Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Aug 1, 2012 0:59:28 GMT -6
The Music was haunting.
And with each harshly pressed key, every dark note, the air grew heavier. Pressing down on the prone form laying in the middle of the dark hardwood floor, the atmosphere hung down from the ceiling like moisture-laden cobwebs, consistency comparable more to water than to normal air. Feliciano could hardly get in a half-breath, let alone all the oxygen he needed for true coherence. Gravity fought against the strength of his lungs, dragging every atom of oxygen away from where they wanted to go and down to the ground, where they rested out of any useful reach. The strong pull seemed to take the sound out of the air as well, tugging at it until every chord tumbled down and crashed against copper skin with the full intent of bruising and breaking it.
Of course, the Italian wasn't paying too much attention the Music, haunting, ominous, and demanding as it was; he was too busy working his way through the hazy, half-memories flooding through his mind on his way to wakefulness. He couldn't remember falling asleep anywhere, and even then the sharp pain in his left temple paired with the crusted liquid keeping his eyes glued shut didn't add much evidence to the idea that he just curled up in a safe corner for a few hours of restless dozing. Scrunching his face up slightly in as much concentration as he could manage, the Italian couldn't keep his hiss of pain silent as the shift in expression drew a white-hot barb of agony from the corner of his eye and the rest of of the throbbing mess his head had turned into. The sharp pain seemed to slice through the fog surrounding his mind as well as the wet feeling of the air around him, offering him a shred of bright clarity, drawing attention to the feeling of something sticking to his eyelashes. The blood splashed along his face was almost completely dry, clutching at copper skin and mahogany hair with sticky fingers. Even the half-dried pool of crimson resting in a perfect oblong about his cranium attempted to stick his cheek to the hardwood floor. The hot, bright scent of iron danced its way up his nostrils, registering as unpleasant in his mind and drew a grimace from pink lips. The feel of congealed blood against his skin, the damp but not actually wet, clumped gunk smeared over his eyes and left cheek, even mixed in between strands of hair, was more than enough to spur his mind back into a stronger coherent setting. Slim, darkly tanned hands slid along flawlessly stained wood until they were parallel to his torso, just below his armpits. Fighting against the residual effects of Gravity still attempting to keep him flailing against the ground like a newborn, his slightly trembling arms pushed and pushed against the floor until his upper body lifted up and his weight was held by those slim hands. Even the slight shift in position, back bent down with his sweaty forehead hanging mere inches from the still pool of blood, was enough to make his head swim once more. With black spots growing and shrinking before pained golden eyes, now freshly cracked open like pearls freed from the sediment-crusted oysters, it seemed that the small brunette had lost a bit more blood than he'd originally expected.
Already loud chords and notes grew even louder, the sounds stomping down his ear canals and kicking vibrations into his eardrums with all the subtlety of an irritated Prussian. The Music was attempting to overwhelm him again, remind him of the time he first heard the ominous song...
Feliciano ignored the sounds, the dull throbbing in his ears. It was a distraction he couldn't afford with the more pressing matter at hand: He could hardly see out of his left eye. It hurt to have that eye open, as if the air itself was filled with thousands of microscopic pieces of sandpaper and they were all dragging across his cornea. Red splashed across the dark wood floor, but in a way that had nothing to do with the blood actually on the floor and everything to do with the blood beginning to fill the whites of his eye, slither down a soft cheek like crimson tears, and drip to the floor. Immediately he let his eyes slip shut, but not before he caught a glimpse of white gleaming innocently amidst the clumps of congealing blood like bone peaking from a compound fracture. Settling back on his heels in order to keep his already unsteady balance, the young Italian lifted his right hand from the floor in order to feel the warmth seemed to radiate most. He was careful not to touch too firmly, so to not spread too many bacteria, but also because he didn't want to hurt himself further. It was hard to tell where the cut started, with all the drying blood on his face, but after some time wandering fingers managed to catch the edge, beginning on his forehead a few inches above the inside corner of his eye. Sliding down at a twenty degree angle, the injury traveled down over his amber eye, which explained the blood and the sharp stinging when open, and eventually ended an inch to the left of the point of his cheekbone. No ceramic shrapnel littered the slash, fortunately, nor any of the smaller ones dotted about his temple, forehead, and cheek. All that the boy could do for the somewhat serious injury was bind it, though, since it was the one still sluggishly bleeding. He had no supplies to actually treat it, and even then he wasn't quite sure on what to do to help his eye at all, or if the flesh of his firehead and cheek was opened enough for stitches. Binding a wound, though, was something he could do very well.
With his eyes shut against the air and the Music assaulting his hearing, one would think that he'd be perturbed by his lack of awareness about the room. But, as the short nation saw it, if something dangerous was in the room with him, he would already be dead. If it were a friend, though, they would have either spoken up or helped him by now, unless they too were unconscious. And if that other nation was unconscious, Feliciano had just enough time to tear up his vibrant red cape, not using the dirtier end that might have touched the floor, mind you, into bandages and taken care of his eye before he went to their rescue. But he couldn't help but doubt the existence of another familiar face in this room., whatever kind of room it might be. In the end, he felt that it was only himself and the Music.
No, no, he had to ignore that for now. "Focus on the fabric between your fingers, Feliciano. Make sure every strip is even with the last, until you have enough to use as a bandage so you can take care of yourself for once." That is what the Italian told himself, taking a deep, calming breath and continuing his self-appointed task. He could only hope that someone had the means, or at least the ability, to help him with this injury, at least clean it out. He couldn't do it himself; he would only cause more damage. That was well-known fact, he could never take treat his own injuries despite being quite capable with taking care of others'. After some long seconds of sitting there, tearing up the costume he'd worked so hard on, Feliciano finally had something to work with. Working quite well despite the lack of vision, nimble fingers danced along the long strand, looking as if they were tapping out the melody of the Music against a cloth piano, until they reached the end. With the sleek edge clasped in his grasp, he placed it gently against his forehead and began wrapping it about his skull with just enough pressure for it to staunch the last few drops of blood attempting to actually ooze from his face. It also kept his eye firmly shut, so after tying off the makeshift bandage, his right eye fluttered open once more.
