Return Home [Belarus] [Flashback]
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Post by Russia - Ivan Braginsky on Apr 7, 2015 16:20:51 GMT -5
He could smell sterilization and elderly that seemed to taint most hospitals as he moved briskly down the hall. The nurses in the front had attempted to halt him at the door, but the sharp glare kept them quiet. He had been in his office when he heard the news of the incident in Belarus, a malfunction of a nuclear plant, causing horrid destruction in the area and thousands dead. It reminded him of the Chernobyl disaster, but at least he had been there, been there with Ukraine when it had occurred to hold and comfort her. He cared for his sisters deeply. They were the only ones in his life he could honestly say he loved with all his unmoving heart could give.
He did not understand why they hated him so. He presumed they hated him. Why else would they fight him, run from him, and push him away? He had not seen his little sister in ten years. Ten years he searched for her, tried to take her home, and yet she denied him. His ever so loyal sister….denying him. His leather gloved hand turned into a fist as the rage returned. He expected this behavior from Ukraine. Her bosses were adamantly always attempting to rip them apart, but Belarus. His little sister Natalya. Why had she fought against him? Killed his men. Destroyed his tanks. Assassinated his commanders. He had been certain when he finally came across her, he would have slashed her open from head to two and pulled out her heart to see if it still beat in her chest. Yet as he heard the news…the news of the disaster, how they had found his sister on site presumably dead…the anger washed away and an uncomfortable weight pushed into his shoulders. He had done this to his sister.
Ivan did not enjoy emotions. He liked to pretend he did not have such conflicted thoughts. Emotions only deterred logical objectives, and made a person weak, yet this war with his sister troubled him in ways he could not easily ignore.
“Move,” he spoke darkly to the guard outside her hospital room causing the man to literally jump out of the way as Ivan did not even slow in his pace. He threw opened the door and stormed in. The doctor in the room began to protest until their eyes locked. The doctor appeared nervous and quickly grabbed the nurse before leaving Ivan alone. Alone with his sister.
His sister had been flown to their best hospital in Moscow. Nations health differed greatly from those of humans, but the condition she had been in required stabilization for her to even heal properly. As his eyes finally fell upon her sleeping form, he froze.
For the briefest of moments, he saw his little sister, tiny, fast asleep, and curled up against his jacket. She would nuzzle her face into his chest and whisper, ‘Brother.’ He remembered how his arms would wrap around her in attempts to protect her from cold frost of General Winter. He would whisper soft words on how they would all be together forever, there was nothing to fear. His little sister…
His eyes felt strangely wet as he took in the burns littered across her body, the sharpness of her breath, and the frailness of her form. He finally moved forward in a rush, as if he didn’t reach her now, she might wither into dust before him. His hand reached out and brushed back her hair, as his other went to her hand on the bed. He squeezed it tightly. “Sister…why?” he choked out barely above a whisper. Why had she done this to them? Why had she ran away?! Why had she fought him?!!? His grip tightened on her hand. “Why…why did you do this?!” he shouted at her sleeping form before ripping his hands away and bringing this to his face. He rubbed them up and down trying to put his emotions in check.
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Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on Apr 7, 2015 17:46:10 GMT -5
Breathe in. Breathe out. Everything hurts and her brother hates her, but she'll probably be okay. Probably.
Breathe in, breathe out. She's a bit delirious, she's pretty certain, but there's still a fire. Maybe there's a fire? The edge of her vision's heated up and she's not quite certain that's actually the heat of flames. Did she get anyone out? Are there still people inside? Are there still bombs falling? She doesn't know.
Breathe in, breathe out. That's all she has to do. Just breathe long enough for him to find her. She's lost, she knows that much. She'd always thought this war would only end when everyone was dying or dead. Now she's on dusty ground waiting for everything to stop hurting. Everyone's dead or dying indeed. Nothing's left.
Breathe in, breathe out. Maybe her brother hates her. Maybe he doesn't care. It wasn't like she's protected much of anything, in the end. It isn't as though she'd protected anything at all.
Breathe in, breathe out. There. Someone's there. In her deletious eyes, maybe it's her brother. She wants to say she's sorry. She's not sure why, but she needs to say she's sorry. Her voice is tiny, weak, she's not sure he hears, but she doesn't really care, she'd just needed to say that somehow, just needed to say that-
Natalya Arlovskaya closes her eyes and stops breathing.
She woke up at some point while she was still on the airlift, but she's hardly awake, not really. She's not sure if it's just her imagination or not. Someone's found her at least, and for once, she's incapable of running after they had. Running. That's all she's been doing, all she's been doing is running. She'd always disliked cowards, but what exactly did that make her? What exactly did that make her, indeed? And how long had it been, nearly eighteen years of running. Just running. Her head hurts and the world spins. She wonders if she's imagining things. She blacks out again.
It's funny, actually. She doesn't remember ever feeling like this before. Everything burns but she almost can't feel anything at the same time. Is she actually awake? She's not sure. Her head hurts. Everything hurts. She absently wonders if this is enough to give her cancer. It's happened twice now, though once was many years ago. A lot of her people must be getting thyroid cancer because of it. She wonders if it's enough to give it to a Nation. Everything hurts. Her head hurts. She's not sure if she can't see because her head hurts or she just can't see. It's a white, burning pain. Everything hurts, and she wonders if she's even awake at all. She blacks out again.
She stays blacked out for a long time. She stays blacked out for a long time. It's maybe weeks, maybe months, and she wonders if she's dying for good. The ghosts are laughing at her, she thinks, or maybe just shaking their heads at the girl they've always tried to guide, shaking their heads in sadness and in wonder. For she is the one who hurts everyone she loves, for she is the one whom everyone she loves hurts. Yes. They're judging her. They'd warned her, she's fairly certain. They'd probably warned her, maybe.
And then Natalya wakes up again and she's in a hospital, and there's hee brother. Her vision is swimming but it's clear enough to know where she was. Around her, noises beep and spin and she wonders how long she's been out, how long she's been gone. She certainly died, maybe once, maybe more than once, again and again of the same thing. Her head hurts and she snaps her eyes closed again before her brother can see. The light's painful. He's saying something. He's angry. Of course he's angey, but he's angry and sad so maybe it's not to bad. He found her, after all. After so long of avoiding this, he found her, and she's not sure what to say. Everything hurts.
"Ivan," she whispers, her voice a barely-there noise. She opens her eyes again, but they're half-lidded. Everything's far too bright. She tries to say something else, but the words catch in her throat. What does she say? She wants to say she's sorry, she wants to say she hates him, she wants to say she's not sorry, she wants to say she loves him, she wants to say she's grateful, she wants to say she was free, she wants to say she was alone, she wants to hurt him, she wants to kiss him. "Ivan," she says again, not sure what else to say. "Ivan. You... you found me."
Yes. He has. Everything hurts and her head spins. "Ivan."
