Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Sept 24, 2013 17:00:23 GMT -6
It came as such a surprise to Romano to find a kitchen here of all places. It really shouldn't have, as, although the manor was a haunted house, it was still only a house. It had bedrooms and bathrooms and a library, so of course it would have a kitchen! Why wouldn't it? Perhaps he was just bothered that it took him so long to find it, especially since his stomach was growling more furiously than an angry dog. Initially doubtful that there would be anything at all to eat in a kitchen this old, he was pleasantly surprised to find that he was wrong. He would have laughed if there still wasn't a chance that some little beastie was hiding in one of these cupboards. They're feeding us now? Are we their toys, or their pets? He said nothing out loud for fear of jinxing himself. For the moment, he was just grateful that he wouldn't starve to death. Oddly enough, after all the paranoia he just experienced, he was at peace here. It just felt so…homelike. Maybe, just for a little while, he could allow himself to forget where he was, push away all the fear and uncertainty, and make himself something delicious. After all, he was Italian. Nothing got between an Italian and his food. That's probably why this kitchen is here, he thought with a hint of arrogance. They knew I'd beat the crap out of them if they didn't let me eat!Digging around a little bit, he found himself a pot, a jar of tomato sauce (that was miraculously not expired), and even some pasta: spaghetti. It wasn't long before he was dancing around the kitchen, boiling hot water as he explored the spices in the cabinets and checked the fridge for cheese. It was so normal, the sound of bubbling water and silverware clacking, spoons shuffling as he closed a drawer with his hip. It's just like it was back at home…isn't it? He smiled softly, looking into the pot nostalgically. Didn't Veneziano always sing a song whenever he cooked pasta? Romano tried to remember the words, but could only recall how it went from some point in the middle– the beginning being lost to memory. "Quando guardo su verso il cielo vuoto, vedo maccheroni fluttuare lievemente…" he sang softly to himself, the sound of his own voice making him feel just a little more at home in this strange place. Just what would Veneziano think if he caught Romano singing his song? Romano raised the pitch of his voice in an attempt to mimic his brother: "Ve~ your voice is so pretty, Lovino! You should sing more often!" "You shut up, Fratello," he bit back, responding to his own imitation as he strained the pasta. "It's a stupid song. Only you would make up a song about cooking pasta and try to make it sound like sex.""But Fratello, making pasta is so romantic! Don't you think so?" Romano paused in his banter to remove the stubborn lid on the jar of tomato sauce. "Romantic, my ass! Feliciano, you and I cook pasta together every damn day!""But Lovi–" "I'll show you romantic!" Forgetting that he was talking to himself (his imitation of Veneziano was uncannily accurate), Romano scooped up a glob of sauce with the spoon he had been using to stir the spaghetti, and catapulted it over his shoulder. It sailed harmlessly through the air and splatted on the floor a few feet away. Romano turned around to stare at the minuscule mess in silence. "Ve, now you've done it, Fratello. That was perfectly good sauce!" "Yeah, sucks for you. I'm taking it out of your serving. I like tomato sauce more than you anyway…" His voice died away as he reminded himself that he was all alone. What the hell am I even doing? Talking to myself? Still, he couldn't help but admit that the one-person exchange did make him feel a little less lonely. He said nothing more as he served himself a plate of the pasta, topped with his precious marinara, and sprinkled parmesan on top. Bellisimo! It smelled delicious, but all he could do was lean over it, elbows on the counter as he poked at it half-heartedly with his fork. He looked back at the stove. There was still another serving of pasta left over. For some reason, he had subconsciously made enough for two people. I guess I'll be going back for seconds…
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Sept 27, 2013 14:27:42 GMT -6
It felt like it had been years since Antonio had seen anyone else. Of course, he knew it could possibly be just a day or two...mayhaps even just a couple hours. He could not keep up with things in this place. Granted, he normally didn’t care much for time anyway. But still, he liked the comfort of company. That in mind, it was no surprise when a smile crossed his face as he heard singing coming from somewhere down the hall. The best part about the singing? It was Italian, and that meant he would be able to see one of the Vargas brothers is he was able to find the source. This gave him a soft sense of relief: at least one of them was okay. It sounds like Lovino.... He shook his head sharply. Lovino doesn’t sing. Unless...he’s alone. Which was all too possible in this place. Perhaps