Stands a Chance
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“Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead.”
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Post by Holy Roman Empire on Sept 3, 2013 21:39:38 GMT -6
He liked to imagine that his feet were actually making noise. No matter how solid Augustus became, he made no sound, even when he made a powerful, conscious effort to walk with his feet on the ground. Down the hallways he imagined that his footsteps might echo. He imagined that the footfall from his shoes would alert the people around him, and that one of them would somehow be Feli. Italy would run up to him and grab him and be able to see and hear him, and they would hug, and he'd reiterate that he'd love her forever, that he'd always loved her, that he'd loved her ever since the 900s. Maybe, instead, it would be Prussia, or Hungary, or Austria. One of them would see him, and Prussia would start the old argument on who was the little brother and who was the older brother, and Austria would play a song to express his emotions, and Hingary would drop her frying pan and bury him in her arms.
He'd been imagining those things for hundreds of years now, though, and another part of him snorted. Yeah. Right. Like that would change. More than that, as if he would find any of them in this accursed Manor! How long had he been wandering around, anyways? It had certainly been a while. It had started when Augustus followed Italy to the United State's costume party. Why he had followed Italy could be chalked up to habit, but in reality, he was hoping that he could convince him not to go. From the moment he saw the Manor, he knew it would be nothing but trouble. Now, in these endless halls full of ghosts, he knew it to be true. The hallways he could swear moved, otherwise he wouldn't be so lost! They were making him seem as bad as Austria was with directions! Or at least, he assumed Austrian could still accidentally end up in Spain trying to go to Hungary... Honestly, he had no idea how Austria had managed to do that...
He stopped in his tracks, realizing that he was crying a little. Other ghosts, some quite transparent and other much more lively, were giving him odd looks. He simply looked away. So what if he wore his heart on his sleeve from time to time! He was out of practice with hiding his emotions! He had been without someone to hide them from for a long, long time now! He missed them all so much. He could see them whenever he wanted before, even if he couldn't talk to them. Now he was unable to find them and acting like he had when... Back when,,, That's the wrong thing to think of. His years after the Thirty Year's War, after the Peace of Wesphelia, had been awful, to say the least, and the time he spent begging Austria to let him see Italy suddenly reminded him of the time he was spending now, chasing down people he wouldn't find.
There was still a chance, though, and even if it was impossible, he'd keep on searching, if only for his sweet Feli's sake!
Suddenly, he saw a door that he hadn't tried yet. He stared. Augustus doubted it was a coincidence, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, not when a few ghosts seemed to think he was committing blasphemy by both going against the Manor and acting as though gravity actually worked on him. He needed shelter from the possible attack. Therefore, he walked into the room he was given, briefly threatening the ghosts as he did, his broom briefly flickering into a sword he could never wash the guilt off of. They left him alone as he made sure the push broom remained a push broom. He much preferred it that way.
Suddenly, the smell of alcohol, beer to be precise, hit him. He looked around. He was in the doorway of a billboards room. There seemed to be some sort of bar on one side of it. There were various card games as well, but that wasn't what was important. What was important was the bar. This looked like the sort of place his brother might end up! Rushing over to the bar, he searches ridiculously for the albino, looking for everything from an annoying Teutonic Knight to the East Germany that Prussia had become. There was no luck. He had known that, really, but he had needed to check anyway. He rocked back and forth in place, barely registering that he was floating again. Gilbert... This was such a place he'd wind up.
Augustus wound up sitting on a bar stool himself, his tiny legs dangling down as his completely tangible child's body considered reaching for a drink himself. He needed it. He stopped himself only after the glass was filled. He couldn't drink it! He pushed it aside. Someone else might want it, right?
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Stands a Chance
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Jetzt ist es kalt in Berlin.
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Post by Germany on Oct 6, 2013 15:32:58 GMT -6
Ludwig had lost his patience hours ago. The manor felt like a labyrinth at times, where nothing lay where it ought to exist, and the few nations he'd run into seemed to vanish when he had his back turned. He heard growls and screams and moans, smelled dust and rot and the sharp copper odor of blood, seen shadows dart and vanish in the corner of his vision. He hadn't ever felt safe or settled or even alone, despite being effectively that. But after what felt like days wandering around the house, his anxiety and irritation had fused and hardened into genuine anger. If he had known everyone would make it out safely and unhurt, Ludwig would have burned the place to the ground in an instant.
