ataraxionlogs | 03 ▒ EVENT: STRELA OUTPOST ▒ ASSIMILATION

Shut up

[Too worried to be in the mood for snark, even, so that's all he says as he waits. He... well, he hasn't tried to since they've been on-board, and now that he is trying to feel out Russia, he doesn't feel a damned thing. So he's a bit surprised at the response. He doesn't feel anything in return. Odd.]

I can't feel you
Tell me if I'm getting closer. I'm coming

[...it's slow, but he makes his way back into the station, dodging into shadowed corridors and into odd rooms when the occasional citizen here walks by.]

[He types up a text, sends it right as the door flies open and he's dragged out of the room and towards the assimilation chamber. So Ned gets one text

Yeah, you're on the right way.

But after that there's only silence. So while Netherlands works his way closer to the station, dodges citizen and shadows, Russia's pressing against the tiny space that is the assimilation room. He doesn't notice the passage of time as he trembles and presses his hands to his head, feels the pressure build and build until his mind feels as if it's being folded and compressed together. It's nearly something he remembers from months ago, when his eyes filtered inky and a demon held control of his body and it terrifies him. It feels like forever, the pressure upon his mind building, hands slamming into the too close walls around him and then as Russia blinks open his eyes it's to see the scrawl of red words.

You're welcome and he gasps for breath, hands scrambling to press open the sudden door. It swings open all too easily for the moments before and Russia's hit by the all too familiar iron tang of blood in the air. He steps forward, catches his footing as the blood spilling across the the floor nearly sends him falling face forward into blood and body parts. He struggles out of the hallway, gets as far from the chamber before he checks the communicator and sees the multitude of messages.]

tell me youdidnt get caught.

[The right way happens to be in what looks like another generic pedestrian freeway - a main corridor, yeah, but not the main corridor. If there ever was one, and from what he can remember? There's not. Fuck. So for a while he keeps going, hiding, going, in and in and in, and once he gets a break he leans back against a doorway and types in something generic.

Gets nothing.

Types in something rash, something that might get Russia's attention.

Nothing.]

No

[Just. Just no. He doesn't want to believe that he's been led into the middle of whatever the hell this Hell was...

And still, nothing.]

[Fuck, he should've known that if he couldn't feel anything -

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hides himself into a storage room occupied by another, gets a knife thrown at his head, and fuck. He sends a positive volley of messages out between it all - they have you - they know where - you fucker - idiot - you're a moron - why did I - do they? - and he doesn't get anything back at all. In a way it's reassuring. Whoever has Russia doesn't give a damn about him. In a way... whoever has Russia... someone has Russia.]

[When he gets something back he's hidden somewhere else (but close), wound up tighter than Germany conducting an entire meeting of Italian provinces, and isn't in the mood to be nice]

Find me

[Like hell he is moving.]

Don't move then, I'm on my way.

[There's blood soaking into his boots, staining his clothes, his, theirs, he doesn't know anymore it's all just red and it makes him stand out more. But he's not in a mood to just hide and so he might duck around corners and press into shadows to avoid being caught again but it only takes one civilian getting in his way and Russia's pipe swings into their body, limbs shaking with the adrenaline of the day and the overexertion he can feel over coming him.

So there's more blood to him, red to contrast the rusting. Above it all is the notion that he can't lead too many people straight to Netherlands, can't let people follow them and have them both stuck in those chambers. So he slows his pace a bit, ducks into a shadowed corner and feels for his fellow nation once more. It's too quiet out here on Strela, always was, but now there's more of an ominous threat lurking in the background.]

You better not fucking shoot me when I get there.

[Which means he's almost there, and lo and behold he finds the hallway Netherlands is holed up in, raps his knuckles at the door way and steps out of the way just in case.]

[Well. After so much time spent ruthlessly casting out after whatever it was that made them feel one another, the sudden return of Russia's presence almost blindsides him. Definitely takes the wind out of him, so much so that it takes him a few long, terrible moments of heaving into his scarf, in the most silence he can manage, for him to realize that what he felt wasn't... it wasn't right. Wasn't the same... not exactly. He barely registers the words he gets from Russia in return over the feeling of him suddenly here.

