schadenfreude

Gilbert Beilschmidt, the former Kingdom of Prussia. Currently resides with his boyfriend, Arthur Kirkland. (( case-of-identity )) (( Independent RP blog for Gilbert Beilschmidt, or Prussia from Axis Powers Hetalia. )) Magic Anon ;; NONE

[ask2ppreussen]

He really wasn’t one for joking. Dry wit and sarcasm was where his humor lay, and most of the time that didn’t much of a chuckle out of anyone. Unless you were one of his friends, such as Santiago or Francis. Both of which he was still considering contacting, but not quite yet. He didn’t feel like being laughed at by his two best friends when he said there was a man from another world in his house. They’d both tell him to go to bed, he was hallucinating again.

Leading the other into the kitchen, it wasn’t long before he placed a cup of black coffee along with a small pitcher of cream in front of the man, a small bowl of sugar already sitting in the middle of the table. “I was speaking to one of my friends about you,” he started to speak, breaking the comfortable, but somewhat uncomfortable silence. “He thinks I am crazy, thank you, however, he is being rather pushy about paying a visit just to see if it’s scientifically possible for a man like you to exist.”

He spoke mostly back-on, as he pulled out ingredients and cooking pots and pans, both sleeves rolled up nearly to his upper arms, the entirety of that one metal arm in full view. 

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

“Mm?” Gilbert managed out before blowing on the coffee. He took a sip, and began adding spoonfuls of sugar at a time until it was right. Pouring a bit of cream into it, he looked at the other. “Who is it? I mean, in your world, that is.” The only person he could think of from his side of the mirror was interested in science was Estonia. Perhaps Sweden, but that was a long shot.

“Well, what if we’re both crazy, and this is some horrid, strange, lucid dream? Maybe I’m so lonely in reality that I’ve created you for the sake of having someone there.” GIlbert let out a small, hollow chuckle. “It wouldn’t surprise me. As much as I put up a front in my world.”

Silence fell on him, and he frowned down into his coffee. He never spoke about that. Maybe it was simply because this was another version of him. Suddenly, he reached up and pinched his cheek, letting out a small ‘ow’. “Nope, definitely awake.”

[ask2ppreussen]

He was slightly relieved to hear that, and he nodded. “I hope my bird did not disturb you. He tends to be a little iffy around strangers, though he and your little one seemed to become fast friends.” he noted, as Gilbert’s little bird was no-where to be seen. Likely still upstairs with the black avian creature, sleeping.

“I have no issue cooking spaetzle. It looks like you could use something that can stick to those bones of yours.” He said this in a very plain voice, but it was possible that the man was making attempt at humor—though clearly unused to the proper tone needed. “We can speak while I cook, if you would like. If you are quite awake, that is. I have coffee, in the kitchen as well, if you would fancy a cup while I make your breakfast.”

Though egg noodles with cheese and bacon wasn’t really ‘Breakfast’. 

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

“Nah, he was quiet as a mouse while I slept. Either that or I was dead to the world.” With another shrug, he had to chuckle. It was obvious humour was not this man’s strong point. It was almost cute, the way he was trying though. Gilbert was almost flattered. He had a feeling Altmann didn’t try humor with everyone.

“Coffee sounds great,” he admitted. It always took him a bit to wake up, and coffee definitely helped speed up the process. Despite not being a fan of the taste, he choked it down so that he could wake up.

Following the other into the kitchen, he blinked his eyes, wiping away remnants of sleep. He wasn’t quite sure what to say to this man, though the silence was comfortable as well.

[ask2ppreussen]

He’d lost track of time again, as he’d come back downstairs. In his hand was a small phone—certainly not top-of-the-line—but new enough to have a touchscreen and a camera attached to it. He looked up at the other, almost  in surprise. He nearly dropped the phone, having not noticed the other enter the room until he spoke. Oops. He was sucked into the little phone, where he had been ‘text messaging’ back and fourth with a certain individual; trying not to sound crazy. 

“It is quite alright,” Altmann finally responded, dropping the phone into his pocket. “I hope you slept well. The bed was not too uncomfortable?” he barely slept on it himself, so he wasn’t the best judge. He normally fell asleep sitting up in his chair, or on the table, or…

…And then Gilbert’s stomach Rumbled. Altmann nearly laughed. 

