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Post by Russia on Jan 19, 2012 20:53:26 GMT -5
(( Sometime between June 23rd and June 25th 1967. Glassboro Summit Conference. ))
Russia sat on one of the comfy couches in the lounge of the building. He'd silently claimed that this one was his by sitting himself down on it and with that, America now had to find a different surface to sit on. He'd been dragged half-way across the the world to sit in some... college building... in the middle of nowhere in New Jersey... just so some of their politicians could talk (about various things, specifically Vietnam) and maybe... be friends.
Friends... What a silly notion. It wasn't that Russia didn't want friends or anything, so much as... he didn't want to be friends with America. That kid was annoying. He never shut up. He was constantly shoving bastardized steak and bread down his throat, while continuing to talk... and half of the things he said never made any logical sense! America was so full of himself... at least in Russia's opinion. Where did England go wrong in raising that boy?
Besides, they... they just never got along. It wasn't in their nature. Well, he told himself it wasn't in their nature. Then again, Russia told himself a lot of things to make the world seem less... hopeless.
He held a book open that he'd snatched up from the coffee table and stared at the first page. Russia didn't exactly care what it said or what it was even about (actually he didn't know because he didn't check when he grabbed it). He just wanted something to do other than potentially... have to talk to America just to keep occupied. Talking to America was definitely last on his list of things that he wanted to bother to do today. The book's content be damned, but it was more comfortable than having to exchange words with what he thought was a simpleton.
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Post by America on Jan 20, 2012 12:28:05 GMT -5
America was feeling sour, to say the least.
Here he was, having been forcibly dragged to a conference he didn’t want heads or tails to do with. In reality, he didn’t have anything to do with it. It was something between his boss and Russia’s, not he and Russia personally, at least not originally. It somehow turned into something personal when the conference was suddenly made to have a side goal of ‘bettering their relations’.
The thought itself was ridiculous, almost laughably so. As if he and Russia could ever have so much as have a half-way decent conversation.
The blond made no attempt to hide his immense displeasure. He may have repeatedly been told to be on his best behavior, and he’d consented somewhere around the seventh time, but that didn’t mean he was about to go out of his way to put on a delightful display for someone who certainly thought nothing better of him than a useless pest who was better off wiped off the face of the Earth.
Only briefly eying the Russian who’d already claimed his place, which was what looked like the comfier couch—the bastard—he settled for the one across from him, striding over and plopping down rather unceremoniously. He must have looked like a pouting child, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“What a bummer.” He muttered beneath his breath, resting his chin in his hand.
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Post by Russia on Jan 20, 2012 13:13:23 GMT -5
Russia merely stared blankly at the page in front of him. Nope, he was not going to acknowledge America's existence. Sure, he'd been told that they ought to have a nice chat... find some common ground... and maybe be friends. What a silly notion. America's purpose of existence was only to be a pain where everyone sat down... especially for Russia it seemed. America had a particular fondness for bothering him.
He had every intention to ignore him, but... this book... it was boring. He couldn't even pay attention to it. What was it even- Russia quickly re-read the title of the page he was staring at. "How to Prune Your Daisies All the Year". Well, no, that was useful information but... not right now and he didn't grow daisies.
With a flip of a page, Russia hoped that maybe... he'd quickly learn to love daisies if they just kept him from having to actually talk to that moron across from him.
“What a bummer.”
Oh, heavens, why was America allowed to have a voice box? Oh, right... God hated Russia. Everyone hated him, but specifically God did. This was why America existed.
"Thinks woult go better for both off us if you just dit not talk," he said, flipping the page again in hopes of loving daisies.
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Post by America on Jan 24, 2012 19:23:09 GMT -5
America rarely scowled, but his lips certainly downturned to one upon hearing the other’s crack. He directed his gaze toward him, flashing what was his attempt at a nasty look, which didn’t look so much nasty as it did sulky. It wasn’t as if the Russian was paying him enough attention to see it. He seemed preoccupied with some sort of magazine. For whatever reason, that served to irritate him further.