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Post by Russia - Ivan Braginsky on Apr 8, 2015 0:11:55 GMT -5
His brows pinched together in frustration as his gloved fingers rubbed his temples. He tried to keep his breathing steady, tried to calm the pain that incased his heart, and the anger that threatened to seep from his body. He wanted so much to strangle her and yet at the same time, all he wished was to hug her and pull her close, whisper he would be a better brother in the future. He is strong enough to protect her.
It sounds like a faint whisper, and his body freezes. He tries to listen, tries to hear if she has awoken, but is only greeted by the steady beep of the machine and hurried steps from the hallway. He slowly removes his hand from his face to see if his mind was playing tricks on him again, and there, he saw the fluttering of her eyes. His own widened uncertain what to say. It had been eighteen years since he had looked into his sister’s eyes, the longest period of time he had ever been separated from a member of his family. Even when their nations would separate in the past, they would still see one another, converse, yet she had escaped him…so many years. It was her fault. It was her stupid fault. She betrayed him. His own family. His own family did not think he was worthy of their time. His eyes darkened for a brief moment only to softened at the mention his name.
You found me.
The words lingered in the room, weighing his form, and melting his chilled heart. A smile pulled at his lips, his eyes felt wet again, and without his permission a tear slipped down his cheek. He slowly reached out and brushed a strand of her hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her skin. “Yes, I’ll always find you,” he said with certainty, as if it were fact.
He saw the expression of pain cross over her features as she said his name once more, and brotherly panic returned. He moved to the bed, taking a seat on the side. His hand took hers, and he gently rubbed it. He attempted to sooth in a similar way her knew Katyusha might if she were present. His older sister held far more talent of chasing away pains and fears. He knew he would be a poor adequate until she arrived, but his older sister had been in the European Front under the watchful eye of his Boss who still did not trust her. The last he heard, she was on a plane military plane back to Moscow to see their long lost sister until then, Ivan would do his best.
“Natalya,” her name, it felt unused on his lips for he had been only speaking of her as a nation for the past two decades. For his sister could not do this to him, could not break his heart in such a way, but the nation..
“Natalya, you will be alright,” he said sweetly a sad smile coming across his face, as his anger was currently placed at the way-side, for now. “I will always be your Big Brother, and as such, it is my responsibility to take care of you. I do not like to fail my responsibilities,” he stated, though his words were weak, his chest hurt. He did not want it to hurt. He wished his eyes would stop leaking as well, but he ignored each tear that slipped.
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Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on Apr 9, 2015 8:47:16 GMT -5
Something was different in her eyes, most in that, somehow, Natalya was just too hurt and just too tired to bother glassing them over as she normally did. She looked almost childlike in how open her expression was. It was not as open as many people might suspect, and it was not perfectly open- this was, after all, Natalya- but the traces of pain and confusion were plain and easy to read on the face of someone who didn't really have much left to lose. The odd expressiveness could be drowned away occasionally by the clear measure of pain, but for now, her face was cleanly readable. An odd and clearly out-of-place feat on the Belarusian woman.
She nodded quietly to her brother's assurances, still clearing the fog in her head. Yes. Ivan would always find her, wouldn't he? She was very tired, so perhaps that's why the words were still causing her stomach to sink slightly. She'd spent so long running from him, but he was her brother. Ivan would just find her. She should have known. But when he grabbed her hand and said her name in a way Natalya hadn't heard it in a long time, the sinking feeling stopped a little. Weakly, she attempted to squeeze his hand back. Whatever part of her still felt like stabbing her brother in the heart ceased to move in quite the same manner as he held her hand. Or at least, she decided it did. Her head hurt, and this made so much more sense for now, was so much easier if she just said it was true.
Oh. Ivan was worried. She suddenly had a powerful urge to explain. She held his hand a little tighter and tried to look him directly in the eyes. "Not... not your fault," she tried to say, her expression urgent but her words almost whispers. "Sort of your fault?" she then added, for she was still trying to think through her words and she suddenly remembered bombs. She shook her head, for that was not the point. She blankly realized that she couldn't quite remember enough Russian properly to speak that language at the moment, her words instead all being Belarusian. She tried for a moment for her brother's language, but her tongue was heavy and it did not come out of her lips. "No- not, not your fault," she tried again to explain. "You- I ran towards it, not away- you didn't know- you couldn't- you didn't know," she continued. Somewhere, her eyes, desperate for understanding, had turned pleading.
Even the part of Natalya that despised Ivan wanted for him to just, just acknowledge her words, just say he didn't know what would happen, didn't realize that the plant was operational or didn't realize the plant didn't have all of its safety features operational. Ivan may have been an enemy, but he had always been her brother, and sometimes she always had just wanted to go home. She didn't want to hear that he'd known. She wanted to hear him put the blam on her shoulders because she selfishly needed to know that, now that Ivan had found her, things could still be okay, that the nagging feeling that things had simply been broken forever was a dirty lie, despite its gravity and magnitude.
Slowly, she released her grip and sank back towards the hospital bed. Natalya realized that she was in a hospital- an actual hospital- instead of with the doctors Ivan normally had meet him in his home. That was- that was bad, she was fairly certain. Suddenly, it hit her what the lost important question had to be. "How bad?" she finally asked, because as much as she hurt it was partially because she'd been there, because she'd run towards it indeed, because she'd found herself in near-direct contact with the source of radiation. She wasn't entirely certain if she was asking "how bad am I?" or asking "how far did it spread?" or even maybe "you aren't hurt, are you?" She was, perhaps, asking all of that at once, trying to get her painful and foggy head to assess what had been going on. Her head hurt, and she wasn't certain how much she trusted the answer Ivan would give her, but she had to know something, because everything hurt and she wanted to know for how long it would stay that way before it sank down to the more manageable levels of everything hurting from only- days? weeks? she wasn't certain- before.
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Post by Russia - Ivan Braginsky on Apr 10, 2015 22:58:40 GMT -5
Gravity pushed on his shoulders and yanked on his heart as he took in her features. They were so out of place on her normally stoic and strong expression, yet written plain as the light of day was pain. It hurt to see on his baby sister who he sometimes considered stronger then himself. It hurt that after not seeing for almost two decades that this is the image which greets him. He wanted to close his eyes and reopen them to see his expressionless sister that would occasionally grace him with a few small smiles, yet no matter how much they blinked, she stayed there in front of him, weak and hurt.
Her current condition was his doing, he had caused her country pain, he had stepped into her land, killed her people, bombed their cities, used any tactical advantage to remove the rebellion. He did this to her, his own sister. He caused her this pain. He felt his own hands shaking as they held hers. He only wanted her to come home, for them to be a family. He did not want to hurt her. He did not wish for her to feel and see such horrors. It was his job to protect her. He pressed his lips firmly together, trying to control his emotions, yet tears continued to seep down.
