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Post by Deleted on Jul 3, 2013 10:09:20 GMT -6
Humidity hit Vietnam in the face like a cinderblock. Everything was delightfully different. The air was filled with the smell of decaying weeds and moist soil; after the monotony of the mold dust, and wood within the mansion, Kim-Ly found herself wanting press the soil against her face and regal herself with the familiar smell of the outside.
Isn’t that how her people found her? Crouched within the high grasses of her country? The women wasn’t sure where she had come from, and as any nation she had a remarkable memory, you had to when your life is documented in history books, but her childhood had always been a foggy mess of rough spun fabrics, mud, and bronze. That is, before China, who, over a thousand years ago, had been one of the first to capture the young nation.
…But not conquer [/color] A wry smile crept over the woman’s face. She would stay outside; it was no good going back into the manor now. What was in there but ghosts, dust and monsters? Here at least she had the open air. There was no running along hallways that looked the same or hiding under desks and beds. It was part of the terror, the very…very sameness of every door way and lock. It could drive a nation insane, if they weren’t already.
“If I die, it sure as hell isn’t going to be in there,” muttered the woman under her breath, casting a glance back as she determinedly walked further into the field. This was Vietnam’s element, long grasses and open sky around her. Not a stuffy mansion. She drew a hand across her forehead, grimacing as it came back glossy and slippery with blood. “Head wounds bleed more. Everyone knows that,” she sniffed imperiously. She had gotten out, and that’s all that mattered.
Had she always talked to herself? Maybe. During the 60’s…it wasn’t exactly herself…but Kim-Ly ached for someone else. Someone else suitable . Taiwan, with her bright clothes and brighter attitude. Laos maybe…or Cambodia.
“Fucking shit,” she grumbled before hitting the same weed again. Glaring even as the stem was severed. It was immature, Vietnam knew, but who was there to see? Who would care if the personification of Vietnam decided to knock down and curse at a weed? No one. Not Taiwan, not Cambodia, and not Laos.
She hit it again; wooden and metal paddle easily cutting through the stem on the ground. She hit it again, and again, until it was no more than a pulpy green mass on the drying soil and the oar fell from between her fingers.
No one liked weeds anyways.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 11, 2013 1:26:08 GMT -6
He just had to keep running. If Romano only kept running, maybe, just maybe, he could get out of this awful place.
When he had first found himself separated from everyone, the fear was crippling. He had sat in a dark corner, hiding, waiting in vain for a familiar figure to cling to – heck, even that German potato head would have sufficed – and all he found was them. That was all he wanted to see of that house. He was alone, confused, and terrified. The only thing he knew was that he wanted out, and it took every ounce in him to work up the gall to dash out of his hiding place and make a beeline for the exit.
Now, sweat dripped down his brow, soaking his white undershirt – he had dropped his jacket some time ago. He paid no heed to his burning lungs and aching limbs. He knew that the minute he stopped to catch his breath, it would be difficult to start again. But he had been sprinting for so long now, and the grass was tangling with his legs, making it all too easy to stumble. Finally, he felt he might collapse if he didn't take a break. He slowed to a stop, bending over and putting his hands on his knees to support himself. At least he was far away from that house now.
Coward…
He snarled. The word had been his own thought, but somehow that fact made the insult sting all the more. Congratulations. You've managed to make it out all on your own. Now what, genius? He didn't know. He hadn't planned for this. He hadn't planned on any of this…this haunted house thing. Why was he even here? He should have just stayed home. That was the original plan, wasn't it? But you never pull through, do you? You always abandon everything halfway through! Your relationships, your job, your country…
Country…where was Veneziano? What ever happened to the second half of Italy? He had seen him briefly during the party, but then…gone. Everybody, gone. As far as he knew, still in that godforsaken place. Or…
Or dead.
His eyes widened with realization. His little brother was still in there! And Romano, being the selfish jerk he was, abandoned him without a second thought. And for what? To save his own worthless life?
"DAMMIT!" he shrieked, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. He fell to his knees, losing himself in the sea of vegetation. He felt like crying. The tears pricked his eyes, but his pride refused to let them fall. Dirty coward! The guilt stung more than any injury ever would. His baby brother, Veneziano, the boy that loyally spoke in his defense despite every cruel thing he had said and done, now trapped in a monster-infested hellhole because his big brother was too scared to spend another minute indoors! Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe he could still go back, find Veneziano, and then…
"Fucking shit."
Romano's blood ran cold. Eyes widening, his head snapped up to do a quick scan of the perimeter. The curse wasn't loud, but it was unexpected. He was almost positive he had been alone. The words were followed by a repetitive thwacking noise. However, there was no sound of splatting blood or the slapping of flesh – which made it a little bit less threatening, he supposed. The thwacking died down, and once again, an eery silence lay across the field. Could it have been a fellow nation? He felt conflicted. Part of him wanted to get away from the field as fast as he could, but the other part was very tired of being alone.
So tired… Under ordinary circumstances, he would have relished the quiet, and peaceful scenery. He always loved the countryside, and the fields reminded him of the ones at home. However, after so very long with only the supernatural to keep him company (and even that was only through biting at his heels), he wanted nothing more than good, familiar, human contact.
Ever slowly, he lifted his head until his eyes were barely peaking over the top of the grass. It was a woman. Her back was turned to him, but he could see her long hair was pulled back in a dark brown ponytail. Much less intimidated, Romano stood to his full height.
"Who the hell are you?" he said suddenly. Perhaps a little too late, he realized that was probably not the best way to address a lady. Especially one who sounded so angry just moments earlier. Can't take my words back, he reasoned, and so settled for just glaring at her across the field until she answered.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 12, 2013 11:37:13 GMT -6
She hadn’t heard him. She hadn’t heard him. A bed of sweat dripped down her neck and Kim-Ly was only aware now of how heavy and hot the rays seemed. Under the heavy ceramic armor –which had already saved her life numerous times in the mansion- She could feel herself baking in the heat. But still…. God, I’m losing it aren’t I? I should have heard him, I should have…damn.
Pinching the bridge of her nose (ignoring the caked, drying blood) and closing her eyes, Kim-Ly exhaled slowly.
The sun laid heavy across her eyelids. “I haven’t felt you for a while,” she murmured softly to herself, letting the rays sink into her skin. She would not hurry around and answer this voice. This, demanding, scared, and angry voice. No, she was Nguyen Thi Kim-Ly, the mothers to millions. She had fought –and won- more wars than she could count. She would not break over a small mistake. She would bend over slowly, pick up her oar and then answer. And if he attacked before then? Then she would kill him.
And that’s precisely what she did –pick up her oar, mind you, not kill the mysterious voice.
“Who do you think I am?” She growled, turning slowly towards the man, “Because if you think that I am someone who takes kindly to that tone of voice, you’re wrong, bồi ” . It was hard to see from her position. The grass –which on anyone else might have risen to the thigh- rose above Kim-Ly’s hips. In her armor, moving was made even more cumbersome.
In the war, I didn’t have any armor. Hell, I didn’t even have a gun sometimes. Just a knife. A knife and a silly oar. [/i] Her fingers fondly stroked the roughly hewn wood. There was still weed pulp on some of the edges, occasionally dripping onto the dry soil with dull plops.
Still, there was the issue of seeing the stranger. For a brief –denied- moment, Kim-Ly felt her heart swell. Here was someone! Another nation! Someone who she might be able to rely on!…But no. Vietnam had no concept of who this was, or if he was even a nation.
“I am coming closer. I will not hurt you,” Kim-Ly paused before she took a step closer, “But I promise that any sudden movements on your part will not end well. Stay still, da?”
Not waiting for a reply, Kim-Ly slowly walked closer stopping about five feet away from the man, her oar held in defensive posture in front of her. Now that she was closer, Kim-Ly was sure that this man was not a threat. He was dressed nicely in a style that Vietnam recognized from movie clips and newspaper clippings. There was a nice (if not sweaty) shirt, pin-striped pants, and a gun. She couldn’t tell if it was loaded…but it was always safer to assume that it was.
If he shot at this range, she would be dead.
Still, dressed like this, he was clearly a guest to the party, which only could mean he was a nation and that meant he was probably not an enemy. Friend then? Vietnam’s eyes, finally swept up to the face of the stranger, taking in the brown hair, paler skin, all the traits that marked him as a westerner. One of the Italies… she noted, I never could tell those two apart.
Her heart fell. It was a well known rumor that both of the twins were cowards. The corner of her mouth twitched in a grimace at the thought. She lowered her oar slowly.
“South Italy,” greeted the woman slowly. “Your lack of civility tells me at least that.”
“It’s Vietnam; I suppose I’m not necessarily a topic of discussion where you come from now-a-days, am I?” Her eyes glinted under the heavy sunlight.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 12, 2013 23:45:12 GMT -6
The woman didn't flinch. For a while, Romano wondered if she even heard him. He was about to call out again when she suddenly moved: first bending over to pick something up off the floor, and then standing up and turning to face him. He couldn't see much with the sun in his eyes, but he managed to glimpse a flash of red…headband maybe? Then came her bitter reply.
"Who do you think I am? Because if you think that I am someone who takes kindly to that tone of voice, you’re wrong, bồi"
Romano felt his face heat up, and he instinctively looked off to the side. He knew he had come off as aggressive, but it was accidental. He was just so overwhelmed with irritation, fear, distress…but he couldn't let her know that. Why would she care? Still, she was a lady. He was supposed to treat her with respect.
"I am coming closer. I will not hurt you," she said, snapping him out of his embarrassment. "But I promise that any sudden movements on your part will not end well. Stay still, da?"
He almost scoffed. Why would she hurt him? Had he threatened her in any way? But when he looked at her again, all he could see was her vigorously storming across the field. He subconsciously took a step back, startled by her forceful movement. Don't move, you idiot! he reminded himself, quickly correcting his stance to show he wasn't going anywhere.
While she approached him forcefully, she seemed to be taking her time. Initially, he thought she was just worried about his gun ("I won't shoot," he had assured, lowering his weapon), but he eventually concluded that she was just having trouble moving through the grass. He assumed it was in part because of her height, but as she drew nearer, he realized she was wearing heavy armor. Before long, she was close enough that he could observe her in detail.
The first thing he noticed was that she was very beautiful. Perhaps a little plain looking, but there was something so natural, so down-to-earth about her that he found striking. She didn't seem like the kind of girl one would want to toy around with, and he found this…awe-inspiring. The second thing he noticed was–
"Oh, shit, you're bleeding!" His eyes went wide, and he took another step back. He wasn't really squeamish – in fact, he had seen far worse wounds before – but it was still shocking to find the "headband" was actually a bloody wound. Then came the realization that he swore in the presence of a lady. He cursed himself inwardly, slapping a palm over his mouth (although to anyone watching, it might have looked like he was trying not to puke at the sight of blood).
Her facial expression twitched as she looked him over; she seemed almost disappointed. "South Italy. Your lack of civility tells me at least that."