But one thing Ludwig hadn't lost was his energy. Still determined to find a front door, or a window he could smash with his gun or a fireplace poker or something useful like that, he'd been jogging in what felt like circles, and when fatigue set in his wrath would flare up and his energy would return. Now in an unfamiliar area of the manor, he stopped at the first door he found and, grabbing the knob, threw the whole of his weight behind his shoulder and slammed himself into the door with a bang.
And he promptly hit the ground. Ludwig hadn't expected the door to actually open.
Standing hastily up and dusting himself off, he took a quick glance around the room as he shut the door much more quietly behind him. The raw anger that had been burning in his chest had dulled somewhat, muted by his success. As he surveyed the place, Ludwig saw a pool table and a poker table nearby that quickly confirmed the place as some kind of game room, and the dartboard against the wall solidified that. A well-stocked bar stood against one of the walls, and Ludwig felt a pleasant shock when the familiar smell of beer hit his nose. Beer, in a place like this? Perhaps his luck had finally turned. He could use a drink. Heading for the bar, Ludwig glanced along the wooden counter and stalled when he realized that apparently, he wasn't alone.
The ghost of a child sat perched on one of the high stools, a glass of beer at his small elbow.
A chill went through Ludwig's veins, and he mentally shook it off, almost angry with himself. He'd stopped assuming that everything he saw or heard was just a figment of his overacting imagination long ago, but honestly, what did he have to fear from this child? What did he have to fear from any ghost, for that matter? If he had to make assumptions, the boy appeared to have had the same idea as him. And upon hitting on that common desire, Ludwig realized he wanted someone to speak to. He'd been wandering around alone for far too long. Clearing his throat, just in case his noisily slamming the door open hadn't caught the child's attention, he approached the bar, taking a seat on a nearby empty stool. There was a brief moment of silence, in which Ludwig watched the ghost. Nothing seemed odd or frightening about him, although he did wear rather old-looking clothes. Ludwig could have sworn he'd seen something similar in a painting, a long long time ago.
"You're too young to be drinking that, you know."
Immediately, Ludwig realized he should have said something a little kinder -- or at least "hello" before the lecture -- but old habits died hard. He half-expected the ghost to ignore him, to not even respond, and to that end, he reached out for the beer, taking the glass and holding it under his nose. Underneath the wonderful smell of hops, an unpleasantly sour odor lingered, and Ludwig set the glass down with an unhappy sigh before pushing it away, his face a somewhat despondent scowl.
"You wouldn't want to drink that anyways. It's started to go bad."
Gottverdammt. He couldn't catch a break in his horrible place. Maybe there's other barrels, he tried to console himself, resting his elbows on the wooden counter of the bar and glaring at the rows of bottles that lined the back wall.
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Stands a Chance
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“Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead.”
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Post by Holy Roman Empire on Oct 28, 2013 7:25:50 GMT -6
The door opened with a resounding BANG!, and Augustus was greeted with the site of a stumbling man. Despite not knowing him that well, Augustus recognized him on site, mostly because looking at him was like looking in a mirror. Everything from the shape of his face to the way that he walked to the color of his eyes matched the man. It was Germany, the one who was always with Italy and the one who was Augustus's successor. Augustus's own blue eyes trailed the man as he walked through the room. Momentarily, Augustus felt somewhat guilty. All he had been thinking since getting to the Manor was that he needed to find Italy, needed to find Prussia, needed to find Austria and Hungary, needed to find Italy. Not once had he thought of the country that held the wellbeing of his former land in his hands. He should of at least thought a little about little Germany! (It was true, though, that he was bit removed from his successor. No one else would even think 'little Germany' anymore.)
