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Post by America on Feb 9, 2012 20:24:02 GMT -5
Still flustered, America pursed his lips as well as he was able to, considering his spaz attack not a few seconds previous.
He didn’t bother dignifying the retarded comment with a response. Or course he wasn’t retarded! He just knew how to have fun! He wouldn’t put it past Russia to not know what fun was, though. After all, he probably thought treading through three foot deep snow for half the day to get a loaf of bread was an eventful activity for the centuries. The American shuddered just thinking about it.
“I’m—” He hesitated, taking a moment to choose his words carefully. It wasn’t like he was worried about hurting the other’s feelings, if the things that Russia felt were normal feelings. God, no. That was his primary intention, if he could manage it. He just didn’t want to say anything that could be flipped around on him. “.. Not into that!”
The blond made an uncomfortable expression at the even more uncomfortable topic, not wasting any time in discarding it.
“And besides, if that’s rude, then what you’re saying is three times as rude! I look pretty damn good with my shirt off, lemme’ tell ya’! The chicks are always calling me a hunk!”
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Post by Russia on Feb 9, 2012 20:43:15 GMT -5
Unfortunately, or fortunately as some might interpret this, Russia couldn't help but hear that less-than-appropriate whip-crack down in the back of his head once more at the words "not into that." Oh God, why couldn't he just remove his brain and scrub it clean? He could do that with his heart, this wasn't fair. The very thought of whips and leather and Ameri- Oh God, make it stop! His eye twitched again. Maybe if he added chains it would be bett- No! Bad Russia, no! He mentally chastised himself.
Unfortunately, not enough vodka and tea would ever quite wipe away the visual that followed at the mention of... chicks. Russia could only think of Prussia's little pet bird. That was called a "chick", right? He wasn't sure what a "hunk" was, but he assumed it was some sort of term meaning an attractive and virile male. Gross... at least when used towards America. Russia had seen what that boy ate, there was no way he was some sort of chiseled marble statue of masculinity. That would just be illogical. No! He was not going to picture tha- It burned so badly! His eye twitched again, especially since the picture involved little chicks everywhere... doing... things... he'd rather not ponder too much.
"Amerika, why do you molest baby chickens? Haff you no moral standarts?" he asked, still smiling, although he genuinely wished he wasn't. It did strike him, though, as abnormal that America would prefer baby chickens over other animals if he was into bestiality. Didn't most people who molested animals prefer dogs or horses? America was so odd... even in his fetishes.
He'd have to make sure America never came to visit Prussia for the sake of the poor man's pet bird. That thing was always so cute and precious. He couldn't stand the thought of America touching it! Prussia would be so upset if anything happened to his bird... That would make Russia upset... which would make America dead.
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Post by America on Feb 10, 2012 7:11:08 GMT -5
"Amerika, why do you molest baby chickens? Haff you no moral standarts?"
At that, America buried his face in his hands, uttering a certain few inappropriately crude words his president would most definitely disapprove of him shouting to the nation he was currently supposed to be having a hearty time making friends with. He’d already gone and set the bar below that, at least to the point of being something resembling civil with the man, but that was going to be more and more difficult, he could tell.
They just had to be discussing the most awkward subjects known to man. It had somehow trailed along to sexual preference, and now it was bestiality? How was Russia coming up with these things? Was he still taking his words literally? He couldn’t help but think if he were outside the situation, it would be hysterical. Or maybe if he were the one yanking the other’s chain and being uselessly literal. Someone should make a cartoon or a comic like that.
Regardless, the things he was choosing to be particularly literal about were frightful. How long would it be until all the blood in the blond’s body rushed to his face? Probably not long.
He finally tore his face away from him hands, eying the Russian with bewildered embarrassment and annoyance at the same time. This was just getting ridiculous.
“Not chickens! God, I’m not into that either. Chicks! Chicks as in ladies! ” He asserted.
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Post by Russia on Feb 10, 2012 13:35:02 GMT -5
If only he could just... absorb America's despair. It was invaluable. He wanted to capture it and remember it forever, not having to share it with anyone else. No, that was going to be his bottled despair and no one else could have it. He'd put it on a shelf in his study, labelled "America's Despair". It would be perfect and he'd be the only one to dust it because he couldn't trust any of the Baltics or Prussia to clean it and not break it. This item was irreplaceable.
Unfortunately, while he pondered how exactly he was going to bottle America's elicited negative emotions, the train of thought was interrupted... well, derailed, really, by words.
"Chicks! Chicks as in ladies!"
