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Post by The First Inhabitant on Aug 23, 2013 23:18:43 GMT -6
It was ever so easy to manipulate these bent and broken Nations to their whims, all it took was a bit of their master’s vast power and they moved how them like pieces on a chessboard. Now for instance was a good example. For their new surprise for them, the Inhabitants needed them to sleep before everything could get set up, so they made it so. They themselves went and knocked out Germany and England for this little game and brought them to the room. It was a plain, decent sized room that was lined with mirrors with only two chairs that faced away from each other and one lone wall sconce that illuminated only partially illuminated the room. Shadows lined the corners, leaving the nations to wonder just what could be hiding in the room with them, potentially watching everything that took place. Looking at the unconscious nations that were loosely bound to the chairs with their hands tied behind their back, the two skeletal inhabitants, brothers by life and brothers in death, looked at each other and grinned. With a snap of their fingers, an envelope appeared before each of the brothers. Breathing a mist of cold air over the paper, the words appeared. Greetings, Germany/England,
As you may have noticed, you are trapped in a room with another vermin just like you. For what purpose, you ask? Yes, it’s my pleasure to inform you that you have been lucky enough to be chosen for a very, very special game, along with your little friend over there.
The door to the room is locked, and no amount of force can pry it open. But be not alarmed; there is a key, a key to your salvation. I will even give you a hint, as I believe an insect like you would never figure it out on your own. England/Germany, that other vermin in the room,they know where the key is. All you have to do is ask them. Simple enough for even you to accomplish.
Or is it?
You would do well not to communicate about this letter to them; should you attempt to, you would be faced with an unfortunate, immediate death. And that would bore us immensely.
Oh, and please do try to hurry. We would not want either of you to face the consequences of dilly-dallying.
Good luck, worm The Inhabitants The paper folding and on the outside, readable to only the intended Nation, For Your Eyes Only Germany/England appeared in neat cursive print. Tucking the letters into each of the Nations clothes, they grinned at each other again. The nations would find them and then the game would commence. Snapping one more time, unearthly music filled the room. ”Think they’ll like our little song Second? “Indeed First, creates the perfect atmosphere.”Vanishing from sight, the brothers muttered a single word simultaneously before they vanished from the room. "Awaken"
((In case it was not clear, both Germany and England are loosely bound and the letters in their clothing is addressed to them only. The posting order will be Germany then England, Responses must be posted within two weeks of the last post or it will be considered a refusal to participate and consequences await. ))
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Post by Germany on Sept 4, 2013 6:21:58 GMT -6
"Awaken."
The faint echo of a single word rang in his ears and after a moment, Ludwig blinked awake. Whatever he'd heard drifted out of reach of memory, blending in with the unsettling music that drifted through the air, and a dull incessant pounding blossomed painfully in his skull instead. The ache felt familiar, and Ludwig managed to narrow it down to 'beaten up' or 'hangover' before he realized the room he currently sat in was definitely not the room he'd been in before. With a start, he sat up straight, and got in a half-second of coherent observation before the headache intensified with a vengeance: Ludwig shut his eyes and bit back a groan, grinding his teeth together until the worst of the pain had faded. The recovery gave him time to gather his wits and try to remember what had happened, but his efforts were in vain: aside from what he already knew (the invitation, the manor, the weird atmosphere, the shadows) Ludwig could remember nothing of how he'd gotten to this place.
When he opened his eyes again, the darkness he'd viewed at first had adjusted to a low gloom; as he craned around trying to find the source of the light, ropes dug into Ludwig's limbs, and the man stopped moving in surprise. He hadn't noticed the ropes, and immediately he wanted them gone. Flinging his weight hard away from the chair, prepared for whatever pain that came from wrestling out of imprisonment, Ludwig nearly hit the floor instead when after a moment, the knots slipped and the ropes simply fell away, useless. As he stood up and dusted himself off, Ludwig dislodged something in his jacket: he reached out to catch it but it fluttered down and landed atop the coils of rope. Crouching down, he retrieved the letter; the white paper almost seemed to glow in the comparative darkness of the room, and Ludwig flipped it over:
'For Your Eyes Only Germany'
"How romantic," Ludwig muttered sarcastically, before ripping open the envelope and unfolding the letter before him; it took a moment of squinting before the words made themselves clear.
'Greetings, Germany,
As you may have noticed, you are trapped in a room with another vermin just like you.'
Ludwig paused and glanced around the room; a hazy figure with shadows for eyes crouched across from him, but he instantly recognized his own reflection, even distorted by the mirrors and darkness as it was. However, further away from him, half-invisible in the darkness, sat another chair and, by the look of things, another person bound to it. He'd taken a step in that direction before Ludwig reminded himself that finishing the letter first might explain things further.
'For what purpose, you ask? Yes, it's my pleasure to inform you that you have been lucky enough to be chosen for a very, very special game, along with your little friend over there.
The door to the room is locked, and no amount of force can pry it open. But be not alarmed; there is a key, a key to your salvation. I will even give you a hint, as I believe an insect like you would never figure it out on your own. England, that other vermin in the room, they know where the key is. All you have to do is ask them. Simple enough for even you to accomplish.
Or is it?
You would do well not to communicate about this letter to them; should you attempt to, you would be faced with an unfortunate, immediate death. And that would bore us immensely.
Oh, and please do try to hurry. We could not want either of you to face the consequences of dilly-dallying.
Good luck, worm The Inhabitants'
Ludwig folded the letter and crammed it and the envelope into the inner pocket of his jacket. The death threats had not impressed him, nor had the writer's idea of a 'game'. The whole mess seemed stupid and unnecessary, and he hadn't the faintest idea who 'the Inhabitants' were. But he wasn't keen on being trapped in any room for any length of time, and as tempted as he was to try and just break the door down with his chair, Ludwig knew that seldom was a single cog in the machine the only piece affected by anything. If he disobeyed just one of the letter's instructions, he might ruin this whole attempt and end up stuck in this room for far longer than he planned to be. That realization was frustrating to no end, but at least the orders themselves had been simple enough. So England was tied to that other chair, then? And all he had to do was ask him for the key?