it was Lovi.... "Ve~ your voice is so pretty, Lovino! You should sing more often!" "You shut up, Fratello. It's a stupid song. Only you would make up a song about cooking pasta and try to make it sound like sex."Antonio stopped short in his tracks and frowned. That couldn’t be right. The Lovino he knew would not sing in front of his brother. Walking silently–which is quite easy when barefoot–toward the door the voices were coming from he listened intently. It could just be a trick of the manor...or my imagination. Poking his head through the door a smile graced his lips. It was Lovino, all alone, talking to himself. Antonio found he had to bite back a soft chuckle, so like you niño mio...you never really are as alone as you think you are. He carefully stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the wall next to the door, smiling over at the chef, watching him make his pasta and argue with his imaginary brother. It really was quite amusing, and Antonio felt like it was just a normal day: he’d left Lovi at home, gone out with Gilbert and Francis, and come home to find the child complaining to himself and making a mess in his kitchen. It made Antonio’s heart hurt a little to think like that. Lovino was grown up now, still young, but grown up. If only he could still protect him like he did when he was little...but no. They were in a manor that was surely a portal to hell, and even Antonio was falling victim to its traps...he couldn't protect the Italian if he couldn't even protect himself.. He rubbed his shoulder, remembering when he got the gash that was carefully bandaged. Just the same, he would do all he could to protect his Lovi. The fact that Lovino was alive and safe, singing and arguing with his invisible brother made him smile deeply. At least he could watch him now...and he wouldn’t have to be concerned about him for the time being. He probably would have been content just watching the Italian fuss over everything without moving for quite some time had tomato sauce not been tossed at the non-present Italy. Antonio had enough sense to know Lovino would look over at the sauce, so he ducked to hide behind the island to remain unseen, he didn’t want the boy mad at him just now: the show wasn’t over yet. "Ve, now you've done it, Fratello. That was perfectly good sauce!" Antonio shook his head smiling. When he heard Lovino turn back around he stood back up and watched as Lovino finished his work, ended his conversation, and sat down to eat. Yet he refrained from actually consuming the food. He couldn’t really blame him. It must be strange eating alone in such a place...especially after an animated conversation with someone who just wasn’t there. He decided now was as good a time as any to make his presence know. He opened his mouth and quickly shut it again. Wasn’t his plan to try and make Lovino think he was Grandpa Rome? ‘twould be a shame to not do such at this point. He thought and mimicked the Roman’s voice when he asked, ”May I join you, Lovino?”
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 2, 2013 13:58:24 GMT -6
Romano stared at the plate before him, head hanging down. What was Veneziano doing right about now? Had he eaten? It seemed like forever since he last saw him. A fraternal concern welled up inside his heart. How could he just sit here and eat when his little brother was still out there somewhere?
I can't do anything about it, Romano insisted, twirling the spaghetti around his fork. He's out there, and I'm right here. Besides, I won't even be able to look for him on an empty stomach. He needed to eat something. He had to keep up his strength for Veneziano's sake. But oh, how he wished the doe-eyed Italian were there to share this meal with him! Romano shakily lifted the fork to his mouth to find he had lost his appetite. He dropped the utensil with a loud clatter that reverberated throughout the here-to-fore quiet room.
"May I join you, Lovino?"
The sudden voice made Romano jump, eyes wide, goosebumps forming as his heart sped and his spine tingled from fear. Instinctively, he whirled around to face the threat – and in the process, accidentally swept his dish off the counter and onto the floor where it shattered, pasta splattering across the floor in a way that unnervingly reminded the south Italian of entrails.
Wait…what was that accent? He squinted his eyes, studying the face of his intruder. It looked familiar. That outfit was familiar. The curls, the armor, the sword…
"Oh, fuck." Romano could swear his heart stopped beating, his face growing pale. "Fucking shit. I'm dead. Oh my fuck." He wanted to run away, but he couldn't force his limbs to move. Instead, he collapsed on his knees, staring up at the figure before him.
The Roman Empire. His grandfather. His very dead grandfather.
"I'm dead," he repeated over and over. "I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead – you're dead! You're fucking supposed to be dead!" He jabbed an accusing finger in Rome's direction, as if once the empire realized he was dissolved he would simply disappear.
