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Post by America on Oct 6, 2013 12:25:41 GMT -6
Whenever Alfred came across someone close to him in the house, the meeting was bittersweet. Every meeting with a close friend or family member served as an affirmation that they were doing alright. However, it also served as a reminder that they were in the manor in the first place, and therefore in constant danger. And Alfred could not necessarily protect them the way that he wanted to.
The worst part? None of them would even be in the manor if it wasn't for his so-called 'bright idea' to throw a party in a haunted manor.
How long were they even in the manor for? Time seemed to pass differently within the four walls and the surrounding area. Even if they did escape, Alfred had no idea what would wait for them outside. Would time have stood still, as if waiting for them to make their leave? Or would many years of have passed? Dwelling on these questions was better than dwelling on what might happen if they were trapped forever.
As it so often happened, Alfred stumbled upon a room that he'd had yet to come across during his stay at the manor. It looked to be an old, abandoned living room. The sheets over the furniture added a particularly eerie feeling in itself.
A chill went through Alfred, even though it wasn't that cold. He ventured over to a couch near the center of the room, his hand hovering over the white sheet covering it. In the end, Alfred opted not to remove it, instead opting to seat himself on top of the couch, white sheet and all. He glanced around the room, trying to see if there was anything that might be of use to him within it. He planned on checking it out as much as he could, as he didn't know when he might see the living room again. Hell, he couldn't even manage to stay in touch with his friends and family for long before the manor separated them, so why should he expect to be able to locate everything within the manor time and time again?
The living room. What an ominous name for a room in a house that seemed almost alive in itself.
Alfred let out a sigh, resting his head against the back of the couch. He closed his eyes, planning on resting them for only a moment or so before searching the room. His body had other plans. Alfred's breathing soon became steady and deep as he succumbed to a long-awaited slumber. As such, he failed to note the first signs of someone entering the room some time later, save for a slight twitch in his sleep.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 7, 2013 15:56:32 GMT -6
[/i] were (if indeed, if was even a ‘they’), were most likely far too pleased with their inhabitants. Any amount of perverse pleasure the spectres of the manor drew from the nations only worsened their chances of ever leaving. Why would the manor give up something so lusciously entertaining? Nations could endure suffering like none other; they died, they lived, they suffered. Hope was said to be the cruelest of Pandora’s evils because it elongated the pain caused by the other immoralities unleashed upon the world. The female nation couldn't help but to speculated upon the idea at times. While it’s true that her personal faith and sense of hopeful endurance have kept her alive and strong throughout the centuries, it was also a source of immense anguish. Living for such an agonisingly long time, even in nation standards, was wearisome. The things she'd witnessed and done amounted to a wealth of experience. And still, she endured. She lived. And she suffered. Neria had been lost in the manor for some time now, meeting nary a soul nor a monster. It was probably a waste or precious energy to even wonder why the manor had chose to toy with her for so long, almost purposefully dissuading any contact with the others. It seemed to intentionally lead her astray into many rooms with absolutely no sign of life or even the indication that someone had previously been there. What's more is the majority of the rooms held next to nothing that gave any indication that the others had been there... or why she was being led like she was. Like a creature morosely, yet deceptively gently rolling a pretty bauble between its fingers, perhaps the inhabitants of the manor had yet to decide how exactly she would provide the entertainment they so desperately craved. Regardless of what they wanted, she felt the gnawing hunger around her. A craving for something perhaps even as mundane and predictable as her blood. Neria suspected that it wanted far more than that from this group of nations. The stretch of time when this nightmare first began, however long that happened to be in a place where time itself didn't work properly, Israel refused to scream or rage against the manor that had so easily snatched her freedom. She didn’t shake her fist at them or even reach for her pistols, which she assumed would be damn near useless against supernatural entities. She watched and pressed her stubborn lips together as she wandered from room to room. The impatience crept in her like a fire, which at times caused her limbs to twitch with the desire to move into some course of impulsive action. She felt like she was being watched, a constant pair of eyes, or a multitude of eyes, wherever she turned her back, as if it had crept along at a consistent arm’s length wherever she turned. The hairs were relentlessly raised at the back of her neck. The chill raised bumps along her skin, but she still didn’t offer the satisfaction of a reaction. Dark eyes continued to search, at times tempting the distinction between a determined glance about her surroundings and a glare reserved for the elaborate prison that held them. The holsters strapped at her thighs scrapped against her skin, a reminder of how this entire affair had started with a seemingly harmless costume party... Another series of steps resounded from her heavy boots down the hallway as she happened upon an entirely unexpected room. It seemed to be just another abandoned, long forgotten area, with white sheets draped over furniture. There was no movement, not even the gentle creak and groan from the walls--the only noises that had accompanied her throughout her forced isolation. An ornate, colourful rug decorated the living room floor, muffling the heel of her boot as she stepped closer. Details from the hidden curves of the furniture to the light fixtures to the occasional mirror or painting hung along the walls absorbed her attention. Nothing that would be of any real use to her. Her wandering