Survivor
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Why would I want to destroy something I helped build?
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Post by Mexico on Sept 16, 2012 22:39:30 GMT -6
It was that time of the year. Of that she was sure. She could feel it in every inch of her body like razor wire. It was nagging at her, looking for a way to catch her attention, so she would give in to the feeling. September 16th. But there was no way to be sure, she tried to convince the better part of herself. There was no way to tell time here and for all she knew it could be any other day, any other time, any other week.
Except, it wasn't.
She couldn't deny it. She felt it inside her bones, like a little kid the night before Christmas. It was here. It had to be. Her instincts claimed so. Mexico sat down tiredly at the foot of the fireplace. It was barely lit. The ever moving flames inside seemed to be growing and then shrinking, dancing around to some unknown, unmeasurable beat. One minute they were there, and the next, they weren't. It was the first time she felt remotely warm inside those treacherous walls. The first time she didn't have to grab at her shoulders trying to keep the warmth within. She could not recall the last time she had eaten, and the shortage and limit of food had made her body more vulnerable to the cold. If only there was some place where she could rest.
She could feel her body shutting down. Ever so slowly. Ever so fragile. She heard her heartbeats, growing slower and slower, every pump came as an effort. The blood wasn't circulating to the best parts of her, and she wasn't thinking reasonably. Ana María could no longer smile in the face of misfortunate. Could not guarantee, without a doubt, that everything would be fine. There was no optimism left. No hint of faith. But she had an option. She had a key. A key she had tied at her necklace so it wouldn't go missing. When that terrible encounter with the monster had ended, a small key had appeared. She did now know when or how or even why she had it. What did it open? But she figured it had to be important. She felt it would lead to some place safe and quite where she could close her eyes and not feel the paranoia that something awful could happen. But why had she gotten it while others hadn't? What made her special? Distinguishable? Why did she get the chance to rest while others died?
Mexico shook her head. Who cares? She had it, and that's what mattered. If only she could be that selfish. But she wasn't. Maybe she could share it with someone, give someone else the chance. It had been a gift.
Because it was her birthday.
September 16th, 1810. Armed with what she could find, she fought for independence. A bloody war that lasted until August 24th, 1821. Because Spain refused to let her go. Because it refused to lose her. Because she had to go. She had to be free. He couldn't understand that. He could never grasp exactly why she ran around trying to figure out what was it about the world that was so forbidden. Why couldn't she enjoy it on her own. She traced her fingers over the scars that covered the most vulnerable parts of her back. The memories of the fights, the arguments, the war that broke the bonds between what was right and what was easy. She had only to pull gently at her sleeves and they would reveal themselves. "Finalmente libre."
The evidence. Mexico sighed. She wrapped her arms around her legs as she pulled them closer to her chest. The fire suddenly ignited in front of her. It seemed as though the flames were trying to touch her face, gently caress her skin. Like the hand of a lover, reaching for those secrets, reaching for the weakness that suddenly becomes beautiful. Ana María moved closer, barely inches away from the raging fire. There was something oddly comforting about it. She wasn't entirely sure what it was or what drew her into it. Almost as wanting to step inside of it, just to know what it feels like to be burned. The heat of passion. The heat of love. In the realm of war.
"Como una mirada hecha en Sonora. Vestida con el mar de Cozumel. Con el color del sol por todo el cuerpo. Así se lleva México en la piel. Como el buen Tequila de esta tierra. O como un amigo en Yucatán. En Aguascalientes deshilados. O lana tejida en Teotitlán."
"Como ver la sierra de Chihuahua. O la artesanía en San Miguel. Remontar el Cerro de la Silla. Así se lleva México en la piel. Como acompañarse con mariachi. Para hacer llorar a esa canción. En el sur se toca con marimba. Y en el norte con acordeón."
"Como un buen zarape de Saltillo. Como bienvenida en Veracruz. La emoción de un beso frente a frente. Así se lleva México en la piel. Como contemplar el Mar Caribe. Descubrir un bello amanecer. Ver la fresca brisa de Morelia. La luna acariciando a una mujer"
"Así se siente México. Así se siente México. Así como unos labios por la piel. Así te envuelve México. Así te sabe México. Así se lleva México en la piel..."
Mexico smiled. But only so. She was hurt. Her endurance was pushing its limit. She could barely walk and the bloodstains along her cheeks and hand had finally dried. But most importantly, she knew her country was feeling it. She was, after all, the human representation. The embodiment of all that it was. So whatever happened to her, she knew her people could feel it. Resent it. Mexico wished she could blame it all on somebody. Say "pinche gringo," and get it over with, but it wasn't that easy. This was the first time she had spent el 16 de septiembre away from home. She was not there to stand behind her boss and proudly yell ¡Viva México! while the crowds at the feet of Palacio Nacional repeated. She wondered how the Zócalo looked. How the decoration had been. It would all be in red, white and green. Lights everywhere. Flags handing from every home, flowers, mariachis, the bells handing proudly over the president's balcony.