“Of course not. I did offer, did I not? Do you have anything particular in mind?” You are me, so I am sure we likely have similar tastes.

…Weird.

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

Shaking his head, Gilbert shrugged. “Nah, bed was perfectly comfortable. Better than mine at home.” His was flattened from years of use. He really should get a new one, he thought. Especially if their positions were ever reversed and Altmann was in need of somewhere to crash.

With a shrug, he grinned at the other. “I’m pretty okay with anything, though spaetzle with cheese and bacon sounds really fucking good.” And fattening, he laughed to himself, not that he really cared. He was dangerously underweight as it was. Mostly his fault, since he often forgot to eat. “Then again, so does toast.”

[ask2ppreussen]

The eagle’s piercing gaze looked Gilbert over for a moment when he entered, almost with a look of confusion on it’s face. For a moment it had likely thought it’s master had entered with short hair, but there was no mistaking the lack of scars on the man’s face. The one sitting along his cheek was on the wrong side. This man was a stranger, but somehow, it still seemed relaxed, as opposed to on guard as it would be if any OTHER stranger had entered it’s home. As a little yellow ball of feathers nestled into it’s neck, the eagle’s attention was entirely off the short-haired man, and it made a sort of clicking purr noise, nestling down against it’s perch.

A few hours would pass, maybe two or three at the very most. Altmann was rather restless, pacing downstairs, thinking of who to call and what to do about this. Nothing was coming, and he kept lingering along the bottom of the stairs. Eventually, he broke that nervous feeling, and climbed the stairs into his room. He peeked inside, eyes settling first on the eagle sleeping along with Gilbert’s tiny chick. …It was kind of cute, he would admit, but soon enough his attention was back on Gilbert. …Alright, spying on a guy with your face while he slept was a bit weird, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.

He hovered just over the man, silently looking over his face, examining every little curve and every little line. He had but one Mirror in his house, and while he didn’t make a habit of looking into it, he did know his own face very well. And this man’s was near identical to his own. It was unnerving. It was fascinating. He had no idea how it was possible. Fingers reached out to touch again, but he stopped himself, mere centimetres from the scar over Gilbert’s eye. No, no. If the other woke up to this, it’d be weird. Awkward. Uncomfortable. The man would probably think him a freak, and run off back through that mirror. He didn’t want that. He’d been standing there near a half hour until he decided to go back downstairs. Slowly, he turned away, heaving a slight sigh before heading back toward the door, slowly shutting it behind him.

He quietly hoped the man would wake up soon

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

The snow-haired man awoke just an hour later to the grumbling of his stomach. The tightness in his belly made him sick, as if it was trying to eat itself, or turn itself inside out. With a groan, he threw the covers off himself and trudged downstairs. It appeared that the sun was beginning to rise. Rubbing his eyes, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs to stretch before entering the kitchen, where he found Altmann pacing.

“Ah, sorry I slept so long. Didn’t mean to fall comatose,” he murmured, eyes following the man’s every movement. It was as if the man was anticipating something. Before he could speak again, his stomach gave a loud, thunderous rumble, and he frowned down at the floor.

“Don’t suppose I could take you up on your offer for food?”

[ask2ppreussen]

Nightmares. Well, that wasn’t entirely something he was unused to. When the other said that, there was a look on the longer-haired Prussian’s face. One of deep understanding, and nearly of pity. Nearly. Not quite. He himself hated being pitied, and therefore he wouldn’t offer any to a man who appeared to be himself, merely from … another time and place. 

The corners of Altmann’s lips twitched up into something of a smile when the other laughed, and he straightened up to stand. “I understand.” he offered no more a response to the other’s nightmares than this. “Though I cannot say that I cling to things whilst I sleep—at least I have never experienced such.” 

His eyes lingered to the side of Gilbert’s neck, split and broken pupils examining the small bird there. It looked so young—much like his own had been back when he was a welp. The eagle was in his room, now, and surely Gilbert would see it soon enough. He jerked a thumb towards the stairs, letting the metal arm fall to his side. “Up the stairs. The door on the left. Not the right.” he seemed a little insistent on this, as if to tell the other to keep from the second room, up there. “I will not need sleep any time soon, so do not worry about that. Come downstairs when you are awake. We will speak more then. I will make you something to eat, as well.”

If nothing else, Altmann was a good host, at least.

