Then fear we neither dark nor death (2/?)
anonymous
June 10 2010, 10:08:14 UTC
Day Three
He's been keeping track of the days rather well so far; eyes pinned to the small, high square that barely constitutes a window. Today is his third day, and by now, irritation has built up into paranoia. Why him? Why here, wherever the blue fuck here even was? Why hadn't his brother arrived on the scene with a full fucking regiment of righteous ass-kicking to rescue him yet? And so on, and so on, leaving Gilbert to pace the two-stride wide cell like a captive beast.
One of the men came back yesterday. He can't say that the experience is one he wants to repeat, but at least his hands had been untied and the man had left him a grimy bowl of gruel. And when you're hungry enough, you eat whatever the fuck you're given. He looks down at his hands, and the red welts that'll take more than a little while to heal. Bastards.
Suddenly there's a knock on the door, and Gilbert stops pacing, stops breathing. And then the door swings open on rusty hinges and a thin, ragged man struts in. Gilbert watches him with all the natural apprehension he has collected over the ages, and waits. The man looks him up and down, walks around him, and then barks something at the guards Gilbert knows are waiting just outside the door.
They bark something back, and the man shakes his head. And then his attention is on Gilbert again, and in broken, harsh English, he addresses his captive. "You are nation? Germanny nation?"
Gilbert goggles. "Ye - I mean, no," he replies, his own English slightly stilted, but still passable. "I mean, how do you know? About nations?" The man gives him a sly smile and reaches out to tap Gilbert's chest.
"I know lot. You nation. I see you brother, you two Germanny brother." Gilbert shakes his head, thinks about denying it, but the other man has a look in his eyes that says denial is just about as futile as trying to make a run for the door. "I know lot," he reiterates deviously.
"Look, I don't know what you want, but I'm not a nation. Not anymore." Even after all these years, the acknowledgement stings and he has a hard time keeping the bitterness that burns in his chest out of his voice. "My brother, Germany, he's a nation. But I just live with him. I don't really do much, except join in and listen to them bicker at G8 and U.N. meetings."
"You brother, he pay us lot money to get you back. You tell us plans." Gilbert frowns. The man's tone is insinuating and downright off-pissing, as though he not only expects things to happen as he said, but has utter confidence that they will.
"I think you're in way over your head, little man," Gilbert replies, taking petty pleasure in seeing the man's unctuous smile slide off his face. He does not however, take any pleasure in the punch that follows. The man is white and shaking and Gilbert staggers back, jaw agape in pain.
"You rot in hell! I kill you and you brother! Then all you money belong me!" the man screams, before turning and fleeing the cell. And before Gilbert can recover his wits, the door slams shut again, leaving him with only the man's enigmatic words echoing in his head and an ugly bruise rising on his left cheek.
Captcha: previous pursuer. Would that mean these guys are actually working for Russia, Captcha? *shot*
Re: Then fear we neither dark nor death (2/?)
anonymous
June 10 2010, 19:17:12 UTC
I don't know; for long fills, I'm just as happy to be linked directly to the newest part rather than the beginning; I don't like having to scroll down and potentially read something interesting and spoilery because I overshot the last mark of where I left off. People linking to the new part seems to be more common to me (at least of the fills I follow). Perhaps author anon could just link new part and first part, as some others do?
Anyway, I'm also loving this author anon! I love fills where the nations are found out by someone(s). Keep it coming! :D I don't think I've ever seen one where Gilbert was much involved, for precisely the reason he himself stated.
Then fear we neither dark nor death (3/?)
anonymous
June 11 2010, 10:32:07 UTC
To be honest, I hadn't actually noticed until I read the comments. I do usually include a link to the first chapter as well, but I was rather hasty with posting the fill. Sincere apologies to the wonderful reader!anons. OTLlll
Day Five
Gilbert's woken up by the sounds of angry shouts and heavy footfalls. He's up faster than lighting, checking the window. It's still dark out; not the velvety black of night, but the featureless grey of early morning. Too early, he thinks. The guards don't usually harass him before mid-morning.
The door of his cell is unlocked, but instead of the usual open-and-close, it slams against the far wall with a loud and resounding clang. Gilbert's eyes widen. The guards are trying to force another figure into his cell. A large, angry figure that Gilbert knows far too well for comfort. And the guards, despite their own intimidating bulk, seem almost powerless against this towering hulk.