It honestly seemed too easy (the insulting letter had mentioned that as well). And whether or not England had woken up, Ludwig couldn't tell; everything seemed to move and shift in the half-shadows, a trick of the light he knew well enough. He could attempt to just take the key off the unconscious man, then. But if the key wasn't something physical, that would create problems. And if he woke up in the midst of it all, England might assume that Ludwig had knocked him out and tied him to the chair in order to rob him of something. Scowling, Ludwig heaved a short sigh: the very last thing he needed was to make an enemy of his potential ticket out of this weird room.
With nothing better to do, Ludwig sat back down on the chair he'd been bound to and began to gather up the rope; such a tool might come in use in the future. He worked quietly and slowly, waiting for any sound of life from the other half of the room. When he'd finished his work and had still heard nothing, he decided to see if he could speed things along.
"Hallo? Can you hear me?" Silence. Ludwig sneaked another glance at the chair across the room, guilt pooling in his chest. If Italy or Prussia had been in that chair, you would have freed them in a second and helped them wake up, he reminded himself. He and England had fought in the past, but there wasn't any bad blood between them now; another person with a level head on his shoulders would be an asset in this kind of situation. So why hadn't he acted? Glancing back to the mirrors and locking gazes with his blurry doppelgänger, Ludwig hesitated for half a second more before rolling his eyes, slinging the gathered rope over a shoulder, and crossing the room to the second chair. Awake or not, hopefully England would believe him when he told him what had happened.
"If you can hear me, hold still. You've been tied to a chair and I'm going to undo the rope." Kneeling down, Ludwig got to work pulling apart the knots that bound the other man's wrists and arms together.
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Arthur Kirkland
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Post by England on Sept 12, 2013 17:16:53 GMT -6
Unbeknownst to Germany, the other man in the room had not been asleep at all despite giving off that impression. He was in deep thought over the words spoken by the mysterious Inhabitants to memorize every word they had spoken in case there was a vital clue in their words that might deliver him out of this situation. If his last brush with the phantom figures had proven anything, it was that using every hint or resource supplied by these games was the key to surviving them. So deeply absorbed was he that when Ludwig approached him to speak the island nation jolted in his chair in surprise.
He recovered quickly from that surprise, face wiping itself clean of any alarm as green eyes opened to lift to the German beside him. A thick eyebrow lifted when Ludwig offered to help untie him, and the Englishman twisted as far as his bonds would permit him to view the knot around his wrists. After a brief assessment in the dim light, he snorted in dry amusement. "Lucky for us that no one here is capable of tying a decent knot. That's shoddy work. Not that waking up to find myself in this particular predicament isn't new but if I recall correctly the circumstances were far more pleasant the last time around."
Arthur's sardonic words ended when the rope dropped its weight from around his wrists. He lifted his arms to rub at his wrists where the rough texture had chafed at the skin. The Manor had definitely ramped up its level of kinky humour. Tying people to chairs? It was obvious from the additional chair and the rope on Ludwig's broad shoulder that the German had woken in the same state. Arthur slid forward on the edge of his chair, able to twist his body and rest an elbow across the top of the chair to better view Ludwig in the dim lighting.
There wasn't any sign of hostility being shown from the younger man. Whatever harrowing entertainments they were expected to provide for the Manor they were in this together. A white envelope fell out of Arthur's jacket when he turned for that examination, tumbling to the floor. He glanced downwards to note its presence and stretched his hand to pluck it up to squint at the written text of his name on the outside. The For Your Eyes Only addition was ominous enough that Arthur turned his back on Ludwig to open it, speaking to the German over his shoulder. "Thank you for untying me. And for not taking the opportunity to kill me outright while you had the chance. It seems that we're going to need to put our heads together if we're going to get out of this. The last time I fell into one of these traps, they had carnivorous beasts waiting to eat me if I didn't act within their parameters. Whatever Master this place answers to doesn't like to be bored."
His eyes quickly scanned the contents of the letter. Once finished he folded it up and tucked it inside his jacket with a heavy sigh. Another seemingly impossible puzzle from the Manor. Arthur was getting weary of these repeating patterns. There was nothing to do for it except participate. He stood up from his chair to turn in a slow circle. Mirrors at all sides rendered a fun-house effect, multiplying his image at times to an infinite degree. The sinister shadows did nothing to put him at ease. It wasn't as if he were alone in this puzzle. Beside him stood another masterful tactician, raised by Prussian skill and plenty of Austrian sensibility. Arthur's head turned to view Ludwig curiously. "Have you made an assessment of the situation yet on possibilities of how we shall get out of here together in one piece?"
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Post by Germany on Sept 27, 2013 16:45:11 GMT -6
Making quick work of the poorly tied knots, Ludwig quirked an eyebrow at the Englishman's response. Regaining awareness only to realize he had been bound tightly to a chair had never ended well for him, and then the German had to second-guess himself, wondering whether or not England was talking about being tied to a chair or waking up in general. He quickly decided he wasn't going to pry and, after standing back up and dusting off his hands a little, he shook his head, "Be thankful someone wasn't doing their job properly, then." Deciding to let Arthur stand up and stretch at his own pace, Ludwig turned around and walked over to search for the door. A flash of white in the mirror caught his eye and he saw what looked like paper fall from the other man's coat. Perhaps that was the key his own letter had mentioned.
That could wait just a little bit more.
Setting his hands against the mirrored walls just below the single sconce, Ludwig began to search for a groove, hinges, a handle -- anything that could hint at a door out. Finding a small seam right away proved to be a false alarm: two mirrors had been joined together there, nothing more. Feeling his way along the wall carefully, the German glanced over his shoulder as England spoke up again. "Don't mention it," he muttered quietly, turning back to squint at his own dim reflection and allowing his focus to return to the task he'd chosen. It took him more than a moment to register what England said next.