It didn't make any sense! Why was Rome here? Veneziano was always the favorite; shouldn't Rome be with him instead? Was he even dead? He didn't look like a ghost. Had he been living in this mansion all this time? Why? Come to think of it, Romano remembered several occasions when Veneziano claimed to have been visited by Rome. Romano had always called him crazy, writing it off as some delusional way for the younger brother to cope with the loss of such a beloved figure. Had he been telling the truth all this time? If that were so, then…then…
"Why didn't you ever come to see me, dammit?!" As stupid and petty as the question sounded, Romano wasn't sure he regretted asking it. After all, this was his grandfather. All his life, Romano had wondered if the empire even knew he existed. Now there was no doubt about it: Hello, Rome. It's me, you're older grandson. You know, the one that's fucking named after you. It hurt to know that Rome was completely capable of seeing Romano for all these centuries and chose instead to ignore him just as he had in life. Or…had he…?
The red-hot glare Romano had fixed on the empire softened into a look of confusion. It may have been about fifteen hundred years since he last saw the empire, but he could have sworn Rome had brown eyes, not green. And now that he thought about it, the voice wasn't nearly so deep as he remembered (although it did still hold that idiotic giddiness shared among most of the Latin nations). Romano furrowed his brow, dragging himself back to his feet using the nearby counter for balance.
"Who…" Romano started before realization struck. Green eyes, idiotic giddiness… "Shit!" How did he not recognize that stupid grin?! He gritted his teeth, already feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment.
"Dammit, bastardo! What kind of trick was that?!"
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 19, 2013 22:42:07 GMT -6
He held his breath and earnestly tried to keep a serious face. The first thing to break the seriousness was shock. As calm and collected as he liked to portray himself, he was not expecting spaghetti to fly at his feet. Instinct took over and he jumped back away from the murderous pasta and crashed into a cabinet. Idiot, it’s just spaghetti...calm down. But it was too late. Only he would have the beautiful luck of crashing into a wine cabinet that had crystal classes hanging from it. Correction: only he would have the luck to fall into it with such force to knock the cabinet loose...because of spilled spaghetti. A choked squeak escaped his lips as he came crashing down.
As if having glasses come raining down on ones head shattering glass all over the place wasn’t enough excitement for the startled Spaniard, things got even better. Thinking back to his youth Toni remembered a time when he had sworn that alcohol made everything better. When a wine bottle came crashing down next to him and covered the floor with its contents, he decided he had been very wrong when he was younger. Looking up at the cabinet above him his eyes widened. ¡Ay mierda! He quickly hopped to his feat and steadied the cabinet again before it came crashing down with the rest of the wine. Suddenly He started softly laughing. It was in this state, covered in glass shards and wine, still chuckling, that he turned to look back at the Italian.
"Oh, fuck. Fucking shit. I'm dead. Oh my fuck."
His brow furrowed in confusion and he stopped laughing for a minute before realization struck him. Of course Lovino would think he was dead if his grandfather was present. Then he started laughing all over again, this time a little bit louder. Shaking his head in disbelief he muttered softly, ”You aren’t dead, Lovi,” but he doubted his words were heard. Walking over to the countertop he hopped up and sat on it looking down at Lovino with a wide grin. It was just too amusing to watch the brunette freaking out and repeating that he was dead. Knowing that he would pay for it later Toni just watched him with an entertained smile for the time being. His work was done, and he didn’t feel the need to speak anything more as of yet. When the boy yelled telling him that he was supposed to be dead he simply shrugged. He couldn’t trust his voice not to betray him, and Lovino’s show wouldn’t last long. He’d lived with Toni for many years and would undoubtably recognize him before too long.
"Why didn't you ever come to see me, dammit?!"
Confusion again graced the face of the Spaniard as he looked down at his friend. The words “I’ve always come to see you” almost came out of his lips before he cut it back with a sharp shake of his head. Shortly after this action he realized it probably wasn’t the best time of the Italian’s rant to simply shake his head. But it was too late now, as the fuming came to an abrupt stop and was replaced by a scrutinizingly sharp glare. Spain bit his lips and tried to look innocent.
"Who… Shit!" He could see Lovino's cheeks turning as red as the tomatoes in his garden back home, "Dammit, bastardo! What kind of trick was that?!"
Sure, he knew it would make Lovino angry and get him in trouble with the younger nation, but just the same Toni felt bad about it. He mumbled apologies under his breath and tried not to make eye contact with his friend. Fuzziness filled his brain for a minute and he completely tuned Lovino out. Then his brain cleared and he looked deep into the angry green eyes in front of him. His friend was hurt, that was plain, and it was all his fault. The entire time he’d been at the manor Antonio had wanted nothing other than to make sure Lovino was safe, and now he had scared the boy senseless. He was beside himself with guilt. With his brain still mildly fuzzy and guilt being his main focus, he didn't really think things through when he reached out and gently stroked the italian's face.
