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Post by Deleted on Apr 24, 2015 0:31:05 GMT -5
He’d gotten up too fast. Toris clenched his knuckles atop the stove and tried to breathe as his vision swam and made the numbers on the stovetop clock blurry. His knees shook—his whole body did as he tried not to pass out. He was better than this! What would happen if Russia came in and found him unconscious? He couldn’t be anymore weaker, he had to endure. He had to be useful. He didn’t want to make Russia worry; he didn’t want to make him angry, he didn’t want concern!
One…two…three…in…out…in…out…
His eyes closed and he just breathed before his head finally stopped spinning. His heartbeat, once in his ears slowed, and he was able to stand straight. He glanced around to be sure no one had seen his moment of weakness before he tucked a stray strand of his bangs and what he could not pull back behind his ears and returned to stirring the eggs for breakfast. Everyone in the household had still been asleep when he’d awoken from his nightmares and so because he could not sleep, he’d already cleaned the library and now was making breakfast for everyone.
If Estonia and Lativa didn't like what he'd made, they would make their own. He hoped they would like he did like what he made, though. It'd be nice if he could save them that much time. If Ivan didn’t of course Toris would prepare something else for him and the other two would happily help. No one wanted a disappointed and hungry Ivan.
He wiped his brow and turned to the tea kettle. He’d done this same thing on his own time and time again that he had the process down pat. The moment his green eyes settled on the pot, the kettle began to whistle and he pulled it off the eye and set it to the side. The stove was turned off, the bag seeping in the tea. He placed the vittles he’d made onto a serving platter.
Eggs, fried ham, potatoes; he’d even made some biscuits and arranged some fruit on other plates. He knew soon Lativa, Estonia, and the others would come stumbling in; Russia’s siblings would as well. The nation himself, Lithuania knew he’d be taking him his own plate unless he graced the table. Still he had some time before the food cooled enough.
He was pulling off his apron when he saw the movement from the corner of his eyes and that’s when he turned to see Natalya.
He gave her a bright smile that pinched his eyes. “You’re up before everyone. I hope I wasn’t too loud.” At that his eyes opened. “I didn't disturb you did I?”
His heartbeat began to pick up once more.
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Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on Apr 24, 2015 6:49:24 GMT -5
Not all of Natalya's symptoms were direct results of radiation. She'd make her family believe that if she had too in order to protect them from the truth, but the fact remained that the remnants of radiation poisoning were not the only things making her sick. Some of it was that enough time had passed for the spike in thyroid cancer and children born with Down's syndrome to start doing damage to a country with an already depleted population. Some of it, though, was just the physical manifestation of her basically not-there economy, her mostly un-rebuilt cities, her destroyed population, especially among formerly healthy young people, her unstable government, making her sicker than she might have been just getting caught in the accident. Not that Astravyets hadn't been a massive disaster on its own, of course, and she still remembered the sick feeling she'd gotten from Chernobyl. But that had mostly come from cancers.
So it wasn't the problem that was most readily apparent that was busy hurting her when she woke up at three in the morning (a habit that would not go away) with a sore throat and broke into thick, painful coughs. Natalya laid down in bed for a moment, immediately aware that she'd essentially lost her voice overnight. Well. This would be difficult to hide, but at least she never talked much anyway. With luck and medication, she could probably get it to mostly go away before Ivan or Iryna noticed anything was wrong at all. She coughed again as she rolled out of bed. No one was normally awake when she woke up. She'd be fine.
It took Natalya some time yet, though, before she even went downstairs. She had to be well put together before she did. Most people didn't expect that she would care about her appearance, and they'd be somewhat right. She mostly didn't. But she did care that she looked put together and that she had her long hair mostly brushed out when the day started. It made her just a little more intimidating, honestly, than someone who was not. If she did not look put together, she did not look in control, and control was often the key when it came to Nations like her. So she tied her hair up and finally went to the kitchen, hoping to perhaps eat before anyone else woke up. That way, if she wound up not eating much, at least she didn't have to pretend that she was.
It was about four in the morning, perhaps a bit earlier, by the time she wound up by the kitchen. Therefore, Natalya was just a little bit surprised when she heard somebody already awake and already cooking food. She walked in a little slowly, a little cautiously, and didn't it just say something about her that she walked into a room in her own house with the same suspicion she used when walking around a corner in a battlefield? A part of her felt a little relieved once she actually saw who was awake. It was Lithuania. Ah. At least she didn't have to worry so much about her lost voice, then.
