Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Nov 22, 2012 3:03:54 GMT -6
If it weren't for the dire straits of this situation, and the dark gloom constantly hanging over this evil place, Feliciano couldn't help but think that this place could have been beautiful. Keeping a grip on the sharp brick of the chimney, tired amber eyes took in the sights laid out before him. The land of the Baudeau Plantation was expansive, and in his minds eye he could see what this place might have been, over a hundred years ago before the devil had taken root and tainted the very soil with its influence. Acres of rich green grass, fields of beautiful golden sugar cane, and a brilliant sun shining down upon it. Of course, there was still the signs of slavery in this place, if the burnt remains of the slave quarters blotting the dark landscape with grey and black remains, but that did not mean this beauty couldn't be appreciated, on an outside, aesthetic view.
Stumbling over this ladder had been a mere accident--the Italian was simply looking for something that could be useful tucked away in the attic. But instead he bumped into a old, still sturdy ladder that led to the top of this place, this tall mansion reminding him in a nostalgic, bitter fashion of his own architecture from the sixteenth century. He couldn't help himself--that nostalgia drove him to climb up, to take a stance at the tall column of a chimney as he gazed at the lands sprawled out four stories beneath his feet. It reminded him of sitting on the roofs of Firenze, of Venezia, even climbing up the Colosseum in Roma to watch his brother's people. Even the feel of brickwork beneath his hand was still rough in a similar manner of those long past times, years and years of cold wind doing nothing to wear away the sharp edges into something smoother. Then again, the way everything, other than those same slave quarters, was almost impeccably taken care of, could Feliciano have expected anything else? This mansion could never become the weathered treasures that all buildings eventually aged into. So long as that demon infecting this house existed, this place would remain in a pocket away from the rest of the world, frozen in time and simply picking away people, a few at a time, to feast upon. "This place...Ve, it could have been such a beautiful place for someone to live..." The whisper was stolen away the moment it passed chapped lips, scattered by that biting wind.
It was no secret to the Italian why the gabled rooftop was left accessible. There were shoes littered near the steps, so many dozens of pairs that Feliciano felt a pang of sympathy for every person who had come here to put a final end the torment they faced. The small brunette, too, had left his shoes behind as he climbed up, but rather for the added traction of bare feet upon the shingles than anything else. He simply wished to see the land, to try planning a way to reach that far-off fence keeping them all sealed inside this hellhole. Not that he could see any weaknesses from this distance, but he was attempting to plot a way to travel the grounds without running into any of the monsters he knew had to be hiding out in the shadows his golden eyes could not pierce.
Another gust of wind assaulted his back, and only his grip on both the chimney and the roof beneath his spread toes kept him from stumbling forward. But it still caused him to sway, and it made the young-but-infinitely-old boy wonder, once more, whether there were people who had come to do as he was, but were sent flying to their deaths. Fortunately, the roof was flat at its highest point, and he was far from the edge that, if he let himself fall instead of stumble, he would be momentarily safe from any unnecessary plummet. In his ears echoed a quiet whisper, a voice on the wind telling him that he shouldn't suffer this place. As much as he longed for freedom, that voice cajoled, there was none here, and none to be had. Please, don't suffer what you did not have to, it hummed, travelling through him like sickly sweet tea, just go.
But of course he wouldn't listen--Feliciano had suffered many scoldings from so many people about being unable to listen to orders or advice, and that was a trait he certainly wasn't going to lose anytime soon. Especially not in a place like this. Instead, he simply sank down to sit, to better keep his balance as he continued scouring what he could see. There had to be something, something he could catch, to make himself useful to the others once he came across them. That's all he wanted; to help those trapped in this place. But more than anything, even above helping all the nations, he wanted to be of use to those he kept so close to his heart--his friends, his family, the people he loved above all else. Ludwig, Gilbert, Francis, Antonio, Mr. Roderich, Ms Elizaveta, Lovino... Those were the people he would do anything for, the driving force that kept him from immediately climbing back to the safety(?) inside these stone walls. He had to do his best to learn, absorb all the knowledge hidden in the darkness. How else would they figure out a way to escape, or even destroy this horrible place?
"Would they see it that way, though?" He asked no one, resting his forearms upon bent knees as his gaze turned to the thin clouds trying to hide the sky. It was a true enough question to voice out--Would his friends and family see his efforts for what they were? Or would he be scolded again, for "endangering himself needlessly", for being mindlessly stupid like he always seems to come off as? So often, his efforts to fix things ended badly, ended with him the guilty party of a half-brained scheme that only exacerbated an already tense situation. Lovino's harsh criticisms were forever hiding in the back of his mind, joined by Ludwig's exasperated scoldings, but Feliciano rarely payed them even a lick of attention, no matter how much they might hurt initially. He simply wanted to help, and it was more than enough personal justification to help him push through those thoughtless words. What else could he do? The Italian knew that those words were never meant to be too harsh, even with his brother's sharp tongue and lack of thought behind his word.
Blinking a little, the boy had to shake away himself from his thoughts. "Veeeee, even stuck in this place I can't keep from getting distracted," He hummed to himself, tilting his head to one side with a small smile on his face. "I wonder if Lovi would yell at me for this~" The smile was fond at the very thought, somewhat unfitting for the background, but he didn't try to scare it away for the somber expression he'd come to wear as of late. It was nice to smile, he was glad to be happy if only for a fleeting moment.
The wind continued to howl around him, still a bitter cold that gnawed at his skin and sent his bright costume rustling against his frame, but it was somewhat refreshing in the face of the claustrophobic feel of the Manor sitting underneath him. Clearing his mind was worth the slight risk of sitting on a roof with the threat of "imminent death" crawling along the edges. The Italian wasn't one for a fear of heights, anyway. Hopefully, after a little time to gather his bearings and perhaps spot a safe path through the lands, he would be able to keep smiling once he climbed back downstairs. But he had to take his time, first. Feliciano knew better than to rush this. So long as the weather didn't grow worse, he would stay here until he had everything here memorized. "I hope...that this can be useful, ve. That I'm not wasting time."
He was ignorant to the sounds of someone climbing up the old, creaking ladder to join him. Keeping his attention focused either on the view or on his own thoughts, the fact that there was now another presence joining him on the wide rooftop completely eluded him.
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Vasile Ionescu
Survivor
Played by Roma.
Offline.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players"
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Post by Romania on Nov 22, 2012 10:28:35 GMT -6
(Open thread! *pounces*)
When Vasile had set foot into the dusty old attic only moments earlier that day, he hadn’t really been looking for a way up to the roof. Well, not initially, at least; a while of snooping around the place and breathing in dust had made him crave for fresh air fairly quick. So the second he had spotted the ladder leading to potential salvation from suffocation, he had not hesitated to run up and escape the room outside. And the second the wind had caught his hair and fresh air filled his dusty lungs, he had quickly found himself not regretting his decision the slightest.
He was only half-way out of the attic now, his feet still on the ladder’s steps, his upper body resting against his arms as he breathed in the cool, fresh air outside. Not emerging into the wind completely kept him from having to fear stumbling down or locking himself up on the roof on accident. Like this, he could just enjoy the air and the view without worry for as long as he wanted. And, the Romanian guessed, that would probably be quite a while; he was definitely in no rush to climb down and continue his exploration among the dust.
It wasn’t like there was any particular reason why he had been searching through the creepy old attic anyway. Well, unless, of course, one considered curiosity a reason on its own; having visited most of the Manor’s rooms by now (some even multiple times), the Romanian had been in a desperate need to find something new and exciting. The ghosts he had constantly passed through or the screams and the whispers he wasn’t even sure others could hear had been nothing new to him, and so they had stopped providing entertainment for him ages ago. How exciting were ghosts when you had been their friend ever since young? How mysterious could you consider a voice that was so very similar to the whispers always carried around by winds wherever you went?