He hopes to hell (what's a God out here) that his nervousness doesn't ring through. He is, though. Nervous. Has nothing to quell his habits. Hasn't smoked, hasn't slept, hasn't jacked off, hasn't paced around a garden or planted anything for days, and everything's happening in alternate flashes of clarity and drawn out stretches that he can't quite recall when he closes his eyes.

When he reads the second message, it's jumping between blurry and perfect, and more than hearing footsteps he can feel every meter Russia comes closer - because even now he's still making the effort to. It's so much more exhausting than it used to be, and he's not sure if it's because he hasn't done in months or if it's because they're out here or because of something far worse. But he doesn't bother sending anything back - if Russia can find him, Russia will find him. That's it. He merely straightens his shoulders and comes up with a few plans, just in case the Russia who finds him isn't the Russia he wants to meet.

He won't say he doesn't have a gun, but he's not saying anything else, either.]

[No, it probably doesn't feel the same and as soon as that door swings open Netherlands will probably understand why. But Russia doesn't care, he just wants to get out of sight and back on the ship, wash the blood from his hair and skin and hope the way his mind aches fades. He's moving more off instinct and sheer force of will right now, pipe clutched in his hand, shoulders tense and drawn in towards his ears. He's so fucking tired.

So the longer it takes to get to Netherlands, for that door to open has him shifting in annoyance and a dim ache of something that tastes sharp like fear. But just as Netherlands gathers and scrapes about for a few plans, Russia does the same. He's worn and crashing from adrenaline but he's nothing if not paranoid and though he's pretty certain Netherlands hadn't been captured or turned against them somehow, he's still wary enough to come up with admittedly shattered backup plans.]

Open the door before I have to take out another civilian.

[Maybe not the best thing to send but he's jumpy and he can feel Netherlands just as he always could. It's so much stronger now that he's out of that chamber and almost next to each other and he fidgets. Netherlands isn't exactly safety, but he's stability of a sort.]

[Where the hell did all that blood come from. Despite the off feeling, that weird connection they've cast out draws him forward. Into plain sight. And so he speaks, however quietly. Almost rasping, since he hasn't used his voice in two days.]

Don't call 'em that, [he gripes, cautiously stepping forward but keeping his eye on any response Russia might have to that particular statement. For it is particular; peculiar, to almost anyone else, to anyone who might not understand the weight civilian carries to a Nation. But Strela's residents weren't civilians. Not according to him. And it's weird, one step closer (feeling that one step and goddamn this could get overwhelming fast, so why isn't he drawing back) - to think that Russia might respond with something else. If anyone knows civilians...

He's waiting on the next thing with baited breath and a long piece of scrap metal in his palm.]

[He takes a half step forward, grimacing at Netherlands' sniped words. No, they really aren't civilians and the weight of that word settles heavily upon his tongue. He misses his own and these mockery of people has him shifting uncomfortably. But Russia can see that scrap metal in Netherlands' hands and he's aware of his pipe in his own, enough that he casts a careful look around and lets Ned come to him.]

They're hardly people, Niderlandy. [A grumble, voice dark with sick understanding and disgust. They'd thought to turn him into a mockery such as that?]

[Maybe it's exhaustion or relief or Russia just said the exact right damned thing with the right damned tone. Maybe he feels bad, still, for that bit back when Russia was possessed. But when Netherlands hears it, he finally relaxes his shoulders and lets his makeshift weapon rest end-down upon the ground.

And he drops the "connection" as it were. It is just too tiring for him to keep it up, and he doesn't think he needs to. Rus might feel weird, but he sounds pretty damn normal.]

Got that. [And a heaved sigh as his free hand swipes through his hair.] Let's get the hell outta here.

[The instant Netherlands' shoulders relax, Russia's do as well. He's not about to put away the dented metal pipe in his hand but that's normal for him. There's a flat second where he scans the nation in front of him for injuries, hyped up on adrenaline enough to focus, for now at least.]