Lithuania smiled at her and she just sort of nodded. Their relationship over the years had slid from her first crush to her hated rival to her best friend to her reluctant partner to her misplaced enemy to everything in between, and she had no idea where it stood now. Natalya hadn't ever really apologized, after all, though she had stopped breaking bones when he dared come near her, and something had shifted back again from where it had been before.
At Lithuania's statement, she looked him in the eye and pointed towards the clock. "Lithuania. It is four in the morn-" she started to say dryly. However, Natalya's breathy, quiet, and scratchy voice hurt her throat as she tried to speak, and she wound up coughing painfully instead of actually talking much. She had no idea why Lithuania was awake at this time of the day, already cooking. Just because she had gotten into that habit didn't mean anyone else had. She coughed for a few moments more before walking past Lithuania in order to get herself a glass of water. Right. She'd have to deal with this cough before anything else. Then she could figure out why, exactly, Lithuania had decided to wake up at four in the morning when he wasn't as sick as she was.
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Post by Deleted on Apr 25, 2015 21:25:08 GMT -5
The time had not escaped Toris. Not only did he realize how early it was, but he had tried to go back to sleep, but the darkness had become gnawing and grotesque and the clench in his stomach had him fearing closing his eyes again. He did not want to return to the nightmares there and the darkness, usually so peaceful for the Baltic nation was no longer serene. It was lonely. He could have chosen to not be alone, but what would Russia have done if he’d come sliding into his bed whispering of his nightmares?
He’d have welcomed him, but Mr. Russia needed sleep and Toris knew he’d be a restless bedmate. That would be no good. What if Ivan became upset with him because he kept him awake? What would he do if he blamed him for some mistake he’d made because he was sleep-deprived? What if Toris was actually able to sleep fine with Mr. Russia at his side chasing away all the choking dark? His eyes glanced at the clock.
He knew it was around four in the morning and didn’t it say a lot about him that instead of treading with caution he’d turned to Belarus with a smile. She could have been Ivan or one of his Baltic “brethren” but his being was buzzing with activity and a job well done. And maybe he was a little high from his lack of sleep—it did always mess with judgement after all. Maybe he should have been more cautious, but he’d already smiled now he couldn’t take that back, though yes, he could worry if he’d disturbed her. If he had, then he could have disturbed anyone. He really didn’t want that. He didn’t want Natalya angry with him.
He was sorry. He was very sorry. He was so—
He froze at her raw voice and when she began to cough, he opened his mouth only to shut it again. Should he show concern over her? While it was true that she’d not been overly cruel to him as she had once been, nor was she close to him. She was distant as always, but without the scorn. He had no idea the name of their relationship now either and while he could be concerned about Ivan—he found it alluring—Belarus was independent and could and possibly would shun his worry.
He turned back to the stove opened a cupboard to the side that held cleaning supplies. He sprayed the surface quietly before daring a glance at the icy siren. “I could make you some warm tea with honey. It will soothe your throat.”
Why he was up mattered so little to him compared to why she was. And he was worried for her. He’d been so since their reunion here.
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Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on Apr 27, 2015 6:48:09 GMT -5
For a moment, Lithuania looked upset, and Natalya couldn't help but notice that he'd changed. Or perhaps she had. Natalya didn't remember him being so easily upset by other people, she didn't remember him so constantly looking to make others happy- no. She remembered that much, at least, and she'd never entirely been able to understand it. But then again, she had never been good at keeping anyone happy, and she was perfectly content protecting what was hers, whether they liked it or not, and considering that good enough. The rest of the world could wither away for all she cared.
But there was something almost admirable, Natalya had found, about the people who could. There was something admirable about being the sort of person who could actually emphasize like that, somebody who actually had enough room in their hearts to care about everyone around them. Natalya wasn't like that at all. She was selfish. She knew that for a fact. She could only really bring herself to care for members of her own small circle of people, that group of people Natalya considered to be family. Then she was jealous, possessive, protective of whatever she had her claws in. People like Lithuania, no, she couldn't understand them. But she could admire the fact that they cared so deeply for everyone around them, even if she didn't understand why.
