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Post by Poland on Mar 19, 2011 19:02:05 GMT -5
November 9, 1944 The ride was turbulent and there was hardly any breathing space for anyone. The freight car seemed far too tiny to accommodate so many people—Feliks estimated about sixty or so— but then, he supposed idly that accommodating heretical Jews and Slavs and Gypsies and all the others was not on the top of the list of the Nazis’ priorities. Oh yes, they had better things to do—countries to invade, cities to burn. They didn’t want nation spirits getting in the way of such important goals, though, so they’d shipped Feliks out of Poland and into Germany, or so he guessed. Now that there were no real battles for the Pole to fight he was admittedly less antsy, but he so much preferred picking fights with Nazis in Warsaw to sitting in a overly packed train while Warsaw burned. Leaving for the second time since the beginning of the war seemed almost like a cruel joke, but he accepted it with a ‘well-what-can-ya-do?’ kind of attitude and went along. Maybe he could’ve fought more, resisted more in that department, he reflected. Or maybe he just didn’t want to stick around to see Warsaw burn. Nonetheless, he was already figuring he’d be out of trouble before long. He didn’t have too much first person experience regarding concentration camps and the like, but he’d seen them in his homeland—by God, he hated having such awful places tarnishing his soil—and noted that they seemed pretty death-based. And for humans, for every other person nervously bustling about the tight space around him, that meant something and something bad. But Feliks was above death—Poland was above death. His heart ached for those all too mortal humans shuffling about, lost in more ways than one. But he knew that besides some minimal discomforts, he’d be fine. One hundred twenty-three years without borders of his own and he’d been more than fine, he reminded himself almost reproachfully, and wore a look of utter peace. It was November and if not for all of the sweat and body heat the car contained, the train would’ve been too chilly. He probably would’ve appreciated that more, though. The musty dampness of the box car sure was nasty, and he didn’t at all tolerate the accidental brushes of skin inside of the miniature hell hole. The sickening way the cars rocked and bounced at the most inoppurtune of times was beginning to make him dizzy. Despite everything, though, Feliks seemed for all the world to be at ease. Making faces, he had flinched at the lightest physical contact and gently shoved his way towards the sole, small window (barred, of course) to the side of him. The cool air felt pleasant after what felt like being crushed between throngs of people. He’d been taking too many things for granted, he realized with a shake of the head, air being one of them. He never even realized how much it meant to him to have clean air, castles, status… a standing capital. But he remained calm and generally confident. Maybe overconfident, maybe far too convinced of his invincibility for anything to go well. He received many disbelieving stares for so carelessly standing by the tiny window, humming a considerably off key version of “Poland is Not Yet Lost” and grasping a window bar to make the freight car’s constant rocking slightly less maddening. He tried not to think about all of the people in the freight car, and tried to drown out their hushed words, some familiar and some foreign. He focused not on his own problem at the moment—when an idea came to him, it would come, after all—and kept his mind on something safe and unrelated to his circumstances, stubbornly peering outside as if the confines of the train car didn’t even exist. At some point, he heard movement and, slightly startled, turned his head away from the window. Feliks paused, took in the familiar face with a bit of a gape, and then laughed a little, staring at the unexpected nation in a manner akin to a leer. He was grinning so broadly it looked as though it hurt. There was a flurry of conflicting feelings—he was slightly upset with the Austrian for his alliance with Germany to begin with, and yet ultimately glad to have a familiar face around, despite the fact that Poland generally thought of Austria as somewhat useless. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” He said loudly after hardly a moment’s worth of staring, with a casuality extremely unsuited for the matter at hand. He didn’t seem to care if anyone heard him when he added in equal volume, “Are you an ‘untermensch,’ too?” The tone of his voice made it obvious he thought the concept was ridiculous, yet he had a genuine curiosity as to whether or not the hateful word really did apply to aristocratic, Germanic Austria-- if not, why would he be wasting away in the freight car with the rest of them? --- ((Untermensch-- what Nazis called 'inferior races' like Slavs, Gypsies, Jews, etc. Translates like 'sub-human'
So after the failure of 1944 Warsaw Uprising which I mainly blame on those no-good Soviets Hitler said, "Warsaw must be pacified-- that is, razed to the ground." And then they did it. I imagine Poland didn't want to see it; he was probably around when they destroyed the National Library and kind of lost it. He also bled a lot, I guess... Ah, anyway.
So, Aus, s-sorry this took such a long time orz If there's something wrong with it, please tell me and I'll fix it straightaway! o/ )) |
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Post by Austria on Mar 20, 2011 4:01:50 GMT -5
“Get in line, verräter!”Austria winced and nearly tripped as a soldier of the Schutzstaffel bashed him with his rifle, pushing him into the long line of people that waited to embark on the train, the soldier and his comrades laughing and mocking him. He could feel the piercing glares around him. The other prisoners looked at him in disgust and hate. He was still wearing the uniform of a Hauptman of the Wehrmacht, after all. They obviously had a reason to hate any and all Germans. He wanted to yell “I’m not a German, I’m an Austrian!” but he knew it would be in vain. Slowly and unwillingly, he was pushed into the freight train. After a moment, he had been quickly pushed into one of the corners of the wagon. As he heard the engine start and the doors close, he quickly ripped off all insignias and Nazi symbolisms from his mud and blood stained uniform and threw them on the floor in quiet disgust. Roderich sat down on the uncomfortable flooring of the wagon. The atmosphere was simply terrible in every way and that was probably an understatement. He began to reflect on what had happened recently. It had been barely a year since he had been forcefully drafted into the Nazi German military. Because of the stunning losses in the Eastern Front and the stalemate on the Italian Front, the Nazis were beginning to be desperate for manpower and so, eventually, the severely-weakened Roderich appeared into the list of plausible candidates from conscription. Because of his previous experience, he was promoted straight to Hauptman. He probably would have been of much higher rank if he still had his status as a nation, though he doubted that anyone would believe that he was a Feldmarschall/Tábornagy of the Imperial and Royal Army… He was quickly deployed to the front as part of the 3 Gebirgs-Division in the Eastern Front. It didn’t take long until he received his first combat experience of the war. Strict, organised and calm, the Austrian was an excellent officer even though he was a weak soldier. Even though he gained respect from his subordinates, Roderich was not very friendly. He preferred to stay alone and avoid any conversations with his fellow officers. He didn’t want to get into a fight. Sadly enough, it happened. Two weeks ago, he received news on the success of Operation Panzerfaust. In anger and frustration, he personally wrote a letter to Ludwig demanding an explanation. Sadly, he never realised that he could be under surveillance. Indeed, the Gestapo intercepted his letter. A couple of days later, to add fire into the fuel, he entered an argument with his fellow officers when they started mocking the Hungarians; for once unable to contain his honour and pride. After awkwardly leaving the scene, he was followed be a few officers of the Secret Police. “Halt!” the senior officer called out. The Austrian turned around in surprise as he recognized the uniform. “Disloyal to the decision of the Führer, Hauptman Edelstein?” he asked with a knowing grin. “I’m sure you know what we do to dissenters and traitors…”
The officer turned to one of his subordinates, who nodded and walked towards Roderich, grabbing his arm to restrain him. He struggled for a moment, only to feel the wooden stock of a rifle into his stomach before he could speak. Hacking blood because of the hit on his stomach, he quickly collapsed on the mud. The senior officer’s grin widened as he watched the weak Austrian whimper in pain in the mud, blood still coming out of his mouth. “Generaloberst Herrmann is not pleased, Herr Edelstein.” he spat before stomping on the back of Austria’s head. The Austrian slipped out of conscience before being dragged away by the Gestapo. When Roderich finally regained his consciousness, he was lying down in a freight train. Immediately, he knew what was happening. He was well aware of the concentration camps. At least, he was aware of the rumours but he was one of the rare people that actually believed they existed. It was hard not to feel all the murdering happening on your land, after all. The train eventually stopped. They were probably transferring whoever was on board to different trains going to different camps, he assumed. Eventually, he was fetched by a couple of SS and was forced to board the current train he is riding without any idea where it went. As Roderich desperately tried to ignore his surroundings, he suddenly realised that he most probably would die at the end of this trip. Perhaps he would be lucky and work to death instead. As his fears of loneliness struck him, he suddenly felt a familiar presence. He finally decided to look around the wretched wagon, ignoring the many glares. He quickly spotted the blonde. Clutching to his stomach as he slowly stood up, he made his way towards the Pole. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” the pole said rather loudly, making the wound on the back of his head suddenly sting, “Are you an ‘untermensch,’ too?”Roderich held the back of his head where he had been stomped. “I’m surprised they didn’t send me here sooner.” He told him in a surprisingly quiet and monotone voice. “Apparently so. It seems that questioning the righteous and kind Führer gets you into trouble.” He continued, his quiet voice suddenly replaced by obvious bitterness and sarcasm. He leaned on the wall of the freight car as he found the pain from his wounds to be less and less bearable. “I guess annexing my land was not enough.” He sighed. “If I may ask, what are you doing here, Feliks?” he asked, genuinely curious, “I thought that you were fighting on alongside England.”--- (( Verräter: German for "traitor" according to Google...