He heard her words. He knew both of his sister’s tongues. He preferred to speak in his own, but if it made it easier he would be happy to switch, only…
Sort of…
The words caused his body to tense, as she placed part of the blame on him. It was one thing for him to blame himself, for him to feel guilt, but for her to even suggest it. His features twisted on his face, a strange smile crossing his face, it looked unstable. He heard her switch to his language, back tracking from her previous statement. He wasn’t certain if she was defending him to herself or accusing him. The weight of all of these years fighting her felt suffocating at this moment. Did his sister no longer trust him? He no longer trusted her. He cared so deeply for her, he did not want her pain, and yet he felt as if something had been broken between them. His grip on her hand became a bit too tight for comfort.
He did know what would happen with the nuclear plant. At least he knew it was a possibility, but how would he have known she was there? He suspected it, of course. Her mind buried in with her rebellion faction, but what other choice did he have? She had gave him none. “You’re right. It’s not my fault,” his voice had an edge to it, dark, not the sweet worried voice he had used moments before, “It’s yours. You left. You left, Natalya.” His grip became tighter until he physically forced himself to let go of her hand before he hurt her. His body shook with confusion of all these mix emotion. He needed to bury them, but he couldn’t. “You left me, sister! Your own brother!” he snapped and stood up. He sucked in a sharp breath as he went to pace the room, his gloved hands covering his face. “Why? Why did you make me do this?” he whispered to himself.
He tried to calm himself, taking in deep steady breaths to match the beeping of the heart monitor. He heard her other question and slowly glanced at her from underneath his fingers. He could lie to his sister, say it would be better in a few days, yet he knew she would see right through it. “It will take time sister,” he answered, time for her to heal, time for him to forgive her, time for them to become a family once more.
Time.
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Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on Apr 11, 2015 18:30:47 GMT -5
He was crying. Why was he crying? Natalya wished her head didn't hurt so much. She wasn't very good at getting people to stop crying, even if it was her brother. She was more likely to get them to start. It was just, she'd just noticed that Ivan was crying, and even the fiercely independent part of her hated seeing him like this. This was Ivan. He wasn't supposed to cry, so why was he crying? Natalya hoped she hadn't hurt him. Unbidden, her head went to To- Lithuania. The power plant- it had bordered his country too. It had- it had been near Ivan too, though. Was that why he was crying? Yes. He couldn't be crying over her, after all. No. She didn't want him to be crying over her, that was right, except it was almost nice that someone was crying over her instead of her crying over everyone else. But she didn't want him to be hurt either. He wasn't hurt, was he?
She wished her head didn't hurt so much. Maybe then she could make better sense of the instincts that were begging her to run. Not that she could. She could barely pick herself up off of her bed. She wished her head didn't hurt so much. Maybe then she could make better sense of the instincts that were telling her to latch onto her brother and never let go. Not that she could. She could barely bring herself to trust herself.
But then he went tense and something changed. He raised his voice and suddenly all of his words hurt. They were too loud, the room was too bright, and the words made her face fall in a way that she fought not to be too tired to hide. Of all of her emotions, sadness, that one was normally best hidden, well, sadness and pain, both so easy to replace with anger. And maybe there was a bit of anger there, too, anger and pain and confusion but mostly sadness as suddenly he said something that isn't what Natalya at her most vulnerable needed to hear. She practically curled into herself, trying to make her painful mind work faster, trying to sort through the way her head was suddenly spinning, spinning, trying to tell her that this was why she'd run. She wants to say she's sorry, but she needs to say she's not. She's not sure why, but she needs to say she's not.
His words hurt.
"STOP!" she tries to shout, but it doesn't work and it comes out as more of a whimper.
And then something slips from Natalya's lips that makes no sense at all. "I didn't mean to- I didn't make you- I didn't make you do anything- блядзь!" she says in her quiet not-there voice and then her eyes widen and she shakes and she curls further inwards. That final curse had barely left her lips before she snapped them shut, wishing her head didn't hurt so badly. She shouldn't have said that. No. She didn't mean that. He didn't mean that! It wasn't his fault, it was her fault but not like that, not like he was saying, why didn't she regret anything at all, she hadn't meant to say that. She vaguely remembered that he'd left her too, once, and that she hadn't always been his, and that maybe she was fighting to stand on her own like she had for very little time at all. But no, she didn't mean that, she didn't want to hurt him (but she did) and she certainly didn't want to swear at him (but she certainly did) and she looked up at him.
"No! I didn't mean- didn't mean- like that," she said, not quite able to make herself say that she didn't mean it in its entirety, but trying anyway. The worst part was that, even if her head had been just a little bit clearer and she'd been in a little less pain, she probably wouldn't be able to answer his question, not satisfactorily. Why. She'd basically let him roll over her people at first, after all. She'd originally meant to only put up a token resistance and then go home. But she'd done much more than that. It was no token resistance at this point, no token resistance at all. To this day, she didn't know why. She didn't know why she'd decided to run away when she realized that her people weren't taken, not yet. All she knew was that she had. She had- and she could not regret it.
Natalya couldn't regret anything, so he couldn't hear the closest thing to an answer she had. "Sorry," she said, though she wasn't quite certain she wanted to. She just knew she needed to. As soon as she said that, she fell backwards as suddenly the world spun in a way she didn't recognize and her entire body hurt in patches, her head ringing, ringing in her ears louder than she'd heard it ring before. She spent several moments there, her eyes closed again, trying to take in Ivan's words even though she couldn't hear her own thoughts through the sudden bursts of light and sound and fury.
It will take time, sister. Time. Did she even have time? Everyone was dead- she'd always known it would end that way, hadn't she. Did she have time at all?
"Time," she finally said, once her lips felt thoroughly back under her control and she attempted to nod in agreement. Her single word was slightly more slurred than it should have been, perhaps more than even before when she'd briefly been speaking Russian. She could hear it. Yes. She needed time. Maybe she should sleep. She was so very tired. Maybe the clock would tick by while her eyes were closed and she'd find out if she had time at all. There were sterile little ghosts around her, and they'd watch Ivan. They'd watch him if she ran out.
She held her eyes shut and slowly moved back towards her pillow. "I'm tired Ivan," she slurred out at last. "Very- very tired," she said, and it was barely a whisper. Barely a sound at all.
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Post by Russia - Ivan Braginsky on Apr 12, 2015 19:01:03 GMT -5
Ivan sometimes wondered if the spirits gave him sisters to punish him. Very few nations had siblings. Why had he been granted the opportunity of having two? There were not related by blood in the sense of a mother giving birth to multiple children, yet there was a bond and understanding that they held a connection deeper to one another. After all, when he had awoken in the snow alone, he had been so frightened and scared until Ukraine found him and comforted him. He knew instantly she was his and he was hers. It had been the same intense connection when they met Belarus. They all belong to one another, and for that reason, protected each other. They were family in the pure sense of the world.
Had he been foolish to think such a connection would last an eternity? That his sister’s tight grip in his sleeve would forever be there? Had he been a fool? The question rolled in his mind for two decades, left unanswered. How could his family break so easily?