It was like a memory from a dream.
"Feliz cumpleaños, México."[/color] She muttered. "Happy Birthday."[/color] She repeated.
Mexico closed her eyes as she tried to imagine the scene. Her boss, Enrique Peña Nieto, would be standing outside the balcony. His wife and kids behind him. The escolta militar standing proudly at saludar ya. But she, Ana María would be the one with the tears on her eyes. Because every year it was the same feeling of pure satisfaction. "¡Viva México! ¡Viva! ¡Viva Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla! ¡Viva!" She had done it. Not matter how long it had taken her, she had accomplished what had seemed impossible. She broke the chains that bind her. "¡Viva José María Morelos! ¡Viva! ¡Viva Doña Josefa Ortíz de Dominguéz! ¡Viva!"[/color]
Ironic, wasn't it? That she was celebrating with a hint of sadness, because that day might be the last. Because it might be the end. Who knew if she would recite this words the year that came. Who knew if she would even remember how. Everything was so unpredictable. She was celebrating her independence and yet she was trapped with no opportunity to escape. "¡Viva México! ¡Viva México! ¡Viva México!"[/color] Tears were streaming down her face, but she didn't whipped them away. For once it felt fine to cry. She hated it here. She wanted the touch of her land. She wanted to know it was all going to be fine.
She just wanted to be herself. A nation. Not a human. Not prey. Not a chess piece in some twisted game. Now more than ever she wanted to be free.
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Post by casaporto on Jan 19, 2013 19:14:37 GMT -6
It was something of a godsend, finding the living room.
Afonso had been wandering the rooms of the manor for a fair while in the hopes of finding a more reliable weapon. He was almost certain that the broom handle he'd found in the kitchen wouldn't hold up for too much longer; the wood was dry, awfully brittle and cheap and nowhere near as ductile as he'd have liked. It was already becoming quite the encumbrance to him and the moment that wood started to splinter he would be left terribly vulnerable, so finding something sturdier had become his top priority. The upper floors of the house offered nothing of much use other than the pool cues, which were far too long to wield practically, so Afonso's desperate searching had brought him to the seemingly endless winding hallways of the ground floor. If he couldn't find anything here, his search would have to take him outside and into the grounds, an idea he was less than keen on. The house was gelid enough already, and he shuddered to think about how cold he'd become venturing beyond its walls.
So he'd stay indoors. This was the last room on the floor he hadn't visited yet, and if it was as fruitless as the rest preceding it he would just make do with the broom for now and salvage something from the ballroom tomorrow. Break off a tableleg or maybe a curtain rod. That seemed like a sound plan. There was a limit to just how many risks he was willing to take tonight.
There wasn't anything particularly notable or magnificent about the Living Room. It was of generous size, which was to be expected, and the door through which he'd entered couldn't lock shut, just like many of the others he'd already seen. Furniture was strewn about the place in an almost thoughtlessly cluttered manner, shrouded by sheets of haphazardly draped tarp and the room offered nothing Afonso could even attempt to fashion into a weapon. Great. The Living Room carried the same subfusc, abysmal atmosphere as the rest of the manor and really held no redeeming features.
Except the fireplace.
Afonso's perception of time was leaving him steadily with each day that past while they were in the manor, but he was fairly sure winter was on the way, what with how short the days had become and how frigid the nights were as of late. Portugal's tolerance for the cold was appallingly low; being unaccustomed to receiving little more than a slight frost at home, the terribly punishing American winter that was on the way held very little appeal. A fireplace was no longer a commodity, it was a luxury. In fact, perhaps the Living Room wasn't actually so bad; the furniture could be burned for warmth, perhaps the sofas could be wedged into the doorframes to keep some of the manor's less savoury guests at bay. Some of the beds from the other floors could be lugged into it and food from the kitchen could be brought in. The room held some potential. It could easily become a safehold for some of the nations in the house; a modest little refuge or some simple sanctuary until they could find a way out.