That was horribly rude of him! Russia sighed and wondered just how much of America's behavior he was going to have to correct before these stupid meetings were over. "You refer to your women as farm animals? No wonder you are so naive, no one woult come near you." America probably winked at his women too, treating them like prostitutes. That was so low-brow. It did explain a lot about why America was such a brat. Anyone would be a brat if they never got laid.
...
Wait, then what did that say about himself?
No, no, that was quiet different. He chose not to, for reasons no one needed to know about. It wasn't like America, considering America didn't know anything at while he himself did at least know things from experience. Yes, there was quite a distinct difference.
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Post by America on Feb 13, 2012 0:29:59 GMT -5
America stared Russia down head to toe, as unable to decipher his unchanging expression as always. When it came down to it, he was more than confident in the fact that he probably wouldn’t want to know or come to understand so much as a sliver what he was thinking in the first place. It would probably be more disturbing than the things that actually came out of his mouth.
“Farm animals.” He repeated to himself, soft bewilderment now turning incredulous. After a few good moments of properly digesting the words, he nodded slowly, as if coming to a great understanding of sorts. “Y’ know what I think, guy? I think you’re way too serious about everything. It wouldn’t kill you to hang a little loose sometimes, would it?”
The blond’s lips twitched into a smile, the slightest whisper of white teeth appearing beneath them. It was a funny idea—Russia acting like a normal person in terms of humor and conversation. Then again, Russia acting normal in any way was a heck of a concept in general.
"No wonder you are so naive, no one woult come near you."
Well, that was a short lived moment of amusement if he ever had one. The should-have-been-scowl that came across as more sulky than anything had returned at full force.
“I’m not naïve! I told you already, they think I’m a complete and utter hunk. They’d straight out faint at the idea of even a date with me. No lie.”
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Post by Russia on Feb 13, 2012 0:54:00 GMT -5
Russia continued to just kind of look at America blankly, returning the odd stare. That was oddly unsettling. Maybe it was because he just wasn't used to being looked with anything than malice or fear... or... whatever emotion that was Belarus looked at him with. He was never able to legitimately sort that out. However, that was neither here nor there.
Why was America looking him up and down anyway? He knew that was what the younger nation doing; he saw his eyes going up and down. Wasn't that something people did when they were double-checking to see if someone was attractive? Oh... Oh, God, America was going to flirt with him in the near future. Gross! Or America thought he was a hooker... That was worse! Russia would never take payment for such a thing; he couldn't even dream of it... let alone from America. Dear Lord, that was madness. "Stop that," he said, keeping calm, "I am not a prostitute."
Slight indignation showed in his tone, especially at what followed with the accusations of being too serious. Russia was never too serious. He was always the right kinds of serious. It was just America that was never the right kinds of serious. America never took anything seriously and that was the main problem!
And... hang loose? What? Russia... crossed his legs, feeling a tiny bit mentally violated. Was America trying to imply that he was constantly in the midst of some sort of... problem? How crude... and illogical. Of course one couldn't constantly walk around like that. One, it'd be pretty obvious on most people. Two, you wouldn't be able to think straight (not that America could think straight in the first place, such a thing would only make it worse). Three, there was no way in hell that was even remotely healthy. Russia merely resumed looking down his nose at America.
Things only became stranger when America continued talking. "They’d straight out faint at the idea of even a date with me. No lie."
Russia uncrossed his legs, planting both feet firmly on the floor before leaning forward and resting his weight on his knees. He tilted his head, still giving America the quizzical expression that seemed to hallmark his feelings for anything today. How to... address this bizarre claim?
Well, he could just let it go, but he could ask America to make good on that claim. "Proof it." He kept his voice flat except for the slight note of challenge in the tone. "Show me what makes your dates so valuable." Granted, he really hoped America would decline because the very thought of... willingly spending time with America, especially in such a connotation made him want to regurgitate his breakfast.
Russia reminded himself that this was all for the humor of watching America squirm.
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Post by America on Feb 13, 2012 2:28:39 GMT -5
Russia’s expression hadn’t faltered in the slightest, as per usual, and it wasn’t like America could explain why, but it looked to him as if gears were steadily beginning to turn behind his eyes. It left him feeling strangely nervous, almost enough so that he wanted to inch back in his seat.
"Stop that. I am not a prostitute."
.. Wait, what was that? Did he hear that right? Now they were suddenly talking about prostitution? Had Russia just went and negated any suggestion that he himself could be one? Did the blond accidentally allude to that somehow? No, he was relatively sure he didn’t, because the last thing he wanted to do was continue having awkward conversations with the man currently inhabiting the same hallway as he was, and making reference to something like that would in no way aid his case.