"Shit," Gilbert mutters automatically, and it is then that the figure turns to him, eyes lit with barely contained rage and a subtler emotion Gilbert can't place. The guards use the distraction to their advantage and shove the figure with all of their combined might. It gets him just over the threshold, and they make a hasty exit, locking the door again with a haste they have never displayed before. Had he not been faced with the problem in their stead, Gilbert would've laughed until he cried.
Gilbert stands, frozen, for two seconds before instinct takes over and he backs into a far corner. The newcomer stares at him for a moment more, still with that intense fury in his eyes, before he lets out a faint laugh.
"Really, East. I would think that you, of all people, would know better than to shy away from me, yes?" Russia says, voice pleasant enough, but Gilbert immediately senses that something is terribly wrong. He takes stock of the man in front of him, and even in the half-gloom, the stains on Russia's coat are vivid; darker than anything else in the room.
"What the fuck happened to you?" Gilbert wonders aloud. Without meaning to, he takes a step closer.
Russia takes a step forward of his own and whispers, almost conspiratorially, "They bombed Moscow, East. They bombed her. So many of my children, dead in her streets."
He knows now what that other emotion was. Sorrow. Gilbert frowns at the words, tries to wrap his mind around the fact. It doesn't seem to want to sink in, despite all evidence to the contrary right in front of his eyes. "How the hell did they do it? And who the hell are 'they' anyway?" he asks. He's not perturbed by the news, not really, but if they - whoever they are - can bomb Russia and get away with it, what else are they capable of? Suddenly, he feels a startling pang of unease. West.
"I do not know. Apparently it is some kind of religious-political group. They claim to want to take over the world. Can you believe it, East?" Russia laughs again, and the sound of it sends sends a chill up Gilbert's spine. It is weary and pained and filled with something that sounds very nearly like despair.
Gilbert takes another step forward. "What about West? Do you know if anything's happened to him?" The unease has mutated, turned into a lump of terror that sits firmly in his throat and refuses to budge.
"I don't kn-" Before he can finish the sentence, Russia's eyes roll up and he collapses in a boneless heap. Gilbert darts forward, but recoils almost as fast the second one of his hands makes contact with the larger man.
Russia is by proxy usually cold, but now his skin is waxy and ice-like and when Gilbert looks at his hand he sees more blood than appendage. Just what the fuck did they bomb him with? he wonders vaguely as he janks open Russia's coat. What he sees makes him shudder in sheer revulsion. Russia's entire chest a bloodied, warped mess of burned and broken flesh.
"Fuck," Gilbert hisses. There is nothing he can do for something this serious, he knows. So he covers Russia up again as best he can and heads to the door. It's going to be a long day, he thinks, as he starts banging on it.
Then fear we neither dark nor death (4/?)
anonymous
August 8 2010, 20:18:03 UTC
Boy howdy, it's been a while since I've updated. >.>;;; Anyway, a fill for any anons who've been waiting. Once again, thank you for reading!
Day Eight (?)
Gilbert watches Russia as he sleeps with eyes that feel as if they've had buckshot rubbed into them. He's beyond tired; he's exhausted. But he tries to stay awake as much and for as possible. It's preferable to the alternative, at any rate.
Time has taken on a sticky quality and the days are starting to run together like tar melting on a deserted road. He thinks it might have been a week already, that he's been trapped in this hell-hole, but even that thought is tenuous at best.
His eyes swing towards the window and then back again to the figure on the cot. "Whatever. Fuck this," he mutters. Russia'd been drifting in and out of consciousness since the day they'd brought him in. Gilbert had managed to get one of the guards to clean his wounds, although one look at the murky water and filthy bandages he'd brought in with him had Gilbert convinced that maybe leaving Russia's wounds as they were would have been better.
West. Something must've gone wrong, Gilbert thinks for the umpteenth time. The certainty of the thought has grown steadily over the past few days. Why else hasn't his brother shown up yet? Why hasn't anyone come looking for him? Or Russia, for that matter?
"East?" Gilbert's head snaps up at the sound of Russia's croaking, hoarse voice and before he can think, he's kneeling next to the cot.
"Yeah, I'm here," he replies, and dabs at Russia's sweaty forehead with the last clean patch of his shirt sleeve. "You feeling any better yet, bastard?"
Russia's smile is weak and sickly and makes Gilbert want to punch him. "I'm always better when you're with me, East." The words send a chill up Gilbert's spine. They bring back memories he has long denied himself, memories that don't bear thinking of. They make him feel nauseous, and this time he really does punch Russia in the mouth.
Russia's head whips back and his eyes are wide and surprised for a moment, before he brays laughter. A thin red trickle seeps from one corner of his mouth and he licks it away, still laughing. "Oh East. You never change, do you?"