Portugal entertained this train of thought for a while, before it was derailed by a light sobbing nearby. Was someone in here? Afonso hadn't run into anyone for a fair while, and God only knew what bizarre creatures were roaming about within the manor's walls-- he'd already heard stories of carnivorous plants as tall as men and odd creatures that could mimic human speech, so it was probably wise to presume his company was of the heinous and malicious sort and take very tentative action from there. Erring on the side of caution, Afonso fought the urge to call out to the source of the noise, and instead scoured the place a bit more critically; the place was decidedly messy, and not exceptionally bright either, despite the best efforts of the fire, and-- ah! There.
He hadn't noticed it before, but he was almost certain there was someone hunched before the hearth. Yes. Inching forwards a little, the figure started to seem a lot more familiar. Her lithe little frame, and her hair... he was almost certain that was Mexico. But at the same time he wasn't all too sure. He'd never really gotten too involved with affairs concerning the girl, but from what he'd seen and heard of her, Afonso was sure Ana María wasn't particularly the crying type. She was adamantine, strong-willed and tenacious; and the behaviour he was seeing and hearing seemed so uncharacteristic that he was feeling more that a bit unnerved. The smartest course of action would be to lay in waiting, an adiaphorous fly-on-the-wall, watching and waiting to see if this was some kind of trick, but Portugal lacked the patience for that. He had no idea when he'd last found another nation wandering the house, and he wasn't about to pass up the chance to have some invaluable company. Plus, the poor girl looked like she could probably do with a little cheering up; it didn't seem right to leave her there alone, a sitting duck locked in what seemed a very dismal state of anamnesis.
"Ei, mocinha. Are you alright?"
ooc;; ahh i hope this is alright for you lovely~! let me know if you'd like me to tweak anything~ uwu/
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Survivor
Offline.
Why would I want to destroy something I helped build?
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Post by Mexico on Jan 21, 2013 19:22:24 GMT -6
Tear by tear. That's how she was going to manage this. One tear at a time. Her chocolate brown eyes stared into the raging fire. It was consuming everything that it touched. Mexico almost wanted to lean towards it and touch it, feel the heat against her fingers, her skin quickly burning up. Parents often told their children not to sit so close to the fireplace. She couldn't understand why. It was so beautiful. The flames twirling around in mysterious dances, creating different shapes of people, animals, emotions. It was like transmitting a message. Mexico wanted to paint it. Paint what she was seeing and feeling from staring at the majestic being that kept her warm. This warmth reminded her so much of her home. If only she could lean in a touch it...
No. She sighed. She shouldn't be here. She really shouldn't be here. She was denying her existence inside the Manor. What more could it possibly want of the victims from whom it had already deprived from everything that made them whole? There was no joy, no true happiness inside. Death and darkness reigned. Ana María wondered how this house had turned into such a morbid place. Had its previous owner been so full of hate, or resentment and pain, so washed out of inner happiness that it wished the same kind of fate on the rest? Had it all been his plan from the start? Bring misery to the rest of the world because he, one simple individual, felt it too? It was selfish and inconsiderate. But it was working.
More tears where streaming down her face and she didn't wish to stop them. Someone had once told her that it was alright to feel. It washed away all the negative feelings. It cleansed our souls so that it could make room for the good. Hmm. Who had gave her such terrible advice? Terrible and necessary. Mexico turned her attention down to the rugs that were placed all over the living room. It was a good break over the cold floor. She pulled her legs closer to her chest as her index finger started to draw the tiny strings of fabric that made up the material. At first there was no definite shape. They were just lines that she made. But then those lines started to get longer and they united over time creating an oval. To long lines went down the edge of either side of the oval and soon enough it formed a cake, or something close to a cake.
She wrote a 2, a 0, and a 3. That day was her 203th anniversary as an independent nation. Two whole centuries. It didn't seem that far away in time. For nations, time can pass very slowly or very fast. After a while it ceases to matter. It's just something that's there but never truly matters. She wanted to blow some candles and then proceed to hit a piñata. She wanted a piñata. She wanted one so badly. Ana María had one at home. She had spent two weeks making it. First by making the clay pot base and then by decorating it with papier-mâché. This year it was a nine-point star with bright colors like pink, orange, blue, green and yellow. She never imagined she wouldn't be home to break it.
It sucked, there was no mild way to put it. It freaking sucked. She didn't deserve it. But it wasn't something that was going to change any time soon, especially over tears. But tears make us feel. Tears are emotions and our emotions make us human. She was human inside this place. Nothing more than human. As valuable as any human. And the tears meant something.
"Ei, mocinha. Are you alright?"
Ana María almost jumped up in surprise. She hadn't expect, hadn't thought about the possibility of someone else coming into this room. After being alone for most of her time in the Manor, it was easy to forget that there others trapped inside too. The girl turned around slowly. She was slightly afraid of what she might find behind her. Previous experiences had taught her that things aren't what they seem and this place was filled with nasty creatures, all created for one particular goal: To kill them.