And perhaps she hadn't realized that Lithuania had wormed his way back into her protected few, but she did recognise the slight growl that had risen into her throat when he was seemingly upset for no reason. She shook it off, though. It was, after all, four in the morning, and as much as Natalya had trained herself to be perfectly fine on next to no sleep, she was still affected by it from time to time. She was running on a massive sleep deficit in general, actually. She'd gotten into the habit of waking up early in the morning back when she was taking the graveyard shift of watches, and even now that she wasn't at war with her family, she didn't exactly sleep easily, especially with how sick she was.
He was busying himself as well. Natalya wondered if Lithuania felt it too, the constant need to make oneself busy so that other things didn't come pressing down against you. She wondered if he felt it too. It was something she wasn't exactly proud of, the nagging guilt that laid across her while she was in the house, all while still being dogged with a desire for escape that she wanted to shoot out of the air where it stood, tear back away from her so that it would eat away no more. Her brother wasn't supposed to be this complicated. But- well, hadn't he always been? Hadn't their relationship always been about hurting each other?
Natalya almost didn't notice when Lithuania offered her tea and honey, but when he did she just nodded somewhat gratefully. Hopefully that would make her voice a little less obviously lost by the time that Ivan got to breakfast himself. She'd take some medicine, too, and hope that this, too, would heal her sore throat to a degree. She finished filling her glass of water before sitting down in the kitchen itself, just drinking her glass and watching Lithuania, an unreadable expression on her face (not that she had any expressions that weren't nearly unreadable).
Look at what had become of them, after all these years. Look at what they'd become.
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Post by Deleted on Apr 29, 2015 12:56:30 GMT -5
What had they become?
Toris took the kettle from a cupboard and after Natalya had retrieved her water, he retrieved his own to fill the teapot. After setting atop an eye and switching it to on, he too found himself without anything to busy himself with. Were idle hands the devil’s playthings, he wonder? Suddenly he felt weary.
The truth was he had been busying himself, he always seemed to be. Busy and worrisome, that was Lithuania. Sorrow threatened to choke him just like winter storms threatened to crush the land beneath feet and feet of snow. He did feel it as Natalya did, that demand to move, to do lest something pull you down beneath the earth. It was depression for Toris and such a thing had never been far from him. He was after all the nation with the highest suicide rate. He did not want to escape—that was the cause of some of his guilt. A part of him was actually relieved to be under someone else’s care. He was being watched over in part, but still just as always he felt concern for all those around him. A worry he himself did not understand and so would fail to ever explain to Natalya.
She was watching him. Lithuania was gathering the teabags he would need as well as the honey, his back was Belarus, and yet he knew she was observing him. Silence had fallen between them. It was not a silence he was comfortable with, but what could he honestly say to her? What was there to say? Idleness truly was the plaything of a devil because without much to honestly keep him busy he had to turn to face her. The lack of sleep from the night settled over him like a thick blanket and he felt his body on fire and sagging beneath its weight. Once clear his mind had gone fuzzy.
And lead him to think.
Just what were he and Belarus now? Were they confidants? Were they friends? Lithuania hadn’t failed to realize that no longer did Natalya regard him with the loathing she once had. No longer did she break his fingers or attempt to break his spirit. For so long she had been capable of breaking him, though he never stopped smiling for her, pretending not to notice. He remembered her as she once had been; as they had once been. Friends perhaps verging on something more. After all, Russia’s sisters were beautiful and even a fool could not deny that.
They were something beyond just tenants of Ivan’s house, that much he was sure. He just didn’t have the name for it.
One thing was certain, however. They had changed. Lithuania saw the weariness, the sickness of Natalya for what it was. Not all because of nuclear disaster, but for many things. Eastern Europe, what a bloody history it held. Siblings, nations, war and blood. Bitter cold and bitter feelings. That is why he still smiled, still tried to make people happy. There had be some sunlight and he remembered lighter days for all of them. Days when jealousy, obsession, and greed did not mar them. How naïve they had all been as young nations. And yet how irresponsible. How broken and battered they all had been.
How could he not empathize? How could he not care? He was black sheep of Eastern Europe, dark-haired compared to all the fair-haired countries that surrounded him. Yet wasn’t it selfish to want to be the cause of everyone’s happiness? And wasn’t it strange that he wasn’t trying to escape at every chance?
How he hated this war and what it forced from them.