He furrowed his brow. "Lack of civility?" Letting out a sigh that came out as an angry huff, he dropped his hand and averted his gaze. Apparently, he had a bad reputation. Well, at least she'd heard of him. Rarely was he known as anything more than "Italy's brother." He debated himself over whether or not he should apologize for his coarse behavior, but the woman continued talking before he had the chance to open his mouth.
"It's Vietnam; I suppose I’m not necessarily a topic of discussion where you come from now-a-days, am I?"
She sounded almost bitter. Was he supposed to know her? Romano tended to leave foreign relations to Veneziano (the boy was so much more social than he, and infinitely more productive), so naturally he had no idea who she was. The name did ring a bell, though. Surely Veneziano mentioned her briefly once or twice.
Veneziano…
He stuck his hands in his pockets and hid his eyes under his bangs. What was he supposed to say to her? He wasn't used to talking to girls outside of brief attempts at flirting, and judging by her headstrong demeanor, she would not take kindly to flirting. Biting his lip and keeping his head low, he slowly lifted his gaze to study her face. That was a nasty wound she had.
"Call me Romano," he muttered sharply, carefully lowering his gun to the floor in order to search his person for something – anything – that could be used to bandage her head. He had a handkerchief…but it was still in his jacket pocket. With nothing better to use, he tore fabric from his shirt and approached the Asian nation with the intention of at least slowing the blood flow a little bit. It would be nice if he had some water or something to clean it up, but this would have to do for now.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2013 13:46:11 GMT -6
“I won't shoot,"
“Oh yes, you won’t shoot. All of the strangers I meet in farm fields are always non-violent and honest.” murmured the woman under her breath, though she visibly relaxed when the gun was lowered somewhat.
Despite her abrasiveness, through some sort of unspoken agreement, it seemed that the Italian nation had passed Kim-Ly’s inspection. True, he was not one of her Asian family members…but he was at least a nation, albeit an unfamiliar one. Kim-Ly didn’t know what to make of him. Kim-Ly did not often go to world meetings –and the ones she did go to…well, they weren’t very impressive. If she had seen him, it had only been rarely. No more than once. His brother is so cheerful…so why isn’t he? [/color] Once again, Kim-Ly cast another glance at the other nations face.
“You’re not really twins are you? ...Your hair is darker. ” Mused the Viet, South Italy was a stranger. A riddle. Kim-Ly had an undeniable attraction to breaking riddles...metaphorically, since by now, she was somewhat confident that he was unlikely to attack her. Previous frustration forgotten, she leaned jauntily against her oar. An object which, at some points seemed more like an extension of her arm rather than a tool.
"Oh, shit, you're bleeding!"
Kim-Ly raised a brow a t the outburst. “Tch, There’s more blood vessels in the head. More bleeding. They look worse than they are,” She rubbed at her forehead again, discomforted by his –in her perspective- overreaction. He looked sick and Kim-Ly felt her own stomach twist in disgust. How can a man –a nation- like this, survive?
“Besides,” she snorted, squaring up her shoulders , golden eyes blazing as she calmly looked the taller nation in the eye, “I’m Vietnam. I pull off blood far better than anyone else. It’s an essential cosmetic piece.”
She held his gaze a few seconds longer, dropping it when he finally dropped his hand form his mouth with an indiscernible mumble.
“Call me Romano,” the nation instructed sharply and Kim-Ly blinked, taken aback by his sudden change in mood as she watched him (thankfully) put down his gun and rummage through his clothes.
“Romano” She repeated slowly, her brows crinkling in confusion. The word felt unfamiliar in her mouth. It was odd, addressing him by a name other than the one which marked his region. Vaguely, she figured that he must have some other human name too…though she wasn’t as familiar with European customs. Well, except for the French customs, but Kim-Ly had worked hard to forget those. Either way, Vietnam could not help but feel both bothered and relieved. Bothered that he was not indeed know as “South Italy”, but as “Romano” (another gap in her knowledge), relieved that he was not one of the overly friendly nations that jumped straight to first name basis.
“Why is it that you call yourself…” Started Kim-Ly, she unable to stop herself from asking before almost immediately trailing off as she watched the other nation tear a piece of fabric from his shirt. “Hm? What are you doing...Khoan đã!” The woman stumbled back, raising her oar again as if to block a blow –or give one. It was a clever ploy, feigning cowardice only to…
It took her about a minute to realize his intentions, to which she immediately dropped the oar again.
“Oh.” A small understated breath escaped from her mouth. “I’m…” She trailed off again, looking away roughly, thoroughly frustrated by her surprised reaction. “I was surprised, It’s easy to forget …well, the Manor, and I have not been in peace time long…it’s…You westerners are…. I do not wish to reject your kindness,” She tightened her lips and gave a sharp nod, unwilling to say anymore or elaborate on the jumbled excuse she had offered. It was the closest thing to an apology Kim-Ly was willing to give.
Even so, it would be foolish to think that she could fix the cut itself. Unconsciously, she felt her fingers reach up to trace the wound, feeling a shallow –though long- cut reaching from her temple to above the bridge of her nose. “It looks worse than it is,” she offered lamely, but even so, stepped slightly closer and lifted up her bangs.
(Khoan đã -Wait)
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Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2013 10:31:48 GMT -6
Romano raised an eyebrow at Vietnam's inquiry. Twins? She must be talking about Veneziano and him. He cast her a dubious look. What did she care about his family? But she did look genuinely curious. What could it hurt to tell her?
"We're not twins," he answered curtly with a wave of his hand. "I don't know where you got that stupid idea, but we're not twins."
He paused for a moment to look at the way she leaned on her…weapon. (What is that? An oar?) It was a casual position, very like any of the idle farmhands would do on the countryside where he grew up. Romano felt a striking sense of familiarity, as though he had known the stranger before him all his life. But…no. That's ridiculous. He realized he had been staring, and quickly (if not awkwardly) resumed his answer.
"We're just brothers. I'm the elder. And anyway, even if we were twins, nobody said we had to be identical." If he sounded rude, he didn't mean to. He was only stating the facts.
Vietnam didn't seem to appreciate her injury being brought to attention, as she immediately (almost self-consciously) began to rub at it. Romano almost told her to stop lest she make it worse, but when the nation didn't seem bothered by it, he calmed down somewhat.
"Tch, There’s more blood vessels in the head. More bleeding. They look worse than they are," she was saying, although Romano wasn't convinced. "Besides, I'm Vietnam. I pull off blood far better than anyone else. It’s an essential cosmetic piece."
She held her gaze long enough for Romano to get a good look. He had to admit, the gore did add a dramatic accent to her determined face. It coordinated nicely with the warrior look she was sporting, although he was sure it would have added that edge to any…Ugh! What am I thinking? He shook his head to clear his thoughts and continued what he had set out to do, trying to ignore how his heart skipped a beat when she said his name (Is that what it sounds like when someone other than Spain and Veneziano addresses me? he wondered silently). Why was he so easily distracted?
As he drew near, she began to ask him another question. However, whatever she was about to say was lost in surprise.
"Hm? What are you doing...Khoan đã!"
Before he had time to react, Vietnam had pulled away from him, and was now threatening to hit him with her oar. Him, an unarmed man! Eyes wide, he instinctively reeled back, patting the air with one hand in a silent plea for her to calm down. He narrowly avoided tripping over his gun, but still managed to lose his balance, falling back on his rear. Was this the thanks he got for trying to help? Threats and humiliation? He shot her a heated glare, his cheeks turning red from far more than the day's heat.
"Oi, ragazza! What's your deal?" he spat indignantly, gesturing his disbelief by "tugging" at the air. Picking himself off the floor, he began gesturing wildly as he spoke. "You saw me put down my weapon! Is my reputation so bad, you think I would take you on with my bare hands when I could have just shot you in the first place?!" Just what kind of lies were said about him behind his back? Both insulted and threatened, he waved his hand at her dismissively and reached for his gun so he could leave. If she doesn't want my help, she can just fix it herself! Let it get infected! Bleed to death for all I care! But before his fingers made contact with the smooth wooden handle, he heard something hit the ground. He slid his hand away and stood up again. She had dropped the oar, and refused to make eye contact.
"I was surprised," she was saying. "It's easy to forget…well, the manor, and I have not been in peace time long…it's…You westerners are…. I do not wish to reject your kindness."
Romano stood and stared in silence. Her evasive response, the way she refused to make eye contact, her initial lack of trust…the more he looked at her, the more he saw…
…myself…
Suddenly, he rolled his eyes and stuck out his lower lip in a pout, making a chatty gesture with one hand. She talks too much. Without saying a word, he hesitantly approached her again, as though expecting another attack. However, he managed to get close without another episode. She was caressing the wound, so that made it easier to find.
"It looks worse than it is," she said again.
"So you keep saying," Romano retorted. He began to wonder how much she actually believed that. Was she trying to convince him or herself?
She lifted her bangs, allowing him a closer look. It was a bloody mess, and the wound itself was hidden from plain sight. A pained hiss escaped through Romano's teeth, and he winced at the grotesque sight. Still, he didn't recoil. He gently moved her hand away and held the bangs up himself, bending over so he could see better. Taking one of the strips he tore from his shirt, he gently dabbed at the blood, carefully clearing it away until the actual cut was made visible.
"What happened?" he whispered, not really caring for an answer, but curious nonetheless. He unceremoniously dropped the blood-smeared rag on the ground and took a second strip, wrapping it under her bangs and around her head, muttering a question of whether or not it was too tight as he tied a knot. He lingered for a moment, admiring his handiwork. Then he leaned forward, planting a light kiss on the bandage before stepping back to give Vietnam some space. The gesture was affectionate, but he thought nothing of it; Spain and Belgium both had a habit of "kissing it better" when he got hurt as a child, so it just seemed like the natural thing to do.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2013 17:21:08 GMT -6
For the most part, Kim-Ly appeared unfazed by the Italians rough language. Maybe because she was used to playing the rough, annoyed, nation herself enough times (It was easier to charm people later)…but she at least seemed to take it stride.
"We're not twins, I don't know where you got that stupid idea, but we're not twins."
“I don’t concern myself with the affairs of Europeans ,” she made a face –obviously, Kim-Ly didn’t think much of the continent “how could I know about your relationship with your northern half?” Catching him staring at her, and hearing the pause, Kim-Ly raised a brow. She was not used to men staring at her…and to be honest she almost preferred it that way. Vietnam didn’t consider herself ugly, buts he certainly would not consider herself beautiful. She was pretty enough when she got the chance to clean up (which was rarely), but for all intents and purposes, Kim-Ly was average. Like what you see, Sunshine? [/i]
"We're just brothers. I'm the elder. And anyway, even if we were twins, nobody said we had to be identical."
Kim-Ly looked wistful. “It must be nice to have a sibling. You’re very lucky to have your younger brother.” She didn’t offer any elaboration, and the finality of the statement made it very clear that she did not care to continue the conversation.
(In the minutes proceeding, Kim-Ly forced herself to stifle laughs and grins as she watched the man fall backwards, the tiny part of her that still watched for mischief basking in the following chaos…and still, pieces of guilt tugged at her chest.)
