Post by Basch Zwingli on Jan 20, 2011 17:10:56 GMT -8
Name: Basch “Vash” Zwingli (Just call me by my nickname, and don’t ask questions.)
Country of Origin: Switzerland
Gender Male
Age: 18
Height: 5’9”
Weight: 174lbs
Appearance: Vash, ever diligent about social appearances, does his best to keep himself looking professional. His straw-blonde hair is styled in a neat, hassle-free bob, with straight bangs that lie across his brow. His eyes are deep forest green with heavy lids, and are evidently, his favorite feature. With his build a bit on the lean side, he works regularly to keep himself well toned and muscular, though none of it shows through his vintage military jacket.
When he was quite young, his father once made him wear lederhosen. It remains one of Vash’s worst memories, to this day.
Crew member of:
Status:
Pet:
Crest:
Personality: Vash is a very cut and dry sort of character. He tends sees things in only black and white, and grey areas simply do not exist. In his book, there are only three things that one must remember to be a respectable human being. First, always show up on time. Second, follow the rules. And third, spend your money wisely. He does not discriminate between the three, and one is never consider “more important” than another.
Perhaps it is these things, coupled with his rigorous need for scheduling and natural tendencies to shut himself up, that people find it difficult to approach him. Vash, himself, simply sees it as not liking to talk to people he doesn’t know, and his cold shoulder attitude keeps most at a safe distance. That being said, of course, he also does not like getting involved with other people’s problems. His motto is, and will remain to be: On lave son linge sale en famille. (One Washes His Dirty Laundry in the Family). Things are just easier that way.
To Vash, cleanliness is next to godliness, in both physical appearance and housework. He simply cannot stand those who do not take pride in how they appear to others, and clutter gives him headaches. He is wonderfully adept with organization skills, and managing large sums of money is what he tends to do best. He is extremely frugal. The thought of spending too much money gives him ulcers, and often, he will buy cheaper, off-brand items just to save a few pennies. In his defense, he would merely state that “even pennies add up over time”, and frankly put, who could argue with that logic?
Despite his uptight demeanor, and prickly barrier of standoffishness, there are a couple of things that do bring a smile to his face. The outdoors are like his second home. Great jutting mountains and wide sweeping valleys are as natural and familiar to him, as the back of his hand. Hiking and taking long, relaxing walks are his equivalent to spa therapy sessions. Cheese and chocolate are his two favorite comfort foods, and his three goats, Eiger, Jungfrau, and Mönch are the closest things to children he’ll ever have. And then, there’s Lily. His sweet, carefree and innocent younger sister. Vash’s heart is inexplicably connected to her, and he considers her to be his most precious love.
Also, don’t try to joke around, poke fun, or encourage Vash to laugh. Humor is lost on him.
History: Basch “Vash” Zwingli was born into a small mountain village, just on the outskirts of the Liechtenstein border. His parents, ever concerned for his future welfare, taught him to always clean up after himself, mind his elders and their boundaries, and of course, how to properly save money. His father, a local business man and gunsmith, gave his son regular firearm lessons, causing Vash to become enthralled with rifles and pistols at a very young age.
One afternoon, while traveling with his father into Liechtenstein, the sudden appearance of a small, helpless girl changed his life forever. Standing outside an old-world shop, while his father bartered some of his guns for food, Vash had merely been minding his business when a young girl tugged on his coat pocket.
Looking down and staring into her light green eyes, he could tell she was hungry, as her tattered dress hung around her body loosely. Vash looked around, for the party that was possibly responsible for her. He couldn’t see anybody nearby that looked concerned for her wellbeing, and Vash’s usual indifference changed as he realized her plight. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Taking her hand and patting it sympathetically, he gave the girl a small smile, reassuring her that everything would be alright.
Lily immediately became part of the family, after that. And Vash, who had never been an older brother before, took it upon himself to teach her all that he could. Doting and overly-protective her, he rarely allowed her to do much without him nearby.
On his seventeenth birthday, his father announced that it was time for Vash to learn the family trade. Arranging a special trip, his father had planned on sending him all over Europe, to learn what he could about foreign weapons. Not two months into his mission, however, he was picked up by a group of Sky Pirates, who specialized in ransom and the human slave-trade.
Demanding that he write his parents for the riches they desired, Vash defiantly protested that his family had no money to give. Sniggering, the pirates all looked from one another, knowing exactly what was coming next. Exile Island. A godless piece of floating rock, hovering just above the Netherlands. If anything could make someone crack, it was this unforgiving spit of landmass. Giving Vash some time to “think his answer over”, they marooned him, taking his favorite rifle and survival pack with them.
