Post by Austria on Dec 17, 2013 15:42:45 GMT -5
July 12, 1947.
Paris.
He was alive, but his empty stomach and empty soul made him feel otherwise.
It had been a month since his counsel to the young German for his emotional needs. A memory that he did not feel enjoyable reminding himself of, the Austrian wanted to forget, along with other matters. However, just like how the more one wipes away certain stain, the stronger it persists. Flashbacks appeared frequently, with only a significant background change - the destroyed old town of Vienna. It did not make sense to see people of Biedermeier fashion walking with walls and windows deteriorated in the background. Roderich often took off his glasses, massaging his eyes to prevent hallucination from appearing in front of his eyes. Was it hallucination due to starvation, or due to unknown drugs in his daily ration?
He gave enough to the Russians. His anger was clearly expressed in his national vote of only an abysmal 5% to the Austrian communists, but clearly the message was not strong enough. As he had soon realised that there was nothing that the brainless Russian was not shameless enough to ask for, the exasperation and the thought of resistance vanished rather quickly.
Knowing his role very well, Roderich had acted accordingly to his finest. There were glares exchanged between the Russian and the Austrian, but the glares were mostly ceremonial on Roderich's side, who could only resist by holding onto land registers to prevent further confiscation of Austrian building, but ended up providing almost 70% of his own crude oil to Ivan for "repatriation", among other industrial functions that Ivan found profitable to extract from.
He found it very relieving when he was told of the absence of Ivan in the ECCE conference. It was futile even if he participated; his presence caused more trouble and destruction, too few productive, constructive achievements.
The lack of Ivan's presence, however, also contributed to his indescribable loneliness in this salon with fifteen other nations waiting for Alfred's individual session. Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Romania - the people part of him in the previous monarchy - all of them were tugged behind the Iron Curtain. Only the German-Austrian remained, westernised and liberated like an undercover ally. Was that the reason why he was the superior one among them, the Habsburg themselves, but not 'part of Habsburg'?
The bitterness associated with his identity felt more bitter with the individuals inside this salon. There sat Ludwig, a man he immensely cared of but was not of position to. Given the past history of annexation, Roderich was inhibited from showing any affection towards the young man - not even a fraternal hug or a pat on the shoulder.
Yes, it was because Francis and Arthur were looking. He was expected to act alerted around Ludwig, because victor's history dictated that Austria must be very wary next to Germany for fear of next invasion that violated his innocence. He had been acting in such manner for the past years or so in the public, and he had already grew very tired of doing so.
Sadik, Vash, Feliciano... Roderich had no slightest wish to speak to one of the three either. The war made him felt too distant, too far away from the European hierarchy even when he was a few feet away from the round table. And when it was time for his individual session and he turned away from the rest of the Europeans, he had the illusion that all fifteen of them either glared at Roderich in a mild degree of hate, in a curious look, in a rather disappointed, desperate expression. or a good mix of all.
Nations gathered here for nothing other than maximising their profit by asking Alfred, the saviour of Europe, to give out more and more money by cutting other nations' share. One could say it was a childish playground tactic, but it was sad to say that playground tactic was essential even in the adult world. Francis, Arthur, and Ludwig had not gotten their private session yet, but by glancing at those nations for the one last time before stepping away, Roderich could already predict what their aim would be, and how miserable Ludwig would look in front of Alfred if the allies were to go before him.
There were three talking points written in the little paper slip inside Roderich's pocket - something he memorised very well but did not want to forget at all cost. Even a little damsel in distress, in the name of Austria, had needs and wants. Roderich could not say for sure that he enjoyed acting this role, but it was certain that his country was in such a desperate situation that acting was more than necessary. And as he had begun to adapt to the mindset, perhaps in the distant future would he actually believe himself that he had been a distressed damsel all the time in history.
What were required of a damsel would be a bitter smile, and a pair of eyes about to break in tears for the threats and blackmail she faced for all stages of life. Roderich might not have the latter one, but he definitely bore the apologetic, bitter smile when he entered the parlor where Alfred was seated. "I am grateful for your audience, Mr. Jones," he spoke in perfectly accented British English that he learnt from Arthur for years, and extended his left hand. "I am certain that you are aware of the Soviet activity still ongoing in my Eastern zone..."