Her soft shout broke him from his train of thought, and his eyes whipped to her form, watching her struggle. It hurt. His chest hurt. He did not like this pain. He wished it would stop. He wished his sister would stop shaking and struggling for breath. He wished she was alright, and yet at the same time, he hoped she would suffer more and feel the pain she had put him through these years. He did not have a normal heart, yet she had managed to break it.
Her explanation did little to settle his emotions. She didn’t mean to? One does not led a rebellious force against your own family unless you meant to. Her words to follow only fueled his anger like an untamed fire. He had to do what he did. It was not his choice to hurt her. She had ran away from him, from his love, from his protective arms. She had ran away and fought him. All he wanted to do was unite their family again, to bring them together, so they could be happy. She ruined it. She made it difficult.
He could feel his grip tightening against his temple until he roughly slide it through his hair, as if to gather his thoughts. His mouth formed a straight line as he paced the room. He kept silent, knowing if he were to open his lips cruel words would follow. Even as she attempted to take the words back, the anger continued to pulse through his body. It radiated in the air, an aura that would cause most nations to take a few cautious steps away.
It was her fault. She did not wish to be a part of this family. Why should he treat her as a sister? He would happily show her what occurred to those who threaten the Russian Federation. She would learn.
He paused as her weak voice echoed. It pulled at him, pulled at his guilt. He finally returned his gaze to her broken form. He saw his little sister, the one that would bury her face into his jacket and ask him to hold her. Why did the spirits punish him with siblings?
He sucked in a sharp breath before quickly closing the distance between them. He sat on the bed once more near the top. His fingers trailed along her cheek, brushing her hair out of her face, and feeling her temperature. His violet eyes filled with worry. “You should not be up, Natalya,” he whispered softly, “You need rest.”
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Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on Apr 19, 2015 11:44:08 GMT -5
He was still angry at her, Natalya thought. Her brother was still angry and her head hurt and she was angry at him quite suddenly, because why couldn't he just say that it had happened? What would he have done? If his people had been fighting her own in a similar way, would he have expected himself to just roll over? He didn't understand! He didn't understand the way that it pulled on her heart and on her chest, he didn't understand that she'd gone over injuries in the middle of the night, that for weeks she'd looked at the sky and waited for him and for other weeks she'd stab things for just looking like him, he didn't understand the confusion, the pain, and here he was presuming he could be angry.
He had no right.
But at the same time, her Big Brother was angry, Ivan was angry, and she felt guilty because her brother shouldn't ever be angry, he shouldn't be so angry and upset that he roughly pulls his hand through his hair and looks at her like he's not sure quite what to do with her, she shouldn't be hurting him, what if he'd been hit by the fallout, what if he'd been hurt, why had it taken him so long to find her, he had to understand that it wasn't entirely his fault, it couldn't be his fault that she was here, it couldn't be, she couldn't stand it-
But he was her brother, and she loved him.
She could probably be forgiven, then, for the fact that she had been swinging back and forth between wanting to shout another curse at him and trying to do something for her frustrated brother. It did not help that somewhere her ability to process everything had shut down and even her thoughts felt slow, slurred. Her entire body burned. Natalya looked up at him and said nothing because she once again found that she wasn't certain what to say, and that she wasn't certain she was physically capable of saying anything at all. She stayed laid back, staring at the ceiling. She wondered how many people knew. How many people knew how far the Demon had fallen. How many people knew at all. She hoped it was not many who really knew. She did not like weakness, and she felt weaker than she had... weaker than she had in a long time, at least. Her head hurt every time she tried to recall.
So she laid there as her brother's face changed again and she wondered if he was just as confused as she was. Natalya didn't really think so. The world was a little grey around the edges, spots in her vision, and the colors seemed to be nearly shades of brown- was that really her vision or was it all in her head? She wondered why she hurt so much. They had to have painkillers in that IV, right? But everything still burned. She needed sleep. Ivan said she needed sleep. She should sleep. She was so, so very tired. She was tired of fighting and she was tired of losing and she was tired of screaming and wondering and confusion and pain, very tired of pain, and tired of a heartache she suspected would never go away. She was tired of looking around and being unsure, she was tired of fighting her brother, she was tired of hurting, she was tired of watching her people get hurt, she was just- tired.
So when Ivan told her to rest, she simply gave a weak "Okay..." before trying to close her eyes and rest, trying to figure out what she'd do about everything later, maybe, when the world wasn't spinning quite so much. So she tried to sleep.
She doubted it would help.
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Post by Russia - Ivan Braginsky on Apr 19, 2015 22:16:33 GMT -5
He watched as she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. He normally found watching people sleep to be so calming to his soul. He often would find himself sitting outside of China’s window, staring at him with observing eyes as the man would sleep in his bed. He looked so at peace and content within his silk sheets. During the Soviet Union, he would sneak into his guests rooms and observe their sleeping patterns. Some would sleep on their stomachs, stretched out over the entire bed, other would curl into a small ball. No matter the way, they all looked so peaceful. Natalya, as he watched her hear, looked anything but peaceful. Her breathing sounded choked, her face looked pinched in pain, her body looked hot. It pained him to see his poor sister not even finding escape in sleep.
He adjusted himself on the bed, moving her head onto his lap. His fingers continued to run along her hair in soft gently touches as took in each expression that crossed her features. “I did not wish this for you, sister,” he whispered softly, “I love you.” His bottom lip shook as his heart felt heavy once more. He loved his sister so much, and he never wanted her in such pain. He could feel the threatening tears returning and he brought free hand over his face, rubbing it across. It was not his fault. It was hers. She ran away from him. She, who had once wanted to marry him to unite their people, had ran away from him.
What had changed her mind?
Nyet, he did not wish to wed his sister, that seemed wrong on far too many levels, even to Ivan, but he had never expected her feelings to shift so drastically in the other direction. Someone must have poisoned her against him, but who? Who had touched his little Natalya and pulled her away from him? He suspected a Westerner. They all were perverts. He knew from firsthand experience dealing with them. Who could it be? He sighed his head falling back on the head board, as he continued to trail his fingers along her cheek. “I am sorry I was not enough,” he said softly, not enough to protect you, not enough to deserve your love, only your hatred.
She slept for a long time, and even Ivan found himself dosing off until his Boss called. He spoke with him for a moment, ignoring his Boss’s persistence for him to come into the office. He had no plans to leave his sister side until she was well. Apparently, the rebellion in Belarus had been completely destroyed and snuffed out. They could not focus their initiative entirely on the front. It pleased him to hear the news. He only hoped his sister would finally return to him now.
Hours turned into days, and he often found himself unable to look at her anymore. Her painful sleep that he had caused. His eyes glued to the window crisped over by snow. His glove hand touched the glass in silence. He had not eaten since his arrival and denied food when offered. He had no appetite for it. Would he face such hardship with each country he took in? He did not know if his heart could feel any more pain. He did not know if he was strong enough for it.
General Winter’s elderly face appeared in the window, a sickening smile across it. Numbness can protect you. He could hear the words not spoken. They filled his form. The ghost had offered such escape before and he sometimes found him bending to it, wishing for escape as he did now. It hurt. His chest hurt far too much, anger in his skin, sadness in his heart. He did not like the emotions. He wished for them to end. He did not want to think. He only wanted to do.