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

The albino simply nodded, starting up the stairs. They were a bit steeper than what he was used to, at least. Truthfully, he was glad the other hadn’t said more on the issue. He didn’t want pity. He knew it was something most nations went through. With the things they’d all seen, it was no surprise.

  The room itself was a bit strange in comparison to his own. Instead of the dull glow of a computer screen and a few lamps, there were two large candles. A painting that had been covered with a layer of black pain hung where he kept a messy bulletin board of ideas. And where Gilbird’s cage sat, was a perch with a large, black eagle upon it. Blinking, he felt his own tiny ball of feathers hop off his shoulder, fly over, and snuggle into the eagle’s neck feathers. Shrugging it off, he lay upon the expanse of the bed, finding it soft, much softer than his own. With a contented sigh, he pulled the blanket over his form, and fell asleep.

  Despite being in a new place, he wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, he was very comfortable, as if visiting the house of an old friend. In this bed, no night terrors plagued him, his face falling serene as it hadn’t done in a long, long time.

[ask2ppreussen]

His eyes flicked down to stare, slowly, at the other’s hand as it slowly reached for him. He moved back an inch, and it was likely the reason why Gilbert’s fingers missed, only to flop down beside him. He felt hairs along the back of his neck standing on end as he frowned deeply at the other.  Why had he—? Involuntary movement?

Not that it really mattered, as a few moments later the man’s eyes drooped closed, and he sighed gently. A cracked, very clearly tired voice speaking in a way that clearly said he was still tired… but very much awake. Sleep-talking, from his experience, was not as easy to understand. “…Perhaps four hours. Surely no longer than that.” He answered after a moment, eyes looking away from the man with his face. “You were making small sounds in your sleep, so…” he gestured, as if trying to explain why he’d been sitting next to him at all. 

“…If you require more sleep, I can leave.”

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

“Ah, I suffer nightmares sometimes,” he muttered, giving a sigh as he sunk into the couch even moreso. He could feel his tired muscles tense up. With a grunt, he pushed himself into a sitting position, feeling joints crack in his neck and back.

With a small laugh, he gave a sleepy, sheepish grin to Altmann. “I might have to take you up on that bed. I uh, tend to unconsciously wrap myself around something when I have a night terror.” Which was true, even if his usual companion was too small to snuggle. Instead, Gilbird always curled into his neck, giving the illusion of someone’s head tucked there. “If you get tired and want your bed back, just let me know,” he murmured before standing of wobbly legs, steadying himself. “Uh, which way is it again?”

[ask2ppreussen]

That’s one difference Gilbert would later learn about the man whose face mirrored his own. When Altmann finally went to sleep, no force in heaven nor earth could wake him up until his body was good and ready to be waken up. It hadn’t caused him issue so far, so he didn’t really have any reason to attempt to fix it. Nor would he, until he felt it necessary. If the other complained any about staying on his couch our in his unused bed, Altmann wouldn’t argue. Sleeping in someone elses’ house, he understood, was uncomfortable. Especially if you didn’t know who they were. For all Gilbert knew, Altmann could have been looking to slit his throat while he slept. Not that he was going to. No, unnecessary bloodshed was messy and he had no reason to show violence towards this man. 

The flickers of a small smile actually moved over his face, however, when Gilbert agreed to stay. He expected entirely for the man to have questions of his own, and he had no issue answering as many questions as the other threw at him. So long as the man agreed to answer a few himself. “Feel free, then. I will be about while you sleep, and i will do my best not to wake you.” he promised idly, already making plans to visit his hardly-lived-in bedroom to make a few long and … probably confusing phone calls.

He muttered a soft ‘goodnight’ before disappearing out of the livingroom and up the hall. The first person he called was, of course, Oliver. The man had his faeries and curses and magic—somehow he’d HAVE to know what was going on. However, all Arthur had to offer was that perhaps this ‘Gilbert’ person was a shape-shifter. Unhelpful. He doubted a shapeshifter could create an entire other world on the other side of a mirror. He hung up, calling Olav, his Norwegian friend who also dabbled in magic, instead. Olav asked if he was drunk, and spent a good three minutes laughing at him. He was quick to hang up on him, as well. Staring down at the old paper booklet full of names, crossing them over with a finger. 

Who could help? Who? 