The young man sighed. His thoughts were taking a turn for the more poetic again. Must’ve been the fresh air cleansing his mind and lungs from dirt and worry alike. To think that some people could actually cast themselves down from here… To the Romanian, the mere thought sounded inconceivable. Shouldn’t the fresh air out here clear their mind enough to make them realize how stupid an escape their decision to jump down was? Shouldn’t the setting sun, far from this place as it might be, be enough to make them realize there was still hope? Make them remember that the world was right outside that seemingly unreachable fence? It was there, it was waiting, and those who cast themselves down from these bricks could never hope to reach it, ever again. Stupid. Giving up like that was just plain stupid.
Yes, it might take a long time until they could fight themselves free and break this curse, but nothing was absolute until you drew your last breath and closed your eyes for that eternal slumber. Those who lived had hope. Those who died had nothing. To give away your life, when many of the ghosts here would’ve done anything to gain back a day to spend fighting and trying to escape? The Romanian almost felt repulsed. Was it just because he had actually talked to ghosts and knew what awaited after death that he thought this? If he didn’t know, if he were as ignorant as those that had climbed these same ladders to end it all before him… would he have blamed them? Or would he… have been one of them?
The Romanian shook his head. He couldn’t picture it, himself broken and desperate enough to stop fighting and deciding to retort to suicide. It wasn’t an image his mind could produce, and he doubted that would have changed even if he didn’t have his magic powers. Even if he had always been a human and not a nation, who simply couldn’t allow himself to die because there were people that needed him, both alive and dead. Yes, he wasn’t immortal anymore, but that didn’t change the fact that he had people out there. He needed to return to watch new people be born, watch people live, watch them die, and make sure they weren’t lonely in their graveyards after death. It was stupid for a human to kill themselves, it was despicable for a nation to do so. It was not their place to decide when to end their life, even if they were reduced to mortals within this mansion. Thinking otherwise was selfish beyond belief.
Vasile knew that many would’ve quickly jumped to saying he was mean, that he didn’t understand, that he was cruel and heartless to speak ill of the dead and the desperate like that. He knew, heck, he had seen the looks many gave him when he didn’t shed a tear for the departed or lower his head when he came across the belongings of someone not among the living anymore. They accused him of not caring, and honestly? Vasile would have probably accused himself too, should he have seen himself through a stranger’s eyes. Come what may, there was always that same subtle yet scheming smirk on his face, and rare were the things that could dim the curious spark ever present in his eyes. One look at him was enough to tell that he seemed to be enjoying his time here at the Manor. Enjoying, while many suffered. People assumed he didn’t care.
But they were very, very wrong.
Each scream that caught his ears brought along fear. Was that scream their last? Did they truly die? Was he next? How many else were dead? It was a natural reaction, normal for so many humans. But it was unproductive. It was a hindrance to always think the worst, to always only count your curses and forget the blessings. He had learned that at a very early age, and learned to always find something positive in any given situation. It wasn’t like he weren't worried or anxious inside the Manor, it was just that he was able to think about all the positive things an opportunity like this brought. No, not only able, it was more like... the positive thoughts came first and pushed aside the negative. Excitement! Meeting people! Fun! Life was all about how you made it out to be. This Manor didn’t have to be Hell.
Vasile chuckled to himself, a bit melancholic. No doubt there’d come a time he’d be faced with something so horrible even he couldn’t think any good of it. A time when he’d finally crack.
“Buuut, that’s not gonna be in a while!” The Romanian laughed as he stretched his arms, finally pulling himself up to fully stand on the roof for no other reason but to see what it'd be like. The wind instantly picked up and howled, as if rejoicing for a new victim to whisper thoughts to. Vasile just smiled at it and raised a hand in greeting. He could already feel them, the ghosts passing through him along the wind, the moans of the departed raising up to his ears from past the roof’s edge.
God it was noisy.
It was then, as he lowered his hand to use his palms to shield his ears, that Vasile noticed he wasn’t alone with the spirits there. He could feel the presence of supernatural beings from afar, but humans? Nope, not his area of expertise, so it was no wonder he hadn’t noticed the boy sitting some distance from him on the side of the chimney. The brunette seemed deep in thought, the wind rustling through his hair and apparently trying to whisper into his ear as well. It made Vasile wonder, was the other as impervious to those whispers as he was? Or could his downcast gaze mean he was… actually contemplating on jumping?
Unable to ignore the other now, Vasile started to advance towards him. It didn’t take him long to notice the distinctive curl bouncing in the wind and recognize the other on the spot. Italy. The Northern half, to be precise, as he lacked the scowl usually presented on the other half’s face. Well, if it was Italy, there was no way he’d jump. Actually, even if he tried, he probably couldn’t. He’d get his foot stuck on the rain gutter or something.
But better be safe than sorry.
“Hey, you there!” Vasile called out after a moment’s contemplation. At first he had planned to sneak behind the Italian and scare him, but making him jump in a place like this could have probably been likened to attempted murder. Yes, he mildly enjoyed causing fear, panic and discomfort, even some slight pain at times, but not to that extent. He wasn’t quite that sadistic. “You better not jump, you hear? The people who’ve died here are a really loud bunch as is! I really don’t need you joining their ranks!”
As Vasile shouted, he kept one hand on his ear to block the sounds. The whispers of the wind he could barely hear, but the wailing? It was giving him a headache. He wasn't sure if the sounds were something audible to the Italian or only to those with the ability to communicate with ghosts, but he disliked them all the same.
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Nov 24, 2012 17:26:06 GMT -6
Other than those quiet whispers he was hearing now and then, the air here was quiet, just how Feliciano liked his thinking-time to be. But then an almost-enthusiastic shout shattered the calm and had the brunette leaping nearly out of his skin. Lifting a hand to keep his heart from stamping its way out of his chest at a staccato beat, amber eyes turned away from the scenery to stare at the newcomer. Someone was actually up here? It was certainly a shock to see the blonde man stepping closer, and he made no attempt to hide that feeling as he stared, eyes wide. It was hard to catch the words being shouted at first, sounding as little more than a loud noise before the wind sliced up consonants and syllables, but after a few moments he managed to catch the words and piece them back together. "C-Che cosa..? Jump--Oh! No, I wouldn't jump, ve!" Immediately the boy made to correct the misconception, pushing himself to his feet and then having to widen his stance as a sudden gust of wind assaulted them both, nearly sending him stumbling a few steps. Once he'd regained his balance, he continued, "I just needed to think a little--it was too dusty in the attic, a-and I was hoping the air would clear my head a little, that's all!"
As if he would jump off a building to kill himself. That's such a stupid way to go--for one, there's no guarantee you'll actually die, and two, what if you had second thoughts on the way down? There's no way to stop yourself once you're off the safety of the roof. Or there's even those accidents where you might try turning away, you lose your balance, and your suicide becomes your unwanted accidental death. No thank you, he thought to himself with a slight shiver, shaking his head as he righted his costume and stepped towards the other. Within a few moments, he was standing in front of the blonde, confusion and curiosity coloring his expression as he stared up at other.
"But...what do you mean, "the people who have died here are loud as it is", ve?" He asked, blinking confused amber orbs as he glanced around the empty roof, the two of them alone with no one but the howling wind to keep them company. "There's no one here--and no one talking, ve. Whispers, maybe... But the only thing being loud is the wind." Not that he felt entirely comfortable talking about those whispers anyway--after all, they could just be figments of his imagination and voicing them aloud might make him seem like he's going mad or something. Who knows what could happen if the thought of him going insane got into someone's mind? That was a scenario that wouldn't end very well, at least he didn't think so.