“Take it away,” he begged softly, his fingers digging into the glass. He did not want it anymore. He did not want to care. He saw the ghost long boney fingers scrap against the window and Ivan found his own following them to the lock. He snapped it open, barely aware of his actions until the window burst open, flooding the room with cold abrupt wind and snow. The ghost gripped into Ivan’s jacket tightly and Ivan did not fight. He closed his eyes and leaned towards the General. The General knew best. He protected Ivan as a boy. He only needed to give himself to him. He only needed to forget and he could be numbed of such emotions again.
The General could always protect Russia.
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Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on Apr 20, 2015 10:20:25 GMT -5
She really had needed the rest. Natalya shouldn't have been conscious when Ivan first met with her, as she was still, in all technicality, in critical condition. While, as a Nation, she would heal, it takes more than even most Nations have to heal rapidly enough from nearly her fatal dose of 40 Gly to prevent heavy, heavy internal damage. It was sheer force of will that had lkept Natalya awake until she was found and sheer force of will that had caused her to awaken when Ivan first got to her hospital room. It was not, however, a case where enough internal damage had been healed. Even once she did leave the hospital she was on seizure medication and at risk of a slew of other problems that come from living after something that should kill a person in less than two days. So she did not see much as she laid in a coma. Everything was blank. Perhaps that was what Natalya needed. She could compartmentalize emotions easily, but dealing with them was another matter altogether. She wasn't in any physical state got distress, let alone the proper emotional stress. She needed the shutdown, the ability to steadily heal, unaware of the fact that Ivan sat, steadily worrying, as she failed to wake up, failed to wake up, failed to wake up. And it took time. It was nearly two weeks before Natalya would open her eyes again, and even then, perhaps she should not have. She still, at that point, was weak with very little energy or processing power, for, while outwardly she had not moved, inwardly she was struggling to get put back together, unhelped by the sorry state of her country. What happened when she did wake up- well, to explain that, it should be said that Natalya had a horrible early childhood. Before she found her siblings, she first came into awareness overwhelmed with sights and sounds that no one else could see and hear, in the middle of nowhere. So she taught herself to survive. She taught herself to shut away her ability to hear ghosts, only to turn it on when she absolutely needed it. She learned to kill before thinking of her emotions, to act before thinking, in order to prevent her own death. She learned to assess the threats of both ghosts and the living in seconds, for back then, there were many more spirits who could affect the real world around them. By the time she found her siblings, these patterns of behavior had become firmly ingrained survival instincts: compartmentalize. Assess threat. Take down the threat.When you add in the fact that Natalya had never really trusted General Winter with her brother, her reaction upon waking up should surprise no one. Natalya woke up quite suddenly in the cold, shaking uncontrollably under the weather. She woke up with a small gasp, feeling an influx of something powerful she had not felt in some time. She was delirious, unaware of her surroundings properly, unable to think things through very well. So she fell back into instincts, onto natural behavior patterns. What she saw was this: a spirit of great power, actively harming her (for she was not equipped for the deep chill that had set across the room) and, in her mind, actively harming her brother. In her shattered state of mind, she was not capable of actually recognizing the General. Subconsciously, perhaps, her mind recognized she did not trust him. She assessed the threat: high. So she acted. The room suddenly got very dark as the shaking Natalya's eyes glowed a bright, bright purple, a twinge of red somewhere hidden among the bluish shade. To even the person who could not See, the sight would have been intimidating. But to the General, who, being a spirit himself could see, the intimidating effect would have been greatly multiplied as every ghost in the room turned in tandem, facing the direction that Natalya did. Her ability to hear ghosts had opened up in that moment, and ghosts tended to drift towards her over time. There were tens of ghosts, maybe nearing hundreds- they were in a hospital, after all. Despite her shaking, Natalaya's face was darker than it even normally was. Power from the ghosts around her and the General Winter practically crackled. There was an odd silence. And then: "Leave, spirit. Do not dare harm myself or my brother. You know who I am. You are not welcome here." Her voice was a quiet whisper, but the silence was just as deafening. It was a harsh, grating Belarusian she spoke, even with the slight slurred delay that her tired brain gave her. The words held something there, something otherworldly. Natalya might not be thinking clearly, but instinct knew what mattered most. You will not harm my brother.I would like to apologize that this is not one of the threads I more owe, that was posted in longer ago, like I normally do. However, as soon as I saw this, I knew Natalaya's reaction and sort of had to write it. I'll do some Sealand posts next. |
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Post by Russia - Ivan Braginsky on Apr 21, 2015 11:37:25 GMT -5
Ivan’s relationship with General Winter held centuries of complications stemming from obsessive worshipping to outright hatred. In his youth, he remembered crying to the spirit, begging him to save him from Prussia and Poland. He promised him anything in return as his tears froze on his cheek and his form became encompassed by the spirit. He never forgot his response or the touch of his frozen beard against his cheek as he whispered in his ear. Turn the snow red.
In his fear, he had hastily agreed, granting him whatever he wished. He did not realize such request included his own people, his own blood staining the precious white, but the General held true to his words always, pushing those who wished to conquer him away. He truly hated the mean vindictive spirit, and yet could not let go of him. The spirit helped him and protected him even from the pain. He took away memories, helped him forget of oh so terrible days. Her little body in the elegant dress laying lifeless on the snow, blood leaking from her back, her cool glossed over eyes staring at him when moments before they had been smiling, asking sweetly “Where are we going, Ivan? I would love to play in the snow, but father says it’s too dangerous outside.” The gun in his shaking hand, his entire body shaking. General Winter had saved his mind, numbed the pain, faded the memory. He had never pulled the trigger. He had never stolen her away in attempts to save her only to turn and become the monster himself. They only played. Yes, they played in the sun. He taught her how to dance. She shared her drawings, and for a brief rare flicker moment Russia was happy, happy. And yet as the General faded the pain, the happiness faded as well, and all he felt was numbness.
Many considered Ivan cold during the beginning of the Soviet Union. It was only to be expected when General Winter freezes your heart.
It melts eventually, but for a few decades, Ivan is free, free from all pain.
He wanted the freedom once more. He wanted not to think of his haunting past, his troubled sisters, and his people’s fears. His poor sister. Was he truly a monster? Everything his hands touched, everything he loved, they all were hurt. He waited for the General to take it away. His eyes closed, his hands reaching out to the spirits in hopes it will end. Ivan’s mind was lost upon his own wish for freedom. He saw nothing outside of his own thoughts, felt nothing but the familiar touch of freezing cold air and power consuming around him.
The General, on the other hand, did not look pleased. His long fingers still gripped tightly into Russia’s arms, his own wisp of a cloak wrapping around the nation as if claiming it as his own. Because Russia did belong to him, not his people, or his sisters. No, Russia belonged to General Winter.