gaze froze; however, over an excruciatingly familiar nation strewn about the centre sofa... It couldn’t be a coincidence that this is the first nation she had practically stumbled upon. Neria wondered if the manor… or whatever seemed to have been purposefully guiding their misery… had finally made a derisive move, nudging the first piece along the chessboard. It seemed to be pointing her in a cruel direction, and for the first time in a long while, pain tightened Neria’s gaze. The corner of her lips twitched with the faint shiver of emotion as she finally reached for her pistol. Her delicate hand enclosed comfortably about the weapon as she took a familiar stance with practiced ease, turning around to face those perceived mocking eyes upon her back. There was nothing there, but Neria could imagine the presence laughing at her. She wasn’t aiming to shoot, she was communicating her cognizance without words. Any presence that didn’t show itself didn’t deserve her words. Placing the gun back into her holster, still feeling that proverbial gaze digging into the back of her skull, Neria entered the room. Inquisitive fingers trailed along the back of the covered sofa as she approached the armrest, staring down at Alfred for a moment, wondering if it really was him and not some fraught delusion created from the dredge of wishful thinking. Taking slow, lithe steps around the curve of the sofa, her fingertips lowered, trailing along the side of his knee, up the straight line of his thigh. The warmth was there, the softness of another person was there. This certainly didn’t feel like a spectre. In any case, this couldn't be an illusion, right? Neria felt herself breathe just a little easier. Though she still suspected that this little allowance of a reunion could just as quickly be turned against her, she was going to allow herself the indulgence of human contact after going so long without it. Her fingers went to his hair, carding and caressing the soft strands as her thumb slipped along the familiar contour of his cheek. Her touches were gentle, so as not to wake him. God knows how long it’s been since he’d been able to sleep properly. She certainly felt and probably was severely sleep deprived. Stifling her selfish craving for contact and speech, she also had no desire to disturb him. A broken sigh escaped Neria and her eyes softened for the first time since stepping foot within these cursed grounds. In a movement of brief resignation, Neria seated herself carefully at the edge of what free space on the sofa was left from where Alfred lay. With her back to the sleeping figure, Neria sank a little into herself, elbows resting on her knees as her chin came to lie over her knuckles. Her lower back pressed against Alfred’s side as she continued to just rest for a moment, waiting and watching to see if anything about their surroundings would change. They didn’t. Her creeping anxiety didn’t ease; however, as she wondered how long this unbroken moment would last. For now, she would play the part of a wary vigil. Straightening her posture, palms now resting over her knees, she eyed the passage leading to the hallway. Her hand reached behind her, pressing against his shoulder before moving down his arm, a small reassurance that, delusion or not, he was still there.[/ul]
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Post by America on Oct 7, 2013 16:25:24 GMT -6
The rest was much needed, and Alfred continued to doze even as Neria approached. His body tensed at the hand running along his knee and thigh, but soon relaxed. He inhaled sharply at the hand brushing his cheek, a small smile nestling onto his face at her hand running through his hair. Nevertheless, he remained asleep, though somewhere in his subconscious he registered those familiar touches and slept far less fitfully than he might have otherwise.
It wasn't until he felt a vague pressure brushing against his side that he started to stir. He opened his eyes slowly, temporarily caught off guard by his unfamiliar surroundings. This was not his home. As the last vestiges of sleep left his mind, he recalled that he'd stumbled upon this room in the manor. He also noted that someone - or something - was touching his side.
Alfred jolted as he came to realize the situation he'd put himself into. He'd fallen asleep. He'd fallen asleep, and he wasn't alone. His heart hammered in his chest until his eyes swept over the figure next to him. The strikingly familiar figure.
Please, let this be her, not some trick by the manor...
The feeling of her back against his side should have been more than enough evidence on his own, but Alfred wanted to be certain. He began to run a hand through the female nation's hair, his breath catching in his throat. Neria was here. Neria was alright.
"Neria!" He waited until she turned around before he threw his arms around her. Victories were few and far in between in the manor, but this felt like one of Alfred's largest victories since stepping foot within the manor. Neria was not only in his presence, but she appeared to be alive and well - or, at least, as well as one could reasonably expect to be in a hellhole like the manor. "You're alright! Now if you'll excuse me real quick, I gotta make up for some lost time..." He pulled away, proceeding to kiss her between her eyes before moving to give her a peck on the lips.
"Well this party didn't turn out at all like I expected." Alfred smiled wryly. This statement in itself was indicative of the situation - it usually took a lot to make Alfred admit when he made a mistake. No one, not even Alfred, could deny that they were in a terrible situation, and that he was the one that chose this particular locale for their party. A decision that might haunt him for the rest of his life, however long that might be. Supposedly this manor made them about as easy to kill as a human, though he'd heard rumors that death was not permanent...
A shudder went through Alfred. He didn't want to think about that, not when he had Neria with him.
The marks of the manor were already evident on the younger nation. Alfred still bore a few faint nicks on his forehead and on the side of his cheek from his incident on the third floor. He'd gone into a fit of hysteria and bashed his head against a window repeatedly - all for a brief chance of fresh air. "So, how's the manor been treating you?" Alfred asked with a slight chuckle, making a haphazard attempt at casual conversation with his girlfriend.
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