Hopefully, though, the Romanian--finally able to pin a nationality to the tall nation after recognizing him--wouldn't come to think like that. He was always a bit...well, not necessarily odd, but one of those people who said he could see the "magic" that Arthur and Norway saw. At the very least, he would be safe from too much judgement. "L-Look, can we...go back down, ve?" He asked, glancing warily at the edges of the roof. "The wind is getting rougher..."
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Vasile Ionescu
Survivor
Played by Roma.
Offline.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players"
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Post by Romania on Dec 6, 2012 7:08:54 GMT -6
Vasile chuckled in amusement as he saw the Italian grasp his chest in surprise. It really was good he had decided against sneaking up on the poor boy like he had intended at first; if a mere shout startled him that much, he would have probably jumped right off the roof in surprise if he had intentionally tried to scare him. Poor guy, he really was every inch the scaredy-cat he was known to be. Vasile couldn’t help but wonder how in the world did someone like him hold his own in the Manor at all? Even people like Monaco, known for their poker face and calmness, had been showing signs of anxiety when he had talked to them. Then again, it might’ve been because he was intentionally bullying them… Ah, well.
Once the Italian had pulled himself together enough to grasp the meaning behind Vasile’s words, he was quick to speak up to correct the Romanian. He claimed he wouldn’t jump, and Vasile found himself believing him easily; The Italian’s shock and surprise at the mere suggestion of such an act were all the proof the taller male needed.
The wind picked up just as the boy stood up, as if it had been waiting for him to make that one, careless move and then push him down into his death. Vasile followed suit as the Italian widened his stance by lowering his own, all the while holding onto his hat with his right hand. The wind howled and carried with it words, but the Romanian had long since gone deaf to them; the wailing, the screams and the sounds of bones being crushed as the ghosts replayed their deaths in his mind over and over didn’t leave room for anything else. He could barely hear Veneziano continue his explanation once the wind had eased up and the two of them had regained their almost-lost balance. He could, however, make out the guy saying something about the attic, dust and clearing his head. Believing he caught all the keywords needed, Vasile nodded his head.
“Really? Seems to be popular nowadays,” he chuckled, still holding onto his hat. He knew it didn’t really go well with his otherwise old fashioned Dracula costume, but he loved the hat and was not about to let the wind steal it away without a fight. The problem was, both of his hands were occupied now, with the other still resting on his ear to try and block out at least some of the screaming. Having your hands so close to your body was bad, balance-keeping wise. “I came here for the exact same reasons~”
Too bad clearing his mind with all this noise was difficult. He really should’ve just stayed down on the ladder.
The Italian walked towards him now, and Vasile settled to just waiting for the guy to reach him. He didn’t feel like moving. It wasn’t the wind pushing him off he feared, it was his sense of balance being disturbed by the noise. The wind he could feel coming long before it hit him, and he knew how to protect himself from it; just lower and widen your stance, lay down if you have to. But he had little means to fight against anything that went on inside his head. What if one of the ghosts got the bright idea to shout into his ear just when he was about to take a step? He didn’t want to fall. He didn’t want to die. He couldn’t die.
"But...what do you mean, "the people who have died here are loud as it is", ve?" The Italian asked once he was close enough. Confusion shone from his face, and the Romanian couldn’t stop himself from smirking with pride and surprise alike. Oh? So the boy had actually paid attention to what he was saying? Impressive, maybe he wasn’t as air-headed as they said. It also seemed like the screams were audible only to him – and probably to England and Norway, should they ever find themselves up here and the ghosts decide they wanted to bother them. Maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe the ghosts just hated him, because he had judged their decision to take their own life in his mind? Could they read minds? The thought made Vasile’s blood freeze. If there was one thing he feared (apart from cramped places) it was someone figuring out his thoughts and knowing his mind.
"There's no one here--and no one talking, ve. Whispers, maybe... But the only thing being loud is the wind."
There it came, the final testament to the Italian not being able to hear the ruckus that bothered the Romanian so, only the wind. It also served to snap Vasile out of his darkening thoughts. He was probably just being paranoid anyway, no way the dead could actually read minds… right? The Romanian truly hoped his face didn’t show the momentary falter in his self-confidence and in the off-chance it did, that Veneziano wouldn’t notice it.
Suddenly, Vasile remembered he hadn’t yet answered the other’s question. Before he could get the chance to open his mouth however, the other already spoke up ahead of him, glancing down from the roof cautiously.
"L-Look, can we...go back down, ve? The wind is getting rougher... "
No.
No, Vasile didn’t want to go down yet. He didn’t know why, as it made no sense for him to stay up there any longer; he had come to get some fresh air in his lungs and clear his mind, and the former he had already accomplished, while the latter was impossible due to all the of the sounds disturbing him. So what reason could he possibly have to stay and risk getting blown off the roof into a certain death?
He didn’t know, but he did have theories. It could be the Italian’s face, so scared and bothered by their current location that it made the Romanian want to linger a bit longer just to see how scared the guy would become before he’d break and just run to the ladder in fear. Or, it could be the Romanian’s reluctance to descend back into the attic. It wasn’t just the dust and darkness, it was how cramped the place was. He hated it. Or maybe, just maybe it was his pride, telling him that if he left now, he’d just be running away from the voices. He couldn’t accept that. Couldn’t accept fleeing. He didn’t want to be afraid of the whole mind-reading deal. He didn’t want to believe in it. Didn’t want to leave. He wasn’t sure why still, but he knew what his decision was now.
And so, he decided to voice it. Forcing away all other thoughts, the Romanian let show a disappointed pout.
“Back down? Already? But we just came!” Vasile said, spreading his free arm - the other was still holding onto his hat - to his side.
Just then the Romanian remember he still hadn’t answered the boy’s other question. Deciding to get to replying to that before anything else, he suddenly lifted a finger as if to illustrate him remembering the other's question now.
“Oh, right, and as for the people who have died here,” Vasile began, almost chirping, not bothered by the topic at hand at all. “I can hear them~ I hear their pain and their bones when they get crushed. Oh, some ripping sounds too. Some scream and some downright moan. It’s a bit annoying.”
It was then that Vasile got an idea, one he hoped would help keep the Italian on the roof with him a little while longer. Veneziano was probably desperate like the rest, ready to grab onto any straw of hope he was offered – not that Vasile could blame him; such was normal for any human. Either way, if he just presented the boy with a small shimmer of hope, of survival, he would be bound to believe him, right? No, it was more like, the Italian would definitely want to believe him. So, Vasile tilted his head once more, allowing a ponderous look to fill his eyes.
“But really, there are so many of them. Voices, I mean…” he began, pretending to be deep in thought when in all honesty he knew exactly what to say and what strings to pull, how to control the conversation and hopefully, the Italian’s thoughts as well. “And some scream so much… It makes me think. I mean, do you really think all of them came up here just to jump to their deaths? Or could it be they were… looking for something? A way out? A clue? A key, a trail to follow, something? And don’t you think that, rather than dying because they wanted to or because their feet slipped, something killed them? Something that didn’t want them finding out whatever clue’s up here.”
He didn’t believe his own words, not for a minute. But then again, he wasn’t desperate. He wasn’t hoping for salvation every waking second. The Italian was. At least, Vasile believed so. And besides, it wasn’t like Vasile was lying, no, he rarely outright lied. He just gave suggestions, led people along and allowed them to make their own conclusions. It was more effective in making people change their minds.
“So maybe we should stay and look for that clue…?” He finally questioned, hoping he’d given the Italian enough time to come to the same conclusion that they should stay. The voices grew restless again and the wind blew, both probably because they liked the idea of two possible victims staying up on the roof a while longer. Of course, Vasile ignored them completely. They were just noises. He’d stay and prove to them they couldn’t get inside his head, and he’d keep Italy there as a witness to his success.
No matter what it took.