She would've stood up, but didn't find the strength in her legs to keep her body firm. It was all the tension building up and finally putting a burden over her body. Her eyes looked up in the direction in which the voice was coming. They lit up when they found the face. That face... She had seen it before. Many times before actually. It was so familiar and at the same time such a stranger. Green eyes and mahogany brown hair. It was? Was it really? Or just a dream? A game?
"Portugal."[/color] She spoke in her native Spanish. Her eyes couldn't quite believe it. She hadn't seen the Iberian nation in a while. She remembered all those types when Spain will take all his little colonies to meet Brazil and hopefully work things out with his brother. Mexico had never really understood what was the dispute between them, and she never cared to find out because it wasn't her business. She knew to leave things alone.
"S-si. I am fine."[/color] She stuttered. She couldn't believe she had stuttered. Mexico didn't know why she had felt the need to lie. But lying was something she was used to, especially when it came to talk about her feelings. At first it had been out of pride, but now it was more of a cautious method. Even if she had addressed him as such, the girl couldn't be completely sure he was who she thought him be. One could never be too careful, especially when her own feelings and emotions could be used against her.
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Post by casaporto on Feb 3, 2013 16:17:55 GMT -6
"Portugal."
A wave of relief swept its way through Afonso, the hairs on his neck settling down again.
"México."
This wasn't some sick paranormal trick, the girl by the fire was definitely Ana María, he was sure of it. The jolt of surprise and prevailing glint of hope in her eyes weren't things any kind of demon of the manor could emulate with ease, and that gave him a little bit of solace. Not to say he wasn't still wary; the room was one of the most open and dangerous in the building, but if anything were to arrive uninvited, permitting they stayed alert, they'd hear it before they'd see it. There wasn't too much cause for alarm, and the opportunity to warm his hands by the fire and have some kind of company was too rare and far too tempting to pass up.
"Long time no see, hein?"
Slackening his grip on the shaft of the broom handle a little, he padded over to the woman, giving the doorways a final glance before kneeling down on the tired old mat beside her and extending one hand towards the flames.
He sat quiescent alongside her for quite a while; smiling to himself quietly his perfidy dying away with the warmth of the fire. There was a somniferous quality to those flames, watching them coruscate and dance around his palm; again, and again, and again....
He was exasperated. The manor was exhausting and Afonso was becoming terribly drowsy. He was lucky to have caught the answer to his question from the girl.
"S-si. I am fine."
That woke him up though. Portugal turned to her and frowned a little.
He'd never known Ana María too well; Tordesillas had stolen Mexico and almost all of Portugal's colonies in the West from him with the exception of Brazil, but he'd seen her grow up, albeit in fragments. Little glimpses here and there, but she was so tenacious, so unwavering and strong. To see her so tired and broken hurt his heart. Her brave façade, stuttering and faltering under the stress of the manor; and, something else, he reckoned.
"Ei, come now." His Spanish was weak at best, but if it could offer her any kind of consolation he would give it a go. "We both know that's not true," Afonso retracted his hand from the flames, clasping it over México's instead. "I've raised enough nations by now to know you're not 'fine', mochina. I've heard that lie before."
"So; why don't you tell me what's gotten you so upset?"
ooc;; ahh sorry this is so late and so short /umu\ i'll try and be a bit more lengthy with the next one~!
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Survivor
Offline.
Why would I want to destroy something I helped build?
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Post by Mexico on Feb 5, 2013 18:33:54 GMT -6
Ana María watched the European in awe. The sound of her name was something that could only be heard far off in a remote land. It sounded so strange to her, it seemed unfitting, as though she would look at herself in the mirror and not find where that name suited her. But it was also a sound that made each and every single one of her nerve endings work as an electric wire. Her whole filled up with adrenaline. The rush filling up her veins. She could feel it. The warmth of her name was echoing even in her bones. No sound felt so discouraging and at the same time so empowering as the sound of her own name.
Her eyes locked with his. It still seemed like a dream, something that was happening inside her head. She couldn't quite understand why this wasn't feeling real when everything around her was overwhelming. Maybe because inside a place like this, there was only pain and hurt and horrific nightmares that haunt each nation with its own fears. Hope didn't belong, and that alone was scary. How can hope seem like a privilege of the highest regard? How can they not yearn for happiness even in such a dark place? Why were they drained of all the pure and joyful aspects of their life?
Ana María wanted to smile at Portugal but found it impossible. The muscles in her face didn't want to move. They weren't responding as she wanted them. That movement was unnatural.
"Long time no see, hein?"