”I’m sorry, Lovi. I wasn’t thinking...I should not have scared you like that. How about...you go and eat the remaining pasta while I clean up this mess.”
He remained touching the italian’s face as he looked around and finally decided that there might be a mop and a broom somewhere in the pantry. Personally he didn’t keep his cleaning supplies with his food, but it was at least worth a shot. Still he remained there for a while longer, refusing to go away from the person he had been searching for for what seemed like forever. Suddenly he pulled his friend close in a tight hug and slid from the counter. Blinking back his tears he smiled, at least I know you’re safe.... His breathing was slightly heavy, and he didn’t want to let go. Still, he kept his grip loose enough to where the victim of his hug could break away if he wished.
”On the bright side,” he began with a shaky chuckle as he remembered the days when Lovino lived with him and he would come out in the morning to find his kitchen covered in all sorts of spilled and splattered baking supplies, ”you didn’t trash the kitchen this time...I did.”
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 28, 2013 0:26:59 GMT -6
As he looked at the mess of the wine cabinet, Romano felt a wave of relief wash over him. Yes, the sound of glass breaking was loud and unpleasant. Yes, the fear of the cabinet falling over and glass shards harming him had left his heart pumping and adrenaline running. But as much as he hated the ruckus, it meant that whoever this was – be it Spain or otherwise – had to be real. Not a phantom, not a figment of his imagination, but a real, solid person. There was also something inherently funny about someone trashing a room due to sheer clumsiness brought through surprise.
Still, he could not bring himself to smile, even as he looked up into a face he had long since been searching for. For how long? Ever since he had come to this manor, that was for sure. A warm hand caressed his cheek, and he instinctively leaned into the touch. He had been waiting to feel this touch. Only a little while ago, he would have even welcomed it– he might have even begged, given anything to feel that comforting stroke. He had been frightened, desperate for the same Spaniard who had rescued him time and time again. But now that he was in the kitchen, surrounded by familiar smells and familiar sounds, it was so much like being at home. Therefore, he was tempted to act like he was at home, angry and irritable. It felt good to be angry. It was normal, something to hold on to. Batting the hand away from his face, Romano recoiled, glaring at the Spaniard.
"I wasn't scared, dammit," he spat indignantly. "You just startled me. That's all." Then, as an afterthought: "And since when do you ever think in the first place?"
That was all he could say before he found himself wrapped in a sudden embrace. He had seen it coming. Most encounters with Spain usually ended in a hug. But just like every time before this, Romano found himself unsure of how to react. His eyes widened, and his breathing hitched before slowing to long, deep breaths. He wanted to pull away, just like he would have at home. He wanted to just break away with a sharp curse and light smack and continue his little game: nothing had changed, they were still Spain and Romano. Spain would still try to love on him, and Romano would rebuff his affections. That's how they worked, the two of them. But now…
"On the bright side, you didn't trash the kitchen this time…I did." The words were cheerful as always, but they sounded so strained. The manor did change them, didn't it? Romano couldn't just pretend it all away. He could feel it, the Spaniard's heavy emotions leaking through his arms. He muttered curses under his breath, thinking that if only Spain hadn't hugged him, maybe he could have kept up the facade. As it was, the embrace that was meant to comfort served only to make him feel more vulnerable. He shivered, then quaked. Soon his shoulders shook as he buried his face in Spain's chest, arms wrapped around him and fingers wound tightly in his cape.
Something to hold onto…
Nothing lasted in this mansion. All previous encounters with other nations were brief. Each had ended in separation. And what after that? He hadn't seen any of them since. Were they still all right? He wouldn't know. He didn't know how long he would be in Spain's company, or even if he would see his old boss again after that. If this were the last time he ever saw Spain, could he really act the same as they always have? He felt hot tears pricking his eyes and pressed his face in a little harder, stubbornly refusing to let them slide down his cheeks. He sniffed, letting out a shaky breath.