Paris.
He was alive, but his empty stomach and empty soul made him feel otherwise.
It had been a month since his counsel to the young German for his emotional needs. A memory that he did not feel enjoyable reminding himself of, the Austrian wanted to forget, along with other matters. However, just like how the more one wipes away certain stain, the stronger it persists. Flashbacks appeared frequently, with only a significant background change - the destroyed old town of Vienna. It did not make sense to see people of Biedermeier fashion walking with walls and windows deteriorated in the background. Roderich often took off his glasses, massaging his eyes to prevent hallucination from appearing in front of his eyes. Was it hallucination due to starvation, or due to unknown drugs in his daily ration?
He gave enough to the Russians. His anger was clearly expressed in his national vote of only an abysmal 5% to the Austrian communists, but clearly the message was not strong enough. As he had soon realised that there was nothing that the brainless Russian was not shameless enough to ask for, the exasperation and the thought of resistance vanished rather quickly.
Knowing his role very well, Roderich had acted accordingly to his finest. There were glares exchanged between the Russian and the Austrian, but the glares were mostly ceremonial on Roderich's side, who could only resist by holding onto land registers to prevent further confiscation of Austrian building, but ended up providing almost 70% of his own crude oil to Ivan for "repatriation", among other industrial functions that Ivan found profitable to extract from.
He found it very relieving when he was told of the absence of Ivan in the ECCE conference. It was futile even if he participated; his presence caused more trouble and destruction, too few productive, constructive achievements.
The lack of Ivan's presence, however, also contributed to his indescribable loneliness in this salon with fifteen other nations waiting for Alfred's individual session. Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Romania - the people part of him in the previous monarchy - all of them were tugged behind the Iron Curtain. Only the German-Austrian remained, westernised and liberated like an undercover ally. Was that the reason why he was the superior one among them, the Habsburg themselves, but not 'part of Habsburg'?
The bitterness associated with his identity felt more bitter with the individuals inside this salon. There sat Ludwig, a man he immensely cared of but was not of position to. Given the past history of annexation, Roderich was inhibited from showing any affection towards the young man - not even a fraternal hug or a pat on the shoulder.
Yes, it was because Francis and Arthur were looking. He was expected to act alerted around Ludwig, because victor's history dictated that Austria must be very wary next to Germany for fear of next invasion that violated his innocence. He had been acting in such manner for the past years or so in the public, and he had already grew very tired of doing so.
Sadik, Vash, Feliciano... Roderich had no slightest wish to speak to one of the three either. The war made him felt too distant, too far away from the European hierarchy even when he was a few feet away from the round table. And when it was time for his individual session and he turned away from the rest of the Europeans, he had the illusion that all fifteen of them either glared at Roderich in a mild degree of hate, in a curious look, in a rather disappointed, desperate expression. or a good mix of all.
Nations gathered here for nothing other than maximising their profit by asking Alfred, the saviour of Europe, to give out more and more money by cutting other nations' share. One could say it was a childish playground tactic, but it was sad to say that playground tactic was essential even in the adult world. Francis, Arthur, and Ludwig had not gotten their private session yet, but by glancing at those nations for the one last time before stepping away, Roderich could already predict what their aim would be, and how miserable Ludwig would look in front of Alfred if the allies were to go before him.
There were three talking points written in the little paper slip inside Roderich's pocket - something he memorised very well but did not want to forget at all cost. Even a little damsel in distress, in the name of Austria, had needs and wants. Roderich could not say for sure that he enjoyed acting this role, but it was certain that his country was in such a desperate situation that acting was more than necessary. And as he had begun to adapt to the mindset, perhaps in the distant future would he actually believe himself that he had been a distressed damsel all the time in history.
What were required of a damsel would be a bitter smile, and a pair of eyes about to break in tears for the threats and blackmail she faced for all stages of life. Roderich might not have the latter one, but he definitely bore the apologetic, bitter smile when he entered the parlor where Alfred was seated. "I am grateful for your audience, Mr. Jones," he spoke in perfectly accented British English that he learnt from Arthur for years, and extended his left hand. "I am certain that you are aware of the Soviet activity still ongoing in my Eastern zone..."
