Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Aug 20, 2012 11:18:11 GMT -6
Remaining within the walls of the Manor did not suit Gilbert for very long. He took every opportunity when the coast seemed clear to slink his way out into the grounds outside. The fog was disorienting; the Prussian was adapting to being able to navigate despite its presence. There were minor objects, items or landmarks that he'd select every time that he ventured out, to keep a pattern that would be fresh in his mind. Gilbert wasn't dumb enough to think that he wouldn't manage to get himself lost one of these occasions. When it came to the Manor, the odds were not in his favor. Or anyone else's.
Having the illusion of freedom pleased him. The Prussian tried to push the boundaries further, to test how far he could advance before reminded of his predicament. It was a familiar habit from years ago. Walking over roadways, gutted buildings and run-down shacks until met with the inevitable Wall. There had not been monsters back then to hound him. Just the haggard faces of people that he no longer recognized, who once might have belonged to him but now felt like strangers. It never failed to irk Gilbert that he forgot so many useful tidbits, yet still had those more bitter memories surface out of nowhere in his head.
He forced those thoughts away. Baudeau Manor was oppressive enough without his thoughts sinking into a negative spiral. Or did some force inside these grounds cause the pattern of despair? Gilbert was aware that places could hold the imprint of past grief, violence and similar powerful emotions. How many times had he trekked across fields that still reverberated the clashing chaos of past battles? Stepped into buildings that felt burdened with the weight of sadness? Crossed a street in Berlin and froze when he caught a glimpse of a phantom Wall's foundation in the concrete beneath his feet and felt everything from that dark time rushing back?
Prussia couldn't remember. Not even enough to give an estimation. There was much that was slipping away from him each passing day; without that old routine of writing down or referencing those recorded memories, Gilbert's grip on them was fading fast. It frustrated him that his handicap was unavoidable here in this place. His journals at home, him thousands of miles away, and even the digital copies weren't at his fingertips anymore. What bothered the albino most was the possibility that one day here he could wake up from one of his brief, risky naps to discover that he couldn't remember doing anything else.
The concept managed to jar Gilbert. He paused to take stock of his surroundings. Behind him, the bulky outline of the Manor had faded into the mists. There was nothing but fog, thickly churning. The Prussian swore vehemently. He'd let himself get distracted inside of his head and not on his objective. Though he hated to admit it, Gilbert had managed to get lost. His shoulders slumped when he finished his visual sweep. Standing there in that space left the Prussian unable to do more for a few minutes but stare at the patterns of his breath in the mist while he tried to determine the best way to navigate himself back.
He was pulled out of that planning by the sound of footsteps crunching on the rocks in the fog behind him. Gilbert twisted around with a hand on his weapon, squinting off into the mists that surrounded his body. "Who's there?"
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Survivor
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Why would I want to destroy something I helped build?
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Post by Mexico on Aug 20, 2012 12:40:00 GMT -6
It was unlikely for Mexico to be roaming around the manor for the simple pleasure of doing something. She was bored. Despite everything that was happening around her, she still felt the need to seek for some entertainment. It was a sick thought. The bloodshed and cries of pain were nothing. They did not mean much to her. She wanted to have some fun, wherever this may be. Fun. The word alone was distant. Like walking around an endless maze. But fun for her was not what most of the others considered as such. Her fun, under such circumstances entitled the concept of revenge. She was sick and tired, but not weak, and she had had enough of having her strength be laughed at and her sanity tampered with.
She was a nation of revenge, even when she did not openly admitted it. It was clear, written across her history. It was always bloodshed spilled over ambitious dreams and disagreements and doing whatever one wanted because that's really the only way to work. When killing meant a way to shut the other. Because what they said was powerful and ultimately dangerous. A threat. She had tried to change her way. Redeem herself into becoming better. But every time she tried there was always something that brought her back to her knees, reminded her that old habits die hard. A point when she realized that if she can't fight it, she might as well embrace it.
The girl had wondered through the corridors of the manor, searching over every corner, in case there was something new to find. The atmosphere inside was consuming and difficult to deal with. She could feel the presence of the countless souls that were trapped inside the hazardous walls. She could hear their voices as they screamed for her name. She knew Death had walked around here, but never to free them. It was suffocating, in trying to pretend none of this mattered to her. But nothing could compare to what she encountered outside. She did not speak of such event in a clear voice. Nor did her mind was allowed to repeat the horrors she felt, the cruelty of testing her just to find out how much she could endure. Mexico was afraid of going outside, even if she was naive enough as to deny it. She knew she had a valid reason to feel in such a way, but nothing could ever grant her the permission to let it take over.
Maybe it had been that encounter that had cracked her sanity. Maybe she had never been well in the first place. She was slightly twisted. A little mad even. Maybe the fact that she was here, constantly dwelling for her survival was triggering the secret side of her she had kept locked for decades.
She could be cruel when she wanted to be.
Mexico sighed. Her long dress was torn. She had scratches across her face and her truthful machete was stained with a liquid she did not dare recognize. But she was okay. Better off that most of the other nations. As the girl with the broken smile walked through the ground floor, she came across something that made her tremble. The door of the manor, the main entrance and the path to the outside was open. If she could she could take a step outside. But it was terrifying and she did not want to encounter the beast again. But she was bored. A small voice in her head reminded her. She was bored and there was nothing left in the manor to explore. Confused she turned towards it. Maybe there wasn't anything to fear. Not anymore. Not when she hid all she had felt, all her nightmares into small crystal boxes, which she wrapped with a smile. Let the world think she was happy.
Ana María took a deep breath and one step out into the grounds. She expected a sound, a thunder roll of creatures ready to fight her and kill her until there was nothing left but the bones of a nation. A cry of pain or a piercing scream that would incite every nerve ending in her body until fear was too much to handle. But it never came. Instead her senses were overcome by silence. Deep, profound silence, more terrifying that the thought that came afterwards. It was safe to walk. So she did.
Everything was quiet, but not peaceful. She had to be careful, keep her guard up but still feel remotely secure. It was a never-ending battle of different emotions, almost exhausting as to which side to listen to. The girl with the chocolate brown eyes found herself in places she had never ventured to. Some of which she had always been to scared to dare. It was funny how boredom could calm all the other emotions. Boredom and, perhaps, madness. When she turned back and saw nothing but the grounds, Mexico knew she had travelled enough. The place standing before her was a set of shacks that once belonged to someone, but were now falling apart, and sewn back together.
A disturbing smile plastered across Mexico's face. Without second thought she walked inside. What she might find of the souls within intrigued her. This obsession with the dead was beginning to become concerning, that is to those who cared enough. She was almost completely consumed in the atmosphere that she failed to distinguish another creature in the room. When it twisted around to face her and pointed with a weapon, she opted to do the same.