She watched him move towards her. She didn't feel the need to move away. Something about the older nation made her feel secure. It was just a small quantity of the feeling but it was there. She was clinging to it like fire on a snow. She was afraid that at any moment it might cease to exist. Her eyes were fixed in watching his every move. Mexico was looking for something, but she was unsure as to what that was. Maybe it would be something in his face, something that she needed and wanted to see. He kneeled down beside her and extended one hand towards the flames. He rested on the mat that still had her made up birthday cake. She wondered if he noticed, but didn't say anything.
She rarely said anything anymore.
Afonso was smiling, and Ana María couldn't help but wonder about what. What did he find so amusing? What was the reason he was smiling? Was it genuine? How did it feel? Her eyes diverted their attention to the fire for just a moment. It would make anyone else feel uncomfortable being so close to the natural element, but not to her. Her country ran in heat and passion and warmth. This coldness that embraced her made her feel vulnerable. She wasn't used to it. She was fighting in enemy ground. It was discouraging.
Mexico studied Afonso's face. He knew of him only what he heard from España. Sometimes it was good stuff, sometimes it was the sound of a younger brother pissed off. She didn't know what to believe and for most of the course of her life she chose not to believe in anything. It remained a mystery now whether or not she had made the best choice.
"Ei, come now. We both know that's not true."[/i][/color]
Ana María expression changed to surprise. The sound of her native language sounded weird coming from someone else's mouth. She was used to speaking English with other nations (with the exception of her cousins of course), and this was so unreal, so much of a surprise that it took her a moment to understand what he was saying. When she finally did, she glanced away. Why was it that people could see right through her? At moments she wished that no one could see what she was feeling. If she wanted them to know, she would tell them. But sometimes she just wanted to be alone with her own emotions and let them flow on their own. Yes, but people, nations even, also need someone to listen to them. Mexico felt Portugal's hand on her skin. It was warm. A warm touch that made her look at him.
"'ve raised enough nations by now to know you're not 'fine', mochina. I've heard that lie before. So; why don't you tell me what's gotten you so upset?"
A lie, yes it was a lie, but lying was something she knew how to do when she didn't know what else to do. How could she describe what she was feeling when she could barely understand it herself? Portugal's touch felt so reassuring, that Ana María struggled to find the words. She wanted, she needed to tell him. Just this once to let it out of her chest. She couldn't keep on keeping secrets. It was too much.
"I uh- I shouldn't be here. I should be, be back home where I belong."[/i] Small tears were gathering once more around Mexico's eyes and she quickly whipped them away. "It's my birthday, did you know that? I'm supposed to be back in my land, not here. I'm just so tired of having to be on the lookout all the time. Wondering about what monster is going to come now and what it's going to do. All I want is some peace. Peace and reassurance that everything is going to be okay."[/color][/i]
To think about how she was spending el 16 de septiembre here, in the American south, made her feel sick to her stomach. She was celebrating the birth of her independence in another country. She felt like she was cheating on her people. It was disgust over how this life was not for her. This moment wasn't supposed to be existing. She belonged at the capital, not here. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get away. It was a losing battle.
"I miss my home."
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Post by casaporto on Mar 15, 2013 16:13:13 GMT -6
It seemed odd to Afonso that the girl was so quiet; personally, he was thrilled to see another person after so long, and while it didn't show on his expression all too much at the moment, Ana was another case entirely. Her eyes were trained on him initially, but her expression was vacant. She didn't seem frightened as much as she seemed simply gone by this point; this woman he knew only as being fiery and passionate and fervent just seemed totally broken. A fragile little leaf, clinging desperately to the heat of the fireplace. He didn't doubt for a minute that she had good reason for being to uncomfortable; she would have most likely been subjected to horrific, gruesome tasks by whatever was terrorising the manor by this point, and that would be more than enough to knock one's composure a bit.
Her face was blank but she was by no means a closed book.
Portugal wasn't totally oblivious; he'd seen countless nations by now as young children, watched them grow, raised them. Picked them up when they'd fallen and watch them carry on and surpass him over time. He was a pretty old dog by now; he'd been around the block a few times now, learnt most of the tricks. Reading past blatant lies like the one he'd just heard from the girl was one of life's earliest lessons. It was one of Brazil's favourite things to do as a child. Hide things and respond with 'I don't know.' when asked where they'd gotten to, or having the little scratches on his knees bandaged up after a little game of football... Little moments of consolation and laughter.
But now wasn't really the time or place for fond recollections. The situation was a little more serious than that. It made him feel old though; reminiscing over events that felt like they took place only yesterday but were actually memories from centuries gone by.
