Tanzer, Gotthard Amadeus

[Gotthard]

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CASE FILE: Civilian

I am your angel of music.
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FULL NAME:
→ Gotthard Amadeus Tanzer

AGE:
→ 18 (in his mind), he's really 20

SEX:
→ Male

BIRTH PLACE:
→ Munich, Amestris

RACE:
→ Amestrian

DATE OF BIRTH:
→ December 21, 1992

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HEIGHT:
→ 5'5"

WEIGHT:
→ Weightless

PICTURE:
→

Spoiler:

DESCRIPTION:
→ When he had a body and when he can be seen, the first thing people notice about Gott is that he's not the tallest for teenage boys. In fact, he's not even average for most teenage girls. Growth spurts hit people randomly, and he'd been praying for just one more to suddenly shoot him up to at least 5'9" to make the ranks of acceptable male height, but no such wish was ever granted. His skin is what could be considered as pale, ruddiness only tinting here and there to interrupt the smooth porcelain-like quality of it. The appearance of Gott's body is not of a bulky and strong young man, but of a very lean and light one, almost on the verge of being scrawny except for the young muscles that tightly bound his frame. But if his height and complexion aren't what immediately grasp your attention, then it would be his face. Gott's wheat and honey blonde hair is shaggy, cut to fall to just past his chin with short, choppy bangs in the front. His green eyes are deep and piercing, and his mouth is typically drawn in a thin, unpleasant line, giving him a less than friendly and almost menacing appearance. Gott rarely smiles, and most of the time looks pissed off or annoyed (because he is), arms often folded in front of his chest or twitching, wanting to smack someone.

Unable to change his clothes, Gott is eternally stuck in a loose gray singlet that hangs over baggy olive green pants with a buttoned strap to hold them at his knees. A thin chain connects from the left belt loop to his back pocket, permanently attached to a wallet that no longer exists. The pants sit low on somewhat bony hips, showing small glances of the abs and obliques that once were. Over the singlet is a loose, unbuttoned black dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His ears are both pierced with small studs, and his left wrist has an assortment of small bracelets; a red and black leather one, and a few thin black ones simply tied in place, and always affixed to him is a silver cross that hangs from his neck as a reminder of the life he had and the faith he lost. Gott's nails are oddly pristine for a teenage boy, manicured, and very clean with no signs of him biting or ripping them. Down to his black sneakers, Gott appears to be very casual and almost trendy, and used to be considered more than a little cute, despite his lack of smiling. When the rare occasion comes that he does smile, it's a surprisingly gentle and even charming. Though it takes more concentration and effort to be heard, Gott can still speak audibly enough, and thankfully, still sing. His voice is a low tenor that is very smooth and melodic... until, of course, something pisses him off. Then all smoothness is lost and buried under his temper, his voice now lower and much louder. Gott's singing voice, however, is something much more unique as even most tenors can't go too far beyond that range, whereas his naturally can launch into female soprano without use of falsetto or clamping devices.

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PERSONALITY:
→ Brilliant. Gifted. Dedicated. Talented. Prodigy. These are words Gotthard has heard used by others to describe him since shortly after his birth, but that's only in reference to his work and for years plagued and haunted the boy, leaving him to wonder if those things people said about his work were really all that truly defined him and all that he was. From an observational standpoint. Gotthard is incredibly hard-working and dedicated to anything he decides he will do, and his talent for music is said to have truly earned him his first and middle names, both meaning “God strength,” and “God's love;” his music was a gift and blessing, and he was chosen for this life, surely. By the time most toddlers are learning letters, colours, and giving up their bottles, Gotthard was already being praised for his brilliance with music. But the challenges and praise that came endlessly year after year in a lifetime of being pushed to be more and surpass the very best left the boy withdrawn and always questioning whether people liked him for his music and what would only become a lucrative career, or if there was any genuine like of Gotthard as a person at all.