"Who's there?"
The voice was almost familiar, but Mexico ignored that fact. She held a hand firmly around her machete and pointed towards the shadow from which the voice came from. The fact that she was enjoying the encounter gave her a new sense of madness. "I am." She said, regardless of wether or not her answer suffice the other's purpose. "I know who I am, but rather who are you?"
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Aug 21, 2012 15:45:28 GMT -6
"I am. I know who I am, but rather who are you?"
Gilbert hadn't expected that kind of answer. Usually people would identify themselves rather than deliver such a flippant response. Still, there were probably reasons that others had to protect their identity in a place as untrustworthy as this. The albino scowled in the direction of where that voice had come. He stepped tentatively towards it, tightening his grip on the weapon behind him. "No one that cares to have games played on them."
As he got closer he saw that there were shacks located there further off from where he'd just been standing. How had he managed to miss them like that when he was wandering around? The Prussian frowned at the condition that these outlying structures were in; some long past disaster had gutted these buildings, and the albino could tell from his own experiences that fire had destroyed everything here. They appeared to have once been homes. Traces of lives once spent here could be glimpsed in the remnants of furnishings upon the rickety porch of one of the buildings.
Something about these places made the Prussian not want to go inside. He felt that something was off about them that was due to more than the obvious cosmetic damage of the buildings. There was something bad there, something wrong, though try as he could Gilbert failed to place what the source might be. And the uninviting voice of whomever stood within offered no incentive for the albino to approach any further. "You just remain in there and I'll stay out here, ja?" Gilbert told that voice with a growled edge in his tone. "If you don't try to harm me then I won't return the favor tenfold."
Not keen on getting into a fight out here in the open, he began to step backwards away from the occupied building. If it were a monster or some other spectre then the Prussian preferred to make a tactical retreat until he could find more secure ground to battle if it came to that. Gilbert kept his eyes locked upon the door of that building. He only lurched to a stop when his line of sight became further obscured by a fresh, seemingly impossible phenomenon.
Snow had begun to fall here in the midst of a summer's day.
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Survivor
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Why would I want to destroy something I helped build?
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Post by Mexico on Aug 21, 2012 19:41:22 GMT -6
Games. No. She didn't really play games. She could twist words around, lock people into believing what she wanted until the truth seemed like such a vague component. But games. Nothing of the sort. Mexico made nothing of the response other than what it was. It was annoyed. Shadow, monster, creature, person. It did not matter. But perhaps it should. Because after all being able to identify that difference was important when it was a fight against monsters. Keep your friends close,.. so you don't end up killing them, by mistake that is.
"No one that cares to have games played on them." Slight annoyance, perhaps even anger or disregard. The voice belonging to a male. Maybe this guy had been wondering around endlessly through the remains of a home. Maybe he couldn't find his way back and the irritation was slowly consuming him. Maybe this conversation, if it could be named as such, was the first in a long time. At least, that was her case. Quite honestly, Mexico couldn't remember the last time she spoke with someone who wasn't herself. With each passing moment the voices in her head grew stronger, feeding off the things she had locked within. If she wasn't careful, distract herself barely a little, then she would fall to their domain, and then she would completely lose herself.
Lose. Not just the opposite of victory. But watching everything loved and important wash away from within her fingers. As she slowly calls for it to come back. Laughter in her face. Silly girl. With her hand firmly gabbing the handle of the sword she took a step towards her opponent. "No estoy tratando de lastimarte."[/color] She said with such innocence that could almost be considered as arrogance. "I asked a simple question. There's no need for you to get all feisty."[/color] The girl smiled, that twisted, slightly disturbing smile. There was something broken inside of her. But it wasn't her sanity. Not yet. And until she didn't understand what triggered her nightmares, her sickness, she couldn't find a way to fight it.
It was the ruins of a world. A world broke in two.
Without waiting for an answer she walked towards the direction her opponent seemed so eager to retreat to. It seemed silly to her. She wasn't going to harm him so why would he run? Perhaps he was scared. Scared. Frightened. Fear. The word had been spoken so many times it ceased to mean anything anymore. You're scared, yes, what else is new? "Sabes, I don't think it's a good idea for you to run. Who knows? Maybe I can help you get out, ¿si?"
She saw him stopped and she frowned by the sudden reaction. It was clear such did not happen because of her words so there was something else. Mexico could not see past a clear line of vision. It was distant and such made her confused. Until one fell down the sky. A small snowflake. Snow. In summer. The girl took a step back, taken absolutely by surprised. As though if such touched her it could harm her. Mexico lowered her weapon and used that arm to protect herself. Maybe it could. She couldn't tell. Nothing was what it seemed in this manor. Nothing was as it seemed...
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Aug 21, 2012 20:26:27 GMT -6
It seemed impossible to Gilbert that this could be happening. He ignored the woman's words as his attention was captured by the silent spill of snow all around him. The earlier thoughts that had been in his mind resurfaced as the Prussian felt the weight of it gather on his shoulders and atop his head. A pale hand lifted to catch some of the flakes that were descending in a slow, graceful cascade. He let some of it settle upon his palm and was immediately struck by the fact that it wasn't cold. It didn't melt into moisture on his skin.
Curling his fingers up he began to grind the flakes up into a fine powder that silted between the cracks of them. This wasn't a natural snow. It was ash. Ashes falling from overhead. Apparently the Manor was up to its usual tricks. Gilbert grumbled as he shook his hand to send the debris scattering. It made sudden, warped sense considering the burnt remains of the shacks nearby. Was this some kind of show put on for the entertainment of whatever forces created this place?
He saw that the female was recoiling from it. The Prussian couldn't blame her. Ash wasn't exactly the most pleasant thing to hang around in, especially when it came raining from the skies. Gilbert himself didn't want to linger out in it. There was still no telling if she intended to attack him or not, but the Prussian decided that seeking shelter from this torrent won out over his plan to avoid her.
It was obvious that the woman wasn't altogether right in the head. The last thing that Gilbert wanted to do was deal with a crazy person on top of the Manor's own brand of paranormal activity. He grumbled as he went stalking at, then past her on his way to reach the interior of the shack. "There's no way in hell that I'm staying out here in this. If you're planning to follow me inside then pull yourself together, woman."
His manners weren't exactly at their best. Remembering to be polite to other people was a low priority on Gilbert's list these days. He tromped into the darkened interior of the shack, boot heels clicking heavy on decayed, blackened floorboards. The albino came to a stop in the center of the room and shook himself violently all over, sending the excess of that ash clouding off his body. He was still left dusty from what continued to cling to him, plus it already felt horridly uncomfortable, yet there didn't seem to be any place to tidy up around here. Gilbert would just have to deal with it.