Feng? No, the Chinese man would probably ask what drugs he was into and if he was feeling sick. Sergei? No, the Russian would scold him for not sleeping lately and tell him he was just Hallucinating and that he needed to go to bed. And then he’d come over to make sure that’s what he was doing.

He grumbled something about the impossibility of this situation and he dropped the booklet, leaving the room again. He really needed a cup of tea. 

When he crossed out into the kitchen, he noticed the other had fallen asleep. He was making slight sounds that, at first, Altmann thought were strange snores. An eyebrow raised as he realised they were slight whimpers. He crossed over into the Livingroom, standing just over the man. Gilbert’s eyebrows were furrowed, and he looked like, perhaps, he was dreaming. …A frown graced Altmann’s face. He could only imagine what the other was dreaming about.  He stood there for what seemed like a good ten minutes, taking the moments to look the other over. Up close, like this, they really were identical. …It certainly was fascinating. He moved to sit in the chair that was next to the couch the other had claimed as his bed, and for a while he just stared. A hundred questions rising in his mind. He lost track of time, like this, and god knew how many hours he’d stay sitting there, contemplating this strange individual who had his face.

How did he even exist.

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

Surprisingly, Gilbert didn’t wake right off the bat. Normally, the slightest movement would have. He would blame the exhaustion when he woke. It took a while for him to stir, but soon he turned onto his side, facing the other as he blinked his bleary eyes open. If he were fully conscious, he would have most likely jumped from being startled. But in his still half-asleep state, all he did was offer the other a sleepy smile, and reach out his hand for the other.

Whenever he had night terrors, he always craved someone else’s company. Normally, it was Gilbird, since he was always close by, but the little yellow ball of feathers was nowhere in sight. Instead, there was someone that. . . looked him himself? Well, who better to comfort him than himself, his tired mind told him as fingers just missed curling around the man’s knee. With a sigh, he let his arm drop, his eyelids drooping once again. “I’m so tired,” he spoke, voice cracking. “How long was I out?” It was obvious he didn’t register what he was saying, with the detached way his voice sounded.

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

Mmmrh.

// Slowly waking up for a nap.

[ask2ppreussen]

Had the proof to such a theory not been RIGHT there before his eyes, it was really VERY likely that the Prussian would have brushed off the idea  entirely. Videogame concepts and parallel worlds and even Alice in Wonderland—a book he really rather enjoyed—was all fiction. But it was no mere coincidence that a man who had lived his life, but in a different place, existed. Scarred and with eyes that showed the same tiredness as his own. He had very much recognized the look in the other’s red-blue tinted eyes—the look of a man who had not slept in several days. He wondered idly if it was by choice… or by the same reasons that the man decided that sleep wasn’t needed for such a long period of time. 

“…It is very strange. Before this, I would have laughed in the face of any man whom attempted to speak such nonsense such as parallel planes of existence to me. But yet here you are. It seems I have some researching to do.” he murmured, a hand on his chin as he thought hard to himself. He didn’t have internet or a computer—he didn’t like the idea of such things—but he did have a phone. And quite a few friends who dabbled in magic, even though he didn’t entirely believe in it.

He turned to face the man again, tossing the end of his long ponytail over his shoulder before moving to cross his arms back over his chest. “Yes,” he responded, very much speaking in a formal way that was all but dead in this day and age. “I did say I have not slept in a while. However, that is more or less by choice and I have some phone calls to make. You are free—of course—to return home. The ‘door’ is right there. You, on the other hand, look about to pass out on your feet.” he gestured, as if telling the other HE needed sleep more than Altmann did. A pause, and then he cleared his throat. “…However, if you wish, you may sleep here. I … I think I would like to speak with you more, but for now.. you can use my couch, or perhaps even my bed. I do not use it as often as one should, and I assure you it is quite clean.” he’d not slept in it in nearly three weeks. Last time he slept was for four days straight, and it had been on his kitchen table, surrounded by paperwork his brother couldn’t be assed to do.

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

Blinking, it was obvious the albino was going over the offer in his head. True, he didn’t really want to go back -- there were some questions that still remained unanswered -- but was it really okay for him to take Altmann’s couch, let alone his bed? Sleeping was showing vulnerability. He wasn’t sure if he was completely alright with this. However, he let his eyes roam over the other, how tired he looked, and decided it couldn’t hurt anything. Gilbert was a light sleeper when it came to anywhere but his home, generally, and he could run through the ‘door’ if anything went wrong.