“I’ll talk when I want to talk.” He asserted. “But for the record, I wasn’t even talking to you. Climb it, Tarzan.”
The blond took to toying with the hem of his suit, though it wasn’t much of a distraction. He knew he should have brought his sketch-o-matic along with him. He wouldn’t have even gotten trouble. If inquired, he could have pretended to leave it in the car and instead sneak it inside behind his back, even under his belt if necessary. He’d done that with tops before, but when he thought about it, tops were smaller and less of a complication.
Though he knew it was a bit ridiculous, he caught himself blaming Russia for his disinterest as well. Out of all the countries his president could have decided to try and form a relationship with, why, oh why did it have to be him? It flat out didn’t make any sense. There were millions of more preferable things he could be doing, as well as people he could be with, but here he was, with Russia. Russia, for crying out loud!
It wasn’t as if he had the faintest clue as to how long the conference would be taking. For all he knew, he could be trapped in the college that was looking drearier by the second for most of the day—with a communist.
The mere thought almost made him groan aloud.
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Post by Russia on Jan 25, 2012 18:32:53 GMT -5
Russia wanted to not think about anything America said and merely resume attempting to fall in love with daisies as a potential plant worth bothering to set up a greenhouse to grow. Unfortunately, he couldn't be that lucky, could he? He could never be that lucky. America had to say something so off the wall... that he would be forced to stop and think about it.
"Climb it, Tarzan.”
There was only one legitimately logical response to that. Russia very slowly looked up from his book to where America was sitting, tilting his head somewhat to the side. A expression of absolute inability to process passed over and dominated his face for easily a good thirty seconds.
"ЧТО?"
His jaw stayed dropped for another easy ten seconds.
Was America high? Sure... there was that whole... drug culture thing he'd heard about going on in the states at the moment, but... was America in on all of that too? That statement, while clearly intended to be offensive, made not a lick of goddamn sense.
Russia's face softened for a moment as he began pondering if this meant that he was supposed to climb a tree... Didn't Americans have some sort of saying about crazy people being out of trees? That meant America was implying that Russia was crazy and needed to go back into the tree.
Which tree exactly was the sanity tree anyway?
In a moment, he quickly glanced around the room and noted a small, potted tree meant before remaining indoors. Russia gestured towards it with an open hand. "Woult you happen to be knowink if that is 'sanity tree' over there?"
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Post by America on Jan 28, 2012 1:30:58 GMT -5
America flinched away from his thoughts upon hearing the Russian’s outburst, only to refocus and find him gaping at him. With that kind of eccentric reaction, he had to wonder if he’d said something that ended up more insulting than he originally thought it would be. He supposed that was what he was aiming for in the first place, but even then, the expression the Russian was sporting seemed a bit much.
“Don’t have a cow.” The blond tried to sound angry, but his tone came across as more bewildered than anything.
The other had already seemed to be beginning to gather his bearings, but who was America to not retort? He couldn’t resist getting the last word, even more so considering he was speaking to Russia. For that matter, he was about to start catapulting more attempts at offenses his way, but the process came to a grinding halt before it had a chance to begin.
"Woult you happen to be knowink if that is 'sanity tree' over there?"
It was the American’s turn to make a face. His mouth fell open just slightly as he wordlessly struggled for a valid response, shifting a bit in his seat.
“Uh, wait.” He managed, despite being completely and utterly baffled by the man’s words. “What are you going on about?”
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Post by Russia on Jan 28, 2012 15:54:37 GMT -5
This conversation was quickly going nowhere that made any semblance of sense. Russia sat there quietly for a moment, just looking kind of blankly at America as though he were casually reading some poster on the wall he had no particular interest in.
“Don’t have a cow.”