Lying in his own personal puddle of BLOOD were the broken pieces of his ceramic mask. The mask he'd worn with his lavishly bright, ornate costume, painted in gold leaf and created specifically to match his face...broken. Scattered about the floor like garbage, as if the ornament had not mattered at all. But, amongst the smaller pieces, more than one carting a visible sliver of his own flesh, rested one piece larger than the rest. The right side of his mask, stained red and rust with his blood, was chipped and cracked, but still wholly intact. If he wanted to...he could just take it. But what was the point in keeping it? Sure, it was still beautiful, in a slightly disturbing way now that the white ceramic was visibly changing to a odd shade of red that he wasn't quite sure what to think of. That didn't mean he'd have any use for a broken mask that would only slice him further if he even held it the wrong way.
Now that he could see, and despite the blood staining his bandage a slightly darker red in small dots, and was relatively patched up and ready to go, Feliciano pushed himself to his feet. Time to see what lied in this room, to find the Music. Dante's Symphony.
There was nothing in this mansion, or at least none of its creatures, that could mimic this song. Alfred had told them about the Manor, or at least a little of its history and the time it was supposedly abandoned. Far too early for anyone in America to learn to play the Music; he wasn't sure it was even put to parchment by the then. So he had to figure out where on Earth this resonating sound is coming from. While it doesn't seem that something was dangerous, at least not yet, but it was definitely something breaching his mind because you do not get music playing about out of nowhere when that sound, that symphony did not exist before the Manor became what it is now. That's what Feliciano told himself as his gaze slid about the room. Dark hardwood floors, rich red walls, and instruments.
The space was full of them, standing on beautiful walnut shelves, lying in cases upon lovingly hand-carved tables, even set hanging against the wall. Everything shone in the candlelight, dancing and shimmering with different warmth: the soft glow of freshly polished violins, the bright gleam from the bell of a trumpet, and... The odd gleam of a grand piano. Sitting in the far corner of the room, standing proud and easily the largest focal point in the area, was a Steinway model B grand piano. Clawed feet held the magnificent instrument with pride, ornate in a way that the Italian has never seen before. "Ve, must be a custom job," he assumed as he stepped closer. Made of walnut wood, just like the rest of the room but not stained as darkly as the floors, the candlelight from each wrought iron candelabra glimmered against ivory and ebony keys, drew into the darkness of the grain. The entire piano just stood out from the rest of the room: brighter than the dark hardwood floors, warmer than the dark red walls, and more natural than the wrought iron decorations and light-fixtures. It simply stuck out too much.
With a quiet huff, he stepped a bit closer. "Now...how are you playing?" He asked the instrument, finally reopening his mind fully to the Music. It was quiet now, but each note helped raise the hair on his arms and bring goosepimples to his skin. But it also made him antsy, mentally uneasy.
Especially when his right eye took in the fact that the piano keys were not moving. The Music...was all in his head.
Blinking uncomprehendingly at the piano for several moments, Feliciano quickly backed away. There was something in his mind, playing music that should not exist. Music that he hasn't heard since the mid 1800s. ...Music that had nearly driven him mad. "V-Ve, get out of my head..." he whispered, moving until he had gently collided with the wall. "Stop with this Music, I don't want the rage, the anger." Sliding to the floor, he glared about the room, tightening his hands into fists and clutching at his golden pants. Images of himself listening to Elizaveta playing this song danced through his mind's eye, scenes of his old caretakers hoping to calm his urge for independence by playing with his interests, his peoples' achievements. How they taunted his ability to be meaningful contributions to humanity by associating themselves with what his people had done.
...Mental movie reels of himself attempting to break a violin over Roderich's temple. Of Elizaveta screaming, he was snarling, and the blood. Not Roderich's, his as guards rushed in, pulling weapons and pulling him back and down, down into the ground like some worthless criminal, not a nation with the urge for freedom raging through his veins like fire. A nation with the unquenchable urge to leave and become one with the other half of his nation, his brother, his other half. The other presence always in the back of his mind. No, he was treated worse even than the colonies of the British Empire, with less respect than the territories under his own grandfather. Beaten down until he couldn't move, until it felt like there was nothing left. And the screaming, the screaming melded so perfectly with the Music--
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.
Despite the anger brewing up in his chest at the memories, Feliciano could feel tears beginning to line the corners of his eyes. "...leave me alone... J-Just leave me be, I-I'm trying my best... M-Mi dispiace, per favore..." By this point, he was only hurting himself.
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Post by Fear on Aug 8, 2012 14:55:29 GMT -6
Fear was having way too much fun. This guy… this, Feliciano, whatever kind of name was that, was wacked in his own mind, and Fear would know. Presently, the entity was streaming around the little fool’s mind, drifting in its black fog form, its true form, from one memory to the next. Man, this guy was an idiot. So dramatic and poor me where Fear looked. The death of Rome caught Fear’s interest and how Italy had been the favorite, but the fact that there was two Italians really struck a cord of intrigued with Fear. A sort of, two sides of the same coin kind of deal. Filtering through more memories, a downloading process for Fear, and as it did so it turned on a little music. If Fear could feel anything save for malice, wicked delight, and any other emotion meant only for the Pure Evil, it would have probably have felt happy as it shifted through one memory form the next, basking in centuries worth of history through the eyes of a nation.
This nation in particular, had been selected out of a chosen few by Fear’s master to die, die by the means of a Trial of Fear. Basically, the terms of the Trial was that Fear, an emotion given physical substance by the great power of the Manor, was to seek out its quarry and pit the contestants against their greatest, well fear. Currently, the entity was in decision, taking little note that Italy was waking and dealing with the music in his head and blood upon his body. What fear to use of the nation? There were, well quite a few, his guy had one hell of a past, though no bloodier than any of the other nations Fear had already seen to. Hell, this Italy wasn’t even that old compared to some of the others; this Italian was just one, big cry-baby who had thought he'd seen hell and back but in reality, he had only just entered hell and Fear was there to give him a royal welcome.