He turned his head back to see what the female was going to do, frowning from a pale face rendered gray from ash. "Are you coming in here or not? Might as well wait until it stops, or the Manor gets bored -- whatever comes first."
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Survivor
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Why would I want to destroy something I helped build?
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Post by Mexico on Aug 21, 2012 21:53:36 GMT -6
Her eyes gazed up at the countless tears of snow that were falling from the sky. One by one they felt to the ground. Some brushing through her skin, until they touched her. She held her palm open as one small snowflake settled in, just so that at the last minute it would turn to ash. Ashes to ashes. Mexico looked at it in disbelief. Not only was it weird for it to be snowing in summer, but the snow was actually ash. Like a costume. So you make your face a mask. A mask that hides your face. The snow covered up every nasty, terrible and dangerous. It made it look pleasing. So much so that it wouldn't hurt to touch it. To feel it. Let your guard down. Until it soaked you in. Everything was a game. Mexico wasn't the one fooling the world. The Manor was still at a clear advantage. It knew every memory, dark thought and regret that lived inside of her. The monster buried within.
So how do you fight an opponent who knows you even better than you know yourself?
Mexico looked at the powder in her hand. It felt so... real. Ashes. Holding them like that brought back memories. Some as painful as the rest. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling as though her knees would give up at any moment. When the ashes you held are of people you know. When Deaths stops being personal in order to become a number. Because it's of someone you know. Of people you looked straight in the eyes, half smiled with radiating insanity, and shot. Killed. Vanished. Destroyed.
How many days it smelled like Death? She would walk through the lonely streets, uniform still on, full of pride, bloodstains, and watch, no expression the ruins. Because after all it was all her fault. Then went it rain, the drops were polluted. With greed, corruption and a consuming need to silence those who dare disagree. Mexico opened her eyes. And that twisted smile was gone. Instead a sense of anger travelled through every nerve ending in her body. She did not shake violently, although she would've have if she wasn't trying to keep calm. Composed. Breathe in and out.
Ashes and dead. Dead and memories. It was all just a trick. It was more of playing with her sanity. Let's see how much the latina girl can stand before she's inevitably pushed over the edge. Wouldn't that be hilarious?
Mexico came to her senses when she heard the guy call out to her. She could barely make out what he had said, but she turned around when he walked past her. Looking for refugee seemed like a good idea now. "There's no way in hell that I'm staying out here in this. If you're planning to follow me inside then pull yourself together, woman." She could not stand being around the ashes much longer. And he was right, she did need to pull herself together. A smile was just as dangerous as a frown, when not used correctly.
She walked towards the guy, trying to make him out from within the darkness. She was reluctant to speak, but she figured it couldn't hurt. Well, a figure of speech really. "Lo siento." She said in a lower voice, so out of character. "I'm not usually this, well, weird."[/color] The girl refrained from giving more information that absolutely necessary. She couldn't just admit that the Manor was getting to her. It was weakness. And her pride was damaged enough as it is.
"Whatever comes first."[/color]
Yes, indeed.
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Aug 23, 2012 20:10:39 GMT -6
Once they were inside together, Gilbert made a closer examination of the woman. She had a vague trace of Spain's vibe beneath the layer of insane. Based on her language and his own abstract knowledge of the nations of the world, he placed her as one of America's southern neighbors. Her apology caught him offguard -- Gilbert never had anyone apologize over their brand of crazy before.
Crimson stared at her, bright in the ashen mask of his face. Prussia wasn't the best example of chilvary when it came to women. Either their breasts were too distracting or their mouths were too annoying. He managed to soften his bristled temper after watching her fidget self-consciously. "Don't worry about it," Gilbert mumbled dismissively, "none of us usually act the way that we are inside this place."
He ran over tactical scenarios in his head. Not ones for how they might retreat to the Manor. Ones for how they might retreat back to the Manor without Gilbert managing to piss off this chick. Considering that his major exposures to female nations had been Hungary (and Russia's weird sisters in the Dark Decades), taking a wrong step usually led to the Prussian getting excessively harmed.
Why did women have to be so damned hard to figure out? And why did he have to get stuck with one?
Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. What would Ludwig do? Or, more directly, what would Ludwig's manuals tell the German to do? Prussia mightily resented the notion that his younger 'brother' could learn from anyone or anything except him. There were things that Gilbert grudgingly had to admit that he couldn't teach the other man. And much of the time these days it was Ludwig that was springing lessons upon the albino, whether they were welcomed or not.
Just be on your best manners. He imagined Ludwig lecturing, Don't make any mention of her body parts unless it is complimentary. Even then, it is safest to keep compliments directed at features from the neck and above. Treat her as you would a child -- not because a woman is feeble, but because you behave yourself best around children.
The Prussian's mouth thinned out, then twisted as he thought this all through. He then placed his hands against the front of his legs to peer more closely at the woman, and tried to make his voice sound more pleasant. Which for Gilbert only meant being quieter. "Uh. We probably shouldn't stay out here for too much longer. Night will come quickly. If you're tired, we can rest up a little before heading back."
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Survivor
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Why would I want to destroy something I helped build?
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Post by Mexico on Aug 23, 2012 22:17:57 GMT -6
Insanity runs so much through. Mexico looked down. Her eyes could not distinguish what they were standing on, or how into the shacks they were. It was like darkness surrounding them. A frozen blanket, shielding them from the outside. Those last minutes had brought back painful memories she was not allowed to remember. Ashes that symbolized the innocent people who had lost their lives in the mist of a bloodthirsty conqueror. The wars they had suffered. The diseases. Millions and millions of casualties that had paid the price for the disagreement between nations. "Y debajo nosotros no pelearemos su guerra. Ni siquiera sabemos la razón, todo en el juego de los reyes..." Ashes to ashes. They all wanted revenge. And the nightmares would never cease until they got it.
Sometimes Mexico wished she didn't have to feel, them, us, everyone. She would've never thought that her special connection with Death would bring such a turmoil. Everywhere she went she could hear. Whispers, screaming in the night sky. If she closed her eyes she could listen to their pleadings, watch how they laughed in their faces. The smiles of past victims that knew that there was no way out. Because they had failed, and so, evidently so would they. The realization was enough to vanish what was left of her hope. Sick little game. Hope was the last string of normalcy she had. It was the thing that held everything together. The strings of a broken girl, still sewed together like an old rag doll. She had to find a way to keep her hope flowing. And she had to find a way to get rid of the nagging feeling that everywhere she went there was someone watching.
Because there was always someone watching,
Mexico turned her head slowly towards the stranger. To be honest she had no interest in knowing who it was. Just the fact that there was someone there with her made her feel slightly more secure. It was a reminder that she wasn't alone. That every single nation inside this Manor was also suffering with something. It was hard on everyone. Nightmares rising from every corner. She wasn't alone. She figured a smile, sweeter but less pronounced than her past. If she took deep breaths she could calm all those emotions slamming at her. She could control what went on inside her twisted head. Let it all in. Because her problems were hers only and no one else needed to know. Nor did they care.