“Alright, I can do that. I have a few questions, as well. Just. Give me a couple hours and I should probably be able to function a little better than this,” he mused as he strolled over to the couch. It seemed pretty old, and pretty worn, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Taking the blanket that was draped over the back, he wrapped it around himself, laying his head on one of the armrests. It definitely was warm, something Gilbert liked when he was trying to sleep. It’s why he had piles upon piles of blankets in his bed.

Within minutes, the albino was asleep, small whimpers escaping his lips as he turned. Brows furrowed as his mouth turned downward. It stayed like this for a while before relaxing again, the man shuddering lightly before he gave a small, kitten-like snore, barely audible over his own breathing.

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

// Flops down face first on the couch.

[ask2ppreussen]

There was no doubt in his mind, now, as the other rolled up his sleeve to reveal two mirrored holes caused by the shot of a musket… that they had lived similar, if not identical lives. It pained him to know there existed another man who had lived through such things but… at the very same time it was nearly a comfort as well. Perhaps he wasn’t as alone as he had always thought. Maybe, just… maybe. He had come face-to-face with a man who could understand him a little better than most of his own friends. But at the same time, this made him weary. Living the same life meant this man knew most if not all of his darkest, most well-kept secrets. That made him feel anxious, at best. And he almost started mentally fretting about it when the other spoke again. 

“…Hah. Alexander may be an idiot, but if there was one thing he learned it was control over his strength. He would have fallen to Oliver that day and I am not entirely sure where the world would be currently.”

A sort of nervous chuckle escaped him, and he turned his head away. Fingers of his false arm reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. His eyes narrowed a bit as Gilbert started speaking of his video games and parallel worlds. If there was one thing Altmann did NOT understand it was video games. However, the existence of Alternate Universes, while a nonsensical idea in theory… right now, it was looking to be a perfect explanation  Or at least, a better one than any he could come up with.

“…Like Alice in Wonderland.” Altmann finally said, verbally giving into the theory the other ‘Prussia’ was starting to look embarrassed about bringing up. “Through the looking glass. To another place that is not quite home, but somewhat familiar none the less. A place on the other side of the world you know.”

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

“Right,” he chirped, glad to know he wasn’t met with degrading stares or having it brushed off as ‘ridiculous’. Then again, that was more of something Ludwig could say. Considering they were like two sides of the same coin, he could see Altmann having a similar theory, although obviously through a different outlet. From the looks of his home, the internet and modern technology weren’t this man’s forte. Gilbert could appreciate that. Sometimes he missed his old way of living, the lack of distractions and the days where he could just curl up and read a book. However, he made his living on the internet, and without his blog he more than likely would still be living with Ludwig.

  With a bit of a sigh, he looked at the other. “That’s exactly it.” Though he couldn’t remember exactly what happened in that version of the story, he knew the premise. It was a lot like that, falling through the mirror, finding a world so like his own that it was terrifying. Finding a man so much like himself that it was unnerving. Luckily, with each passing minute, he realized that Altmann was much different from himself, even in the way he spoke. It was closer to the Old Code, whereas Gilbert had picked up a more modern way of speaking. New and old. That’s what they were like. The past and the present. With a small chuckle to himself, he looked at the other.

“Well, uh,” he coughed a bit before scratching at the back of his neck, “I can leave if you want. After all, it is your home, and you did mention you hadn’t slept in a while.” Gilbert refused to admit to the other that now that the adrenaline had worn off, his body was starting to crash. Much longer, and he would probably find a couch or a comfortable looking chair, plop down, and sleep for days as he did after his long periods of sleeplessness. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if he looked as tired as he felt.

[ask2ppreussen]

His own eyes were a bloody red, with hints of grey flecked in if one were to look close enough. Later, he’d likely comment on the strange two-toned effect in the other’s eyes, just as his own strange split-scattered pupils would likely be brought into question. But for now, he stood defensively, waiting for the other to throw some proof that he was who he said he was. Had he answered incorrectly, Altmann likely would have grabbed some antique sword off the wall of the hallway and chased the man back into the mirror.