"...Leave me alone... J-Just leave me be, I-I'm trying my best... M-Mi dispiace, per favore..."
‘Yeah, yeah… jeez, just let me… ah! Fine, this one’s good and it’ll be fun’.
Its host could not hear Fear of course, but even the entity acknowledged that it was a cocky thing and well, to be fair Italy was being a big baby. Rolling its metaphorical eyes, Fear slithered its way out from Italy’s person, unheeded and having gained enough Intel that it needed to kill him. Freed from Fear’s full touch, Italy would no longer hear the music, but he was about to face it as Fear filtered out from the room to prepare for its grand entrance. Now that it was hidden from sight, Fear materialized, its writhing black form the source of nightmares and was truly, the thing that goes bump in the night. First legs appeared, then a torso, arm, and finally a head, Fear’s new body slowly morphed into a mold strengthened and fed by none other than Italy’s own details memories. Clothing appeared, with skin, hair follicles, every last detail, organs and all. Fear was well adept at adapting into any form for honestly, the imagination of human’s was their greatest fear of all. The form Fear had chosen was quite cliché, but it admitted that it suited Italy’s pathetic nature.
Honestly, fear of their own brother? Please… Boring!
Romano now stood in the hallway, dressed in the costume Fear had seen the real South Italy wore via Feliciano’s memories. Fear looked sharp, clad out in the Italian’s garments, with a scowl that might even surpass the original. Looking down at itself, Fear cocked its new form’s head to the side. This form…. Needed something. Blinked, Fear was as its brand new costume became torn in places, dirtied, soiled, and in the centre of its abdominal region, dark crimson sprouted from a point and spread out. There… a fatal wound to suit the fear. The blooded Romano grinned wickedly, reaching into the folds of his costume to retrieve e revolver, placed there by Fear’s master, a simple token taken from the Armory. Looking over the gun, Fear nodded its Italian head. Yeah, this should do very nicely. Looking up at the doors to the Music Room, Fear prepared itself for one hell of a good time.
With a bloody hand, Romano shouldered the door, grunting from the ‘pain’ of his injury, and with shaking fingers, opened the door, practically falling into the room. Cursing loudly in Italian, South Italy unsteadily stood though he fell back against the door, slamming it shut. His chest heaved, his face torn up with pain, and his free hand held his stomach though blood seeped between his fingers. His eyes opened into slits, his mouth set into a furious scowl, and his gaze fell upon the figure of surprise, surprise… his brother. Weakly raising his revolver-wielding arm, Roman jutted the barrel towards Feliciano, and with as much spite Fear could must using Romano’s voice, the Italian growled, “You fucking bastard! Fratello, this is all of your fucking fault! Just-just look at me! Vaffanculo!” Fear then slid its form down, frowning all the while, until its knee hit the floor, though the eyes of Romano burned with a deep hatred and never left Italy’s face.
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Aug 8, 2012 19:36:32 GMT -6
Taking a deep breath and letting his eye slip shut, Feliciano lifted a hand to scrub at the tears threatening to fall down his cheek. He needed to calm down; now was not the time to get overstressed and upset by his own mind. Hell, no place in this godforsaken Manor was a good place to break down, especially when there wasn't even anything there to be scared of! Memories are memories, he needed to stop getting caught up in them and letting his imagination get the best of him! Calm down and think!! The music is by no means associated with good memories, but it's still no reason to sit here and cry. Stop thinking so much, just concentrate on finding the others, finding his best friend and his brother. Keep yourself safe, find the others, and either escape or destroy this demon-ridden stain on God's great Earth. Not that he knew how they could do that, it would be a great thing if they could. Save all the nations as well as any future victims from becoming caught in this deadly spider's web.
Now that he had an idea to focus on, a goal that he needed to get done, the Italian immediately began to relax. Mind clearing of its less than pleasant musings, Music finally dying down and fading away with one last haunting note, Feliciano was filled with resolution, focused solely on what he had deemed "top priority". The anxiety, guilt, and other negative emotions hovering over his head swiftly faded away, and when a single amber eye greeted the earth once more, it was filled with a sense of calm that could only come from a decided mind, sharp with purpose. "Ve, I need to see if there's anything that can be used here, and I need a pack to carry my things in..." Feliciano mumbled to himself, unsteadily pushing himself to his feet. So long as he needed to get something done, he would be fine. He wouldn't get caught up in his thoughts, he wouldn't be afraid, and he would be able to succeed where otherwise he would fail.
Of course, he only managed a few steps, heading for the instruments along the side of the wall, when the door burst open.
With a slight jump, causing his already tenuous hold on balance to shake even more, and a stumble into the nearby table, Feliciano whipped around fast enough for his vision to grow spotty about the edges. "V-Ve, who's there?!" he demanded, hand instantly reaching into past a fold in his shirt for the Beretta hanging loyally from his left side in a sturdy holster. "S-Show yoursel-- Lovi!!" All sense of calm immediately left Feliciano's mind. His brother stumbled into the room and only barely managed to shut the door behind him, using the sturdy frame to support his weight as he visibly wavered. His gaze focused solely on the injury practically gushing blood in his brother's lower torso. It was bleeding a lot, but gut-shots always bled a lot, since there were many internal organs to be damaged and/or ruptured. The young brunette could only hope that the injury wasn't as deadly as it looked, that he could treat it. "Ve, Lovi, don't move, you'll make it worse!!" He called, worry painting itself across his face as he rushed over as best he could with his depth perception as hindered as it was. Completely ignoring the look in his brother's eyes, having seen it before in less serious situations, and focusing only on reaching his brother, Feliciano tore the meager remains of his red cape from his shoulders as he fell to his knees at Lovino's side. The numerous swears and names of blame were also norms in his brother's book, and Feliciano had learned decades ago to simply drown them out when the problem at hand called in such blatant disregard for his brother's words and his well-being instead. "Just stay still, Lovi, I'll have it bandaged up in no time and then we can find somewhere comfortable for you to recover in and maybe even find the others so that we can keep the monsters away. Maybe we'll find fratellone Tonino, si? So just let me take care of this and we'll go find him!" The almost incessant babbling was not only meant to distract his brother from the injury, which had to be even more painful than usual considering their more mortal than usual status, but also to keep himself focused on his new task of assessing the injury and treating it as best he could with what he had. Plus the words streaming from his lips at near warp speed helped release a little of the fearful stress he could feel bubbling in his head despite all attempts to keep it at bay. Give it a way to flow from his mind, keep it from adding to the pressure-cooker of thoughts and emotions bottled up in the darker recesses, and he will stay focused.
