vatheon | (no subject)

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shizuo heiwajima

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Who: Prussia and anyone else! ~~finally crawling out of my shy shell~~
When: February 15th late evening
Where: The street around Canada's home
Style: Prose or action
Status: Open!

Gilbert had thoroughly explored the area around his current headquarters but was leery in going beyond Canada's street. He had observed the other inhabitants of Vatheon and concluded that most of them were complete freaks. Some of them didn't look human - which didn't really disturb Gilbert that much, in fact, he found it pretty cool - but it solidified his suspicions that Vatheon existed somewhere completely separate from Gilbert and Canada's world, hell, separate from their entire dimension! It would make going home more than difficult, but Gilbert wasn't to be deterred! No prison could hold his awesomeness!

But...there was no need to be hasty just yet. Vatheon wasn't a dreary prison with high grey walls and barbed wire. They were treated very well, even if the locals disturbed Gilbert on a subconscious level. Just made his skin crawl, so he avoided them as much as possible. Really, the only person that Gilbert interacted with regularly was Canada, who he was rooming with. Gilbert was getting antsy, since he was a social person despite his Alone Complex. He thrived off of attention, and to willingly isolate himself from people - no matter how freaky they may be - was slowly killing him from the inside out. That and Gilbert was curious and some of these freaky people looked so awesome!

So Gilbert lingered on the street outside of Canada's house, pacing up and down and looking at the other houses, considering his plan of action. Should he go to the park? Or maybe go to the shops and meet people there. People socialised in stores, right? Yeah, and in parks. Gilbert couldn't exactly just ambush people on the street and demand that they'd talk to him? Well, he could, but maybe people would be intimidated by him flaunting his awesomeness so abruptly in their faces and would run away. Lots of people ran away when he jumped out at them.

...although that was probably more due to him surprising them by leaping out of bushes...

Gilbert frowned and sat down on the curb with a huff. He rested his elbows on his knees and peered down the street. It was late anyway, so people would probably be in bed by now, and the shops would be closed, and who knew what the park was like during the night. You weren't allowed in parks at night in some places, anyway. But Gilbert didn't want to go back inside just yet. He picked up a loose stone from the floor and scratched it on the pavement, leaving chalk lines. Distracted from his dilemma, Gilbert quickly became absorbed in sketching on the pavement with the stone, even if the light from the lampposts was too orange for his liking. Made it hard to see in some parts. Oh well.

It wasn't like anyone was going to see his crappy drawings anyway.

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After his visit to Zelda, Shizuo walked back to his place, for what would probably be the last time. Seeing Zelda always made him feel better about everything, and though this evening was no exception, he still felt somewhat burdened. She was in danger, and had no idea just how directly her safety was now tied to his ability to control himself. Every time he thought back on Vegeta's flaunting of his power, Shizuo could feel his stomach turn.

But this was his burden to shoulder - not Zelda's, and not anyone else's. At least he'd be closer to her now, just in case anything happened. Just in case he failed.

Though the situation bothered him, and though Shizuo still did not have strong faith in his ability to control himself, he did not find himself hating Vegeta. On the contrary, Vegeta had - though in a very dangerous and unsettling way - given him some purpose, a strong push in the right direction. Shizuo knew this was true, because their last fight had proven that there was hope for him. If Vegeta did happen to hurt her, though, that would very quickly change.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost stumbled over the guy who was - rather stupidly - scratching on the sidewalk. Shizuo stopped himself just in time, squinting down to see what the guy was doing.

"Are you trying to draw with a rock?" he asked.

Gilbert was so absorbed in his drawings - a great epic of his Teutonic Knight days, where he was an ankle biter whose sword was taller than himself - that he didn't hear the footsteps until he was very nearly kicked in the side. During his drawing, Gilbert had sprawled out on his stomach, his feet kicking in the air as he sketched sketched sketched.

He let out a squawk at the near collision, and jumped to his feet - or tried to. He did a sort of stumble by tripping over his own feet, falling on his knees, as his drawing rock flew out of his hand and skittered into a nearby bush. Gilbert felt his cheeks warm out of embarrassment from his not so elegant leap to attention, and pushed himself to his feet while brushing down his slightly oversized, navy blue hoodie, glaring at the man who startled him so much.