"You saw me put down my weapon! Is my reputation so bad, you think I would take you on with my bare hands when I could have just shot you in the first place?!"
No, I’ve been told you’re a coward. I don’t think you could manage shooting or strangling me for that matter. And that’s even worse. [/i] Her eyes glinted, she said nothing. Watched, bemused, at the intricate motions of his hands. Waited for him to calm down. And resignedly let him take the matter of her forehead into his hands.
The first thing she noticed was that the grumpy Italian was gentle with surprisingly warm hands.
That was a surprise.
"What happened?"
For a second, Kim-Ly considered ignoring his question. But she –even if wounded in the encounter- couldn’t help but tell a story in which she ultimately conquered. Besides, Kim-Ly loved stories; telling and hearing them. So, seemingly unfazed as Romano prodded at her forehead with the rag, she recounted to him the past two days in the mansion. “Something started stalking me two days ago. It was getting…shit, what’s the word? I hate English. Mmm, annoying, but I noticed it always kept to the shadows. I figured if I lured it into an area it considered safe I might be able to set a trap for it,” she smirked previous cockiness returning to her face, “It wasn’t a very smart monster.”
“I’ve always had an affinity for fire, for better or worse, I suppose,” she scowled then, her hands grasping at something. She looked down as them. They stopped moving. “I had stolen some whiskey from one of the rooms I’d been sleeping in. It was not hard to construct an incendiary while I was hiding.” She didn’t mention the shambling shape she saw at the end of the hallways. The sleepless night. The fatigue that fallowed her even now.
“We’re nations –we’re not used to mortality, you know that. And this is the first time in 20 years that I can feel its weight. If things were normal , this wound,” she lazily gestured towards it then, “Would not have posed any danger. So I was careless, and I underestimated the power of the blast.” A blinding blaze of light. A sharp pain. Dragging herself out of the house and collapsing in the sunlight. Exhaustion.
“The creature either ran off or died and I was blown back into a wall. When I woke, I was tired of the dark. And now I’m here.”
Kim-Ly refused to consider the fact that the manor might have only been playing with her and called off the monster.
She had finished only a few seconds before he finished, and assuring him that no, it was not too tight, had no choice to stand staring up at the Latin nation as he finished tying the cloth, for the briefest moment, the Vietnamese woman smiled. “Thank you.”
Kim-Ly could not remember the last time someone kissed her. Not on the lips –kisses meant to seduce and ploy- but on the forehead. Was it when she was only a few century old under China? No…she had always refused to let Yao very near her. Their relationship was one based on hate and competition. And by the time France had invaded Kim-Ly was far too old for such kisses. It was, surprisingly innocent for someone as…abrasive as the man before her.
The woman felt her heart soften and it took a few minutes before she finally spoke.
“You’ll do well to remember that the customs of other nations are not like your own,” she picked up her oar, promising herself this would be the last time she dropped it, relishing the familiarity as it filled her palm. “My children do not enjoy such intimacy, and I can promise you that neither do I,” Vietnam’s voice was quiet but firm as she continued.
‘I’m a nation, Romano, an old one. Not a woman or child. Remember that.”
She turned roughly then, as if the entire exchange had not happened, scanning the fields surrounding the two of them. Some of the stalks swayed gently in the tiniest of breezes. It brought goosebumps to Kim-Ly’s skin. She cast a glance over her shoulders towards the mansion standing almost stark black against the (surprisingly) blue sky, gardens, and fields. Buildings could not possibly be alive…and yet the nations could not help but shake the slight feeling that it was a willing participant Malevolence seemed to seep from the stones that made up its walls. As if the mansion was the cat, and they were the mouse.
Vietnam frowned. She did not enjoy the feeling that she was the disadvantaged party.
“We shouldn’t stay in one place for long, even here, it will make us easier targets,” she commented finally. Vietnam could feel herself fall back into the old easy patterns of her nationhood, giving and occasionally receiving directions and diplomatic opinions. There was comfort in analysis and order. The world was clearer, easier to touch. She intended to stay there. A few seconds longer…Kim-Ly closed her eyes. “C’mon, pick up your gun, let’s go,” she gestured farther out into the field. Her tone was surprisingly bright after her previous comments. She wanted –was inviting- the Italian to forget it. “You can shoot that, da? That’ll be helpful”
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Post by Deleted on Jul 16, 2013 10:43:52 GMT -6
Romano narrowed his eyes into a glare, but said nothing. You knew enough to know there were two of us, he thought silently. Not for the first time, the question came to mind: just how many people knew he existed? It is true, he was Italy as much as his brother, but he was never called by that name. It was usually Romano; that's what he had always responded to. Veneziano, on the other hand, was called "Italy" by everyone but Romano himself. For a long time, he thought that everyone assumed the country of Italy only had one representative…yet, here was a strange nation – an Asian one, at that, and he knew how distant they were from the western nations – who not only knew there was a North and South Italy, but was able to correctly guess which Romano was. He was impressed, almost honored.
"It must be nice to have a sibling. You're very lucky to have your younger brother."
Romano suddenly found the ground a very interesting thing to look at. But I don't have my younger brother… They had been distant for as long as he could remember. Even now, the two didn't have much to talk about. Especially since he's still out there somewhere, he thought, his breath hitching in his concern. But he couldn't let her see his worry. He spat at the ground and shrugged, saying as calmly as he could, "You can say that. In all honesty, he's just a pain in the a–" he caught himself. "He's just a pain."
He listened to her recount her story, wide eyes betraying his interest. Perhaps we aren't so much alike after all, he thought as she told of her plan to confront the beast. She was brave, and clever, and resourceful…
…everything I'm not. He felt almost jealous. Vietnam could take care of herself. When she had a chance to act, she took it. And what did he do? He camped in a corner with the hope that someone would come to his rescue. And when that hope died? He ran away to try and save himself. He felt disgusted; he despised his own behavior.
Then he saw her smile. It lasted for only a moment; it flickered, really. It seemed…out-of-place, as though it didn't belong on her face. Nonetheless, it was reassuring, and as she said "Thank you," he couldn't help but feel that, just maybe, he did something right. He took a deep breath and held his chin up high, his eyes shining even though the rest of his face was fixed in a frown.
"You’ll do well to remember that the customs of other nations are not like your own."
Well, that killed my moment.
Vietnam picked up her oar as she continued. "My children do not enjoy such intimacy, and I can promise you that neither do I."
Romano felt his heart sink. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he felt offended. How was he to know his "intimacy" was unacceptable? He didn't even know he was being "intimate" to begin with! And anyway, wasn't she smiling just moments before?
"I'm a nation, Romano, an old one. Not a woman or child. Remember that."
"Well, I'm so sorry that my customs are so displeasing to you!" he sarcastically huffed, getting defensive. "I hadn't realized how disgusting it was!" His cheeks tinted with a noticeable pink, he puffed them in a pout and muttered something unintelligible. Then, after a wide, dismissive gesture with one arm, he crossed his arms with his hands under his armpits, turned his back to her, and nudged his gun with his toe. "You say you're a nation, but are we really in a place like this? In a place where death is possible?" His voice was quieter, much more calm. There was still a hint of annoyance, but the question was a serious one. He really did want to know if they were still nations, or if somehow, the mansion had managed to strip them down to their humanity.
She didn't answer, and Romano thought she was just ignoring him until he twisted his head to look over his shoulder and found her mind was occupied with something else.
"We shouldn't stay in one place for long, even here, it will make us easier targets."
Romano turned the rest of his body around and curled is lip into something short of a snarl. "Don't change the subject!" But whatever he said seemed to be lost on the asian woman.
"C'mon, pick up your gun, let's go."
Is she ignoring me, or just spacey? Romano couldn't tell which, but it was one or the other. As annoyed as he was, he begrudgingly acquiesced, roughly grabbing his gun and, more gently, tightened his fingers around the smooth wood. This didn't stop his grumbling the entire time.
"You can shoot that, da? That'll be helpful."
"Yeah, I can shoot it," he barked, storming by her side. However, aiming it was an entirely different matter. And there was also the matter of ammo…he didn't have any spare magazines. They're all in my jacket, dammit! Why did he leave it behind? As a decoy? It seemed like a good idea at the time. As far as he knew, he wasn't going to be coming back.
"So, what's the plan? Just keep walking further out until we pass out from exhaustion?" He made a quick swipe of his hand under his chin. She was the one in charge. He knew that, and respected that, and was too helpless on his own to argue. But he would continue to act unimpressed for as long as he could.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 16, 2013 21:49:45 GMT -6
For a while, Kim-Ly didn’t reply to any of his questions falling instead into the easy rhythm of a fast walk, happy to put the Manor behind her with every step. Every so often she’d look over to Romano, hearing his words echo back into her ears Well, I'm so sorry that my customs are so displeasing to you![/i] and I hadn't realized how disgusting it was!
It’s not that simple! [/color] She wanted to yell, grab him by the shoulders and tell him that it, by far, was one of kindest gestures she’d received in a long time. And that was the problem. But Kim-Ly didn’t say any of that (offering only the simple question of “How good is your shot?” ) but otherwise letting the silence stretch on.
Finally, she turned to the Italian, thoughtful. “Are we still nations? Tch, of course we are,” Kim-Ly swept in front of them with her paddle as she walked, feeling for any signs of life. Even if it wasn’t a monster, it could still be dinner. The motion was surprisingly similar to rowing a boat.
Kim-Ly quickened her pace. “We still have our memories –Perhaps we are not immortal anymore…but we never were.” She had been ready for her death 20 years ago –not willing to accept it, but not immune to the idea that she could just fade away.
“Nations die all the time, I’ve seen it…and I know for a fact that you have too,” Her mind drifted to the fall of Rome. She had never met him, but she had heard about as a Chinese vassal state. Trade had been unstable in the years following. Kim-Ly hadn’t been too old then, moderately aged in terms of nations, but not fully grown. She had not flourished under Chinese dominance, even as she learned from his art and literature. When Rome fell, Vietnam had seen it as an economic disappointment…but a tribute to the brevity and ignorance of the West. She did not think that centuries later she would struggle under the yoke of colonization. Or talking to one of his grandsons “It’s not so hard to kill a nation,” added the woman softly, “Not if you know how.”
I killed a nation once. A broken capital, a failing army, a stab to the heart. It is not so hard.
A sword slipping between armor and flesh like silk. Knee pressed into a breastplate and the soft squelch of blood and flesh against metal. Fire Illuminating Champa’s face. The short intake of breath when Kim-Ly brought her sword back…and the a loud resounding thump! as a lifeless body fell to the ground.
It was not so hard.