The spirits eyes narrowed on the woman who dare challenge him. He saw the ghosts haunting the room, the many eyes. He let out a chuckle that could not be heard only felt, as he spoke in a similar manner. Your brother asked for my relief. Do you dare challenge such actions? Do you dare challenge me?
The General had never been fond of Belarus or Ukraine. They brought too much warmth to Russia. Warmth did not protect Russia. Only the freezing ice did.
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Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on Apr 21, 2015 20:45:40 GMT -5
It took a few moments after Natalya had spoken for her to become conscious- no. She was already conscious, though acting on autopilot. No, it took a few moments after Natalya had first spoken for her to become even somewhat more lucid, and at that point she re-assessed the situation. It still took her hearing the General's "voice" to recognise that he was, in fact, General Winter. At that point, though, it didn't matter much. Somewhere in Belarus, a bear had awoken, and it was reading everything as a threat to its family and itself. Even now that she was lucid, she still wasn't entirely so. She was still, after all, very, very sick. No one could hurt what was hers. Only she could do that. She glared up at General Winter. She supposed that the General was not necessarily hurting Ivan, but the cold weather- she was still shaking, and it would do little to counter her fevered state. So he was definitely hurting her. He was probably hurting Ivan as well. He was hurting Ivan. And oh, Natalya hardly had any right to be protective of her sibling, especially when some small part of her wanted to stab him through that absent heart of his to see if he felt anything. She hardly had any right after she'd hurt him so, but- but he was hers, and in her fuzzy mind, that was really all that mattered. Her family was hers and they hurt each other and they pulled each other apart and they cursed each other and she was hurt and he was hurt but the moment an outsider came in, well, that was when everything changed, wasn't it? Because it was hers. Now, the General Winter claimed Ivan had asked for his assistance. Natalya wondered if he was lying, or if this was what Ivan had truly meant when he asked. Spirits could be- well, they needed to be classified. The minor ghosts of those dead with an inability to let go and those ghosts simply too afraid to move on, those ghosts that were bound to the mortal plane without power, they tended to be honest, if a bit weak-willed. They had nothing left to lose. Spirits like General Winter, though, those vengeful spirits of powerful, strong-willed people who refused to be left behind, or perhaps those spirits that stood in for Nature, a powerful, neutral, unfathomable sort of entity, those spirits who could affect the world, they were another matter altogether. The thing was with greater Spirits, you see, they too, didn't lie, it wasn't in their nature- but they rarely told the whole truth. Everything they did had a cost both for them and whomever they did it for, everything could have a painful cost or a small one, really, depending on the spirit in question. They did not always do things in quite the way one would think they would, and sometimes a wish granted was a horrible thing, a terrible burden, a death knoll. And those were just the spirits that were not openly malevolent. Sometimes, spirits that could affect the natural world were simply vicious, forces of destruction, though inevitably, due to the laws they were bound by, some good had to come out of their actions. It just rarely took the kindest of forms. So when Natalya was younger, she learned to kill the dead. And it had been a long time since she'd done so, a long time since she'd had to, for the world was no longer ready for such great spirits of Nature and those most powerful souls so often found themselves more powerful to move on than to stay anchored by the rigid laws that forced spirits into balance. Still, it was the eyes of someone who knew exactly what they were doing, the eyes of someone who remained unafraid despite her return to lucidity, that looked up at General Winter. She looked at him with an eerie sort of expression, despite her trembling. And even though she couldn't run and she certainly wasn't quite ready to fight, she wasn't afraid. "You know that I haven't dealt with you yet because you are Ivan's," she said by way of answer. "You protected him at some points. But you also hurt him. You know that I do not tolerate your kind in my lands and you know how I deal with those who hurt mine." She cocked her head. "Or do I need to remind you?"She turned to one of the other ghosts that surrounded her. She looked just a little bit shocked at being directly addressed, but Natalya didn't particularly care about that. Attempting to still appear completely calm and collected despite the way her limbs felt numb, she leaned back a little bit and quietly hissed "Find my knives." Thus dispatched, Natalya hoped she didn't have to wait too long. She wished Ivan had left her knives in the room, but of course he didn't, or at least, she assumed he didn't. For all Ivan knew, Natalya would still be a completely hostile threat when she woke up. But now that she had an actual threat in front of her, well, she found that she quite needed the weapons. "You will give Ivan back now, yes?" And even as she said those words, she could feel the small burst of adrenaline that had started this waning and felt the powerful headache beginning to come back. This had to come to a head quickly, or she wasn't quite certain what would happen. She would almost certainly lose her composure again- but also possibly her ability to fight at all. You have given me an excuse to ramble on about Natalya's ghost stuff this is great. But also, sorry if it's too much of an infodump-y thing. |
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Post by Russia - Ivan Braginsky on Apr 22, 2015 13:05:04 GMT -5
Wind rushed through the room, blowing blankets up, shaking the monitors, and knocking over the IV. Snow poured in through the window, layering the floor and stretching further into the room. The temperature in the room dropped dramatically to freezing temperatures.
General Winter gave her a sickening smile as his fingers trailed to Russia’s shoulder. He turned the nation around to face her, as his large form sank lower into the room. Russia stood motionless before his sister’s view. His violet eyes numb of color and life. His skin turning paler as the cold seemed to be consuming him. The ends of his hair already frozen. He looked lost to this world. General Winter’s hands ran down the nation’s chest, his hands gripping tightly and keeping the boy close to him.
You accuse me of hurting him, but it is you who cause him pain, his voice dark as his hands moved up to his chest to his heart. He tapped the boy’s chest, and Russia’s heart fell out into the General’s hand. He held it out for her sight. The heart bloody in his cold hands. It looked unmoving, but if taking a closer look, every thirty second it would beat slightly in his hand. You caused such pain, he noted to the beat in his heart, not I!
The General’s eyes glared in anger as she asked for her knives. The wind attacked the room around him in full force. His entire form grew larger until his head reached the ceiling. You threaten me! The floor started to freeze over, the sound of ice cracking with each inch it closed closer to the woman. General Winter had walked this earth far longer than the nations themselves. To think this girl thought she could challenge him. The ice crawled up on the bed.
Russia is ruled by General Winter!
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Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on Apr 22, 2015 22:52:31 GMT -5
She'd faced a true spirit of Nature once, Natalya suddenly remembered as the IV line suddenly tore out of her arm, leaving her cold, very cold, and in pain where the needle had been roughly removed from her arm. That time, she realized, she had been afraid, truly afraid. Not the sort of awakening, guiding fear she'd felt as a child, facing another enemy around each tree she ran, and not the same sort of battle-ready sensation she now felt facing General Winter, who she hadn't quite figured out how to categorize, the frozen creature he was.