"That's not really comforting."[/color] She said with a helpless, but still hopeful sigh. Ana María wondered how she had ended up there. Not in that place hidden in the shadows, but inside the Manor. How a simple costume party had turned into such atrocity. She looked at her dress and sniffled. Her calaverita makeup was probably already washed down, leaving a vulnerable face for everyone to see. It worked as a mask, so far. "I don't mind. I don't feel tired."[/color] Or feel anything at all. She forgot to say. As long as they were moving forward, one step further into survival, whatever they did was fine by her. The end justified the means.
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Aug 28, 2012 14:21:00 GMT -6
Hearing her dismiss his attempt at concern, Gilbert stood up again. "Right. Of course you're not tired. But I still think it would be best to take time to recharge."
The Prussian felt a sliver of resentment. She wasn't tired. He couldn't claim the same. Fatigue was steadily wearing him down. Gilbert wasn't a limitless nation anymore. He'd not yet figured out what he was. Was he still partially a nation? Human? A ghost?
Better not to follow that train of thought, he warned himself, otherwise you might derail.
Gilbert was counting on running into Ludwig again soon somewhere in the maze of the Manor. And when he finally did, the albino intended to force the German to keep watch while he slept for two whole days straight. That was all Gilbert felt he needed to recover. Brief hibernation and a hot meal. Then maybe he'd get his head back under control.
There wouldn't be these rambling thoughts or this constant mistake of thinking he was hearing voices or this stupid weakling idea that he'd pushed himself hard enough for too long and perhaps it was time to curl up somewhere in defeat. Time to give in to the weakness of his body, because he was so worn, so sore, so tired.
His gaze had drifted away from the woman in front of him. It snapped back on her abruptly. She looked like Death with her face like a skull and funeral dress tattered. If he asked her nicely, would she put him out of his misery? Drive a knife through his heart and finally put it to rest?
What the hell was he thinking?
Gilbert turned his back on the woman to further investigate their surroundings. He amended his earlier plan. When he found Ludwig again he intended to punch him square in his unfairly manly face for having accepted the invitation to come to this party 'for the sake of making a brief appearance and being polite'. No matter that the Prussian had begged and pestered and whined until Ludwig agreed. It was an unspoken rule that the German was responsible for keeping him in check.
But now here he was with his head in shambles and in the lone company of a woman that he didn't even know. Standing in a shack that was burnt out but still held the impression that it'd once been lived in. The Prussian dismissed much of the pieces of shattered furniture from his interest as he prowled around the perimeter, finally crouching down near the corner where some shelving had once been constructed. He searched curiously over the blackened items that were fused or broken upon the remains of the shelves, smudging a thumb over some fallen ash to reveal the faded image of a saintly figure. "How odd. This looks like it used to be some kind of altar. Have you seen this kind of stuff before?"
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Survivor
Offline.
Why would I want to destroy something I helped build?
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Post by Mexico on Aug 28, 2012 16:18:35 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; vertical-align: top;][STYLE=width: 266px; padding: 17px 17px; text-align: justify; font: 11px tahoma; background: #190A11; border-radius: 50px 0px 0px 50px; color: #77A863; float: left; -moz-border-radius: 50px 0px 0px 50px;]
Mexico looked down at her fingernails and chewed at them nervously. She was beginning to realize that going outside the Manor had not been a good idea. But then again, staying inside the Manor had also been a bad idea. There wasn't anything remotely resembling a successful plan of escape. Whatever she did, regardless of how well-thought, spontaneous, brilliant, or just plain stupid it was, it still ended with the same results. She was still trapped. It had become pointless to even keep on trying. Even faking a smile was hard. She had not lied when she had said that she wasn't tired. Physically she wasn't. She still had enough energy in herself to keep going. But mentally, she was train wreck. Who knew if she was going to have another bipolar spectacle like the one before? How much of her sanity did she truly have left? How long before her thoughts and actions fell to the sadistic darkness she had within.
It was fascinating how no one really has a concern for this. Mexico was a staunchly Catholic nation. Her faith was invested purely on God and the saints. When she sinned, she prayed, convinced that was all that needed to be done in order to make up for what she did wrong. Well, nothing made up for anything here. It shouldn't be the sin itself that should worry her, it should be the monster that forced her to commit it in the first place. See, everyone has goodness and darkness inside of them. Even nations. It is so because there needs to be a balance. No one is a 100% of each, for no one is perfect. If Mexico didn't learn to be able to deal with was buried inside her then she was in a lot of trouble.
The girl sighed. She was getting cold in this place. She constantly scowled herself for not bringing a jacket or for thinking that wearing a dress with bare shoulders was a good idea. And not only cold, she was also starving. Mexico could not remember the last time she had a decent meal. During most of the time in the Manor she had gone without food. At times it made her really uncomfortable. giving her incredibly painful headaches, but she could bare it. After all, this wasn't the first time she hadn't had anything to eat. Her body was used to a shortage, or limited amount of food, but even her had her limits.
Still, the girl got up when she heard the guy's voice say something that captured her attention. She really didn't want to explore this place farther than she already was but if it was something that could help them get out then what the hell. She watched her step, as she didn't feel like falling down between the ruins of what had once stand there, and walked over to the boy. Mexico leaned in next to him to take a look at what he was looking at. There was little of it left, and she was unsure at first. But when her eyes landed on the faded image that the other nation was holding, she knew what it was.
"Si. it is an altar. We have altars like this back home, and we usually place the picture of la Virgén de Guadalupe or la Virgén María, or even Jésus. But," |
[/color] She turned towards the man and gently took the picture from his hands. "May I?"[/color] Looking at the picture she tried to figure out who it was. Her fingers traced over the smudges made with the ash. She was surprised it hadn't burned with everything else. Mexico took out from underneath her dress a necklace that held a golden cross with a small ruby stone on the center. It had been a gift from Spain when they had first met, and was perhaps one of the few things that still kept her going. Her mind tried to figure out why something like this would be here. Like if there was more to it than it was obvious. "The thing is, I've never seen this picture before. And, I don't see what it would be doing here or why it hasn't burned."[/color] She said turning to look at the albino in search for answers. [/style][STYLE=font: 35px impact; letter-spacing: -1px; margin-top: -415px; line-height: 35px; -o-transform: rotate(90deg); -webkit-transform: rotate(90deg); -moz-transform: rotate(90deg); margin-left: -10px; float: right; color: #599C3E;][STYLE=letter-spacing: 2px;]M E X I C O [/style][/style] [STYLE=float: right; background: #599C3E; width: 100px; padding: 5px; margin-top: -310px; margin-right: 5px; text-transform: uppercase; font: 10px orator std; text-align: justify; line-height: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #000;]So they marched me down to the center of town with their pitchforks high in the air. I was chained and bound with a blindfold around, so the judge wouldn't catch my stare. [/style][/td][/tr][/table][STYLE=font-family: ms gothic; font-size: 12px; text-transform: uppercase;]MADE BY jumpstart! of btn, ote and ls[/style][/center]
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Survivor
22.