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Dec 6, 2012 16:14:41 GMT -6
For now, Feliciano was more than glad that Romania seemed to be alert enough to keep his own balance against this rough wind--Feliciano knew he was going to have more than enough trouble on his own keeping his balance without having to worry about helping the blonde not-fall to his death. Granted the nature of the person in question, though, the Italian couldn't help but wonder why he thought that balance would be an issue--he was the one known for tripping over air, after all. Why would anyone expect him to keep his feet as well as help someone else from falling over theirs? He sighed a little, having caught the other's amusement at his shock earlier and not particularly happy to hear it--While he knew that he had exacerbated the rumors of him being a coward, in hopes of others not calling him into fights when he had taken up a vow of non-violence, it didn't particularly mean that he enjoyed the others judging him for it. It actually made him a little mad--did they not remember the terror that he had been as a child? How he had controlled their trades, their culture by influencing it with his own? It was almost maddening, sometimes, how short a nation's memories could be.
But as he stared up into red eyes, he chided himself--Romania wasn't that old of a nation--at least, not compared to the Italian himself. Who was he to know anything about Feliciano's past, when he had little to do with it? He nodded in response to those muffled responses, only able to catch the Romanian's words due to his sharp hearing from all those music lessons he'd been forced to take while under Mr. Roderich's roof. "Ve, considering this is the only spot in this place without any actual monsters while still being outside, I'm not surprised that it might've been a popular place, ve."
But it was still a danger to be here, and he wanted to head back down into the attic before one of them fell to their deaths or something. So he frowned a little as his second question was momentarily ignored in order for Vasile to explain what he had meant by "the voices" he could hear on the wind. While yes, he had questioned the other's words, but it was meant moreso to be rhetorical than literal--it didn't take more than a brain cell to piece together the fact that this place was haunted not only by the demon animating the building or its monster minions, but by the souls of the victims who had died without a sliver of peace to rub between them.
"Ve, if you can hear them so clearly, then, it's an even smarter idea to head back inside," He reasoned, taking another slow step closer, his cold-bare foot barely lifting up from the rough shingles in order to keep his balance. "The more annoying the sounds are, after all, the more likely you'll get distracted and accidentally lose your balance. I don't want to see you fall because the people here didn't have hope for their survival."
Then again, he just didn't want to see Romania fall at all. He didn't know his young cousin very well--mostly just from some stories that Ms. Elizabeta had told when he lived with her and Holy Rome and Mr. Roderich and then some limited interactions throughout the past hundred or so years. But that still didn't mean that he wouldn't care if the other got hurt, or died, while they were here. He wanted everyone to get out safely, or at least with the gift of life still animating their bodies.
But before he could take another step, the Romanian was speaking again. "I mean, do you really think that all of them came up here just to jump to their deaths?" He asked, frowning in thought and a bit of...curiosity, the Italian noticed with a deepening frown. He wasn't liking where this conversation was going, not even one little bit. " Or could it be they were...looking for something? A way out? A clue? A key, a trail to follow, something?"
While yes, Feliciano could see that being the case, but that sure didn't make him want to stay up here and look. He'd been up here for nearly an hour already, just watching the landscape and trying to find some kind of path on the grounds. He wasn't going to stay up here and look for some clue that may or may not exist that had gotten that many people killed. And that last little bit certainly wasn't helpful in the Romanian's "persuasion" attempt. "And don't you think that, rather than dying because they wanted to or because their feet slipped, something killed them? Something that didn't want them finding out whatever clue's up here."
He knew that this could all be true, and to be honest it probably was. The Manor had a habit of sticking monsters anywhere that its prisoners would think to look for something--the library, the courtyard, the grounds, the halls... everywhere one would look for either a place to hide or a place to escape, monsters were there, lurking in the dark without even glowing eyes to give warning to the danger. But that didn't guarantee there being a clue up here, or even something useful--all that existed in those words were false hope without proof, and he wasn't going to stay up here and risk both their lives simply because someone else thought there was something important. With that unusual frown still on his face, the Italian promptly shook his head once, twice, and a third time for emphasis. "No, ve--I don't care if there might be a clue up here right now, Romania." He stated firmly, shifting his stance to keep it wide and better for his balance as his arms crossed over his chest. The Manor had opened up more of his nature from when he was a child--the terror who had nearly torn himself apart from squabbling lands, the power-hungry boy who fought bloody wars with his brother over the land that their grandfather had left for him, and for several hundred years the "demon" who had time and time again kept Turkey, previously known as the Ottoman Empire, out of Europe fighting tooth and nail for his role as King of the Mediterranean--but even before then Feliciano had been both spoiled and disciplined by having Ludwig as a friend. He not only had a bit more of a backbone compared to when he was in those awful world wars, but the past few decades he was used to getting little things he wanted and could out-stubborn a lot of people in order to get it. "If these voices are as bothersome to you as it seems, it'd be best to get back downstairs and regroup before we went "clue-hunting", ve. Especially if there might be a creature up here killing people. We're too exposed, ve, and I'd rather not get you hurt simply because you're curious." With that said, he patted the taller nation's shoulder gently before turning to duck around him for the ladder. It was cold up here.
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Vasile Ionescu
Survivor
Played by Roma.
Offline.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players"
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Post by Romania on Dec 27, 2012 10:45:08 GMT -6
After Vasile had presented his final question, it didn’t take long for the Italian to respond – though unfortunately enough, not the way he had hoped. Instead of mindlessly clinging onto the hope he offered, the Italian shook his head thrice, each gesture wiping away more and more of the hopeful expression on the Romanian’s face and replacing it with sheer surprise.
Out of all the people trapped inside the manor, he would have expected Veneziano to be one of the easiest to fool. Judging by his usual behavior he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and the fact that the Italian had come here to think and clear his head must’ve meant he had been troubled by something. Most likely frustrated over not having found a way out of this hell yet, too. And even so, despite all the odds being against the guy, he hadn’t taken the bait? Had he misjudged something? Maybe the Italian feared the roof and falling down more than he had thought? Not that he could blame the poor boy; he was infamous for being scared of completely ordinary things. How he coped with monsters at all was a mystery to him.
A mystery that, as of right now, Vasile wasn’t too eager to solve. It could wait until later. The most important thing for him right now was to come up with a new plan to keep them both up there for a while longer for. The more he thought about it though, the sillier it felt; he still had no definite reason to stay, and yet the thought of going back to the ladder bothered him enormously. He had come up here to clear his mind, but it seemed like he had ended up confusing himself even more. Was this also the manor’s doing, or was this just what became of his own stubbornness when given a breeding ground? He didn’t know. But he would stay.
The Italian patted his shoulder and walked past him, and without needing to turn to look, Vasile knew where he was headed towards; the ladder. The attic. Safety. Why didn’t he just let the boy go? It was he who wanted to stay up here and prove his worth, and as much as he enjoyed company, the Italian’s presence wasn’t exactly needed for him to do that. He could just stay and catch up with the guy later, victorious and clear-headed, ready to scheme and have fun like usual. So why not let him go?
Try as he might, Vasile could not find any other reason than ‘he had already decided against it’. He didn’t want to change his plans and give up now. Besides, he couldn’t just let someone evade his bait and walk away from him a winner, could he? Especially not the infamous-for-his-gullibility Veneziano. The Romanian could hear the other nation’s steps grow distant from him. His pace was slow, most likely to avoid falling, but it was steady and determined; he really had decided to leave. He’d need something radical to make the boy stay now.
