Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on Apr 23, 2015 20:11:59 GMT -5
Suddenly and belatedly Natalya remembered that she had been barely capable of sitting up only moments ago. Her legs twisted under her in the snow and ice, thin reeds of things that were threatening to bend and shake and collapse back under her if she went on like she normally did, moving and jumping and twisting around everything. She could land and the instability of her motions could collapse her ankle beneath her, her knee could fail in trying to catch a weight that it couldn't quite support, even considering how terrifyingly small she was at the moment. But she couldn't step back. Do as you wish, but face your own consequences. The die was cast, and if she stopped moving now the action of her legs trying to break her movement would certainly collapse her. No, she had to keep going.
What was it that they called this? V1. Yes. The decision velocity. That moment when you had to decide: abort or take off. Once you got past it, there was a certain calm certainty. You would get into the air whether an engine failed or not. Past there, there was no turning back. Until there, you had to make the frightening choice to go on or stay back. Would you overrun the runway? At V1, there was no guesswork anymore. You would overrun your mark, so you take off. Yes. Natalya had reached her critical point of decision and despite everything she could not go back. Do as you wish, but face your own consequences.
Consequences. She hadn't fought a spirit in a long time and the other ghosts she managed to get to fight wouldn't do much but be distracting to General Winter. But Natalya hadn't fought a spirit in a long time because she'd been the oddly collected feral child when she was younger, and those who came into her lands and decided to meddle where they shouldn't faced consequences. Typically, the truly powerful ones did not meddle, so it was a reputation she'd earned, a reputation of driving away what came near her and permanently incapacitating what dared to harm her. There would be consequences for General Winter- but she still wasn't certain what he was. She just knew he had finally crossed the line she'd been waiting for him to cross, just waiting, so she could show him that cold steel was as effective of a cold material as the ice he so loved. Do as you wish, but face your own consequences, General.
She was sick, though, so very sick, and she wasn't certain what she could do when her legs felt more like twigs one step away from snapping. But- Do as you wish, but face your own consequences. V1. It wasn't like she had a choice.
But then things changed.
And Ivan grabbed her wrist and pulled her close and she suddenly felt dizzy, extremely dizzy. The cold bit at her skin and both of their frozen breaths touched the air, Natalya's thin and panicked, Ivan's- Ivan's was in panic too, but so much heavier than the weak attempt her lungs were making to imitate it. Her shallow, quick breathing pounded against her chest as she briefly leaned into her brother. His skin was still cold. General Winter had hurt him. She didn't let things hurt him.
(The Boy. The Boy with blonde-white hair. He looked lonely, and he was chasing a rabbit. Funny, that was how she met Boy the first time, not that she'd told him that, not even when they were much older. She'd never told Boy that she'd followed him far beyond where she normally walked, far beyond her typical forests and her typical villages, following him into the snow. She'd been chasing a rabbit too, the first time, though unlike him it had been for food, something she could hunt using a knife design that wasn't quite yet refined. But here was Boy, that strange figure she'd felt suddenly connected to, chasing another rabbit and asking it to be his friend.
She wasn't going to have Boy look so sad anymore. As the rabbit ran into the trees, she chased it and won, but not before briefly locking eyes with Boy. She decided just then that she'd stop stalking in the trees, afraid he was going to try to hurt her. Not the terribly lonely looking Boy. So she came out, holding the dead rabbit behind her back, and inspected him closely. "I'm- I'm- I'm Russia," he'd told her. For a moment, she just stared, because Boy had a name and she still didn't really know what hers was going to be. He'd said it so certainly. So the Girl met Boy and decided she'd have a name. And as he briefly looked afraid she'd leave she smiled at B- Russia. He was Russia. And as he promised to protect her, she'd promised to protect him too, because he'd looked so lost. She gave him the rabbit. They could eat it together, probably.
And, somewhere, she decided she'd have his. "...Belarus." she said, and she filled with something she didn't quite recognise. "Belarus.")
Yes. She didn't let things hurt her brother, that person she'd always felt dragged back towards, the person who'd taught her how to feel things that she'd shoved back away because she'd always, always be her sister. And sometimes, even though she was the youngest sister, she felt like an older sibling to her other siblings, who could all be so emotional. She could put it to the side, or so she said- but she'd never actually been all that good at that, either, really. She was just better at pretending, and acting on her emotions as though she had none at all. And always her siblings.
Natalya hadn't told Iryna about the spirits for some time, at first assuming other Nations could see them and then not wanting to somehow expose her siblings to the world of danger she'd lived in once. She'd more let Ivan figure it out on his own, but Iryna had always been a little better at comforting, so once, after she'd clung to her brother's arm for nearly an entire day, Iryna had surprisingly calmly pulled the truth from her. So imagine her surprise the first time she saw Ivan with General Winter. She was somewhere between furious and incredulous and scared for her little- no, her big brother.