"Lovi, fratello, what happened to you? And where did you get such an outdated weapon?" Feliciano asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible as he laid his own hands over Lovino's in order to help staunch the bleeding. He ignored the fact the barrel was pointed in his direction, ignored that he could only focus on half of his brother due to the cloth hiding his sliced eye from the world, ignored his original plans to gather bits and pieces of the instruments to use them to make a kit he could carry about, supplies for emergency, if you will. He simply focused on his fratellone, his Lovino that needed medical attention soon. "C-Can you tell me if the bullet went all the way through, Lovi? I need to know, I-I don't want to bandage it with the bullet still in there..."
Hopefully Lovino will listen to him this time, not cause a fuss and make himself worse.
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Post by Fear on Aug 20, 2012 20:12:30 GMT -6
Fear mentally blinked at the pathetic, brunette tending to its self-inflicted wounds. The entity had seen what kind of idiot this North Italy was, but seeing him through the eyes off his dying brother was borderline ‘are you kidding me?!’ This guy was more brainless that his head let on, probably because he was too stupid to acknowledge how stupid he was. There he was rushing at his brother trying to help him, Fear’s words of hurt spoken with Romano’s voice appearing to have no affect upon the other Italian, and Fear eternally crossed its legs though its Lovi form just sat there glaring at Feliciano with a death glower of hatred. Fear was trying to think, trying to ignore the annoying words of the North Italian’s voice, but his constant fiddling with his ‘brother’ was making it hard. So much so, that fear finally fired the gun.
The blast from the muzzle rang loud in the room, casting the room into silence. The eyes of Romano stared indifferently at the growing ring of crimson emerging from the bullet wound upon his brother’s arm before sending a very strong kick into the chest of Italy, sending him sliding him across the floor. Fear shivering with satisfaction; damn did that feel good. Fear was so much stronger than these so-called-nations. With their powers sapped, their strengths reduced to that of mere humans, the dark form knew without a fact that its kick had at least fractured a few ribs. With that done, Fear made its arm wipe off some blood that had started to drip from its lip and spit the rest out.
“You stupid idiot! Stay the hell away from me! This is all of your fault so don’t try now to fix it!”
Fear managed a few angry tears to stream down its Lovi-face before groaning and pulling back the lock of the revolver to load it. With a sigh, the dying form of Romano placed the still warm mouth of the barrel against his temple and stared hard at Feliciano. Daring him to even try and come any closer, though of course that was exactly what fear wanted him to do. It could felt the astonishment, hurt, pain, and confusion radiating of Feliciano, as well as the dread and tingle of fear. Romano’s breathing was labored, his hand was stained red from covering his bleeding wound, and he wouldn’t last much longer anyways. Still, he found the strength to sneer at his pathetic little brother. Scoffing, his voice was deep and groggy was razor sharp, “Fratello, ha! You’re no brother of mine. Nonno always favored you, you with your patetico smile… You are… no Fratello mio…”
His words were hoarse and he coughed, blood spattering across the floor in front of him. He didn’t bother to wipe his mouth this time, which turned upwards into a wicked grin. Romano chuckled. His chuckle lengthened into laughter that quickly escalated into madness. He doubled over, the gun still to his head, and his relentless sounds of crazed mirth rang through the room; the heaves from his breathes only causing his wound to gush out more blood. The man laughed for what seemed like minutes, but in reality it was only a few seconds, for a harsh course of bad coughs resonated from the fluid filling lungs of the dying man, and the Italian hit the back of his head back against the wood of the door to resume his position of glaring at his brother.
There was a nice puddle of blood now surrounding Fear and it could’ve have jumped for triumph if it wouldn’t break its form’s dying pose. Its finger tightened upon the trigger of the revolver threateningly, an expression of pure disgust and hatred burning in its eyes. The entity could put a thousand bullets into its head it wouldn’t hurt it. Fear could not be hurt, it could just be subdued and conquered, but it never truly went away. The entity could die right there in front og Italy, the man seeing only his brother killing himself before his eyes, and then suddenly turn into a zombie or something. Anything to frighten the Italian enough to kill himself or maybe be strangled by his brother’s dead body.
Fear didn’t quite know yet what it would do, but until then he deepened its glare and spoken through a grin of hate and clenched teeth, “It’s your own stupid fault I’m in this fucking place, that I’m bleeding like this and.... questa è la tua colpa troppo!” Once more, the explosion of the gun rang through the room.
~~ xD Enjoy!
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Aug 27, 2012 10:37:39 GMT -6
"This cannot be happening, please not this. Please, Dio, don't take Lovino away from me..."
