The Dry Rose Quest

[NPC]

Fromage shuffled around the rock she had been sitting on. That's all she ever did these days, sit, for all eternity. One day she'd be a rock and people would come and say, "That's Fromage de Grenouille, the rock-woman." And she'd be nice and dry for the rest of-

"Who said that?" Fromage screamed, her brittle grey hair flying about her face. Her chest puffed out and in and her burlap sack dress became itchy.

Fromage cackled, "I know you're out there, Loutins. I hear you, nasty, nasty, evil creature."

The woman dances around her moss covered rock, making chains crank amongst her neck, until she gets in a ball and start screaming, "Oh, l'eau! L'eau, mon Mélusine m'a abandonné!" before singing "L'eau!" over and over again.

[Roderich Edelstein]

If not for the superheated air, the mountains could have been in Austria, Roderich thought. Really, all mountains looked the same now; desolate, dreary, and hard to cross. He was used to climbing, but it wasn't the terrain so much as the temperature that made traveling miserable. It was easily 40° C, though it felt worse. The precious little water he still had was nearly gone, but he was sure Dry Rose had to be close.

For what seemed like the thousandth time, he wondered why he had ever thought it a good idea to come to Dry Rose. And for what seemed like the thousandth time he told himself that he needed a change of pace, which was really just a poor excuse. If he wanted to be honest with himself, he would have accepted the fact that he was looking for another nation. He had traveled eastward through what had been Italy, with no sign of Feliciano anywhere. From there he had spent nearly all the money he had collected to take a ferry to a small port town in Spain. His plan was to comb up the Iberian peninsula and into the rest of Europe, or what was left of it, all the while under the guise of "seeing the sights". Pathetic? Yes. Even he had to admit to that.

Instead of focusing on that, however, he turned his attention to the Pyrenees mountains and getting through them. Roderich wiped his sweat-laden brow and continued to trek on, telling himself that just after he got over that ridge, he would take a drink of water. When he did get to that point, he took a drink and closed his eyes to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating from dehydration. Sure enough, when he looked again, there was the city of Dry Rose, sprawled out in the valley below.

With any luck, I’ll run into Antonio or Francis… But the thought was pushed out of his mind quickly as his attention shifted back to making his way down into the valley.

[Israel]

Water, a necessary ingredient for life to exist. So many languages she had learned, yet each had that word. The place she was currently in had a name for that too. Eau. El Agua. (Maim, she adds, the words feeling wonderful on her tongue. Vasser, Israel adds jokingly.)

But the words in Spanish and French couldn’t make up for the real thing, something this place was currently missing. How apt for Francis to name this La Rose Sèche, or La Rosa Seca. Although the ‘rose’ part quite exaggerated. Dry as this place was, even if wasn’t, it would be a pitiful city, ugly. A better word was La Mauvaise Herbe Laide. The Ugly Weed.

Snap! Israel smiled as her wheels rode on such a weed, satisfyingly hearing a dry crunch. The heat was strong, but so like her land in the midsummer. Israel was currently riding on a small caravan, with all her trading materials. It was slow, being driven by a wild Macedonian mule she had found before setting off on the Mediterranean, but she was in a much more pleasant condition than anyone walking on the road by themselves.

Her goals were monetary. She needed money and wares. Her experience with Heracles proved that she was quite better off than at least one nation, but someone had to be thriving. And she would trade them for some of that happiness.

Taking a sip from her water bottle, near full since Israel had long gotten over thirst, the brunette purses her lips as she sees someone forlorn looking coming down the valley. Israel sees the man trying to get some water from a canteen and decides to ask him in Spanish whether he needs any.

“Perdone, señor, tiene sed usted?”

[Roderich Edelstein]

Roderich heard a voice in Spanish call out, presumably to him, since he was the only other one on the road. It was a woman riding in a caravan, and he processed this at the same time he tried to understand what she was saying -- his Spanish was patchy at the best, only picked up from the times he had been around Antonio in the past. If he had heard correctly, she had asked something about being thirsty, and as he looked up at her, he started to form a response, but his brain only registered one thing, stopping his translating in its tracks.

I-it can't be her, he stammered internally. What would she be doing all the way out here...?

"Israel?" he blurted out incredulously. Suddenly the temperature seemed to drop more than a few degrees.

[Israel]

Israel's hand went rigid. Him? What was he? Austria wasn't that far off...

Tears began flooding her eyes and her voice became hoarse, like a huge lump was in it. Memories, earlier than third Reich flooded her mind. Waltzes, psychological contributions. Israel felt like she belonged for some time. But then. Her mind goes back to Dry Rose, two thousand years later.

“Hallo... Österreich.. Haben Sie Durst?” Her words stumble over the German, how long has it been since she talked with him in the language, with something other than a plea not to burn her, to stop hurting her people. How long had it been since she and Ludwig last spoke?

We avoided each other, even before the third war. And yet, time has passed, but I still hurt so much. Israel thinks. She shakily raises a canteen with water with her right hand, unconsciously exposing her right arm.

[Roderich Edelstein]

Hearing that voice speak in German again was almost too much for him. Roderich knew that everyone had gone a little insane during the second world war, or maybe that was just what he told himself to deal with his guilt. Still, there was no denying that it really was Israel on the cart, that fact driven home as she raised her arm, displaying the number tattooed into her flesh. Realizing that she was waiting for a response, he managed to spit out a humble “Nein, danke.” Of course, then he wondered if he should have taken up her offer, just to ease the tension that pervaded the air.

No, he contradicted himself yet again. Just start walking, and pretend this exchange never happened. Keeping his head down so as not to catch a glance of Israel again, Roderich started walking again, into the town where hopefully he could blend in and pass through quickly, and not need to confront this piece of his past that he had no desire to come to terms with.