Schutzstaffel: The SS. No need to explain further...
Hauptman: German Rank equivalent to Captain.
Wehrmacht: German for "Armed Forces", the military of Nazi Germany.
Feldmarschall/Tábornagy: Highest rank in the Austro-Hungarian Army.
3 Gebirgs-Division: German for "3rd Mountain Division" a German unit that was made out of old Austrian units.
Opertion Panzerfaust: German invasion of Hungary in 1944 when the Hungarians tried to get a separate peace with the Soviets.
Gestapo: German Secret Police.
Oh god... I didn't expect to write this so quickly... Tell me if I did something wrong. ^^; ))
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Post by Poland on Mar 24, 2011 2:36:36 GMT -5
Well. Austria was now, finally, sort of a respectable person again-- Poland had been disappointed in the other nation after he'd capitulated, and become one with Germany. He didn't know if it was Roderich's choice or not, but either way the news certainly hadn't been happy. Feliks had been saddened, in an off way, taking it as a total loss for Austria. Maybe he wouldn't die, but like all the other old German states consolidated into Germany, he'd have little purpose or say in the scheme of things, wouldn't he? Poland didn't like imagining aristocratic Austria all retired and more pathetic than he usually seemed. Maybe he'd lose that constant... dignified flair that defined him. It sure looked like he'd lost it, if no where else, right at that moment in the train. He looked tired, and not so majestic anymore, in that stupid wrinkled uniform of his. But obviously, if he was ballsy enough to question Hitler like he said, then maybe he hadn't lost much at all. And maybe he wouldn't be such lame companionship under circumstances like theirs.
So right at that second following Austria's bitter remarks, Feliks decided they were now going to be in a semi-official alliance of sorts. He said nothing about it, because Austria was still speaking and he was still thinking, but it was so. Even Feliks knew he could use any and all of the allies he could get, and Roderich counted as one even though their respective nations were at war. Austria was a traitor to them, anyway and--
“I guess annexing my land was not enough.”
"Wait, your land is apart of Germany now-- and you're against Germany-- so doesn't that mean you're..." He sucked in air, looking frustrated as he fumbled for the right words to describe that state of being of being a nation and yet not really having a country. In Feliks' opinion, nobody in Europe knew more about that sort of situation than he did, and he knew just how susceptible a nation seemed when they didn't have their country at full strength. Susceptible to more injury or... to death, maybe? He frowned; sure, it was something like karma, but he really would have preferred it if karma had thrown this at Russia or Prussia or both instead of Roderich, who Hungary probably really needed given that recent crisis Poland had heard about in passing.
Feliks stopped fumbling for words for a moment, shaking his head dismissively and deciding his first order of business would be to make sure Austria didn't die in such a lowly, despicable place. Feliks had survived through years of being a nation-without-a-nation, but Poland was Poland, and Austria was Austria, and Feliks didn't know what the other could endure and they were going to have to endure quite a bit. There was a lengthy silence before he reiterated. "You're like... a nation without a nation now." His voice was surprisingly calm, as if he was stating the plain facts. "I don't know but... can't you die if you're like that?" He wasn't sure at all, really, but his face showed slight concern. Still, it was almost condescending, like that of a wounded soldier peering at a splinter in a child's finger.
“If I may ask, what are you doing here, Feliks? I thought that you were fighting on alongside England.”
Feliks blinked, wondered who told him that, vaguely hoping it wasn't Germany-- no, probably Hungary. Briefly, idly, he wondered when the last time was that the two of them had met. But that was a question for later. Presently, there were epic stories to tell of his valiance and woes and strife. Feliks took great pleasure in telling stories, especially those that were true. And it didn't seem wrong at all to boast because he felt a little boasting was needed in such gloomy surroundings. Ah, but, he didn't really account for the sad parts of his story either, the sad parts that hadn't been fixed yet, the sad parts that Austria himself was decidedly going to help fix. He rambled past them like they didn't matter at all.
"Well, I was-- I shot down seven German planes in two weeks, you know--and that was good, but sooner or later I got to feeling dumb for being in England instead of, you know, Poland. So I was like, 'Okay, sorry England, you can thank me later (seriously do) and I'll be going now.' and Miko³ajczyk told me not to go, but he didn't order me, so I think he really wanted me to go, so I went... I flew into France, and refueled, so then I flew to my place, and then I went to Warsaw and let me tell you, it felt so great to be back! And then the Uprising started-- did you hear about it? Basically we had this..." he paused. It was more depressing than amazing, or depressingly amazing, so he focused on the good parts. "We had this... this great two month run, and Hungary showed up for a bit, and we kicked some ass, and then she left which kinda made me worry but Hungary's a big girl and..." Poland watched Austria's face, wondering whether or not it'd been prudent to mention Elizaveta to begin with. But then he ignored Austria, staring sidelong at the view rushing by outside of the window, and decided to continue.
"So then some things went... wrong, and we had to surrender to Ger-- to them, you know?" he said in a more hushed voice, in a voice that trembled and seemed a little choked up. He continued, making a displeased face, "so then some Nazi guys took me and I didn't know they'd send me out of the country again but they did, and I stood in some place in the middle of nowhere starving and bleeding and thirsty for like two days straight before enough people were rounded up to make a trip to wherever-we're-going." He purposefully steered clear of the reason for his bleeding. He didn't even like to think about what the Germans were doing to his cities, let alone mention it. Besides, if he knew Austria, and he had lived with the guy, he was going to ask about Hungary, which was silly-seeming to Poland because he had little information on where she was either. All he knew was that she'd been invaded; she could be in a train or a concentration camp at that very second. The thought startled Feliks, but didn't much bother him because Elizaveta really was strong. In some ways, stronger than Poland could manage to be.
