A chance meeting

[Sverige]

It was a mildly bleak day; the sky was but a very dull, pale color. It might have seemed dreary to most people, but Berwald rather liked days like this. The sun would be less inclined to burn him when it was like this, not to mention it wouldn't interfere with his already mediocre eyesight by blinding him with its terribly bright rays. Even if it meant he couldn't stand outside and work as it would warp the wood, the Swedish man didn't mind at all. He'd be just as content with working indoors as he was outdoors. He was just content to have another project finished so that he could move onto the next thing.

For the sixth day in a row he had been standing in front of his work bench, hammering away at these wooden boards. He was building a ship for another customer, or at least assisting in building a ship. This one was for a very prosperous customer who had high expectations. Berwald's manager was kind enough to let him help out; it seems the level the Swedish man's carpentering skills and work ethic were really started to pay off for him. As he began sanding the wooden board he was hunched over, a crick in his back made him stand up straight, realizing he had been standing over this board for far too long and perhaps needed to stretch or take a break; he opted for a glass of water and then the former, as he didn't like to leave things go unfinished for long periods of time.

While returning from retrieving a glass, he realized that maybe a break would be a good idea. He was really starting to feel the discomfort in his back and neck from being in his hunched position for so long. He took a seat on a chair off to the side from the board, staring at it intently as he took a few sips from his refreshing glass.

[Tino Väinämöinen]

Tino wasn't too sure how he'd managed to get away from his pursuers, as he limped forward, trying to not put too much pressure on his leg. Down the back alley's of one of his many cities, he hid. It hurt, not just the wound but to have his own people try and hunt him down... to force him back... he couldn't forgive that.

Stumbling into the shadows a little further, he had to stop and take a break - take a look at the damage. He remembered... he'd been in the market. His supplies were low and there was this one shop that sold what was, in his opinion, the tastiest salmiakki in all of the nation. At first, he hadn't even noticed the man right behind him until he sensed a sudden movement. In reality, his wound could have been much worse if he hadn't moved as fast as he could. The long , shallow gash down the back of his left leg was the proof of that. It didn't bleed overly much - not, apparently, enough to leave a trail for any tracker to catch up with him - but it hurt so badly he found himself clenching his teeth with every hot pulse of pain.

In the end, he had no choice but to continue on. He couldn't return to his room at the inn, for certain. They were on to him. Which meant he needed to find at least a place to bandage his leg soon... and perhaps some pain killers.

[Sverige]

After finishing his glass of water, he stood up and evaluated the appearance of the shop, as he did every so often, it seemed like everything was in tip-top shape; the tools that weren’t in use were neatly stored away in their respectable places, the blueprints for ships were rolled up and tied while set in a bin by the tools, some of the screws and bolts were strewn across the other work bench where one of his co-workers had left a project, he knew it was unkempt, but that was just how his co-worker liked it, so he left it be. Berwald had a habit of doing this: evaluating the shop to make sure it was presentable…just in case someone came along and had a quick job for him. He liked having preparations for things, as it came off more professional. Not that he really cared whether it was professional or not… it was just an influence unwilling driven into him by his father… so much so that it became a force of habit.

Berwald sighed at the thought; his mind wandered a lot, it seemed. It was most likely because he wasn’t really the type to speak out very often… he was withdrawn so much that the only conversations he had consisted of the thoughts in his head. After staring for a while, he realized he himself wasn’t all that presentable… he was dripping with sweat. He moved to wipe the beads of perspiration from his face with a small towel that hung off the side of the chair and paused as his eyes swept over the other side of the room, the side he hadn’t bothered looking at, as it wasn’t in the view of the customers. His eye twitched. There it was, a large drum brimming was garbage… it probably smelled god awful, as well. They loved to have fish here. The smell of the rotting skin that couldn’t be pulled from the bones was sure to make the shop reek with more than just the stench of sweat. He groaned quietly and moved to carry the drum out to the back alley, where it would be out of sight and out of mind. He would have to make a mental note to tell his boss at some point, but right now, the main priority was to clear the shop of this impending stench.