The thought rang through Feliciano's mind as he continued to gently prod the injury upon his brother's abdomen, praying to find something that disproved his newest diagnosis. Anything to go against the idea that Lovino was going to sit here and bleed to death before his very eyes. That hope dwindled with every moment that passed by and he only felt torn skin and vasts amounts of blood spilling around his fingers, staining his skin ruddy. It only died faster as he noticed the fact that his elder brother wasn't reacting to the pain his touch had to be inflicting, even if it was accidental. It was a worrisome sign, that his touch hadn't drawn a wince or a groan of pain from Lovino. A sign that brought a tremble to his bottom lip as he fought against the tears trying to well in the corners of his eyes. Things...couldn't end like this. It couldn't end with his brother dying, with him knowing only hate and despair. But, he shouldn't be thinking like this, even if that hateful green stare hadn't abated yet. He had to be positive. Had to concentrate on, if not fixing his brother, at least trying to make him comfortable. Without pain, knowing the warmth and love of a brother sitting at his side and praying for his Salvation as he passed onto the other side. Feliciano had to keep those thoughts in mind, even if a painful hurt grew and swelled in his chest as he continued to feel his brother's eyes glaring and digging a hole into him. He had not any plans to show his feelings and thoughts, of course, but he didn't understand why the look had continued as it had. Lovino had vanished the moment the two of them had arrived, going off to get away from the "potato-bastards" and all that nonsense his fratellone was fond of babbling. He hadn't seen his brother at all since this entire mess started; had thought the worst but prayed for the elder Italian to return to him--hoped to have Lovino return unharmed but told Dio that he would be happy so long as he came back to him alive. Isn't that something to laugh about? His prayers had been answered, after all. Lovino was here and he'd come back alive. ...It was more than enough to make a person laugh until they cried, and then you cry and cry until the pain strangles your tears and you start laughing again. But Feliciano did his best to ignore it all, letting the emotions bubble and froth and the thoughts churn sickeningly behind the barrier he'd shakily constructed about his sanity, his coherent thoughts, at the beginning of this nightmare. He needed to keep his mind in order if he wanted to be helpful. After Lovino ble-- O-Once things were...calm again, he could properly focus on what he was avoiding.
"Lovi, Lovi, you're not going into shock, are you? He asked soothingly, momentarily turning his gaze from the wound up to his brother's face. That glare was definitely still there, looking out from dimming emeralds that still held bright traces of the angry fire raging in his brother. With worry growing more apparent on his own blood-splattered face, Feliciano lifted his left hand from the older Italian's injury and reached forward to cup his brother's cheek, perhaps get him to snap out of whatever funk his mind had sunk to. Slim, crimson-stained fingers had only barely grazed an unnaturally pale cheek when the loud crack of a discharging weapon assaulted his ears. Immediately all other sound fell to a quiet murmur as his hearing rang with a piercing hum of the echoing gunshot. Coupling the brain-assaulting sensations was a painful burning, stabbing, deep-seated agony, erupting from his left arm with so much viciousness that it roared itself hoarse in his ears. The hurt was so sudden that he himself couldn't make a sound, only fall down from his crouch to one knee with a heavy thud. The shifting position ended with him inadvertently pulling away from Lovino, and without thinking he lifted his right hand to cover his new injury, uncaring of his blood mingling with Lovino's and Lovino's mingling with his own. By then it was far too late to scream, even as the grip he put upon his arm, trying to kill the pain and staunch the blood staining the flowing sleeve of his gold shirt, jolted a bolt of electricity directly to his brain and sent his tears sliding swiftly down his cheeks with a pained groan. "L-Lovi--" His disbelieving, straining gasp of a whimper could barely get the elder Italian's nickname out before the toe of a large, heavily-soled boot slammed into his side. Sharp creaks and subtle cracks resonated from the harsh collision as he tumbled away, now fully lacking air as it was forced from him. Lungs unable to draw breath, left hand twitching sporadically as fire danced through his nerves, right hand not knowing whether to grip the bleeding gunshot in his left arm or gently cup his screaming side and feel where the fractures started and the pain ended; Feliciano was a mess of overloaded receptors and confused brain cells and he couldn't quite figure what to do with himself. It was only then that he could hear past the ringing in his ears to realize that he had started crying choked off little whimpers and some groaning sobs. Only when he heard the sounds did he manage to quiet them, biting his lip and clenching his eyes shut.
It took many long, pain-riddled moments to get his mind to calm down and think, to stop panicking and focus on what his brother was snarling, but after some time Feliciano finally blinked the new tears from his eyes, uncaring that they were streaming down his cheeks. With some difficulty and a harsh sob as the movement forced his broken and breaking ribs to shift and further cut into the flesh around them, the small Italian managed to lie flat on the floor. Only then did he have the leverage to push himself onto his right elbow, lifting his torso from the ground with as little strain as he could manage. The process felt excruciatingly slow, dragging seconds into minutes of light-headedness and the tell-tale shifting and burning broken bones. But it really only took a few moments to crawl back onto his knees, a pained amber eye staring uncomprehendingly as the man by the door. Lovino just...j-just shot him-- Oh Dio, w-what was wrong with his brother?? H-Had something possessed him, or had he succumbed to the insanity of the Manor--
"L-Lovi?? N-No, what are you doing??"
Whatever color left livening Feliciano's face swiftly drained away, leaving only the sickly pallor of terror as amber eyes tried to comprehend the sight of his brother pressing a gun to his temple with little success. "Lovi, no, don't, y-you don't have to do that!!" His voice was so strained, fear practically paralyzed his vocal cords and he couldn't bring himself to move, no matter how much he screamed at himself to. All he needed to do was scramble over and yank the gun from his brother's hand and he could talk to him, h-help him see that suicide wasn't the answer. Didn't he remember?? Remember that they all had to escape alive, escape together. They couldn't give in to the horror, the murderous aura of the Manor bearing down on them. "Y-You're stronger than this, Lovi, p-please--" The word cracked, gurgled, and died on him as he lifted his good hand to his lips, stifling a sob as he continued to watch as his brother glare and sneer and over-stress his torn insides.
He couldn't handle this. It was happening too quickly. Especially when Lovino brought up that deep, aching scar that still stretched across their already tenuous relationship. He couldn't even bring himself to answer, simply shaking his head disbelievingly as more tears ran down his cheeks, running pink from his left eye as it diluted the blood staining his makeshift eye patch. That was not his fault, he had no control over the fact that Nonno favored him over his brother. He didn't know why Roma had done so; he tried to make Lovino see that Nonno did love him too, but he'd failed so many times to explain that more often than not he didn't even bother anymore. Feliciano especially knew that now would not be the time to bring up such weak responses, not with his brother practically begging for an excuse to put a bullet in his skull. But that didn't mean that Feliciano could stay silent, sit here and watch his brother without attemtping to stop him. The only problem was when he drew in a deep breath, hoping to get his voice to work for himself again, his brother started laughing. The sound made him shudder, despite the sharp sting the action drew from his throbbing side.