The thought had slid into her mind unnoticed and unwanted. Surprised, Kim-Ly almost stumbled, pressing her hand to her chest. 1471…the razing of Vijaya. 60,000 Cham had died that day…Kim-Ly had only laughed then. Who cared if a few foreigners died? Not Dai Viet. Not Nguyen Thi Kim-Ly. Self-consciously she looked over to the Italian, as if worried her could read her mind. Her cheeks grew flushed in the bright sunlight. Kim-Ly hoped that he interpreted it as a sign of exhaustion rather than embarrassment or shame. Why do I care what he would think? He’s old enough, he knows how progress works. [/color]
“We’ve shaped our history with our choices, as it has shaped us. We can’t go back to the humanity that we lost. We still represent our people –and I will act as befits my station.” Her voice was fevered, her usually low tone increasing slightly –almost imperceptibly- in pitch.
“And if we aren’t nations…then what do we have left?” It was an afterthought. Something forbidden that should not be spoken –but it still escaped her lips and hung in the air like a cobweb. The woman shivered despite the heat.
Kim-Ly shook her head, trying to clear herself of the thought. Her whole life was devoted to her people. She hated to admit it, but being cut off from them was taking its toll on her. When every aspect of her life was either carefully choreographed by her government, her happiness tied to that of her people, Vietnam felt taut. Ready to break. It was perturbing.
"So, what's the plan? Just keep walking further out until we pass out from exhaustion?" Good. That was a good question. A safe one.
“I met with America earlier –however briefly,” she explained briskly, neglecting to mention that the meeting at ended with a very angry punch to the face. Even then, her free hand curled into a fist. I’d do it again, if I could…the monsters are too good for him [/color] “He says there’s…” she trailed off, eyebrows furrowing, “The Nation of the United States does not believe there’s a way out. He says we’re trapped,” all of this was said very quickly. Kim-Ly did not like the way the words felt in her mouth, as if she had swallowed something scaly and horrible.
“I don’t believe him.”
“We’ll go far enough to see if there’s a boundary. If there is a way out, then we head back and rescue any nations that are still trapped. If there isn’t…if there isn’t…” Only for a moment, her impassive face collapsed, before as quickly as it happened, she smiled broadly, confident in her next statement, “Well, we don’t have to worry about that, do we? Because there will be.”
You always were too optimistic, even from the beginning. [/color]
Well, some things never change, do they, bắc?” [/color]
Silence again. Her eyes darted back towards her new companion. God, it’s like he’s a magnet or something [/color]
“Romano?…It’s nice to meet you. I don’t think our introduction was exactly the best,” she lifted a hand to push a strand of hair off her face, palm brushing against the makeshift bandage across her forehead as she did so. He is not like the other Westerners
“When we leave here, what will you do?” And as an addendum; “Your accent isn’t like the other Europeans. It’s musical. It’s nice.” She was genuinely curious. Kim-Ly didn’t see him in meetings…which meant he had to do something with his time.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 18, 2013 16:10:01 GMT -6
No comments. Vietnam neither confirmed nor denied that she was repulsed by Romano's actions. The silence was more offending than her gentle admonition. Well, fine. I didn't want to talk to you anyway. It's not like I care what you think. He didn't, did he? It wasn't like they were going to keep in touch if they ever escaped the mansion – if? no, when. Once they went their separate ways, that would be the end of it. He would never see her again, and she could just forget they ever met. He shut his mouth and walked in silence (leave for a cryptic answer of "My shot is good enough for me," too proud to admit he couldn't hit a scarecrow at point-blank range).
Suddenly, she turned around and answered him making him momentarily halt in surprise. "Are we still nations? Tch, of course we are." She sounded so sure of herself, Romano was tempted to believe her. "We still have our memories–" and this, Romano had to admit, was true– "Perhaps we are not immortal anymore…but we never were." The Italian stopped walking, letting Vietnam get a good distance ahead of him.
Nations die all the time… the words echoed in his mind. He tried not to listen, but somehow her voice reached past his mental barrier, penetrating his mind…
…no, my heart. He grabbed his shirt, gathering the fabric at his chest. It ached. It burned, and only seemed to get worse as his emotions rose up his throat, choking him. He turned around, refusing to face her. He couldn't let her see him like this. How could he? She didn't know; she didn't understand what it was like to lose a family member! The memories flooded his mind: the scars that marred his grandfather's back, the repeated barbarian invasions that weakened – and eventually dissolved – the empire…having to explain to his brother that Rome would not be returning.
"He's dead!" Romano had repeated over and over, tearfully shrieking in anger at the little Italian boy who clung to him in fear and anguish during the dark ages. "Nonno is dead, and he's not coming back!"
It was hard. He had always been so sure that Rome was indestructible. How could a few migrating tribes have taken down such a strong nation, a nation that had literally conquered the known world? All progress in the arts, in enlightenment, had come to a halt; the brothers were grieving.
Sure, Veneziano was the favored grandson, having inherited Rome's skill in the arts. But Romano had a dream of proving to Rome that he was just as good. He wanted to make Rome proud, just like Veneziano. He, too, wanted to know what it was like to look up at his idol, to be patted on the head, to be told "Well done, Lovi! One day you will be as great as me!"… It was a stupid dream. He knew it was a stupid dream. But seeing the way Veneziano mourned after the Empire's fall…the two had always seemed so close.
"I wanted…Nonno's love…too…"
"It's not so hard to kill a nation. Not if you know how."
The words called Romano out of his thoughts. He sniffed and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Had he been crying? No…his eyes felt wet, but there were no tears. He could breath easy, hardening his face into his usual pout. Talking was another matter. No matter what he said, he couldn't trust his voice to remain steady. He would remain silent for now.
"We've shaped our history with our choices," Vietnam continued after a contemplative pause, "as it has shaped us…" She looked feverish. Romano regretted that he brought up such a touchy subject. "If we aren't nations…then what do we have left?"
Tentatively, Romano tried to recover the distance between them, having fallen behind quite a bit. He couldn't answer her question. He had no encouraging words, no witty remarks, and could not even bring himself to ask if she wanted to find a place to rest out of the sun. All the while knowing his voice would give him away, he slid back into his place behind her, eyes focused intently on the ground and mouth shut.
Luckily, he didn't have to say anything before she shared that American's concern. Romano felt his blood boil at the mention of the United States. Wasn't it his fault they were all here to begin with? And now he was saying there was no way out. But Vietnam didn't believe him.
Well, at least you're not concerned, he thought sarcastically. That makes me feel so much better.
"Mamma mia," he muttered under his breath, not caring how stereotypical he may have sounded as he ran his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair. Then, a little louder, he added, "That's all well and good, but exactly how far can we go before we're sure there is no boundary? It looks like this field stretches on for-freaking-ever." He held his hands up in something like a shrug. "Not to mention there's the matter of going all the way back to the mansion if we find anything. Which, by the way, isn't a very probable 'if' in my opinion." He was liking complaining. It was taking a lot off his nerves from the angst-filled moment he had just moments ago. "There are monsters back there, ragazza! And how are we supposed to fight them off if we're too tired to move?" He opened his mouth to complain some more, but Vietnam cut him off.
"Romano?…It’s nice to meet you. I don’t think our introduction was exactly the best,"
He found his words had left him, and he stumbled over his words as he mumbled the feelings were mutual, and that he was glad to have met her too.
"When we leave here, what will you do?"
In all honesty, he hadn't thought much about it. He shrugged. "I suppose things will go back to how they always were. I'll help Spain with his tomatoes, and…interfere with Veneziano's social life." He shrugged again. "Nothing should change just because we were stuck in a mansion for a few days. I'm looking forward to everything being normal again." As boring an existence he led, normal was nice. He liked the familiarity: how he would wake up everyday and bicker with his brother over breakfast (if you could call the one-sided verbal abuse "bickering"), how he would bother Spain at his tomato plantation only to offer his help with the promise of free food, visits to his favorite cafe, flirting with any girl he came across, churros with Spain and Belgium…when the other nations had time for him, anyway. Sometimes he had to accept that they had a life outside of him, as much as he hated it.
He looked at her skeptically when she complimented his accent. Was she saying something nice about him? That rarely ever happened. "Eh…g-grazie," he said slowly, raising an eyebrow. Did she really mean it? Or was she just saying that to flatter him? He wasn't sure.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 18, 2013 20:27:55 GMT -6
Vietnam supposed she wasn’t supposed to notice. She was never supposed to notice things like this. And she always did. So she always pretended she didn’t -and that’s she what did then. Trying to push the thought of a grieving younger nation out of her mind, Vietnam pushed forward, ignoring the instinct to go back and hug the Italian. Nations die all the time…I shouldn’t have said that [/color] Another sly glance was sent back. Shit, I’m sorry [/color]
Soon enough, he caught up with her, and the tense atmosphere resumed almost immediately. Both nations obviously consumed in their own thoughts.
"Mamma mia, That's all well and good, but exactly how far can we go before we're sure there is no boundary? It looks like this field stretches on for-freaking-ever." Mamma mia? What did that even mean? Kim-Ly shook her head, thoroughly confused, though happy that Romano appeared to have recovered.
“Mmph, smarter than they say, aren’t you?” She commented lightly. Kim-Ly was not a social nation –but she was glad to finally have some company. The oar was now balanced jauntily on her shoulder, bouncing with every quick step she took. Even so, she cast another evaluating glance at the Italian. He was sweaty; obviously not as used to the heat as Kim-Ly was. She had grown up in humid jungles –and even her costume was lightweight, designed for such climates, the orange silk sliding smoothly on her skin with soft hissing noises. “I suppose I don’t want you too tired. We’re somewhat dependent on each other for survival. It would be unfortunate if you keeled over –and a greater problem to explain why it was that South Italy died in my presence,” Her nose wrinkled, “Chúa, the paper work would be a pain,” Kim-Ly couldn’t help but feel that the dependence was slightly one sided. She didn’t know what “Good enough for me” said about his aim, but Kim-Ly wasn’t sure if she liked the connotations. He’s better than no one though, and he’s already proved to be semi-helpful
“Here, rest for a few seconds and we can plan this out,” she stopped abruptly. There was a small, sick looking sapling nearby that provided a small amount of shade and the grass had thinned somewhat. She squatted, balancing on her toes. Kim-Ly wanted a break –but she wasn’t going to leave herself vulnerable to anything that might be stalking them. Looking around suspiciously she put down her oar, keeping it close enough that she could grab it had a moment’s notice.
“First, look at the horizon, da?” She pointed with a slim, if not calloused and scarred, finger to the direction they were heading. Amidst the sky and slowly setting sun, there was clearly something dark there. Something tall and looming in the far distance. “We’re clearly close to the boundary and that might be a cổng vào, a gate.”
Or a fence…no, not a fence. A gate.
Self-conscious, Kim-Ly sketched something in the soil with her finger, not really paying attention to the shapes that were forming. “As for the monsters…” She looked up from the doodle, giving Romano a toothy grin, “Why should we worry about them. You’re the personification of an entire nation. And I’m Vietnam…if you ask me; it’s the monsters that should be scared of us”
She frowned then –serious overpowering the cockiness. “Even so, from what I’ve noticed, they’ve had a vulnerability to light and fire, we’ll keep that close at hand when we return to the Manor,” Despite her recent success, Kim-Ly did not exactly look forward to carrying an open flame with her, and subconsciously, she crossed her arms, abandoning the doodle, feeling the ridges of scar tissue beneath her sleeves. A reminder of what happened when you –or someone else- decided to play with fire.
