http://vanavanushka.livejournal.com/ (
vanavanushka.livejournal.com) wrote in
towerofanimus2011-08-16 10:31 pm
Entry tags:
Weary
Characters: Russia and YOU
Setting: Floor 12; Floor 11
Format: Either; Starting out Prose, but will change to match. ♥
Summary: Ivan explores the new rooms!
Warnings: None currently; possibly future language
A. Floor Twelve
Ivan had been through a lot in his life--through war, and conquest, invasion and genocide. But even with that experience, the tower was starting to run him down. Being cut off from his people, from his own home stung enough as it was--it was an ache that had started in his chest, and just would not go away. Honestly he felt a little sick--and the lack of alcohol didn't help. At least when life had gotten bad before he hadn't been sober.
The room wasn't helping. Especially not when he realized the significance of it--worlds being destroyed, over and over again. No, not just worlds, universes. He couldn't recognize them, the stares imploding, the planets being drained dry, and he stalled in the center of the room, watching, as it happened over and over again. And he waited, wanting to see if his world was being subjected to the same thing. He remembered vaguely the letter he had gotten when he had woken up--figured it was just a ploy, a lie to get him to sit down and behave. Now, he was not so sure.
B. Floor Eleven
The open air was a nice change to the cooped up tower, but it was missing something--it wasn't quite the same as his home had been. Perhaps it was the air, or the fact that the room didn't seem exactly physically possible (despite the fact that he was in it, and therefore it had to be). At the very least, there were flowers, and he did like flowers, despite them not being his, and the lake made a pretty sight (if not a tad confusing).
Either way, it was better than sitting inside, by a long shot, and the edges of the room were open. He wondered vaguely if he could get out of the tower that way--after all, he had survived bigger jumps before. A broken leg was a small price to pay for getting out of the tower. Though even as he mused on this, he knew it likely wouldn't work--and if it didn't, he would have a broken limb to contend with while being trapped. Perhaps he could find another nation, and get them to take the plunge--see what happened.
Setting: Floor 12; Floor 11
Format: Either; Starting out Prose, but will change to match. ♥
Summary: Ivan explores the new rooms!
Warnings: None currently; possibly future language
A. Floor Twelve
Ivan had been through a lot in his life--through war, and conquest, invasion and genocide. But even with that experience, the tower was starting to run him down. Being cut off from his people, from his own home stung enough as it was--it was an ache that had started in his chest, and just would not go away. Honestly he felt a little sick--and the lack of alcohol didn't help. At least when life had gotten bad before he hadn't been sober.
The room wasn't helping. Especially not when he realized the significance of it--worlds being destroyed, over and over again. No, not just worlds, universes. He couldn't recognize them, the stares imploding, the planets being drained dry, and he stalled in the center of the room, watching, as it happened over and over again. And he waited, wanting to see if his world was being subjected to the same thing. He remembered vaguely the letter he had gotten when he had woken up--figured it was just a ploy, a lie to get him to sit down and behave. Now, he was not so sure.
B. Floor Eleven
The open air was a nice change to the cooped up tower, but it was missing something--it wasn't quite the same as his home had been. Perhaps it was the air, or the fact that the room didn't seem exactly physically possible (despite the fact that he was in it, and therefore it had to be). At the very least, there were flowers, and he did like flowers, despite them not being his, and the lake made a pretty sight (if not a tad confusing).
Either way, it was better than sitting inside, by a long shot, and the edges of the room were open. He wondered vaguely if he could get out of the tower that way--after all, he had survived bigger jumps before. A broken leg was a small price to pay for getting out of the tower. Though even as he mused on this, he knew it likely wouldn't work--and if it didn't, he would have a broken limb to contend with while being trapped. Perhaps he could find another nation, and get them to take the plunge--see what happened.

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"Are you mad because I know the truth about you Russia? About how fucking insane you are. And how much you hate yourself that you take it out on the rest of us or is it the fact that even though you annexed me I still continue to live and harass the fuck out of you."
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Ivan followed the other, his eyes blazing, brows furrowed, angrier the more the other talked to him, and he kept the distance between them relatively small, though he was not stupid with his anger, just watching Gilbert, at least until the other started speaking again. And then he lashed out again, growling low in his throat.
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The punch was much more well aimed and the side of Ivan's hand clipped the Prussian's shoulder just before Gilbert made a mad scramble for the doorway. Being lighter and smaller than the Russian flight was a little easier at a moment's notice.
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It wasn't just the words that affected him either--it was a combination of them, his continued sobriety (really, he hadn't been sober for more than a day in years, decades even), and the fact that he was still stuck in this tower cut off from his people. If it was just the words, Ivan might not chase the Prussian, but as it was he was angry enough to follow after him, taking out his pipe for that added bit of reach.
He was a bit fast for someone his size, but Gilbert was generally faster, and did have quite a bit of practice on getting away from an angry Russia. Hell, he could make the book on it. "Coward," he snapped, scowling at the ground.
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"Hey I always wanted to ask, why the fuck are you always so damn angry?"
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"i am not usually angry! I am thinking you bring it out very well, though," he shook his head, eyes narrowed, grip tight on his pipe, thoughtful almost.
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"And you know behaving is boring, Da?" the mocking tone was still in his voice, red eyes flshing in amusement at the other man's.
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"Behaving in some places can make it so you are not being punished, da?" he heard the mocking, look sour about it, eyes narrow, violet blazing.
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"In your world even if I behaved I'd be punished, there's a reason why no one likes you Russia. You hurt everyone."
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"If you would be behaving, then there would be no need to be punishing you!" He watched the other, brows furrowed. "There are people who are liking me. And I do not hurt everyone. When I am hurting, they are deserving!"
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"How do you know people don't say such things?" He grinned almost crazily, "You have a twisted sens of what is right and what is wrong." he laughed and ducked into the room, disappearing among the vast glass-less tanks.
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"I am knowing because they are very stupid things to be saying!" he snapped back,shaking his head, following him, lunging toward the other, swinging his pipe at the Prussian, eyes narrowed.
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Prussia had had enough, pulling out his gun he aimed it at the Russian. "I'll put one in your forehead Ivan." He threatened. His threats were not idle either, he'd killed his fair share of men through the years and putting a bullet between the Russian's eyes was easily done. Prussia wasn't a bad marksman, but he knew the bullet wouldn't kill the Russian.
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"We can kill each other or walk away from this."
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"That is being entirely up to you, Kaliningrad," he replied, sweetly, his own gun held steady, moving forward slightly. He held no fear for being shot, it was more or less an inconvenience to him. Much like the inconvenience that happened when one drank too much, and had trouble the next day. Perhaps it was a little more troublesome to be shot in the head, but still, it healed. Nations always healed, unless something was done to their land. And as long as it healed, and you were used to pain, why would you fear it?
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"Take another step and I will fucking shoot you, bastard."
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"And I you," was all he said, his sickeningly sweet smile coming back.
"Is that being so, little Kaliningrad?" His eyes were on the gun though, watching and making sure the other's hand didn't so much as twitch, because if he was going to deal with the aches and pains of being shot, Prussia was going to as well.
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Diving behind one of the tank walls he turned and headed for the door, bracing himself before holding up his weapon, looking for where the Russian was.
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And Ivan was content to play the cat and mouse game, waiting for Prussia's move, a small smile on his lips, watching, guard still up, not willing to stop his weariness just because he appeared to have the advantage.
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