Toris took a deep breath and focused on the present and the consequences fate had left all of them. His eyes lingered first on the food and then on Natalya. He wasn’t hungry. He wondered if he would be. Just as wondered if he’d ever stop caring about these people, but he knew the truth. If he didn’t worry about them he’d spiral into his own darkness.
“Natalya,” he said and then touched his lips. He’d not meant to speak that aloud. “Ignore me. I was just thinking to myself. It wasn’t important. Sorry...you just enjoy your water. I won't bother you.”
‘You’re not fooling anyone. If you’d just open up…we want to help.’
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Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on Apr 29, 2015 23:10:42 GMT -5
She kept on watching him as he went to put on the tea. This felt oddly familiar and oddly broken in a way, and she wasn't sure she liked it. Natalya watched the back of his head as he moved, quietly putting the kettle on, watched him oddly intently, like she was studying something unfathomable. She had that expression oddly often, but very few people would recognise it. She'd study and study the people around her until she could predict how they would act, and a few people, well a few people she'd study and study until she knew how to protect them. It wasn't so unfathomable anymore, but she still found herself studying people from time to time, to make sure she still understood.
He turned around and it was clear that he was exhausted. He should be sleeping. There were shadows under his eyes. Natalya assumed she had shadows under her eyes as well, actually, but she doubted they were as visibly deep as the shadows that had sunk under Lithuania's eyes at some point. He wasn't used to waking up this early, or at least, he wasn't as far as Natalya knew. He'd woken up early, but not in the hours before the sun even thought of rising, the hours when it was still cold as night and dark as the same, hardly morning by any meaning of the word.
And they were both exhausted, just a little bit, and looking there for a moment, Natalya let out a tension she wasn't aware she'd been holding. She let herself down a little bit, and for a moment, just that moment, her eyes said that she was tired too. Tired of- well, tired of the feeling in the air, the tension in the house, the way her sister's bright smiles seemed tempered by some unknown emotion, the way Ivan fought so hard in ways no one could count and yet hurt himself and everyone else while he tried harder than Natalya could imagine not to, the way Natalya felt she had to hide herself in her room or on the battlefield when the sickness was too much to hide, the way Tori- Lithuania carried himself, a tired step in his feet despite his constant smile, the one he offered up as easily as Natalya offered up cold glares to mask other emotions.
She wondered if he remembered wolves. She wondered if he still remembered her. Ah, well, but none of that really mattered, Natalya had decided that a long time ago. It mattered, she supposed, in that it had been a part of her life, an important part, and it mattered because the two of them had once been something that was a little different than she might have ever otherwise expected. Now they were ghosting the past in a stone kitchen, both awake too early in the morning for their own, painful reasons.
Natalya wondered if they were all trying to hard to be the past. But no, that wasn't quite it either, because they certainly weren't the past at all. So what were they trying to be? (She was trying to be a sister, because she'd done a bad job of that lately, and there was a part of her that desperately needed to make up for that. She was trying to be independent, because she remembered running away and feeling that guilty feeling of elation and freedom that her brother never gave her. She was trying to be Natalya, but she wasn't certain if she knew how to do that at all anymore.)
So when Lithuania said her name, she looked back up at him, curious. Natalya wanted to know what he'd been thinking to make him say her name quite like that. She wasn't certain why, really. Probably because it was early in the morning and she suddenly had someone to talk to at a time when no one else was awake to talk to. It was a quiet curiosity, because he'd shown some wistful emotion in his voice that Natalya couldn't quite place but knew resonated anyway.
But then he closed up again, and Natalya looked at him intently.
Oddly enough, he wasn't bothering her. He was only just being there, but he wasn't bothering her too much. She took a sip of her water, a big one, before managing to get out, "No," from her sore throat. No, you're not really bothering me. No, please don't go, it is a little nice to have someone who I don't have to pretend in front of, who knows anyway. No, don't hold back what you were going to say. You said my name, and I want to know why. You're reminding me of me at a different time, and I want to know why. Something's changed, and I want to know why, but mostly it's nice to have someone here.
Natalya's never really known how to say any of that, though. She will not try on a sore throat. So she just says that one word, hoping he'll understand anyway.
