Rebelling against the Silence

P R O L O G U E

Her cries and screams could not be heard; her punches and kicks could not shatter the glass. She was trapped in a world unknown to her and she had no idea how to return home. Rose slammed her bruised fist into the glass as hard as she could and screamed at the top of her lungs "Let me out of here!", but to no use...

No one could hear her; no one could see her.

The side of her hand was throbbing with pain. It had a shade of blue mixed with red... one more slam and she would smear the glass with her own very blood.
"Tch...", she said. Taking in a deep breath, she took a few steps back and threw herself at the mirror, slamming her shoulder into the glass. The mirror shook, but it didn't break... Her small body slid down the glass and onto the ground, panting heavily. Her hopes of getting out alive began to fade and she was just about to give up if she didn't catch the glimpse of something pink on the other side of the glass. Rose froze for a moment. Her head turned to look at the figure standing on the opposite side in terror. "You... It was you who bloody trapped me here!" She placed her hands on the glass to support her weight as she turned on her knees. "I demand you let me out of here this instance!", shouted Rose.

"❀ Demand? ❀", the player would tilt her head to the side in confusion. Her appearance was strikingly similar to Rose's. They shared the same face, body type, height, hairstyle and even clothing; the only difference were the colours: player 2's hair was russet brown, her eyes were icy blue and her maid outfit was pink. Her voice was melodic and had a cheery tone to it, unlike the other player's voice. "❀ Now, why would I do such a thing, love? Your world is far better than mine and I'm not planning to leave ❀", cheered Alice. Her lips took the shape of a sinister grin as she bent down to her counterpart's level. "❀ You can't escape, so just give up, ok~? ❀"

"It's our time to rise."

A vast manor-house towered like a dark, run-down threshold against the cloudy skies, not too far off from where the drunken Frenchman sat.

The mental realm that the First Players created for the Second Players was far less pleasant than the 'real world.' This nightmarish realm was darker for the most parts and the living conditions were quite poor. Not to mention... things were almost unbelievably boring. Violent outbrakes was an every-day activity between the second Players who were constantly picking fights in order to keep themselves occupied. This world was also smaller... Much.. much smaller.

This mental realm was appalling compared to the real world.

The world where everything was brighter.. happier... animals roamed and there was pure, innocent life beaming all around like a beautiful light that engulfed the soul..

Disgusting.

The scowling gaze of bloodshot red irises raked burnt-up papers gripped tightly between a black-gloved hand. The papers lookes as though they were used to take many notes, yet crumpled up and thrown in the fireplace. Their condition suggested that their flaming fate was played out and reconsidered more than once...

The bloody eyes belonged to a deathly pale, unsmiling face of one of the tallest of Second-world Players. Player Two Ivan Braginski was, like the other 2Ps, very different than the innocent-faced First Player Russia. It was rare, almost unheard of to see Player Two Russia smile.

His hair was not silvery, nor were his eyes their brilliant shade of amethyst; instead, they bore the same bloody red shade. Vanya's eyes were always bloodshot, with dark rings underneath indicating the lack of sleep. His hair was longer than the First-player's, hanging in a dirty curtain over his eyes. The usual beige trench coat of Ivan's was an inky black with red, shabby rims.

It wasn't just the appearance that differed, however... while Player One Ivan adored many things, Player Two Vanya was much more irritable, snappish, and just plain vile to be around. he hated other Players and other people.. he hated crowds.. he hated anything sickeningly happy, bright, or pre---

A small ray of light filtered through the edges of the thick, drawn-shut curtain and blaired its gentle light right into those bloody red irises. 2P Russia's face contorted into a brief pained expression as he snapped a hand up to shield his eyes from the light with an aggravaged groan. The Russian had spent so much time in his shabby manor, locked away and isolated from the idiots outside, that the natural light hurt his eyes.

With an aggravated growl, the Russian stood with such force that the chair screeched back against the ground and strode to the curtain, pulling it shut to forbid any more light from reaching the dark room.

Vanya's hand rose and ran his fingers through the dark, bloody red hair before grudgingly walking back to his desk and taking a seat. However, his mind was anywhere but the aimless notes, battle plans, and morbid doodles on the burnt paper.

