[GILBERT] Shoot the Bullet

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i42.tinypic.com/34qoh9j.png); background-color: FDF9EF; background-repeat: repeat-y; border-radius: 0 25 25 0][style=font-family: georgia; font-size: 25px; color: F53F37; float: right; width: 250px; text-align: left; margin-bottom: -150px; margin-top: 30px]i believe in dreams[style=margin-top: -2px; margin-left: 100px]come true[/style][/style][style=width: 300px; float: right; height: 5px; background-color: F53F37; margin-top: 60px][/style][style=float: right; width: 100px; height: 100px; background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/LKRJE.jpg); -webkit-border-radius: 50px; -moz-border-radius: 50px; border-radius: 50px; margin-top: 10px; border: 2px solid F53F37; margin-right: -30px][/style][style=float: right; width: 340px; margin-right: 10px; background-color: FDF9EF; opacity: 0.9; border-radius: 10px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px][style=color: F53F37; font-size: 10px; font-family: verdana; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 10px; padding: 10px]"Pity how life is such a short thing for you..." It was, as if, an obligation for her to visit the grave of those who have died. As if she was called and told that it was her responsibility for their deaths, for not doing anything but to watch and see their people suffer. She cannot blame it for happening, but there are times that she'll have to find someone to blame sooner or later. Unfortunately, she cannot tell it to Kiku, he's just doing what he's suppose to do. Understandable. However, for some reason, a tiny part of her felt that she should blame it to the first one who wage such a drastic decision. They are the cause of all of these, they are the reason this happened and for her people to suffer. A tiny bit of her told her that she should blame them, even though that she is merely a prefecture. Nevertheless, she's a prefecture, he's a nobody now, not even considered a country anymore. And, yet, why does he still exist? It's not fair, he should be gone. No matter, she thought grimly, placing the flower in the makeshift bamboo container she have made beside the grave of a random grave, offering a single prayer before decided that she's done for today. "Of course..." She murmured softly to herself, adjusting the parasol from her hand. "I cannot blame it all to him, however..." She shifted her eyes, as if expecting something, before a sigh escaped the raven-haired Japanese, resuming with her musing of thoughts before she would head back to her manor to take her well-deserve tea and drink. Looks like watching TV and staying the whole night in front of the PC would have to wait till the next morning, Hourai doesn't seem to feel like doing those stuff today. [/style][style=float: right; width: 300; height: 70px; padding: 20 10 0 0; font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px]Timeline

[/color]Present
notes [/color]Warning! Warning! Angst and YandeHourai on the loose. Commence emotionally-breaking-a-person down.[/style][/style][/td][/tr][/table][/center]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=valign,top][atrb=style, background: url(http://i1095.photobucket.com/albums/i473/shahal_sparda/Hetalia/prussia1.jpg) center bottom no-repeat; outline: 3px solid #800000; width: 500px; height: 480px; padding: 0px;, bTable] The sun shone high in the sky, beating down a valley in the middle of nowhere. Two gravestones sat back-to-back, each covered with moss and looked as ancient as they were. Germania's grave was a dull slab of stone and the text on it, his name and date of death written in an elegant, almost sad scrawl that had been kept in miraculous condition for a very long time. Until recently. A rusted sword sat perched on it, the hilt, which was originally a deep mahogany hue had faded into more earth-bound tones. There was a small bump in front of the grave, though not something one would notice unless they were looking for it. The grave touching it was far more decorative; the edges were far smoother, as though they were carefully sanded day in and day out. There was a border of wilted rose petals and crosses circling the outside of the tombstone. The writing was even more desolate, where it dipped and curved at odd places, as though one's hand shook as they carved it out. The dirt beneath it was flat, as though the soil had never been dug up. On it, the name was 'Friedrich II von Preußen'. A remarkably familiar cross, rusted with age, hung off the ledge of the tomb. On the back was the faded image of an eagle. Gilbert recognized the graves almost immediately, completely disregarding the countless others that surrounded them. He had never been one to express his regret over their grandfather Germania. To him, he'd always seemed like someone that once was, something like a fairytale. Like his existence didn't matter in the end. It was, after all, he who always said that he was too awesome to be altered by anyone else's unawesome opinions. Except Old Fritz – no one was as awesome as Old Fritz. That thought led him to the second tombstone. The only man whom Gilbert had ever deemed worthy of discarding his pride and crying over. Not even Bismarck, the man who had given his younger brother a reason to be, had such an effect as Old Fritz. Gilbert didn't cry. Real men never cried. Oh, how he idolized him. But now he was gone. Gone forever. He hated to think that the pale man, with his snowy hair and glazed turquoise eyes that were now shut softly, as though he were sleeping... he hated to think that that was his king. He himself was strong, immortal,couldn't die. Looking down at the ornately carved grave as he was, gripping a bouquet of blue cornflowers in a steel grip that threatened to crush them, he was once again reminded that despite his great achievements, the mad had only been human. Everybody died eventually, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent it. Sighing, he finally allowed the bouquet to fall from his hand, hitting the ground with a soft thump, his stomach lurching as the sound reached his ears, a sudden rush of emotions coursing through him, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to prevent them from surfacing. Looking down at the grave of his former monarch, Gilbert couldn't help but wonder for what seemed to be the millionth time why he still existed. Just why was he still permitted to roam the Earth, after centuries of seemingly endless suffering? Those who hadn't met him would, more often than not, never have heard of him; didn't even know his name. For centuries, he had been denied the basic requirement of possessing one's own nation, had seen the fall of the empire that he'd dedicated his life to building, and yet he still lived to suffer the consequences of his actions, having to wander the streets of a nation that was once his with the almost overwhelming burden of regret, guilt and resentment with no on a daily basis. Date: Present! Location: A graveyeard somewhere, I guess! Outfit: Casual Music: ..umm... Cemetary Drive. Notes: I'm sorry. It's awful. xD