They were skills that would come in handy now regardless. The girl clearly had some things on her mind; and he was a seasoned 'listener' by this point. It wasn't as though he had anywhere to be anytime soon either. The fire was warm and they were safe for the time being. Now was as good a time as any to sit down and give some kind of reassurance.
"I uh- I shouldn't be here. I should be, be back home where I belong. It's my birthday, did you know that? I'm supposed to be back in my land, not here. I'm just so tired of having to be on the lookout all the time. Wondering about what monster is going to come now and what it's going to do. All I want is some peace. Peace and reassurance that everything is going to be okay."
Ah. That's what this was about.
"I miss my home."
Afonso wasn't all too sure exactly how long they'd been in the manor, or just how many Independence days they'd have missed by now- but regardless, to be away from one's home at such an important time was hard. Being overseas alone would be difficult, but to be penned up inside to die was leagues more painful and degrading. He shared her sentiments on the matter; the saudades he had for him home grew with each passing day, and it was eating away at his optimism steadily.
But it would do neither of them any good to wallow in their sorrows. That was not what he sat down beside her for. A deep feeling of pity made him want to do nothing other than console her for the time being, until she was ready to move from the room and continue on her way.
"Shhh. Ei, look. It's alright." Portugal squeezed her hand gently once again, shaking it a bit, trying to provide some kind of reassurance before offering her a weak little smile. "First, Happy Birthday." Hesitantly, he lowered his weapon onto the rug before outstretching his other arm, offering a hug. "Now, look; you don't have to be worrying about that all the time, alright? Try and relax a little. You're safe here for now. Shh."
Something compelled him to help her before he continued searching for a weapon again. This was far more important.
"It'll be ok, I promise."
He prayed to God nothing entered the room while his guard was down.
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Survivor
Offline.
Why would I want to destroy something I helped build?
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Post by Mexico on Mar 26, 2013 17:01:51 GMT -6
Tears seemed to be the most prominent feature on her face. The never-ending display of sadness was getting in her nerves. It was irritating by all means. Why couldn't there be just one good thing happening in this forsaken place. One, just one. There had to be something here that hindered light and overwhelmed the darkness. Ana María wondered how this house had come to be possessed by the demons that inhabited it. Weren't the ghosts tired of it? She knew enough of Death to realize that when the body perishes the soul should leave and come to terms with its next life in another world. To roam on the world of the living would be exhausting for someone, especially if that was the only thing to do for the rest of eternity.
The Ana María had a thought. It seemed silly at first but not illogical. If the souls here found a way to cross over, go to heaven or hell or wherever they were supposed to be wouldn't they find peace? They were stuck here. They were stuck in a world they didn't belong to and that brought a toll on the whole Manor. Their ultimate game was to play with the lives of the living, kill them to share their misery with them. It seemed like the ultimate vengeance for not being at peace themselves. The girl sighed. She couldn't really get herself to think about stuff for prolonged periods of time. She was tired, exhausted, few if any means gave her excitement to do anything.
Mexico knew she was lying and her lies didn't seem as realistic and believable they were for most of the time. She wasn't comfortable in the truth. She wasn't comfortable in the truth of her situation or in the truth of her feelings. Most of the time her lies were a perfect escape to think about something else, to remember the lie instead of the truth. But she was also so tired of lying. Her last words were a revelation. She was coming to terms with what was buried inside. She was surprised she had said it aloud. Ana María wasn't sure she could admit such sentiments to anyone, especially those whom she looked up to. But she just had and there was no going back.
This was supposed to be a happy day and for that it deserved a smile but Ana María needed to feel safe before she could feel happy. Otherwise it wasn't an emotion she would be able to simply bring upon herself at the moment. "Shhh. Ei, look. It's alright." He squeezed her hand. She turned to look at him, his eyes remanding her so much of the one she had once called brother. "First, Happy Birthday." He hugged her and she instinctively hugged him back, almost to the point that it seemed she was clinging at him. She felt like a child instead of the grown woman she truly was. Mexico went at it with ease, relaxed her shoulders so that her movements wouldn't seem so desperate. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment and resting her chin over his shoulders. "Now, look; you don't have to be worrying about that all the time, alright? Try and relax a little. You're safe here for now. Shh."
You're safe here for now. Estás a salvo conmigo. A salvo... Safe. Yes.
"It'll be ok, I promise."
Ana María opened her eyes again and let go of her grip to gaze at his face. Her glance drifted down to their hands and how they touched. Her lips almost formed a smile. "You have always took good care of the people you love, and now you are taking care of me. I have but to thank you for that."[/i][/color] She placed her other hand over his and gently caressed his palm with her thumb. They were small circular movements, almost like a dance. She wanted to say so much and at the same time just stay in silence. Mexico hadn't really been one for silent interactions but this almost seem natural.