Having spent all his childhood around adults, Gotthard had and still has a very hard time mingling with peers his own age, finding he has little in common with them beyond species and that they both breathe oxygen. Gotthard greatly dislikes dumbing himself down just to be able to strike a conversation on someone else's level and tends to disrespect others who do. He isn't snobbish about his intelligence and ability, and rarely bring them into the conversation; Gotthard generally dislikes being the center of attention and typically feels like he has little of interest to add to anything. Talking now requires he focus, and while it does come easier than it used to, he sees little need to speak often as nobody can see him and often discredit his voice as their imagination, or once they realize he's a ghost, shits tend to be flipped... which just leaves him annoyed. Even before the accident, Gotthard was relatively withdrawn and kept to himself, only having a few close friends he sincerely loved. He'd rather keep to himself and in his own world since he was more comfortable there. He'll speak on the rare occasions he's spoken to or when he has something he feels needs to be heard, but for the most part just allows himself to stay silently haunting, though he does get a kick out of screwing with the lights and dropping sarcastic words in Morse code.

His serious nature and strict schedule ruled him out of being much fun to hang out with, and being ignored or only seen for his skills often sparked the boy's short and very aggressive temper. Written off as mean, too-sarcastic, rude, and no fun, Gotthard does try to keep his temper in check, but people being stupid or inconsiderate piss him off pretty quickly. This isn't to say, however, that Gotthard is only an easily-angered perfectionist with a lack of social skills; if anyone cared or cares to spend time with him, or he sees a need, Gotthard is more than kind and giving to a fault. Much of his money was regularly put into a savings account and then donated to charities around the world under an online alias, and as a teenager spent time teaching free music lessons online for the sheer pleasure of sharing the gift with someone who hadn't been spoiled by obsessive need to “be more.” Around friends he would joke and tease, and never too manly to play tea party with his baby sister or sing to her. Even now that he's lost his body, though Gotthard is a bit depressed and can't do much, if he sees a need he will go to great lengths to do what he can, even if it's just keeping the electricity going in a heat wave to keep an old lady from dying of the heat or sit beside those dying in their beds as they cry for family members that won't come. Gotthard is still very serious and not much fun, and tends to keep people who try to get near him at a distance, feeling anyone just wouldn't understand. He's given up on his once-unshakable faith, trapped in an existential nightmare as he desperately seeks usefulness in the world he can only observe and longs to play music and sing again somehow, feeling it's all he has left of yesterday.

LOVE:
→ Punctuality, music, Jack (well enough, at least), his memories, perfect pitch, organization, decisive people, strudel, the Internet, music-writing software, instruments, night time, poetry, cherry-vanilla perfume, South's gardens, small kids, action movies, his best friend Todd, chocolate, the colours green and black, cheese

HATE:
→ Not being able to eat, touch, or be touched, not having a body, that his family, life, and career are gone, anything that reminds him of his little sister or girlfriend, whoever destroyed South, his best friend Todd, cats, people who complain but won't do anything, turnips, lacking inspiration, not knowing what happened or where exactly his body is

DEEPEST SECRET:
→ It depresses him, but Gotthard will mill through stores to look at all the dresses and toys, thinking of how cute Kessie would have been in them.

IDOL:
→ Mozart

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HISTORY:
→ ”Do you dream of madness as you sleep, or do you dream of death?” If Gotthard could sleep ever again if only just to dream, he wouldn't know which to tell you he dreamt of or preferred, or even what he used to dream of when he was alive. He dreams of dreaming again. As a child and young man he was too-often accused of being in his own world and lost within the daydreams of his mind, and now he only has those daydreams and memories. He daydreams of a boy named Gotthard Amadeus Tanzer, who was born to Clara and Alfred Tanzer. He was a child born into a world of music, the great works of Mozart, Beethoven, Salieri, and Bach, all filling his ears and mind even before he ever came into the world screaming his first notes. That lifesong was praised and heralded by his parents, both first chair players of the Amestrian Philharmonic Orchestra. From two such parents, how could their child not be gifted musically? By the time most toddlers were first learning colours, letters, and trading their bottles for sippy cups, young Gotthard was already put into very tiny tuxedos, chubby fingers clumsily holding onto the smallest of violins, his rosined bow scratching the strings to make staccato notes, smooth in some places and strained in others. Far from perfect, but coming from a child not yet old enough to start preschool? Brilliance.