She stared at the ground for a few moments and when she finally looked up, it was clear that whatever previous optimism had grabbed her was gone just as fast. “And it’s a “will”, South Italy. Not an “if”. A will , America is rarely right, why should he be right about this?” she murmured softly.
She sighed heavily, offering a weak nod at his announcements,“Spain, hm? He always was an interesting one. I suppose I’ll do the same…go back to my rice paddies. Finish all the paperwork that’s piling on my desk. Call China again and tell him to stay the fuck out of the South China Sea…” She trailed off as she realized Romano was still talking.
"Eh…g-grazie." A stutter?
She snorted, laughing at the Italian’s slow –and somewhat paranoid- response. “Oh please,” she rolled her eyes and shaking her head tragically “Don’t thank me for just stating a fact. Actually, don’t thank me for anything,” Vietnam added, looking quite mischievous despite the seriousness of the situation “You’re much more exciting without all these stupid manners. I do hate being bored.”
Just don’t touch me [/i]
[Chua=God]
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Post by Deleted on Jul 20, 2013 0:22:37 GMT -6
Romano felt that things had gotten a little awkward. Vietnam seemed…perplexed by his sudden change in mood. Dammit, she saw that didn't she? He mentally slapped himself, angry that he had allowed his emotions to get the best of him. Such a vulnerable state, and she saw it. He scolded himself and resolved to not let his guard down so easily again.
"Mmph, smarter than they say, aren't you?" Vietnam said before turning to look at Romano. He found himself having to duck lest her oar collide with his head.
Ugh, she sounds so smug! Romano shot her an indignant look. "What's that supposed to mean?" he barked, impatiently twirling a hand in the air. "What do they say about me? What lies have you heard?" Vietnam returned her attention to her path ahead, and the oar managed to crash into the back of the poor Italian's head while he was distracted. He let out a sharp cry of pain, and while rubbing his soon-to-be bruise, decided to put some distance between him and his ally. He would pretend not to notice any scoffing or ridicule that might come from her direction.
"I suppose I don't want you too tired. We're somewhat dependent on each other for survival. It would be unfortunate if you keeled over…" she said in answer to his previous concerns. He smirked inwardly. Did she really think he would be of any use to her? Fat chance. However, it was very reassuring to know she wouldn't want him dead. Maybe continuing to let her belief he was anything more useful than a meat-shield would be a good idea. "Chúa, the paper work would be a pain!"
Of course, he thought to himself with a bitter smile. This all boils down to paperwork.
Then the sapling, however small, came into view. Romano's spirits lifted at the promise of rest. Much to his delight (though his scowl hid it), Vietnam paused in front of the plant and offered him respite. Before she could say anything more than "rest for a few," he slid comfortably underneath the shade, slouching low to the ground and resting his head against the trunk. Yes… He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh of contentment while the woman went on about something about boundaries and a gate.
"As for the monsters…" she droned on.
Does she ever stop talking? Romano wondered idly, fiddling with the grass that grew beside him and picking a blade to chew on.
"Why should we worry about them? You're the personification of an entire nation. And I'm Vietnam…"
"Half a nation," Romano promptly corrected, opening an eye. He took one look at her big smile, and his eyebrows crinkled in an indiscernible expression. "I am the personification of half a nation." Or did she forget already the conversation they had earlier regarding his brother? He tossed his grass aside and sat up straight, watching her intently as she explained the tail-end of her plan.
Fire…right… He did not like the sound of that plan, and judging by the slip of her grin, she didn't either. Romano wasn't even sure where they would find a flame, but he figured they would cross that bridge when they got there.
"And it's a 'will', South Italy. Not an 'if'. A will."
"I agree that the little brat has been wrong in the past," he said, crossing his arms as well as his legs. "But this mansion was his idea, and it is in his country, so it only makes sense…" he held one finger in the air, "…that he should know something about this." It was only logical. Not to mention the universe and I are never on good terms. If something horribly unthinkable is an option, it will be the only option. He didn't say that bit out loud for several reasons, opting instead to remind he had asked her to call him "Romano."
He listened to her talk of her own affairs without much interest (although he perked noticeably at the mention of "rice paddies." Crop cultivation was something he could relate to). The next thing he knew, she was laughing at him. Had he said something funny?
"Don't thank me for just stating a fact," she teased. "Actually, don't thank me for anything. You're much more exciting without all these stupid manners. I do hate being bored."
"Then what am I supposed to say?" he growled, wrinkling his nose. "'You're welcome for gracing your ears with my beautiful accent'?" He rolled his eyes right back at her. "I'm not like that egotistical potato brother."
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Post by Deleted on Jul 20, 2013 20:03:16 GMT -6
It was common knowledge in the Asia family to give Vietnam a berth of about 3 feet . Not mild mannered in the slightest and increasingly unapologetic as the years went on, Kim-Ly was a force of nature. A force of nature in possession of a heavy stick. It was not a good combination for anyone caught unawares. “M’sorry,” grumbled the woman, realizing she had clipped the other nation in the head, not looking repentant in the slightest.
In any case, they were resting, and Romano had already made himself quite at home leaning against the sapling. Her brows rose at the spectacle. This was the happiest she’d seen Romano all day.
"What's that supposed to mean?"Annnd that lasted about 10 seconds Kim-Ly pressed to fingers to her temple as she sat down, too tired to maintain the ready position she had earlier. Besides, it looked like they’d be sitting there for a while. Romano’s voice was loud, and she could feel a headache coming on. "What do they say about me? What lies have you heard?"
Well. That was a horrible question. Kim-Ly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her forefingers. The headache was getting worse. She shot a poisonous glare towards Romano. “I would think you’d be tired of hearing all of the rumors,” she got up again, pacing around the clearing like a caged animal. “Cowardly, lazy, inept, and rude, that’s what they say about you,” spat the woman, stopping in front of the brunette and glaring at him. Small as the sapling was, it was still taller than Kim-Ly.
“And I’m a fool,” she turned away, walking as far away as she possibly could from Romano without leaving the clearing. A distance that wasn’t far enough in Kim-Ly’s mind. “I’m a fool because for some idiotic reason, I don’t believe them. Because so far you’ve been honest, realistic and kind,” Kim-Ly paused “Or kind in your own fucked up way at least.” She sat down with a soft thump, holding her heads in her hands –but still managing to glare at the other nation from her new position. The bandage Romano had tied on her forehead was still tight.
Still gazing over –somewhat irritated and embarrassed by what had just flowed out of her mouth- Kim-Ly sighed again. “I’m not particularly charismatic unless I want to be…but I can fight and I can strategize. Better than most. ” Her eyes blazed, “I can get you out of here…and in the very least, I can help you find your brother and Spain,” she added , suddenly quiet after her outburst.
Kim-Ly chewed her lip, letting the silence and tension stretch on before replying. "Half a nation, I am the personification of half a nation."
“Shouldn’t matter. You’re still nation, like it or not,” Nestling herself half on the grass and half on the dirt, she took that time to slump from her position into a sprawl. Romano might have the tree and its shade…but she felt happy that she at least had cover from anything that stalked them. Out in an open field, that was a luxury. “Why do you call yourself “Romano” anyways? Why not South Italy?” Questioned the woman, perking up slightly. It had been the question in the back of her mind for the past…hour? Hours? Vietnam had never been good at keeping track of time and everything had melded together in the long walk across the fields.
"I agree that the little brat has been wrong in the past..."
“Unfortunately for us, the “Little Brat”, isn’t so little anymore,” commented the women, scowling at the thought of the taller, blonde nation. “If America hadn’t gotten too big for his breeches, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now,”
“But this mansion was his idea, and it is in his country, so it only makes sense…"
Kim-Ly held up her hand before he finished talking. “Please…let me continuing lying to myself until we get to the boundary. Then you can crush any previous dreams as much as your heart desires,” She remarked tiredly, as she blocked out the rest of the sentence, rolling over to her stomach. “America did not know what he was getting into. He won’t know how to get out. It’s a bad habit of his.” The sun was weighing on her heavily and she already felt half cooked in her uniform. That was annoying.
Abruptly, Vietnam sat up pulling off the golden headpiece nestled in her dark hair, closely followed by the black ceramic plating and, after a pause, the long shirt under that. She flopped back down on her stomach with a relieved sigh, letting the sun seep into her arms and back.
"Then what am I supposed to say?"
“Thank you for gracing my unworthy ears with your beautiful accent, oh-grumpy-one,” She mumbled softly under her breath –unsure if the Italian had even caught her smart comment. Kim-Ly opened an eye lazily from across the small clearing, taking a moment to flick a beetle that had been previously climbing up her arm.
“Say whatever you like, Romano. No doubt you already have a few choice words reserved for me. Those might be riveting.”
She huffed then, closing her eyes and turning roughly away from Romano, so that she was lying on her side. Her paddle was clutched closed to her chest, just as a small child might hold a teddy bear. Her other arm laid splayed against her face in an attempt to block out some of the sun –but fingertips close enough to the discarded armor to grab it at a moments notice.
“Wake me up if you want me to kill something. Or whenever you want to get moving,” Tired as she was, Vietnam was not exactly sure which would happen first. Nevertheless, her head ached and the sun was bright…Kim-Ly couldn’t say she cared.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 22, 2013 0:40:44 GMT -6
What, no kiss for me? Romano thought, frowning at her indifference to his injury. He didn't exactly expect her to dote over him just for getting hurt, but a little bit of concern would suffice! No matter…he supposed he didn't always need someone to nurse every little nick and knock he suffered.
Lazily, he counted off his fingers as Vietnam listed his faults: "Cowardly, lazy, inept, and rude…"
Hm…that's funny. All of those rumors are true. He sighed, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. He was a failure, and he knew it. Worse yet, everyone else knew it too – right down to the Asian nations. He barely knew anyone outside of his own select circle, and yet everyone was flaunting his vices like the colors of his flag. He hated it. They don't know me! They never took the time to know me! But what was the point? As bad as they said he was, they were still right. He never made any attempt to change, to grow as a person. This was still his fault, as much as he hated to admit it.
"And I'm a fool," Vietnam said suddenly, pulling him out of his melancholy.
Hell, yeah, you are…
"I'm a fool because, for some idiotic reason, I don't believe them."
Come again? She had stepped far away from him, and her back was turned, but her words lifted him, his back straightening and his chin raising to look straight at her.
"…Because so far, you've been honest, realistic, and kind."
Romano was in shock. His jaw hung slightly ajar as he subconsciously stroked his chin, staring straight ahead as he ignored her glares. That was a compliment, pure and simple. Someone said something nice about him – not his looks, or his country, but about him. When was the last time he heard something like that? He glanced at her, not quite sure what to say. It scared him, her comment. She didn't believe the rumors, good. But while they were rumors, they were all true. What would she do when she found out? Would she leave him? Probably in the grasp of some monster, right when he needed her most. He chewed his lip, looking at his clasped hands as she continued talking.