Played by Hat.
Offline.
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Post by Prussia on Sept 5, 2012 14:02:23 GMT -6
Gilbert nodded mutely along with the woman's explanation. Though it was now a long ago history, the Prussian's mind's eye was still emblazoned with the old images of Christ, and the Virgin Mary, along with the other icons that had once been symbols that even he had prayed to before laying down the sword and shield of a holy warrior and instead taking up the mantle of a conqueror. He shifted uncomfortably. Seeing these images had caused something to twist inside of the Prussian. It was a inexplicable discomfort. "Perhaps the people that lived here were Catholic? Or some form of religion with similar symbols?"
He tried to think of what it could mean, having this altar here within the grounds of the Manor. Gilbert began to pace behind her with a hand on his chin. "I know that Francis has mentioned once or twice about the people down in America's south that practice voodoo under the guise of Catholicism. I guess it would kind of make sense if that was what took place here. It makes me wonder if it has something to do with what this place has become. A curse by a voodoo witch -- like in the movies? Something dark has left its mark on the grounds here."
Placing his hands upon his hips, the albino frowned down at the image in her hands again. "Everything else in here is burnt to a cinder. If that picture has survived, then could it be part of some ritual that warped this place? Or maybe the evil of the Manor isn't able to destroy something that represents such good?" He smirked, a bitter twist to his mouth, "Maybe all anyone needs to get out of here is a symbol of God and enough belief to conquer the wickedness that permeates this place. Wouldn't that be ironic? All of these nations running around, relatively immortal, and perhaps their only salvation is a belief made by Men? What do you think?"
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Post by Mexico on Sept 7, 2012 9:21:52 GMT -6
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Mexico, however, did not agree. She would've wanted, loved even, to be able to believe what he had said. To agree naively without a doubt. But she couldn't. Somehow that theory did not fit the atmosphere. It was certainly an enigma as to why that picture had survived when everything else had vanished. But as to it being something good, well, it just didn't seem right. Everything in this place was controlled by something far stronger than nations. Every action that took place was supervised. Like a chess game in which every one of them was a piece. If anything, she thought it was another game. Another trick to prove them in the most cruel way.
Mexico sighed. Ever since she could remember, Spain had taught her that her faith relied on the Catholic Church. That there was a God out there that listened, and helped, and made sure everything went as he pleased. But at this moment, dirty, and empty, and lost, well, there was more than one doubt in her mind as to this being true. Nations were more powerful than humans. Stronger. Even more important. And they did, still, deserved to be able to believe in something greater than their own strength. It was what kept them going at times. The reason why did some things and some things not. She shook her head and turned her attention towards him. "It may be my growing cynicism, but I don't think that's it. If anything, I think this is just another trap."
The girl looked at the picture more closely, tracing her fingers through the vanished ink. It was a game. She was almost certain there was nothing holy about this place. There is a fine line between denial and faith. This being the place were the line became a dot in the distance.
She suddenly felt overwhelmed. Her eyes lost themselves in the picture, looking past what was in there. Her mind began to twist and turn inside her head until it forced her to see something hidden. She was laying on the ground, blood covering her hands like gloves. She was starting at it like she couldn't believe it. There wasn't blood anywhere else. Not even on the bodies laying in front of her. Tears were present in her face, but dried and served as a mask. She tried to make her feet move but they wouldn't obey her command. For a moment everything was silent. The silence was deafening, death. For a moment everything stayed in place.
Her pupils dilated as she became entangled in the memory. But then, that silence was overwhelmed by every single one of the emotions present. Her heart was being attacked by sadness and contempt and profound feeling of guilt. I'll never let you go... The sound of her voice was distant, almost like a fading echo in a far away room. As an spectator she fought to abandon the memory. Only when she abruptly let go of the photograph did she accomplish it.
Mexico looked at her companion, then back at the picture. She felt an urge of fear wash through her veins. "¿Sabes? We need to get out of here. This place is terrorífico." She stood up, reading to make a run for it the moment he said go. She did not say anything more, for fear in her own words. The truth behind what she just saw.
[/style][STYLE=font: 35px impact; letter-spacing: -1px; margin-top: -415px; line-height: 35px; -o-transform: rotate(90deg); -webkit-transform: rotate(90deg); -moz-transform: rotate(90deg); margin-left: -10px; float: right; color: #599C3E;][STYLE=letter-spacing: 2px;]M E X I C O [/style][/style] [STYLE=float: right; background: #599C3E; width: 100px; padding: 5px; margin-top: -310px; margin-right: 5px; text-transform: uppercase; font: 10px orator std; text-align: justify; line-height: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #000;]So they marched me down to the center of town with their pitchforks high in the air. I was chained and bound with a blindfold around, so the judge wouldn't catch my stare.
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[STYLE=font-family: ms gothic; font-size: 12px; text-transform: uppercase;]MADE BY jumpstart! of btn, ote and ls[/style]
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Post by Prussia on Sept 10, 2012 12:56:16 GMT -6
"Terrorifico?" Gilbert echoed blankly. Did that mean that it was terrific, or terrifying? A look at her face answered that question. The woman was on the verge of panic. The Prussian shifted back to give her more room if she did decide to bolt on him, wanting to avoid the chance that she might knock him over in her haste. He couldn't fathom what was going on in her head. Perhaps his talk of religion had spooked her? Gilbert stared down at the image of Christ upon the floor. His ears started to ring.
The albino jerked a thumb at the door, trying to ignore it. "Let's head out of here then before you have a total meltdown on me." That wasn't a situation that he was equipped to deal with. A female freaking out in his company didn't sound remotely appealing. Gilbert shuffled his way across the floorboards on his way to the door that would take them back outside. The ash was still falling outside; the air eerily silent. It wasn't a stillness that he cared to venture out into but staying within was out of the question.
There was a rattle nearby. Gilbert's attention was lured away from the falling ash outside to try and locate it. It sounded like a snake. Or a baby's rattle? The sound was faint enough that his ears couldn't identify it easily. He tilted an ear down to the floor to try and catch the noise more completely. Beneath it was an entirely different sound; one the Prussian recognized. A rhythmic pattern of a chanting voice. At first the words were too muffled to hear. Then, as Gilbert continued to stand in the doorway on the verge of making an exit, they gained volume and clarity.