When Germany commented, though, Augustus was shocked. As far as he was aware, Germany had never seen him but for once before, and that had been a long time ago, before Prussia had gotten around to telling various tales of the Holy Roman Empire for the younger nation to take heed of and to live up to! So why was he seeing Augustus now? This was something different! "You... You can see me," he whispered, the slight awe playing out in his voice. His head snapped up. Maybe, since this was Germany, Italy was close behind! Maybe, since this was Germany and Germany could see him, Italy would as well! However, after a few minutes the door still hadn't opened, and his head fell back down, disappointment radiating around him.
"You would not know where Italia Veneziano is, would you?" he asked, not terribly hopeful. (It never struck Augustus that he might have sounded a bit too formal. He had been taught to speak in formal, traditional Latin, so almost anything else felt informal to him.) "No, I do not suppose you would. He would be following you if you both knew where you were." He shook his head. He could sit down and talk for a moment, then he would go search some people down. He had a duty to Germany in a way, just as he had a duty to the land he was once bound to. Maybe Germany did know something about Italy, or maybe Prussia. He looked at Germany before speaking. "I do not entirely care that the drink is bad. I just wish I could drink it. I am in need of something strong." This was weird. He had forgotten just how ridiculously similar he and Germany looked. It was really no wonder Prussia took care of Germany, since Augustus was sure that Gilbert would have missed him terribly. Germany would have reminded Prussia of Augustus.
Oh. He should probably introduce himself. "I should introduce myself. I am Augustus Weillschmidt." He hesitated before deciding not to tell Germany his country name. He didn't want something to happen, like for Germany to recognize the name and realize that he knew who Augustus was and then not be able to see him anymore. He wondered if Italy had talked much with Germany about him. Maybe Italy had, but maybe he hadn't. From what he could tell, Italy hated mentioning Augustus, much to Augustus's pain. It made sense, though, he supposed. If Italy had died, Augustus would have felt pain every time his name was mentioned. It was painful enough being the one dead, but with things the other way around it would have been unbearable. He turned back towards the bar. "I knew your brother." He was even less hopeful on this front, but maybe Germany knew something about Prussia? It was doubtful, but he supposed there was a chance, and that was enough.
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Stands a Chance
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Post by Germany on Jan 25, 2014 23:50:21 GMT -6
To Ludwig's surprise, the little ghost boy not only turned to survey him but didn't seem in the least bit bothered by the unintentional scolding he'd employed instead of a greeting. "You... You can see me," he had murmured, eyes wide. Ludwig did a slight double-take: the ghost was speaking a language he hadn't used for decades. It took him a moment to gather the memories of that together in order to answer him properly.
"Yes, I can see you," he assured the child, "although it's not easy in this light." Honestly, if the boy hadn't been seated at the bar with a glass of beer at his elbow, Ludwig might have missed him entirely; his dark clothes faded to near invisibility against the dark furniture and walls of the room, and only his pale face and hair and eyes stood out. It was somewhat eerie, although for a ghost, he didn't seem to be too angry or upset - just sad.
"You would not know where Italia Veneziano is, would you? No, I do not suppose you would. He would be following you if you both knew where you were."
Ludwig heaved a short sigh. If only Italy were here. While he'd been searching the mansion for any sign of a familiar face, he'd seen nothing of his closest friend. Ludwig supposed that if Italy had truly gotten into trouble he'd be able to run away, but he was so used to stepping in and helping the Italian that worry ate at him that he didn't know where he'd gone. If Feliciano was injured or frightened, Ludwig couldn't do a thing. And really, he shouldn't be in this place, having a pleasant chat with a ghost, when he could be off searching. But he couldn't help the despair that clouded his thoughts: he'd been searching for ages with no pay-off. Maybe a little break would recharge his batteries, even if it involved a dead child and rancid beer.
"I haven't seen him, I'm sorry," he apologized quietly. "I've been looking for him as well." Realization struck Ludwig then, and he turned to the ghost with a confused frown on his face, "How do you know Italy? And how do you know that he follows me around?" Had this ghost been spying on them? Ludwig hadn't seen Italy once since entering this place; this boy shouldn't have known about any of their habits, but he clearly knew Italy well. Resolving to try and get more information out of this, Ludwig let the child continue talking. When he mentioned the strong drink, he once again shook his head.