Cows? What did cows have to do with the sanity tree he was supposed to find and climb? Was America trying to insinuate that there were cows in the sanity tree? Russia guessed that somehow that was supposed to mean a cow in a tree was a signal of indication for which tree he was supposed to climb in order to be seen as sane in America's eyes. That was absurd! What kind of idioms were these?! What kind of physics were Americans taught in schools?!
Russia paused his train of thought, expression not changing as America seemed to also lose track of what the in the hell was going on here.
There was a distinct lack of a cow existing in the supposed sanity tree in the room. Maybe Russia was supposed to add one to it and make it a complete, fully-fledged sanity tree that he was then supposed to climb into. The tree was kind of small, though, and Russia didn't have a cow with him at the moment.
"Would picture off cow work? Does it haff to be any particular kint off cow?"
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Post by America on Feb 1, 2012 21:23:34 GMT -5
"Would picture off cow work? Does it haff to be any particular kint off cow?"
America now stared blankly at his much less than welcome company, trying to make sense out of their current conversation. Was he joking around or messing with him with typical, whacked out Russian humor he wasn’t familiar with? Was this where he was supposed to laugh?
A crooked smile suddenly appeared on his face.
“Yes.” He said. “Yeah, you know? Solid. Go ahead, Mr. Literal. Go climb your sanity trees, and all that. Draw a picture of a cow while you’re at it. Or better yet, go ahead and find one. There should be one around, just don’t let the fuzz catch you.” He couldn’t help but muse over how amusing of a Sunday newspaper article that would be, snickering as he imagined it. “Have a blast.”
Witty comebacks having been said and done, the blond leaned back, wondering if there was something more fun he could entertain himself with—other than bashing at Russia with flicks of sarcasm, of course. He felt like he’d eventually end up more irate than amused if he kept that up. His patience had its limits, after all, even more so considering that he was stuck with the frigid nation for God knew how long.
No, he wouldn’t be letting that go any time soon.
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Post by Russia on Feb 2, 2012 20:52:02 GMT -5
Russia kept his usual, mostly blank expression save for a slight, almost-always forced smile. America was now babbling about cows and trees and calling Russia "literal." He felt a knot of annoyance twist up in his stomach. How else was he supposed to take something that was some sort of idiom he didn't have the context for? He wasn't a native English-speaker, especially not an American, how was he going to know what the hell America actually meant. He could only guess from things he'd heard or read. America was so frustrating sometimes, he just wanted to punch hi-
"Just don’t let the fuzz catch you.”
Despite smiling, Russia raised one eyebrow. Fuzz? Like... peach fuzz? Fuzz like.. body hair? America was telling him to go out, catch a cow and not get tangled up in someone's body hair? That was disgusting and oddly specific! Why would he get caught in someone's body hair while catching a cow in the first place? That made no sense.
"Why... woult I be gettink stuck in someone's body hair? That is just... unpleasant," he said, making sure to keep his voice down. Loud noises were just annoying anyway, which was probably why America so frequently grated on his nerves.
Russia calmly closed the book, letting the pages whisper together before he set it back on the table. Folding his hands in his lap, he merely continued to eye his American counterpart. Since he was so talkative today, maybe he'd say more unusual things. He didn't want to have to pay attention to America, given he thought the other nation was normally starved for it, but it seemed he didn't have any other choice. He might as well try to make it interesting by staring at him and making him uncomfortable. [/blockquote]
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Post by America on Feb 5, 2012 23:49:15 GMT -5
America mockingly mirrored Russia’s expression, smiling slyly and raising a brow of his own. No, there probably wasn’t anything better he could do with his time, at least while he was stuck in the hallway of the old college. He figured he might as well have fun harassing the other some more.
“Yeah! That is definitely what I meant! There’s no possible way that I meant anything else, because that is the most logical and sense filled thing anyone could pull out of any of that. Wow.” He rambled on nonsensically, sarcasm dripping from each and every word he spoke. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a real gone cat? Because you are! You’re so smart, and all that. If you weren’t all the way over there, I’d say gimme’ some skin, but let’s stay where we are instead, you know? We wouldn’t want to make anything strenuous.”