"Hey! Don't sc- ambush someone like that!" Gilbert snapped, squaring his shoulders slightly as he pushed himself up onto his tiptoes. The stranger was over six foot though, and although Gilbert wasn't a midget, he wasn't the tallest of people, and was below the average male height for a German. Gilbert felt disgruntled at having to crane his head back so far to meet the stranger's face.

Lanky, blond, tall and serious, was what Gilbert gleaned in a quick once over. Sans the lanky, the quick description reminded Gilbert sorely of his brother and he briefly felt homesick. He waved the useless feeling aside.

"And it isn't any of your business. I was just drawing some...stuff," he discreetly tried to scrape away the picture of Teutonic Knight him kicking Hungary's ass from the pavement (which sadly never happened but he was allowed to fantasise it). "Stupid stuff."

Well. This guy had an attitude. He was the one sprawled out on the sidewalk, and yet he was chiding Shizuo as though it was his fault he had nearly been stepped on. Shizuo glared down at him, a small, threatening smile creeping onto his face.

That was the thing about being in Vatheon and not Ikebukuro. In Ikebukuro, only foreigners and morons would get in Shizuo's space like this, and those weren't common occurrances. Now that he was in Vatheon, though, he didn't have as much of a reputation. Sure, some people knew he had torn up a few buildings here and there, but with all the demons and strange species running around, he actually did not stand out very much. Which was good, except for when punks like this guy thought they could act tough despite the fact that they were doing weird things and getting in the way.

"The sidewalk isn't paper, and you're in the way," Shizuo said, grin widening. He didn't even look at the drawing. He didn't care. Annoyance was quickly evolving into irritation, which would only lead to anger, and then Shizuo was going to throw this guy halfway across -

No.

He wasn't.

Zelda. He had to think about Zelda and reign his temper in. If he lost it over something - someone - so unimportant, then he'd never be able to hold it together when he needed to. His grin fell.

"Just get out of my way," he said, teeth clenched and forcing his speech into something calm rather than threatening. He reached in a pocket for his cigarettes.

Edited 2012-02-17 00:53 (UTC)

Gilbert felt old instincts blare when the stranger started to grin wildly at him, and the albino felt his own annoyance quickly start to fade as anticipation flooded him. A fight? Gilbert almost giggled with glee. Although he had been, ah, de-militarised (and non-existent, technically), good fights were hard to come by. His cute little brother was so strict and stiff about fighting, since he was still trying to shake a certain reputation, and everyone else was trying to fight with debates and talks, rather than swords and bullets like Gilbert was used to.

It boggled his mind, really. He was no stranger to verbal battles, since many of his bosses had been quick and sharp of tongue, but he was born into a crusading movement and grew up when Europe developed into what it was today, and was used to physical fighting and bloodshed being the way to settle disputes. In short, Gilbert had been itching to fight for what felt like forever, and there was no Ludwig around to berate him for causing trouble.

Gilbert found himself grinning back, his muscles tensing as he flattened his feet against the floor, subtly shifting them to spread apart a little. He felt some annoyance when the stranger suddenly had a change in heart, and just laughed - his obnoxious, loud laugh - and jabbed the blond stranger squarely in the chest with his finger.

"The whole world is my canvas, thank you very much. And there is a thing called 'walking around me'. I'm sure you've heard of it..." Gilbert smirked. "Unless your brain is like a protozoan's and you're unable to comprehend going in any other direction except forward."

Shizuo was in the process of sticking a cigarette in his mouth, though he didn't light it. Not when a finger was jabbing him in the chest, personal space very much interrupted, and that ridiculous laugh clearly mocking him.

Self-control. Shizuo tried to remind himself.

Then the guy talked. And, well, it was enough of a trigger to break his focus on keeping himself reeled in. He broke the unlit cigarette in two, stepped on it, and then grabbed the guy by the shirt. Glaring and pulling him close, Shizuo bore down on him.

"Who have you been talking to?"