[Antonio Fernández Carriedo]

((*finally decides to join, just so I'll have posted something*))

Antonio sighed, taking a short sip of his water. He would need more soon, he thought, as he gauged how much was left. He knew he should probably stop giving his supplies away so freely to people who asked, but he couldn't help himself. They needed it more than he did, anyway.

He sat at the base of what was once a tree, resting as he looked over the Dry Rose. He was nearly there, but he'd decided to take a break. He'd been walking all day and he was tired. Not that walking was anything he wasn't used to now, but that didn't mean he could keep going twenty-four-seven.

As he watched what few people down in the city that he could see, his thoughts wandered to who else was left. He yet to come across anyone of particular importance to him, nor had he heard anything about them. He wondered how the Italy brothers were doing, how Francis and Gilbert were doing, even Arthur...

But ah, there he goes, worrying again.

Sighing again, Antonio stood, placing the cap back on the canteen and stuffing it into the bag he carried with him. Might as well continue on his way, he thought, before his thoughts drifted too far.

[Heracles]

Heracles looked around the dry landscape, regarding it like he did everything else: with calm, almost bored olive green eyes. It was in much better shape than his own country. This was simply a desert, whereas his home had been riddled with the bodies of the dead, his buildings and his mother's ruins completely demolished. The seas were toxic and his already rocky country completely barren.

So he had set out soon after Israel had passed through, deciding that it was no place to continue on. His people were either dead, dying, or deformed and there was nothing to eat or drink. The river Styx, never a good place to drink from for the superstitious, wasn't even drinkable.

He slid down the hill more than climbed, figuring it was a faster way to the bottom anyway. He could see Dry Rose now, but he could also see someone on the path ahead of him. Maybe he could find a traveling partner in him. But when he got up closed he was shocked to realize that it was someone he knew, another country.

"Antonio." He said quietly as he approached, barely loud enough for the other to hear. "Como estas?"

[Antonio Fernández Carriedo]

Antonio blinked in surprise, turning to see who had called to him. He'd barely heard what was said, but in any case, he knew he was no longer alone. What he saw made him stare for a moment. "...Heracles? What are you doing here?"

He hadn't seen another country in...he didn't want to think of how long. Needless to say, he was pleasantly surprised. Though the Greek nation looked rather worn, Antonio was glad that he seemed to be overall okay...physically, at least.

[Heracles]

Heracles gave him a tired smile and fell into step with him, not saying anything for a long moment. He had never been one for many words. "My country...is not in such good shape. There are...barely enough people left to keep me from disappearing."

It was the sad truth. He was on the brink of death. Hopefully he could find a way to revive his people here in Dry Rose. But then again maybe not. He may be joining his mother in the Elysian fields soon. "How have...you been?"

[Antonio Fernández Carriedo]

Antonio gave Heracles a sad smile. "Ah, I see..." He stayed quiet for a moment, before replying, "I'm alright, I suppose. I've been better." Much better, he thought to himself.

There was a moment of semi-comfortable silence, Antonio not really knowing what to say. Then again, he didn't really think he needed to say anything.

Nevertheless, he was the one to break the silence. "Have you heard anything about Italy?" He hoped Heracles knew something. Even bad news was welcome at this point, as long as it was news.

[Israel]

Israel immediately puts her hand down once she realizes which hand is up.

"Oh, nein, es tut mir leid! Mein Fehler! Oh, no, I'm sorry. My mistake." She says hoarsely. She had shown the hand by accident.

But Roderich goes off, dismissing her offer. Israel is stunned. She was offering him wasser, something he clearly needed, but he wouldn't take it? And he wouldn't talk to her?

Israel snaps like she had when she rioted against England after the Holocaust. Despite being scarred, Mal-nourished, still burnt from her ordeal, Israel remembers rage, rage like she never felt before.

How dare he?, Israel thinks before jumping off her caravan with canteen in hand. She catches up to him quickly and punches him on the nose.

"Sie trinken mein Wasser und sie werden wie es! You shall drink my water, and you shall like it!" She screams before holding up the water.

[Roderich Edelstein]

Roderich reeled backward, blinking at the pulsing white pain in his nose. He clutched at his face, and luckily it wasn't bleeding, but it hurt like hell. "I guess I deserved that..." he muttered, thinking of the things he and Germany had done to the girl, things that he'd been repressing memories of since 1945.

Israel was still fuming, holding out her canteen, so just to humor her, he grabbed the bottle and took a small drink, then handed it back to her. His next move was to move a few feet away from her in case she decided to start throwing punches again. Still holding his nose, he said, "I'm sorry for any offense I may have caused," in his most gentlemanly tone.

[Israel]

Israel laughs bitterly. "Offense, Herr Roderich, no, I am not offended. I'm disappointed, sehr viel so/very much so, that none of your mistakes have seemed to faze you."

She comes very close now, similar to the time when he told her in the 1830's that she was allowed back in his house.

"Or is this your Germanische Kulturstoischkeit/Germanic stoic culture? The very culture you imposed on me, and the one I contributed to? That golden cultural age of yours? The one you are so proud of, how much was my contribution, mein Master Österreich?"

[Roderich Edelstein]

Right about now, Roderich wished that he had just kept his mouth shut in the first place. Then Israel never would have attacked him, and he wouldn't be in pain. He didn't exactly know why she was bringing this up -- was she trying to make him feel guilty in some sort of roundabout way?

"Culture is developed when outside influences come in, so yes, you contributed to my culture..." He sounded ridiculous, so he took his hand away from his nose, which was still throbbing, but not as painfully as it was a few minutes ago. "...But I'm not sure how one goes about measuring culture," he finished, hoping he had answered her question. Or at least enough of it to keep her from lashing out again.