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Post by Deleted on May 9, 2015 18:55:58 GMT -5
It took only one word and Lithuania was staring at her. No, she’d said, but no to what? That single word in this moment was pregnant with meaning, so many meanings. His green eyes looked over her face and as always his stare was tentative. There was often a fear in Lithuania’s eyes. Fear because there was and would always be so much to lose for him. Friends, family—if he had any—and face. The only time he did not fear was in battle and outside of it anxiety was a constant for him.
There was so much that could go wrong and lately Murphy’s Law had not been kind to him. Yet staring at Belarus it appeared these years had neither been kind to her.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” he finally said.
He twisted his hands and tried to look anywhere but at her, but her gaze, no her very person had always been mesmerizing to him even as she could be crueler than her brother because she knew just where to touch her blade and more than that her words were the sharpest. Words aimed well always penetrated deeper. She didn’t ever have to draw blood from him to make him weep. Still he couldn’t look away from her for long.
He wiped his palms which were suddenly sweaty on his apron. “I’m sorry…but…but it’s true.” He let out a breath. “And you know it, don’t you? I know you do. Even Lativa and Estonia are concerned, but they’re too afraid to say anything. They always are. Everyone’s way too afraid to admit the truth.” And he smiled, though it was contrite and forced. “But that’s always the case isn’t it? No one around here can ever say what’s on their mind.”
Everything felt broken. Toris hated it as much as it ate away at his soul and like a vampire sucked away his happiness little by little. No one could protect him from it either; at least he didn’t think they could. How could he be protected from the coldness of this house and its foundation of lies. No one told the truth here. Was it fear? Anger? Toris didn’t know but it suffocated him. If he was tired it because happiness was tiring; smiles were tiring. Pretending to be fine was tiring. How often he thought of stealing into Ivan’s room and carefully removing one of his scarves. He’d be cautious about it because he’d not want to leave any sign or disturb a thing. He would not leave a mess. Then he’d find a private place, little traffic and fashion the scarf into a noose, hang from somewhere high enough and he’d…
He’d have peace. The worry, the sorrow, this reality would fade for a little while. What he’d do for a moment’s reprieve from all of this.
The kettle whistled and Lithuania turned to tend to it. Toris once more let his silence pervade as he pulled down two cups and poured water into them.
“I’ve often thought about how I was going to die,” he finally said as he steeped the tea bags into the cups. He put them and a bowl of honey on a platter and placed them on the table. He stared into the mugs as the water began to change colors. “Or at least die as far as we are concerned. Our citizens die slow and quick. Do you ever envy them?” He finally looked up at her and then shook his head.
“I should stop,” he laughed. “Look at me being depressing. It doesn’t suit me does it? Of course not.” If only they all knew.
He was a weak-spirited nation, he scolded himself. So weak! He didn’t used to be. He remembered wolves. He remembered Belarus from before. Of course there were faucets of the past he wished had remained, but he didn’t want the past. He just wanted happiness. He wanted this war to be over and for the pain on everyone’s shoulders to go away.
As for Belarus…
He picked up one of the cups and placed it before her. He swallowed thickly and didn’t let go of the cup. “Natalya,” he whispered and lifted his eyes to her.
His hand left the cup and he knew he could regret this. He knew he probably would. Belarus would scream at him, but even if she never felt as he did and had, he would be happy. And he would never not care for her.
He cupped her cheek. “I don’t want you to die, Natalya.”
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Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on May 12, 2015 14:23:25 GMT -5
For a moment, she watched him. Maybe he hadn't really understood. Natalya shouldn't have expected him to, but it wasn't like she understood what she was trying to say, either. There was too much of it. Besides, it was early in the morning, and she couldn't bring herself to bother trying to understand what Tor- Lithuania was thinking. She'd imagine he would have trouble too. Or maybe he wouldn't. It had been a long time since she'd spoken properly to him, except it hadn't really; some things never properly change, no matter how hard you try.
Her eyes snapped to where his would be, though, as he finally spoke. The room was quiet, except for the tea boiling on the stove. Wasn't fooling anyone? No, she doubted she was really fooling that many people, except perhaps for her brother and sister. Natalya had gotten good at that, and although she felt guilty for it, she'd keep on going in the end. They all knew she was sick, but so long as she could convince them that she was not very, she would be fine. And they would be fine too- that's what really mattered. Only- (only Lithuania knew? No.) Only Toris knew how bad she really was because he caught her. And then he'd stayed quiet.
He tries for you, you know. You try for your family and he tries for you. You should at least recognise that.