"Kill you?" This time Ludwig turned fully around, abandoning his search and folding his arms over his chest, looking cross and just the slightest bit hurt. Perhaps he'd been too optimistic, thinking the other man could help him. The German had started to feel disappointed, mostly in his own mistaken assumptions. He wouldn't completely give up hope yet, but if England was talking optimistically about not having been killed while he'd been unconscious, Ludwig didn't feel especially assured of the other's mental stability. "For heaven's sake, why would I want to kill you?" he asked. "I haven't got the slightest reason to want you dead." As Arthur went on, Ludwig realized that he might have missed some things about this place. The manor had an undeniably eerie air, and he'd certainly seen shadows out of the corners of his eyes that set the hairs on his neck prickling. But Ludwig reminded himself that perhaps this was the Englishman's famous habit of talking to creatures nobody else could see getting seriously out of hand -- nothing more.
No longer feeling entirely satisfied with his plans, Ludwig turned back to the walls, still determined to make a full loop of the room. Bit by bit, he ran his palms over the mirrors, moving in inches, searching for even the smallest crack. It would take a long time to do the work properly, and after five minutes, Ludwig found himself getting frustrated. By then, at least, the other man appeared to have gathered his wits. The German let out a short sigh before answering.
"It's impossible to tell how thick or thin the walls are, and if we try to break out using the chairs, we'd probably destroy those first," he started off, "and that's not considering all the smashed glass we'd have on our hands." The tall man paced slowly for a moment. The letter had made it clear that Arthur had the key, and all he had to do was ask… but it was a spiteful and suspicious bit of paper, so Ludwig decided to do things his own way.
"We've probably got no choice but to use some kind of a key to get out of here," he explained, leaning back against the mirrored walls, arms still folded. "Would you happen to have anything like that? It might not even look like a normal key, honestly. We could be searching for a pin, or a nail, or even some kind of code."
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Arthur Kirkland
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Post by England on Oct 3, 2013 16:48:59 GMT -6
Despite Ludwig's displeasure with his remarks about murdering him, Arthur couldn't help a tiny, bitter smile. The denial from the German on a desire to kill him proved that Ludwig had yet to experience the nature of the Manor's games for himself. He turned his back on the other man to stride closer to the mirrors, gazing at his reflection in them. There was a sense of distortion to his image that made Arthur discomforted. That this wasn't him, not really. He'd arrived at this place too polished, too put together, and the rumpled, dirty, disheveled creature staring back at him had to be some slovenly doppleganger.
His eyes shifted fractionally, looking past his reflection to the image of Ludwig standing in the room behind him. Arthur had been merely counting the seconds until the German would bring up the matter of a key. He envied the younger nation in his ability not to know just what freedom here would entail. The Englishman spun slowly on his heel, back leaning against the glassy surface of the mirror as he viewed Ludwig directly. "I believe that I already know what the key is. If this game is meant to go like the previous one I'd been pulled into, then I can surmise the requirement easily. You're not going to find any key slot, nor a physical key to unlock this cage with. There's only one way to get 'freedom' here, by the standards of the evil that has us held; one of us has to die."
He placed a hand upon the glass behind him, fingers splayed on the clear surface to sweep across it, leaving streaks behind from the prints Arthur left there. "You could search this place top to bottom and not find any means to win your freedom from this room. Death is their aim. Whether it's you or me, I don't think the specifics matter to them. And if we don't act in accordance with their desired end, then we'll likely both end up dead when they expedite the process along. Their games might change their setting but they are too predictable. It always ends the same."
Arthur let his hands drop, sliding into the pockets of his jacket. His fingers wrapped around the handle of the gun that he'd slipped in there while taking advantage of Ludwig's distraction with the room surrounding them. He debated whether or not to use it. There was no desire in him to kill Ludwig. The Englishman, despite their history, had nothing against the German nation. Those old grudges had been long buried, put to rest over time. Plus, if he ended Ludwig here to gain his freedom, he'd never be able to look Prussia in the eyes again. That would be inconvenient.
He just waited with the familiar texture of the cold metal in the palm of his hand, fingers looped lightly around it as Arthur studied Ludwig closely to see what he would make of these conclusions. "You might not have any desire to kill me, as you say, but you might still be required to try. Of course, I could be wrong. I've been wrong before, I'll admit that. And if you can divine some other solution that could be found here then I am keen to hear it."
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Post by Germany on Oct 6, 2013 18:03:42 GMT -6
As England turned to face him and began explaining that he'd worked out the nature of the key, Ludwig straightened up against the mirrored wall. He paid keen attention to each word, at least until the end, when things abruptly took a turn for the absurdly macabre. The focused expression Ludwig had worn slid easily into an irritated frown. Even for England, the answer seemed awfully dark and grim. The German hesitated with an answer: his first instinct had been to insult the other man for saying something so dangerously childish, but he'd bitten his tongue on that when he realized that the other man might not be in his normal state of mind. Still frowning, he watched England warily as the other man continued to speak.
It was true that Ludwig had yet to find a keyhole -- or something that even passed for a door -- which unsettled the blond somewhat. But he hadn't checked the entire room yet. It remained to be seen whether or not England's hypothesis on that count was correct and, still irritated by the other's fatalistic attitude, Ludwig turned around abruptly and began exploring the walls again. His twisted reflection glared angrily back at him from the half-shadowed glass, and unsettled by the image, he tried to calm himself down. He wouldn't be able to think clearly if he let himself get so upset.