His parents toured the country with the orchestra and performed concerts on their own, each show a chance to showcase their beautiful prodigy. Every day was endless practicing. Breakfast, then violin. Snack time, followed by piano until lunch. Nap time led to singing practice for an hour, and then the easiest lessons of music theory. Dinners were always polite affairs, even if they had no guests to entertain or parties to attend, and bedtime stories were filled with tales of the great masters that came before, and how someday, Gotthard would take his place among them to shine like a star in the heavens forever. At the tender age of four, a time most children are starting kindergarten and learning to play and socialize with other children, Gotthard was already earning a reputation for his blessed gifts in music, one tour eliciting a private concert to the King of Creta. Blindfolded and dressed in a suit that itched (though he wasn't allowed to scratch), the child sat and played long piano movements solo as his mother watched, silently weeping with joy, his father standing beside him both to keep Gotthard feeling safe, and to make sure he minded himself to play perfectly. The child-wonder of the Tanzer parents was someone other parents either envied and used to try and motivate their own children with, or pitied immensely, knowing the tiny boy was not a child at all and clucked their tongues, insisting to each other that Gotthard would grow up to be miserable. Such a waste.

Home-schooled and his schedule strictly governed, as Gotthard grew his days only became more filled. There was always more practice, new instruments and sheet music to learn, endless rehearsals to attend. Always on the go, there were no other children he would call his friends; on occasions he met children of the other orchestra members, or sometimes the children of the other well-dressed adults at posh parties, but those children were just as awkward and withdrawn as he, none of them knowing just how to behave other than as perfectly-behaved adults in tiny bodies. As far back as he could remember, and as far ahead as he could perceive, there was nothing in his life but music. It was his only solace, and yet, the enemy that kept him prisoner. He loved his music, and the passion in his performances was breathtaking, but Gott would often wonder if he would love his music just as much if he weren't so forced into it, if it weren't already decided and predestined for him. Both parents loved him and meant well, he knew, but there was constantly that push and that drive to “be more.” Good was never enough; if the performance didn't raise the hairs on your arms and give you chills, or bring the audience to their feet, then you needed to work harder, and harder still. It was an empty love that fueled Gotthard, and any chance he could, he would escape his life and his world.

“You're blessed,” people told him so often. “There are millions of children who wish they could have your life and be more like you.” He would smile, nod, and thank them for their praise, inwardly despising those comments and envying those children; what he wouldn't give to run away and join what he perceived as the real world. Going to public school, having friends and a normal sleep schedule, just having days to relax and play video games or watch movies that mother insisted would rot his brain. THAT. That was the life Gotthard Tanzer dreamt of. The child who was clearly favoured by God and whom had entertained royalty and performed with stars from around the continent was withdrawing, bitter, envious, and wishing for life to change. As the Tanzer family moved from Munich to South City from one large apartment with a fat housekeeper to a larger one, the ten-year-old didn't realize that he was getting his wish.