"Wait, so why are you here? And who told you that I was fighting with England-- It wasn't Ludwig or Feliciano, was it? I know Lizzy isn't really, but aren't you supposed to be on their side?"
----
(( I should've liked to do something more detailed than Poland explaining everything in one giant, vague dialogue, but this is something he'd do anyway and I wanted to finish this one soon and I love writing for him when he explains things so... I'll just drop details as I go along! ahaha...
Miko³ajczyk-- the head of the Polish Government in Exile at this time... pretty cool guy. ))
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Post by Austria on Mar 26, 2011 1:40:18 GMT -5
Of all the other countries he could have met in his current situation, Roderich felt somewhat blessed that it was Feliks. Sure, their current situation was far from a blessing and more like an awful curse, but Poland had been through the same situation as him. He probably had it much worse, actually. The Partitions must have been horrid moments in the Pole’s life and Austria, being one of the Empires that partitioned him as his Commonwealth collapsed, suddenly realised how much it meant for a nation to lose his, well, nation. The Austrian used to be able to refuge himself with the fact that he had been much more benevolent than Russia and Prussia, giving Galicia significant autonomy. There even were numerous Poles occupying important positions in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Now, he finally realised how much it meant to lose one’s status as a nation. Even if one was treated very well from his occupiers, as it was to case with Galicia or his current self. To be wiped off the world map, to have one’s existence denied, erased… It was much more than a simply loss of status. At the moment, not only did Roderich feel utterly powerless, but shame, humiliation, and failure as well. He felt like that because the Austrian identity was completely suppressed by the Nazi authorities. Only a few people were courageous enough to fight back under red-white-red. Still, their numbers were simply too small to make a difference. He couldn’t stop the annexation. He couldn’t do anything as Österreich was wiped off on every maps, only to be replaced by Östmark… The new name made him gag a bit, even if the two names nearly meant the same thing. Failure was all he could feel when he looked on maps. "Wait, your land is a part of Germany now-- and you're against Germany-- so doesn't that mean you're..."The Austrian decided not to answer him. He knew that Feliks wouldn’t like being interrupted, anyways. At least, he doubted that the blonde was any less talkative than he was before, and interrupting him was never a good idea. Nonetheless, he observed his reaction for a moment, not sure why he truly looked frustrated. Was he perhaps simply mocking him? He wouldn’t be surprised if Feliks still held a grudge against him… He probably deserved it, anyways. Then again, it could also be a sign of compassion as he was going through the same road that he did almost two centuries earlier. He honestly hoped for the latter, yet truly expected the earlier. "You're like... a nation without a nation now. I don't know but... can't you die if you're like that?" the Polish nation said, his voice surprisingly calm and quiet. At least, it was by Feliks’ standards. The brunette couldn’t help but sigh deeply at his statement, looking away from Poland for a moment. It was the truth, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
“That is indeed true,” he began, finally turning his head back towards the blonde, “I am feeling very much weaker than I used to. It honestly reminds me of the time I spend in a wheelchair after the Great War. Only this time, I can actually walk.” He admitted, trying to keep his stoic appearance as he remembered that. Then, he quickly shook his head, realising that he of all people knew how it felt to be a nation without an actual nation. “…Forgive me,” he sighed, “That was rude. It’s obvious that you know how it feels more than anyone else.”As Roderich watched Poland’s reaction once again, wondering if he had said something he shouldn’t have. He quickly forgot about that when Feliks began to tell his tale. He had to admire his ability to tell such a story under such an atmosphere. The Austrian carefully listened to him as it made him able to ignore his surroundings for at least a moment. “...and Hungary showed up for a bit, and we kicked some ass, and then she left which kinda made me worry but Hungary's a big girl and..."Austria’s eyes widened, feeling his heart stop for a moment at the mention of his ex-wife. He opened his mouth but no sound came out, deciding not to interrupt him in the middle of his tale out of politeness and trying not to be as predictable as he probably was. It didn’t stop him from feeling extremely worried. Did Ludwig find out? What did he do to her, the bastard?! He mentally scolded himself, not wanting to let anger take over him despite the mental images that appeared in his mind. Hungary was a strong woman, after all. He sincerely hoped she was fine. He tried his best to listen to the rest of Poland’s tale. “I heard a little bit of what happened from the other perspective. I learned not to believe what the propaganda radio says, thankfully.” He says, still trying to avoid to imminent and obvious question about Hungary. Since Poland had finished his tale and the two were quiet, he decided to finally ask. “…Do you know about Eliza’s whereabouts?” He surprisingly didn’t notice that he used her nickname that he rarely used except when it was only the two of them.
"Wait, so why are you here? And who told you that I was fighting with England-- It wasn't Ludwig or Feliciano, was it? I know Lizzy isn't really, but aren't you supposed to be on their side?"Austria sighed. He knew his position was far from clear ever since the Anschluss. “Germany forced me to accept a fait accompli. I could not say no as his armies invaded. Whether I liked it or not, I became part of Germany and my status as a nation was completely lost. I have to admit, it wasn’t too bad until the Gestapo started to spy on me all the time and when I found out about the Concentration and Extermination camps…” he shivered at the thought, “I tried my best to support the very little resistance was born after the annexation, but I obviously underestimated the number of Nazis in my lands. Either way, I was able to keep the suspicions low, but I presume Ludwig decided that I could not be trusted and the Gestapo never left me alone. Finally, since he is now very desperate for manpower, I was drafted into the army. Once more, I had no choice in the matter. One day, my tongue slipped and I spoke against Operation Panzerfaust.” He intentionally left out the reason why, even if it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. “It was all the Gestapo needed and they arrested me. That vaguely sums up the reason why I am here. As for you fighting in England, I heard from Ludwig that he was not able to capture you when he invaded. I simply assumed that you left for France or England. Eliza told me as well during one of her visits, though I am not sure how she knew.”As he finished his own short tale, Roderich realised that, in the end, he spoke of Hungary once more. He sighed inwardly, trying not to think about her as it pained him to think of all the bad things that could have happened to her. He also restrained himself from asking more questions about her to Feliks, doubting that he never more than he did. “…Feliks, do you think we will survive through this?” he asked instead. Without his status as a nation, his chances of survival were quite low, especially since he was already such a pathetically weak person to begin with. Then again, perhaps that there was a chance alongside Feliks… --- ((Oh lawd, I didn't expect to write that much...
-Fait accompli: en.wiktionary.org/wiki/fait_accompli )) |
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Post by Poland on Apr 19, 2011 2:30:47 GMT -5
He stopped talking—the train rocked, he shifted his weight and looked around again, blandly wondering how long it’d be until the train stopped for good and the anxious group of people was herded into a camp to be worked to an untimely death. The thought made him shudder, but it was almost like the hopelessness, or whatever negative feelings were supposed to be associated with forced captivity and death was only scratching the surface and weren’t really hitting the core at all. Feliks distantly felt grief, but it was so easy to brush off, that it seemed fleeting and ephemeral. He thought about this—there was silence between Austria and he for the moment. But when Roderich spoke again, Feliks turned to him quickly and latched his attention onto him. He didn’t get the gloom and doom feeling altogether, but that didn’t mean he’d go looking for it, or that he didn’t realize it was there to start with.