Boy, was that a chop. The blond figured it didn’t actually matter, so long as he stuck to sarcasm and didn’t go too crazy with actual insults.
So long as it was sarcasm, he could easily swerve the conversation around to appear as if he were actually complimenting Russia in the unlikely event that someone were to poke their head out from the room where the meeting was actually taking place. More importantly, in that instance, his boss wouldn’t be tirelessly whacking him off the back of the head or scolding him and telling him to ‘play nice’.
The idea of having to fake something like that left him feeling uneasy and disgusted enough, but when he pulled himself away from it to find that the man across the room had closed his magazine and was now taking to eying him instead, that feeling increased twofold.
For a moment, America scrunched his nose up. If the Russian’s aim was to make him uncomfortable, he was certainly succeeding. He was used to being watched—with those sporting vast amounts of expressions, ranging from admiration to irritation and confusion—but he definitely wasn’t used to being flat out stared at. It was just plain creepy.
“Um. What are you looking at?”
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Post by Russia on Feb 6, 2012 13:34:18 GMT -5
America's words were certainly not appreciated. Russia felt a tiny little twitch in his face as the younger nation just kept talking. If America was trying deceive him with the sarcasm, it wasn't going to work. Russia was not some simplton who had not yet been versed in the cruel irony of sarcasm. For god's sakes, he was far older than America, he wasn't some naive child in the woods anymore. Granted, his amount of childlikeness was up for debate, but he really didn't care.
He raised an eyebrow when the other man finally stopped his yammering. What was... he... talking about? Cats? Skin? Russia vaguely wondered if this was some sort of strange American fetish. Cats didn't belong in the bedroom, America. He crossed his arms and straightened his back, looking down his nose at America like a disappointed parent.
Russia let his eyebrow go up again in the brief space of words between something about giving skin and "We wouldn’t want to make anything strenuous.” That was certainly... odd. He tried not think too hard about that, he really did, but it just... failed.
"Ew." While his mind was busy cringing and bashing itself into mental brick walls to make the visuals go away, he kept a mostly straight face with that slight smile of his. That was something he never wanted to think about. No, no, no, no, America needed to be clothed at all times and nowhere near him if he was otherwise! The only sign of his mental distress was a slight twitch to his eye.
“Um. What are you looking at?”
"Amerika, you are a pervert."
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Post by America on Feb 8, 2012 0:02:01 GMT -5
"Ew."
At first, the American didn’t bat an eyelash. Had he now managed to repulse Russia without saying anything remotely disgusting? As boss as this initially sounded to him, his expression slowly began screwing up to one of slight irritation. It was probably meant to be an insult.
"Amerika, you are a pervert."
Now, he blinked furiously, as if something were wrong with his eyesight and he was trying to get a better focus on the man seated across from him—which, in retrospect, was probably the last thing he wanted. Him? A pervert? Who did Russia think he was talking to? He took a moment to push his only very slightly skewed glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“What’re you getting at?” He inquired, more confused than irked.
He really hadn’t said anything all too strange, had he? It was a run of the mill sort of thing. He was only being sarcastic the entire time. He’d started with the potentially most hilarious part of his monologue, about Russia being cool. He’d gone on to discussing how ‘smart’ he was, told him about how he wanted him to give him skin but it would be too—oh.
That did sound pretty bad.
It was then that the blond began to splutter, the Russian’s words as well as his own finally clicking somewhere in the back of his usually taintless mind.
“Oh, God, ew! What the hell? You’re a pervert! You’re the one making assumptions, and—I didn’t mean—I mean, I didn’t say anything weird!”
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Post by Russia on Feb 8, 2012 18:35:43 GMT -5
Crossing his arms, Russia leaned back a bit to look down his nose even more incredulously at America. It was obvious his rival had made a sarcastic, would-be pass at him. He couldn't quite bring himself to glare or otherwise change his expression beyond normal, cheerful indifference, but that was absolutely not reflective of their weird algorithms his mind was punching through.