But he'd managed to wake up.
Her shaking arm went nearly limp and she stared her brother in his purple eyes, no longer quite as glazed, no longer looking like they had frost creeping over them, destroying that light that had first attracted her to the Boy in the snow. She saw her brother.
It was so confusing, the business of having siblings and being a Nation. The line between a person and the place they represented was very thin, but it was there. And so, as he'd released her arm, it fell limp to her side.
He knew.
He knew?
That had to be wrong.
No, no, no, they were hurting each other since always, hurting each other by accident and then hurting each other through that thin, thin line between country and Nation.
(She'd slid to the ground, wondering why she wanted to be back with Toris before growling and stabbing the wall and screaming to herself and sliding to the ground again, down from her sudden burst of anger and energy. No. Was she not good enough for him? Was she not the White Rus that he'd met in the snow? Why wasn't he good enough for Ivan! Why wasn't she good enough for Ivan? Why, why- she didn't want to be Russia! No, no, no, she didn't want to be Russianized, she was Belarusian, Belarusian, but maybe if she did it would be good enough for him, good enough for him and that horrible Tsar or his, good enough for her brother? Did he hate her? What had she done wrong?
Oh God, she couldn't remember.
They were always supposed to be together, so why, why was he sitting there trying to make it impossible for her to remember her own language? Maybe- maybe if they got married, married, he'd see, she could be good enough, she really could, but she wanted to be Belarusian, she was Belarusian! Maybe he'd see. And maybe if she listened, if she just tried to be a bit more Russian, he'd let her? Maybe she'd be good enough? Maybe? But- but sometimes she couldn't remember. And she was scared. And she couldn't take it anymore. It was too cold outside for her to focus, and she just couldn't take it.)
He knew. She knew he wasn't lying. He knew, because they were Ivan and Natalya and Iryna and they hurt each other. They hurt each other. She didn't want to hurt Ivan again and she didn't want to be hurt by Ivan again and in the end she'd run. Here she was now, knife in her hands, and maybe, if the locks weren't frozen, she could run. She could stab them both and run.
She didn't move.
She stared blankly ahead and even Ivan could see it now, water practically frozen against her eyes, blinked back and ignored because she was Natalya Arlovskaya and she didn't cry.
And Ivan stepped in front of her.
And once again all she could find herself saying as she slowly sank back to her knees, her energy all expended, was "Ivan..."
Because what else was there to say?
No one hurt their family- except for themselves.
That would be what tore them apart, you know.
What was it that they called this? V1. Yes. The decision velocity. That moment when you had to decide: abort or take off. Once you got past it, there was a certain calm certainty. You would get into the air whether an engine failed or not. Past there, there was no turning back. Until there, you had to make the frightening choice to go on or stay back. Would you overrun the runway? At V1, there was no guesswork anymore. You would overrun your mark, so you take off. Yes. Natalya had reached her critical point of decision and despite everything she could not go back. Do as you wish, but face your own consequences.
Consequences. She hadn't fought a spirit in a long time and the other ghosts she managed to get to fight wouldn't do much but be distracting to General Winter. But Natalya hadn't fought a spirit in a long time because she'd been the oddly collected feral child when she was younger, and those who came into her lands and decided to meddle where they shouldn't faced consequences. Typically, the truly powerful ones did not meddle, so it was a reputation she'd earned, a reputation of driving away what came near her and permanently incapacitating what dared to harm her. There would be consequences for General Winter- but she still wasn't certain what he was. She just knew he had finally crossed the line she'd been waiting for him to cross, just waiting, so she could show him that cold steel was as effective of a cold material as the ice he so loved. Do as you wish, but face your own consequences, General.
She was sick, though, so very sick, and she wasn't certain what she could do when her legs felt more like twigs one step away from snapping. But- Do as you wish, but face your own consequences. V1. It wasn't like she had a choice.
But then things changed.
And Ivan grabbed her wrist and pulled her close and she suddenly felt dizzy, extremely dizzy. The cold bit at her skin and both of their frozen breaths touched the air, Natalya's thin and panicked, Ivan's- Ivan's was in panic too, but so much heavier than the weak attempt her lungs were making to imitate it. Her shallow, quick breathing pounded against her chest as she briefly leaned into her brother. His skin was still cold. General Winter had hurt him. She didn't let things hurt him.
(The Boy. The Boy with blonde-white hair. He looked lonely, and he was chasing a rabbit. Funny, that was how she met Boy the first time, not that she'd told him that, not even when they were much older. She'd never told Boy that she'd followed him far beyond where she normally walked, far beyond her typical forests and her typical villages, following him into the snow. She'd been chasing a rabbit too, the first time, though unlike him it had been for food, something she could hunt using a knife design that wasn't quite yet refined. But here was Boy, that strange figure she'd felt suddenly connected to, chasing another rabbit and asking it to be his friend.