"I'm not particularly charismatic unless I want to be…but I can fight and I can strategize. Better than most. I can get you out of here…" Her next words rung loud and clear, catching his undivided attention.
"I can help you find your brother and Spain."
He looked up at her, straight into her eyes. For a brief moment, his scowl faltered. In its stead was a look of absolute imploring. It was, in all honesty, very pathetic. He must have realized this, because a split second later, he returned his attention to his hands.
"Why…why would you do that?" he huffed, cracking his knuckles. "So I bandage one wound. Any guy with half a mind could do that. Why would you go out of your way to help me?" He glared at her from the corner of his eye. "You don't even like us 'European nations'. Do you?" In his minds eye, he could see them: Spain and Veneziano both. They were so close…but he hadn't the gall to go look for them. Now along comes someone who not only offers to save his skin, but also the closest thing he's had to a family? It was too good to be true. Too easy! There had to be some kind of catch.
"Why do you call yourself 'Romano' anyways?" Vietnam countered, now lying on the ground. "Why not South Italy?" She looked so comfortable and at home there. Romano was almost jealous.
He stretched out his legs in a more relaxed position, wincing at how cramped they were. He had kept them crossed for too long. "My full name is Italia Romano," he explained curtly. "The 'Romano' is derived from Rome, which would be the Capital of Italy. I guess…" he put a hand to his chin in contemplation. "I guess I could have been named after Nonno." He waved a hand as though shooing a fly. "It's just a name I've always gone by. They used it to set me and Fratello apart or something." He stuck out his lower lip and looked at her contemptuously. "Why does this matter? Do you know why you were named 'Vietnam'?"
Romano let out an angry huff when she didn't let him finish arguing his case, but otherwise didn't complain. He had more bothersome things to occupy his mind. Even in the shade, his shirt clung to him in the humidity. The first few buttons were undone, but a good lot of help that did. Frustrated, he tugged on his collar. He would have loved nothing more than to just slip it off, but, quite unlike his brother, he wasn't too keen on stripping down in front of someone else.
Then, much to his surprise, Vietnam herself started undressing. At first, he hadn't thought much of it. After all, who would be able to relax while wearing so much armor? But once she started lifting her shirt, he became flustered, averting his eyes and turning a familiar pink shade. What's the big deal? he demanded of himself. You've seen far more than that before! Remember the renaissance? Somehow, this was different. He snuck a peak at her, lying on her stomach without a care in the world. All he could see were her soft curves and bare back, shiny with sweat and glistening in the sunlight. Blush darkening, he looked away again, even turning a little away from her. Now she's just teasing me, isn't she?!
"Say whatever you like, Romano. No doubt you already have a few choice words reserved for me. Those might be riveting." He wouldn't look at her. No matter how tempting, he wouldn't look. Choice words…?
He frowned. What…? Oh! Apparently, it was also well-known that he had a foul mouth. The truth of the matter was, had Vietnam been a man, Romano wouldn't have thought twice about calling him a bastard, or firing an angry "fuck you."
"But I don't want to fuck you." It took him only a second to realize what he had just said. He immediately turned back to her. "Merda! I-I meant curse, n-not, like, have sex or anything." His eyes went wide, and his face had turned to a very dark shade of red as he made an obscure gesture with his hand. "N-not that I do want to have sex, because I don't!" He needed only to get one look at Vietnam before he hugged his legs close and buried his face in his knees. "I mean, not because you're ugly or anything; you're…you're beautiful, but…Dammit!" He curled up tighter so she couldn't see any trace of his blush, but his gravity-defying curl had crumpled noticeably, along with any dignity he might have had left. Under any other circumstances… "Long story short, I don't like to cuss at girls, okay?" He had learned early on it didn't get him much more than a slap across the face. Even his mild swearing in the two's first encounter had earned some rather harsh replies.
"Wake me up if you want me to kill something. Or whenever you want to get moving."
Romano's head shot up. She was facing away from him. "You're not falling asleep, are you?" He felt the sudden urge to nudge her shoulder with his head. He didn't feel right being the only one on guard. What if something tried to sneak up on them? What if it got him before he could wake up Vietnam? Moreso, it just wasn't fair that she got to take a nap, while he was left alone with the heat and paranoia.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 22, 2013 13:36:08 GMT -6
((I feel like I should put a warning here...for the slightest innuendo on Viet’s part. Nothing big though v.v))
There’s no backing out now [/i] Noted Vietnam, watching the expressions that flitted across the man’s face and realizing that she would have followed through with her promise even if he didn’t care. The world had not been kind to the Italian. She supposed he deserved at least this.
"Why…why would you do that? So I bandage one wound. Any guy with half a mind could do that. Why would you go out of your way to help me?"
Kim-Ly shrugged, "Are you really going to question it? You haven’t fooled me,” she raised a brow, “You’re a terrible fighter. I’ve been in a lot of battles, don’t think I can’t tell,” Vietnam sat up slightly, her cheek resting gently in the palm of one of her hands, evaluating the brunette stretched out before her. “But all I know is that you need help –and help is something I can give. Call it a relic of idealism if you want.”
"You don't even like us 'European nations'. Do you?" Great job, Einstein
“No...In fact, most of the time, I hate them,” Drawled the Viet softly and she quickly looked away from the Italian. The wars, the invasions, it was justified. It was ALL justified. She was a plaything –a chess piece in the game of imperialism. “But in my position, you would too.”
“Prove me wrong. That’s what you can do in return.”
She nodded and set her attention on combing her fingers through her ponytail, listening as Romano answered her questions.
"My full name is Italia Romano, the 'Romano' is derived from Rome, which would be the Capital of Italy. I guess… I guess I could have been named after Nonno."
“Nonno means grandfather, da? The Roman Empire?”
This was the first time the irritable nation before her had answered her without insult and Kim-Ly watched quietly as he explained the possible origins of his name. The exuberant gestures with his hands, the surprising lilt of his voice...Vietnam had not been lying when she drew attention to his accent. It was almost an art form. Her own English was terrible, a clunky mixture of both French and Vietnamese accents. Words sticking in her throat like jagged stones –it was rare that she enjoyed hearing anyone else speak it, let alone herself.
"Why does this matter? Do you know why you were named 'Vietnam'?" Commented the man, dragging Kim-Ly from her thoughts. Looking more than a little sheepish, she considered the question.
“Việt Nam khởi tổ xây nền,” Kim-Ly returned to drawing in the dust surrounding her, “Viet Nam is being created.” , She translated softly, eyes thoughtful “It’s China’s fault, really. I’ve been a thorn in his side for the past 4,000 years. I had many names before him –and after- but I guess the term “Southern Barbarians” stuck.” She smirked then, it was very clear that she didn’t mind being referred to as a “barbarian” in areas where the older nation was involved. “In any case, it loosely translates to the Southern Kingdom, if you want to be technical.”
I was Dai Viet once. I was an empire. And then their great ships and missionaries came...and they took that away from me. France, shining and tall in the sunlight. China had warned her about him, but she hadn’t listened. Caught up in her new words, his new language which flowed from his mouth like water over stones, the long dresses which swept over the pavement, and his words of salvation –the mercy of his god.
The new language was vain, even its grammer based on aesthetics rather than simplicity. The new dresses crushed Kim-Ly’s lungs, hid her body as if it was something forbidden. His god was not merciful but rather, he conquered her people. When they revolted, even more of his people came. Took her and her lands like they were someone pretty stone to be collected.
They called me “Annam”, the Pacified South. But I was never fucking pacified...there was just nothing that I could do about it,[/i] her fists clenched at the thought, he memories of the choking dust that clouded her northern provinces and to think, she took one of theirs to protect? God, what was she thinking?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden outburst from the Italian. She had almost forgotten he was there.
"But I don't want to fuck you," It was loud, pristine, it echoed in the still, humid air. Where the hell, did that come from? [/i] She turned around, giving the Latin nation a look of disbelief. Vietnam was 4,000 years old -and by no means was she a virgin. It had been something small and easily misplaced. Like a favorite childhood toy or lost pet. After all the wars she had fought in, all the seasons that had passed, Kim-Ly could not particularly recall when it had gone missing -except for the fact that it had not been with any nation, a fact that seemed particularly fitting.
“Ai, Romano! I never said you did,” commented the woman coolly. She was not particularly bothered by the comment, but she was confused, hazily wondering what she had said to bring the sudden change of topic. She paused for a moment, eyes glinting mischievously, “And, capable as I’m sure you are, with all the monsters, I can’t really say I’m in the mood,” Vietnam liked stirring people up. And she had been a French Colony. Could she be blamed with perhaps having a little fun at Romano’s expense? Of course not. The opportunity was too much to pass up.
"Merda! I-I meant curse, n-not, like, have sex or anything." The woman watched as Romano turned a darker shade of red. She was unaware of what was going through the nations mind, but she was just as entertained as she was confused. “Chua, I don’t know, Sunshine, sometimes those are one and the same, de-pen-ding on what type...if you know what I mean,” Vietnam rolled over to her back, humming a nameless tune innocently to herself.
"N-not that I do want to have sex, because I don't!"
“Very reasonable. It would be very hot, what with the weather and all. And as I said, I don’t want you keeling over from exhaustion.”
By this time, Kim-Ly was thoroughly enjoying herself.
"I mean, not because you're ugly or anything; you're…you're beautiful, but…Dammit!"
Well, fuck. [/color]
It was Kim-Ly’s turn to blush, a soft red undertone spreading from her cheeks to the rest of her face. It had been a long time since anyone had told her that. “Thank you? Mẹ kiếp, what am I supposed to say?!” She looked at the ground, back at the Italian. Ground, Romano, ground, Romano, “Not that you’re unattractive at all, but...Tía má ơi!” She shook her head, turning over again, trying to push the terrible fluttering feeling in her chest away.
By now, Kim-Ly was far to shaken to sleep, but comforted by the thought of not having to talk to Romano, kept up the façade. She winced, when she heard the other’s nation voice again.
"You're not falling asleep, are you?"
“...Da.”
(“Me Kiep”=Fuck “Tia ma oi”=Mother of God)
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Post by Deleted on Jul 25, 2013 10:56:23 GMT -6
Romano twiddled his thumbs, weighing in everything Vietnam had said. Okay, so she was doing this out of pity? Understandable; he was rather pitiful. It was insulting that she would help him just because he couldn't take care of himself. But when compared to the relief of having someone to fight for – that is, with – him, someone willing to ensure his safety…well, what was shame anyway? And all he had to in return was…
"Prove me wrong. That's what you can do in return."
Prove her…wait, what? He furrowed his brow.
"Prove you wrong about what? That I'm a lousy fighter?" He didn't understand…she was helping him because he was a lousy fighter…wasn't she? Or…no, she had to be talking about something else. She was just being spacey again.
"Nonno means grandfather, da? The Roman Empire?"