Natalya really did wish she could actually tell them, but in the end, she'd only hurt them. And maybe she didn't know how they'd react, and maybe they'd try to tell her to stop fighting, and maybe if she could really tell them she would tell them that she never stopped being a little bit scared of coming home but even more frightened of never doing so. If they could all speak their minds, though, they'd all have left long ago. Everyone but for herself, maybe, hiding Ivan's vodka so he'd pay more attention to her, or so he didn't fall too far apart before realigning a little. (She'd done that, once. When Iryna had helped her out of the house, carefully convinced her she needed to leave, when everything had been falling apart for them all, she'd locked as much of Ivan's vodka away as she could because she had been well and truly scared for him, but also afraid for herself, afraid that if he came back for her, even drunk, she'd go back too.)
She tried to watch Lithuania's face as he spoke, but his eyes kept on pulling away, as though they were trying to hide from her. He kept on looking back. Natalya wondered why it felt familiar, but she wasn't quite sure. He was nervous. Had he always been this nervous, or had they done so much to him that it had burrowed into him, insidiously destroying the wolf he'd once been? Or maybe he was still a wolf. Natalya wasn't sure she was, but she was at least a bear and a snake.
The kettle whistled. They both looked away.
He spoke again. Natalya responded. "Yes," she said quietly, though the volume wasn't entirely because of her sore throat. In a way, she had. She had always thought about death. She was fairly certain she had no choice. Death followed her, scythe raised, a curious expression on his face, unreadable through his universes of eyes and shadows of lips. It was hard not to think about death, you see, when she always saw the dead. When some people called her an incarnation of Death itself. When she's almost a step away from it. Life was nasty, brutish, and short- someone had once said that, angry at the world. But they, they didn't get the benefit of the "short".
All men would someday die. So, too, would the Nations they supported. One just went faster than the other, she supposed. She'd never thought Toris- Lithuania (it was easier to call him Lithuania; Toris was the one who knew all of her secrets) would think about things like that. He was always such an optimist. Depression, she thought, didn't suit him. He didn't see fate the same way she did, he didn't stare death in the face each hour and yet, there it was. The depression. Had that always been there, too? Had she just been too busy following idols and brothers and family to notice? What had made things clearer now?
Perhaps they were all just too tired to care to hide it. Or perhaps something had changed. Lithuania seemed much more human, now. She felt so much more human, now. And it was funny that it had taken until she had no time left to notice (she might be made of death, but she's hardly made of time; death may be timeless, but she never has been).
She's nearly angry at him for putting himself down, though, quite nearly. It doesn't suit him, yes, but perhaps it does fit him in some twisted way. What doesn't suit him more is the way he seems so afraid, beating himself up over nothing.
Something changes. Two cups are filled. He puts one in front of her.
And then his eyes meet hers and she sees strength and everything goes a little more right again. She nearly turns away, but then he's close and her heart is a little faster for some reason she doesn't understand at all. It's just Lithuania, after all, and she's just Natalya. They're two little shattered mirrors doing what they can with the pieces. Maybe they could have been something. Maybe they still could be, but there are shards of broken glass poking out between them, terrible, cutting things, making a minefield of blood that's a bit too hard to cross.
But he's there and he cups her cheek.
“I don’t want you to die, Natalya.”
And she really, really doesn't know what to say to that, because she's yet to outright lie about it to anyone, but especially him. She sits, staring for a moment.
"I am too stubborn," she says, her voice rough and dry, "to do so just yet. I have to wait until you are ready." It's a brutal truth and she doesn't think he deserves it, not really, not because he doesn't deserve the truth but because he doesn't deserve to be hurt by it. "But you do know I will not leave forever. I am still too stubborn and too prideful." She planned on it, actually, this act of coming back as a spirit.
What she doesn't say is this: "I don't want to die."