He and Izaya were on...better terms, but that didn't change the fact that many Vatheon residents had already heard of him from the ~~flea~~ informant. And that term - protozoan - only came out of Izaya's mouth.

"Tell me or I will crush you." Really, the guy was lucky Shizuo hadn't already sent him flying across Vatheon.

"Ack-" Gilbert made a minor noise of surprise at the hand suddenly grasping at his shirt, but overall looked a bit unruffled by it all. The guy was a bit faster than Gilbert thought. That was okay though - even if the guy could, like, shoot laser beams out of his eyes and fly, Gilbert was pretty much invincible in terms of physical sturdiness. It'd probably hurt to get laser burns though. Right? Gilbert wasn't sure, he never got shot at with a laser before.

Why was he thinking about lasers?

"I'd like to see you try to crush me," Gilbert scoffed, trying to subtly ease his way out of the man's grip. No dice. His fingers were like iron. Gilbert frowned as he stilled. He liked this shirt of his, and he only just bought it, so he didn't want to rip and tear it by pulling free, or wriggle out of it. He lost enough clothes to Hungary and Russia to be extremely protective of them.

"But you're certainly short-tempered, huh?" Gilbert drawled, leaning back so he was resting lightly on the back of his heels, only held up by the hand on his shirt, tipping his head back and looking at the lamppost above with a deathly bored expression. "You definitely remind me of Lutz when he got grumpy. Well, he was always grumpy, but he was at least cute when he was a kid."

That wasn't an answer to his question, and Shizuo had no idea who "Lutz." was. That fed his irritation. People who prattle off about stupid things that make no sense made Shizuo want to break something. Preferably the person's face.

"Shut up," he growled, shaking the guy within his grip. And since the guy thought he'd stare at the lamppost instead of paying attention to his question, Shizuo dragged him over to it and then used his free hand to tear it out of the ground.

He let go of the shirt, finally, and brandished the lamppost.

"I can crush you," Shizuo promised.

It should have occurred to him that he hadn't crushed the guy yet and therefore he was exercising a measure of control, but Shizuo was too absorbed in the interaction. Analyzing situations had never been his strong point.

Gilbert actually felt his brain rattle in his skull from the shake, and while he tried to fend off the daze that disorientated him, he grunted when he was hauled over to the lamppost. Gilbert prepared himself to be rammed against it, or something equally unpleasant, but instead blinked in genuine surprise when the blond man tore it out of the pavement like it was an overgrown daisy, and not a heavy metal pole.

Gilbert reassessed the stranger's threat level, but he still wasn't worried. Yes, the man could apparently wield a lamppost like a lance, but Gilbert wasn't that impressed. America could do that if he wanted, Russia could do that if he wanted, hell, his brother could do that if he weren't so frightened of the ensuing paperwork that would plague him from damaging public property. Alas, Gilbert wasn't blessed with super strength like some of the nations, but Gilbert compensated for it with almost a millennia of fighting experience and the uncanny ability to /not die/. Or at the least, possessing the cockroach ability to resist most attempts against his life - although Gilbert wouldn't bet his chances against a Nuclear Winter.

It'd still hurt getting beaten half to death with a lamppost though.

"I'm sure," Gilbert said, eyeing the lamppost with a bored expression, but he was on edge, muscles tensed and ready to spring at the slightest hostile movement. Hm, so who was this guy? An alien? Some sort of supernatural creature? Definitely from a different world to Gilbert's - if he was human, Gilbert would eat his shoe.

"You know, although it'd impress ordinary people, that's not a very wise move if you're gonna 'crush' someone," Gilbert felt the need to pass on his battle expertise, pointing at the lamppost in the stranger's grip. "Sure, you could like, bat humans into the stratosphere with that, but if you /really/ want to fight someone competent, using a lamppost is the most unwieldy and clumsy weapon to use. I could probably limbo under that thing if you swung at it me, since you'd probably move at like, the speed of an elderly man with two broken legs."

It was obvious that Gilbert never knew when to shut his mouth, or seem awesome and cool with his knowledge and physical prowess (although he admitted that being retired for half a century seriously made him rusty, he could take care of this whipper-snapper no problem!).