Romano stopped in his words, mouth frozen open in a comment that died in his throat. He looked at her, a little in shock and a bit of confusion. "S-si…" he said with a slow nod. "He was the Roman Empire, but he was always 'Nonno' to me." He squirmed a little. It probably seemed childish, to call an empire something so affectionate. While neither he nor his brother were known for being the most mature of nations, Romano still felt abashed at admitting such behavior. "I-it was a habit; I was young, don't judge me!" He puffed out his cheeks. She wouldn't understand. What did she know about family?
He was taken aback when she answered his rhetorical question. He wasn't particularly interested in hearing her lengthy explanation, so busied himself watching her draw. She didn't seem to be drawing anything in particular, and if she was, he couldn't tell. Nevertheless, it looked quite lovely. Curious, he decided to attempt a drawing himself. One…two straight lines…a very jagged spiral…no, that wasn't very good. He did another spiral. It looked smoother, but the lines weren't even. Frustrated after his third try at a spiral failed, he smudged out his drawing and pretended he hadn't done anything. (Luckily, she seemed to be having another flashback, so she probably didn't notice his dropped attention.) He looked back at Vietnam's drawing with envy. Veneziano could draw very well, so why couldn't he?
Then Romano had to go and put his foot in his mouth. It was bad enough that he had to make a fool of himself, but now the Asian nation was just tormenting him, playing with his words and making him feel all the more foolish. With every word she said, he mentally slapped himself, heat spreading from his cheeks, down his neck, up his ears. He was positive he was actually glowing, a neon red beacon under the sun. Which, by the way, was not helping his blush in the least.
I'm sorry, dammit! I shouldn't have said that, so please just shut the hell up!
He just wanted to shrivel up and disappear. But much to his relief, as quickly as the ridicule began, it trailed off into nothing. He sucked in a breath. Why did she stop? Whatever he had said, it had to be right.
"Thank you? Mẹ kiếp, what am I supposed to say?!" She sounded rattled. Was this the same woman who nonchalantly fired innuendo at the poor boy? "Not that you’re unattractive at all, but...Tía má ơi!"
So this was about her being beautiful? His blush cooled down ever slightly as he looked over at her with an expression of sadness – no, not sadness. It was pity. He pitied her.
"You don't believe me," he said simply. She didn't believe she was beautiful, and that was sad. She really was beautiful. He had known this since he first saw her face. Blame it on his nationality, or his grandfather's influence, but he knew it was true. He buried his face in his knees once again while he waited for his face to clear up. He felt better knowing she was just as embarrassed as he…or at least, nearly so.
"Say whatever you want, Vietnam," he called off to the side, echoing her words from earlier. "And don't thank me just for stating a fact."
Silence fell between them. Romano began to get antsy. Was she asleep already? It couldn't have been longer than a few minutes. He gripped his gun tightly, head jerking towards every minuscule sound. The heat was unbearable; how could she sleep in the sun like that? He unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, exposing his bare chest to the air. Anxiety gripped him. Even though Vietnam was in plain sight, he still felt alone. Spain wouldn't have fallen asleep on him; he would have the Italian in a tight hug, cooing and muttering reassuring words. Romano would have cussed and scratched and fought the Spaniard off as he complained of the heat, but at least he would have felt safe.
Vietnam, on the other hand, didn't look perturbed in the least. She was sleeping peacefully, and Romano was very jealous. He let out a heavy sigh. He didn't want to leave the shade of the sapling…and he didn't have the courage to move the sleeping nation…but he sure as heck didn't want to be so far away from her if they could be attacked at a moment's notice. So, as quietly as he could, he crawled beside her, sitting with his back to hers. The two weren't quite touching (although he wished they were; he would have felt more secure), but he was close enough that all he needed to do was reach a hand behind him to shake her awake. His knees quivered as he clutched his weapon, finger on the trigger. He was still terrified, but at least he was ready.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 25, 2013 16:52:32 GMT -6
"Prove you wrong about what? That I'm a lousy fighter?"
Vietnam rolled her eyes, did the Italian listen to anything she said? “Well, as great as that would be, pastaboy, that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Prove to me that all Westerners aren’t a bunch of overreaching pieces of shit and maybe I won’t push you off a ledge when all of this is over. Deal?” Her brows furrowed, “Metaphorically, of course,” she added quickly. Kim-Ly didn’t know how literally her companion took things, but she wasn’t going to risk him storming off in a fit of anger. Even if she did want to push him off the Bitexco Financial Tower by the end of this. Which was quite likely.
….Besides, if she did that, she would have wasted all her time keeping the brat safe, only to watch him fall to his death. It would also make a horrible mess of the sidewalks. Did blood stain cement? The woman pursed her lips; she couldn’t remember, how unfortunate.
Yes, future homicide would be illogical.
"S-si…He was the Roman Empire, but he was always 'Nonno' to me," stuttered the other nation, Kim-Ly’s brows rose. Was it something she said? Or was Romano just easily embarrassed? After a few more seconds of though, Vietnam decided that it was mostly likely a combination of the two. Well. What a great pair we are, [/color] She thought ruefully."I-it was a habit; I was young, don't judge me!"
Vietnam shrugged. “Why would I care? I don’t have any family; call your ông nộir whatever you like,” She waved her hand. Stop getting wound up about little things.
Left to her own devices, Kim-Ly’s thoughts drifted to Taiwan, China, Japan, Hong Kong, and South Korea. They had always been treated as a family by the other nations. As if the five of them didn’t have their own conflicts. As if Japan hadn’t drawn his sword against China on that one faithful night. As if China and Japan hadn’t invaded her country and murdered her children. And then China’s conflict with Taiwan… Vietnam frowned. If they were any sort of family, it was an incredibly dysfunctional one. But….Thailand, Cambodia, and Laos had always been more of India’s protégé’s. So where do I fit in, in all of this?[/color] wondered Kim-Ly, unable to keep the bitterness from her thoughts. Maybe if she had tried harder, let China spoil her, hung onto the end of his robes and grab onto his arms like good sisters did. If she hadn’t kept fighting, battling, and arguing with Thailand so much during their younger years….
But no. Vietnam shook her head. That would be too dishonorable, turning her back on her own people. She was a crossroads, stuck between two different worlds and never quite belonging to either. Kim-Ly supposed she was better for it. It was a weakness, building relationships with other nations. But Cambodia and Laos…did they even come? I can’t remember. [/color] Somehow, the thought made her feel guiltier. They might be independent, but they were still her responsibility and Kim-Ly had failed.
I have bigger fish to fry…[/color] Like the stupid brat in front of her. Kim-Ly might have enjoyed embarrassment if she wasn’t suffering from the same state of mind.
"You don't believe me," for a brief second, as Kim-Ly turned around pushing a strand of hair from her eyes, their eyes met. And Vietnam did not like what she saw. Who is he to pity me? . She broke the gaze quickly.
“Does it matter? She snapped, “I’m a nation, not a fucking teenager. I don’t care about those sorts of things.”
South would have been beautiful, if she had been born. Taiwan was beautiful…but Vietnam? She shook her head. Her country was beautiful. And maybe she had been beautiful once too…but that was before the war. She glanced at her arms self-consciously -old burns that wouldn't disappear for at least another 50 years- and hugged them closer.
The nice thing about her Rice Paddle was that it didn’t talk.
“I don’t want to be beautiful,” growled the woman. She was acting like a child and she knew it, but then, she had always been one of the most volatile of the Asian nations. All fire and passion. Headstrong. She was never quite capable of mimicking their cool demeanors except maybe, in battle. “Beauty isn’t going to till the fields. Or win wars,” Kim-Ly pressed her cheek against the ground, trying to pretend it was sand and not dirt.
"Say whatever you want, Vietnam, and don't thank me just for stating a fact."
What? What? Hadn’t she said that earlier? That wasn’t fair at all! Opening and closing her mouth, Kim-Ly didn’t respond, ignoring the Italian and staring at instead at the sea of grass. Before finally closing her eyes.
Can I at least have a chance to sleep? Much to her annoyance, there was already a rustling sound nearby.
Her eyes opened a slit; there was a movement beside her. Romano noted the Asian nation drowsily as she turned her head. Shirt unbuttoned (Vietnam wasn’t sure how she felt about that, it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen something like that before, but she blushed in spite of herself), gun in his hands…she was surprised her had left the shade of the sapling.
Ignoring the better part of her mind, Kim-Ly filled the space between them.
He was solid. Warm. Vietnam didn’t know what she had been expecting (To fall through him like a ghost? That was silly) but…she didn’t mind it. Despite the heat. She closed her eyes again, willing herself to finally fall asleep because didn’t she deserve that? Of course she did. That’s what tired people did.
But the earth was shaking. Why was that?…
“…Romano?”
A crease appeared in between her brows. "Hey..." She rolled over, realizing that this was perhaps a more compromising position but not particularly caring.
“I made a promise that I’d help you find Spain and your brother. Safely. And I don’t intend to break it less than a few hours in.” His knees were shaking. Kim-Ly frowned and sat up, gently resting a hand on a quivering kneecap. It was a smooth action. Tender and Maternal for the normally gruff nation. She’d done this before. He’s probably going to shove me aside any second…or start whining again. [/color] Noted the Viet, though she didn’t move away.
The Bitexco Financial Tower is, of course, the tallest building in Vietnam annd “ông nộir” is “Grandfather”
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Post by Deleted on Jul 29, 2013 9:54:28 GMT -6
"Well, as great as that would be, pastaboy, that's not what I'm talking about." Vietnam was angry, and even worse, Romano wasn't sure why she was angry.
"Well, sorry that I can't read your mind!" he quietly retorted, rolling his eyes.
"Prove to me that all Westerners aren't a bunch of overreaching pieces of shit and maybe I won't push you off a ledge when all of this is over. Deal?" Each word was angrily spat, knocking Romano backward with the weight of Vietnam's fury. He took in a sharp breath through his nose, mirroring her red-hot glare.
"You Easterners aren't exactly pleasant yourselves," he snapped, gesturing to her. He didn't exactly mean that she was the prime example; although, with his skill in voicing his thoughts, it certainly might have seemed that way. She was short-tempered, spacey, and all-around hard to please, but even she couldn't compare to the Ottoman Empire.
That bastard, Romano fumed, arms crossed tight with nails digging into his flesh as he reminisced the raids, the attacks, the general harassment. It felt like he had come out of nowhere, landing on the coast of Italy and traveling northward to Rome leaving a trail of destruction behind him. The empire had inflicted more than a few injuries on Romano's Spanish guardian. He could still remember having to tend to the worst Spain's wounds when the Ottoman Empire had been too much for him…
Granted, the Empire only ever entered the war because of an alliance with France, who was, without a doubt, a western nation, but details. France…
France, who had been the main cause of the Italian Wars. France, who had tried time and time again to have the brothers in his grasp. France, who just did not know when to quit. France, who still had art from the Italian Renaissance in his museums. God, I hate France… Wasn't France descended from the Gauls? If his ancestors were anything like him, it was no wonder the Roman Empire hated them. Maybe she's right about us…at least, in the case of France. He'd never admit it out loud, of course. He'd never admit to being wrong.