The fire in front of her danced in graceful movements and she turned to look at it. She wondered how her face looked from that end. Her makeup was almost wiped out entirely but she did not care because it was a mask. Her mask was off. Then she turned down at the small drawing of her cake and couldn't help but chuckle. "As a country I turn 203 years-old. That's less that the time I spent as a colony. If I was back home it would be a huge party, and I would invite España just to mock him a bit. At least that's how it would seem at first, but I actually enjoy his company. I enjoy the company of everyone that comes to visit me. I guess this can't be that bad if, well if we are all here together."[/i][/color]
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Post by casaporto on Apr 16, 2013 16:22:50 GMT -6
The tears were an extremely welcome sight. The monsters and haunts of the manor were so perfidious, so uncompromising that it had become essential for them to be totally stoic; as imperturbable as was humanly possible. Weakness was their greatest liability by this point, and to see that cold façade dropped in place of something so simple and human as crying was so inexpressibly comforting that Afonso near felt like crying himself. He could only assume the woman's tears to be those of relief- tears of solace and alleviation.
It was rather funny; that he'd initially perched alongside her with the intention of cheering her up, yet here they sat, Ana María in tears and Afonso ready to cry, yet he couldn't be happier. What he'd only really intended as some ease for México had become a kind of collective consolation; a brief reprieve from the monstrosities of the manor, some time to quell their troubles before carrying on. Crying was a good thing, any display of human emotion as far as Portugal was concerned was a victory. Anything that preserved their sanity longer while they were all trapped in here was certainly worthwhile.
The little attempted smile Ana María had produced on her face was victory enough. She's still got plenty of fight left in her yet.
"You have always took good care of the people you love, and now you are taking care of me. I have but to thank you for that."
"Thanks. You're being far too kind though, really."
Afonso turned his gaze downward towards their hands, and could only really stare phlegmatically at the woman's thumb as it moved about his palm. It was somewhat rhythmic, and in the brief silence he couldn't help but retreat to his thoughts while her statement in turn floated about his mind. You have always took good care of the people you love. But, had he, really? He'd tried fairly hard but, he seemed to stumble more than he remembered doing well in the past. Everything seemed to have turned out wrong. While his old colonies had flourished into strong independent nations, they'd done most of that on their own- and if anything by now he was trailing behind and couldn't even take care of himself and his own people. He couldn't protect Sebastian*, could barely help England when he was called upon and never really achieved truly good relations with his own brother for well over eight centuries now.
The woman was right in part; he had tried to care for the people he loved, and he had had successes at times. He felt a kind of collective responsibility for these other nations for some reason. A kind of obligation to help regardless of how terrible a state it would land him in afterwards. Which often meant putting other responsibilities and commitments to one side, which probably wasn't the wisest thing to do, since that probably caused more issues in the end. No matter how he looked at it, as far as he was concerned México was terribly mislead- and all of this needless pensive thought had actually landed him in a mild state of melancholy. But, he couldn't entertain his somewhat self-destructive thoughts for much longer, as the silence was broken with a little chuckle from the woman.
"As a country I turn 203 years-old. That's less that the time I spent as a colony. If I was back home it would be a huge party, and I would invite España just to mock him a bit. At least that's how it would seem at first, but I actually enjoy his company. I enjoy the company of everyone that comes to visit me. I guess this can't be that bad if, well if we are all here together."
There was no holding back a little laughter and a wide smile by this point. "Two hundred and three?! Ah, stop, please, you're making me feel rather old!"
Actually, now he thought it over, how old was he? He got his Independence in... 1138? No, 1139, that was it- though he'd certainly been an established country for a couple centuries more. 874 years had gone by rather quickly however, and this growing old business wasn't something he was quite ready to come to terms with just as of yet. Not to say he wasn't proud of how long he'd been around for; he was pleased to be the oldest European nation-state, but he was starting to tire quite a lot, and while he wasn't looking to throw in the towel anytime soon, he really wouldn't mind retiring to a less demanding life of fishing or orange-picking.
"I think I'll be 870-something this year, but I can't really remember to be perfectly honest with you."
The mention of Afonso's brother elicited a firm, approving nod. All harboured discontent aside, Portugal was still fiercely defensive of his younger brother- blood ran thicker than water after all, and it did warm his heart a little to hear when Spain was doing well, or hear any kind of praise for him whatsoever. It made him well up with a little bit of pride, though that wasn't for anyone else to know.