However, as the man rolled up his sleeve, Altmann’s blood nearly ran cold. That scar around Gilbert’s arm would mirror the ones around the stump of an arm he had left, just above where metal had been fashioned and wired into skin and muscle. Fingers moved up to that spot, squeezing for a moment where the metal and skin merged. He listened to the other speak. Naming his scars, his own along his left cheek and two against his neck almost aching as the other named where they had been from. His own being perhaps a little different in shape, size, and placement… but exactly the same battles and the exact same timeframes. 

Impossible.

“…How has this come to be,” He spoke, finally. Fingers not moving away from his upper left arm. “That you have lived the same life as I, endured the same … Horrors. That I have endured. And yet this is the first time we have met.” Explain himself, the other had said. Now he was the one being challenged. He swallowed hard. Pointing to his shoulder, dragging the finger down across his chest to his hip from left to right. “…A scar sits here. Seven weeks war. Delivered by the Damn Austrian before I took his cocky ass down.” Fingers pressed in against the crook of his right arm. Two bullet wounds sat there. “American revolution. Training Alfred how to properly use a musket, the boy finally lands a proper hit after weeks of training.”

He looked at the other expectantly.

If the other recognised these…

There was no way that all of this was mere coincidence. 

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

As Altmann named his own scars, Gilbert suppressed the urge to trail his fingers along the path of his own. His wasn’t nearly as long upon his torso, stopping just above his navel. The albino remembered that night all too well. It took a long time for him to live it down.

  At the mention of the bullet wounds -- he had two as well as a deep scratch from the bayonet as the idiot had decided to swing it around before firing - he did grip at his arm, fingers digging into the pale flesh as phantom pains shot up there. There wasn’t anything he could really say, before quickly pulling his shirt up, flashing his own shorter scar, and then revealing the two circular scars on the crook of his elbow. “From the looks of it, though, your Alfred was a little more cautious at swinging a musket around,” he joked softly, a small smile crossing his face at the memories, despite how bad that day had been.

For a while, Gilbert fell silent. Arms dangled at his sides, and eyes locked onto the ground before he looked up. “I have no idea. Perhaps there are. . . I don’t know, this could be a really long shot, and maybe I’ve been playing some of my games for too long, but parallel universes? You know, like the Earth you live on is still the same Earth, however on your side of the mirror, everyone is different? I mean, it’s possible, I guess, all things considered,” he blathered, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. A faint flush crossed his cheeks as he looked away. Normally, by now, he wouldn’t be embarrassed of his stupid game-fueled theories, but this time? He was spewing them to a version of himself, and trying to actually rationalize something. Truthfully, he felt a tad childish, but he was running on almost no sleep, and nothing else came to his mind at the moment.

[ask2ppreussen]

On purpose or not, the flinching due to being touched was more or less a reflex. Gilbert might learn later that if there was one thing Altmann hated, it was being touched by people he didn’t know, or being touched without permission. People were unpredictable, and even the most innocent of touches could end poorly. And he had enough scars, thank you. That was clear, even with how very clothed the longer-haired albino was. He waved a hand, dismissing the other’s words, before moving towards the kitchen in his house. Though he stopped mid-step as the other laughed like that. Turned his head, only to give the other a look that could only be described to be similar to a man being told he had a secret twin somewhere in the world. 

And technically, in a very off-putting way, that’s what this was.  Except no. No, it wasn’t. That wasn’t possible. He’d never met this man in his life, and he was DAMN well traveled. He’d have NOTICED ‘Another Prussia’, and this was his first time meeting the man. There was no way on god’s green earth that they were both Prussia. The fingers of his metal arm tightened, joints clicking as they locked in the shape of a ball against the slightly padded palm. 

“…Of course I am. And I have been all of my life.” He answers finally, giving the other something of a suspicious glare. “But the way you speak it is if you are saying that you are also I. and apologies if I offend but that is utter nonsense and a complete impossibility.” he spoke quite sternly, as if DARING the other to say otherwise. There was no way another man had lived his life. There was no way there was another individual to go through the same walk of life he did. He was eyeing the man’s scar now, the one matching his own save for on the other side of his face. “There is only one Prussia. I am certain I would have noted another.”

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

It was a challenge, he could tell that. The other didn’t believe him when he was he was Prussia. Tilting his head back a bit, he met his eyes, seeing those strange swirls. Well, the strange eyes they both had in common, though his own bled red in to blue.

