The room was dark, but light filtered in a thin line though the doorway. He didn't know where he was. Who he was. It felt like the darkness in the room had found a way into his head. Clouding it in blissful peace. But reality is harsh. She does not like anything taking away from the chaos or pain that she gives to others. Memories began to float around in his head. Thoughts and fears. Everything from the last, he didn't even know how long, came back to him in painful, blaring flashes. Sickly sweet and laced with poison.
He sat up, ignoring the stiffness in his limbs and the dryness of his throat. Empty bottles littered the floor and a few fell off of him at his movement. He cringed. The hangover he was starting to feel he could handle. He'd had them before. But the mess he had left his house to endure, that he could not. He slowly began to stand, only to stumble a bit. He made it out of the room. The hall was lit with daylight. The open front door a glaringly obvious clash to the dusky interior that his house had become. He grunted. His need to speak to his brother taking priority. He had made a vow in his drunken state. He knew he did. Even the alcohol and it sweet relieving effects could not make him forget Italy, nor the feeling of obligation to him. His heart was breaking at the thought of Italy, but his conviction to save him was as good of a temporary patch as he could manage at the moment. He needed to talk with Gilbert. He needed to talk to someone. The beer had not alleviated his pain. Not at all. He needed his brother to tell him that things will get better. Will go back to how they were.
He was about to go upstairs, but the light of the basement, heck the open basement door, drew him down into its depths. He was surprised to find that the stairs didn't make a sound under his weight. His hazy mind staring at his feet in disbelief. He had made it to the bottom before even realizing it.
Germany ran a hand over his face. He needed to wake up. His mind needed to be focused, not half asleep. He looked around his basement, taking careful note of the two asleep nations hidden amongst the numerous boxes. He made a mental note to clean it up sometime. Weaving his way though the box maze he stopped short of his older brother. A black cloth had wrapped around his bruder's arm. A small hat lay under his hand. Inching closer he slowly pulled the hat to him. Picking it up he began a simple investigation of it. His fingers brushed the fabric. Over the golden pin, that shown dully in the florescent light. The haze in his mind had cleared from the beer, but it felt like there was something he was missing. Something felt out of place. He set the hat down and proceeded to the broken box. The corner a picture frame was poking out of a hole, no doubt of his brother's making.
The box opened easily under his hands, breaking apart ever so slightly. It must be an old box. One of Gilbert's maybe? But then why did he feel he knew the hat? And the black cloth around Gilbert's arm gave him the same uneasy feeling. He paused a moment, searching his mind for any reason why he would know the objects. He closed his eyes. Harder he searched. Going into the deepest part of his mind.
Laughter. A child's laughter. His? Or someone else's? He reached towards the laughter. He opened his eyes. Grass. And blue sky. The laughter was behind him now. He turned, careful not to scare the memory away. Green. The room phased back into focus. The room spinning and sound muffled like a layer of water or glass had gotten between him and everything.
" –udwig? Ludwig? You alright? Bruder look ad me." Gilbert? He turned to look at his brother, eyes unfocused. The laughter rang n his ears. It wasn't his. He knew that now. But whose was it? The one in green?
"Bruder?" His voice sounded hollow and small. The effects of the hangover came at him full force along with the memories of Italy. His legs gave out. He reached out for support only to have the box give way under him. He rubbed his head then his shoulder as he picked himself off of the floor. Opening his eyes when he heard snickering he froze. Green.
The picture frame he had seen earlier wrapped its way around the canvas. The picture was old and not done by an experts hand, yet it was not quite an armature's work. The colors were faded but visable. A child lay still in eternal sleep. A moment in time captured in the strokes of a brush. The main canvas was white, but the child was wrapped in vivid color. Light brown hair, fair skin, green dress. He reached out a hand, his fingers ghosting over the image. Why did his chest hurt? Why did he feel like crying or was he actually crying? He turned to look at his brother, confusion and pain etched in his features. Gilbert turned away. His eyes shut and his shoulders slumped.
"Bruder, ve need do dalk."
I ish back! One more clue to add to your pile. Now here's a question to you, if I promise cyber-scooby snacks, will you review?