"Maybe you're right," he muttered, sliding his palms down another section of wall. "I don't know anything about whoever's pulling the strings, but if you're more familiar with these so-called games, I'm willing to admit you could be right." But Arthur hadn't been entirely certain. There was a chance he was wrong, he'd said that himself. And Ludwig wasn't going to let that lie forgotten. "However," he went on, "why would every game end exactly the same way? If their ultimate aim is death, and only death, and you've figured that out, it's easy to end the game. You or I kill ourselves, and then we're out of the room. The torment's over." He wasn't going to say it out loud, but to Ludwig, the whole set-up appeared to lack creativity.
"If I am required to try to kill you, I've got nothing to kill you with," Ludwig shot back, turning away from the wall to send another unimpressed glare in Arthur's direction. But even as he spoke, he realized he'd made an error: his gun was completely empty, but he had the rope, the chairs, the walls, and his own strength. The fact that he took stock of such things so quickly made him feel deeply unhappy and ashamed of himself, but he kept his face carefully impassive. He wasn't going to kill anyone. It wouldn't come to that. There had to be another way out. He was not going to kill anyone, not now, not ever. Ludwig heaved a short, impassive sigh.
"Look, I respect you, but I'm not going to believe "murder" is the key out of here. Not until I've at least tried some other options. So you can either help me try to figure those out, or you can stay out of my way until I've exhausted those." Shooting the Englishman a pointed look, Ludwig picked up one of the chairs, trying to get a feel for its weight. Here came option number one: see if the mirrors can be broken and, if so, if any walls behind them can be feasibly broken as well. Gripping the chair by two of the legs, he adopted a solid stance, bracing his feet against the floor, before swinging the chair with all of his strength into one of the mirrored panels.
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Arthur Kirkland
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Post by England on Oct 15, 2013 1:43:03 GMT -6
Arthur's hand slipped out of his pocket with a quiet mewl of amusement. If Ludwig's words were sincere then there was nothing for him to worry about in regards to the larger man tearing into him with an aim for murder. Plus, he'd forgotten how saucy the German could get when annoyed. Green eyes watched with the first touch of humour he'd felt in days, witnessing the sour pinch on the other man's expression that was a perfect echo of a certain Prussian that Arthur had known (and drunk with) for many years now. There was no sense in ruining the peace so soon. He had no desire to attack Ludwig when the man wasn't favourable to the same; it wasn't honourable, and he was too much of a gentleman.
At least these days. Had it been three centuries back, he'd have not only shot Ludwig in the back but also kicked him when he was down. Maturity had luckily seasoned out much of Arthur's dirty habits from his heyday. There also remained the issue of a protective Prussian that would invade his home and break all his teacups if it got back to Gilbert that he'd not been a perfect gentleman in Ludwig's company. What few friendships Arthur could claim, he valued. Beyond that friendship there was a promise made to Gilbert that the Englishman intended to keep even here, if he could.
He puffed out a low breath, pulling off his hat to shake fingers through his hair. "I'm not keen on the killing aspect myself, chap. I also have no desire to die. We're at an impasse there. If you have other options you'd like to try, then by all means be my gue--"
Arthur silenced, feet propelling him backwards when Ludwig picked up that chair. He caught the German's look, placed his hat back on his head, and spread his hands retreatingly to defer their course of action to the other man. Staying out of the way was the suggestion that the Englishman went with. It was impressive to watch Ludwig utilize his strength in a manner that Arthur wouldn't. He'd never been built for brute strength like the German. Holding his own in a fistfight and trying to smash through a wall were two different things.
When that chair was sent swinging, Arthur braced himself for the impact with the glass. He winced at the sound of the mirror shattering, and took another step back when shards of that reflective glass came sailing to rest on the ground between them. His face tilted forward to look at the million tiny reflections of himself moving within their surface once they had coasted to a stop. The Englishman's foot lifted up and he brought his toe crunching down on a shard to crush it into powder. At least it wasn't as unnerving as having the haunting image of their reflections in full size around them. The combination of the shadows and those echoed images look ghastly, almost menacing.
His head craned around Ludwig's bulk to squint at what was revealed behind the broken mirror. By the looks of it, it was just a blank, empty wall. Arthur wet his lips, speaking up in a sardonic tone. "Are you going to break the rest of these panels? This is going to fetch you several decades of ill luck, if you're at all superstitious."
Cocking his head back, his eyes lifted to the ceiling above them. "You're definitely on to the right track. We had to get in here somehow. If these are still our real, flesh and blood bodies, then we couldn't have just been spirited in here through solid walls. You keep checking along the walls, and I'll see if I can't find any seams in the ceiling or even the floor that they might have got us through." Arthur fished around inside his jacket to pull out his small flashlight. He was already dragging the remaining chair away from Ludwig so that he could step up on it, pointing that beam upwards to search along the edges of the room's ceiling. His hand extended up, gloved fingers trying to also catch a trace of any hinges or grooves in the surface. "It might not have been wise of them to put two reasonable, cooperative people together in one room for their game. Any luck?"
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Post by The First Inhabitant on Oct 21, 2013 19:03:49 GMT -6
The light was the same as it always was, dim, not allowing the corners of the room to be seen, but enough to let the mirrors show their reflections. The temperature was a constant temperature, but it started increasing. Out of the corner of the mirror closest to the nations, fire spread across it, slowly forming words. "Not like the rules do we? Let us spell it out. You have the key at your fingertips. War was your past time, time to bring out that hatred again and fight to survive, otherwise...." And the text trailed off. A small sound was heard and the walls started moving, a loud grinding noise sounded and echoed through the room, stopping after the walls had moved about a foot inward.
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Post by Germany on Nov 3, 2013 14:51:07 GMT -6
Ludwig almost smiled to himself when he heard the near-laugh from the other nation. Despite the eerie music, despite the slowly escalating direness of their situation, the fact that the two of them could somehow find amusement in this place came as a reassurance. He should have known that the Brit was far more hard to ruffle than he had originally assumed. Actually, the only thing that seemed to surprise England was when Ludwig destroyed both the chair and the mirror in his attempt to break out of the room. The impact sent shockwaves up his arms, but Ludwig had prepared for that, although he stepped quickly back when a sparkling shower of glass rained down right where he'd been standing.