  Looking pointedly at his arm, he rolled up his tee-shirt, showing a deep, puckered scar around his own bicep. “May of 1945. Grenade. However, it looks like you didn’t recover your arm, whereas I did.” Allowing his sleeve to fall back into place, he pointed to his eye. “August 1235, fighting the Order of Dobrzyń. Lost my vision for a few months.” Finally, he pointed to his neck. “This was from the First War of Schleswig. Winter 1850. I had my throat slit, and bled out in the battlefield.”

  Finally, he shrugged, lowering his jaw as he stared at the other. “Now. Go ahead and tell me I am not who I know I am. As for you, I believe you should start explaining yourself.” With that, Gilbert crossed his arms, waiting for the other to speak.

[ask2ppreussen]

Altmann tilted his head downward, watching the other silver-haired male with slightly split, broken pupils. The man looked just as nervous as he first had when realising that the mirror was a little more than just a reflective surface. Perhaps if he knew the man better, he’d have allowed himself to chuckle at the other as his fingers reached through. It WAS a pretty funny sight, how quickly Gilbert retreated backward into his own home. Had he made a sound, a chuckle may have escaped him. 

He turned his head away, looking up the hallway and out the window that was just down the hall, watching the wind pick up and blow around the trees just outside his house. Only newly sprouting with leaves and buds from the winter now gone, Altmann nearly jumped a mile when Gilbert’s fingers touched him. He wasn’t a touchy-feely guy on a GOOD day; he wasn’t expecting the other’s hands to smooth over the back of his shirt like that. He turned, pulling away from the really sudden touch, smoothing out the front of his shirt with his one good hand and his rather obviously false one.

“…Please refrain from touching me without warning.” he managed out, trying to regain composure from jumping backward from the man like he’d been a hot coal. “But quite honestly I have not any idea how it happened. From what I know, that mirror was simply a mirror last night. I only noted that the surface was not… a solid one when those cracks appeared when I returned home from the store.” He couldn’t think to what could have caused it. Magic wasn’t a prominent thing here, and it was a baffling thing to suddenly have a portal to another world in his home. “…that just leaves the issue to why you look like me.” he turned his attention back fully to the other man, a concerned look on his face. “Surely the world will go mad if they learn that there is another man who looks like ‘Prussia’ is walking around.” He could think of two people who’d not like the thought of two of him wandering around. 

Not that this man COULD be a nation.

No.

That was impossible.

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Gilbert bit out, trying to retain his annoyance. In truth, he hadn’t. His fingers had just been reaching for anything tangible. It wasn’t his fault the closest thing was the hem of Altmann’s shirt. However, what caught his eye was the newly-obvious prosthetic limb. The exact same arm that he had gotten blown off sometime during World War 2. . . Shaking his head again, he inhaled deep, and stepped through the mirror.

  “Oh man, let’s not even try to imagine that. One Prussia is more than enough for the world. Two would be. . . ridiculous,” he paused, stopping mid laughter as his eyes opened in surprise. Did. He just say what he thought he said? That’s impossible. Sure, nations sometimes had two people to represent them, but Gilbert was sure he would have known of another Prussia.

Before he could even say anything, he just shut his eyes tightly, ignoring the clenching feeling in his gut. “Don’t tell me. . . that you’re trying to say you’re the embodiment of Prussia as well?” It was easy to hide the hesitation in his voice, but the tightening of his throat and the wave of obvious nausea wasn’t. Never would GIlbert wish what he’d been through on another. And apparently, by the look of his prosthetic limb, Altmann had experienced just that, and perhaps more than he ever had.

[ask2ppreussen]

Gilbert Weillschmidt. An old German name, not unlike his own. He let out a small puff of air, understanding that the other wanted to know where he came from. Though he hoped explaining it wouldn’t prove to be irritating. If that mirror closed up, he’d look like a damnable crazy person standing in the middle of this ‘Gilbert’s’ home. “Of course. I will assure you I did not break in. I quite literally just walked in.” he tilted his head toward that old mirror, eyeing the crack that was still in the corner of it. 

He watched the other with an almost surprised look when he said he hadn’t slept in three days. ….Another co-incidence, he hadn’t slept in nearly three days either. He hoped sorely that their reasons were entirely different; else he would start to think this was nothing but a hallucination as well. He’d had hallucinations before. None were quite this vivid. “I noticed, this morning, that there was a rather peculiar crack in the surface of the old mirror in my hallway. Understand that I take good care of my things, and nothing should have warranted such a wound to appear in the glass.”

