It's Been No Bed Of Roses [Escape][Kosovo] Dec 29, 2014 20:08:31 GMT -6
Post by Russia on Dec 29, 2014 20:08:31 GMT -6
The ominous trick of red words whose letters oozed along wrinkled parchment, slow and morbidly caressing... It was laughable! Ivan wondered if anyone truly had been spooked by it. Idly catching a blotch of crimson on his thumb, the Russian pictured in his harrowed mind a particular American being the most spooked by such a silly thing. (How many times has Mother Russia seen blood already?...fufufu...) The amount of times doesn't need to be said, for surely such an estimation is immeasurably high.
Not to be overly hypocritical, though, Ivan had had his fair share of menace served to him by the long-standing manor. Fruitless as blood-written messages were to him, the place had proven itself crafty when it came to terrorizing those who were trapped within -- with cold fingers it reached, plucking at memories, pinching at tempers, poking at wobbling sanity, inserting irreversible memories and thoughts into spiraling minds. In a position of power and manipulation, watching as inferior nations dawdled about... the manor liked its games and Ivan knew precisely how that felt. Respectably, the Inhabitants recycled their recreations very little -- each arrived fresh with ambiguity and surprises. Ivan wondered, too, when they would grow tired or bored of playing with everyone -- unless their decision to announce an escape for the nations was a surefire hint to that notion.
Ivan wished he were more fond of the ballroom. Its beauty seemed to have gone down the drain, tangled with memories - of his reuniting with Belarus and a false image of Anastasia - that now brought only a knot to his throat. But, as in any situation, he knew to smile; to fake it; to pretend that this place did nothing to him and to watch as others gathered to collect their respective little quests and partners. It rather ticked him off that his sisters had not been present (at least, not long enough to interact with him), but he quelled that small fuse and turned his attention to what had been set up for him. (A piece of the fence? What will we be doing with it? Fending off vampires~?) The outer grounds of the manor were not unfamiliar territory, but what was relatively new to Ivan was that his partner (dare he refer to Astrit as anything further) was a ghost!
"Little Kosovo is deat?" he had mused for good measure, his voice more pronounced once they parted ways from the other nations. The ambiance and haunting silence of the manor awaited them. "I was not aware off that. I know we haff priority now, bot I am quite curious about you." He wouldn't lie -- he hadn't thought about Astrit being here with everyone else. The Russian strolled with one hand clasped around his one and only loyal pipe, perhaps less alert than he should have been. If something were to attack them, well, it seemed he was the only one eligible to die. What good would a ghost do protecting him? (He doesn't need protection, either way. Better yet is to inquire whether he should need to protect a ghost kid.)
Still, as tired and as done as he was with the property, he indulged in its (supposedly) final expedition for him and his fellow nations. Oh, how he wanted to leave this hell behind, but he (as should everyone else) knew so very well that what the manor desired from them was fear -- the delectable kind of fear that you can see in victims' eyes; the kind that leaves their mouths ajar and spilling words of desperation. Stubborn, the Russian would try to present anything but. His voice remained expertly careless as he and Astrit ventured out to the Grounds. "Ant I wonder why this fence we most fint is so vague. Do they want big or little piece? Clean or not? Mm. The entire think shoult not be difficolt to fint, anyway."