No, it was the fear that came from accidentally witnessing something unfathomable, something impossible, the sudden sensation that she had been judged, judged, and found unworthy, the oppressive feeling that, if it had so desired, it could have buried her landlocked country in the sea, it could have reduced herself and her lands to dust and sand, it could have lifted all of the poison of the earth to the surface and only did not because of balance, and because the great being saw her as a small, insolent, insignificant being in the scheme of things, unworthy of gracing its attentions to. She'd watched it vanish and, shaking, returned to her brother's side, clinging to his arm like it was a lifeline, never quite so grateful that no one else could see what she could. She would have wondered if she imagined it- she never could quite remember what it had looked like, as though it had looked like nothing at all. But the feeling of sudden judgement, it had made her question herself. She no longer did so, if she could help it, but sometimes-
General Winter wasn't that, so forgive Natalya if, despite the shaking and the cold and her weak state, she wasn't quite as afraid as the General seemed to want her to be.
Not that Natalya was truly afraid of much. Besides, the General Winter was a spirit, and spirits followed rules. The more human they once were (the more human they might have ever been), the less those rules could apply, true. The weaker shades of the dead barely felt the impact, as far as she could tell. But the stronger a spirit was, the more rigidly it fell into a lock-step balance. She just had to find it, and that was the key. Natalya had never known how to categorize General Winter. She never could quite tell if he was a particularly strong-willed human or an actual spirit born of nature. Either way, he was very powerful, and clearly possessive over her brother in some way, if she could only figure out why. Nature spirits had a tendency to simply not care and to only follow out their words and deals to the closest distance that fulfilled them given, often causing destruction to whomever had asked them to do so, true, but not quite in the way the General did. At the same time, though, he was quite powerful.
And perhaps these things didn't categorize so neatly once one started observing them. They rarely had, but she suddenly stopped thinking about that at all when she saw the frozen lips and dull eyes of her brother, and Natalya didn't care. She practically growled from where she was shaking, refusing to believe the General for the time being (except he couldn't really be lying, could he?) because she couldn't quite say that was her fault and when he pulled out the heart there was something on her face, something that maybe even Ivan wouldn't have recognized. Something Ivan wouldn't have recognized because the General had managed to do something that he shouldn't have, do something that he shouldn't have so very suddenly.
Iryna, though- she would have been able to tell that Natalya was very, very close to crying.
"Ivan," she said, not quite addressing the bigger threat for the moment and simply begging, "Ivan, wake up, Ivan, I'm sorry, Ivan, wake up, Ivan. I'm sorry, because I hurt you, but I need you to wake up, Ivan, yes I did hurt you, YES! Yes, I hurt you but I need you to wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up!" Something about the way Natalya was shaking changed, something changed from a weakness in the nervous system and a coldness in the air to a more internal sort of quiver. "Ivan, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was scared because you've hurt me too but I don't have time I need you to wake up-"
And then a ghost brought a knife that she could somehow carry, and while that ghost looked at the knife almost reverently, Natalya just snatched it immediately into her hand. Despite her near inability to sit up, she easily held the knife and looked much more dangerous and felt much, much more confident. It was practically an extension of her arm, really. She stopped trying to get through to Ivan and internally shored herself up and prayed that Ivan would have heard her words but she was completely and totally out of time. As ice suddenly crept through the room and the General was much bigger, Natalya was left with a key question: what was he? If she couldn't at least figure out what sort of request Ivan had made of him, then, in the state she was in, she wouldn't be able to fight well at all. But if she could-
She didn't have time.
She didn't have time to guess why General Winter thought this was twisted protection, she didn't have time to figure out why he was hurting her brother, she didn't have time so she decided the moment of fear she'd held for her brother- it had never been fear of General Winter, for she'd seen greater things and truer fears- she would erase it, bury it for later under the veneer of a perfect ice queen. Natalya rolled out of the bed and onto unsteady feet, her arm still hurting from the yanked-out IV. She was somewhat glad for it, though. It gave her a wider ability of free motion. She'd need that, even if she felt like her legs were about to collapse from under her.
Yes. She could ignore the emotions for just a moment, other than a burning rage at the spirit who dared to remain in front of her like he was, the spirit who dared to hold her brother's heart in his hands like it was his to hold in the first place.
Looking for all the world like a young demon, she simply looked him in the eye and said "Wrong answer." And then she looked for a moment behind her and said "No quarter." And then she slid the knife rightfully into her hand and watched as some ghosts fled but others suddenly braced to fight and an almost-voice in the room came to being. It wasn't a real voice and it wasn't heard but felt. It was simply an aura. Do what you will, but face your own consequences.
And okay. She would have to do that.
Even if it hurt.
She charged.
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Post by Russia - Ivan Braginsky on Apr 23, 2015 1:16:46 GMT -5
His small boots crutched through the snow, his tattered coat pulled tightly unable to hide his expose neck from the chill of the frost. His hands rubbed his arms with each step he took through the multiple trees of the forest. The snow continued to fall silently. So much silence. He paused in his movements and shuttered. He looked around the extremely tall trees, trying to find anything, any sign of life. White. White everywhere. He bottom lip pouted out. He was so alone. He had always been alone. He fell to his knees and shivered again in the cold. Alone and cold. He was about to curl into the snow when a small rabbit popped up, wiggling it’s nose and whiskers at Ivan’s small form. A large smile spread across his face. “ Will you be my friend?” he asked sweetly to the animal, hoping for any interaction, desperate for friends. The rabbit looked at him a moment longer and then bolted off into the snow. Ivan stumbled to get off, chasing after it. “ Wait! Wait! Please wait!” he called out, running as fast his legs might allow, “ Please!! I don’t want to be alone!!!” He started to panic as the bunny disappeared in the trees, tears threatening in his eyes, “ Please..please..I…” He panted slowly coming to a stop. He bottom lip shook as the quiet snow once surrounded him. He closed his eyes and whined. He just didn’t want to be alone. He took a deep calming breath and opened them once more. He needed to keep moving. As his eyes open, they locked onto to intense blue eyes. He stared at them in shock before he blinked and they disappeared. “Hello?” he asked nervously taking a step forward. He kept his eyes focused on the spot for a long time, expecting something, yet no sounds. “ Hel..” he paused as a small girl walked out from behind the tree. She looked so small and thin, obviously frozen too from the cold winter. He automatically felt attached to her. He wanted to take off his coat and wrap it around this innocent little girl to make certain she stayed warm. “ Hi,” he said sweetly with a smile, trying not to frighten her away. She could be his friend. They could be alone together. “I’m…I’m…Russia,” he said nervously. Words sounded so unfamiliar on his lips. She didn’t say a word to him, maybe she was scared. He took another cautious step forward. “ You can call me Ivan,” he answered a bit more confidently, “ Are you alone too? We can stay together. I’ll protect you!” He said with hope and determination. The girl nodded at him, and he caught sight of a small