Vasile looked around the empty rooftop for something to aid him in his scheming, but out of all the possible places in the manor, this one was probably the most difficult one to make seem useful. There was literally nothing up there but the wind, and the both of them had already established it would be of no use to them at all. There were no places to look for those supposed “clues” he had mentioned, and there weren’t even any visible monsters to fend off. Vasile sighed, scratching his head, hat still tightly in his other hand’s grip. He really had no idea how to-
As if slapped on the face with something cold and solid, the Romanian’s breath stopped for a second at the sudden idea that collided with his brain. His eyes widened and the grin, long ago washed away, started to take form again. Slowly, as if in awe over his sudden epiphany, Vasile brought his hat in front of him. The wind was playing with it, tugging at it as a threat to snatch it away if given the chance. All he’d have to do was let go of the hat just for an instant, for one blink of an eye, and the wind would have already carried it away from him, further from the safety of the very top of the roof, closer to the edge and away from the ladder. Where his hat went he would follow, and he would not leave the roof without it.
Just like the Italian, he believed, would not leave the roof without him. There was something in Veneziano’s words and behavior that had hinted at something like that before. When he had suggested they return, the Italian hadn’t said he was afraid to fall, he hadn’t shivered and explained he wanted into safety before his foot slipped. No. Veneziano had said, almost word to word unless time had eaten at the Romanian’s memory, that he’d rather not have Vasile hurt over his curiosity. He hadn’t said “us”, like he had been sure that he’d be alright and that it was Vasile that was in danger. Even earlier, when the wind had blown, Veneziano had spoken of the voices distracting his balance and making him fall; he had said, flat out, that he didn’t want him falling.
Well, of course he didn’t. Vasile doubted there was any person in the manor cruel enough to wish for a fate like that upon their fellow nation. It could be nothing. It could be that he was over-reading things like had the habit to do, and that the Italian wouldn’t be brave enough to stay just to make sure Vasile didn’t fall in the first place. He was a coward after all, wasn’t he?
Either way, the Romanian could never know if he didn’t try, right?
Chuckling a tad at the sheer stupidity of what he was about to do, Vasile held out his hat after having make sure the Italian couldn’t see. It would need to look like an accident. He took one last look at the familiar headwear in his hand, nodding at it a tad and whispering it a small promise so the Italian couldn't hear: "I won’t let you fall. I’ll come get you right away, okay?"
And then, he let go. The wind instantly lunged at its new prey, snatching it and carrying it away, far, far from the Romanian’s grasp, until a brick sticking out stopped its journey a fairly good distance from the edge. Vasile grinned at his feat, while the logical side of him was busy kicking his brain for doing something that stupid. But it’d be alright. All he’d need to do was to go there, get the hat and then return. If he could do that, then surely he would have proved himself to the voices as well. Voices which, he noticed, were more silent now. They were probably watching. Waiting if he’d join them.
Well, they’d wait in vain.
“Hey, Italy!” Vasile called back at his fellow nation, turning around and feigning a pout. “The wind snatched my hat! I can’t go without it!” Vasile shouted, pointing at the item in question. He wasn’t sure if the Italian’d care, or if he’d just nod and be on his way, but he had to try. For once, he hoped someone would not obey him. “You can go on ahead, I’ll just… go get it and follow you!”
Vasile gave a glance at his headwear, a small part of him regretting his decision. The wind was getting stronger.
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Jan 26, 2013 1:11:19 GMT -6
"Hey, Italy!" The sudden shout made him flinch a little in surprice. The Italian hadn't been expecting the other to shout at him like that. He was already standing by the ladder, and while he had planned to simply place his hands on the top rung and wait for the Romanian to see sense and follow, he immediately turned away from the promise of safety to turn back. The blonde, despite the childish pout upon his face--not that Feliciano could comment on that, since he was just as childish in his own right--looked genuinely upset. "The wind snatched my hat! I can't go without it!" And, true to his word, that miniature top hat normally adorning the side of his head was gone. A quick glance down showed that, yes, it wasn't clutched between pale fingers, either.
There was a voice in his head screaming, "It's a trap!" After all, Romania never went without that hat, it was more than doubtful that the young nation would let it get loose so easily. But maybe Romania was just trying to get it to sit on his head, like it was supposed to, and it slid from his grasp? Feliciano had no right to judge, so he promptly shut that voice up. With that done, he frowned worriedly, lifting a hand to block his bangs from whipping into his eyes. "Ve, I'm not going to leave without you, Romania!" He called back against the wind, quickly but carefully stepping forward to stand at his cousin's side. Narrowed amber eyes glanced around the barren roof, trying to catch a glimpse of that small hat. "I hope it didn't fall off the roof..."
The Italian was telling the truth, too. It was more than dangerous to linger too long up here, with the wind constantly picking up speed or dying altogether. Either you lose your balance from too much force pressed against you, or you overcompensate and fall over once the support of the wind dies down to a trickle of a breeze. He didn't want to stay up here longer than necessary. If they weren't sure where the little black hat fell, then they would be searching the large expanses of gabled roofs for hours. Frankly, that was not a happy thought. He didn't want them stuck up here, nor did he want to risk either of their lives over a small hat, regardless of its importance.
Granted, if it were something of his that he'd lost that meant so much, Feliciano would stay and search until he found it. He can sympathize with the Romanian, and thus he's going to stay and help, even if he doesn't want to. "I can go down to the edges and look, if you want to walk around and try to find it up here, Romania. Cover more ground, si? We'll find it faster that way!" He smiled reassuringly, shifting that ornate, gold mask from his nose to tuck it into the folds of his costume. "That way you can keep a better eye on me, va bene? And if those...voices start yelling again, you won't get surprised and accidentally fall--that would be bad, ve."
Hopefully that fickle breeze would be agreeable--at least the whispers teasing his ears died under the roar of the wind. Wiggling and spreading his toes to keep that tight grip on the shingles digging into his soles, he rocked slightly, still smiling. The bright golds and rich jewel tones of his costume made him stand out like a sore thumb in this drab place. It would only serve to keep him easily in sight.
"Just promise to tell me if it gets too hard to stay upright, va bene? We need to be careful!"
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Vasile Ionescu
Survivor
Played by Roma.
Offline.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players"
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Post by Romania on Mar 5, 2013 2:24:09 GMT -6
The Italian’s words of concern were like music to the Romanian’s ears. They spoke to him of success, of victory after failure. Vasile was filled with a sense of accomplishment, and the edges of his mouth threatened to curl upwards into a sly smile. There, he had gotten the other trapped now.
It was true that he had indeed misjudged Veneziano’s gullibility and underestimated his fear of the place, but at least he had gotten the other’s willfulness to help right; the Italian wasn’t ready to leave without him, not ready to turn his back to a man that he might never see again if left alone. Vasile understood those sentiments well, and believed he might’ve done the same were he in the Italian’s shoes – well, unless the man in question was one of the select few people he rather detested – as no country was vile enough to leave their brethren behind if they could help it. Their numbers were already few compared to that of regular humans, they needed to stick together if they didn’t want to risk losing a yet another nation to war and death.
But pondering on things like that was for another time and place. Vasile had to keep his grins in check to prevent Veneziano seeing his joy. The boy had already walked back to him, concern written all over his face. It was a pity seeing the usually cheery Italian like that, and for a fleeting moment the Romanian felt a small wave of guilt wash over him. Maybe he really should’ve just let him go. The Italian didn’t seem cut out for stuff like this in the first place. Wasn’t he just being needlessly cruel?
The wind blew and the voices whispered moans and screams into his ear, and instantly Vasile forgot all guilt once more. His eyes grew cold and determined, and he found himself growling under his breath. No. No, he’d do this. He’d get the damn hat back, show the ghosts he wasn’t afraid and then, only then, return back inside. He already knew where the hat landed and everything, all he’d have to do was to make his way there and grab it. Hardly a task he’d be unable to do, right? He’d just have to keep his stance low and his wits about, while Veneziano could sit and watch; he didn’t want the other risking his life trying to help. God knew how clumsy the Mediterranean man had proved to be.