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i42.tinypic.com/34qoh9j.png); background-color: FDF9EF; background-repeat: repeat-y; border-radius: 0 25 25 0][style=font-family: georgia; font-size: 25px; color: F53F37; float: right; width: 250px; text-align: left; margin-bottom: -150px; margin-top: 30px]i believe in dreams[style=margin-top: -2px; margin-left: 100px]come true[/style][/style][style=width: 300px; float: right; height: 5px; background-color: F53F37; margin-top: 60px][/style][style=float: right; width: 100px; height: 100px; background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/LKRJE.jpg); -webkit-border-radius: 50px; -moz-border-radius: 50px; border-radius: 50px; margin-top: 10px; border: 2px solid F53F37; margin-right: -30px][/style][style=float: right; width: 340px; margin-right: 10px; background-color: FDF9EF; opacity: 0.9; border-radius: 10px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px][style=color: F53F37; font-size: 10px; font-family: verdana; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 10px; padding: 10px]The weather, for some perpetual reason, decided not to cooperate with her, shaking her head and grasping her parasol tighter with both hands. She's done with her visit to the graves of those people that had fallen, some due to war while others due to its indirect effects, all died on her own soil while she watched with sorrow in her hearts and burning passion of resentment for the reason. Hourai cannot seem to do anything about it, though in this present time it seems she still finds the world quite unfair to her standards. Why things have to happen in the first place? Just as the fuchsia-clad female was about to leave, she saw someone from the corner of her eye and gave a sigh at the sight. Truly, her day was not favorable, she should have not went out after all. "Fancy meeting you here, of all the places." With a neutral expression on her face, Hourai walked to where the ex-Nation is, eyes distant and showing not a smudge of emotions as she watched the albino male in front of a grave. Odd, she thought with another sigh, it's rare for him to be in this kind of depressing place, though she couldn't blame him. For now, of course. Respect is still respect and Okinawa knew that asking him directly about it shows disrespect (in her standards) unless he, himself, told her why he is here. "Normally, I would see you somewhere like in a bar or your brother's house," Hourai spoke in a mild monotone, eying at the grave before shifting her attention to him. "This is so not you, if I recall what I'm suppose to say." The last thing the raven-haired Prefecture needs right now is some taunt, though if ever he decides to retaliate to her statements, then she's ready to dish out her own if she has to. Hourai, for some reason whatsoever, decided to screw acting like a Nadeshiko and get on with the program. [/style][style=float: right; width: 300; height: 70px; padding: 20 10 0 0; font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px]Timeline