After the last shard had crashed to the floor, Ludwig hastily stepped forward and ran a hand over the bare wall, knocking against it with his knuckles after a moment. His brow furrowed in disappointment: the wall felt entirely solid, like stone or concrete. It would have taken thousands of chairs to break through it, and they had two -- no, one now, Ludwig corrected himself. He tossed the splintered leg he'd been holding onto on top of the pile of glass: it landed with a delicate tinkling as it smashed more pieces of the mirror.
Arthur's quip about bad luck forced him to smile, and he turned around to face the other man, leaning against the empty wall.
"No need to, I think," he admitted, "not unless we run out of other options. The walls are too thick to be broken through, although I guess we still might find a door." Moving over to the next mirror, Ludwig continued feeling for a door: might as well just stick to his original plan now that his idea with the chair had failed. He felt more determined than ever to find the two of them a way out now; he almost felt guilty that he'd wasted a chair to test a completely unsubstantiated hunch. A flash of light caught his eye and craning his neck over his shoulder, Ludwig spied the other man sweeping the ceiling in the beam of a torch.
"Good idea," he remarked, continued to feel his way around the walls. A genuine, short bark of laughter escaped him at Arthur's gentlemanly insult to whoever had set up the game. "They don't know us well at all, whoever it was. But I'm glad I got stuck with you, in any case." Arthur wasn't his closest friend or even his brother, but he was downright reasonable and cooperative, as he'd put it. The two of them might escape this yet.
"No luck yet," Ludwig confirmed as he moved onto the next mirror. "Maybe we could use th--"
The blond's voice died off as fire erupted across one of the mirrors, and out of instinct, Ludwig jumped about a foot back. It took him a moment to realize that the flames had spelled out words. War was your past time… what nonsense. As if war could ever be fun. Nobody thought like that. But just as Ludwig had finished reading the message, a small noise echoed in the silence of the room and the walls began to creep inwards. Ludwig felt his blood go cold and instantly he had his hands against one of the mirrors, pushing against the wall. But despite his strength, his boots slowly slid backwards across the floor. The air filled with the sound of crunching glass as one of the walls ground over the remains of the shattered mirror. Ludwig glanced around wildly -- were they going to be crushed to death?!
But as soon as it had begun, it ended: the walls ground to a halt. Another moment later, Ludwig dropped his arms from the wall and scanned the room: all four of the walls had moved closer together. His first reaction was anger.
"That-- that shouldn't--"
That shouldn't even be physically possible, he had wanted to say. But his heart was still pounding and he had to take a long, deep breath. Okay, fine. The walls were going to converge on the two of them outside of the laws of physics and engineering in an effort to crush them. They just… they had to find a way to stop this more quickly. A doorway out.
Almost automatically, Ludwig turned to England. The other man's grim prediction rose again in his thoughts, and he crushed it right back down.
"Are you alright?"
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Arthur Kirkland
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Post by England on Nov 12, 2013 8:07:14 GMT -6
The spirit of cooperation had relaxed Arthur into better spirits. He was more confident now that they'd reached the unspoken agreement to secure a non-violent means out of their predicament. The Englishman had put his earlier notions of murder far from his mind while he continued to search along the ceiling for a hitch that could be manipulated to free them from this pen of mirrors. Arthur listened to Ludwig speak, head nodding along to the German's words. He shifted his torch from his hand into his mouth, the device slim enough that the island nation could pinch it between his teeth.
Hearing Ludwig comment about their hosts caused him to snort. No, whomever had been responsible for putting them here was unlikely to get the show they desired. Apparently the Evil Entity running the show here had not be privy to knowing that the last eighty years had settled them all into international diplomacy; getting involved in a war (excepting America, naturally, who remained active in such affairs) was merely a matter of sending a couple of ships and aeroplanes over to intimidate someone else into compliance. The dirty business of nitty gritty combat was completely out of fashion in these times.
Arthur was torn from thoughts of the past as the room around them turned suddenly active. The movement of the wall surprised him enough that the Englishman went tumbling off his chair, swearing profusely as he toppled to the ground with a graceless landing. His torch went spinning off, its beam flashing off the remaining mirrors before it finally crawled to a stop. Arthur pushed himself up to sit with a wince, rubbing at a spot low on his back where he'd hit the floor. These bones of his weren't as resilient as they used to be. Once he had righted himself, his head turned in Ludwig's direction. "I'm pretty certain that I just jammed my arse above my elbows. Hopefully it won't sti--"
The fading impression of those burning words in the glass caught his eye. His intended words perished on the tip of his tongue as Arthur blinked slowly at the reflection where that message had imprinted its fatalistic assignment to them. He remained seated upon the floor without making any effort to rise to his feet yet. Obviously, they weren't being given a choice in the matter. This game was intended to result in the death of one or the death of both through what Arthur surmised would be excruciating pain through crushing. Propping his elbows on his knees, the Englishman dropped his chin into upturned hands, lips pursed and eyebrows knotted.
"Well. I'd say we're right snookered. What do you think the odds are that they'll give us time enough to find an exit before they snap the walls on us completely?"
His question was only partially directed at the German. Arthur was talking to himself as well, thinking aloud. He was turning possibilities around in his mind about how this would play out from here. Undoubtedly they'd both be killed if they remained at this stubborn impasse. He'd once again begun to measure the pros and cons of either one of them being murdered for the sake of salvation. The Englishman pinched at the bridge of his nose to massage away a forming headache. So far he had managed to go this long through the hardships of the Manor without killing another or being killed. It was a shame to be faced with that type of choice now.
The noblest act would be to volunteer himself up as the sacrificial lamb. Allow Ludwig to end him or to even take his own life. Arthur knew he could make that sacrifice if the German pressed it. A gentleman was not selfish, and there was a darkly poetic quality to giving his life up to save another. America would have told him it was the heroic thing to do. The Englishman wasn't confident that this act might count as a hero's play or not. More of an act of desperation in the face of certain doom.