Four days. Four long, miserable days Vash sat on Exile Island, not knowing if he could continue his with his bold claim of having no amount of fortune. It was then that a city appeared out of nowhere, up and over the clouds, taking his breath away …
Allegiance: There’s the sky. There’s the sea. And then, there’s neutrality.
How They Died: Switzerland strapped his rifle over his shoulder, securing it into place carefully. “Don’t worry, Liechtenstein. I’ll be back within a matter of days,” he said, looking over at his adopted sister with kind eyes. “I promise.” He heard her sniffle slightly, before watching her nod her head in compliance, trying to show him her strength.
Giving Liechtenstein’s shoulder a small pat, he was confidant that he would make it back within forty-two hours. Certainly before she would start to worry. Clearing his throat and making sure that all of his security was in place, Switzerland bowed his head forward slightly, before taking his leave.
The cool, spring air filtered through his lungs as he breathed it in deeply, a ray of warm sun splashing across his face. It was because of his decision to stay neutral all these years that he could enjoy such beauty; his picturesque vista untouched and spoiled by war. However, he feared that all of that was about to change.
Switzerland’s green eyes sharpened as he stepped off the stairs of his terrace , and onto the lush new grass that was beginning to grow. His resolution to stay a recluse during this war had left him dumb to what was going on around him, and he had only just recently learned of the terrifying news: the Nations were beginning to die.
When he had turned on the radio, only a few nights prior, he had only expected to hear what cockamamie schemes the Allies had come up with recently. He sipped gingerly at his mug, lips pursed, as a stern voice blared on the speakers. Loud and grim, the announcer spoke in German. “Und auf den Krieg vor heute abend … der verbündeten Nationen -- *crackle* --gestorben. Ich wiederhole, der verbündeten Nationen En-- *crackle* und *sputter* --kriech gestorben.” His face paling, Switzerland felt his mouth go dry, and his usually stoic demeanor faltered; his coffee spilling all over his faux-fur rug. His mind emptied, and he sat unable to move, numbed from the shock, before the face of an old acquaintance jarred him back. What had become of Austria in all of this?
The last Switzerland had heard of his former friend was that he had been annexed off by Germany, toward the beginning of the war. Moreover, Switzerland hadn’t been surprised to find out that Austria didn’t put up too much of a fuss, as he and Germany -- despite their (obvious) differences -- had generally been able to get along. Switzerland clicked his tongue, unsure how to act. His northern neighbor had always been able to withstand the storms thrown at him, minus the incidents when he needed rescuing, as a child. However, if Austria was indeed in need of help, he would be too prideful to ever admit it.
He always had been.
Switzerland grimaced at the thought of going to bail Austria out, one last time, and it left a familiar but bitter taste in his mouth. He had refused to have anything to do with the stuck-up aristocrat for so long, that it was almost as though they had never been friends. However, just as he had felt a strong sense of responsibility towards Liechtenstein years before, Switzerland was now compelled to do the same for Austria, no matter how much he disliked it.
Ever diligent for details, and knowing that he could possibly undo everything with this one, idiotic rescue mission (of sorts), Switzerland had made sure that Liechtenstein would be safe. Leaving her a large sum of money, and reinforcing her border control, the blonde forced officials to remove his name from all of her national documents. Even if he couldn’t remain neutral, she could. He desperately, desperately hoped she could.
Upon reaching the Austrian border, Switzerland braced himself mentally, an unsure gulp sliding down his throat. He could turn back. He and Liechtenstein could make it through this horrible war, unscathed. A small smile tugged at his lips, as he lingered on that thought. Staring forward and rolling back his shoulders, the blonde stepped forward, swinging his rifle frontward and placing it in his hands. He had come too far to turn tail and run from his duties as a neighboring country.
Austria’s land was not as charming as Switzerland had remembered it being. On the contrary, evidence showed that the Allies had turned their bombs here, charring the land and all that lay on it. Shaking the distant memories out of his head, Switzerland only hoped that he was not too late.
Following the trail that he had used many times before, the blonde could see Austria‘s house in the near distance. Cautiously approaching, his rifle out in front of him, ready to fire, he slipped through the large iron gate, and across the yard. Switzerland could feel his heartbeat racing. Not since his mercenary years had he felt so much adrenaline running through him. The large estate looked completely empty, and as he peered through the windows all he could see was mislaid furniture and bare walls with picture hooks. Frowning, the blonde moved toward the door, pushing the handle down quickly and backing up with his firearm pointed. It swung wide open, almost inviting him in. Guter Herr, he thought grumpily, shouldn’t he know better and lock his doors?