Despite being less than enthusiastic about his mother's pregnancy or the pink, screaming infant that was his sister, Gotthard soon realized that with his mother performing less and him being asked to babysit more, he had to perform less. He finally had a break, not practicing in the apartment when Kessie or their mother were sleeping lest he wake them, babysitting a long-awaited chance to delve into comic books and fantasy novels, Gotthard's secret bedtime stories to the little girl not telling her who she would be, but instead, that she could be anything she wanted. His life was pre-written for him, and he'd accepted that, but his little sister had him. She wouldn't be lonely and crying for a playmate; Kessie wouldn't sit alone at parties, bored to death; Kessie would have a freer life than her brother had had. She became his hope and joy, and Gotthard deeply bonded with the little girl, not caring in the slightest that she'd rather climb into bed with him in the middle of the night, or that she followed him around like a gosling as she learned to walk. He knew that if she was with him, he could teach her things outside of the life decided for her and try to offer her a happiness he'd longed for all his life. Clara busy with Kessie, family performances became less, but now, Gotthard minded his own less, finally feeling joy in his life knowing that if nothing else, he could live to make sure Kessie was always happy and loved. He would perform for her happiness.

It came as a surprise that the Tanzers were staying in South, Alfred concluding that it would be best to settle and only travel out for concerts. It was a miracle! Home-school was still on the agenda, but Gotthard's schedule relaxed some, allowing the boy to steal out of the house some afternoons to take Kessie to the park. Other children were still a mystery to the boy, but as slowly as feral cats growing used to a human, three children did make their way into Gotthard's life, the child not suspecting once that all three would change his life forever. The first of these children were two boys who lived not far away. The twin brothers, Todd and Dieter, were older than Gotthard, and yet, found the eleven-year-old far smarter than they expected, able to maintain a conversation with them (once they got him to open up to one). Nerdy and a bit mischievous, the brothers became good friends with Gotthard, even though their passions for science and alchemy often left the musician bored and a bit lost. Concerts continued, but now, at least, there were finally two friends in the audience to cheer for him, and then see him after the show and the party had died down. The prodigy was still a slave to his musical destiny, both friends accepting that there would be weeks that Gotthard couldn't come out to spend time with them, his father scowling down at the two young teenagers who would only distract his son. But those times that Gotthard could spend time with his friends were cherished, even if sheet music and notes were constantly being scribbled onto napkins, tapped out with a pen, or even being used as the basis for some alchemical experiments. Sound met amplification alchemical theories, and applied to small tests in their basement, all three boys would enthusiastically cheer when their successes brought test matter toppling down.

Gotthard was more than happy to carry on this way; quarterly concerts and performances were set in a more predictable schedule, he had two friends to finally have fun with, and he never minded playing tea party in the park with little sister. But to a boy where social skills are an alien thing and getting along with male peers is difficult, girls his own age were a stranger and more difficult thing than learning the 24 consonant triads as individual entities after studying them as stable ingredients of a diatonic collection. He was twelve when he met Melinde Kempe, her family moving into the same posh apartment building. It wasn't long before Gott met the new neighbours at a nice welcoming party, Gott finding any reason to play butler or go play with his sister, pretending he didn't keep glancing at the little girl with dark black hair and sky-blue eyes. So many people, so many praising the boy they'd heard so much about and my wasn't he going to grow up to be such a handsome musician... So many people saying so many things, so little of which mattered in the slightest. With a sigh, Gotthard sneaked off to another room and sat at the bench of the practice piano, Kessie sitting on the floor by his feet. Mozart's sonata in D major began to lift from the pale white keys, the party guests keeping to themselves. His world quiet and his own at last, Gott freed himself from the apartment and South City, letting himself sink into the notes until another pair of hands slipped onto the keys next to his own, carrying on the higher half of the sonata rewritten as a piano duet. Notes doubled and echoed seamlessly, four hands playing together as one mind, measure by measure. Slowly the party crowd trickled in to listen in awed silence, and for just a few minutes Gott stopped being the prodigy and became the Tanzer boy, playing alongside the new neighbour's girl. As the piece finished and everyone clapped, Gotthard realized that this was the beginning of a deep, meaningful, and eternally-lasting rivalry.

