s hilt, hot pain seared through Lukas’ head and his eyes narrowed against the wounds upon his hand from the torn blisters; a few abrasions on his hands could not deter his grip, it still bloody hurt. Somehow, his pirate hat with its feather had remained upon his head even with his descent from the window and fight to save Tino, so his form then at that moment must have looked quite impressive, that is if there were any onlookers. Alv had remained silent, still gazing about the and around them for signs of danger, but Lukas could see that the troll’s gaze did drift to Finland’s pathetic form too often and he knew that the troll too was worried. “Come up, Finland. We can’t stay here”.Norway waited for Tino to comply, which the smaller man did without challenge or protest. His movements actually, reminded Norway of a puppet: stiff, rigid, and without will; however, there were no strings attached to Tino’s limbs, so he was moving by his own accord, but to see the usually smiling, jovial man in such a state was unnerving and unnatural. With Tino standing, Norway began to walk up the path he had come down relatively not that long ago, yet it seemed like it had been days, or at least that what was it felt like. His body was so run down that Lukas’ grip on his sword was lowered so that the blade’s tip was closer to the ground then to what it should have been and his feet were slightly heavily then his usual gait. Norway was at the point though, emotionally, physically, and mentally, that he just didn’t care much anymore, he was just too tired. For too long in this place, he has held his guard at its peak, presenting pressure for insanity, and in his current condition and what he had just done to save Finland and the overhanging possibility and what could have happened, had worn him down to the grain and he was just plain tired. “Alv. I’m leaving it up to you to watch where we’re going… “The thunderous, deep grunt was the response Lukas got from the troll, but he had been with the creature long enough to know that it was the troll’s way to concede and to express he was on guard. The day, which could only be presumed to be about afternoon due to the heavy cloud cover, was quiet, still and calm compared to the life and death situation that pair of nation’s had just gone through. The only sounds to be heard were the thud of the soles of Lukas’ boots upon the path accompanied by the shuffled, padding of Tino’s footsteps. Norway kept a quicker pace, as quick as he could with the weight of his tired state, and soon the looming figure of the whitewashed Manor was before them. On their approach towards the main door, the door swung open on its own accord, beckoning and welcoming their return. Norway, his lips deepening into a more pronounced frown, lead Tino up the steps onto he encircling promenade and raised his sword into a more proper stance as he entered the home, following Alv’s green figure. Passing beneath the doorframe, Lukas even muttered a small, “Takk”, in more exasperated sarcasm then anything, and with a glance he made sure that Tino was indeed by his side still, before the thick, wooden door slowly swung close behind them with a dulled, echoed boom and the click of the lock announced their return to the Manor. To be continued in…. Tomorrow Never Knows
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Post by Finland (x) on May 4, 2012 12:49:06 GMT -6
Tino's glazed eyes didn't flicker about. They didn't twitch or flicker or even widen at Lukas's touch as the male's finger grazed Tino's body. His head was raised ever so slightly, allowing more light to illuminate the catatonic man's face. His irises naturally tightened, allowing less light to filter into the boy's skull, but nothing more flared within Tino's oddly coloured orbs.
Had Tino been lost? It was impossible to tell at the moment. Many factors accompanied the fact that Tino's persona was nonexistent at the moment. Shock was of course, the first thing that came to mind, but there were others that lingered in the background. What if Tino had been cracked? The traumatic experience in the well was not one that a normal person could easily walk away from. Even if Tino had been 'saved', he had been tortured by the horrors deep underground. His mind was strong, but sitting alone in a sea of bones and dead bodies began to nip and tear at the edges. Like a spool of thread, it began to unwind. With that, there was a very likely possibility that Tino would never be able to pull everything back together again.
Another possibility fell to the spirits and angered souls that occupied the pit. They did not want Tino to leave and they had fought and raged when Tino tried to escape their grasp. True, they left deep wounds on the Fin, mental and physical, but they were unsuccessful in keeping the man there. Or, were they? Tino had not responded whatsoever to Lukas's gestures or words, other than sluggishly obeying his commands without thought. Such actions were possible from a mere body, but what about the soul? Tino resembled a lobotomized patient more so than he resembled a functioning person. It appeared as if Tino had lost high higher level thinking, but what if he had just lost his human properties? He was still a country and therefore would exist in some form, whether a living body or just the wind over his land, but the human characteristics were what compiled Tino Väinämöinen could die. His compiled traits that had begun centuries ago when his body came to be. His memories, friends, everything... What if that had been pulled away? The puppeteers proved that they could interact with the Fin, even if he couldn't see them. Was it possible that they were able to confine a piece of Tino in their clutches?
Tino stared dully ahead, even after Lukas's finger had left his chin. Apparently, the other Nordic had realized this possibility too. Tino of course, did not respond at all to the sentence that the other had uttered. Instead, his head tilted back as his stare was soon directed to the sky. The eyes that could not focus on Lukas were mutely watching the clouds that hung motionless in the depressing sky. The ambiance of this place did not help with their cause, as it was only adding to the feeling of dread and apprehension. Tino was shielded from these feelings as he failed to feel anything all together.
While Norway was left to ponder their predicament, Tino just continued to stare, as if he were looking through the clouds in a way that he looked through Lukas. Perhaps the shell of the man were longing to be away from this hell. To settle his tormented mind in a better place in the heavens. That could never happen though. For Tino to lay in peace, he'd need both his body and mind connected and intertwined. At the moment, whether his mind was muted in the back of his conscious or trapped in the well, he was not eligible to be welcomed at the golden gates. Tino lowered his face to stare at Lukas as he rose. Had Tino been able to connect his current views to his memories, he could have sworn that he could see the reminiscent viking spirit that had enabled Norway to be so successful in the ancient times. There were differences though.. in the past, Norway had been more reckless and free with a wild, untamed desire in his navy eyes. Now, he seemed more human as the manor wore away his patience and resiliency.
Norway uttered a command to which Tino mechanically obeyed. He shifted and moved like an ancient machine that needed greasing. Unconsciously, his body was still mangled and torn, so it could not simply function like it was healthy and fit. Tino had a bit of a shuffle going as he dragged himself behind Lukas's footsteps. Tino might have limped if one leg was more injured than the other, but the teeth of the parasitic body had shredded Tino's skin and left bleeding punctures deep into the meat of Tino's calf muscles. Each leg had considerable damage and it was a miracle in itself that the Finnish man could keep up with Lukas.
When the pale walls of the manor came into view, Tino's eyes widened ever so slightly. His dull eyes flickered subtly as some form of recognition spurted up in Tino's hushed irises. Though, the action soon passed as the dull mask settled back in as Tino struggled up the steps. Apparently, his clumsiness stuck to him even when his mind was not with him.
Bringing up the rear, Tino slumped behind Lukas as the thick wooden door swung open. Tino's fingers on his hand twitched, but he otherwise appeared indifferent to the welcoming event. Lukas strode forward without fear as Tino shuffled behind. As soon as Tino was in, the door creaked shut as the nerve-wracking boom echoed. Tino's dulled form kept moving until he heard the slight -click- of the lock. This froze Tino, ever so briefly as the nation turned back to peer at the barricade. A slight furrow formed between his eyes, but the show of life was brief. Tino turned back, face and eyes blank once more as he followed Lukas like a lost puppy.
[Continued in Tomorrow Never Knows]
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