And it was a million times better, anyway, to look at Austria than that sickening pail, the way its unpleasant contents sloshed when the train rocked. Was it awful, that he was more concerned with the sanitation in the train than the impending death sentence? Even at that, Poland felt a twinge of guilt— that was ephemeral, too, though.
“I heard a little bit of what happened from the other perspective. I learned not to believe what the propaganda radio says, thankfully.” Poland blinked. At least Austria was allowed a radio—although it certainly was better, he assumed, to have no radio rather than one that spouted useless propaganda. He noticed, after a moment, that Austria had that funny thinking face on, and was most peculiarly quiet.
“…Do you know about Eliza’s whereabouts?”
Poland sighed quite blatantly, folding his scrawny arms across his chest. He opened his mouth, beginning with an apology—and just as quickly decided there was really no need to say sorry. “Nope.” He said very matter-of-factly. “I saw her, and I… I honestly can’t believe she was there with me instead of in her own country at that time, but Lizzy’s weird like that, isn’t she? But, no, I have no idea where she is. She left for Budapeszt, last I saw her. When was the last time you saw her?” And at that moment, he was overcome with sympathy for the tragic two. At the very least, he was going to pull Austria out alive by the ankles, and eventually they’d have their happy reunion—surely, definitely! But presently, he could hardly imagine the pain they held for being so far apart in such a dangerous time, and so unsure of each other’s survival—no, wait, he didn’t feel bad in that aspect. Naturally, it was only right to love someone if you trusted them. And if Austria and Hungary couldn’t trust each other to at the very least stay alive for their next meeting, then they weren’t that cute of a couple at all.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you should have a little faith in her, though. Neither of us—hm, any of us—no, we don’t die easily. And what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.” He waggled a finger, not feeling ridiculous in the least for bringing up that worn and torn cliché. It was horribly and wonderfully true, though, wasn’t it? A moment later, he asked how Austria came to be considered an enemy of the Third Reich as well. It was surprisingly easy to listen. Maybe Poland had wanted Austria to justify himself to begin with, and to hear that his annexation was more forced than consensual somehow made a great difference to Poland. Just that small bit made it even easier to hate Germany; any reason he could get was a good one.
Feliks didn’t know what Operation Panzerfaust was, so he did have to think about it—but it was fairly obvious that that was the German code name for that invasion of Hungary. He thought well of Austria, then, and let the brilliance of his approval shine off of him. “I wish I’d been able to do something like that,” He said, sounding a tad disappointed as he scratched at his nail, “But I really couldn’t help her out in the end.” There was a little somberness to his voice, and he sighed. “Well, neither could you, so there’s that…. But we can totally help her after we bust out of here!”
“…Feliks, do you think we will survive through this?”
Poland looked at him very seriously, and then laughed in his face—the joyful sound startling many of the surrounding prisoners, who’d already become used to wallowing in their sorrow, it seemed. “What a completely ridiculous thing to say,” He said with stark disdain, flapping his hand about dismissively, “Of course we will. We’ll just… y’know, escape. Labor is not my thing, of course, and I doubt you’ll enjoy it much either. But… we’ll need a plan—and you’ll need a spine, if you can grow one.”
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Post by Austria on May 1, 2011 18:18:21 GMT -5
The Austrian suddenly wondered why he had asked the whereabouts of his lover. Why would Feliks know anything more than he did? Sure, Poland was her best friend, but they were stuck on different sides in the war. He found it more surprising… No, it definitely wasn’t surprising for her at all. She always went to great lengths to help those she cared for. The thought actually made him smile for a brief moment: She hadn’t changed so far. It was slightly reassuring, but his barely noticeable smile quickly turned into a frown.
“Nope.”Honestly, he wasn’t expecting any other answer from him. Yet, for some reason, the words still felt like a dagger through his heart. Well, it’s not like he could help having a little bit of hopeless optimism. The little bit of hope he had right now was probably the only thing beside Feliks that would help him survive all the way through this nightmare. His optimism was definitely going to help counterbalance his worries and pessimism, and he couldn’t complain about that at all. He wasn’t one to give up easily, but he never had been pushed so far. He did not have his status as a nation, after all. This could get very problematic very quickly if he wasn’t careful. Feliks had lived through that, however. This meant that his help was invaluable to his survival.
“I saw her, and I… I honestly can’t believe she was there with me instead of in her own country at that time, but Lizzy’s weird like that, isn’t she?”His earlier smile returned as his thoughts returned as well. “She’s not weird, Feliks. She cares quite a lot for you, and you know as much as I do how far she is willing to go in order to help those she cares for.” He wasn’t sure why he was reminding that to Feliks of all people. He probably knew her as much as he did, maybe even more. “When was the last time you saw her?”Roderich sighed, though in a more nostalgic manner rather than in a depressing one. “Elizaveta’s last true visit was before Ludwig started his invasion of Russia. It was just basically to tell me that we wouldn’t be able to see each other as often, if at all anymore. We just decided to send letters instead, though it didn’t take long before I stopped receiving any. We were able to see each other again before I was drafted, though, and she said that she did continue to send letters. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ludwig found out and simply stopped any letters that were sent to me…” he finally stopped himself as he realised that he was rambling and his cheeks reddened a bit. “Ah, sorry, I doubt you care about any of that…,” he murmured, “The point is that last meeting was the last time I spoke or got any news from her…” He sighed once again, letting silence take over for another moment. “You should have a little faith in her, though. Neither of us—hm, any of us—no, we don’t die easily. And what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.”“Of course I have faith in her!” he quickly and angrily protested, which was strange coming from the stoic aristocrat. Then, he quickly looked around them after realising how he had reacted, not feeling very comfortable with the attention they suddenly got. It only took a moment, however, before the strange looks were off them, and he continued in a more calm way. “I mean, I do have faith in her. It’s just… I can’t help but worry all the time. There’s nothing wrong with that… right…?” He sounded a little distressed at the end of his sentence, and the look in his face didn’t help that even if it was barely noticeable. “That is true, though. We might not be at our strongest, but that doesn’t mean we have to give up.” If they were to get out of here alive, he’d have to have at least a little bit of optimism. And anyways, what kind of bastard would he be if he didn’t have faith in his lover? Roderich was honestly taken aback by Feliks’ sudden and joyful laughter, yet again feeling a bit uncomfortable with all the eyes looking at them. “What a completely ridiculous thing to say. Of course we will. We’ll just… y’know, escape. Labor is not my thing, of course, and I doubt you’ll enjoy it much either. But… we’ll need a plan—and you’ll need a spine, if you can grow one.”Austria grinned more noticeably than when he did earlier. He had to admit, the Pole’s optimism was getting contagious, and he was grateful about that. More optimism meant more hope to survive the wretched place, and surviving meant that he could see Hungary again. This is the only motivation he needed, the only other thing he did need was someone to remind him that. “Hehe, you’ll see, Feliks, I’ll grow a spine. However, we do need a plan. I certainly do not want to rot here for too long.” He looked out of the barred window and noticed that the railway was now going through a forest. He suddenly had a strange and unpleasant feeling in his stomach and whispered to the blonde. “… We’re near our destination, Poland. Be sure to pay attention to our surroundings. If we are to escape, it will be crucial to know the place.” He knew this was going to be hell, Poland probably did too. Roderich was, however, determined to escape alongside Feliks. They were going to survive and he would finally be able to see Elizaveta. Failure was not an option; he was not going to die on her. --- (( Heh, sorry if this post is crap. I'm as rusty as probably anyone else here. I know the train ride is unrealistically short but I think we both know that we need to move on with the plot. XD; )) |
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Post by Poland on May 12, 2011 1:53:05 GMT -5
Poland gave Austria a lingering look, before he averted his eyes to the small window and peered out of it, mouth somewhere between a thin smile and a flat line. On one hand, he already knew he would survive through the camp, and thus had no real reason to worry. And on the other, he found it to be a huge waste of time. He already felt like escaping, making a break for it as soon as there was a chance and stringing Austria along by his wrist—but even Feliks knew that was a stupid thing to attempt; out of the window, he could already see a mass of Nazis waiting at the Camp stop, rifles casually slung over their shoulders, dressed in those despicable uniforms.