Perhaps under normal circumstances, Shizuo would have responded with rage. If this encounter happened before Vatheon, his next action would be easy, executed without thought. Irrationality fueled by the lecture would have made Shizuo use the lamppost like a bat and try to send the guy across Vatheon, even if the guy acted confident in his ability to duck.

But a lot had happened since coming to Vatheon, and Shizuo paused.

"Can you really fight?" he asked, wondering if it was a bluff to make the guy seem strong in the face of danger. If it weren't, though, he might be just what Shizuo needed. Someone to fight with him so that he could practice control, and keep out of the enraged frame of mind that might cost him dearly down the line.

"Duck, then," he ordered, and without so much as another thought, swung the lamppost. If the guy managed to avoid getting hit, then they could have a talk. If he went flying across Vatheon, then good riddance.

Gilbert did indeed duck - and to rub it in, he limboed too. He leaned back, his knees bending as his back went parallel to the ground and the lamppost missed him by /centimetres/. Alright, so this guy was faster than Gilbert predicted, and it was lucky that even though he was rusty, his reflexes were as sharp as ever. Eight hundred years and fifty of retirement wasn't enough to dull them any. That was good.

However, for a nation, Gilbert was actually getting on in years, and he had to fling to arm back to rest his hand against the ground from leaning back too far, his knees almost giving out on him and making him dump himself on the floor in a decidedly unawesome way. He hissed, but pushed himself back up, ignoring the twinging pain assaulting his lower back. God. He was getting too old for stuff like that. Better stick to conventional ducking from this point on.

"Okay, so maybe you'll be as fast as an elderly man on an electric scooter," Gilbert amended. He found himself grinning. His blood was hot and thrumming, and there was a pleasant buzz in his ears. Adrenaline. Oh. Oh how he had missed its sweet song. He bounced on his heels, feeling energy explode and jitter under his skin, ready to let him do cartwheels down the street if he had to. He would be sore in the morning, but well worth it. Gilbert was an old war horse that needed a good gallop now and then to shake off the stiffness.

"But to answer- er, yeah, I can fight /obviously/. I've been fighting since your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great," Gilbert paused to take in a deep breath, "great-great-great-great-/great/-grandfather was shitting in cloth diapers."

The analogy was lost on Shizuo, mostly because he was busy staring in mild awe as the man managed to limbo out of harms way. Shizuo knew he was quick, especially for wielding something so large and heavy, and being evaded was nothing something he experienced daily. Then again, since coming to Vatheon, plenty of weird things had happened to him, so really, he shouldn't have been that surprised.

"Shut up, you talk too much," Shizuo informed him, though this time, there was very little anger in his tone. Instead, he sounded interested. And he was.

"Let's fight then," he urged, ready to practice. He needed to be both stronger and more in control for his next fight with Vegeta, and this would be a perfect opportunity, if the guy could do more than just duck and evade. "Come at me." Shizuo prepared himself for an attack, ready to punch-and-throw at a given opportunity.

Gilbert laughed boisterously, and the noise sounded like it came deep from his chest, echoing and booming down the street. "Oh man, you have no idea how much I love you for this," Gilbert said, his laughter dissolving into chuckles as he widened his stance. Okay, so getting into a fight /right/ outside his temporary base of headquarters was probably foolish, but Gilbert was swept up in the adrenaline rush of battle of excitement. Ehn, he'd make sure that the fight didn't spill over into Canada's front lawn.

Gilbert flexed his fingers and wished for the familiar feel of a blade - even a semi-automatic rifle would do, although he preferred the longsword overall. He clucked his tongue and crouched slightly, tensing the muscles in his long legs. Hand to hand combat wasn't his /strongest/ way of battle, but he was certain he could manage it.

It'd be like fighting Hungary, the guy even had a heavy iron object to smash his head in with.

"Before I kick your ass with my awesome battle moves," Gilbert purred, his grin turning sly, "what's your name? I need something other than 'that blond guy' when I'm bragging about this later."

Shizuo scowled at the mention of love, thinking that the guy was clearly deranged or otherwise screwed up in the head if he loved the idea of getting pummeled into the ground. Because that's exactly what Shizuo expected. Sure, he could dodge a lamppost, but Shizuo doubted his strength could be evenly matched.