"Shut the fuck up and go back to sleep if you don't have anything useful to contribute," Gilbert replies bitterly, before he stands again and walks to the window.
He can feel Russia's eyes on his back and it isn't long before the words come. "He's not coming, East. You know that, don't you?"
Gilbert keeps his eyes trained on the window and the thin, bleak ray of sunshine it lets in. "Shut up, Ivan," he whispers. "Just shut up."
He's been keeping track of the days rather well so far; eyes pinned to the small, high square that barely constitutes a window. Today is his third day, and by now, irritation has built up into paranoia. Why him? Why here, wherever the blue fuck here even was? Why hadn't his brother arrived on the scene with a full fucking regiment of righteous ass-kicking to rescue him yet? And so on, and so on, leaving Gilbert to pace the two-stride wide cell like a captive beast.
One of the men came back yesterday. He can't say that the experience is one he wants to repeat, but at least his hands had been untied and the man had left him a grimy bowl of gruel. And when you're hungry enough, you eat whatever the fuck you're given. He looks down at his hands, and the red welts that'll take more than a little while to heal. Bastards.
Suddenly there's a knock on the door, and Gilbert stops pacing, stops breathing. And then the door swings open on rusty hinges and a thin, ragged man struts in. Gilbert watches him with all the natural apprehension he has collected over the ages, and waits. The man looks him up and down, walks around him, and then barks something at the guards Gilbert knows are waiting just outside the door.
They bark something back, and the man shakes his head. And then his attention is on Gilbert again, and in broken, harsh English, he addresses his captive. "You are nation? Germanny nation?"
Gilbert goggles. "Ye - I mean, no," he replies, his own English slightly stilted, but still passable. "I mean, how do you know? About nations?" The man gives him a sly smile and reaches out to tap Gilbert's chest.
"I know lot. You nation. I see you brother, you two Germanny brother." Gilbert shakes his head, thinks about denying it, but the other man has a look in his eyes that says denial is just about as futile as trying to make a run for the door. "I know lot," he reiterates deviously.
"Look, I don't know what you want, but I'm not a nation. Not anymore." Even after all these years, the acknowledgement stings and he has a hard time keeping the bitterness that burns in his chest out of his voice. "My brother, Germany, he's a nation. But I just live with him. I don't really do much, except join in and listen to them bicker at G8 and U.N. meetings."
"You brother, he pay us lot money to get you back. You tell us plans." Gilbert frowns. The man's tone is insinuating and downright off-pissing, as though he not only expects things to happen as he said, but has utter confidence that they will.
"I think you're in way over your head, little man," Gilbert replies, taking petty pleasure in seeing the man's unctuous smile slide off his face. He does not however, take any pleasure in the punch that follows. The man is white and shaking and Gilbert staggers back, jaw agape in pain.
"You rot in hell! I kill you and you brother! Then all you money belong me!" the man screams, before turning and fleeing the cell. And before Gilbert can recover his wits, the door slams shut again, leaving him with only the man's enigmatic words echoing in his head and an ugly bruise rising on his left cheek.
Captcha: previous pursuer. Would that mean these guys are actually working for Russia, Captcha? *shot*
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You should probably link the entire fill in the fills list, not just the update fyi.
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Anyway, I'm also loving this author anon! I love fills where the nations are found out by someone(s). Keep it coming! :D I don't think I've ever seen one where Gilbert was much involved, for precisely the reason he himself stated.
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Day Five
Gilbert's woken up by the sounds of angry shouts and heavy footfalls. He's up faster than lighting, checking the window. It's still dark out; not the velvety black of night, but the featureless grey of early morning. Too early, he thinks. The guards don't usually harass him before mid-morning.
The door of his cell is unlocked, but instead of the usual open-and-close, it slams against the far wall with a loud and resounding clang. Gilbert's eyes widen. The guards are trying to force another figure into his cell. A large, angry figure that Gilbert knows far too well for comfort. And the guards, despite their own intimidating bulk, seem almost powerless against this towering hulk.
"Shit," Gilbert mutters automatically, and it is then that the figure turns to him, eyes lit with barely contained rage and a subtler emotion Gilbert can't place. The guards use the distraction to their advantage and shove the figure with all of their combined might. It gets him just over the threshold, and they make a hasty exit, locking the door again with a haste they have never displayed before. Had he not been faced with the problem in their stead, Gilbert would've laughed until he cried.
Gilbert stands, frozen, for two seconds before instinct takes over and he backs into a far corner. The newcomer stares at him for a moment more, still with that intense fury in his eyes, before he lets out a faint laugh.