She wasn't going to have Boy look so sad anymore. As the rabbit ran into the trees, she chased it and won, but not before briefly locking eyes with Boy. She decided just then that she'd stop stalking in the trees, afraid he was going to try to hurt her. Not the terribly lonely looking Boy. So she came out, holding the dead rabbit behind her back, and inspected him closely. "I'm- I'm- I'm Russia," he'd told her. For a moment, she just stared, because Boy had a name and she still didn't really know what hers was going to be. He'd said it so certainly. So the Girl met Boy and decided she'd have a name. And as he briefly looked afraid she'd leave she smiled at B- Russia. He was Russia. And as he promised to protect her, she'd promised to protect him too, because he'd looked so lost. She gave him the rabbit. They could eat it together, probably.
And, somewhere, she decided she'd have his. "...Belarus." she said, and she filled with something she didn't quite recognise. "Belarus.")
Yes. She didn't let things hurt her brother, that person she'd always felt dragged back towards, the person who'd taught her how to feel things that she'd shoved back away because she'd always, always be her sister. And sometimes, even though she was the youngest sister, she felt like an older sibling to her other siblings, who could all be so emotional. She could put it to the side, or so she said- but she'd never actually been all that good at that, either, really. She was just better at pretending, and acting on her emotions as though she had none at all. And always her siblings.
Natalya hadn't told Iryna about the spirits for some time, at first assuming other Nations could see them and then not wanting to somehow expose her siblings to the world of danger she'd lived in once. She'd more let Ivan figure it out on his own, but Iryna had always been a little better at comforting, so once, after she'd clung to her brother's arm for nearly an entire day, Iryna had surprisingly calmly pulled the truth from her. So imagine her surprise the first time she saw Ivan with General Winter. She was somewhere between furious and incredulous and scared for her little- no, her big brother.
But he'd managed to wake up.
Her shaking arm went nearly limp and she stared her brother in his purple eyes, no longer quite as glazed, no longer looking like they had frost creeping over them, destroying that light that had first attracted her to the Boy in the snow. She saw her brother.
It was so confusing, the business of having siblings and being a Nation. The line between a person and the place they represented was very thin, but it was there. And so, as he'd released her arm, it fell limp to her side.
He knew.
He knew?
That had to be wrong.
No, no, no, they were hurting each other since always, hurting each other by accident and then hurting each other through that thin, thin line between country and Nation.
(She'd slid to the ground, wondering why she wanted to be back with Toris before growling and stabbing the wall and screaming to herself and sliding to the ground again, down from her sudden burst of anger and energy. No. Was she not good enough for him? Was she not the White Rus that he'd met in the snow? Why wasn't he good enough for Ivan! Why wasn't she good enough for Ivan? Why, why- she didn't want to be Russia! No, no, no, she didn't want to be Russianized, she was Belarusian, Belarusian, but maybe if she did it would be good enough for him, good enough for him and that horrible Tsar or his, good enough for her brother? Did he hate her? What had she done wrong?
Oh God, she couldn't remember.
They were always supposed to be together, so why, why was he sitting there trying to make it impossible for her to remember her own language? Maybe- maybe if they got married, married, he'd see, she could be good enough, she really could, but she wanted to be Belarusian, she was Belarusian! Maybe he'd see. And maybe if she listened, if she just tried to be a bit more Russian, he'd let her? Maybe she'd be good enough? Maybe? But- but sometimes she couldn't remember. And she was scared. And she couldn't take it anymore. It was too cold outside for her to focus, and she just couldn't take it.)
He knew. She knew he wasn't lying. He knew, because they were Ivan and Natalya and Iryna and they hurt each other. They hurt each other. She didn't want to hurt Ivan again and she didn't want to be hurt by Ivan again and in the end she'd run. Here she was now, knife in her hands, and maybe, if the locks weren't frozen, she could run. She could stab them both and run.
She didn't move.
She stared blankly ahead and even Ivan could see it now, water practically frozen against her eyes, blinked back and ignored because she was Natalya Arlovskaya and she didn't cry.
And Ivan stepped in front of her.
And once again all she could find herself saying as she slowly sank back to her knees, her energy all expended, was "Ivan..."
Because what else was there to say?
No one hurt their family- except for themselves.
That would be what tore them apart, you know.
So I respond with an equally monolithic post! In case you were wondering what the second flashback refers to, it's her time under the Russian Empire, specifically under Nicholas I, who banned calling the area Belarusia and called it the "North-West Territory", prohibited the language in public schools, and campaigned against Belarusian publications, all in an attempt at Russification. It eventually reached a spearhead and caused a revolt known as the January Uprising, lead by a man called Konstanty Kalinowski.