"I'm not hungry anymore," Romano snapped as soon as he was sure his voice wouldn't fail him. He didn't want to leave the Spaniard's arms, but he couldn't stay either. It made him too sentimental. He needed to find that rage he had a little while ago. Snappy comments and petty complaints were less painful to deal than affection and tender words. He brushed past his old friend and grabbed another plate from the cupboards. His eyes were still burning, and he couldn't trust his face to hide his feelings. He kept his back turned as he served himself a second helping of pasta despite his words. Stupid Antonio, he thought as he returned to his original position, poking at his food deep in thought. I was doing just fine until he showed up…damn bastard…
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Nov 12, 2013 19:37:17 GMT -6
A genuine smile stretched across Antonio’s face for the first time in a long time as he looked down at Romano who had buried himself into this hug. It had been far too long since he’d actually received a hug from his little friend. The tightness of Romano’s grasp and the deepness of his breathing warmed his heart and it raced yearning for the hug to never end. Of course he knew it would. He understood that his friend was uncomfortable with being vulnerable and affectionate, and so he expected it when he brushed past him. The tears in his eyes were also something he had expected to see; Romano cries a lot more than Antonio pretends to notice. Once he grew from a child to a young adult Tony’d stopped drying his tears because it just embarrassed him.
Contradictory words, I'm not hungry anymore, while running off and getting more food, were a specialty of the Italian, and it always made Antonio smile. Shaking his head he walked over to the pantry and looked inside. There were all sorts of canned goods, pastas, breads, and...his smile widened: flour. Flour was one of his favorite cooking supplies, he could remember when he and his friends Francis and Gilbert were young getting together and “cooking.” This mostly consisted of covering themselves in flour and chasing each other around with the sink rinser before getting in trouble and having to clean it up. He glanced over his shoulder. Romano was back to poking his food seemingly with no intention of eating it. Perfect.
Shutting the pantry door he went and picked up the broken wine bottle and took it to the sink, softly singing in Spanish as he did so. While the water ran over the broken pieces he checked the cabinet under the sink and was lucky enough to find a miniature broom and dust pan, just like his parents had kept in their kitchen. He went back over to the broken glass and cleaned it up, leaving the floor covered in wine and spaghetti. The glass shards he discarded in the trashcan before turning of the water and throwing away the larger pieces of the wasted bottle. Just to be safe he checked and made sure none of the cabinets would come loose any time soon like the wine cabinet had. With one last circle around the kitchen he found himself back at the pantry.
Before opening the door he looked back at his friend. He looked more sad than usual, and that hurt the Spaniard’s heart to see that. So, he could at least try to play with him. There were only two ways this could end: one, with Romano trying to kill him with flour, or two, Romano trying to kill him for real. Whatever the case, Antonio was willing to take his chances. Opening the door once more he pulled out the giant bag of flour and discovered there were a few more in the back of the pantry. Even better. Stepping into the pantry he stood on his toes and pulled down a pitcher from the top shelf and filled it to the brim with flour. Just on time, he came to the last verse of the song.
”Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto Me ha dado la risa y me ha dado el llanto Así yo distingo dicha de quebranto, Los dos materiales que forman mi canto, Y el canto de ustedes que es mi mismo canto, Y el canto de todos que es mi propio canto Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto”
With that, he walked up behind Romano and hid the pitcher of flour behind a vase of roses on the counter, just a couple steps away from where he was sitting. He wrapped his arms around Romano from behind, gently stroking his chest and leaned in close to whisper quietly, “mi corazón, vamos a tener un poco de diversión,” he kissed the crook of Romano’s neck playfully before moving up to gently nip his ear. The prey of his cuddling was blushing, he could feel it against his lips as he nibbled on his ear; he was also quivering with rage in Antonio’s arms. Just as he had predicted, Romano threw his arms off of him, leapt to his feet and spun around fuming at him. But Spain was ready for him, he had jumped back a few feet grabbed his loaded pitched and with a forceful thrust sent the white powder flying in the Italian’s direction, coating his curls and clothes completely in white.
It seemed like time had stopped to the Spaniard. He waited with bated breath for his friend’s retaliation to being floured. His stance was wide, and he leaned away from the Italian, prepared to run back to the pantry. The pantry would be his next location no matter what, be it for safety of for ammo he yet did not know. Hesitantly he raised his eyebrows and looked at Romano with wide shinning eyes, waiting his next move: the game had begun.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 18, 2013 0:24:25 GMT -6
Romano wound the pasta around his fork, lifting it and watching it plop back on the plate. He tried to twist his frown into a look of ire, but try as he might, all he could feel was regret. Perhaps he had been too hasty to pull away so soon. After all, who knew how long Spain had been looking for him? Romano cared more for the Spaniard's feelings than he liked to admit, and certainly didn't want to think he had hurt them. Furthermore, to have spent all that time wishing to have found the man only to waste it away because of a feeling of discomfort seemed a shame. For a fleeting moment, as Romano stuck a fork full of pasta in his mouth and slowly, pensively chewed, he thought he would turn around and hope for another hug.