Conversations slowly became more natural over time, Melinde happy to join Kessie to play tea with her big brother, Gotthard taking time every week to help Melinde's piano-playing become better, and Melinde listening to Gott sing high up the scales. Even as his body matured, Gotthard maintained a soft tenor voice that could easily stretch upward past a normal male range and into a woman's alto, mezzo, and moderate soprano. It was wondrous, Gotthard singing La Donna E Mobile as fluidly as any female singer who had transposed the song to a higher key. It only added to his concerts that never seemed to end or ebb that dragged him all over Amestris, Creta, and Drachma (once). He still wished for a normal life, but at sixteen Gott came to the conclusion that this was the best it had ever been, and he shouldn't ask for more. There were books of compositions in his bedroom, scattered carelessly; some from childhood, some from boredom during a power outage last week. Gott would write them, play them in his head, and forget about them, and they would have stayed that way until one afternoon he heard Melinde playing something he'd written and hadn't shown anyone. She'd found the notebook on the counter and decided to give it a try. The teenager was still short with the girl he'd known for years, and was frustrated that she'd just brush it off, Melinde knowing very well that if he heard anyone insult her or make her cry, there would be hell to pay. The sonata was beautiful, and seeing her play it was moving. Gott realized he'd written it for her, never meaning to. It was classic and contemporary, and something he'd never play at his own concerts and risk being the angry focus of his father. An idea came to mind. The two worked at Gott's practice studio, playing the songs out entirely and recording them, then taking the files to Mel's house to play with in music-editing software and upload. Under an alias, Gotthard was no longer the cold musician that had to constantly be nothing but perfect and proper; here, he could release the songs he truly felt. At last, Gotthard could express himself. The kiss that pressed into Melinde's lips was warm, lingering, and only slightly awkward, but sincerely grateful, and the first kiss of many to come.

Oper Geist's music was becoming very popular online as it blended classical with techno, synthetic mixes dancing with the variety of instruments Gott had spent his life mastering. He had no need for the money, and didn't want to cause waves at home with the download sales, so on a regular basis the money would be transferred to Melinde, Todd, and Dieter, either for them to keep or donate wherever they liked. Todd and Dieter in their first year of university, life seemed to have finally settled in for the four of them, and for a change, seemed to be pretty positive. Their parents called it a 'donor-cycle' for a reason, and nobody was left unshaken when Dieter's bike crashed. The teenager survived, but the severe head trauma had left him in a deep coma, his family and friends devastated more and more as doctors became less sure about if he'd ever wake from his vegetative state. Hoping, praying, and regular visits seemed to do nothing, his brother Todd left dark, empty, and jumping into where angels didn't dare tread.

Gott was eighteen and taking university courses through the mail, he'd been dating Melinde steadily for years, and Kessie was becoming a sweet and loving young lady, even if she still had a habit of gluing herself to her brother's side. Melinde's birthday was coming up, and Gotthard had ordered a custom ring of moonstone cut into a flower with a crystal at the center. A promise ring to give the girl he could barely stand as a child and couldn't get enough of as a man. He was on the way home when Todd called him, frantic and excited, begging his best friend to come over right away and help him with an experiment like he used to. He had nothing else to do today, and it had been ages since he'd spent time with Todd, let alone hear him sound so optimistic. His mother only told him to have a good time and let her know if he wasn't coming home that night. That was the last time Gotthard heard his mother's voice, and if he'd known that then, he'd have talked longer and taken just the moment of breath it takes to tell her he loved her. Gott should have known something was up when Todd passed up the strudel that had been brought to suddenly whisk Gott down to the basement of the house Todd was renting and living in alone now. The basement was a giant lab (the whole house was, but there was less in the way down there), and notes were taped everywhere. This looked nothing like the alchemical experiments from when they were younger. Another young man in a labcoat was there, making notes and adjustments.

”Gotthard! I've done it. I've figured out how to wake Dieter up!” The man was beyond excited, but looked half-mad. ”You're the perfect person to help me wake him up.” Gotthand looked to his old friend warily, not liking where this was going. If Todd knew how to wake Dieter, why were they there and not the hospital? Gotthard looked around, the floor of the basement covered in large, complicated arrays he'd never seen before.