Ah. So was Austria, for that matter. He looked at the other nation’s attire with clear distaste before tilting his head to better see the camp coming up to the side. The others’ whispering grew louder and louder as they crowded around Feliks, trying to catch a glimpse of the concentration camp, trying to see if it truly lived up to all the stories and dark imaginations people had brought up about them. The Pole couldn’t help but stiffen with so many people brushing up against him, murmuring around his ears so excitedly—again, he was finding it difficult to breathe well with the air so damp and unpleasantly warm. He kept a firm hand on one of the bars, and tilted his head up against the cool steel of the train to better see their destination. He wasn’t much surprised, really, to see smoke coiling up into the sky, or that oppressive looking fence. He saw a watchtower—occupied by more gun-toting Nazis, by the looks of it, and further out, he could see buildings but couldn’t make them out distinctly.
Feliks didn’t say much at that point, he only made a thoughtful hmmm sound and remained still, not that he could’ve made much comfortable movement given all of the moving around him on the part of the other prisoners. It quite annoyed him, and at the same time, struck him dead-stiff, when he looked over his shoulder to see emotions played out anew on their faces at the knowledge that they were now approaching the last destination. These weren’t expressions of mild discomfort, not those he could’ve laughed at when he saw them on Lithuania’s face. Those weren’t the melodramatic tears of someone too easily upset—those he could’ve laughed off too— but theirs were genuine sobs, that was genuine terror.
Poland wished he could give some of his own fearlessness away in increments to those people. Or that they could somehow adapt, or overcome, or regain some semblance of hope, at least. “God, calm down,” He found himself saying to them under his breath, while he threw uncertain glances at Austria—he didn’t know if the other nation saw or not. In the case that they looked away, preferring to see the source of horror rather than the feeling itself, well, they couldn’t escape the sound of it. Feliks could only press himself closer to the edge of the train—as far away as he could get. But as he did so, the train gave a dizzying lurch and Feliks almost fell over, having to grab at an upright man’s shoulder to steady himself. Something foul-looking had spilled all over the floor, he realized in disgust, and stared straight-up, heavenward. It was all—very—unpleasant—
Somewhere in the train, in the tangle of lives destined to die out, out of all of the noise, he thought he heard the howling of a man. What an ugly sound, that.
And the next thing he knew, fresh air and light was flooding the box car—the side door had slid open, and he heard that harsh sound of Germans yelling commands out with their special, unique kind of harshness. Feliks closed his eyes and cringed. He hated the sound of German, but it was sufferable—it would have to be, since Feliks was going to be spending some time surrounded by it within the camp.
But still, there was a limit on what Feliks could tolerate without being…. Annoyed. And in Feliks’ vast experience, annoyances generally became worse and worse.
The tangle of people became an equally bustling wave, pouring out of the train. Like Feliks, many of them seemed quite happy to feel fresh air whip across their face, and to see the light of day, but also very dismayed at the looks of things. The futility of it all, reflected in the voices of the guards and the dull glint of the wire fence, seeming meters and meters tall over them. Feliks made sure to keep an eye on Austria as he shuffled out of the train, looking all around him with his mouth slightly agape, taking in deep breaths and difficult sights.
He must’ve stopped moving altogether, because something prodded him—the barrel of a rifle? Looking unabashedly irritated, he glanced over his shoulder and into the face of a particularly seething young German, then pursed his lips together and drew his eyebrows closer to make the expression of someone not very impressed.
Just as he was about to sigh, or perhaps even resignedly move away, the barrel of the rifle made somewhat forceful contact with the small of his back again, and Feliks gave a small grunt and wheeled around completely, cross and defiant. With one swift movement, he reached out and grasped the barrel, shoving it a ways to the side of his body and holding it still with his one hand. “Willst du damit aufhören?” he snapped crisply, in heavily accented German—despite how little he deigned to use it, and how much it reminded him of certain savage nations fond of warfare and assholery, he did remember most of the language. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Austria, but disregarded him and continued to gaze heatedly back at the guard, who eyed him with a mixture of dumbfounded disbelief and mounting anger. “Dumme schwein…” Feliks spat a moment later, and crossed his arms. The German pulled the rifle back all too easily, and Feliks snorted—
Right up until the point where it came back and slapped him across the cheek with a sickeningly audible smack. The blond bristled then, and lifted a hand to his cheek, glowering at the Nazi’s smug self-satisfaction. He wasn’t spectacularly hurt, not by any stretch of the imagination, but that superior look on the youth’s face, and the way he shoved yet again with the rifle, was mostly just shoving and shoving at Poland’s nerves. Everyone around him kept their heads down and scurried marginally faster as they passed, but Feliks opened his mouth one more time to say something else— after all, wouldn’t this Nazi like to know that he wasn’t just a stupid pig, but also a Jew-hating, intolerant, monstrous, power-hungry bastard far too used to taking advantage of others by force? Just like his nation, just like him.
Willst du damit aufhören-- will you stop that?