Could it be that the mental back-ups the First Players created actually had feelings of their own? Vanya personally was tired of being thought as as some mental transformation the 'Normal' Russia changed into when he didn't want to deal with something. Of course.. leave the dirty work to Player Two.

Vanya crumpled the thin papers between his gloved hands and threw it into the flickering fireplace before turning and throwing his feet up on the desk. Ivan picked up the half-empty bottle of vodka lying on the table and pressed it to his feverish lips.

What a bore this life is... the second Player missed those days where Ivan lost control in just a turn of the wind... why the fuck had he not had one of his mental breakdowns in such a long time?! Could it be that... maybe... Ivan was finally learning to strenthen his mental bonds...?

Vanya nearly choked on the burning alcahol at that startling thought. If his First Player tightened the bonds... then he will have to spend much more time in this damned world.

That... cannot happen.

With a growl, the red-haired Russian grabbed hold of a dagger on his desk and flung it with all his might against the wall, adding it to the collection of sharp objects embedded into the surroundings.

Cheery, bright, loud and eye-catching; opposite to the dull and gloomy neighbourhood houses of the fellow countries, the manor in which the Brit lived was a joyful and welcoming home at first glance that reflected her personality well much to everyone's disapproval hence making Alice an outcast. It was rather sad that she couldn't relate to anyone; it pushed her towards the peaks of insanity. The need to communicate and have friends was the primary reason for her madness and with just a little bit of imagination, she was able to create her own friends: imaginary creatures that belonged to the supernatural. The 2P's friends would escape from her own dimension each time her 1P was feeling down and lonely. She was the madness that haunted Rose... Come to think of it, Rose would've fitted much better in that world.

"❀ What are the people on the other side like? ❀", Alice inquired casually as she mixed the frosting in a pink bowl with a wooden spoon. Her voice, always cheery and melodic bore a tint of melancholy today which was quite unusual considering the fact that she rarely showed any other emotion besides joy. The winged rabbit would fly past her and halt at her side in mid air flapping its little wings. "They seem to be nice people", the squeaky voice of the rabbit echoed. Her arm had gotten sore and tired from the mixing, so she brushed the remaining frosting out of the spoon with her index finger and tossed it into the round vessel. "❀ Really now? It's just that, I've been wondering what it would be like if I had more friends. Do you think that if I lived there, they would accept me for who I am? ❀" She licked the icing off of her finger then sucked the finger inside of her mouth to clean it with her tongue. The bunny jumped in mid air excitingly as it cheerfully nodded. "Most likely, yes."

Alice was oblivious to the other dimension for she never actually left the realm. Rose's stubborn personality didn't allow her to fully take over not even once, so she knew of the other world from her pet friends."❀ Tell me, what do I look like there? ❀" This player had russet brown hair and eyes that shone brilliantly blue. The rabbit sighed and landed on the table by the flour. "She looks like you, except she has blonde hair, green eyes and wears glasses." Alice smirked a bit to herself and skipped towards a nearby mirror. "❀ Do I look goo~ood with blonde hair? ❀", she asked, striking a pose in front of the mirror having a hand at the back of her head and the other on her hip. Flying-Mint-Bunny flew towards her and nodded its little head. "You do." Giggling brightly, she leaned in to the mirror and placed the tip of her fingers upon the glass. "❀ I wish I saw what that realm looked like. It's not bloody fair! Everyone saw it, except me! ❀", she whined. Truth was that she knew what it looked like for her 'friends' were the figment of her own imagination, but the girl went bonkers long time ago.


Was the noise made by her oven. Her cupcakes were ready to be decorated and served. "The cupcakes are ready!", cheered FMB. Alice usually scurried towards the oven to pick out her sweets, but she didn't move one inch as if she was frozen or glued to the glass. The bunny looked at her concerned and muttered her name quizzically. "Alice?"

"❀ It's warm. ❀", muttered the player.


Rose removed her fingers from the glass and muttered a quiet "Hmm". Shaking her head to snap out of her daze, she cleared her throat and walked out of the room. That mirror sent weird vibes... she could've sworn it was... warm.