The sound of glass clinking as Spain cleaned up the mess calmed Romano, assuring Spain had not left yet. Just to be sure, though, he found himself looking over his shoulder between bites, eyes scanning the floor until they fell upon the Spaniard's feet before turning back to his plate. With every second that passed between glances, he grew more anxious that his friend might just disappear, as irrational a fear it was. He was about to turn around permanently to make keeping Spain in sight easier when he heard singing. While he would normally scowl at this song – he had heard it sung many times over when Spain was idle – Romano was once again enchanted by familiarity. Just this once, he closed his eyes to enjoy it. That is, until he felt a strong pair of arms wrap around him from behind.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as Spain's hands slid up his chest, spine tingling as the words were whispered in his ear: "Mi corazón, vamos a tener un poco de diversion." Instinctively, his lips curled into a snarl, a low growl erupting in his throat as he felt his ears begin to burn from the blush that only erupted when a pair of lips met his neck. He clenched his teeth and dropped his fork with a noisy clatter, hissing at the sudden fondling and fighting the hot chills that made his body shudder. Suddenly, any desire to have anything to do with Spain evaporated into nothing.
That's enough! Wrenching himself from Spain's grasp, he whirled around and roared, "WHAT. THE FU–!" Unfortunately (or would that be "fortunately"?), that was all he managed to say before he got a face full of flour. In his surprise, he sucked in a sudden breath, along with whatever flour happened to be near his mouth. He doubled over, leaning on his knees and coughing, spitting out the powder as he glared daggers at the Spaniard. "Why is it that every time I think about being nice to you, you FUCKING RUIN IT WITH SOME SHIT LIKE THIS?!"
Spain had already jumped back, but Romano was light on his feet. Before he could even finish his outburst, he was already darting forward full force, head lowered like a bull to deliver one of his infamous headbutts to the gut. Spain was lucky he was wearing armor, or else he could expect to hear his ribs crack upon the satisfying impact.
Romano stumbled back a little. The blow had left his head reeling, but his pride forbade him the luxury of rubbing his forehead to check for a bruise. Keeping his eyes locked on Spain's, he could see the other's next move; a constantly flickering gaze toward the pantry betrayed his plan. Eager to be one step ahead of him, Romano charged forward again, only to drop to the floor and slide between the Spaniard's legs. In one fluid motion, he leapt to his feet and dashed into the pantry, immediately seeing why his former boss wanted to go there. Grabbing one of the many bags of flour, he heaved it up and threw it at Spain full force. He didn't care that the bag was unopened; it was heavy and that was all that mattered. Without even waiting for the bag to hit, he grabbed another one, preparing to repeat his action should Spain neglect to surrender.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Mar 4, 2014 2:46:31 GMT -6
Pain wasn’t a something that Spain was a stranger to, so when the small infuriated italian charged toward him and head butted him, it did send him sliding back a bit and doubling over, but it didn’t really bother him, and he laughed heartily as he stood back up straight. This gesture reminded him of when Romano had been younger and would head butt him all the time to get his way. Spain had always told himself it was how the younger nation showed that he loved him. Perhaps this wasn’t true, but Antonio rested easier believing this. Thought as his friend charged him again he was wrenched out of his short memory and he started to step out of the way, but lost his balance when instead of hitting him, Romano slid underneath him and ran toward the pantry. While trying not to step on his friend, Spain simultaneously tried to spin around to keep his eyes on his competitor, but the mixture of sauce and wine made it impossible to keep his footing stable. Constantly he would fall and catch himself, almost make it into a standing position and then start to fall all over again. The overall effect looked rather comedic.
While the Spaniard stumbled and slipped about trying to regain balance, Romano had been much more successful in his goal. As the bag of flour soared toward Tony he froze stiff. This simple rigidness probably saved him from getting sent flying across the room as a bag of flour hit him in the gut. For as he stopped struggling, he fell to the ground with a loud smack. But even as he fell, he could not escape the Italian’s missile completely, for it collided with the counter and split open sending a cloud of flour all over Antonio, and while he tried to catch breath after losing it in his fall, it became his turn to cough and hack while choking on flour.