"You’re a pervert!"
At this, Russia tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out stating the obvious made him a pervert. It wasn't like he wanted to even consider the idea of America without clothes, God forbid in his bed! Government policies on such things aside, that was still disturbing. He almost felt like he needed someone to grab bleach and force the visual memory regions of his mind to be sterilized.
Hopefully though, that was the last of those nightmares.
A whipcrack sounded in the back of his head and Russia suddenly wished that bleach treatment for his auditory memory regions too. His eye twitched.
"I didn’t say anything weird!”
What absurdity! How dare America even insinuate that what he said could not be taken in a less than pure form! Russia drummed his knuckles on his arm to let release some of his annoyance with the situation. Sometimes America could just be so idiotically dense.
In that case, Russia would just have to educate him on the context. "Well, Amerika, most people only touch their skin together durink matink process." Sometimes he hated his ability to smile while saying completely unrelated things. Granted, this would probably just unnerve that arrogant youth across from him more. His troubled face was always a bonus.
"Somethink I woult rather not comprehent doink with someone as clearly sexually-deviant as you." Because of course, that was logical.
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Post by America on Feb 9, 2012 7:14:07 GMT -5
"Well, Amerika, most people only touch their skin together durink matink process."
That was all it took. With that, America began flailing his hands about, continuing to splutter, now uselessly, cheeks flushed deeply with immensely awkward and rare embarrassment.
This was not at all the kind of thing he normally discussed, with anyone, not even his former caretakers, let alone someone like Russia! He doubted there was a way he could feel any more disturbed than he was feeling at that moment, with the very same Russian still smiling at him from across the room, seemingly unfazed while he was practically flipping his wig.
“Ew, ew, ew! Oh God! Stop talking! Stop!” The blond pressed his hands against his ears, frantically shaking his head. “I meant a handshake, for Pete’s sake!” He practically squeaked, not able to properly deal with the current conversation anymore—if it could even be classified as a conversation.
Why, oh why did his presidents do these kinds of things to him? He was just a man! A man that happened to be the embodiment of a nation, given, but that didn’t mean he had the skills to handle these kind of ridiculously uncomfortable misunderstandings!
“Not, not—oh God, that’s flipping skanky! I’m not impressionably lenient, or whatever you just said! I wouldn’t even—even if I was blitzed out of my mind, I wouldn’t—with you—ew, ew!”
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Post by Russia on Feb 9, 2012 16:12:41 GMT -5
Well, America's excessive reaction of "ew" was certainly priceless. It was a shame he didn't have his pocket recorder turned on today. This would have made excellent material to play at meetings just to embarrass him. Next time, he'd be certainly remember to flick the damn thing on.
Actually... that was a good idea... Russia slipped his hand into his sleeve and felt around for the small little box strapped to his forearm, silently clicking the little switch in place once he found it. There, now he'd catch the rest of this madness. If only he could record the thrashing around and that oddly appealing color on the American's face. He kind of wanted to poke his cheek.
"oh God, that’s flipping skanky!" Was "skanky" related to skunks? That... made not a lick of sense. Why was America implying that Russia was flipping skunks? That was just stupid, absolutely stupid. "Impressionably lenient" also drew blank space in Russia's mind. That... wasn't even remotely what he'd called America at all. God, America was... What did they say in English? Retarded? "Amerika, I am afraid you may be retardet."
"I wouldn’t—with you—ew, ew!"
At this, Russia took personal offense... and tried not to visibly gag. While the very idea of... "relations" with that capitalist brat made bile rise in his throat, the fact that he'd been referred to personally as "ew" sat even less well with him. He kept that flat smile as he narrowed his eyes very slightly. "Are you tryink to imply that I am not attractiff? How rute off you."
That poor recording device was catching all of this as Russia continued. "Besites, I am repulset by beink in same room with you, let alone thought off you without clothes."
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