Oliver picked up his pace as he was trecking through the landscape that was the realm he lived in. Dressed in light pink spread-collar shirt with a purple vest over it and a cyan colored bow, he was one of the 2P players that dressedin bright colors. He actually wanted to bring color, any other color than the crimson red, into the world he lived in. Sure, crimson red was an acceptable color, but seeing so much made him sick,not sick in health, but sick in his mind. He kept the little sanity, if one could call it that, by avoiding any activities that involved him getting blood on his hands or anywhere near him for that matter. Such was teh reason why he walked quickly through the landcape towards the 2P French Player.

He grinned to himself as he clutched the small box in his hands protectively. He had baked one of his 'special' cupcakes that he enjoyed so much. When Oliver usually got to baking for others, he would mix in poison, such as small doses of arsenic, into the frosting and batter. Most players thought he was strange for this love of baking and handing out the goods. What they didn't know washe did this for his own entertainment. He absolutely enjoyed the way his victims would writher in pain or begin to vomit blood. It was so exhilarting to watch them take the first bite, to their facial espressions all the way up to the way the bodies reacted to the poison. This was how he kept his bloodlust level to a minimum; watching his innocent looking gestures turn into horrendous acts just for kicks.

Up ahead, he could see the Frenchman sitting back on his porch. He hid the brightly decorated box behind his bach as he approached the steps that led up to the porch. "Hello~ I have a suprise for you~" Oliver said in an overly cheery tone that dripped with sugar and poison.

A hunched figure made its way up a cobblestone path, the eerie sound of metal scraping against stone following behind it. The figure was the infamous 2P of Alfred F. Jones. Jonsey, this player preferred to be called. He purposely misspelled it to be different from that moron-of-a-man who dared to look the same as him. It was true. The First Players of the real world had come first and the Second Players had come...well, second, but Jonsey didn't like to get technical. He liked to blame Alfred for anything and everything. If it was too hot outside, it was Alfred's fault. If Jonsey was hungry and there was nothing to eat, it was Alfred's fault. And if Jonsey suddenly had the urge to kill, it was Alfre-...so, maybe it wasn't always Alfred's fault if the urge to kill ever surfaced, because a lot of people managed to piss Jonsey off. He'd give you a list in alphabetical order, but it would be a waste of time when he could simply say, "Everyone pisses me off."

Jonsey looked nearly the same as his First Player. Actually, all the Second Players bore resemblance to their First Players - they only differed in color scheme and the level of madness raging within them. Jonsey raked a gloved hand through his mocha-colored hair, cursing beneath his breath when the signature piece would not stand down. Nantucket, Alfred called it. Fucking-stupid-piece-of-hair, what Jonsey called it. The cerulean gaze Alfred possessed was crimson for Jonsey and he preferred it that way. His outfit was nearly the same, but darker; however, a huge different between him and his First Player was the fact Jonsey decided to carry a bat around. The bat was lined with ragged nails. If he chose to smash the bat into someone's face, something he did often, the nails could tear into their flash. The American was getting giddy with just the thought of pounding someone's face in with his bat.

Who better to meet his bat than Ivee-poo?

This sudden thought had gotten Jonsey to straighten his posture. He lifted the bat from the ground and placed it over his shoulders, ending the ridiculous scraping sounds. He smirked, turning in the direction of the Russian's manor. Jonsey figured he liked messing with Vanya the most, because Alfred spent a great deal of time with Ivan. As allies. Allies?! Jonsey wanted to laugh at that. No one could ever get Vanya and Jonsey to agree on something, nor could they get them to behave properly. They were immature whenever they were in the same room, always throwing something across the room whenever the others would turn around. Whether it be a paper weight coming from Jonsey's end or an empty bottle of vodka coming from Vanya's.

Jonsey flashed a pearl-white smile, but his teeth were nearly ragged. He was thankful he had found something to do. Jonsey was so carefree - he never worried about things. Alfred was busy with worrying about world affairs and defending his country. The only worries Jonsey ever had were if he had food and if he had his bat. He loved his bat very much.

Upon arriving at Vanya's manor, Jonsey twirled his bat a couple of times, whistling a bone-chilling tune. He was behaving as if it were natural for him to be coming here - as if he and Vanya were best friends. Second Players were some times crude, egotistical, selfish...yes, all of those described Jonsey very well. Without a single care in the world, he slammed himself into the front door, forcing the door to swing open and allow his entrance. He refrained from say something sacrastic, like, "Honey, I'm hooommme!" He didn't want to waste his efforts when he wouldn't even be able to see Vanya's reaction. Instead, he stepped...or rather, frolicked into one of the main rooms and plopped down on Vanya's couch. Where was the Russian? Did he even hear that someone had broken into his home? Oh well.