Papa Legba, open the gate for me, Ago eh Papa Legba, open the gate for me Open the gate for me, Papa For me to pass, when I return I will thank the Lwa!
Gilbert shifted his weight onto his other foot and glanced back to the woman to see if she had heard it. Here in the Manor, he had the worst luck with hearing voices. And half the time no one else could hear what the Prussian did. It sounded loud enough to Gilbert that it must have been audible -- but who knew if it was just in his head? "Taking our chances outside might be for the best. We can probably make a dash for the Manor if we strike out now."
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Post by Mexico on Sept 10, 2012 17:56:49 GMT -6
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Mexico breathed in carefully. She was afraid to close her eyes and see that horrible imagine in her head. The thought of it coming alive inside of her, her surroundings turning into a wishing well of faded dreams with bloody knuckles. She could take the sight of death but not the sight of dying. Watching that one last hope and string, holding on for dear life. The last spark in a pair of eyes that was about to fade. It was all too much. Pity the dead. Pity the living. Pity the dying. Pity everyone for that matter. Mexico couldn't trust herself with any of the stuff she was feeling. Even taking it all and bottling it into tiny boxes, creating nice tower of hidden secrets was a dangerous game.
Indifference is a harder emotion to deal with than hatred. When you hate something the rage is unimaginable, but it is controlled. We control the density by which we want it to effect. We know exactly why this emotion is at play. On the contrary, when it is indifference we try so hard for it not to be any emotion, that when we come to realize what we're doing we have to deal with more than one thing. You can't juggle forever and eventually something tends to slip. Run around unsupervised. Ant it is then that it causes the greater damage. To others. To ourselves.
"I am not, going to, have a meltdown, ¿si?" Her words were forced and measured. She didn't mean it as harsh as it came out, but she did nothing to fix it. She would've tried a soothing voice but that was just tampering with her sanity. Ana María felt like a small defenseless child wrapped around her mother's arms. Swung back and forth, back and forth, and the voice of a woman, gentle and comforting pressing against the ends of her mind like buzzing sounds. She wanted to scream and liberate herself from the what it was that kept her pushed down, her lips barely touching the ground.
So this is how it feels to be alone in the darkness. Scared. Abandoned. Underneath the surface. The voices gently scowling from the distance. Is it still a way when one side has no possibility of winning? Sometimes it's better to be dead. When you're dead you're dead you can't feel. You can't hear the whispers, watch the nightmare consume you, tearing you away from your soul. When you're dead you can't make the wrong choice and watch them frown from the distance. You're immune to the bitter truth. It'd be the perfect end to everything. But ending it would save her from her suffering and she didn't deserve that. To be set free. It was a fallout in her mind. If she died the guilt, the history of everything she had done, as a nation, as a human, it would haunt her forever. There would be no rest in her eyes.
So survival seemed more fitting.
Mexico turned around, looking to see for the first time the face of the person who had accompanied her. "Lo siento, if this isn't the right time but, I wanted to know, who are you?" She hadn't really seen him in the mist of everything that had happened. And it would give her a sense of relief to know who it was that was with her. Maybe even the protection or safety she so deeply needed.
Making a run for it might've been wise. But Mexico needed to know this first before keeping up with her existence. She wasn't sure why she was even asking. Maybe knowing one true and right thing before everything else was left to chance. Maybe something to hold on to.
[/style][STYLE=font: 35px impact; letter-spacing: -1px; margin-top: -415px; line-height: 35px; -o-transform: rotate(90deg); -webkit-transform: rotate(90deg); -moz-transform: rotate(90deg); margin-left: -10px; float: right; color: #599C3E;][STYLE=letter-spacing: 2px;]M E X I C O [/style][/style] [STYLE=float: right; background: #599C3E; width: 100px; padding: 5px; margin-top: -310px; margin-right: 5px; text-transform: uppercase; font: 10px orator std; text-align: justify; line-height: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #000;]So they marched me down to the center of town with their pitchforks high in the air. I was chained and bound with a blindfold around, so the judge wouldn't catch my stare.
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Post by Prussia on Sept 12, 2012 21:20:59 GMT -6
Her assurance that she wouldn't freak out on him let Gilbert relax a fraction. Not that she seemed stable enough to make any promises. The Prussian wasn't sure that he cared to take his chances on that point. This woman behaved like a dangerous creature in a circus; great to have around so long as there was a cage and a pole to keep a distance from. Gilbert smirked faintly, hands lifting up to show that he meant no offense. "Okay, okay. You've got it together. Fine."
Why did he still hear that chanting? She didn't appear to be hearing it. It was just something else to leave the Prussian feeling more unsettled. The last thing that he needed was to hear voices -- and now singing -- in his head. He stepped down out of the door of the shack. It made the noise grow distant again. Apparently the source of the haunting chant was inside. Gilbert was irked by the continuous spill of the ash upon his head again; it was the lesser of two evils.
He was stopped from stepping any further when she questioned him. His mouth opened to answer her. For whatever reason, he hesitated. The Manor was making Gilbert question that often. Enough that he couldn't even answer automatically. It didn't help that his memory lapses were threatening him to forget things that he held precious. He prepared to leave, but figured he could give her that much. "I'm Gilbert. I used to be ... something else, but now I'm just the walking dead. What about you? Does the woman with Death's face have a name?"
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Post by Mexico on Sept 13, 2012 17:39:36 GMT -6
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For the first time Mexico smiled with purity. There was no hidden meaning, no twisted or dark thoughts behind it. It was a smile. Of comfort. One of which she had never used before. But it didn't seem as a stranger on her face. Actually, it seemed fit for her.
Because even those who knew her couldn't tell for sure when she was faking or when she was real. It all worked as a game. And she liked to believe she was a player. A two-faced nation. Letting you believe what she wanted, see what she wanted, say what she wanted, and yet she was incredibly charismatic. A nation of colors. Except that, in this game, all the cards were being played by someone whose power she had yet to fully understand. She had never considered this exciting. A challenge. The ultimate test to prove who was better. It was a twisted thought to think that this stay was a game. Didn't she understand the words dead imminent?
New flash. She did.
If she could set it all up to look like a board game, place every important part of the manor as a representing chess piece, then maybe she would find a way to leave the king unprotected and attack the ultimate weakness. But who she was fighting with? And what she would she use? All of a sudden it didn't became a simple matter of escaping. No, it was a matter of destroying. If this was high school then she would be the bully, who's only objective was, and in a true mexican sentence, joderlos a todos. Maybe she was crazy after all.