Slowly the flour cleared away and an ominous silhouette appeared through the white clouds. It had a funny resemblance to the way a battlefield looked after a bombing, but Spain pushed that image out of his head. This was war, yes. But he and Romano would both make it out alive.
”Okay, okay. Calm down. It’s all good now.” it took Tony a while longer than it normally would have to formulate this sentence for he had to allow time for coughing in between the words. Very carefully he rose to a standing position and walked over to lean against the counter near the vase of roses. He breathed deeply and laughed a little bit, pulling a rose out of the vase and smelling it. Tossing the rose up in the air he caught it in his mouth and winked at Romano.
With that, in a very fast, fluid sequence of movements, he grabbed the vase, and ran to the mess on the floor, giving himself enough momentum to slide almost all the way to the pantry, where he trust the vase at Romano in the exact same fashion he had the pitcher of flour. Now, he knew that his opponent had the higher ground, given he had the whole pantry at his back. It was with that in mind that he threw his arms around his dear friend and smile deviously down at him, with the rose held loosely between his teeth. He knew it would get him in trouble, and he knew his Lovino would be furious, but he just couldn’t resist tilting his head just enough to lightly tap the shorter brunette’s curl with the rose.
Spain’s mom did in fact teach him not to talk with his mouth full, but he ignored this teaching as he mumbled past the stem of the rose, ”Did you miss me, Lovi?”
|
|
|
Post by EEOS on Mar 7, 2014 11:15:58 GMT -6
How does a seven-foot alien get around the Manor? With long gentle, stride of course. It had been some times since the creature had strode down the halls f his home, its prison, for it had been recovering in the belly of its master, in its cage in the Basement, for some time now recovering from injuries and regaining its tremendous strength, but now it was healthy, and as strong as ever, and was slowly on the prowl. Ever step ignited a flurry of activity in the being’s mind, which was far more superior than any earthling supercomputer, and the further it ventured down the hallway, numerous scenarios, probabilities, possibilities and calculations were analyzed in its dome of a head. The ceiling above the creatures was barely out of reach from the crown of EEOS’ head, meaning that while the alien possessed great strength and speed in its legs there would be no immediate jumping in the future. However, that did not mean that it could not still be fast, quick, and utilize the power of its long inhuman legs.
Rounding a corner, the great alien paused as new smells and sounds came into contact with its superior senses and it only took 1.34652 seconds for its mind to analyze that humans were near as well as the scents of various other substances that the pitiful creature regarded as sustenance. Simply thinking, there was a kitchen near and two humans, male, and form their stimulating hormone levels, possible mates. EEOS strode forward slowly. Unlike other creatures of the manner that would stalk, antagonize, or straightforward attack their prey, EEOS was by far more cunning, more selective, and was only advancing now because in order to maintain its strength, it itself needed sustenance and the iron enriched red liquid of humans was an adequate source to maintain the alien’s homeostasis.
The closer the alien came to the kitchen down, plans, formulas, and tactics bombarded the creature’s brain as it formulated 124 different situations in which it would enter the room. The creature’s long, thin fingers of its hands, razor sharp, flexed, ready to run one of the humans down. EEOS would only need one, preferably killing it quickly but that would risk decreasing the levels of blood, so knocking the man-creature out would be sufficient as well, before taking up the body, and retreating to a quiet area so that it may drain the body by sucking out the blood. Stopping in the shadows silently, hidden by the doorframe, EEOS’ brain analyzed the voices, distinguishing the location of each male based on frequencies, how long it took for the sound to permeate the walls, as well as the presence of wheat particles in the air as well as a member of the genus Rosa, within the family Rosaceae. The alien stood in wait, assessing the best possible moment to reveal its presence, noting change in hormones levels, the beating of the humans’ hearts, the taste f their breaths in the air.
|
|
Offline.
0 posts made.
Deleted
Deleted
|
Post by Deleted on Apr 5, 2014 13:16:29 GMT -6
There was something inherently funny about seeing his former boss rendered so helpless, stumbling and slipping all helter-skelter. He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, though he tried to fight it. After all, it shouldn't be this amusing, should it? Spain had always been there to protect and guard Romano ever since he was a child. To see Spain so easily defeated, by Romano himself no less, felt completely ironic, and just a little worrying– especially in a place where everything was trying to kill them. Nevertheless, Romano ultimately pushed these thoughts aside and allowed a low chuckle rumble in the back of his throat. After all, this was only a game. Let him play to forget where he was, if just for a moment. It was fun, it was relieving, it was…home.