smile. Yes, she must have only been scared. They could together and be best friends. Russia would make certain she was safe, always safe. The small girl hand pulled out from behind her back, and she dropped a dead rabbit between them. “ Eh….” he started, as he struggled in her tight grip, “ Natalya, can’t…breathe..” He was older now. Iryna watched them with a teasing giggle as Ivan squirmed in Natalya’s hug of death. He glanced down at his younger sister, who only seemed to hold tighter onto him. He struggled for breath and looked for an escape. If he could only find something to pry her off. His thoughts paused as he felt her body shutter against him. He looked down at her, his baby sister. She was cold. How had he not noticed? “ I told you I would keep you safe, even from winter’s grasp,” he smiled at her and wrapped his arms around her cold form, hoping to warm her body against his own. A moment later, Iryna’s arms wrapped around both of them. He shook his arm, as he kept glancing back at the forces coming from the South. His sister’s scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck. His violet eyes connected with his younger sister’s. “ Go,” he tried to forcefully pry her fingers off as Iryna yanked from Natalya’s waist. They were still so small, so weak. Ivan glanced back and saw the horses coming, the flag, the laughing Mongolian Empire on his way. He felt his blood racing as he looked back down as his sister, his little baby sister. She would always be his. He had to protect her. He had to protect them. It was his job. He placed on his best smile, a true smile and touched her cheek, rubbing his thumb underneath her eye. “ I promised when we first met I would protect you, let me do so,” he said softly, placing a soft kiss on her forehead, “Let me do so.” He pulled away, his eyes locked to hers as he felt her fingers finally loosen from his sleeve. He smiled at them as he watched his older sister pull them away to safety before turning to face his enemy. He saw her in the battlefield, still fierce and destructive; the blood of Nazi’s spilling across the snow. It did not take a genius to see her exhaustion, her tired expression, her country on the verge of falling. Another fell, and she stood there staring at the ground. He walked up behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “ Rest sister,” he spoke, turning to her with a smile, “ I am here now. Let me be your strength.” He nodded with a demand for her to stand down. He would drive back the Germans. He would protect his family and friends. They need not worry. The phone slammed against the receiver as he paced in his office. He could feel the world falling apart around him. The boy. The boy had placed nuclear weapons in Turkey and now accused him of war for sending similar weapons to Cuba. Why would he allow himself to be weak? Why would he allow such vulnerability? The boy could send a missile his direction before he could even give word to fire. Turkey…it was right on his border. It was only fair. Fair. Ivan was only being fair. “Brother?” her voice pulled him back, and he looked at her with panic paranoid eyes, but as he took in her blue ones, he felt his rate slowly calm. “ It’s alright. I won’t let anyone get hurt,” he gave her a small smile, “I have to protect my family after all.” He sighed and picked up the phone again to work with America. “Russia,” a voice snapped, “Ivan. Snap out of it.” Ivan looked up at Putin irritated features with a confused expression, “ Yes?” The man smiled at him when he received a response and pointed to the map. “It’s necessary. The nuclear plant is unstable where the traitors and rebels are located. It is the quickest way to end such pointless warfare. You understand, yes?” his Boss asked. Ivan’s eyes turned to the map. A pain in his chest. “ She is there,” he spoke softly. He heard his Boss sigh and walk around the table to him. He felt his hands land on his shoulder, squeezing them in support. “You must destroy this traitorous spirit. You must protect her from herself,” he spoke softly, “Are we agreed?” Ivan’s eyes never left the map. I’ll protect you.
I would keep you safe.
I promised I would protect you.
Let me be your strength.
I have to protect my family.“ Yes…do it,” he spoke barely above a whisper. What had he done? What had he done to his own little sister? It was her fault. Yes, it was her fault. She made him do it. He didn’t want to hurt her. Why couldn’t she have come home? Why couldn’t she allowed him to be her big brother? He would stand in front of a bullet for her. He would die for her. Why had she ran? Wake up…
No, he didn’t want to. He wanted to forget. Had his words meant nothing? Did he not mean them? Or did she not believe them? He would have given her the world if it kept his family safe. Why…why hadn’t he forgotten? Why? He wanted to forget. Wake up, Ivan. What was the point? Each nation he took, they fought him. They fought against him. He only wanted what was best. He didn’t want to hurt them, but they made him do it. He had to. How else could he keep them safe? He needed to keep going. Keep taking them in his home where he could protect them, but he couldn’t with this pain. He needed the pain to go away. I’m sorry…I’m sorry…Sorry? She was sorry…why was she sorry? No, it was his fault. No, it was hers. She was sorry…. I need you to wake up.He felt a jolt in him. His sister needed him. His sister needed him, and he had promised. His eyes fluttered opened suddenly coming back to life. His violet eyes came to focus and glanced around quickly. Hospital. Snow. Ice. Wind. General Winter. Belarus. Oh no, Natalya! His eyes widened as he saw his too sick sister coming towards him, or rather the large presence behind him. No, Natalya. No! She did not know what she was fighting against…in her state. No! She would get herself killed! He bolted forward, catching her wrist in the air as the other wrapped around her waist, taking the force of her movement and halting her in her place before she could attack. It almost looked like he was hugging her and in some way he was, he was holding his sister tightly to him, his finger tight on her wrist and gown, the same tight grip she often clung to him. His breathing was heavy, his mind in a panic, but as he heard or felt a dark chuckle from behind him, he knew he had stopped her from making the worse decision. Russia, no need to interfere. I am helping with your problem. The old General’s voice shuttered through his form. He did not need to turn around to know the spirit wore a smug expression. “ Natalya,” he spoke softly against her hair, ignoring the spirit, “ I’m sorry. I…I only wanted to protect you. I’m sorry…I knew.” He stayed silent, letting those horrible two words sink in. He slowly let go of her wrist, knowing he might be stabbed in the process. He pulled back and looked into her eyes with a sad smile, “ I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I won’t lose you…when I’ve only just found you again.” He then turned around, the emotional pain still consumed him, consumed his mind, his thoughts, but that came second. He stood in front of Natalya and faced General Winter, the large spirit who truly enjoyed tormenting him. “ No one touches my family,” he spoke coldly, his eye becoming dark, “ I gave my word to keep them safe. You may leave.” Totally wrote a novel! XD And skipped the line again. But read your post and there was so much feels that I had to write. So now that it's 2 hours past my bed time. Time for sleep! |
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do not forget me
About thirty years ago, Israel's boss was assasinated. By who, well, no one knows, but Israel immediately blamed Iran. Of course, that alone wouldn't have started World War III, even though Israel and Iran's various allies declared war in quick succession.
Nah, the nuclear bomb in the middle of Jerusalem probably did it.
Now? Now the rest is history. The world's been at war for thirty years, thirty years of bloodshed and pain. No one else has reached for the nuclear option quite yet, but no one's happy. So if we all die- well, do not forget me, okay?
updates
10/15/2020 Do Not Forget Me: a dark hetalia RPG is re-opened!
credits
Do Not Forget Me was created by Waffles and Jonathan and amazing layout and coding is thanks to SO-4 . Content is copyrighted to Do Not Forget Me unless otherwise stated. The skin is created by Wolf of Gangnam Style. The board and thread remodel is by Kagney The mini-profile remodel is by Trinity Blair of Adoxography. Thanks!
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