[/color]Present
notes [/color]Yeah, she's in her 'prod someone then tell them they suck in the most discreet way possible' mode right now.[/style][/style][/td][/tr][/table][/center]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=valign,top][atrb=style, background: url(http://i1095.photobucket.com/albums/i473/shahal_sparda/Hetalia/prussia1.jpg) center bottom no-repeat; outline: 3px solid #800000; width: 500px; height: 480px; padding: 0px;, bTable] It took a moment or two for Gilbert to respond to the approach of the woman, initially so engrossed in his own thoughts that he had all but come to ignore his surroundings, as though the graves that lay before him were the only things worth acknowledging, which at this time, it was, although it was rare to find the albino, an almost neglected, folorn expression crossing his features, immersed so much in his own self-pity and regret, resentment and that emptiness that came with the loss of the one thing that made a person, the loss of that one thing that meant the world to an individual, that all else was forgotten, the woman that was approaching him included. Even as she neared ever closer, his crimson gaze remained downcast, staring intently at the vibrant colour of the bouquet, scrutinizing each and every petal that made up each flower, observing the small shadow that it cast upon what remained of one of the few humans that he had dearly missed after what had seemed to him, the supposedly immortal nation, a mere handful of years and had served as an entire lifetime for the one man that he had truly ever respected, admired even, and held in the highest regard that the Prussian could muster, for once abandoning his overwhelmingly large ego without a second thought, and as a wave of nostalgia hit him harder than any physical attack ever could, it was all that he could do to prevent a few hot, fresh tears from streaming down his pale face. Turning away from the other as to hide his face from view, he coughed, it coming out as more of a choke as he moved to wipe his face on his sleeve, taking a few moments to calm himself enough to process what had been said, initially surprised to find that for once, he simply wished to be left alone with these overly depressing thoughts of his, if anything to at last sort out his many emotions that he had managed somehow to hold back and ignore for such a long period of time. The last thing he needed was the interference of a woman he had no intention of looking at to find the identity of. Usually, the mention of the fact that he was still living with his younger brother was enough to put him of edge, for him to mask his embarrassment and hurt that came with having to face hard reality that there was simply no longer another place for him to go, his own capital having been sent to live with Ivan long ago, with a smirk, a meaningless, idiotic comment thrown in somewhere for good measure and a quick jump to the next topic, as even then he would've wanted to avoid the past at all cost, or rather the most negative aspects of it that he knew in his heart he could never truly face without breaking down in the process. And now, as he stood by the grave of his long since deceased king, near to a foreign woman who sounded to him to be painfully familiar, he could't bring himself to do it, not now, not ever. And yet, he felt that he didn't possess the energy to act in his usual over-confident, obnoxious manner to mask his insecurities. Still gazing down at nothing at all, Gilbert responded, a shaky, overly forced laugh sounding before he cut himself off, his tone flat as he began to speak as though the spirit had gone from him, an unmistakable tremor in his voice as he uttered the first syllable, barely raising his voice to louder than a mumble. "Ja, I guess...I guess-- Sometimes change can't be all that bad, huh?" Date: Present! Location: A graveyeard somewhere, I guess! Outfit: Casual Music: Cemetary Drive - My Chemical Romance Notes: XDD sounds awesome to me! And Yup, I've got a disenchanted Gilby rearing (raring?) To go! Please, feel free to torture him as much as possible XDD

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,width: 450px; padding: 10px;][bg=121212][style=font-family: arial narrow; color: #00BBFF; font-weight: bold; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -1px; line-height: 16px; padding-left: 5px; border-left: 320px solid #00BBFF;]THIS IS A GAME.[/style] [style=text-align: left; color: #e4e4e4; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 3px; font-family: arial;]DO NOT TRUST YOUR EARS. WHAT YOU HEAR ARE LIES.[/style] [style=margin-top: 5px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; color: #e4e4e4; background-color: #212121; padding: 5px; border: 1px solid #222222;] [style=zoom: 1; filter: alpha(opacity=70); opacity: 0.7; margin-right: 5px; margin-bottom: 5px; width: 100px; height: 100px; border-radius: 10px; background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/LKRJE.jpg); float: left;] [/style] At first, there was a hint of concern from her face, tilting her head a bit at the sight she's not suppose to see from someone like him, but then she recalled why she was here and what was at hand; she was visiting people from her place that have perished because of the war and he is indirectly one of the perpetrators for this. Though he didn't do it personally, it's the fact that he's involved (somewhat) that made her think otherwise of her feelings and knew that seeing him crumble down like this made a small feeling of sick satisfaction on her chest. It wasn't suppose to be like her to act as such, but she couldn't help but to let it run its course until she either settles down or she got her own fill at this. How embarrassing, yet fulfilling. "Don't be ridiculous." For the first time in a long while, her tone was harsh, steely, cold even. Though her tone showed neutrality over her words, it was the chosen statement that made her change her facade from her usual benevolent and mild courtesan to someone of a calm, cold and calculating villain. Again, it was very much against her own nature as Okinawa, but somehow with all the pent-up feeling she need to let it out on an outlet. Somehow. "You are a powerful nation once upon a time, surely you can just rise up unexpectedly without anyone knowing." She stare at the wine-red optics that has been avoiding her own gaze, a small smile forming on her lips as she tilted her head to the side as if sneering silently at the ex-nation. "Changes isn't too bad, true, but I do not whole-heartedly agree to such changes, especially if it's instantaneous like the war." Just by the fact that she stressed the word 'war' meant that it was the sole reason of her unexpected change. "I'm sure you should be aware of why I am saying these, am I correct?" For emphasis, her free hand gestured towards the graves, awaiting for any reaction coming from him. For some reason, she's finding a sick sense of jollies out of this. Again, just to get it out of her system, hopefully she'll be back to normal after a while. [style=color: #00BBFF; text-align: center; letter-spacing: 1px; background-color: #121212; padding: 2px;]TAGGING: PRUSSIA | TIMELINE: PRESENT | NOTES: I heard about this 'New Prussia' somewhere few months ago... even if the news is from 2010... oh, and yeah, 2P!Hourai mode.[/style][/style]

[style=font-size: 10px; font-family: georiga; text-align: center; letter-spacing: 3px;]TEMPLATE BY SAMARECARM OF OTE[/style]