He had a mental debate as to whether he should wield a the post at all, given that Vegeta required hand combat. After a moment of deliberation, Shizuo tossed the post to the side. They'd be on equal grounds, that way, and Shizuo could practice for the upcoming fight with Vegeta.

"Heiwajima Shizuo, but you aren't going to win. I'm a lot stronger than you think." He didn't even care about the guy's name. He just wanted to beat the arrogance out of him. Simple.

Gilbert watched the post fly across the street and land in someone's front garden. He smirked a little in amusement. Someone was going to get a nasty surprise in the morning. He shifted his attention back on the blond - or rather, Heiwajima Shizuo. Gilbert stared at him, slowly mulling over the name. He had a tradition of giving everyone he knew the names of nicknames - because he could never remember their full names. He still forgot Spain's full human name and they've been best buddies for centuries.

"Sure thing, Shizzy," Gilbert grinned, "We'll see in a bit, won't we? You can call me Gilbert, or Prussia. Whichever floats your boat, now then!"

Gilbert barely finished speaking before he darted forwards. He was not the strongest of nations, but he was the sturdiest of them. How was this different? Well, while some nations could tie titanium poles into bows, Gilbert could survive practically anything and still manage to stagger into a somewhat upright position. Maybe he wouldn't be able to even bruise Shizzy, but goddamn it he was going to make the blond /work/ to put Gilbert flat on his back and make him stay there.

Taking advantage of his greyhound-esque build, Gilbert quickly sidestepped to the side just when it seemed like he had been ready to barrel straight into Shizzy's chest. He pivoted sharply on his heel and lifted a long leg up to slam a roundhouse kick into the blond's ribs. Time to see if it was like kicking a brick wall, or a metal one.

"It's Shizuo," Shizuo countered with vehemence. Nicknames really annoyed him. Maybe it was for the better, though. Anything that managed to get his blood boiling assisted him in preparing for a fight. Anger wasn't necessary, but it certainly helped as a form of fuel. He glared darkly, and waited to see what Gilbert or Prussia would dish out.

Shizuo didn't bother trying to block the kick. He wanted to feel what Gilbert had to offer by way of strength. That was probably for the better, too, because Gilbert switched tactics and came at his side without very much notice. Impressive and unexpected. Shizuo then took the brunt of the kick. He stumbled back a step with the force, but his tolerance for pain and solid frame prevented him from crumbling. He hardly felt it at all.

"My turn," he said, his half-crazed grin claiming his face. He didn't use any tricks - he aimed a full-force punch right at Gilbert's face.

Gilbert grunted when his leg slammed into Shizzy's side. It felt like he was kicking a tank. He flexed his leg and jumped back a step, frowning at the blond. Sturdy as fuck. Well Gilbert sort of expected that. So the blond was like Sealand, but with America's super strength. Ah, this fight was going to be painful, but Gilbert loved a challenge, and he never backed down from a fight (unless it was Russia, there was no shame in fleeing from Russia).

Shizzy's punch practically came out of nowhere. The blond was /fast/. Gilbert jolted backwards, but his lower back screamed in protest at the sharp decline backwards, and he stuttered between movements, cursing his old age as he tried to smoothly change it into a sidestep instead. It didn't quite work. The split second hesitation on Gilbert's part gave Shizzy the opportunity to land a punch and dear Lord was that punch strong.

Gilbert saw /stars/. Actual stars that flashed red and white in his vision, swirling in a sickening whirl of black as he staggered from the force of the punch, barely keeping his feet under him. He blinked rapidly, hurriedly gathering his wits, and licked his lips. The tang of copper met his tongue, and Gilbert wiped his nose with the back of his hand. It felt tender. Ouch, but it didn't feel broken. Okay good. Broken noses always looked ugly.

"...ouch," Gilbert said dully, ignoring the agony in his nose.

The way Gilbert moved was almost comical - could have been, if Shizuo hadn't been so focused on winning. The fact that he was able to stay on his feet after being punched so hard was a testament to his abilities, but Shizuo was unimpressed. Fighting Gilbert was turning out to be a lot easier than fighting Vegeta. Vegeta could kick, and then some. Gilbert could just remain standing. A feat, but not exactly for what Shizuo had been hoping.