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Post by Austria on May 28, 2011 19:28:34 GMT -5
Roderich looked at the Pole from the corner of his eyes, catching his clearly disgusted stares directed to the Austrian. He sighed inwardly; there was simply nothing he could do about it. His uniform still had obvious ripping marks due to his earlier frustration, but also a few bloodstains. Truthfully, the only reason he was keeping the coat was due to his frugality and that the extra fabric of the trench coat could become extremely helpful sooner or later. …How ironic, he thinks. He despised the uniforms as well. The same that waltzed into his lands to ‘unify the all the German people in the collapsing regime in Austria’. Shamefully enough, he’s the one wearing the uniform now along with most of his countrymen. He couldn’t lie; the ‘Austrofascists’ were collapsing before the Nazis took over. The sheer number of his people in German uniforms is a clear proof of that. It wasn’t so surprising, he thought. The aftermath of the Great War had been enormous to him, both physically and mentally. It was unsurprising that his people would have an identity crisis when there was no such thing as Austrian nationalism before Herr Dollfuss’ reign after his little Civil War. The only thing uniting his people (and the other nations of his old Empire) was the Habsburg Emperor. Ousting the Habsburg family was one of the worst mistakes his people made, the worse being the creation of the ‘Republic of German Austria’. He shivered at the thought of such a name. He never regretted sticking with His Majesty Karl during the whole time, despite what most of his people seemed to think at the time. Perhaps, when this war is over, Austria would be reborn once again, just as Poland had after so many years. His people may not have such a distinct culture like the Polish people, but the Austrian people had a long history together. It cannot be impossible to create an... Austrian nation. He smiled at the thought, it sounded pretty nice in his ears. He learned from his previous mistakes as a modern nation. An independent Austria shouldn’t be such a far-fetched idea if he can convince his people that the Austrians are different from the Germans, that they have their own history and their own flag to unite under. It may be impossible to restore the prestige he had before his Empire fell or to restore the Habsburgs that united the Austrian people for so many centuries, but that wouldn’t stop him from getting his independence. No more ‘Greater Germany’, no more Nazis, Fascists, or Führers, but an independent and free Austria. He didn’t know how he was going to achieve that but he wasn’t going to give up, even if he had to go back on that god damned wheelchair. Roderich looked out the barred window as the other passengers grouped around it. First of all, he was going to have to break out of this wretched place. Luckily, with Feliks’ help, it didn’t look as hopeless as he had once thought despite the look on the other prisoners’ faces. It was understandable since none of them had seen any of these camps before. He, sadly enough, had seen them before as well as the extermination camps. As a nation, it was nearly impossible not to feel those horrifying camps, especially with the number of his people that were being murdered every day. Roderich made sure to keep his usual stoic expression as he looked around the wagon once more, examining the looks of terror and sadness on the people’s faces. He had to stay calm; perhaps it would be helpful for them to see someone still calm about everything. Suddenly, the door of the wagon slid open, only for a few Nazis waiting for them. After yelling their orders, the prisoners began to flock out of the cramped wagon while the soldiers formed a cordon to make sure that nobody tries to escape. Then again, the soldier manning the machinegun on top of the guard tower was probably just waiting for an opportunity to unleash a burst of rifle rounds on anyone attempting to escape. This will most likely cause a lot of problem with their escape, he noted. As he continued to follow the rest of the flock, he was snapped out of his thoughts by Feliks’ voice, who seemed to have started a commotion with one of the guards. “Willst du damit aufhören? Dumme schwein…” Roderich’s eyes widened at the Pole’s words, but before he could intervene, the guard had slapped Feliks across the cheek. Austria noticed how Poland looked so calm, yet his eyes showed anger. As Feliks opened his mouth, the Austrian quickly intervened this time, covering his friend’s mouth with one hand while the other pushed at his back, guiding him away from the guard. “Calm down, Feliks. We can’t cause trouble so early. We can’t afford suspicion like thi-”Austria’s whisper was interrupted as the guard decided that the ‘traitor’ was a better target. The Nazi looked at Roderich with a cruel grin before hitting him right on the stomach as hard as he could with the wooden stock of his rifle. When the Nazi pulled his rifle off his stomach, Roderich slowly fell on his knees, unable to breathe for a moment. The guard looked down to the Austria, the same grin still smugly stuck on his face. Looking satisfied, the Nazi walked off, laughing obnoxiously. For Roderich, this served as a reminder that he wasn’t a nation anymore. He couldn’t resist pain as much as he used to be able to. He had to be careful from now on or else he was going to get killed in this cursed camp. He slowly got back up on his feet, his legs shaking quite visibly as he was still recovering from the shock. It wasn’t going to be an easy ride, but he wasn’t going to give up. He may be weak, but he was no coward. After all, he had vowed to regain his independence only moments ago and he was dead-set on seeing Elizaveta once more. --- |
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Post by Poland on Jun 11, 2011 14:58:33 GMT -5
"Du--" Poland was silenced, then, surprisingly not by that irritating rifle butt but by Austria's hand, and furthermore by his words, gentle and calming and passive. Poland furrowed his eyebrows at him and was sorely tempted to lick his hand but decided that would be really grody, and he'd had his fair share of disgust lately on his own. Besides that, Feliks' eyes had already glinted past Roderich to challenge the soldier again, but his attention was elsewhere.
And Roderich's hand was off of Poland's mouth before he could register what happened, but then Hungary's ex-husband was lying on the floor in what looked like a lot of pain. The German left them then, and Feliks watched him go with more than a reasonable amount of resentment before he thought to offer a hand to his fallen friend. By then, he was already pulling himself up from the dirt. Awkwardly, Feliks stood still with the idea that he needed to support the shaking not-quite-nation, and the conflict that he wasn't exactly where to touch or what to hold in order to support him. Instead he said, not unkindly, "Get a hold of yourself quickly." He paused, and then added as an after thought, "And, err, like, thank you?" He understood that Austria was intervening to help them and their cause, but he wouldn't have let that soldier get away without an earful of his insults, very much deserved, too.
Nonetheless, as the chain of people staggered onward toward the camps, Feliks resolved to stay physically close to Roderich in case he toppled over or something. That was the thing with him; despite having once led a powerful empire, he always seemed so frail—Poland’s physical body had been scrawny since he could remember, too, but he never let that affect his actions or decisions. Especially now in these circumstances, Austria seemed like he couldn’t take too much adversity—and only God knew how much of that the concentration camp would have to throw at them. Yet he did seem determined in that quietly fierce way of his, so Feliks didn’t worry too much—worrying was lame, in any case, and he wouldn’t have it.
“There’re the big gates,” he said to Austria in Shaykomay, nodding his head towards the more fancy steel gates that cars seemed to pass through, admitted by a Nazi soldier with a watchful eye. The prisoners such as they, however, entered hell through a small gate interrupting a long circle of barbed wire fences, which seemed to be the height of approximately two Polands, and studded with all of these little sharp points. They seemed to be approaching buildings, farther and farther away from the fences, the gates—but of course, there were guards to spare, more menacing than those barbed wire fences. They spoke in ugly German and pointed to where they wanted the line of prisoners to go; they struck down certain ones who wore that look of sour defiance still, and those were few. “Austria...” Feliks said quietly as the vanguard of the prisoners came to the door of a decrepit-looking building, and the line began to move slowly into the building. Austria and Feliks were nearly last, delayed by a run-in with that unscrupulous soldier, but Feliks felt an unfamiliar uneasiness grip his heart. “Do you think they’re gonna shave our hair off? They do that sometimes, don’t they?”
It was ridiculous, but he didn’t seem to notice, so forlorn was he at the thought of his golden locks being carelessly cut off. He’d look awful, he’d feel awful—he already was nearly as dirty as a pig, and now these bastards wanted to get at his hair too. It was some kind of sign of subjugation, wasn’t it? Not only did they want to make him ugly, they wanted to destroy his pride entirely. “I don’t want them to…!” He said passionately, glancing around for some kind of something, an escape or, some kind of sign of hope, or… something, but all he could do was hopelessly wait in line. It was possible after the deed was done he’d get over it, but he’d never get used to it, and he’d never forget it, never, never, never.