That laugh was horrible. Loud and harsh and tinged with the insanity that was setting rich green eyes alight with a sickly brightness, it practically made the little Italian's heart bleed. He winced as the cacophony of laughs, coughs, and gurgles echoed in his ears, imprinting themselves to his memory like series of ill-performed brands. The image of his brother, his fiery-tempered Lovino sitting against the door, lips and chin splattered with the sickening marriage of bile, saliva, and blood, clothes turning darker and darker as his injury continued to hemorrhage his life, and madness painting a sick parody of vibrancy, would forever rest behind Feliciano's eyes. Every blink would bring the Italian to this moment, to the sight of his brother becoming the newest victim to the Manor.
"L-Lovi, please, d-don't leave like this... D-Don't leave me."
Feliciano was rather well-known for his tendency to beg. When he wanted something and couldn't get it, he'd get a touch whiny and beg someone for it. But never had his voice been tinged with such desperation. Never had he voiced himself so weakly, but with such a powerful wash of emotion that his eyesight faded almost completely behind a wave of tears. Never had longing been turned into such empty resignation as he finally realized his words would never reach his brother again.
Lovino's reached him, though.
As that last call of blame rang through the air, infinitely louder and more painful than any shrieking bomb could every be, and the quiet-by-comparison bang of a life-ending bullet echoed through the air, Feliciano felt something in him crumple apart and shrivel into dust. It was as if his body had become numb; his world frozen to a halt, drained of all color but the red staining his fratello's form. Slowly he shuffled over, still upon his knees and visibly uncaring of the blood staining his pants or the brain matter he was crushing underneath his weight. All that mattered was reaching his brother, confirming what his mind already knew but his heart refused to admit. Only when he had his right arm wrapped around Lovino's torso, only when he had that lifeless form cradled against his torso, only when the sensation of slick, unknown substances oozing of the gaping exit wound registered against the unclothed skin of his throat did Feliciano react. The numbness was so sharp now that it burned, making his heart ache as if it were exposed to the storms of Siberia. But his mind was blank, filled with nothing but cotton dreams and icy nightmares that were empty as the now-dry, amber eyes holding them. His body was on autopilot now, attempting to release the stress of physical pain still welling up behind the icy cover of despair.
He buried his face in his brother's blood-stained hair and screamed.
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Post by Fear on Sept 7, 2012 12:39:51 GMT -6
Hmm… So what to do now? Seriously, what to do? Fear had shot itself in its form’s head and now the idiotic Italian was bawling like a retard al over his ‘dead brother’ and getting his snot and tears all over Fear. Romano remained lifeless, his green eyes dead, but this was a thin skin to the demonic and all-powerful entity that he truly was, and this mass, Fear, was calculating faster than a super-computer as to what to possibly do next. It had Italy at the breaking point, drawing near his mind into insanity, and he was quickly unraveling. Deep within what would be Romano’s head, bullet hole and all, a smoke figure of Fear sat in a cross-legged resembled form tapping its intangible chin. It could… turn into a zombie, or a ghost, or a vengeful bat-thing…. Fear just didn’t now what to do and it had to kill this guy.
‘Or…. I could always make the idiot kill himself… that would be fun’.
Thinking it over, completely ignoring the imbecilic mutterings of the hysteric Feliciano, fear concluded that it could try this and if that didn’t work… well, maybe the fool had won? Some say that you can’t win against fools but, Fear was not in the position to lose, its Master was counter on the formless, mischief-maker to kill this guy. Thus, fear began to work. The majority of its mass remained in its Italian, or dead Italian form, but unbeknown to Feliciano, a small tendril of black smoke slithered from Romano’s exit wound and slipped into North Italy’s ear. From there, Fear made its way once more through his mind. Wherever it touched, pain and sad, sorrowful memories struck the nation’s mind, images of Romano, or Roman Empire, and of moments of grim and dark history.
Fear took its time until it came to rest, like a black raven on a nest, upon Italy’s subconscious and then, it began to whisper. No sound was made, but feelings. Any dread, fear, numbness, loneliness, and especially guilt the man was feeling, fear intensified, sharpened, and this combined with dropping the body temperature ever so slightly of its Romano form, made the essence that Italy was holding his dead brother even more prominent. Fear did this, kneading Italy into its own distraught, hopeless mold of what was once a happy-go-lucky, moron named Italy. The entity pushed both soft and hard at these feelings, making others stand out against each other, before rotating and continuing on. It began a game of sorts to Fear, like playing an organ or piano of its very own Italy, pressing down on the Guilt key, while holding, the Its-Your-Fault one.
Fear became a puppeteer and it was pulling the strings to their brink. After a while, the great crescendo came into play and fear let loose! It was simple, elegant, and Fear left the rest to Italy’s torn and rotten mind…. all the entity did was, highlight the presence of the revolver still in Romano’s hand. It reminded Italy of the coolness of the metal, the flash of the muzzle, and the silence that would follow a shot. A way out, an escape, from this place, from his guilt, and a way to reunite with his brother and Grandpa so that they all could be a family again and so that Italy could apologize for an eternity to his brother. After all, he surely would forgive him in the grace of God and heaven right? Yes…. Fear smirked wickedly, oh how fun this was!