On the other hand, he could just kill Ludwig and be done with it. Walk out of the room with an extra burden of guilt on his shoulders. Killing came easily to him when it came right down to it. Granted, he had not had his hand forced like that in almost a century. Arthur had spent so much time clearing the blood off his hands with mundane activities since retiring from his place as an empire that he didn't know if they would be as steady with an act of killing as they were in his admittedly blood-drenched history. The knowledge that he'd caused Ludwig's death would haunt him. He'd never be able to look Prussia in the eye again.
So what was the right solution in all of this? "What say you, Ludwig? How do we decide which one of us lives and which one of us dies -- or do we both opt to go down together in a glorious mesh of guts and bones?"
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Stands a Chance
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Post by Germany on Nov 30, 2013 16:34:10 GMT -6
Ludwig continued to stare hard at the mirrors, and his blurred reflected stared eerily back. From what he caught of Arthur's characteristically dry retort, he hadn't seemed to have hurt himself badly when the walls came closing in. In a twisted way, Ludwig realized, that was a bit of a shame: if the Brit had been injured, deciding who had to die would have been easier. After all, they'd remain trapped in the room until the walls slammed shut on them; a merciful death for an already wounded and suffering man could be easily rationalized in those circumstances. Not so now.
"They seem to be giving us a little time now," Ludwig observed in an almost scientifically calm remark. He couldn't lose his head over this. The possibility of an exit remained, although their time to work out where it was hidden had been sliced drastically shorter. "We ought to take advantage of that."
But in the back of his mind, Ludwig was wondering: how? Breaking more of the mirrors on the walls couldn't hurt, but it also might not help, either, and it could waste precious time. He hadn't examined the floor yet, and the ceiling rose far too high -- the ceiling! Ludwig could have kicked himself. What if the exit was up there? He'd destroyed one of the chairs like an idiot, and reaching it would be almost impossible now. The dark atmosphere and weird music had put him on edge, maybe, and he'd wanted to leave so badly he hadn't thought his plan through. The realization made Ludwig feel genuinely ashamed of himself, but the possibility that the room had no way out remained. Perhaps because of that, the upset he felt didn't even come close to replacing the firm, calm expression he wore.
Thankfully, England did not appear to have lost his head either. If these people want a vicious show, Ludwig realized, they aren't going to get it. And that would be the best way to end things, perhaps. Come to some gentleman's agreement about the whole situation and move from there. Frowning just slightly in thought, Ludwig turned the other man's question over in his mind.
"I don't have a coin to flip, unfortunately," he spoke, shaking his head, "although if it's all the same, I'd rather not be crushed to death." One thing Ludwig would not budge on was the killing. He was not going to kill Arthur. Ludwig was one of the younger nations but his short history had been packed overfull of war, of violence. More mature now and looking back on what he'd accomplished, Ludwig had developed an extreme distaste for violence, save for in defense of his people. He was not about to murder someone else for the sake of some cruel game, let alone England. He'd always respected the other nation, even during the times when he'd been looking down a gunsight at him.
"Do you think suicide is against the rules?" he voiced suddenly. For a brief moment, Ludwig realized how stupid his idea must have sounded. He had no gun or poison, and while he did have the rope that had been binding him to the chair, there was nothing in the room strong enough to hang it from. But just as quickly, the problem solved itself: the room was lined with glass mirrors that shattered when you broke them. One sharp edge against the right vein or artery and you had a relatively quick and painless (if messy) death. Ludwig looked long and hard at the mirrors, at his reflection, then turned his gaze back to England. If the other man hesitated… then he would volunteer, on certain conditions. War was your past time... Perhaps that had been true once. But trying to come to terms with war had become Ludwig's past time instead. It would be far easier to take his own life than someone else's.
"We should probably make a decision soon," Ludwig spoke up, folding his arms over his chest and shooting a glance at the strange reflections that continued to hover in the mirrors. "I don't expect we'll be allowed to wait too much longer."
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Arthur Kirkland
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Post by England on Dec 5, 2013 6:30:44 GMT -6
It really had come to this.
Arthur shut his eyes against the reflections in the glass. If he looked too long at his image, or even upon that of Ludwig's, then any growing resolve he was constructing would be dismantled. The mirror's words had been correct one point; war had been a part of existing as a nation that he had been born into. He might as well have been born with a bow in his hand, believing that everyone else was an enemy to destroy or conquer. There had been so much effort to change, to grow past the brutal child that would smash a Roman soldier in the head with a rock when he'd run out of arrows and smear the countryside with crimson.
"You're leaving the decision to me? That is either noble or you, or barmy. I'm leaning to the latter. Then again, it's all madness surrounding us, so why not go with the flow?" The Englishman murmured, words threaded with a bitter humour.
He forced himself to rise from the floor. His body ached from head to toe. The stress was taking a toll on him physically. Not to mention his mental health. Faced with such a choice, Arthur felt suddenly very old, and very tired. There probably wasn't even time enough to weight the pros and cons of one of them making a sacrifice here for the sake of the other. The Englishman didn't fancy getting crushed any more than Ludwig did. Losing both of their lives for this in a suicide pact lacked appeal.
"I'll put it to you straight: I don't care to die in here. I have had a good run so far and I am not about to give up now. It is nothing personal against you, Germany. Sure, I had some grudges in the past over all our old business. I've long since let it go. So moving forward, let it not be said that my decision was motivated out of resentment. And never believe, if this situation were any different, that I would choose this outcome for us."
Arthur approached the other man slowly, and his hand slipped into his pocket again. There was no faltering of his fingers as they wrapped around the cold shape of the gun he'd stowed before. He drew the weapon out into view to let Ludwig see it. To give the German a chance to understand what he was intending to do here. Arthur looked down at that weapon, hating its presence for the first time. If he had not brought such a deadly item here then this all could have worked out differently. Shooting an unarmed man felt cowardly -- even if said man's arms were strong enough to kill him.