Mexico took in his sentence as a sign that he really wasn't comfortable being by her side. She could understand that, and given her behavior recently, she couldn't blame him. But he seemed someone who, at the risk of sounding manipulating, she could use to her advantage. And not just to dump afterwards, but it seemed like the only way to get out of this was to work together. It was wise to establish a diplomatic, maybe even friendly, relationship at the moment. Who knew if they were to cross paths again.
The girl chuckled, but the sound of her voice was gentle. "It's hard, isn't it? When you spend your whole life, just reminding yourself of who you are, and what you're capable of. So that one day, like any other day, you have to fight to remember." |
[/color] Her voice was quiet, it felt almost as a whisper. She was slow on her words but she knew that was the truth, and the truth sometimes hurts. If she got tired of waiting, it was because time doesn't heal the slightest of wounds. If she got tired of lying, it was because the truth hurts, but only at the beginning. Eventually you accept it. If she got tired of hiding, it was because she was never able to run forever. That smile that was drawn on her face suddenly vanished into a small hint of sadness. Even with a mask, it was clear you could see right through her. "A nation, a human, here it doesn't matter. I wonder-"[/color] She paused for a moment. She looked around her wondering what this place was before it was destroyed. What sort of life it supported? What secrets it held? Why there were so many trapped inside of it? And why did she care? "When you've spent most of your life bleeding, sangrando, you realize it's okay to cry. Llorar."[/color] Mexico walked over to were Gilbert was standing. Just close enough so he could see the light in her eyes, however he might want to interpret it. For the first time she saw him. The crimson color of his eyes, his pale skin, a feeling of not knowing. Of the doubt. Lack of security. Those feelings that she felt too, and possibly every other nation trapped here. "You're not dead yet, Gilbert, Prussia. As long as your heart keeps beating, and there is hope inside of you. As long as we both want to escape, then we're not dead. No estamos muertos."[/color] She would've stroked his cheek under normal circumstances. She would've showed her support to an extent that other nations found overbearing. She cared for her friends, her family, in ways she could not explain. It was something she always knew how to do. "I'm Ana María, Mexico. And I'm trying to remember that. Así que tú, so you should do that too, ¿si?"[/color] [/style][STYLE=font: 35px impact; letter-spacing: -1px; margin-top: -415px; line-height: 35px; -o-transform: rotate(90deg); -webkit-transform: rotate(90deg); -moz-transform: rotate(90deg); margin-left: -10px; float: right; color: #599C3E;][STYLE=letter-spacing: 2px;]M E X I C O [/style][/style] [STYLE=float: right; background: #599C3E; width: 100px; padding: 5px; margin-top: -310px; margin-right: 5px; text-transform: uppercase; font: 10px orator std; text-align: justify; line-height: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #000;]So they marched me down to the center of town with their pitchforks high in the air. I was chained and bound with a blindfold around, so the judge wouldn't catch my stare. [/style][/td][/tr][/table][STYLE=font-family: ms gothic; font-size: 12px; text-transform: uppercase;]MADE BY jumpstart! of btn, ote and ls[/style][/center]
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Post by Prussia on Sept 18, 2012 18:02:23 GMT -6
The change in her demeanor still didn't win Gilbert over. He remained on edge, too cautious now to relax. His arms crossed in front of him, protective as he stood there as more ashes piled upon his shoulders. Her words made the albino frown. "I struggle to remember everyday. Not just because of this place, but because of who I am. Forgetting is easy."
Gilbert straightened as she approached him. His eyes flickered uncertainly over her face as Ana Maria came into his space. He searched her just as closely as she inspected him. There was no way of knowing what she was thinking as she looked at him. Gilbert wasn't skilled at reading people outside of battle. And this woman wasn't attacking him -- not yet. Maybe that might come later. For now, they were at peace with each other.
Her words made him squirm. Gilbert had needed to hear that kind of a reassurance. He needed to be reminded that there was still a hope for escape. More importantly, the Prussian was in desperate need for someone to remind him that there was somewhere else to escape to. Home was becoming more of an abstract concept in his head. Home was the place that he lived that wasn't here. A place where he was safe. He smiled faintly at her. "Ja. You're right. We need to find a way out of this place. To make it back to where we belong, which isn't here. And we're gonna survive."
He reached up, brushing away some of the ash that had gathered upon Ana Maria's head already. "When we make it out of here, I think I should buy you a drink. It'll be my treat, okay? So you make it out of here in one piece, Ana Maria, und I'll try to do the same. Until then, you've got to survive too. Und make sure that you remember my promise, or else I'll forget."
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Post by Mexico on Sept 20, 2012 17:13:51 GMT -6
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Mexico hadn't expected that kind of reaction. Not under these circumstances and certainly not from him. A man who grew distant by the moment, sharper, waiting for when escaping became inevitable. Someone who would've ran and left her, had he had the chance to do so. She wasn't judgmental, at least she tried to believe so, but inside this place everything and everyone could be a possible threat. You couldn't trust another because you knew the horrors that resided here. If she had been in such bloodshed, forced to face what she feared most, and was barely hanging to that strain of sanity she had left; how could she be sure the others were as strong as she? She couldn't trust if they were weak or strong. What was even going on inside their heads.
Mexico knew that what she felt others did as well. What she had to deal with in order to guarantee her survival others had to as well. Fears and nightmares reigned the place and no one was immune. Unfortunately no one was immune. But somehow that only made her feel more alone than ever. It wasn't something she could thoroughly explain. Trapped inside one's mind, inside one's made up world, we lose connection to reality and therefore those who live in it. Ultimately it's only our own well-being we're after.
Ana María's face lit up when she felt the prussian's touch over her head. She had forgotten how it felt to be touched. Not as a threat, in a fight or a struggle. It was a warming touch, reassurance, peace and security. Knowing everything would be okay because what the other person is trying to tell you is that you're not alone. One touch that signifies they understand. They feel, they're empathetic, compassionate. She wanted to feel that touch again. Would do anything for that one touch.
She smiled and moved her head gently to the side. She wondered what she looked like to him. Could he see the smile hidden underneath all that makeup and faintly tears? Could he, perhaps, sense the urge to feel hope one last time? Could he see what that gesture had incited inside of her? It was then that she thought of a reason why they were all inside, and while she knew she couldn't justify her thinking it was what she needed to keep going.
She liked to believe everything happened for a reason, and as cliché as that sounded it didn't cease the fact that it's true. She wasn't saying that being stuck inside the Manor was a good thing, quite the opposite really. But maybe death worked as a reminder. For a long time all nations did was fight each other. Out of a wonderful world it was them who caused poverty, war, pain. bloodshed and suffering. Our striving need for power, carelessly stepping over our enemy's shoulders, constantly wanting more. Perhaps they had brought this on themselves. A lesson. It's only when you're fighting to survive when you truly appreciate what living means. Being alive, being loved, cared for, being free. We don't know how much we need it until we barely have it. And it is then that we would do anything for it.