Jonsey sat his bat down on a coffee table, but averted his gaze to a nearly empty bottle of vodka. Vanya left these everywhere, didn't he? Whether they were full or not. Jonsey scooped this one up and took a swig without permission, getting his boots off and finding a comfortable position on the couch. Ah, he could do this all day. He was sort of hoping Vanya would round the corner with a look of outrage. Jonsey wanted to see that stupid face. It would be an excuse to see Vanya.

Once the door to the manor was brought down, a black crow burst out right past Jonsey's head with several harsh caws and fluttered away.

The Soviet manor of the 2P realm was a little bit smaller than the mansion of the 'normal world,' and had the air of an abandoned mansion you would see only in horror movies. There wasn't a single light on for one; a lot of the windows and furniture was shattered; no doubt work of Vanya's aggressive tantrums with his water pipe. Black raven feathers, bits of broken glass and splintered wood, vodka bottles, and overturned furniture littered the ground of the massive interior, and cobwebs were seen hanging in the corners. Knives, daggers, meat cleavers, axes, needles, and even pens were embedded in the walls from Vanya’s own form of amusement, giving the area overall, quite a haunting, forbidding appearance.

A small movement shuffled on the corner of the main room, giving away several ink-black ravens that sat perched on the hilts of thrown knives on the wall. They stared at the second player with their beady onyx eyes, giving raspy little croaking noises every now and then

. Ravens were one of the only forms of life in the 2P world, and they tended to take refuge in Vanya's manor since no one had bothered to patch the broken windows.

As Jonsey sat himself down on Vanya's couch, one of the black birds began shuffling uneasily on its taloned feet, upsetting the neighboring ravens and resulting one of them to flap into the air and land on another hilt on the opposite wall. The loner puffed out his throat feathers and croaked out several loud caws, stimulating several other black birds to raise their harsh, cawing voices in an upsetting chorus that rang shrilly out through the vast, empty space of Vanya's manor

Where was that damned Russian anyways..?

Vanya was still upstairs, slouched on top of his desk with his face buried in his lazily folded arms. It was more than likely that the Player had passed out from the excess alcohol intake, or he had just fallen asleep due to the boredom.

The bang of the door being knocked in had jolted him out of his slumber, yet the Russian just gave an irritated mutter and closed his eyes again, not really caring about what it might have been at the moment. He must have been imagining it... or maybe one of the ravens just missed the window and rammed into the wall or so---

Caw, caw, caw, caw.....

Vanya gritted his teeth together and buried his face lazily into the crooks of his folded arms with a tired groan. Those damned ravens.. always so pesky. This had been the first time in a while that Vanya had actually had the will to sleep, he wasn't going to let some birds ruin it. He really had to fix those windows...

Later...

But wait... a small frown graced the Russian's brow as he listened to the pattern and shrill volume of the black bird's crowing. Odd.. they usually didn't sound like this unless there was an intrude---

Bloody red eyes snapped open as a jolt of false, furious energy shot through the Player. Who the fuck was it this time...

Already having a sneaky suspicion as to who the intruder might be, Vanya suddenly shot up from his desk and began to pace swiftly toward the door of his room, scooping up his water pipe along the way. His pipe was like that bat was to Jonsey; it was Vanya's most prized possession. For good measures, the Russian yanked one of the knives that was stuck in the wall as he was walking down toward where the ruckus was...

"Jonsey!"

A knife whistled through the air and collided in with the couch near the Player's head. At the 'thunk' of medal meeting couch, several of the cawing birds shot up into the air with a flurry of flapping wings and took off through the cracked window or toward another room.

Vanya paced swiftly down the stairs, his bloodshot irises reflecting great outrage.

"Get d'e fuck out of my house, you syn suki!"

Without really realizing it, Vanya slipped into his own native tongue. The Russian took hold of a large butcher's knife and yanked it out of the wall; the space between the Russian and American players was shrinking at a dangerous rate...