"You're still too young to drink beer," he reminded him gently. Although... since the boy was clearly dead, maybe exceptions could be made. "If you're trying to get rid of troubling thoughts, focusing on something else works just as well as beer." Still, Ludwig supposed he couldn't understand what it would feel like to be cut off from things he'd once enjoyed - beer, wurst, a warm bed... he felt a little sorry for the small ghost. In a way it was both humorous and sad: a ghost trying to find Italy, and having failed to do so, turning to strong drink to quell his emotions, only to be reminded that he couldn't drink anything. Ludwig mentally slapped himself; that wasn't humorous at all, just depressing. And now that he'd been here for a while, the ghost didn't look like such a stranger. In fact, there was something weirdly familiar about him, about his face and his expression. Ludwig narrowed his eyes, trying to parse out the answer.
"I should introduce myself. I am Augustus Weillschmidt."
"Oh... pleased to meet you. I'm Ludwig Beilschmidt." The similarity in the last names struck another chord. It wasn't a common last name, and Ludwig found himself parsing through his own history, trying to pinpoint someone who'd carried it. That the little ghost had apparently known his brother gave him another decent clue.
"You know Gilbert?" he replied, sitting up just a little bit straighter. "It's a shame he's not here, he might know you too. But I haven't run into him yet either, although he came to the party here with me." If the ghost knew Gilbert but not him, then, he had to be the spirit of a nation that had disappeared long before Ludwig had existed. There were a lot of those, unfortunately.
"I hope this isn't rude of me to ask," Ludwig began slowly, "but... why are you here? You don't seem like you belong in this place, but you obviously came here for a reason." Was Italy that reason? Ludwig imagined that the brunette wouldn't take the knowledge that he'd been followed by a ghost particularly well. He'd never thought to ask Feliciano if he was afraid of ghosts, mostly because he'd never believed in ghosts up until this stupid party.
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Stands a Chance
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“Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead.”
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Post by Holy Roman Empire on Jan 27, 2014 11:22:19 GMT -6
For some reason, Germany's- well, Ludwig's, he supposed, since he might as well call him by his human name since he was given it- Ludwig's reassurance that he could, in fact, see Augustus reassured him more than it should have. It wasn't as though he didn't already know this, since, after all, Germany had spoken to him before. Rather, it was the fact that the man continued to see him even as they continued to talk, even as flickers of recognition fell across the man's face. Augustus knew that Ludwig was recognizing his own, younger reflection. Augustus had to wonder: could he have grown up to look like the man in front of him did? Would he have? The similarity was so great that it seemed highly likely, though perhaps his hair would have been a little messier or his eyes a little duller; his skin a little paler, his face more drawn out. He had never been very well during many of his years, after all, so he doubted that he would have looked so well put together as the man in front of him.
He sighed, though, as Ludwig stated that he had not seen Italy. It wasn't so much that he didn't already know this than that he wished that this wasn't true. Maybe he had seen his brother at some point? Were Ludwig and Rodriech friends? He couldn't remember, though he didn't think so. What about him and Elizabeta? He couldn't remember them knowing each other, but perhaps it was still okay to ask? The fact that he hadn't seen Italy, though, given that Italy liked to follow his... descendant (that was the right word, was it not? After all, since Augustus was a descendant of Germania, surely Ludwig was a descendant of Augustus?) around, was very, very disheartening. "Ah... I had assumed, but... Thank you despite," he said quietly. He thought for a moment on how to answer Ludwig's question. He didn't want the man to stop seeing him, but then again, that had yet to happen yet, and often it might have happened by now... He finally just said, "I knew him very well when I was younger, but it has been a long time since he could even see me." He didn't answer the second question, as it hit him that the way he had been following Italy was slightly odd, and he could tell that Ludwig was being protective at the moment. (It was oddly easy to read the man, probably because they were so closely related.)
Augustus smiled once more at Ludwig's advice. He couldn't help but wonder. It was doubtful he knew exactly how old Augustus actually was. He probably didn't even realize that he was a Nation at one point, though the look on his face suggested that it wouldn't take long for the pieces to be put together. It was a little bit nicer this way, actually, talking without the other knowing who he was. Augustus wasn't sure how he'd react- it all depended, he supposed, on what Gilbert had told him, or on what Italy had, though Gilbert had probably told more than Italy. "I'm older than I look," he said dryly. "And I am not sure if it is possible to stop thinking about some of the things I have in my head. That is good advice all the same."