While carrying the drum out to the back alley, Berwald’s eye caught a figure… a slightly hunched figure, someone who was ducking away from something. The figure of the person was a bit scrawny, as if it were an injured girl running away from an abusive father or something. He placed the drum carefully down and snuck towards the ‘girl’ without a second thought. His eyes would widen slightly, as he saw it wasn’t a woman, but a man… no… he couldn’t really call this person a man. He raised a brow, then looked the person up and down, trying to find out where the injury was coming from, once he had seen, he lurched forwards with one step. This would be the first set of words he had spoken in a few days, now. “Y’re h’rt.” He said flatly, his voice was low, yet clear. His heavy accent was easily noticeable through his words. Very few people could understand him, he hoped this one would understand.

[Tino Väinämöinen]

Everything had been quiet aside from his breathing and heartbeat - no people following him, not even a stray animal. Shuddering to a stop, he let himself fall to the ground in a huddle, trying to calm down. In his opinion it wasn't very cold out, but he was losing body heat as fast as he was losing blood. Shivering in his ball, he didn't notice the other man in the alleyway until he spoke.

The gun was in his hand and pointing at the other before he even had a moment to think. His heart, thudding with fear and anger already, nearly stopped as his finger pushed down on the trigger with a loud noise. But that was all it was - noise. He was out of bullets. Panting and huddling back against the wall as far as he could, fist clenched around the useless weapon, he stared into the darkness light-headed and vision blurry.

"W-who's there! Show yourself!" he tried to yell, but his voice sounded weakened even to his own ears.

He must have lost a lot more blood than he originally thought - that voice... was sounding almost familiar. Like a ghost of a memory taunting him.

[Sverige]

It didn't occur to Berwald that this person could be a potential threat. However wary he could be sometimes, he simply couldn't find this injured person to have any sort of violent intentions. He took another step towards the Finnish man, and that was when the gun resounded through the alleyway. He didn't wince, he stood still, though his heartbeat was going a mile a minute.
"Can h'lp if ya w'nt. 'm a fr'nd t'ya. D'n't w'nna fight y' when y're h'rt." He said softly, as soft as he possibly could with such a gruff voice.

He glanced warily at the gun in the Finnish man's hand and noticed the slightly panicked look on his face, there must have been something wrong, he didn't realize that the gun could possibly be out of bullets... now he just thought the boy was crazy. However crazy he may be, though, Berwald felt he had an obligation to help him. He didn't understand why, there was just a gut instinct inside of him to protect this person, to take care of them... perhaps it was a sign from up above. He stepped closer, enough that he was towering over the other man, the reflection of the barely sunlight from up above would reflect off of his glasses, making it look as though there was nothing but white behind them.

Finally, he knelt down in front of the Finnish man and carefully took a hold of the hand holding gun. "Y'd'n't need th's." He mumbled softly, though a soft mumble for Berwald was just something to the effect of an irritated grumble. It was near impossible for him to seem unimposing because he was just intimidating by nature.

[Tino Väinämöinen]

The moment the man stepped forward into the light, Tino's jaw dropped and he was filled with such a shocked horror. It was... it was Sweden - Berwald! The hand holding the gun up started to shake with the realization that he'd just about shot the man he'd been searching for for so many years.

Was it him? Was it actually his Berwald? Or was it just him wishing so desperately for the man to be alive and be in front of him that yet another tall man with blond hair had him confused and sickened with himself to the point that his other hand had to clamp down over his mouth for fear that he'd suddenly be sick all over the place.

Then the maybe-Berwald knelt down in front of him and he knew that he'd found him. Even as his eyes filled up with tears and his hand holding the gun up went nerveless - gun clattering to the alley floor noisily - and he started to shake... he knew that voice. He'd loved that voice for such a long time, and to hear it again... it was like finding the missing piece to himself.

"...I'm sorry." he whispered brokenly, words muffled by the hand over his mouth. He'd nearly killed him. How disgusting could he be!?! He'd nearly killed Berwald again.