”Todd... What is all this? The doctors said Dieter won't wake up.”

”And that's why I'm ignoring them. They're not willing to try NEW things to solve the puzzle. But I am! I've been working on this for years, Gott! It's perfect, though. I have an array that will help me find a lost human soul and reunite it with its living body, and POOF! Dieter'll wake up!” A knot grew in Gott's stomach, the teen starting to feel an uneasy cold. Todd's grin was just too ready, the grip on his shoulder a touch too firm.

”I miss him too, but.... what is it you want me to do?” Gott tried to ignore as the lab assistant wheeled out monitoring equipment and a tray full of charts, needles, and IV supplies.

”I haven't told anyone about this other than Siegfried. I can't, you know that. They'd never understand! But you do. He's your friend, too. But it's easy, and you'll be fine. I'd just knock you out for a little bit, and test the array to wake you up. That's all. It'll be a nap!” That cold feeling was amplifying in spades as Siegfried began to set up the IV next to a hospital bed. Was it too late to reconsider dinner at home? Strawberry Shortcake reruns and sauerbraten were sounding especially good about now. This wasn't natural, and it took more than a little effort to finally persuade Gotthard that it would just be a nap, and he'd wake up just fine a few minutes later. Drugs were administered, Todd quietly apologizing to his best friend as he put the musician into a deep, medically-induced coma. Blood was drawn in thin lines as the hair-fine blade cut a binding seal into Gotthard's chest over his heart. Todd's real work began, the array coming to life as body and soul were split apart. The first part of the transmutation was a total success, the energy becoming wild, even as it devoured Siegfried as payment.

Satisfied at his success, the other half of the experiment could begin, even without Todd's assistant there. The array would open and Todd would merge the lost soul and body back together using the array he'd sealed Gotthard with. The array opened wider, swallowing Gotthard instead of waking him. Something had gone wrong. Todd moved frantically to try and stop the array to reclaim his vanished, unconscious friend, only to scream as he himself began to unravel, but not from his own doing. Outside the house and coming in; outside the whole of South City and coming in; everything crumbled, ripped apart, and was pulled through an alchemical sieve, the city and every person in it vanishing in a moment as the array took them all and regurgitated them all out as a stone. One human transmutation occurring within another greater transmutation; an event so rare that the chances of it happening again were beyond astronomical. But one consciousness cannot occupy two places at once; the array that took place in Todd's basement had only just beat the array that leveled the city, body and soul lost, but not to the stone. Gotthard was lost somewhere between the worlds and realms of the mind.

Gotthard was somewhere he'd never been before, unsure if it was a dream, reality, or the afterlife. A door stood before him, tall, thick, and covered in what looked like a solar system in the shape of an egg, music notes and symbols carved in deeply. The longer Gott stared at the egg on the door, the more layers he saw to it, as though it were glass, layer upon layer, each one moving and changing as he looked, growing outward while remaining still and preventing him from seeing the center. The door opened to darkness, but given that Gott's choices were a room of darkness or stay out here in an eternal whiteness, a hesitant curiosity won, pushing Gotthard to enter in hopes of it leading out of the strange dream. The span of blackness stretched on just as eternally as the white, but what came rushing forward was overwhelming, despite the intangibility. Music. Knowledge. Infinite symphonies all playing at once and exploding inside his head. Entire operas, cantatas, and songs all played at once, his own work mixed with the works of masters. Music, knowledge, and understanding of all time were Gott's now, forced into his head and far beyond his comprehension. The choices he'd made as well as those he hadn't made were spelled out in an infinite second. His past, present and future rushed and blurred, glimpses of his family and Melinde flashing before him with snatches of their voices before suddenly bursting into pure nothingness. He was ejected from the blackness back into the white, panting, shaken, and deeply confused. This wasn't a dream, but what the hell was it?! Confused and frustrated, the growling scream that erupted from the teen was met only with an echoing laugh that came from everywhere, nowhere, and one fixed point all at once. The dream had changed; Gotthard was not alone in the white by the door with the ever-changing egg.