(( Ah, fearless, fearless Poland. Anyway, Austria, you can timeskip at any time from here on out, no worries ~ ))
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Post by Austria on Jun 26, 2011 16:39:57 GMT -5
Austria placed his hand on the blonde’s should for support as his other hand clutched his stomach for a moment. It was painful, but thankfully didn’t last as long as he expected it would have. After a few seconds, his legs stopped shaking and he was finally stable on his two feet as took his hand off his shoulder. Once again, he was thankful that Feliks was there alongside him. By the end of this journey to hell, he probably will have a lot to owe him. At least, Austria was a honourable person; he would somehow return the favour either here or afterwards. "Get a hold of yourself quickly. And, err, like, thank you?"He simply nodded in return, certain that any word he would try to utter would sound terrible and most likely inaudible, despite having recovered from the initial pain. It was probably a stupid idea to have intervened in the little conflict, but he thought that they shouldn’t be drawing too much attention to themselves. If they did, they would likely to earn lots of suspicion from the guards. After all, the two of them weren’t normal people. If they somehow found out who they actually are, God knows what they would do to them. They’d be most likely tortured for information and experimented on. Ludwig’s boss was probably insane enough to do that. After a moment, he cleared his throat as they began follow the flock once more. “There’re the big gates,” Poland said, to which Roderich nodded again, still without a word. Instead, he took his time observing the gate and fences. The barbed wire fence was not climbable, quite obviously. However, there seemed to be cars passing through the gate. Perhaps that was their way of escape: Stealing a car and driving as far away as they could. Hmm… He needed more time to think about it. They could probably find a way to take a vehicle and quietly leave the perimeter of the camp before they notice that they were escaping, and they hopefully wouldn’t pursue or they would be too far for them to ever catch them. However, his silent planning was interrupted by a suddenly restless Pole.
“Austria... Do you think they’re gonna shave our hair off? They do that sometimes, don’t they?”The Austrian’s eyes widened at Poland’s clearly panicked statement. They would, wouldn’t they? Roderich wasn’t as attached to his hair as Feliks was, but still, it was going to feel incredibly awkward not to feel any hair on top of his head and… They were going to cut off Mariazell, weren’t they? Suddenly, Austria was panicking as much as the blonde next to him. Oh good lord, if he could feel pain just by pulling it, he couldn’t imagine how painful it must be to cut it off. “I-It’s going to be alright, Feliks,” he told him after taking of a few deep breathes to try and calm himself down. “It’ll grow back to normal in a few weeks, y-yes?” he said. In truth, it was impossible for their hair not to grow back to their previous style since most nations rarely changed hairstyles their history. In a month or so, Mariazell would pop back up and stand proudly (and annoyingly) once more. Eventually, they were the next ones to enter the building. Austria went first, as if he pitied the blonde and wanted to delay the inevitable. As soon as he entered, one of the soldiers began to search him, most likely to confiscate any of his possession. However, all he soldier could find was a wallet with identification papers, a couple of folded letters and a photo of Elizaveta. The soldier, in a surprisingly sympathetic manner, frowned and put the wallet back where he found it. He continued to search him for a little bit more, as if determined to find something of value, but eventually gave up and told him to keep moving. Roderich, who was holding his breath all along, sighed in relief as he quickly, yet subtly moved forward. The soldier hadn’t found his wedding ring… As expected, a barber was waiting for him afterwards. He was quickly restrained and the barber began to shave off his hair. He winced as he felt the curl being shaved off, though forced himself not to make any noises despite the strange pain he felt. Eventually his hair was shaved off, but he wasn’t unrestrained yet. The guard that was restraining him pushed him off to a different door that led outside. With the door closed behind him, he decided to wait for Feliks to come out. Hopefully, things wouldn’t be too bad for him… --- (( Roddy has a plan~ I actually have a good idea for their escape, but that will be for later. :'D )) |
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Post by Poland on Jul 13, 2011 17:32:49 GMT -5
“Even if it does grow back…” The Pole trailed off sullenly, then shook his head. “You’re right. Every part of me’s a phoenix, y’know?” It didn’t even come across as gloating to him; emanating pride, he thumped his chest once, still slightly disturbed at how it hurt more than expected—because his hands were bonier, maybe, or because his bones were frailer now? “It’s not just Warsaw that can do it ~ But you know, I bet anyone can unless they’re losers…” Perhaps Poland’s perception of who was a loser and who wasn’t was off-kilter but it was true for the most part. He looked Austria up and down. He was back after his Great War defeat, though he still bore the scars, and the consequences of it still played a part in his life. His mind wandered; by the time Feliks noticed it had, he decided it was for the best. Talking to Austria at such a time was like talking to a disinterested, depressed brick wall who didn’t really do much but play piano in his spare time, anyway, so wasn’t that relieving of boredom or… anxiousness… or whatever it was he was feeling.
Austria went in, and Poland watched him go with some solemnity. His stomach still ailed from the idea of his hair being cut off, or whatever other horrors of that sort awaited him inside—he turned his head away from the door, and away from the shortening line of new prisoners. There was a forest not too far from where he was standing, too. For a brief moment he considered an escape route through the heavily forested area, but upon looking more closely he saw it wasn’t possible: High fence. Barbed wire. Probably attack dogs lurking in there too; that wasn’t too farfetched… Focusing on the forest as he was, it was a bit of a shock to him as two things happened: One, the man at the door took a step forward to take Poland’s arm and haul him inside, and secondly, Feliks heard a scream from the forest—and like a silent, fireless explosion into the sky, a great course of birds fled from the sound.
Mouth hanging open with fascinated, chilling wonder, he let himself be pulled inside and patted down—did he have anything of value on him, he considered briefly, other than his pride and dignity and life, which no man nor nation could ever take away from him ever? No, anything of value was left in Warsaw. The man found an empty wallet and a broken watch, but nothing else. As the man patted down his legs, Feliks leaned over his shoulder slightly. “What was that sound from the forest?” He asked in German—the soldier ignored him.
“It sounded like a scream. I know it’s a German Camp Death Chamber sort of deal so screams are kind of a duh factor,” he coughed into his hand, eying the man carefully. The soldier, while seeming to listen, didn’t look agitated or provoked, so Poland went on, sounding increasingly troubled. “But I don’t know why there would be screaming out there in the forest there. What are you people doing?”
The man then gave him that look that told him to shut up if he knew what was good for him. Poland hardly knew what was good for him, but since the rude man was apparently not thinking of answering his perfectly reasonable question, he went on rather quickly until he stopped in his tracks at seeing the barber just then sweeping some loose strands hair away with a broom. Feliks felt his stomach lurch as he forced himself forward. It was becoming a routine thing, but yet again he was hauled over like a dog might be. Though he moved them a little to loosen the Nazi’s grip, Feliks didn’t resist much—he muttered prayers under his breath, though, as the barber drew nearer, and his only reward for it was a swift kick to the back of his knee. He stifled his groans, whines and a possible sob as he heard snipping noises and then felt the razor cross his scalp.