Mostly because she's not sure that's true.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2015 21:04:02 GMT -5
Until he’s ready? Until he’s ready? Toris’s hand slips from her cheek and drops on the table. His face holds nothing readable save until you look into his eyes. They glare into her, through her it seems. They freeze over like the ground in the cruel Russian winter. His fingers fist atop the table. The wolf is very alive; now it rattles against its cage. Lithuania raises his curled hand and almost drops it to the table once more, this time with more force, but he stops just before it hits. His other hand lifts to his mouth and his harsh eyes go glassy before they close. “Fair Lady, throw those costly robes aside, no longer may you glory in your pride,” he whispered forlornly. The tears were present in his eyes as he finally lets his hand fall. A hollow slam without power. “Pride may be the last to fall, but Death doesn’t care. Everyone falls to him and you dance in his clutches. Maybe others refuse to see it, but I know it. I know it so well…”He watched man, woman, child succumb. He’d watched them wish themselves away into the starved hands of death. Men died and the nations too would die, that he knew. That he feared not for himself for the nations around him. Estonia and Lativa, how sweet they were to him and comforted him in the nights he could not sleep. How they stuck together though they were not related by blood like Russia and his siblings. Motherly Ukraine; she always made him smile and there was no fear in his respect of her. Then there was Belarus and Russia…How they had harmed him and how they could be so callous and cold, and yet how Toris loved them both to the pit of his soul. His affection for them flowed like a spring neverending for the souls as broken as his. For they were broken, the three of them. Ever since his marriage to Poland was dissolved, ever since all the lands he’d fought tooth and nail to unite were ripped from him, he’d watched the world around him evolve and his people multiply and yet with all the innovations the less people smiled, the less they loved. “Pride isn’t going to save you and me? I’ll never be ready. Will I endure if you fade and disappear like the empires that we were born from? Yes, what other choice do I have but to endure until my own end? But how could I ever be ready to lose anyone?” Before now he’d thought of death and as for his optimism, it was no more a mask than the one she wore. He did stare death in the face, but it was never came for him. “My country has the highest suicide rate in the world and you think I don’t see it on your face? You’re not sure whether to run away from or right into eternal slumber.”He took a shuddering breath and stared down at his hands which shook. “I’m sorry that I’m losing my cool and I’m sorry…so sorry that you hurt so bad. Long ago, even I was a purveyor of your sorrow. I will never be able to change our past, and you may no longer feel for me as I have for you, but I will always care for, admire, and ever love you, Natalya.”Everything had changed. The twentieth century winded them in its grasp, war ravaged lands and severed ties. He’d been forced back to this house—probably with a gun pointed always at his head. He’d been tired for a long time. So long that it gnawed through his marrow. And he breathed fear where he’d once brought it on the back of a horse and the edge of a sword. What was a lone wolf? Nothing. A wolf was nothing without a pack and Lithuania had lost his long ago. The wolf had been cowed and though he could still grasp its strength, what did the hunger of the creature incite but fear? Was it better to be feared than loved? “I never stopped loving you.”The line “Fair Lady, throw those costly robes aside, no longer may you glory in your pride..." Are a few stanzas from an English ballad called "Death and the Lady". I felt because Belarus spoke of being too stubborn to just die the lines were perfect for Toris to recite to her. The ballad is a conversation between Death and a rich lady who tries to persuade him to let her live. In the end her bribes do not move him and he takes her away. All men are equal to Death and so too it should be assumed are all nations. You can read it here: Death and the Lady |
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Post by Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya on Jun 1, 2015 21:53:07 GMT -5
His hand slides from her cheeks and his eyes harden and Natalya knows she's said the wrong thing, but she's always meant to say the truth. She's always been meant to do that because she's always hated when people lied to her. She assumed Lithuania would want the same. He suddenly, though, looks so angry that she doesn't know what to do. It's not an expression that she's used to seeing on his face, directed toward her. Normally it's soft affection that she sees, or sometimes pain, or sometimes that doting, wantful expression that she used to see so often and reject just as much ('I cannot love a man who cannot fight for himself,' she'd told him once over cuts and broken fingers before regally walking away to chase a man who wouldn't ever love her back).
His eyes harden and he stares at her and he is fighting back now. She's fairly certain he's quoting something, but she doesn't know what. She does understand his point, though, and she supposes it's true, in a way, that if she keeps on skirting the edge of oblivion she's certain to fall in but she's stubborn and she's not quite there, not quite yet. She can't be. She can't. Because as much as anything hurts Toris (she's switched to Toris quite suddenly) is there in front of her and he's hurting, his eyes are full of tears as he tries to tell her death waits for no man.
I know, she wants to whisper, whisper with that part of her that's still scared, no matter how long she's been staring at ghosts for, I know.
