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( Lost Realm )
( Museboxing )
Lost Realm: Liebe und Haß
Aug. 25th, 2012 07:37 pmCharacters: Prussia and England
Date: August 25, night
Format: Prose
Content Warnings: Hatesnogs, mostly
Summary: Prussia sneaks into England's hospital room. Sexual tension ensues.
( Sneak. Sneak. )
Date: August 25, night
Format: Prose
Content Warnings: Hatesnogs, mostly
Summary: Prussia sneaks into England's hospital room. Sexual tension ensues.
( Sneak. Sneak. )
It's been ten days.
Which, really, it's a miracle he can still keep track of days by this point, as by the- third? fourth? might even have been the second but we'll go with- third day, Gilbert was beyond exhausted and strained by being separated from Arthur. Which meant, of course, that the next day they intensified the training they were having him do. Obstacle courses designed so that only a Sentinel's enhanced senses could navigate them safely. Hand to hand combatives classes. Marksmanship, although perhaps more specifically sniping. Which didn't even touch on the fact that they were also testing him often, charting out the limits of his sensory range whilst his Guide wasn't around to rein him back in.
Despite being exhausted by the end of these days, he can still only barely sleep, waking up at slight disturbances throughout each night. This, after spending what feels like hours missing Arthur and regretting getting in that fight with him. Not just because it means he's out here, being driven half-insane from separation and exhaustion, but because he'd enjoyed spending time with his Guide before this. They'd been working well together. And now Gilbert is just certain that Arthur will hate him and maybe even try to leave whilst he's out here. In fact, maybe Arthur has left and that's why he's so miserable.
It just feels like someone's ripped out his heart without even the courtesy to put something in the cavity left behind.
After ten days of this, Gilbert is so far beyond the end of his rope that he's at the bottom of a chasm, staring up at the faint flutter of his rope being blown in the wind thousands of feet above. Well. Metaphorically speaking. So when they finally order him to pack up and get in the vehicle, it doesn't occur to him that he's being returned to his Guide. Not until they're halfway through the training complex, when it dawns on him that what he's feeling is his bond relaxing, no longer having to stretch all the way across the camp to connect him with Arthur.
Which, really, it's a miracle he can still keep track of days by this point, as by the- third? fourth? might even have been the second but we'll go with- third day, Gilbert was beyond exhausted and strained by being separated from Arthur. Which meant, of course, that the next day they intensified the training they were having him do. Obstacle courses designed so that only a Sentinel's enhanced senses could navigate them safely. Hand to hand combatives classes. Marksmanship, although perhaps more specifically sniping. Which didn't even touch on the fact that they were also testing him often, charting out the limits of his sensory range whilst his Guide wasn't around to rein him back in.
Despite being exhausted by the end of these days, he can still only barely sleep, waking up at slight disturbances throughout each night. This, after spending what feels like hours missing Arthur and regretting getting in that fight with him. Not just because it means he's out here, being driven half-insane from separation and exhaustion, but because he'd enjoyed spending time with his Guide before this. They'd been working well together. And now Gilbert is just certain that Arthur will hate him and maybe even try to leave whilst he's out here. In fact, maybe Arthur has left and that's why he's so miserable.
It just feels like someone's ripped out his heart without even the courtesy to put something in the cavity left behind.
After ten days of this, Gilbert is so far beyond the end of his rope that he's at the bottom of a chasm, staring up at the faint flutter of his rope being blown in the wind thousands of feet above. Well. Metaphorically speaking. So when they finally order him to pack up and get in the vehicle, it doesn't occur to him that he's being returned to his Guide. Not until they're halfway through the training complex, when it dawns on him that what he's feeling is his bond relaxing, no longer having to stretch all the way across the camp to connect him with Arthur.
It's been three nights. Three very frustrating nights of no sleep, followed by either fighting or advancing the line and re-digging in or any of a number of other things that just add to the stress and exhaustion piling on Gilbert's shoulders. For one, the guy two foxholes down? Snores. Loudly. It's amazing he hasn't given away their position, or that anyone else on this half of the continent can sleep. Never mind the fact that when he has to work with the other Sentinels, they mock him. Not just for his taste in Guides or the fact that he's got to be a hopeless romantic if the stories about Arthur just falling into his arms foxhole are true. But for other things. And never mind the fact that he just knows he's going to end up getting in a fight one of these days.