And then, as he heard the nice to meet you and his own last name, his own last name in its most modern form, it all hit Augustus very suddenly. This man... This man was almost his son. No, not quite, perhaps that was not the right word, but he was sitting in front of the man who became what Augustus could have been. He was sitting in front of the man who was, almost, Augustus himself, from a different era, a different time, and he suddenly had to hold back the urge to ask him everything. How had his country been running when Augustus wasn't looking? Did he understand that nothing lasted forever, did he understand that he could at least try? Did he know that you should always, always tell the person you love everything you wanted to say, else it would be far, far too late before you could understand it? Did he know to never, ever leave the world with regrets? Did he understand that his brother loved him, no matter what he acted like? Did he know? Did he know that he held the legacy of the person in front of him? This man- this man was his own descendant, and for the first time it hit Augustus that this was why they looked so alike, and that this might be the one chance he had to tell the man everything, the boy everything, to try to stop him from making the same mistakes he had, failing to tell everyone, everyone, everyone how much he really cared, no matter how hard it was. But should he? What would change, should he just say it all? Would Ludwig take any of it seriously?
More importantly, would he still be able to talk, really talk to the man if he knew who Augustus really was?
He was so lost in this sudden revelation, this sudden realization that he could do something that mattered if he just tried a little harder, that he almost missed Ludwig's statement about Gilbert's whereabouts, though he did catch it, just barely. Augustus couldn't help but wonder: when was the last time he had told Gilbert that he cared, that he loved his brother before he died? When was the last time Ludwig had told Gilbert that he loved his brother? THey never said it enough, until you can't say it at all, and all you have left with you are the regrets and unresolved promises that tied you to the world. He hadn't thought about it in years, but the man in front of him, seeing it all- did he know?
Swallowing slightly, he murmured "Thank you." Then, quieter, so quiet that it only barely carried, so quiet that he hardly understood himself, he whispered "M- Your brother... Has he... Have you... I did not..." and yet he couldn't say it, because he suddenly felt horribly choked up by everything, his throat felt closed up and sealed away once more as tears threatened to fall. He had never learned how to deal with something like this. How did you deal with something like this?
In a way, he was relieved when Ludwig started asking questions, because that meant that he stopped asking questions of himself that he couldn't answer, or perhaps wouldn't answer. He hadn't in years even tried, just focussing on following him, watching him, waiting for the day that Italy could see him again and he could answer those questions with the person he loved. The questions Germany was asking, they were not easy questions to answer, but if he tried, he could do it. If he tried, he could probably come up with something to say, something to dodge the question again.
Except he couldn't, because for once, he needed to say what his heart told him he really needed to say.
For the fleetest of instances, if one were to look, you could see him not as a child, but as a pale, broken, cut, bloody teenager, dark shadows tracing his eyes, hair slightly messy, sword in hand, his blue eyes (the same shade as Germany's) blazing despite, because he had something to fight for. Look away, though, and it is gone once more, invisible and impossible to see. Slowly, impossibly, he met Ludwig's eyes once more.
"I want to protect him. I never stopped loving him. I never stopped... I needed to protect them, all of them, I never stopped being in love, I never stopped loving my family..." His voice grew stronger, more realized, as he spoke. "Germany... Can you promise me something? Next time you see Gilbert... Will you remind him that you love him?" His voice broke. "Will you tell him... That Holy Rome... Never stopped watching him? PLEASE! I do not want you... to make my mistakes..." His voice grew impossibly quiet once more.
"...son."