"Does it matter? I'm a nation, not a fucking teenager. I don't care about those sorts of things."
Maybe he should. Vietnam only seemed to get angrier and angrier, and her vexation was only inflaming Romano all the more.
"Is it a bad thing to be beautiful?" he started, his voice raising (although his face never left his knees). "Would you rather I say you look ugly? That your hair is stringy; it looks like noodles, your complexion is greasy, your pores are showing, your eyes are too small, your lips are too thin – is that what you wanted to hear?" They were lies, all of them. He couldn't look at her and find a single flaw, and to say otherwise burned his throat. To say she was ugly was like holding an open flame to the Mona Lisa. He lowered his voice again, realizing he was shouting. "And maybe being beautiful won't till fields, or win wars, but if you ask me, it's a good plus." It was a compliment. Why is it that even when he was saying something unmistakeably positive, she still took offense?
It's impossible to please her! Why do I even bother trying? In fact, why did he bother with her at all? Come to think of it, he had been more open to her than he had with anyone for a while. Maybe it was because he had lost Spain. Maybe I'm just scared… He was desperate. That was it. He had no one to cling to, so he just latched onto the first person to come along. And when her back touched his, he wondered if that was really such a bad thing…
"…Romano?"
He bit his tongue in surprise. "Shit! I thought you were asleep!" He hastily buttoned his shirt, but in his hurry, sloppily slipped the buttons in all the wrong holes.
"I made a promise that I'd help you find Spain and your brother. Safely. And I don't intend to break it less than a few hours in."
He stiffened at her touch, not because it was unpleasant, but because it was so shocking. He wasn't expecting such a loving gesture from the woman who was cursing western nations just moments ago. But it was a welcome gesture. He put his hand over hers and squeezed it, and shortly after he stopped trembling. Then, lifting her hand off his knee, he brought it to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles in gratitude. It was then that he saw them.
Scars… Up and down her arms, like vines crawling up a crumbling building. He had been trying so hard not to stare, he must have overlooked them. He didn't know their story. He had never been involved in foreign affairs, and he certainly wasn't going to start now. But they did tell him she was strong; she was a surviver. It was more than Romano could say for himself. He dropped his gun on the floor.
Hesitantly, with his hand still clasping hers, he reached his free arm to touch one of her scars. It trembled, and he retracted it before it could make contact. He slid away from her, hugging his knees. He couldn't touch her. Why not? Because he was afraid of rejection. He was afraid he might chase away the only person who promised to stay by his side and protect him. He was afraid that he might make one wrong move, and would end up hurting himself. He had seen how harsh and unpredictable she could be. In short, he was afraid. But fear was also what held him bound to her. He couldn't touch her, but he wouldn't leave her either.
"Are you going to sleep, or what? If I'm just going to sit here, it better be for a good reason."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 3, 2013 22:48:14 GMT -6
"Is it a bad thing to be beautiful?"
“Da,” deadpanned the woman, not even bothering to look up. But…something as wrong, Kim-Ly could be impulsive, buts he felt something building. Whether it be some outer force, or the Italian himself. He did seem to be getting more agitated.
“Is it a bad thing to be beautiful? Would you rather I say you look ugly? That your hair is stringy; it looks like noodles, your complexion is greasy, your pores are showing, your eyes are too small, your lips are too thin – is that what you wanted to hear?"
The sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed in the clearing. Kim-Ly withdrew her hand, palm still red from where it had hit the Italian’s face, teeth gritted in barely restrained anger. She reached forward, grabbing his chin between her fingers. “Now let’s get two things straight, South Italy ” she growled leaning closer. Their noses almost touched, she could feel Romano’s breath warm and moist against her cheeks. “One: if you ever lie to me again, our deal is over,” She brought her other hand against the ground. Hard. Quick. Final. “If you’re going to insult me…you’d better make sure that’s it’s based in truth,” Kim-Ly brought her mouth to the ear of the other nation, voice no more than a whisper, “And two; never insult my hair again, you tasteless bastard.” With that she loosened her grip and pushed him away, still fuming.
Unable to stop herself she reached over to her ponytail, drawing it over her shoulder and running her fingers through it; hair that was just as long as when she had come to the Manor, silky, smelling faintly of lemongrass and mint. A nearly unperceivable sigh escaped from her lips. It was a lie; her hair was fine. The Mekong Delta… she , her children, were fine.
And Romano was no more than a child. Kim-Ly shut her eyes, humming some tuneless melody. He was only a child…not even involved in foreign affairs. But he had bandaged her forehead, torn his shirt to do it. And despite her unpredictability, her rough treatment, he was still there. Because of some unstable alliance they had made? A deal that had been conceived through fear and pride? But that’s not really why you did it, is it? [/color]
No…no, it’s not [/color] The possibility of redemption. A chance to make up for the sins that she knew would damn her if she still believed in a god. A final act of rebellion. The crowd applauses. Curtain call. Exit stage left.
And something else…the way Romano’s hand seemed to flutter around whenever he spoke. The shade of red his cheeks had turned earlier. Even then, leaning against her, he was warm, stable…unaware of her history. Despite his nationhood –his cowardice and sharp tongue, there was something about him that was distinctly human and reliable. It was undeniably calming. They could not have known each other more than five hours…but Kim-Ly did not want him to die.
"Shit! I thought you were asleep!" Exclaimed, Romano, drawing Kim-Ly out of her reverie. Half-heartedly, she wondered if the palm resting on his knee was the one she had slapped him with earlier.
“Apparently not,” she looked up bemusedly, “You buttoned your shirt wrong. Chua, Catholics.” What was there to hide? Besides, Kim-Ly was unconvinced that South Italy was being modest for her convenience. Putting her paddle down, she reached over as if to fix them –withdrawing her hand just as quickly. Given their past arguments, it would be better to avoid further physical contact, and the idea that Romano might take kindly to her unbuttoning his shirt was doubtful.
Her brows crinkled at the sudden presence of the Italian’s hand resting lightly over her own. And almost hesitantly, she squeezed back. “I don’t understand you, I’ve never understood your kind,” She whispered simply as he brought her hands to his lips.
And he had seen them. Vietnam was very familiar with the reaction of other nations when they came in contact with her. She was still a war to most of them. A charity case that they donated money to. Look, but don’t touch. But Romano hadn’t known, had he? Kim-Ly finally had a clean slate.
Do it… Her mind begged as he reached over, but no- he slid away. Vietnam felt her shoulders slump in something that could be disappointment.
"Are you going to sleep, or what? If I'm just going to sit here, it better be for a good reason."
Before he could go further, she quickly reached over, gently grabbing a hand and pressing it firmly against her arm. “I thought you were supposed to be the revolting one,” she remarked tiredly, a reference to a previous outburst between the two of them. Her head turned curiously as she gazed at the other nation, eyes searching. “Still think I’m beautiful?” She laughed then, slowly letting go of his hand. Pushing off from the ground, she offered the other nation a hand. “I can never sleep when I want to,” She strode over to where she had been sitting before, grabbing her armor and gesturing for him to come closer.
“This,” She shook the linked porcelain plates “Was made for a man much taller and worthier than me. It should fit you. I want you to wear it until we get somewhere safer.” Despite her light tone, it was very clear that Vietnam would not put up with any arguments on the matter.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 7, 2013 17:38:18 GMT -6
To say Romano was shocked would have been an understatement. She slapped him. He wasn't sure what to think, let alone say. Luckily, he didn't have to say anything because she had already started to berate him.
"Now, let's get two things straight, South Italy." Her words dripped like poison, and her fingers felt like icy claws despite the heat. "One: if you ever lie to me again, our deal is over. If you're going to insult me…you'd better make sure that it's based in truth." He was frozen, eyes wide and muscles tense. Her next words were whispered in his ear, making him shudder: "And two; never insult my hair again, you tasteless bastard."
He was released, but he couldn't relax. He fumed, snarling. What was he supposed to say to that? "It was hypothetical," "I hadn't meant it," "Why couldn't you have just accepted my compliment to begin with?" but none of those he dared utter. What he should have said, a very remorseful "I'm sorry," was the last thing on his mind. Rather than apologize or justify his comment, he instead retreated to silent sulking, caressing the cheek she had struck. It stung, and the pain was enough to bring tears to his eyes (although the added humiliation certainly helped). Why would she do this? He could be sensitive to words to, but as angry as her snide remarks made him, he would never consider hitting her! He began to think that maybe he had made a mistake in deciding to trust her. But then…even though she had hurt him, she was still there. Why? Did she want to make him cry? He would never give her the satisfaction.
"You buttoned your shirt wrong. Chua, Catholics."
Vietnam's hand drew towards him, and he instinctively recoiled. Was she going to hit him again? No…he realized what she was doing. He huffed, annoyed, as he fixed the buttons himself. He wasn't exactly the most fit person in the world, being more scrawny than lean. The last thing he needed was to remind the world how easy it was to push him around. Although that little incident with her hair probably made this clear already.
"I don't understand you, I've never understood your kind."
"We're all nations, aren't we?" he sneered, still really not wanting to talk to her right now. "We're all in the same situation. 'My kind' is the same as yours." His hand went back to his cheek. Wasn't she the one who both slapped him and comforted him within a timespan of fifteen minutes? His expression softened, somewhat. "I don't understand you much either."
His hand was removed from his face, but not by his own accord. He looked over in surprise, mouth agape as she pressed it against her scars. "I thought you[/i[ were supposed to be the revolting one. Still think I'm beautiful?"
Romano stared at her, face blank as she laughed. She began to stand up, but he tightened his grip on her arm, pulling her back down to the ground. "Yes," he said quickly, "I do." His attention shifted to her scars, thumb gently tracing over them. "You're not any less beautiful because you fought and suffered the consequences. They're not flaws. I should know!" He took in a sharp breath. Should he say it? "…because I'm the most flawed person I know. And I don't have any scars to show for it." He let her stand up, but his hand lingered on her arm, slowly sliding off as she pulled away. "Of course," he went on, staring into the distance with a bitter smile, "it probably doesn't matter what I say, because you'll find a way to counter it. And then I'll be made a fool, you'll tease me for it, I'll get riled up again, and you'll get mad at me. Rinse and repeat." That was the general pattern of their conversation, wasn't it? He could never win.
When he looked back at her, she was standing over him with her hand outstretched. He accepted it without much thought and followed her to her armor.
"This," she said as he drew nearer, "was made for a man much taller and worthier than me. It should fit you. I want you to wear it until we get somewhere safer."
Romano scoffed. "What, are you serious? It's clunky. How am I supposed to run wearing that?" He gestured at it disdainfully. "Besides, it would clash with what I'm already wearing." He couldn't see himself in armor. He had always fought his battles with the artful technique of retreat. Why should he change that now? In fact, if she didn't want to wear it, it would probably be best to just leave it behind. He looked back at her slight form, so much more appealing without her costume hiding her figure. Yes, he wouldn't mind leaving it behind…
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