”That's your solution to everything,” the faceless nothingness teased. Its voice was male and similar in tone and pitch to his own, but the mocking smile was cold and uncaring. Then again,, so was Gott, wasn't he? ”At least, the solution you'd rather take. Instead, you normally just swallow it and trudge forward like a good little performing dog.” Green eyes narrowed darkly, Gotthard trying to put his agitation down enough to not pick a fight with... with... whatever it was. This was his dream. Like hell he'd get shit like that from something inside his head while he napped.

Gott sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. ”Okay, self. Fun's fun, but wake up!” He'd learned a long time ago that he could wake himself up from dreams, and this one was far too lucid for his liking.

”You're not dreaming, Gotthard. You're here. Didn't you pay attention to that little trip you took?” All that information, all that knowledge and oneness with everything had been his, but so little of it made sense and all of it had been so rushed. But he'd seen his family in there, and his own body, asleep on that table at Todd's.

”I am dreaming! I saw myself asleep. Todd knocked me out and...” Knowledge, understanding and awareness mingled to highlight the pieces of the puzzle. Something on his chest was stinging, but the IV's, the tubes and monitors; those couldn't have just been for a normal anesthetically-induced light sleep. Even when he'd had his wisdom teeth removed, that had just been one IV and someone to watch the monitor. That was too much. ”Todd! He did something, didn't he?! Look, I've got to wake up now! Whatever he's doing, I'm done playing guinea pig.”

The faceless, smiling entity nodded. ”Oh, the experiment's over, Gotthard, but not just for you; for everyone. Todd, Siegfried, Dieter, your neighbours... All of South City. Didn't you hear them all go silent? Didn't you feel it?” Gott's heart caught in his mouth. He had. He saw a glimpse of what happened and what he was thinking of when he closed his eyes, and he'd heard all the tiny echoes of times when he'd said no to people to spend time with them in favour of practice and rehearsals and concerts. All the times he'd neglected the world around him and pushed them all away. And then he'd heard how they all silenced at once.

”Am I dead?! What'd Todd DO?!” The entity shrugged, that careless grin still conquering where its face should have been.

”You're not dead, and you're not dreaming. But you're not really alive right now, either. Todd only split your body from your soul and brought you here, but now, the adventure lies in your hands! For once in your life, YOU have a choice! Grand, isn't it?” Gott looked away from the Gate back to the door, back at the layered egg. It meant something. Something about him personally. But like a riddle of the sphinx, it eluded Gotthard, and realization came crashing down that for all the years he'd spent studying and sacrificing to be more that there was so little in the world and in himself that he understood. Gate's grin widened. ”Oh, don't be like that! Come, come. Wasn't it you who used to wish every day for life to change? To finally be free of being forced to perform and be seen for your own merits and not your talent alone? Now you are! You should be happy.”

Away. He'd pushed them all away for so long just to keep his family happy. Movies, dates, time to hang out and play... he'd been denied all of that. ...Hadn't he? Or could it have been his if he'd just said something? ”...Not like this. I wanted a change and freedom, yes, but I didn't want to die! Just... tell me how I go home. I want to go home.” The egg was himself. Layer upon layer, always expanding and changing, getting farther away from a blank center that even Gotthard himself couldn't see. His whole life, nothing but projecting outward layers pushed forward by his talents until that was all anyone could see, himself included. Gott didn't want to stay here. He couldn't stay here just picking himself apart. Why would he be in this limbo and gaining insight if it was already too late to change it?