The Second Player had to admit, Vanya really needed to get a cleaning lady in here. All this dust, the torn walls, and the turned-over furniture made Jonsey smirk. It was so like Vanya to treat his home this way. Jonsey's place wasn't much better, but it definitely wasn't as bad as this. Jonsey took a moment to imagine Rose's reaction if she ever stepped into a place like this. Little Rose. The American sighed, fawning over the idea of that British lady. She was beautiful, yes, but she was a damn good cook, too. He was fond of her cake, something she baked frequently in her madness. He figured she needed her tea parties and her baking skills to keep her from boiling over the edge, but he had to admit, it would be nice to see her snap. He wouldn't mind if it was directed at him either. Jonsey was a twisted man, after all.

The American took another swig of the vodka, a few drops of the alcohol running down his chin. He lazily swiped the back of his hand across his chin, ridding it of the alcohol. He released a content sigh as he settled against the couch comfortably, despite how dark and dirty this place was. Hell, when the American had plopped on it, dust flew up everywhere. He was suddenly considering ordering someone to clean for the stupid Russian, but Jonsey wasn't kind. If he did that, it would be doing something for the Russian...and doing something personal for Vanya was the last thing on his mind. With the vodka bottle leaning neatly against his chest, he bent one knee and let his other leg stretch out as he debated letting himself sleep here. He was beginning to drown out the cawing of the birds in order to sleep, but the faint thudding of boots against the wooden-floor kept him well awake. Finally, the Russian had given enough care to see who had entered his home...

Now, Jonsey had to wonder if he should put on a show for the Russian. He could blame his behavior on the vodka, but why bother? Jonsey was crazy. It is normal for him to act strange, drunk or not. He nearly smiled when the Russian screeched his name and with that, he turned his head on the couch just in time to see the blade coming his way. He didn't flinch, or bother moving, because it seemed Vanya had purposely missed. It was just a warning. With slow and delicate movements, the American bent his knee so that it no longer blocked his vision of Vanya from where he lay. He even turned to glance at the knife, reaching his pale and slender fingers up to touch it. "That wasn't very nice," He answered, completely dismissing the fact Vanya had told him to leave. He was referring to the knife that had been thrown at him. "Vannnnyaaaa," He whined, dragging his name out. He took a third swig of the vodka, tongue tracing the rim of the bottle he was sure Vanya's lips had previously touched and with that thought, he shifted his gaze to the Russian while he did it. His gaze was nearly half-lidded as he attempted getting underneath Vanya's skin more than he already had.

When he was finished with the drink, he let the bottle drop to the floor. "You shouldn't be so rude to those who are far superior than you..." Jonsey commented with a dark look, fingers curling around the knife. In a flash of movement, he had ripped it from the couch and flung it back at Vanya.

Very crappy reply, I'll edit later. I'm tired..

---

"Superior my ass." The Russian growled through clenched jaws. It really didn't take much to get under the Russian Player's skin. He knew his dramatic reactions were the reason why Jonsey kept returning to bother him, but... he didn't bother to change it.

It wasn't as though Vanya enjoyed being aggravated by the other Player, but the constant bickering at least gave him and Jonsey alike something to do for passtime. They never really hurt each other that bad in their childish fits of quarreling; just a few gashes and bruises here, maybe a broken bone there... but nothing too serious. They always returned to bother each other a day or two later.

Vanya would never admit it, but he wasn't sure what he'll spend his time doing if he and Jonsey left each other alone.

The red-headded Player rose his knife to deflect the oncoming blow, when a startling shot averted his attention elsewhere. Out of sheer instinct, he flinched his head to the side a bit as the bullet hit the knife that the American player pitched. A swear slipped past his parted lips as he felt the blade shred past a few strands of his bloody red hair. He shot a blazing glare toward the window where the Canadian was, yet blinked once.

"Jonsey brought leetle sestra for back-up, da?" The Russian sneered. "Pathetic..."

After casting a brief glance toward the knife embedded into the stares, Vanya allowed a faint hissing exhale to slip past his teeth.

"Yes. Et has." The Russian replied. His tone was a slight bit quieter than before, yet still as hard as usual.