Stepping inside, Switzerland noticed how eerily quiet it was, as he moved from room to room, peeking his head in and out, before something caught his eye. A blood spatter. Walking forward, and removing his trigger finger from his gun, he instinctually ran it through the crimson stain, concluding it was fresh. Maybe only two or three hours old, at the most. Placing the butt of his rifle against his shoulder once more, the blonde stalked forward, before entering a lavishly decorated music room.
There, slumped over the keyboard of his illustrious piano, was Austria. Not expecting him to be there, Switzerland let out a surprised gasp, before hurrying over to him. “Austria!” he shouted, grabbing his shoulder forcefully and giving him a shake. “Austria!?“ Blood stained his back, and through his thick blue coat, Switzerland could make out three distinct bullet holes. He wasn’t stirring, but the blonde could see that he was still breathing, as his body rose slightly with each breath.
Swinging his firearm back over his shoulder, and crouching down low, Switzerland tossed Austria’s arm around the back of his neck, lifting him up. The brunette grumbled something inaudibly, as his broken glasses lay lopsided on his nose. “Guter Herr,” Switzerland moaned, as he helped the other man to his feet. “You’re fatter than I remember.” Dragging him out of the room, and down the hall, familiarity began to wash over the blonde. Unconsciously, his dark green eyes softened, before he let out a perturbed sigh. “We’ll get you help,” he said, rather factually, glancing at Austria out of the corner of his eye. “And then you‘re on your own, verstehen?”
Getting back into his own country was now going to be a lot harder than Switzerland had originally prepared for. Austria weighed him down significantly, and his neck ached from all the dead weight on his shoulders. Considering his options, the blonde (begrudgingly) started to backtrack toward a village he remembered nearby. The sun had begun its decent behind the mountains, and Switzerland thought about Liechtenstein and his promise to her. He knew that soon she would start to worry for his safety, and guilt soon consumed him.
“You could help me and lift your legs,” he began to complain loudly, wanting to give Austria an earful. Instead, he merely gave the brunette a slight shake, trying to jerk him into consciousness. Darkness had settled across the sky as they made their entrance, shuffling into the village. Immediately scanning for the nearest care center, Switzerland could feel his legs buckling as his and Austria’s feet dragged across the cobblestone street. It was so quiet. There wasn’t a person to be seen, a friendly doorway to welcome them, and all of the buildings looked to be boarded up. It was then that Switzerland began to hear the whirring of engines, high above.
Looking up, his green eyes locked onto the shape of an Allied P-51, its sleek metal frame glinting in the moonlight. “Guter Herr,” he breathed, his eyes widening as more and more streaked across the sky. “Not now, please, not now.”
Loud explosions echoed throughout the tiny village, and whole buildings disappeared as the shells hit them, the wave of them all knocking Switzerland over, causing Austria to topple as well. The sound was deafening. The whining of falling bombs, terrifying. Immediately sitting back up, the blonde grabbed at Austria‘s uniform, lifting himself up as he dragged. I’ve got to get him under something, he thought frantically, not giving his mind time to descend into panic mode.
He pulled Austria toward a nearby cart, using every amount of strength in him. Another wave. This time it sent him flying backward, the breath knocked out of him as dust and rubble hit his face. He coughed, and lifted himself-- ah! A sharp gasp escaped his lips, as Switzerland tried lifting himself up again. Pain rippled through his torso, striping his vision with white light. He couldn’t feel his legs. Casting his eyes downward and placing a hand on his stomach, realization dawned on him. Shrapnel. It was large enough to have cut him in half.
Maybe it had.
Switzerland looked over. Austria was only a couple feet away, face first on the ground. The blonde couldn’t tell if he was still alive or not; he didn’t know if he cared anymore. He wanted to shout at him, and curse at the top of his lungs, but the more stared at Austria, the more he found that he didn’t have it in him. Hot tears filtered to the surface of his eyes, and he stretched an arm out toward the brunette. “I’m sorry,” he cried, the metallic taste of blood mingling with his saliva, as he choked. “I’m sorry things couldn’t have been different between us.” He wanted to continue. He wanted to apologize for not being able to save him, and for all of the nasty things he had said about him; he hadn‘t really meant them, (well, most of them, anyway).
Blood trickled to the back of his throat, as the pain in his abdomen began to subside. Liechtenstein flooded his thoughts, and his lip trembled, as tears spilled over his eyelids and down his cheeks. He had broken his promise to her. He had gone behind her back, and now he would never see her again. Switzerland clung to the image of her light green eyes, looking at him with adoration. Her girlish laugh, so full of mirth and hope.
“Liechtenstein,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper now. “I’m so sorry. I only wanted … to be the person you always imagined me to be.”
Staring up at the murky blackness, the roar of engines still hovering nearby, Switzerland breathed his last. His green eyes never closing.
Did you read the rules? Who is a Beastie?: Captain Jack Sparrow! *salutes*