"If you're so ready to die that you're considering suicide then please do us both a favour. Don't try to dodge. You can consider it a soldier's death; as pointless as any on a field of unwanted battle." He offered him in a flat voice, his bitterness crested over to distort his tone into a biting edge.
Those words were the only prior warning he gave. The Englishman's arm was already steadying itself, that barrel pointing with deadly aim, to fire two shots at this close range squarely into Ludwig's chest. In the mirrors around them and the shards of glass below, the bursts of light from the barrel flared in the darkness, and that double eruption of sound was piercing above the continuous strains of that eerie music. He hoped, sincerely hoped, that he'd aimed well enough for a direct hit to the heart to make this needless death as painless as possible.
On the heels of those two fired shots, his voice chased the echo of those sounds, low and hoarse. "I am so sorry, Germany, but England isn't falling today."
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Post by Germany on Jan 10, 2014 5:56:51 GMT -6
Keeping a wary eye on the walls just in case their tormenter saw fit to hurry them somehow, Ludwig scowled anxiously. When England spoke up, trying to pinpoint the logic behind his decision, the German stubbornly shook his head.
"Maybe," he admitted, "but I don't trust myself to make the right decision here." He had declared his intent with a mix of resignation and cowardice. In reality, what he should be doing if he wanted to escape was killing England. But just the image of that in his head and the variety of forms it took made Ludwig shudder. He'd had far too much of violence, and even in this terrible place, he wasn't willing to be pushed that far. As England rose, Ludwig remained still, the look on his face grave. He could see this wasn't easy for the other man, but at least Arthur seemed to have made up his mind.
He listened carefully, taking in all of the words; England could have been testifying in court, honestly, with how straightforward he delivered his argument. They really did put the two most level-headed people in the same room, Ludwig realized, and he almost smiled.
"I understand," he replied, fixing the other with a steady gaze. "I have nothing personal against you. But this is what we have to do to leave, and…" Ludwig's voice trailed off: how could he even explain why he didn't want to kill the other man? There was a stunted and thorny and dark part of his soul that craved bloodshed and he'd kept it hidden and bound and silent for decades -- and he had no intention of that resurfacing now. Arthur was a friend. What if this was only the first room in some twisted trial? Who would be next, France? His own brother? Or even Italy? It felt physically painful to dwell on the mere possibility. No, it was infinitely better to just die here instead of getting the blood of his friends and loved ones on his hands.
As England moved towards him and withdrew a gun from his coat pocket, Ludwig's eyes widened in faint surprise. So the Brit had been keeping his trump card a secret this whole time. Clever. If Ludwig had attempted to kill him first, he probably would have died anyways. Drawing in a deep breath, the German let out a long exhale. At least being shot was quick and painless.
"Please don't tell Gilbert," he spoke plainly, before squaring his shoulders and standing up a bit straighter. He kept his eyes on the mirrored wall behind England, where his doppelgänger was nearly blotted out by the shadows.
The shots hit his chest in a vicious punch and Ludwig managed to stand his ground for a moment. The room around him and the figure of the Englishman nearby began to blur as pain blossomed like a fire inside his ribs and heat began to spread across the front of his chest. He would throw his shirt away. The blood would wash out, but he didn't want to remember this. Go, he wanted to tell the other man, but he'd lost his voice, and a moment later, he lost his strength; he fell first to his knees and then collapsed forward onto the cold floor, arms at his sides. The burning agony he'd felt a moment ago had vanished, replaced by a cold numbness instead. Yes, being shot was quick. And even if it hurt like hell, the pain was at least a familiar one. I made the right decision, Ludwig reassured himself, tasting blood. He wouldn't get to see how England would be able to leave the room after this, but he trusted he would: it was too bitter, too cruel, to imagine that this whole charade had been in vain.
I'm sorry, Gilbert, Feli, but I had to do this.
It was the right thing to do, after all.
He didn't fight back as the shadows in the room thickened into darkness.
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Post by The First Inhabitant on Jan 11, 2014 17:51:47 GMT -6
As the bullet tore through flesh and the last breath was released from the dying Nation, the door unlatched and swung open with a slight creaking of the hinges. Not all the way open no, but part way. On the other side of the door, there was a washroom with a small cabinet with soap to wash away any blood that had gotten them. A small light hug on the wall, giving off a faint glow that complimented the fire light. Also present was a bottle of wine and a glass. Blazoned across the mirror was another message. No head radiated from the fire. This message would be present until the Nation walked through the second door.
"Congrats on your victory Great Britain . You have proven to have the mettle to kill in cold blood, to face any foe. Take a rest and have a glass of wine. When ready, say ‘Open the Flame to unlock the door” We want you at your strongest after all~
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Arthur Kirkland
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Post by England on Jan 31, 2014 15:46:25 GMT -6
Time had slowed.
Or at least it felt that way to England, as these moments dragged out in the vivid clarity of a dream. The emptiness of sound in the wake of his gun firing pulsed with the slow beat of a heart -- his own blood rushing in his ears, pounding drums that blocked out all other sounds. Arthur was frozen as his eyes moved to watch the spread of crimson that blossomed out across Ludwig's shirt, flowers of death budding out in brilliant scarlet. His lips parted to emit a breath that felt heavy as it dragged out of his lungs.
No. No, I wish to take it back. This has all gone very wrong somehow. His mind supplied him as he watched the colour fade from Ludwig's face as the life drained free of the German's body. Widening green went further swollen as Arthur saw the other man sinking to the floor, and there was already a tiny sound of horrified disbelief as he watched Ludwig settle into death. Even when he had been putting forth his logic to the German Arthur still believed there could be some last minute effort from the younger man to seek another solution. A last ditch effort to spare them from this fate. A little miracle -- was that really too much to ask for?