‘Pull the trigger… and you’ll be free…’
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Sept 10, 2012 10:37:11 GMT -6
It was strange, how a single loss can have such an impact. Feliciano was used to losing people, war and representing a nation meant that you got to feel your citizens be born, age, live life, and die, over and over and over again. Even despite the fact that he loved almost all of his citizens the same way an uncle would love his nieces and nephews, rarely did a death affect him so badly. "Oh, Lovi, bambino, I'm so sorry," Feliciano murmured between hiccups, hugging the lifeless corpse a little closer as he began to gently rock back and forth, as if soothing a child. But none of those deaths were his brother's, now were they? Not even his grandfather's death had hit him so badly, when he watched his grandfather leave for battle and return on his shield. But Feliciano hadn't completely understood the death of a nation back then,when he thought his grandfather was invincible and that empires could never die. Nor did he have to watch his Nonno Roma be cut down in battle, which Feliciano thought his Nonno would want to go, if he were to be honest with himself. Lovino...His poor big brother had felt so hopeless, so frustrated and lost that he felt that suicide was the only answer. "How hard have your struggles been, fratello, to lead you to this..?"As his eyes slipped shut, he could see not only his brother, muzzle to temple and bullet tearing through flesh, but there laid his Nonno, covered in injuries with a sword-wound tearing open his abdomen and spilling his intestines. Roma laughing, ruffling his own hair and promising to take a younger Feliciano to see his brother once he had beaten back that "pesky bastard Germania" out of his, their empire, he called it. Less than two weeks later that same Empire, with world-weary blue eyes and golden wheat-like hair, would come in to take him up north, for Feliciano's newly-inherited lands had been overrun by barbarians, his grandfather only just cremated as all great warriors and leaders are. Feliciano and Lovino, fighting over the land Roma had left to them; fighting the mentality he left for the both of them that would plague their people for millennia to come. --- "Fratello, you fucking bastard!! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Lovino shouted, lifting his shield to block a arrow whizzing through the air and attempting to sink in the soft skin of his throat. "Are you trying to fucking kill me?!"
I didn't respond, why would I? The Pope had started this war; had created an alliance with most of my enemies and sent them all after me. They were trying to devour my trade, snuff my power and send me drowning in sea like I knew they all wanted. Instead I shifted my stance, took aim once more, and let another arrow fly. Regretfully, Lovino blocked that one as well and ducked behind an outcropping of rocks in order to avoid my sight. As if that would work; the moment he showed up in the open again would be his last.
Lovino was just jealous, pissed that Nonno had left me the best of his lands, where the most farming could be done, where other people were near and ripe for the pillaging. That he had the perfect sea port to build my heart on; food may be scarce but trade had to go through me to reach the Europe. I created the standard for art, created culture; he simply supplied me with his pompous rich holy men and their corrupt ideals to pay for my artists. He's jealous that Milano survived the Plague, that even with Firenze and Venezia taking so many casualties I survived and was more well off than he. Wasn't it obvious? He was the one who brought the Plague to us, he's the one who's perverted the religion Nonno left for us, the one touched by the Devil himself. He can't handle the fact that Lovino was the center of corruption for the continent, so he has to take it out on me. Send my enemies after me since he can't get rid of me himself.
"Life would be so much easier without you, Lovino," I whisper, narrowing my eyes and keeping my gaze pinned on that stupid curl I could see swaying in the wind between two boulders. "I would be even more powerful, I could unite my lands and keep that bastard Espagna out of the Mediterranean. I would have a unified front to halt damn Francia in his tracks and send him scurrying for the Alps like the damn coward he is. I would make Nonno proud; Prouder than you ever could." Slowly, that damn curl bobbed and swayed away from the rocks, and green eyes were in sight.
"Just fucking die, fratello, dear. It might hurt at first, but I'm sure that Satan will greet you warmly~ <3" Even though I know that he couldn't hear a word, it was therapeutic to hiss at him as my arrow flew true and distracted him enough for the second to catch him in the side. His pained cry is my cue to go find him and end this. Placing my bow back in its quiver and pulling out my dagger, I make sure to stay silent as I creep towards the flailing thing laying on the ground. Hateful green eyes glare at me, but what do I care of his feelings when he has left me a half-starved, broken shell of myself? It's his fault that I'm in such awful shape; but I will not go down without a fight. I will take him out before they send me to my grave. I lift my knife, he raises his sword.
"Stay down, Lovino."
"Vaffanculo!! No one wants you here anymore, bastardo fratellino!!!"--- The mere memory of wanting his brother dead was more than enough to break Feliciano's heart further. A different time, when he was a different person and so caught up in the rage of the era to think of what was truly important. But did Lovino know that? That mere thought alone sent his mind to a screeching halt. Did his big brother die knowing that the younger Italian loved him, would have given up anything for him? "Stay the fuck away! This is all your fault so don't try to fix it now!" "Fratello? Ha! You're no brother of mine!!" "Questa è la tua colpa troppo!!"...Even if he did know, it was obvious, in the end, that Lovino didn't care. His big brother, his friend and other half didn't care. That doubled the ache in his chest, increased his pain so much that the steadily cooling body tucked against his side felt so hot it was scorching his skin. He hurt too much to even cry anymore, simply left him sitting here and petting at the back of Lovino's head. "Lovi, fratellone, I should have tried harder with you..." He murmured, shifting so that his chin rested on the crown of the brunette's head, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling. "I shouldn't have left your side. I should have protected you. ...I failed you.""But...I can at least do give the rites for you."Tilting his head to press a soft kiss to Lovino's hair, the small Italian laid out the now-ice cold body out on the floor, laying his legs straight and his arms folded on his stomach. Digging through his brother's pockets and then checking about a slim throat, he sighed when shaking fingers made no contact with the rosary normally adorning the dark-skinned brunette. But Feliciano had a spare, the one he was actually planning on giving to Alfred since the blonde had lost the last one gifted to him. Lifting the green-beaded string from around his neck, he wrapped it around lifeless fingers before he pushed himself to his feet. But when he turned, his foot gently thumped into a small object, sending it skittering a few feet to the side. Cold amber eyes gazed down, and there laid the instrument in Lovino's suicide, gleaming innocently in the pool of congealing blood. "Just pick me up, Feliciano" that dull