"Yeah," he replied, a little attitude in his tone. "You're weaker than you thought." He didn't wait for a response. Shizuo just started walking in the direction of his place, again, completely ignoring Gilbert.

Gilbert's good humour about the situation immediately soured at the blond's insulting dismissal. Weak? /Weak/?! Gilbert was anything but weak! His kingdom had risen as a military star, sweeping most of its opponents down the river of defeat and devouring the lands surrounding it until it had been practically an empire! Gilbert may be old, and may be 'retired', but he was anything but weak! He was a survivor, an old war horse that could trample bastards like Shizzy under his feet.

It was well known that the only thing Gilbert had left was his pride, and it was a prickly, easily bruised thing. Any slight towards him could rouse him into a fury like no other, and this was no exception. Although Gilbert's strength was severely reduced from what it had been in the nineteenth century, he was still /strong/. He couldn't punch Shizzy across the street, but he could, at the very least, wound him.

Once again, Gilbert wished he had his longsword in hand.

With a vicious snarl that sounded like it belonged more to a dog, than any human throat, Gilbert stormed after Shizzy and performed his best move. It was a move that could neutralise his older brother, who could match Shizzy's feats of strength, and leave him entirely at his mercy - although it required some sneaking and using the elements of surprise, i.e backstabbing. Gilbert didn't care. War wasn't fair, and Gilbert didn't succeed by being an honourable man.

The Prussian slammed the heel of his foot hard against the back of Shizuo's knee. Indestructible or not, the joints were still the weak point of any person. He took advantage of the slight dip in the blond's height and stagger to lunge and drag Shizzy down into a headlock, keeping his grip tight. Many times Gilbert got Lutz into this hold, and many times his brother could never break free. It was time to see if Shizuo was stronger than Germany or not, and tensed the muscles in his arms and shoulders for the inevitable resistance and thrashing.

He was not going to let go. Not unless Shizzy physically tore off his arms. Or killed him.

Well, shit.

That was what Shizuo got for thinking Gilbert might have had any shred of honor. Not that Shizuo himself was necessarily honorable in the way he fought - but attacking a man while he's walking away? That took some guts. Guts that were not admirable in the least.

To think he leveled the playing field by discarding that stupid lamppost.

He didn't expect the attack, couldn't do anything about the slamming of his knee except allow his leg to cave a bit, and then he was in a solid headlock.

Shizuo was pissed. Beyond pissed. So angry that he could have crushed Gilbert's skull into dust if given the opportunity. Never mind control - that went out the window this second Gilbert's foot met his knee. Never mind trying to stay rational.

"Get. the. fuck. off. me." Every word spat out with building rage - indignation at being taken advantage of while he was walking away. Shizuo didn't even bother to try and break the hold on his neck. He just leveraged his body enough so he could slam Gilbert into the ground, shoving himself forward with every ounce of anger and power he felt in that moment.

Gilbert was reminded of one of Spain's bulls at that crazy festival he threw. Shizzy certainly had the strength of a snorting, furious bull, and the blond wrenching forwards in his grip almost popped his shoulder out of its socket. He snarled and tightened his grip, but Shizzy managed to slam them both on the ground - Gilbert heard something crunch, but he ignored the noise as unimportant. His thoughts were roaring through his head in a speed that he couldn't keep up with, and eight centuries of experience kicked in with a viciousness that made him jolt. It was like getting into a brawl with the bigger and stronger Hungary - which he usually lost, but Hungary always came out battered and bruised at the end as well.

Gilbert rolled when he connected with the floor, letting go of Shizzy's neck as the man shoved forwards. He pushed himself up onto his feet and lunged forwards to tackle Shizzy around his midriff before he was even fully up, knowing that the only way he was even going to win, or draw, realistically, this fight, was to keep knocking Shizzy off balance, and to not allow him to gather his bearings or footing.

Underhanded? Yes. But this was war and tactics. Gilbert shed any honour he may've had centuries ago.

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