I don't know how many are after me. [There's a rough sigh and he looks around, edges closer to the comfort of a familiar person. There's no time to waste, any moment now whatever was left of the guard forces could be after them.] The ship was that way, yeah?

[Yeah, he's not worried about the pipe itself so much as how it's positioned. The pipe on its own? Normal. If it's up? That's cause for alarm. But, hey, the pipe isn't up, so whatever. And Russia looks wary, but none of it seems to be directed at him. He almost groans, but cuts it off just as it starts.]

Great. [Huff.] Yeah, it is. [While he doesn't drop his makeshift weapon, he hefts it over his shoulder in no great position to swing and trots a few steps forward, nodding toward the door - let's go.]

[No it's certainly not aimed at Ned, for all that Rus knows, he hadn't been taken or had his mind messed with and he's okay. So Rus trusts him, perhaps more in this moment than he ever will. So he trails after Ned, tries to keep from stumbling even as he thrums with adrenaline. It's a bit harder than it should be, but he manages it for now.

There's nothing to really say, though, and the trip back to the ship starts out nearly too quiet.]

[Before he pushes the door out he stops, gives his head a shake to clear it, and glances back both to make sure Russia's okay and following, and that he's not about to get his head bashed in.

A long breath, a nod, and he's silently letting them out, glancing down the corridors and at the first hint of paranoia he dives into a doorway and jerks Rus along with him.]

Edited (I can html) 2012-09-22 03:16 (UTC)

[He's following alright, trusting in Netherlands to not get them killed even though neither of them are in top shape at the moment. So Russia takes a slow breath, lets his gaze sweep across the corridors and linger upon every door as if waiting for someone to burst through and attack them.

He doesn't take well to the first time Netherlands snags him and hides them in a doorway, then. Eyes blown wide, pupils dilating; he doesn't attack, but his fingers dig into Netherlands' arm and there's an aborted movement, as if it took him a second to realize Netherlands wasn't a danger.]

Don't do that [It's a hiss, words soft in case someone was out there.]

[It's obvious just how out of it he is (because that's all it is, right) when he reacts to that not by retaliating, or even with an attempt to defend himself, but with a twitch of his jaw and a step to the side. He brings a hand up to swipe at his face and nods, sighing - which isn't a response to Russia. He's just trying to decompress for a second. Fuck, why couldn't he smoke.

While sorry is something he won't say (because he's not sorry for doing it even he's sorry that he freaked Russia out) he does look up and shoot a funny little look over, before glancing away.]

Might have to. [It comes out both quiet and snappish, though he leaves off the "so don't bash my head in, moron," that would normally follow.]

[There's a soft whine as Russia reaches up to rub the heel of his palm against his eyes, smearing blood into the ashen color of his hair. But he's okay, he's fine with that, really. So Russia just nods and draws a ragged breath, tries not to focus on the way his head beats and jumps with every pulse of his heart.

He's gone, too focused on the surroundings themselves to notice the little look Netherlands' blurred edged figure shoots him. It's not like he expects anything, anyway.]

Fine. [It's a worn tone, wearied eyes flitting over and catching the turn of jaw instead of an actual glance. He answers the unspoken addendum, however.] I'll try not to.

[With that he looks over, sharp, his eyes paying attention even if the rest of him protests over it. Looks and looks, seconds turning into something close to a half-minute.]

Alright.

[It comes out thankful. He means it to come out that way. He keeps his gaze on Russia's, just to check.]

[Russia blinks slowly, almost sluggishly, as he notices that long stare and tilts his head. Definitely not too sure why Netherlands' is looking at him that sharply but when combined with the thankful tone--well, his shoulders relax, head dipping in a nod. But there's no need to speak and he doesn't, instead thumbs at the metal of the pipe in his hand and keeps his gaze locked with Netherlands' just to make sure he's gotten whatever conformation or whatever, he'd wanted.

Until it gets awkward that is, and he rips his gaze away to once more check their surroundings.]

03 ▒ EVENT: STRELA OUTPOST ▒ ASSIMILATION

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