It was then that Vasile noticed that despite his success in making the Italian stay, things weren’t going exactly according to plan; instead of waiting for him to get the hat like he had wanted, the Italian started to speak of helping with finding the piece of clothing in question. Vasile watched the other promise to go look around the edges, apparently having missed him pointing at the hat’s location earlier on. It seemed as if the Italian thought he didn’t know where the thing had landed. Funny, the hat had been clearly visible even from where the Italian had stood a moment ago.
Unless…
A cold feeling of dread overtook the Romanian just then, and he could have sworn that among the constant moans of the dead, he could feel laughter. Cold, cruel laughter carried past his ears every time the wind blew. It made him turn around in an instant, almost stumbling and falling as he did, eyes wide and gaze desperate as he focused his sights back on the edge of the roof, at the place where his hat had stopped at earlier.
Only to realize it wasn’t there.
Vasile felt his stomach sink, and in an instant his grin was replaced with an expression of shock. No. No, no, this couldn’t be happening. He was sure it had been there just a moment ago, where could it have flown off to in the matter of seconds? Did the wind snatch it? Was it blown off the roof? Would he lose it forever now? He could hear the laughter intensify in his ears, and it made him mad. The wind was mocking him. He was angry now, mad and panicked enough to almost run to the edge of the roof and glance down just to make sure his hat hadn’t fallen. Before he could though, reason kicked in and Vasile bit his lip to calm himself down. No, he shouldn’t get mad; that was exactly what the wind, what the spirits wanted. He refused to be their puppet.
"Just promise to tell me if it gets too hard to stay upright, va bene? We need to be careful!"
Vasile was snapped out of his thoughts by the Italian’s voice. Oh, right. Veneziano was there too, still waiting for approval to his plan of splitting up and searching. Him being there was all the more reason as to why Vasile couldn’t just let himself get irritated and start to run around like a madman. He had a reputation to uphold, and him losing it now probably wouldn’t have a positive effect on the Italian’s mind either. He didn’t want the other worrying too much and ending up blown off himself. The hat was most likely still somewhere on the roof. If he knew spirits at all, he knew they liked to toy with people. Test them. It wouldn’t be that fun for the dead if their victim didn’t even have a chance. He knew, because he shared their mindset. The cruelest of games needed openings, needed to be winnable; just difficult. All he had to was find the hat again.
“I promise,” Vasile confirmed, although he knew he wasn’t going to run away and leave the roof without his hat, no matter how hard it might get.
“So let’s hurry up and search, so we can get down from here!” Vasile continued, with a little too much force than he had intended. Although he didn’t sound mad, his voice did carry a tone of irritation and seriousness that was usually absent from everything he did. All he could do was hope the Italian didn’t pick up on that as he walked to the highest part of the roof, to the place near the stairs, and started to look around. Vasile felt slightly bad for leaving the edges to the Italian, but if the boy felt he’d be able to handle it, the Romanian had no objections. That, and he needed to stand on more stable ground for a while, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to use his magic.
So, as Veneziano started to search, Vasile sat down and concentrated onto his powers, mumbling to himself in his native tongue, his words conjuring up a small flying blob to his right. A few words more, and it started to take the form of a large bat. Before it could completely materialize however, a particularly strong gust of wind hit its conjurer’s face, breaking his concentration and making the form falter. Vasile growled in annoyance, and the form faltered even more, until the man had to open his eyes and let the thing vanish back into the eternities. Damn it. He really wasn’t in the proper mindset to do this now.
“Aaaww, it’s a bit difficult to summon stuff in this wind,” Vasile shouted at the brunette, hoping he sounded more carefree over the matter than he felt. “I’ll rest a bit and try again. You keep searching. Just be careful!”
He rested his forehead against his palm, glaring crimson at the wind still whirling around him and whipping his hair. It was mocking him again.
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Mar 23, 2013 15:49:53 GMT -6
The sharp tone permeating Romania's words as he turned away sent a flinch minutely jerking the Italian's shoulders. He sounded upset, which made sense considering that the other had lost his hat and it seemed to mean a lot to the blonde. The problem was that he hadn't sounded that upset when he first said the accessory was lost to the wind. Guilt began to settle in Feliciano's stomach as amber eyes watched the younger nation step away a moment. Had he made the other lose track of the hat as it was blown who knows where?
Shaking his head slightly to rid himself of those thoughts, because that's not what he should be focusing on. Taking a deep breath, Feliciano turned away as well, crouching down as he began to cautiously step down towards the edge of the roof. The way was steep, but he kept his balance and his careful pace with the decent grip of his bare toes on the roof and the hand held behind him as a stabilizer. This was a dangerous endeavor, but if that tension in Romania was any indication, he was the one who had a better chance of not losing his balance and falling. Imagine, North Italy having a better chance of not falling than someone else, Romania even. The idea was laughable, even to himself, even if he did his best to keep that giggle from passing his lips. Though whether the other would even hear the quiet sound amidst the wind tearing past them both was the real question. Best to not push his luck, in any case.
The wind roared around him once he reached the edge of the roof, clawing at his clothes and hair like sharp fingers trying to drag him off balance. To counteract, The brown-haired Italian made sure to try keeping at least a foot between himself and the actual edge, so if he did fall he'd have room to catch himself. Before he could continue walking along that edge, though, he felt a shiver tear through him. It was sudden, as if a bit of his heat had just been snatched from him. For a moment there did seem to be a quiet voice whispering "careful, it's this way" into his ear. But when he tilted his head to try catching those whispers, they were gone. "Just your imagination," he told himself, shaking his head once more, clenching at the roof with all his fingers and toes as another harsh shiver tore through him. This costume hadn't been made for this kind of chill, rather for the hot weather of Italy and the humidity of the South-Eastern American states. He had to keep moving if he wanted to stay warm, at least with this wind.
So he began to walk, eyes squinted to protect from the cold air whirling around the roof as they tried to spot a little black hat amidst the darkness settled over them. All the spied, though, were the uneven edges of the shingled roof and the unsettling sight of gouges dug along those shingles in several places. Past signs of attempts to claw oneself up again, they were, and Feliciano couldn't help but be uneasy. How many people had been up here, only to eventually tumble to their deaths? As he continued to carefully make his way further from the safety of the ladder and the safety of having someone nearby who could help him if he fell, he wondered. How many people wanted to die, but at the last minute tried scrambling to freedom, only to fail? "Keep going, you'll get it," The wind encouraged, attempting to drag him along., or perhaps Romania was shouting at him and Feliciano just couldn't tell the difference. He turned back, already several yards away, and he could only able to spy a glowing yellow-blonde halo against the dark, roiling clouds. The Romanian was sitting down, and it looked like he was trying to say something. "--aw, it ... icult to su-- ... --ind!" With confusion written all over his face, the Italian straightened up, lifting a hand to cup around his ears in attempts to hear the blonde's words. What was he saying? "--est a bit and try-- ... --eep searching! Jus-- --areful!"
After that garbled mess of words hit his ears, the wind seemed to pick up speed, slamming Feliciano full in the face. Distracted as he was by trying to understand the younger nation's words, he was unprepared for the assault.. He felt his feet stumble slightly before slipping from beneath him, and gravity took eager grips on his head and shoulders. That harsh wind slapped away his startled yelp even before his own ears heard the sound, and then it tore his pained gasp from him as he hit the roof with a painful thud, accented by the clatter of metal on tile.
Rolling over onto his side after a moment, the Italian lifted his head to try searching for the source of that sound. Amber eyes slid about, and after a moment or two of searching he caught a weak shine glimmering a few feet away, mere inches from the edge. There wasn't enough light to catch the specific details just yet, just the small curve bouncing light from the cloudy overhang above them. It was a shaky time making it to a sitting position, more startled from his fall than hurt, and after a moment or two to quiet the shaking of his hands to something more manageable he was cautiously shifting closer to that shiny bit of metal. The wind roared at him, sending his hair flying in his face, but he didn't try to stop it. His attention was caught on the object, and once he was close he reached over to pick it up.