She watches as he stares at him and she remembers every person caught beside her when everything fell apart, a human she fell in love with, no, all three that she made the same mistake for again and again, the last one shot through the heart by a Russian soldier as she watched, fallen to the ground and replaced like she was yesterday's poster child, a rebellion used to losing and regaining leaders and a footsoldier left to pick up the pieces, she fell slowly but she gave her whole heart to the wrong people again and again, no matter how many times she was reminded that it would be torn out, a painful death each time (maybe that's why she's not afraid).
And then he speaks and every doubt comes crashing down onto her again, every moment when she wonders what would happen if she couldn't make it happen, if even Natalya Arlovskaya can't stubbornly strongarm Death into one last favor and give her the ability to be seen, if she's a typical ghost, chasing after her own sobbing funeral. Her doubts crash to the ground, the image of Iryna, a crybaby, run out of tears because she's finally managed to spend them all, of Alfred, blaming himself for not helping more and not being the hero like he always tried to be, of Toris, Toris like this except quieter and morbid, ropes in his room and knives against his wrists, and Ivan, the lonely boy chasing a rabbit being left alone again.
She isn't certain if she wants to die or not. She has to be ready for the inevitability. She cannot escape it. But Natalya can't, she simply can't, leave her people alone. She doesn't want to see them fall apart, she can't bear to. Not yet. (Not ever.)
How do you prepare someone without telling them? Because she can't. Because she'll be to honest if she starts to. Because they'll smother her. Because they won't let her fight. Because they'll cry to themselves while trying to put something so broken back together that it just- how many times can you shatter a vase until it turns from glassy shards into dust, anyway? Can someone tell her? Because Natalya doesn't think she has that many hits left, and she can't see them sad, but she can't say when she'll go just that they're all darker, more visible, and there's barely such thing as a good thing anymore.
When did this become her life?
Toris is crying in front of her and she's frozen, not even shouting at him for being weak because she's caught out weak just the same and she can't even pretend to be anything but frozen in place. She can't lie. She's not afraid to die. She's not sure she wants to keep living. But it's an obligation. She has to, for them. For the very, very few people she treasures more than anything else, the ones who, even while fighting, she feeling something deeply within her calling for.
And then he's apologizing and she interrupts without thinking. "Don't," she whispers. But then he keeps on talking. And he keeps on talking. And Natalya's heart beats faster and her voice and her hands get frozen, completely frozen in place, standing still and staring because if there's one thing she had always been bad at it was emotion, and this is purely that, purely and simply. He looked her in the eyes and he bared his heart and she wasn' worth holding it because what could she ever do with hearts?
Her eyes showed fear. She slid backwards. Her eyes were wide.
"I never stopped loving you."
And Natalya Arlovskaya, woman who would rather cut a man's fingers off than let them touch her, cold, unreachable, methodical in her lovers until she really felt for them, slow to fall but painful when she hit the cold hard ground, who hides her heart until she can't anymore, Natalya Arlovskaya, who likes to be certain about everything, who prefers to predict others to leaving them unknown, Natalya Arlovskaya-
-has no answer.
Because everything's changed and she's changed and it's always been the slow road with her, the slow, hard one, but this is Toris and he already has a leg up on most people. She slides back and shakes her head. She doesn't have an answer and it's early in the morning and she hurts, this makes her heart hurt nearly as much as her head and she doesn't like it. She can't handle it, she doesn't know how to, one thing the girl who speaks with ghosts has never been taught is how to handle that.
She skirts backwards and says, quietly and roughly and painfully, "I don't know." Her eyes are wide and they're flashing everything, even if her face is cleared by sheer habit. "Toris, Toris..."
Why did he tell her that?
She doesn't want to break him, but she's just- she doesn't know. It's- she's not there. She's just... she's just not there. Not yet. It takes- she can't. She just can't! She'll break him and she's dying and she can't be, not yet, not if she might be (but she can't fall again so soon only to tear it away) and she might not be alive in a week and she just can't!
But she just doesn't know.
But she just can't.
But it hurts to see him hurt.
But she won't lie.
But it's possible.
But it's just not now, not yet.
But she gave her whole heart to the wrong people again and again, no matter how many times she was reminded that it would be torn out, a painful death each time (maybe that's why she's so afraid).
"Aš atsiprašau, aš atsiprašau," she whispers.
I'm sorry.
She means it worth everything.
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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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