A feeling of familiarity welled up in Romano's heart. This really was just like at home, wasn't it? How many mindless games had he played with the Spaniard back at home, without want or fear of anything? Nothing has changed after all, Romano tried to convince himself. I'm still going to kick this bastard's ass, just like before. No way in hell am I going to let him win! He was giddy, even grateful as his bag of flour flew through the air and hit its target with a satisfying smack. Yes, he was grateful. Spain was here, and for a little while, no matter how brief, everything was all right. Thank you, dumbass, he thought to himself, too proud to say it out loud. For the distraction…for helping me forget.
A feeling of grim satisfaction welled up in Romano's gut as the Spain was covered in flour. An eye for an eye, you son of a bitch! he thought with a smirk, making his way over as the flour cloud cleared. Spain was coughing, giving Romano a clear indication of where his opponent in this game would be…there! A flash of red. Spain found a vase of roses? He watched with mild confusion, though he scowled at Spain's wink to show he was not amused in the slightest. Oh, you think you're so fucking sexy, don't you? Hahahah, no. I'm not a damn school girl. This too was familiar, however, and Romano was glad that even here, the Spaniard didn't seem too affected if he could still flirt like he used to. It was comforting. If Spain could remain more or less unaffected, then why couldn't he?
Suddenly, without warning, Spain was running toward him, vase in hand. Startled by this sudden action, Romano stumbled back several feet, seeking cover in the pantry as an alarmed "Oh, shit!" expressed his surprise. Then came Spain, sliding with no sign of stopping, or even slowing down. Bracing himself for the impact that was no doubt coming, Romano held his arms out in front of him and turned his head aside so he didn't have to look. Roses showered the South Italian like some cliche anime opening, and he found his defensive stance dropping just long enough for him to fix Spain with something between a bewildered look and a disgusted grimace. "What the he–" was once again a curse cut short before his old friend constricted him in another tight hug. "…Get your hands off me, bastard." he grumbled into Spain's shoulder, though he made no move to pull away. That is, until the idiot touched it.
Romano never really knew what the deal was with that mysterious curl that poked out from his bangs, swirling over his head. Maybe it was a family curse, seeing as both his brothers had one. All he knew was that it was highly sensitive– in a sexual way. It was rather embarrassing, and should anyone know about it, they would no doubt exploit it. For this reason, he always skirted around the issue when asked about it, and Spain still had no idea what it did to the Italian every time he grabbed it, stroked it, or tapped it to watch it bounce to entertain his idle mind. Regardless, Romano thought he made it quite clear that he did not want the sensitive strand touched under any circumstance! Luckily, it was only a light tap, and nowhere near as rough as it could have been. More so, it was indirect, tapped with the rose rather than Spain's own hand and could easily be brushed off as an accident. Nevertheless, Romano's cheeks were tinted slightly pink as he jerked his head back to pull it away from the wandering…flower. He squirmed in Spain's grasp, sputtering and trying to shove him off. The last thing he needed was his erogenous zone played with while he was being held so close to the man who kissed his neck only minutes earlier. The thought made the blush that had been so small before erupt over the rest of his face.
"Did you miss me, Lovi?" The muffled words brought all Romano's efforts to escape to a halt. There was no going back now. It was game over. He had lost. Just push him away, Romano thought to himself, eyes fixed into a glare. Just tell him to fuck off and push him away, just like you always do. But try as he might to play along, to keep up the facade of everything being the same, all he could do was bow his head and lean his forehead against the other's shoulder. Their little game of "let's pretend" had ended, and he couldn't hide from the truth forever, no matter how painful.
"…Yes." was his broken reply, quiet and trembling. It wasn't only in answer to Spain's question at current, but for every time it had been asked in the past. He had never really given Spain a straight answer for that question, had he? Always hiding behind a grumpy mask, apathetic, never caring. But it was okay to be honest now, wasn't it? It was something he never thought he would have admitted in a million years, but here, when every minute with his former boss could be his last, Romano couldn't afford to hide his true feelings. And alone with only the company of the other to hear his single-worded confession (who knew one word could carry so much weight?), Romano found he was shameless.
Yes, I missed you. Yes, I want you here. Please don't leave.
|
|