"Really, East. I would think that you, of all people, would know better than to shy away from me, yes?" Russia says, voice pleasant enough, but Gilbert immediately senses that something is terribly wrong. He takes stock of the man in front of him, and even in the half-gloom, the stains on Russia's coat are vivid; darker than anything else in the room.
"What the fuck happened to you?" Gilbert wonders aloud. Without meaning to, he takes a step closer.
Russia takes a step forward of his own and whispers, almost conspiratorially, "They bombed Moscow, East. They bombed her. So many of my children, dead in her streets."
He knows now what that other emotion was. Sorrow. Gilbert frowns at the words, tries to wrap his mind around the fact. It doesn't seem to want to sink in, despite all evidence to the contrary right in front of his eyes. "How the hell did they do it? And who the hell are 'they' anyway?" he asks. He's not perturbed by the news, not really, but if they - whoever they are - can bomb Russia and get away with it, what else are they capable of? Suddenly, he feels a startling pang of unease. West.
"I do not know. Apparently it is some kind of religious-political group. They claim to want to take over the world. Can you believe it, East?" Russia laughs again, and the sound of it sends sends a chill up Gilbert's spine. It is weary and pained and filled with something that sounds very nearly like despair.
Gilbert takes another step forward. "What about West? Do you know if anything's happened to him?" The unease has mutated, turned into a lump of terror that sits firmly in his throat and refuses to budge.
"I don't kn-" Before he can finish the sentence, Russia's eyes roll up and he collapses in a boneless heap. Gilbert darts forward, but recoils almost as fast the second one of his hands makes contact with the larger man.
Russia is by proxy usually cold, but now his skin is waxy and ice-like and when Gilbert looks at his hand he sees more blood than appendage. Just what the fuck did they bomb him with? he wonders vaguely as he janks open Russia's coat. What he sees makes him shudder in sheer revulsion. Russia's entire chest a bloodied, warped mess of burned and broken flesh.
"Fuck," Gilbert hisses. There is nothing he can do for something this serious, he knows. So he covers Russia up again as best he can and heads to the door. It's going to be a long day, he thinks, as he starts banging on it.
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Author!anon, thank you so much! This started great, and I can't wait to see what's next
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Day Eight (?)
Gilbert watches Russia as he sleeps with eyes that feel as if they've had buckshot rubbed into them. He's beyond tired; he's exhausted. But he tries to stay awake as much and for as possible. It's preferable to the alternative, at any rate.
Time has taken on a sticky quality and the days are starting to run together like tar melting on a deserted road. He thinks it might have been a week already, that he's been trapped in this hell-hole, but even that thought is tenuous at best.
His eyes swing towards the window and then back again to the figure on the cot. "Whatever. Fuck this," he mutters. Russia'd been drifting in and out of consciousness since the day they'd brought him in. Gilbert had managed to get one of the guards to clean his wounds, although one look at the murky water and filthy bandages he'd brought in with him had Gilbert convinced that maybe leaving Russia's wounds as they were would have been better.
West. Something must've gone wrong, Gilbert thinks for the umpteenth time. The certainty of the thought has grown steadily over the past few days. Why else hasn't his brother shown up yet? Why hasn't anyone come looking for him? Or Russia, for that matter?
"East?" Gilbert's head snaps up at the sound of Russia's croaking, hoarse voice and before he can think, he's kneeling next to the cot.
"Yeah, I'm here," he replies, and dabs at Russia's sweaty forehead with the last clean patch of his shirt sleeve. "You feeling any better yet, bastard?"
Russia's smile is weak and sickly and makes Gilbert want to punch him. "I'm always better when you're with me, East." The words send a chill up Gilbert's spine. They bring back memories he has long denied himself, memories that don't bear thinking of. They make him feel nauseous, and this time he really does punch Russia in the mouth.
Russia's head whips back and his eyes are wide and surprised for a moment, before he brays laughter. A thin red trickle seeps from one corner of his mouth and he licks it away, still laughing. "Oh East. You never change, do you?"
"Shut the fuck up and go back to sleep if you don't have anything useful to contribute," Gilbert replies bitterly, before he stands again and walks to the window.
He can feel Russia's eyes on his back and it isn't long before the words come. "He's not coming, East. You know that, don't you?"
Gilbert keeps his eyes trained on the window and the thin, bleak ray of sunshine it lets in. "Shut up, Ivan," he whispers. "Just shut up."
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I'm absolutely loving it, can't wait to see the rest!
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