"You know, if I were you I'd probably do the same. He always meant well, even if it didn't show all the time," he shrugged in response to her final remark, "I guess not, huh? It's not as though we all haven't been through worse already; we've all seen so much war, suffering and hardships already- I'm sure there isn't anything this little old house can throw at us we'll be unprepared for. Don't worry yourself too much, ok?"
He gave a last reassuring smile, and for the first time since he entered the room, it felt truly genuine.
[* Sebastian the First was Portugal's most beloved king; the young man was lost in a battle in Morocco and his absence led to a plethora of complications which in turn started the slow decline of the Portuguese Empire]
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Survivor
Offline.
Why would I want to destroy something I helped build?
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Post by Mexico on May 9, 2013 22:29:23 GMT -6
Everyone takes kindness for granted. But truth is, one doesn't have to be kind. It is a choice to cheer people up when they are down. It is a choice to exchange a smile and brighten the day. It is also a choice to cry or keep it hidden. Ana María was particularly knowing of this fact. The fact that no one could make her feel bad without her consent, and that pain can be as much an internal struggle as a result of an event. Normally she found crying a very useless debacle. As proven many times before, crying didn't satisfy her needs, or grant her what she wanted. So for many years she kept it as something that she could do, because she was physically able to, but that never got her anywhere.
But crying right now just seemed right. Tears help purify the body, let every single negative emotion wash away as a sort of cleansing. Plus, she couldn't continue to keep everything in. It was slowly killing her emotions, and she had to maintain them within. They were the last strands of humanity they had left, without them everything that made them who they were would be gone. Mexico took a deep breath. She felt the air penetrate her skin. She missed pure fresh air. Air that didn't smell like blood and battlefields. Air that hint at the death every time she inhaled. But still, this air was better than having no air at all and in the seconds that she had in her, it felt relieving.
Her tears started to dry but she did not wipe them off. At least not for the time being. Her hand wanted to keep holding Portugal's. It made her feel more secure and protected. The small rhymed movements of her thumb ceased. She just placed her hand over his. The fire in front of her made her skin warmer. She missed that feeling of walking outside and being hugged by endless rays of sunshine. Everything inside this place was cold and rainy. That was perhaps the main reason she hated it. She hated the cold and everything that it represented. Heat meant sun and sun meant blue skies and blue skies meant happiness. In her head it worked like a beautiful scenario that she could enjoy.
The fact that Portugal smiled, let out a small chuckle, was more gratifying than Ana María could ever describe. She utterly loved to make people smile. Because how awesome was it to know that your presence could illuminate such happiness in another person. It was majestic and Mexico never got used to it. It was one of those small details that just made everything so much better.
"Two hundred and three?! Ah, stop, please, you're making me feel rather old!"
"I think I'll be 870-something this year, but I can't really remember to be perfectly honest with you."
"You are not old. Don't be silly. But, if it makes you feel any better, before I was a nation, and way before I was colony, I was part of what once was Tenochtitlán, founded in 1325. So my existence really dates to around 688 years old."[/i][/color] She gently patted his shoulder, in a comforting, yet teasing manner. For a moment it seemed like they were old friends, separated and reunited to reminiscence about old times.
"You know, if I were you I'd probably do the same. He always meant well, even if it didn't show all the time,"
Ana María smiled to herself. Her own comment, and then Portugal's reply made her stomach feel funny. Spain was, well, how could she describe him? He was nice and mean, playful and strict, the best and worst person she knew. At times she wanted to rip his head off, but then proceed to thank him and give him a hug. He was, like a brother more than anything. A protector of what had once been a small innocent child. She owed him a lot, more than what she would like to admit. Even if they had had their rough patches, even with the conversion into Catholicism and the war of independence, she never stopped loving him. She just learned how to live without him. A parent, and she a child. A child that grows up and learns to care for herself.
Wasn't that what colonies were? Children that one day would grow up? And wasn't that what the empires were? Parents that raised them? It was a nice thought and Mexico couldn't help but want to hug Spain and thank him. She squished Portugal's hand almost without realizing it.
"I guess not, huh? It's not as though we all haven't been through worse already; we've all seen so much war, suffering and hardships already- I'm sure there isn't anything this little old house can throw at us we'll be unprepared for. Don't worry yourself too much, ok?"
"That is right. It is just a silly old house. But I really want to get out. But before that, I want to ask you something, Afonso. Would you sing for me? I know you didn't bring your guitar, oh how wonderful if you had, but do sing. I love it when you sing."[/i][/color] She said softly, staring at his bright green eyes, as the fire before them reflected.
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