A small silver ring glimmered between his thumb and forefinger. It looked like it was meant for a child, or an adult with very slim fingers, and Feliciano was surprised he saw it at all. The metal itself was silver, a very high quality silver if the shine to it was any indication. He settled back to sit down properly, one foot dangling over the edge of the rooftop as the brunette sat upon the other. It was rather pretty, a thin band leading to a thin filigree wrapped around three opals like creeping silver ivy, leaves and all. When he brought the ring close to get a better look, the stones glimmered even in the weak light of the moon and stars still blanketed by dark, unhappy clouds. Two small white opals set as bookends near the edge of the filigree were almost silver as they sparkled. His attention, though, was caught on the centerpiece of that silver ring. The large fire opal contained a nebula in itself, the star-like glimmers of red and gold and green surrounded by a swathe of sky blue. Just staring at the small piece of jewelry calmed him, the residual shaking of his tumble oozing away like expelled energy as he relaxed. The wind even seemed to calm around him, and if Feliciano felt a sense of peace in the air then he simply accepted it as his own.
"Ve, such a pretty thing," He said to himself, tilting his head to one side so he could continue to examine the expertly crafted silver and equally impressive stones. "I wonder who it belonged to." Surprisingly, he was unbothered by the fact that he was holding a dead person's ring in his hand. It was simply a beautiful piece of worksmanship he'd stumbled across, and he planned to keep it. "I should show you to Ludwig once I find him--We celebrate his birthday in ottobre and you're his birthstone, he might like that! You're really pretty and Ludwig always has a good eye for pretty things, even if he says he doesn't." The quiet chitter-chatter continued as he took a moment more to stare down at the silver band. Then he slid the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand. Once it was safely snug, the brunette pulled his leg up from over the edge and then hopped to his feet, dusting his costume with his hands. Then he turned round a few times, trying to remember which way he'd been going, and which way the hat might have flown. The way the wind pulled and pushed at him, it had to have snatched the small black thing towards the edge, but it couldn't have gone too far unless it had fallen from the room.
"Ve, Romania, can you see it anywhere?" He called, glancing at that blonde halo amidst the darkness over his shoulder, gesturing across the roof with one hand. "I can't see as well from down here. If you see it, point me in the right direction, per favore~!" The return of his chipper tone was more than clear in his words, for he felt hopeful that they would actually find the hat amidst this harsh breeze and blackness. "I'm going to head this way," he continued, lifting a hand to point in the opposite direction of the blonde Romanian, "and if I see it I'll shout for you!" Then he turned back and continued on his way, gaze searching high and low as he focused more on the hunt than he did the danger he was now flirting with, splaying his toes less than a few inches from the edge of the roof as he walked. He would find this hat, and he'd cheer the upset Romanian right back up, that's what he would do!
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Vasile Ionescu
Survivor
Played by Roma.
Offline.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players"
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Post by Romania on Nov 5, 2013 7:28:49 GMT -6
No matter how many times Vasile tried to shut out the howling wind, the ever-present danger of being pushed off into his death and the spirits around him screaming their grim fates into his ear, he found himself failing time and time again. All the noise around him was just way too intense, all the emotions and sensations too much for him to ignore. And so, no matter how much he tried, he just wasn’t able to concentrate enough to make use of his powers. There was always something startling him, something forcing him to open his eyes and disperse his thoughts. The bat he had been trying to summon was still nothing but a translucent mass of energy, changing form and blinking in and out of existence along with its master's ever changing thoughts. And, the more Vasile failed the more frustrated he grew, which in turn ate away at his already poor focus even more. It was a vicious cycle he had no way of breaking out from for as long as he remained on the roof. He would either need to change locations or his mood, and he couldn’t exactly do either right now.
“Aw, damn it..." Vasile breathed, his trademark grin but a mockery of its former self by now, and his red eyes narrowed into slits. He really didn't like being bested - let alone by spirits already gone from this world. He could hear them laugh at him too, mocking him for his failures, and it did nothing to make him calm down. It did, however, prompt him to try and stand back up shakily, as if to challenge them. Yet, as he stood and some of the wind brushed past his hair again, he couldn’t help but shake his head. Why was he getting this riled up? It made no sense. It wasn't like this was the first time he'd been teased by the unseen - hell, exchanging mocking comments and messing with the ghosts had been a fun past time back home. Was it all the stress getting to him? Was the hat so important to him that losing it made him this agitated? It was important, but… But, no, this wasn't making sense. Perhaps, then, it was another spirit or monster playing its tricks. If so, he had to admit it was working - and be careful. He did not want to end his days here.
Just then, the sound of something heavy smashing against something solid brought the Romanian back to his senses. He turned as if by reflex, almost losing his own footing upon his sudden change of stance. He didn't care about that right then, however. Eyes wide and heart racing, his gaze bounced around the roof in search for a familiar small figure. He didn't know what he'd do if the other had fallen and slid off the roof because of him - because of something stupid like his pride or a hat. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself for causing the death of an entire nation in what was but a blink of an eye, and for no reason at all.
For a fleeting moment, he forgot all about pride and everything else, every selfish emotion being momentarily replaced with sheer terror and regret. At least, it felt so at first glance. Yet, could it be his regret was also because of selfish reasons? Could it be he was startled because losing Italy would mean losing the fight? Somehow, all those thoughts managed to occupy his head simultaneously in that split of a second it took him to finally lay his gaze upon a familiar brown-haired figure off in the distance again.
The Romanian heaved an audible sigh of relief, and then proceeded to shout and ask if the other was alright. The fall had, from what it had sounded like, been pretty tough, after all. It seemed as though the Italian couldn't hear him however, which honestly wasn't too big a surprise; the wind apparently wanted to keep them separated and their teamwork as minimal as possible. Figured. 'Divide and conquer', that was a concept known to all those who wished to do war ever since he was young.
Oh well.
Having calmed down from his panic by now, Vasile relaxed a bit, lowering his stance once more. Veneziano seemed to be down, but not out of the game. Thank the gods. He was moving along the roof now, apparently having spotted something. Vasile squinted his eyes to see, but the wind drew water from his eyes and blurred his vision. Well, not that it mattered. Whatever the boy had seen had not been his hat. Still, he hoped it wasn’t an illusion created by anything, and figured it’d be better to keep an eye on the Italian, just in case. After all, now that the momentary horror he’d felt a while ago had washed away some of his stubbornness (at least for now) Vasile felt clear-headed enough to worry for the other. Perhaps enough to just... call off the whole deal.
So when the Italian announced he'd continue the search and told Vasile to point should he see the hat, he made his decision.
“Actually, Italy!” Vasile called on that thought, hands cupped around his mouth in an attempt to amplify his voice. “Hey, let’s just go back for now, okay? I think the hat’s gone, and the wind’s-”
Vasile stopped before he could finish his sentence, hands slowly descending from his face back to his sides. Just as he’d been about to give up, just when his brain had triumphed over his prideful heart, Vasile saw it; his hat, being flipped about by the wind on the other end of the roof, fairly close to where Italy was currently. The piece of clothing was only loosely in place, having gotten stuck on an out-sticking tile. But it was still there. It was salvageable. He wouldn’t have to abandon it and all the memories of the one who’d given it to him.
Vasile lowered himself, eyes now only seeing that one item in question as he started to slowly advance towards it. It was as if it was calling out to him, and if he didn’t know better, he could have sworn the wind on his back was pushing him towards it, as if ushering to go claim what was his - either that, or luring him into his final mission before stumbling into the darkness below.
Either way, it was working.
“Italy, it’s behind you,” Vasile almost whispered as he drew closer, voice strangely ghastly and gaze never leaving the hat as if hypnotized. He wasn’t sure if the man even heard him, but he didn’t care. “This time, let’s grab it.”