So what finally made him snap? Was it the tiredness? The hazing? The fact that he felt horribly empty and lonely?
No. The last straw was when he could hear the earthworms burrowing through the dirt behind his head. At which point he promptly packed up what gear he had out, and slipped out of his foxhole. Because no. He was not dealing with that. He felt like death warmed over already. He was going to go insane or kill himself or something if he didn't get some sleep. Gilbert did have enough presence of mind to let his squad leader know where he was going, but beyond that?
Well, he still doesn't quite know how he got past the sentry, or how he got into the tent Arthur was said to be in without being noticed, but as soon as he's in there, Gilbert is shedding his extra crap and sitting down to take off his boots.
So what finally made him snap? Was it the tiredness? The hazing? The fact that he felt horribly empty and lonely?
No. The last straw was when he could hear the earthworms burrowing through the dirt behind his head. At which point he promptly packed up what gear he had out, and slipped out of his foxhole. Because no. He was not dealing with that. He felt like death warmed over already. He was going to go insane or kill himself or something if he didn't get some sleep. Gilbert did have enough presence of mind to let his squad leader know where he was going, but beyond that?
Well, he still doesn't quite know how he got past the sentry, or how he got into the tent Arthur was said to be in without being noticed, but as soon as he's in there, Gilbert is shedding his extra crap and sitting down to take off his boots.
4 August 1936 || Berlin || Olympiastadion
Jul. 31st, 2012 08:57 pmHe stands behind the leaders and dignitaries, keeping only some of his attention on the stadium grounds in front of him. The rest of his focus is, of course, on his boss, but also on the photographers and other journalists milling around, recording the events going on on the field below. The athletics competitions. Everyone around him is, of course, favouring the German athletes, but that's to be expected.
Prussia himself, on the other hand, isn't rooting for anyone. Well. Maybe, just maybe, he secretly hopes the competitors his boss didn't want here will win; the Jews and the blacks and any other 'undesirables'. After all, the political situation is making his skin feel a bit too tight, his gut twist, because he's seen the laws that are being passed and he's no idiot. You don't live as long as he has without figuring out when humans are just putting on a front for others, without learning when things can and likely will get worse.
Of course, he doesn't say any of this aloud. If there's something else he knows, it's when it's better to keep his mouth shut -and he's sure it would shock the fuck out of everyone to know that- and go along with those around him, those in power. And he also knows the only reason he's allowed such prominence right now, the only reason his boss and the other German officials turn to him in front of the world and speak so easily with "Oberführer Beilschmidt" (and isn't that a joke, when they know he prefers the non-commissioned ranks), is because he's an albino and the world knows how his government feels about those. So they make nice and show how tolerant they are and accepting and wonderful by dressing him up as an officer in their beloved SS and show him off for all to see. It's enough to make him sick.
What he would really like right now is a drink and a distraction from all the bullshit friendliness that will disappear as soon as the eyes of the world are off Berlin. There's got to be another nation here somewhere; no way they'd stay at home while the Olympics are going on...
...Oh. Wow. The boss is gonna be pissed about that American winning.
Prussia himself, on the other hand, isn't rooting for anyone. Well. Maybe, just maybe, he secretly hopes the competitors his boss didn't want here will win; the Jews and the blacks and any other 'undesirables'. After all, the political situation is making his skin feel a bit too tight, his gut twist, because he's seen the laws that are being passed and he's no idiot. You don't live as long as he has without figuring out when humans are just putting on a front for others, without learning when things can and likely will get worse.
Of course, he doesn't say any of this aloud. If there's something else he knows, it's when it's better to keep his mouth shut -and he's sure it would shock the fuck out of everyone to know that- and go along with those around him, those in power. And he also knows the only reason he's allowed such prominence right now, the only reason his boss and the other German officials turn to him in front of the world and speak so easily with "Oberführer Beilschmidt" (and isn't that a joke, when they know he prefers the non-commissioned ranks), is because he's an albino and the world knows how his government feels about those. So they make nice and show how tolerant they are and accepting and wonderful by dressing him up as an officer in their beloved SS and show him off for all to see. It's enough to make him sick.
What he would really like right now is a drink and a distraction from all the bullshit friendliness that will disappear as soon as the eyes of the world are off Berlin. There's got to be another nation here somewhere; no way they'd stay at home while the Olympics are going on...
...Oh. Wow. The boss is gonna be pissed about that American winning.