When he came out, he gave Austria a disgruntled glance that spelled out his unhappiness perfectly, then shook his head. He refused to be resigned to the matter but he really didn’t see what else he could do. For once, words seemed more useless than usual—even if he complained, it would seem tiresome, because he knew there was much more to complain about. Instead he said in the nations’ tongue, “This place is really…There are no words for it in this language or like, any other. I promise I won’t be rash ‘cause I gotta drag you out with me for Lizzie’s sake, but… Let’s just hurry and escape before it gets worse and worse.” Like things usually do before they get any better. Well, Poland’s thought was right of course—when was he not right?—and only a few days later he and Austria were bearing the brunt of seamless, endless labor in full…
(( fffff sorry. but I did have fun with this post, and gloomy sad Poland ;u; from now on I'm gonna post like... in turbo mode, promise yo. /crosses heart ))
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Post by Austria on Aug 23, 2011 19:40:33 GMT -5
As the Austrian waited for Feliks to return from the barber, which, he assumed, must have been like torture for him. In the meantime, he couldn’t help but feel rather naked on the top of his head. Well, it was literally naked, and the cold late-Autumn breeze didn’t help that. Being bald was a very awkward feeling; It was as if he could still feel his hair despite not feeling any for obvious reasons as he felt is shaved head. Moments later, the door opened once more, with Poland being pushed out of it before it was slammed shut once more, not giving much time for Roderich to complain anymore. The expression on Poland’s face was more than enough to express his feelings. Surprisingly, however, Feliks are completely quiet for once, considering that he had so many reasons to complain for the next month. “This place is really…There are no words for it in this language or like, any other. I promise I won’t be rash ‘cause I gotta drag you out with me for Lizzie’s sake, but… Let’s just hurry and escape before it gets worse and worse.”Roderich nodded. He couldn’t agree more: No words could ever describe this place, and even the talkative Pole understood that words were utterly useless at the moment. “I agree,” he began, “We need to leave this wretched place as soon as possible.” However, that was easier said than done, considering how frail the Austrian was. Even frailer than usual, in fact. It was pathetic to think that he could be even weaker than he was beforehand. This meant that Roderich would be mostly dependent on Feliks if he wanted to survive. Then again, Austria trusted him. Despite his weakness, they both had to work together and to trust each other in order to escape from this hellhole. Thankfully, Roderich trusted Feliks and both were incredibly determined to escape together and alive... -2 weeks later- The smell and atmosphere of the barracks, or whatever this building was, was simply unbearable. The incredibly painful silence was usually broken by the whine of a dying prisoner, or the cry of a desperate one. The smell was not helping either. The smell of rotting flesh and death made it nearly impossible to breathe. Although Roderich was somewhat ‘lucky’ and had the top bunk, the extra space between the bed and the roof was rendered null as he had to endure the smell of everyone lower than him, which meant almost everyone else, dying or not. The smell of death was only ‘complimented’ by the lack of hygiene that was forced upon by the camp authorities. Hmph, he thought, the Nazis truly wanted to get rid of them in the worse possible way. When they weren’t rotting in the barracks, they were rotting while being forced into slave labour from dawn to dusk. Most of the time, the prisoners were sent to the nearby ammunition factory. It was painful work, as the heat and noise the heavy machinery produces all day was more than enough to drive a man to insanity. The horrible work conditions and lack of any kind of hygiene were worsened by the very little food the guards gave them. Starved, tired, demoralised, they were pathetic. It was incredibly sad to see that the majority of prisoners had fallen to silent acceptance of their undeserved, cruel faith. Roderich looked out to the side of his bed, then leaning down to see the one lying on the bunk under him: Feliks. “Poland,” he began, whispering in their common tongue, “Climb up here, we need to plan something. I don’t think we’ll last much longer here.” The Austrian quickly pulled himself back on his bunk, unwilling to stay perched over his bed during their planning. During the past few days since they arrived, he had been looking around the camp as much as he could. The only thing he really noticed, sadly, is that the camp was well designed. The camp was surrounded by a thick forest which, although it made for great cover against the watchtowers, made it incredibly easy to get lost and to be tracked by the Nazi guards and their dogs. If they went too far, they had a few motorcycle squads ready to pursue them. It seemed that they had little chances of survival if they made a break for it. Despite how grim things were, Roderich was unwilling to give up like most of the prisoners. It was going to be far from easy and extremely dangerous. However, he had convinced himself that careful planning was the only way to go and it would lead to a successful escape... --- Oh my god, I swear I didn't mean to take this long, but here it is. I'm really sorry for the wait. ;A; |
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Post by Poland on Sept 3, 2011 23:49:49 GMT -5
The overall boring, gloomy atmosphere was just as bad as the lack of care given to prisoners, in Poland's opinion. The lack of sleep hadn't seemed to pose so much of a problem at first given his nation status, but the few hours of it he got became his only respite from the dreary torture of the camp. It was really a pain when it was so abruptly interrupted by some power-tripping German--
When he heard his name in Shaykomay, all Feliks could do was groan louder than he should have, probably, and turn over on the bed. There was no pillow to hold over his head, regrettably, and his calloused hands pressed against his ears for a few moments before he realized it was Austria speaking. Reluctantly opening his eyes, he looked at the other prisoners jammed into the same room as them. They seemed to be enjoying their rest too much to dare make any objections to two nations conspiring in the corner of the damp room. Feliks stifled a grumble, a strong desire to just go back to bed and enjoy the few hours of sleep, and dreams that everything was okay, and happy, comfortable thoughts. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes-- it was still dark outside, right before sunrise, and idly he wondered if Austria couldn't sleep perhaps.
Cautious not to wake anyone with unnecessary noise, Feliks reached a hand over the top bunk and climbed up, wincing at the dull thud of his foot smacking against the bedpost. He was still very suspicious of the beds-- he had wanted to take the top because he worried it would fall on him while he slept on, but after a few days of not receiving any food he'd wised up and realized Austria was not going to gain any sort of bed-breaking weight at all. But it was just like the Germans to give them the absolute worst conditions, and Feliks complained about it at any chance he managed.
Sitting on Austria's bed, his eyes tiredly wandered over everyone else before coming up to see Austria's condition. Tired, miserable? Poland wasn't broken, but it wasn't exactly easy to maintain that careless, shrug-it-off attitude in such awful circumstances. And sure, he would complain of lack of comfort here or how gross it was that they lacked that, but he also endeavored to show that it wasn't really getting to him. For the most part, it wasn't. Additionally, he refused to resignedly adjust to the circumstances, to live bearing it, but not forget that they'd be escaping at some point. In the near future, perhaps.
"I really wish there was a better time for this," Poland said with unmasked annoyance, directed at no one in particular. If there was anyone to direct it at, it was the Germans, but there was hardly any way to get back at them in their situation. Disrespectful tones used in private were probably not all that crippling to them either. It was true, though, that it would be bad if a prisonguard came in to wake them in that crude way of theirs, and found Feliks and Roderich sitting on the same bed. Oh yes, that would probably raise some unpleasant implications.
"But hey, whatever," he shrugged a shoulder, and wrapped his arms around himself uncomfortably. "So let's like, compare notes. Let's say, we're here..." He trailed a finger in the shape of a small box on the bed cover in the space between them, and then tapped the space behind it. "Here would be the forest, ugh. Also with like a bajillion guards and a wire fence between us and it-- then over here," he moved his hand to the other direction of the invisible map, "is the main entrance, surrounded by watch towers and a bazillion more guards." He rested his hands in his lap then, with a resolute nod that really didn't say anything. He was quiet a moment before he went on quietly, "I thought we could like, dig a tunnel? But... that'd probably take a while and we'd get found out. But all the exits are surrounded by Nazis, and I didn't think it would be this hard to figure things out."
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