”Ah, so now you finally see the bigger picture. You've been miserable for years. So how about we make a deal. I promise everything you knew will be different if you go home, but in order to leave here and for what you saw behind this gate, you need to pay a toll. An exchange. To go home and have everything be different, to force people to appreciate you for your other qualities... what would you give? Tell me, oh Prodigy, would you give ever touching a piano again?” Gott blinked. If he never played piano again, he could go home? That was it? But that was so simple. There were other instruments he could play, and he'd be free from the life his parents had chosen for him. Gotthard nodded, reaching out to shake hands with the Gate, not once questioning how the grin had gone icy, the bright white nothingness of his body filling with Gott's own skin tone as it dissipated from his body.

The bright light of the sun high above was blinding, and though Gott tried to move his arm to shield his eyes, nothing happened. No shade, and worse, no arm. No other arm, either. No Gotthard. But he was very much conscious and there, wherever there was. The pebbles were fine, and the land was a smooth, deep circle that blasted on into nothing as far as he could see. Pale pebbles, dirt, debris, bits of cement. Nothing else. No people. No animals. No South City. Gotthard screamed, his voice echoing across the plain without a mouth or lungs. The Gate was right. Everything was different, and he'd never play the piano again, but he'd come home. Unable to eat of sleep and with nobody to turn to, Gotthard was left alone in the vast remains of South City, helpless to watch as Amestrian forces poked around, unable to solve the mystery, and unable to help as enemy forces battled them there. Shots fired from both sides, right through him. His arms waved and tried to grab anyone he could for help, only to miss them entirely. Gotthard screamed, talked and could be heard, but never found, no Amestrian militants finding him to try and offer any help, and no RIOTE or Aerugese forces to kill him. Gotthard was completely alone and cut off from a world that relied on being able to see who you were talking to, and all he was now was a ghost.

It was strange staying in South City as the Aerugese occupied it. Strange to haunt them as a poltergeist who could do nothing to them other than make ghosty sounds. Through its conquest, occupation, another bloody war, and redevelopment, Gotthard has been there in South, watching. All he could do now was watch. Over time, Gotthard learned to tamper with the electric stream in a circuit, his own energy able to make them short out or restart; while not the most useful of tricks, it has provided some amusement and on occasions been helpful, both as a means of helping someone and as communication. Time became meaningless, Gotthard unable to eat or sleep, never needing rest and unlimited by the lack of his body. As the city rebuilt and expanded Gotthard has found a somewhat renewed interest in the people, occasionally finding houses with families he'll “haunt” for short periods, trying to make himself as useful as he can before moving on, trying to emulate the life he took for granted, hoping that some day he'll either become a person again or finish whatever kind of a life this is in hopes that at the end of it he'll be with his family again.

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TRIVIA:
→ Gotthard can play piano, violin, acoustic and electric guitar, and drums.
→ He loves rock, heavy metal, vaudeville, and Cretan jazz.
→ He misses playing tea party with Kessie
→ Gotthard doesn't know where his seal is or what it looks like since he was unconscious when it was applied.
→ He loves card games, and will sometimes whisper in peoples' ears about what cards other players have, or don't have if he wants them to lose.
→ Gotthard tries to find usefulness as an invisible guardian where he can, even though he can't touch anything.
→ The outline of Melinde's promise ring are still visible in his shirt pocket, but it can't be removed
→ He learned to understand Aerugese by staying in South while it was occupied
→ He composes in his head and has had lots of time to work out the notes he would write
→ Gott likes little kids and will talk to them as they don't question a disembodied voice as much
→ Amestrian, broken Aerugese (spoken only)

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ALIAS:
→ Shuuuularoooooraaaaloooraaaaaa.... Shuuuuraaaalooooraaliiiiii

OTHER CHARACTERS:
→ Shula, Tanandra, Cookie, Gavin, Anouk

CREATOR'S COMMENTS:
→ IIIIIII ain't got nobooooooody and a-nobody cares a-for a-me!

FACE CLAIM:

Code:

[b]Hetalia[/b]/
[i]Switzerland[/i]

CUSTOM RANK:
→ Geist

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[Reila Tsukino]

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