metal whispered as Feliciano knelt down, scooping up the old revolver before he even know what was coming over him. He wanted to throw the thing away; bury it in a hole where no one could ever use it for such a horrid thing again. But instead, he held it in his good hand as he stayed as stiffly-upright as he could manage, poor ribs protesting their constant shifting with every breath. His body was a mess of agony and hurtful aches; the still-burning bullet lodged in his arm felt as if it was writhing, squirming deeper into his skin and then back at out, as if it wanted to return to the weapon in his hand. "Pull the trigger...you'll be free."Cold eyes stared down into cold metal, and the mind behind those dull orbs continued to churn out thought. Would it really be that easy? Simply lift the blood-stained muzzle to his own temple, pull the trigger, and...end this? Feliciano had never thought of suicide before. Sure, he was constantly wondering if each flood in Venezia would be the last, when his heart would finally be dragged into the sea and he would drown on dry land. Those thoughts were always with a bit of resignation, though. He wasn't sure he could survive the death of his heart, could hardly stand the empty ache as more people moved out to avoid the storms and rising waters. But Lovino had always been the constant in those plans, if Feliciano had to go he had his brother who could easily take over and run his people properly and with the care they both felt they deserved. But maybe he could...end it here. Someone would take both their places, someone who wouldn't have the pain of a dead brother and the nightmares of a manor in America where il Diavolo walked on land without worry or care. He could meet his Nonno, reunite the family. Spend the rest of forever proving to them both that he loved family above all. "....h-hehehe...hahahahaha--AHAHAHAHAHA~" Feliciano laughed. Laughed harder than he ever had in years, and every single sound left him feeling feeling more empty and disgusted with himself than he ever had in his life. This same laugh had only just sent him into tears as it tumbled from Lovino's lips as he plugged a bullet into his brain. Now the madness was creeping into his mind, it seemed. But the Italian wouldn't let it overtake him just yet. He cocked back the hammer, lifted the gun, and pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Over and over until the chamber was empty and the floor was littered with the splintered remains of the violins previously hanging from the walls. "As if I would go to Paradisio now," He chuckled in parody of the black hole sucking the very life from his chest. "Thinking I'd go anywhere than Inferno after driving my brother to suicide..? Damn wishful thinking. I already am in fucking hell, I'd just wake back up here with nothing to show for it!!" Spiteful, empty tears gathered in his eyes and with hollow rage acting as a shield against the pain still growing more and more in his mind and heart, the boy threw the weapon with all his might at the piano, chipping a few keys as the hard metal came into contact with ivory. Then he turned and kicked a table, breaking the wooden leg clean off and sending a sharp pain shooting up his toes. How could he ever think that he would be so lucky as to escape like that? Join his brother and grandfather and live a happy afterlife? How could he think he deserved that when his loss would hurt his friends and family that were still alive and suffering just as much in this godforsaken hellhole? With a deep, shuddering breath, Feliciano swiftly pushed all of his hurt, anger, despair, and suicidal thoughts to the back of his mind and shoved them all in to a pot to stew for a while. Then he began to gather the sharp shards of wood, taking his time so he could build a nice little funeral pyre around his brother's corpse. "I can't join you, Lovi, I don't deserve to. But I can at least send you on your way, and pray for your happiness in Heaven with Nonno," the boy told his elder brother matter-of-factly, the crack in his mind growing as he lifted the small lamp he had grabbed from one of the tables. Kerosene glimmered dimly in the light, and Feliciano poured the viscous liquid over both the wood and Lovino's clothes. It wouldn't be much, but hopefully he could coax the fire bright with more fuel: the room was filled with potential tinder. "I love you, fratello. You may not have known it, might not believe it now, but I love you. I will always love you. Please, rest in peace.As the oil-soaked fabric caught fire, bringing a flicker of color to lifeless skin as the cremation began, Feliciano knelt down and began to pray. "Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae Amen"
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Post by Fear on Sept 12, 2012 12:11:44 GMT -6
This guy was one sorry, pain in Fear’s unformed ass. It didn’t matter how afraid the guy was or how strong the being was feeling, the boy had fought against fear’s push and had rendered the revolver useless and on top of that, had set its body on fire! Not that the fire hurt in any way, Fear wouldn’t be hurt, not really, just weakened through will and strength, and Feliciano’s will and stupidity and said no to committing suicide. Which meant, that Fear had failed. Already, it could feel the scornful eye of its Master glaring down upon the entity, which stared out from its flaming form through Romano’s dead, boiling eyes. Internally, Fear did what could most closely be related to was a stubborn pout and a shrug to its Master disapproval. ‘What can I do? Turn into smoke and fill the guy’s lung until they explode? Well, I could… but that’s not what you sent me for!’ Being a child of the Manor, fear was rebellious as it was loyal and slowly disintegrated, allowing the fire to appear to naturally burn the body, until finally it disappeared all together, fire and all, leaving nothing but a slight scorch mark and the bloodied, empty revolver In reality, Fear never left but had gone invisible to Italy’s eye though it filled the room with it’s indignant anger and as much as it wanted to fill Italy was dread and hopelessness, it could no longer touch him. Though it had to admit… that this guy was one messed and sick sonofabitch because, even fear acknowledged that it took a heartless man to burn his own brother in such a unceremoniously way. True some fancy words were spoken, but the manor did had a Graveyard for a reason… and if the brother truly cared, he shouldn’t moved heaven and earth to properly bury his, what he believed to be, dead brother, not potentially set the entire house on fire, though that was impossible. Fear, for all it’s might, hissed in Italy’s general direction, not with words for Fear didn’t have a mouth to speak with, for Fear was nothing more but black, endless mist. No, it spoke with thought, with feeling, and with this last allowance of its power with Italy, Fear told him with a cold-wrenching feeling in Italy’s stomach and pang of pain in his chest, ‘This is not over… what you did will not be forgotten or forgiven. Fear is all around and none truly escape it!’~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Congratulations N. Italy, you have beaten your Terror Trial and have been rewarded the revolver from the Terror Trial, blood and all, although this gun seems to never run out of ammo! Handy since the gun you entered the Manor with will! For reaching to Word Minimum you receive this as well as the Glorification for being successful! Have fun and congratulations once more!
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