{{Don't feel any pressure to reply as quickly as I just did, but my muse put me in a headlock and made me write.}}
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Stands a Chance
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Post by Germany on Apr 14, 2014 15:54:12 GMT -6
Now that he’d realized he was talking to the ghost of a former nation, a lot of Augustus’s statements made much more sense to Ludwig. The fact that he knew Italy, for one. Despite his youthful face and at-times childish attitude, Italia Veneziano was one of the older European nations, centuries older than both himself and Gilbert. And it didn’t take a genius to parse out what the little ghost had meant when he’d spoken of a long time passing since Italy had been able to even see him. Through war — it was always through war — Augustus had vanished from the earth, but Italy had continued on. Ludwig hadn’t ever plied Italy for detailed information about his own past, namely because it had seemed invasive; his friend hadn’t often volunteered any information in turn. Now, though, he found himself wishing he’d asked at least a few more questions.
”I’m older than I look,” the tiny ghost confirmed, ”and I am not sure if it is possible to stop thinking about some of the things I have in my head. That is good advice all the same.” Ludwig gave a quick nod, understanding. He had difficulties following his own advice at times, although he certainly tried his best to. But telling others how they should be acting and thinking was a habit of his that had stubbornly refused to die.
It took Ludwig a moment to realize that a stiff, awkward silence had settled on the two of them; that the boy ghost hadn’t answered any of his questions — in fact, he seemed to be struggling to speak. Frowning, the man leaned in a little closer, shaking his head, ”I didn’t hear that, sorry.” But Augustus seemed to withdraw into himself, and his wide blue eyes had filled with anguish. Instantly, the German assumed he’d misspoke, said something innocently enough that had nonetheless cut right to the boy’s heart. Augustus hadn’t deserved that, and Ludwig hastily built an apology, but before he could even get the first word out, the ghost cut him off.
He sat very still, listening as the words of love and worry and grief filled the silence. Ludwig caught a name — Heiliges Römisches Reich — and for an instant he saw the dead empire’s age bleed through his child-like frame. In spite of his youth, his height, his wasted appearance and the dark circles ringing his eyes, Augustus spoke with the fiery voice of a commander. It wasn’t difficult to picture him leading a force of soldiers across a battlefield, calling out orders and rallying his men. But as swiftly as it had come, the moment passed: the voice of the young, sickly ghost quieted, drifting into near silence; his eyes, no longer filled with determination, had turned pleading.
”I…”
Ludwig found himself speechless, caught in an unintentional trap, and he shut his mouth hastily, struggling for an explanation. Now that he knew conclusively who the boy had been, he could call up the history he’d learned of his predecessor, all 900 unhappy years of it. And if Augustus had been following Feliciano and following Gilbert… it didn’t sound as though the ghost had been following him, or else he would have known about the two world wars and the wall that had followed. He had already made all of Augustus’s mistakes, Ludwig knew, and he had come dangerously close to non-existence as a result. His brother, on the other hand, hadn’t been so lucky, and the burden of that rested nearly entirely on his shoulders. With an inner shock, Ludwig realized that the ghost might not even know Prussia wasn’t a country anymore. But the German couldn’t bear to turn the conversation towards his own short, painful history. Augustus already looked so grief-stricken, and Ludwig didn’t know if he could bear further disappointment, especially from the man he’d just called ‘son’.
I’m not his son, he thought. His son wouldn’t have made his mistakes. But he had no time to focus on that; Augustus remained waiting for an answer. Responsibility or kindness…
”You don’t have to call me that,” Ludwig managed quietly, pulling himself together. ”Just… Ludwig is fine. And I’ll remind Gilbert. I promise.” Ludwig’s voice was low but sincere. He had been far more open with his affection since the reunification, since he learned his brother hadn’t been destroyed but had survived beyond the wall that entire time, but even now Ludwig felt guilty. Maybe it hadn’t been enough, and in this manor with so few familiar faces around, seeing his brother again would have brought him nothing but relief.
”Look, Augustus—“ Ludwig started, before pausing to collect himself a little further, ”we’re not going to find anyone sitting here and talking about—… well, why don’t you come with me? I’m looking for Gilbert and for Feliciano and the others. We could work together and you don’t need to sit here and worry.” He wasn’t sure inviting the ghost along would be a good idea, given what kind of emotional state the boy’s presence had put him in, but Ludwig knew he couldn’t linger here, and shutting the door on the shade of a nation sitting alone in a dark room was more than he could bear.
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