"Now tell your stupid leetle brat to get out before he hangs on a wall."

fA great lengh of time ago without any rhyme or reason, Gilbert's passion, fears, daunting insanity--all that he had stowed away into his subconscience had manifested itself into a being. Everything that Gilbert wasn't and wanted to be formed into a separate persona he became gradually aware of. It appeared in times of great despair, taking on a similar likeness to himself, anc came and went like an apparition: silent and subtle. No one else saw the so called spectre, dismissing it off as a figment of Gilbert's dwindling sanity, but he and England, the only one who believed, knew better than that. The spectre was kind, very quick to comfort with its prescence and had the willingess to help. which was appropriately coupled with patience, tolerance, and above all, genuine friendship. Obediantly, it attentively listened to Gilbert's spouting and orders without complaint. In fact, it never spoke at all, giving Gilbert reason to believe that it was a mute. Stoic, silent compliance was all it offered, and in return, Gilbert gave equal parts of awe and admiration.

It's manner of dress was astounding but no less uncomfortable, coming clad in golden armor, the jet black cross of the Teutonic Order emblazoned on white cloth. It's attire exuded nostalgia and archaic flair, all of which, effectively stirred up the dust of his golden years...and he was reminded of where he came from and who he once was. It nearly brought tears to his eyes. Nearly.

He first called the specter his conscience, then his companion, which then as the years progressed, steadily advanced towards trustworthy friend and confidential...but this alone did not suit him.
Gilbert eventually christened it with the holiest of holies, the most sacred of titles:

Freiderick 'Fritz' Beilschmidt, his brother.






Dull and lifeless eyes gazed up into an equally dull and lifeless sky, wearing a mask of complete neutrality, neither manic nor jubilent. He sat perched leisurely in a low-hanging branch of a decaying tree, removed from the civilization of his bleak realm...but they were anything but civilized. Bloodthirsty and ravenous lost creatures to the core! Though he wasn't assuming he was any less demented than the rest of them, oh God no, he was just as susceptible to breaking like everyone else, and moreso that he carried the heavy burden of insanity, depression, and belligerence, and living amongst "colleagues" where the crazy practically radiated off of them only acted as a catalyst. But he was positive that he was the sole individual who knew how to control his impulses and keep the anger at bay.


Freiderick lept off of his perch, landing on the ground with a dull thud and took in his surroundings. He could feel a sudden tension in the air; everyone was growing restless, tired of being confined as a prisoner within a dying Wonderland . Granted that their habitat was generally desolate and bland, Fritz never could understand why anyone would want to leave. The grey unchanging landscape was the perfect environment for a raving lunatic. Repetition left no room for surprise and ultimately fear, the center stage for all madness. Leading a peaceful existence without struggle was relaxing and simple thinking was enlightening. To be neutral was to be calm...to never fight back or to seek out conflict. To give everything and expect nothing. These were the standards Freiderick strictly followed that rivaled the religious zeal of an aesthetic monk. He faced everything and everyone with willing compliance or coy interaction and by doing so, created a stress-free environment for himself.

While Freiderick became preoccupied with his thoughts, he unintentionally made a slow beeline towards the neighborhood of his colleagues, and by the time he realized he had wandered into the lions' den, it was too late. He glanced wearily at the various houses, entertaining himself by deciding which dwelling-space belonged to the most hysterical individual...or were they all so derranged that there couldn't possibly be a reigning champion amongst them? Freiderick took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm. The last time he went over the edge nearly cost him his life (and Gilbert's sanity); he was lucky enough to get away with the scar on his cheek.

Fritz was lost within a maze of houses and streets, and panic was bubbling up inside him, but his expression was blank. He turned about once more and in a once-in-a-lifetime situation that would stun God himself, he spoke.

"....Hello? Is anybody here?" His soft voice echoed loudly, making Freiderick wince at the volume.

He was hoping no one would answer.

I haven't even joined! D: I have to post. I'll make and add a template later.
___________________________________________________________


The Russian female sat on her bed. She had a feeling that something was off about the other nations. Suddenly she heard a voice in her head. It was a dark female voice and Ivana covered her ears to avoid hearing it. It got louder and soon Ivana could hear what the voice was saying. ☠ You can't stop us... we are taking over.☠

"Shut up!" Ivana hissed at her other self. Anya simply laughed at torturing her 1P self. Ivana could feel herself losing her vision. Anya was taking control... and the female Russian couldn't control her any longer. She fell to the ground unconscious. When she awoke, her eyes were blood red, her skin paler and her hair was snow white.