A grin drew onto his face as he added, a slightly dangerous, obsessed edge in his tone: “No matter what happens…”
He advanced as if his limbs weren't his own, as if something pulled him forward. But the more he walked, the more apparent it became that he wasn't being drawn to his hat. He wasn't sure when, but at some point his eyes had moved from his precious memento and turned to something else, something shiny at the very edge of the roof, a little distance from his hat. Vasile didn't even notice he was headed towards it. Didn't notice he reached it, not before his curious fingers wrapped around the silver watch and picked it up for closer examination.
And it was then that he snapped back to reality. No. No, wait, this wasn't what he came here for. Pretty as it was, he didn't really care for silver or gold right now. So for half a second, he contemplated throwing the thing down from the roof, to rest with its earlier owner. But then, what if it belonged to someone still alive? He knew very well how important mere items could be, so throwing it away before ascertaining its owner would be... thoughtless.
That, and he didn't really have time right now.
So, stuffing the thing in his pocket, Vasile turned towards his hat once more. It was so close now, that he could almost feel it. So he took a step forward, holding his breath as to not accidentally make the thing fall when he exhaled. Around him, the wind howled and seemed to subside for now, as if waiting for the best chance to strike down the two fools who still tried to defy it.
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Feliciano Vargas
Survivor
Bisexual.
Single.
19.
Played by Reed.
Offline.
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Post by Italia Veneziano on Apr 23, 2014 4:10:49 GMT -6
"--aly! Hey ... go back fo-- ... --ink the ha-- ... -- ind!"
Feliciano paused at that loud shout, twisting at the waist to glance back at Romania once again. His head tilted to one side, confusion blatant on his expression despite the fact that the blonde nation was probably too far away to see it properly. As much as he felt the urge to search the roof for the other's hat on his own, to solve this little problem and cheer the man up again, perhaps it would be better to stay close, at least so he could hear the other when he shouted. Was it just Feliciano's ears that weren't working? The younger nation was replying to him fairly promptly, after all; even if it was a mangled mess of sounds without any sense to them.
Before he could ponder too much, though, the Romanian seemed to freeze. Even from this distance--had he really wandered so far away in such a short period of time?--Feliciano could see there was something wrong. The wind picked up again, harsh enough to sting his eyes and blow his hair out of his face. In response, the brunette squinted, staring in confused concern at the blonde. The other was just staring in his direction, hands having fallen to his sides. He couldn't see the expression on Romania's face, but the way he just stood there, swaying with the wind, worried Feliciano. Had he caught sight of the hat they were both searching for? If that were the case, why hadn't he said something? The earlier attempt at communication hadn't sounded like one of triumph; but he couldn't be sure, right? He hadn't caught anything but a smattering of consonants, really. But the tone, as best as the Italian'd caught it, seemed at worst warning, rather than attention-grabbing. Even though the wind pressed hard against his body, Feliciano mimicked the blonde's earlier position: hands lifted to his mouth to amplify himself as he called out, "Romania? Did you see something, ve? What's wrong?"
His worry only grew as his words, intentionally or not, went unheard. Romania was staring in his direction, that much was certain, but he felt invisible in the eyes of the other. (It was uncomfortable to be ignored; uncomfortable borderline upsetting, actually. Wasn't there another nation who often had to fight with people to be noticed? It wasn't his brother, as much as Lovino bellyached about people calling him "Romano" while Feliciano himself was almost always addressed as "Italy". Who was it again..?) Whatever caught the man's attention, it was enough to draw him away from the safety of the flat top of the roof.
As he shifted his stance, studiously ignoring the trill of fear as his pinky toe passed over the edge of the roof and hovered in empty space, to accommodate the harsh wind whipping against him, the Italian hazarded a quick glance over his shoulder. All that graced his sight for such a potentially risky moment was the bleak roof and bleaker sky. He still couldn't see whatever the blonde had, and that wasn't good, to say the least. Just what was the younger man so keen on? When he righted himself, slowly shuffling away from the edge settled so close to his left foot, Romania was startlingly closer to his own position. Considering the distance, he shouldn't have reached him so quickly, not if he was moving carefully, like the treacherous footing demanded. He thumbed worriedly at the ring adorning his finger, face pinched up in concern.
Romania was speaking, the other nation close enough for the Italian to catch the movement of his lips quirked up in a sharp grin, but whatever he uttered was too quiet for him to hear over the roar of the wind. Despite himself, Feliciano now stepped back, away from the approaching nation. Perhaps it was that...frankly disturbing grin, that gave him pause. Maybe he didn't like the way the other was moving, agitated footsteps too wide for the safety they both needed to keep themselves right-side up. Then he nearly backed up to the edge itself when the blonde passed him by, as if Feliciano didn't even exist.
His frozen tongue finally unglued itself from the roof of his mouth.
"Romania!" the Italian said, twisting around to follow the other, albeit at a slower pace. The howling wind caused him to wobble enough as it was without trying to tempt fate, the way the blonde did so now. Whether it was the man's hat that had ensnared him so, Feliciano didn't bother trying to figure out: he had eyes only for his cousin. "You could've just told me if you spotted your hat, v-ve!"
Nothing. There wasn't so much as a twitch in his direction. A moment's pause had the other scooping up something and giving it a moment's attention--what it was, he wasn't sure as a glimmer of silver was hurriedly put out by the dark fabric of Romania's coat. Finally growing tired of this treatment, Feliciano reached out to snag a gentle hold on the blonde's elbow. He was careful not to tug or push, lest he upset the other's balance or his own. He simply wanted to get Romania's attention on him, rather than this obsession coloring his gaze blind to everything else. "Romania! What's wrong?"
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Post by Raven Walker on Jul 9, 2014 3:32:33 GMT -6
The silence of the darkened sky was shattered with the call of a raven. One singular call that echoed out across the roof of the Manor and the grounds below, rippling out above the two men that stood so exposed in this location. Had there been any sound of birds before? Baudeau Manor was a lifeless place, after all, lacking the usual sounds of nature's life in its territory. Only one bird ruled here, and the Romanian's error in pocketing that watch stirred it from its slumber.
There was a flapping of wings buried under the sound of the wind. The Ravenwalker landed upon the pitched peak of the rooftop nearby them, naked limbs poised with deadly grace as the creature perched to view these two intruders that had stolen its most precious treasure. Black wings fluttered in bristling hostility, the feathers ruffled in rage. What right did they think they had to steal her prized possession?! Ravenwalker's head cocked sharply to view them with one steady black eye.
Close. The treasure was close. One of these humans had it in their possession but which? Since the answer to that question was not readily apparent then there was no choice except to view both of them as the potential thief. It mattered little to the Ravenwalker whether an innocent died in the process of retrieving that watch. Both men would die if they did not return it promptly.
Already, the wind was placing the two men in a precarious position. It was an advantage for the Ravenwalker to use. Another loud, shrilling caw pierced through the whistling winds as she sounded her call once again. This time, it was answered, and a frenzied flurry of ravens came streaking out of the darkened clouds which hung low above the Manor. Their beating wings raced as that flock came streaking to encircle the two men in the chaos of the wind, black feathers dancing through the air, and the sharp cries of the ravens were a discordant noise directly in the ears of the two men.
Beaks sought to peck, wings flapping at the pair. Above that chaotic motion of ravens striking at them in clear warning, the Ravenwalker's voice hissed down from her perch above. "The treasure of the Ravenwalker you dared to steal. Return it now, or be our meal."
The Ravenwalker's wings stretched out at either side in a menacing flutter, then folded to rest protectively against her body. Her talons dug into the edge of the roof, crumbling bits of aged material away under the strength of that grip. It was very clear that they had little time to respond in a satisfying manner before she too attacked.
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