"So nice of you. I would gladly accept your offer, mi amigo." |
[/color] She reached for his hand and held it firmly within hers. It wasn't a gesture out of anything but pleasure. Wanting that warmth touch again. And though his hand was cold in the aspects that mattered, it served her designed purpose. She looked up at him and her eyes met his. Chocolate brown eyes in crimson. "We'll get out here. Si, I'll survive. Until then mi amigo, what shall we do?"[/color] [/style][STYLE=font: 35px impact; letter-spacing: -1px; margin-top: -415px; line-height: 35px; -o-transform: rotate(90deg); -webkit-transform: rotate(90deg); -moz-transform: rotate(90deg); margin-left: -10px; float: right; color: #599C3E;][STYLE=letter-spacing: 2px;]M E X I C O [/style][/style] [STYLE=float: right; background: #599C3E; width: 100px; padding: 5px; margin-top: -310px; margin-right: 5px; text-transform: uppercase; font: 10px orator std; text-align: justify; line-height: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #000;]So they marched me down to the center of town with their pitchforks high in the air. I was chained and bound with a blindfold around, so the judge wouldn't catch my stare. [/style][/td][/tr][/table][STYLE=font-family: ms gothic; font-size: 12px; text-transform: uppercase;]MADE BY jumpstart! of btn, ote and ls[/style][/center]
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Post by Prussia on Sept 21, 2012 16:19:08 GMT -6
Having her take hold of his hand was equally reassuring to Gilbert. A touch as casual as this anchored him to reality. He had been swaying in and out of the belief that he might have been a ghost, or at least something lost in time. Ana Maria's grip on his hand proved to the Prussian that he was solid. There was still substance in him. That he was still very much alive. He squeezed her hand in a slight clench of pale fingers. It felt like they were making a promise to survive.
He considered her question with a thoughtful face. What would they do? Moving forward from here would decide everything. Each step forward, every decision that was made could be the key to their success or their demise. Taking the wrong path could lead to ruination. While it was an easy to question to ask, it was far harder to answer. It was the type of problem that needed a tactician. A man that had survived through many battles. A creature that had beaten the odds and managed to last even through his own dissolution.
"Numbers," He said at last, "We'll need numbers. As many people as we can find. The longer we stay scattered, the easier it will be for the Manor to pick us off one by one. Even if we must work with our enemies, there is no greater threat to all of us now than this place. We'll be safer if we combine our strengths."
Gilbert's hand squeezed hers again, looking Ana Maria straight in the eyes. "We'll part ways here for the time being. But if you come across anyone, let's arrange for us all to meet back here later. The inside of the Manor is their castle. It will never be safe. Out here, using these shacks for shelter, perhaps... perhaps we can figure out a way to all escape this place. What do you think?"
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Post by Mexico on Sept 23, 2012 14:12:31 GMT -6
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Survival. She understood as something greater than a continuation of life. There was pain and treason, and loss. For years when you see someone die, watch the life gently escape their eyes, you hold on to what's left of yours, in fear Death might've overlooked. You go on. oblivious to what can happen, and what's happening to people you don't know. Take everything for granted. Reckless, living in the spur of the moment, never admitting you're not invincible. Some nations act like teenagers. Naive and uncaring. Because we, unlike them, know for certain we are immortal. And that everything we do, and what we say, has some effect, but it never wears us down.
The pain here. As she hold on to his hand, terrified beyond belief to let go, to ever let go. As she became distressed in even thinking about the possibility of going back on her own. To fight. To watch. When it hurts so much you can't breathe. When it hurts so much you would do whatever it took to bring it to an end. When it hurts so much you can't handle it. Helpless and scared and buried in your own pile of ashes. Stuck in the deepest and most sacred reaching of your heart, trying, and failing, to pull it together with hand made bandages. When you realize you're worth saving. When you stand up, shake the ashes and keep going, despite how useless it seems. Watching the odds pointing against you, making bets of your life. When you keep going, even when you don't need to, that's how you survive. No, that's how you stay alive.
Because no matter how much it seems to suck, how much you hate it, if you're stuck in your own hell, the only way to get out is to move forward. Nothing lasts forever, and eventually there has to be a way out.
Mexico looked at Prussia straight in the eyes. He squeezed her hands gently and she understood what he meant. It was a war then. She trusted he knew what he was doing. He had proven himself successful for centuries. She would have to gather the others, and find out who remained. And as easy a task at that may seemed, she was unsure what she might find when she stepped inside the Manor again. For a moment, she wondered about who was still trapped in there. Who was lost. Would she be able to handle it? She liked to think so, but in reality it would hurt to lose a friend. It would hurt to lose someone.
Ana María nodded and slowly let go of the pale fingers she was desperately wanted to keep. She would fight if only to be able to feel that touch again. Her land under her feet. Her lazy, and reckless, and easygoing people, whom she wanted to see, now more than ever. Feel at home once again. Be annoyed with America, or eat pancakes with Canada, watch Argentina and his egocentrism radiating with pride. Have a fútbol match with Brazil and Chile. Just go back to the way things were. Fight for more than just her survival. Fight for a life. "Si, it's a brilliant idea. I'll look for the others, and we'll meet again." |
[/color] She looked at him with a faintly smile, but a smile nonetheless. Words could not express her gratitude, for he may remain oblivious to the ounce of hope he had given her. It was true she remained disappointed in leaving without him. For in the brief period of their interaction, she had grown accustomed to his presence. Maybe even more so than what she would've preferred. "Prussia? I just wanted to say, gracias."[/color] Ana María wanted him to know and feel the truth in her words. For they were perhaps the most honest she had said in a long time. She was determined to follow up on his plan. He was a friend now, and she helped her friends. And in this fight to live, she would do anything to try and get them all out alive. They were nations, not only humans, and it was time the Manor understood. [/style][STYLE=font: 35px impact; letter-spacing: -1px; margin-top: -415px; line-height: 35px; -o-transform: rotate(90deg); -webkit-transform: rotate(90deg); -moz-transform: rotate(90deg); margin-left: -10px; float: right; color: #599C3E;][STYLE=letter-spacing: 2px;]M E X I C O [/style][/style] [STYLE=float: right; background: #599C3E; width: 100px; padding: 5px; margin-top: -310px; margin-right: 5px; text-transform: uppercase; font: 10px orator std; text-align: justify; line-height: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #000;]So they marched me down to the center of town with their pitchforks high in the air. I was chained and bound with a blindfold around, so the judge wouldn't catch my stare. [/style][/td][/tr][/table][STYLE=font-family: ms gothic; font-size: 12px; text-transform: uppercase;]MADE BY jumpstart! of btn, ote and ls[/style][/center]
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