Anya grinned to herself and took her shovel. ☠ Time to play, da?"☠

☠ Time to see ef anyone else wants to play...

_________
Meh. Crappy intro but bleh. I'm in though.

Crappy reply is crappy. I apologize...
I am just brain dead.

---

This was interesting. Jonsey hadn't expected his sister to follow him here. He really couldn't say he was happy to see her either, but he wasn't ever happy to see anyone. And let's face it, he was a horrible brother. He rolled his eyes, turning himself toward the inside of the couch and curling there. The couch reaked and yet, it wasn't enough to get him to move. He hadn't bothered to voice his greeting to his sister and instead, waved his hand. Vanya, however, managed to get him to grind his teeth with bitterness.

"I didn't invite her. She followed me here, like any annoying sibling ought to." He snapped without facing them both.

He fixed his shaded glasses before he closed his eyes, as if he was actually going to try and nap here. Oh well. He was sort of hoping one of them wouldn't allow him to, so he could smash their face in with his nailed bat.

"You'd miss me if I were ever gone, Vanya, and you know it." He mumbled as he prepared to nap.

Oliver's eye twitched slightly, annoyed at the fact that the other blew smoke into his face. Some people just don't have manners and that was just quite sad. "Well, here. See for yourself!" He said, shoving the small colorful box into the Frenchman's hands as kept that cheery grin on his face. "Something to brighten you day~" He added, taking a few steps up to be at the same eye level. "I hope you trully enjoy my gift to you~" Were his last parting words before he stepped down from the porch steps to walk back to his home.

The young male would have stayed, but he didn't like leaving his sibling at home for too long alone. Most of the other players were ruthless killers and took advantage of anyone who showed their weakness. He knew deep down that she was just as bad at the others but his natural cheery persona but that truth deep in the vault of his mind. He liked to think of her as a kind one, not like everyone else in this wrwtched world. Oliver sighed, fixing his cyan bow and picking up his pace. If only he could have watched the Frenchman's reaction to his confectionary delight..Oh well. Their's always tomorrow~

[Rushed reply. No time for editing atm.]

"Miss you? Ha!"The Russian spat bitterly in reply to the American player. He was just about to snap a witty retort when the Canadian strode into his house like she was invited here. One of Vanya's bloody red eyes twitched.

What was this, some sort of damn walk-in festive?!

This was his /house/ for crying out fucking loud! Vanya gripped his rusted metal water pipe in growing rage until his callosed knuckles were dead white beneath his gloves. He could hardly hear the female's correction above the raging feelings inside him. They were not welcome here.. neither of them. What right did they have to waltze in here un invited... why wasn't he doing anything about it yet?!

Vanya gave a soft growl and began walking toward the two, determined to get them both out; he didn't care how he had to do it... he just wanted them to leave. His attempts were cut short, however, as the bear walked in after her master...

Vanya's eyes widened as he froze where he was. To opposite forces collided with each other within the second player, just leaving him frozen where he was. Half of him was more than furious... first the siblings, and now even that damn white flea bag was walking in HIS house without a care in the world. However... Ivan in the real world was quite fond of animals, finding everything with fur the more irrisistable thing in the world. That, of course, left Vanya with an aggravating fear of large animals.

A muttered string of vile Russian words spilled past his clenched jaws, forcing himself to recompose himself; he simply couldn't and wouldn't allow anyone else to figure out his fear. That... would be bad.

"Fine." Vanya growled irritably, eyeing the large bear on the ground.

"Just get d'at damned thing out of my house. Now."

If only Jonsey knew Vanya was afraid of the bear. It would have given him a good enough reason to sit up and leave the thought of napping behind. Instead, the American Player simply waved his hand - or rather, stopped to flip his sister off before allowing his hand to fall back to his side as he curled more into the couch. He inhaled the dusty scent, noting the smell of vodka lingering there, too.

When Vanya ordered his sister to get her bear out of his home, he opened his eyes. With an irritated expression, he growled, "Oh, for fuck sake, it is just a bear! Stop yelling. I'm trying to sleep..." Once he finished, the American was back to cuddling with himself, facing the inside of the couch.