Arthur heard the door creak open somewhere behind him. He couldn't bring himself to look away from Ludwig's cooling body. You did this. You killed him. No matter the reason, how can you find this inexcusable? How long has it been since you murdered anyone to save yourself?
The gun clattered to the floor at his feet. England's hands lifted their palms upwards, eyes transferring from the image of Ludwig to the empty planes of his hands. His entire body had begun to shake powerfully, trembling now in the aftermath of the deed he'd just done. He'd been fighting to keep his composure all this time and being put in the position of killing Ludwig had undermined all his efforts. The crest of those emotions pushed violently through his core as Arthur lost his control over them, too compromised to prevent it.
He was enraged, he was distraught. He was full of loathing Hate this place, hate myself that burnt like poison in his veins. His body folded down on itself not that far a distance from where Ludwig had fallen, knees landing upon broken shards of glass that he did not feel the cut of. Arthur was blind behind stinging tears as his sadness, frustration and anger erupted out of him. He slammed his palms upon the shimmering floor to vent it all. The slice of glass into the flesh of his hands was a punishment and an anchor as he pounded his fury into the boards below.
"This shouldn't have happened! NOT THIS WAY! He was an honourable man -- a GOOD MAN! How dare you force my hand like this! How dare you make me spill blood! You will RUE THE BLOODY FUCKING DAY YOU MADE ME DO THIS!"
To whom he was shouting his curses, Arthur didn't know. He felt in his soul that someone was listening. Arthur wanted Them to hear his words. Arthur wanted Them to know what They had unleashed. "If you think this place cursed already then you have much to learn. I will show you what it means to be cursed by things older than this wretched soil. I will show you what suffering can be. You will regret that you ever allowed me in these doors, I swear it to you. You will learn the consequences of what happens when you make a Nation that promised to be good do something so bad."
He choked up, forced to swallow back tears. Arthur let his voice die for a few minutes while he let the rest of the storm rage out of him in the form of tears and a volley of more slaps upon the bloody ground. It was all let out until there was nothing left except for an absence of feeling. His rage had passed into quiet composure once again. When he was finally securely steadied, the Englishman finally lifted his head.
Arthur sat back on his heels to view Ludwig's body again. He'd half expected it to dissolve, or to be spirited away right before his eyes. No such phenomenon occurred. The Englishman swiped at his face with the cuffs of his sleeves to erase the last traces of tears on his cheeks. Whatever was waiting for him beyond the door he wanted to meet it with a brave face, just as Ludwig would have done in his place had this turned out better.
"I'm sorry." He apologized again to the fallen German, voice hoarse. "You may return again to life soon but I shall not soon forgive myself to be the one to end you this time around. Should Gilbert ever ask, Ludwig, all that I will tell him is that you died like a true soldier."
It bothered Arthur that he had nothing to cover the body with. The idea of leaving Ludwig this way felt inappropriate. He knew that he lacked the strength to arrange that corpse around properly. It was a struggle just getting back to his feet, the texture of his gun a foreign thing in his grip. Arthur pocketed it before he gave a stiff, formal bow of respect to the German's body. He could not meet his reflection in the mirrors as he stepped out from them into that adjoining room.
He gave a dismissive look to the message on the wall. Arthur had had enough of them. The Englishman went straight to the wash basin to start washing blood from his hands. He very meticulously picked out the slivers of glass that had embedded into his skin from colliding his hands with the littered floor. The soap stung when it contacted those cuts yet Arthur scrubbed them clean anyway. Once he had inspected his hands to be sure that all the glass was removed he washed his face to clean away the evidence of his crying.
The cold water was enough of a balm to help him weave together the frayed edges of his tattered composure. Whatever waited for him beyond the door he was ready to face it. Ludwig had sacrificed himself so that the Englishman could go forward. He couldn't fail in doing so. As tempting as that bottle of wine looked to him Arthur didn't let himself touch it. He drew himself up, turning to face the door in front of him, jaw set and eyes ablaze with determination.
"Open the flame to unlock the door. Wankers."
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Post by Spartan of Fire on Feb 5, 2014 17:12:43 GMT -6
Fire.That was this man’s world now. Fire and the ever present bloodlust that ran through his body. He had been waiting for this moment ever since he had awoken from his millennium slumber. For all those centuries of being stuck in the Amphora, his lust hadn’t eased, and neither had the flame that burned under the armor, the eternal flames that consumed and offered no rest to him. But this place, this manor he had come to reside in had offered him a chance to sate the urges for blood, for the feeling of his sword sinking though flesh and bone. To see the splatter of blood and know that it was by your hands that your foe lay dying was what he yearned for. That’s what this whole thing was for after all, this whole event. To narrow down the nations that had a chance of winning against him, but of course wouldn’t. This was all for him. He was a Spartan though and through and wouldn’t lose to some immortal, not again. Rage burned through him, rage at the immortal beings that caused him to forever burn. He would find his way to get his revenge. His forever reminder was his Amphora that was his home, always in his presence. Currently it was situated on a table against the back wall of the room, forever guarded by the Spartan.
Coming out of his inner thoughts as the door opened, he watched the blond man stride into the room, determined, an inner fire burning within with hate. But he knew that would soon change. Where his mouth would have been, the fire moved into a smirk with the eyes narrowing. This was too perfect, the surprise of a century, the perfect way to get an enemy off guard. Raising his spear to point at the man, he nodded his head, his helm dipping in a greeting. The voice that emerged from the inferno was gravely, a throat scorched with smoke that has yet to heal.
“You have been found worthy to face me. Prepare for your death. Do fight, it’s been centuries since I’ve been able to stretch my bones and fill my battle hunger. At least with fighting you die with honor. ”
As those words left the Spartan’s lips, he started forward, quickly picking up his pace, spear raised into a strike position, to injure, not to kill. At least not yet. There would be time for that later when he got bored of fighting with this man.
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