He gripped the side of the mirror, and while keeping his eyes on Gilbert, he pressed his fingers towards the surface of the mirror. If he touched it, the other really would think him barking mad. However, the tense moment passed, as his arm quite clearly disappeared past the surface. With a small smirk, Altmann lowered his head, ducking back inside the mirror. From Gilbert’s point of view… the man entirely disappeared. A comfortable feeling moving over him as the familiarity of his own home washed back. Were the other to look in the mirror, he’d see not his reflection, but the home of someone else, as well as the long-haired man. Standing in a hallway of another place. 

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

As he opened his mouth to retort to the comment about ‘taking care of his things’ -- Gilbert was quite cleanly when he didn’t get terribly distracted with his blog and such -- Altmann was suddenly gone. Arms, legs, head, torso, all sucked into the mirror in his hallway. All Gil could do at the moment was stare, eyes wide. Rubbing them, he blinked once, twice, before walking over to the mirror.

  Indeed, there was his face, his hallway, as well as the long-haired man’s visage and an unfamiliar room. Closing his eyes for a second, he raised his brow, as if trying to clear the image from his mind. Hesitantly, he opened them, finding that the image was still there. Murmuring something to himself, he placed a hand just centimetres away from the glass.

With an audible swallow, he pressed fingers into the crack in the mirror, watching his fingers disappear into the glass. It took all of his willpower not to let out an unmanly shriek as he pushed his arm through, and withdrew it. It only took a moment before his face pressed through, replacing where his limb once was.

“What in the. . . “ Gilbert’s voice caught as he reached his arm through again, fingers brushing against the material of Altmann’s shirt. The texture was like a reality hit. This was real. All of this madness was actually happening, and he wasn’t just dreaming it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have felt that. Or at least, that’s what his mind told him. “So. . . how do you, uh, suppose this happened?”

[case-of-identity-deactivated201]

It’ll help keep your nose warm.

*Still the issue seems settled as he tucks his hand back into his pocket again. His ears are cold and probably red, but he doesn’t seem to care.*

Some spring this is.

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

// He shrugs a bit.

It should be warming up soon, shouldn't it? Perhaps we could rent a place in Germany until it stops being so cold.

// A small chuckle, knowing that it most likely wasn't a possibility.

[ask2ppreussen]

The corner of his mouth twitched when the other responded. Unfortunately, the other was all too right. had this been HIS home and the other had been the one randomly appearing in his hallway, HE would expect the other to explain himself first. Logic like that was only too obvious. The more the other albino male spoke, however, the more uneasy Altmann felt. The accent was too perfect. The inflections in his words, he could FEEL them on his own tongue. It was like…

Well; there was only one way to say it. It was like he was talking to himself.

“…I am Altmann Steinbrecher,” he answered after a long moment, flicking his eyes to the mirror he had crawled out of and into… this place. “And I assure you I am not here on purpose. It was mere coincidence on my part, and I can promise you that I mean you no ill will.” One clear difference between their speech patterns would start to show, the more Altmann spoke. He spoke like a Knight of the Old Code, precised and with extreme formality. Something leftover from his days as a Teutonic Knight.

“…I will be more than willing to explain myself furthur, but first I would like to know how it is that you share a voice and a face with me. Surely you are as unnerved by this as I am.”

Unless, of course, this was just one of his wild as hell hallucinations. Somehow he wasn’t sure. They’d never been THIS complex before. 

[immer-preussischblau-blog]

It was true. Right down to the way he spoke. The similarity was very unnerving, though he refused to show it. “My name is Gilbert Weillschmidt, and coincidence or not, I would like to know how you got into my home,” he stated.

Yes, he also would like to know the voice and face issue. But how do you explain that your only thoughts were ‘oh, yeah, I haven’t slept in a long while, so I figure this is just some crazy lucid dream, and when I wake up you won’t be here?’

Taking a deep breath, Gilbert unclenched his fists, looking this. . . Altmann over once. “Truth be told, this is all probably some sort of ridiculous dream. I haven’t slept for three days, I think, so when I wake up this will probably just be some sort of hallucination.”

With a shrug, he leaned against the door frame. “Or so that’s becoming my theory. Unless I have a sort of strange doppelganger standing in my hallway.”