Not able to make sense of the whiplash, he shook his head, turning his gaze back in the direction of the one who was saying the things that rendered him completely and utterly abashed in the first place.
“I.. don’t really think I said anything about prostitutes.” He managed, stumbling over some befuddled laughter.
Wait, wait. Hold the phone. What was he doing now? Was he crossing his legs? Why was he crossing his legs? Did he have to pee, or something? God, did his boss owe him for this. No, he did not want to be a bathroom escort for the older nation. That was just ridiculous. That wasn’t in the contract. Come to think of it, there wasn’t a contract in the first place. Why he was resorting to make up these imaginary contracts to make his thoughts in the least bit more amusing, he didn’t know. It was probably because he was frustrated and bored on top of it.
Before he had a chance to begrudgingly suggest a bathroom break to Russia, the man had gone and uncrossed his legs, now leaning toward him. America felt his expression screw up for the umpteenth time.
"Show me what makes your dates so valuable."
.. Alright, there was no possible way he’d just heard that properly. Maybe the boredom was getting to him.
“Uh..” He fumbled around with his words for a moment, much like one would hesitate before forming a sentence in a language they were still just beginning to practice. “Are you asking me to show you where the bathroom is?” He inquired dumbly, more bemused than before. The urge to inch back was more prominent than before, especially considering the fact that the Russian seemed to be inching forward. “Because, well, I actually don’t have a clue.”
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Post by Russia on Feb 13, 2012 2:56:59 GMT -5
America didn't think he implied anything about Russia being a prostitute? Seriously. His eyebrows narrowed just a tiny bit in annoyance. No one looks someone up and down just because they can! France was the only exception to that rule and thus France was exempt, allowed to look whenever he liked as long as clothes remained in place and hands remained to themselves. The only thing missing from the proclamation of being a street-walker was the winking! "Then do not look me up ant down like one," he grumbled, a little more blatantly indignant than before as he leaned over his knees. "How crude..."
“Are you asking me to show you where the bathroom is?”
Russia forced his smile into a straight line. Now America was just being completely dense. Was he doing this on purpose for a joke? It wasn't really funny. He forced air out of his nose in an audible huff.
"Amerika... That is not what I sait at all, are you even listenink?" His words were coming a bit faster as they spewed from his tongue. Russia hated losing his temper but America was stepping on all of his frayed nerves today like an expert in the subject. There was no way this was an accident. There was no way America was this damn stupid. "If you will pay attention for fife seconts maybe you woult actually know what was goink on..." It felt unnatural, hearing emotional intonation in his own voice, especially with the volume heading up, almost to a shout.
He extended one hand towards America, pointing his index finger at the air. If his boss saw him being rude by pointing, he'd certainly get a lecture, but at the moment, that was not important. At the moment, America was being a nitwit. "I was tellink you to take me on a dat-"
Russia paused, eyes wide as that finger bent inward weakly. What... did he just... say...? Oh God.
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Post by America on Feb 13, 2012 4:36:11 GMT -5
America wondered with a faint bit of amusement if he’d actually presided in making Russia angry as he rambled strings of sentences he only half registered. It now sounded more like he was shouting than speaking. He couldn’t help but think that it was a bit odd, because he wasn’t specifically saying anything that he expected to be particularly irritating, but he’d take it, as minor a victory as it was.
"If you will pay attention for fife seconts maybe you woult actually know what was goink on..."
It seemed he’d chosen a bad time to tune back in. He almost rolled his eyes despite his immense confusion and discomfort, and was actually going to, at least up until the other opened his mouth again.
"I was tellink you to take me on a dat-"
.. Oh. Oh.
That—he had been paying enough attention to fully register. The blond forced himself not to gape, sort of wishing he hadn’t been paying attention.
As if things weren’t awkward enough as they stood.
He struggled to sport the best poker face he could manage, but as it turned out, the expression he managed could hardly be classified as anything resembling something calm or unaffected. Awkwardly reaching to scratch at the back of his neck, he tried to resist the predominant reaction of uncomfortably averting his eyes. Really, how much more awkward could this possibly get? What was he expected to make of this? Russia had practically almost just asked him on a.. a..
No, no. He wouldn’t use the D word.
The Russian had caught himself, but there was no way America could be mistaken in what he’d almost said, even with his high levels of obliviousness taken into consideration. He normally would have second guessed himself and instantly toss the idea out the window, like he had moments previous, but the fact that Russia’s placid demeanor had flopped to something he couldn’t exactly describe was a dead enough give away.
Was he messing with him? It could have been some.. weird.. Russian stab and failure at humor, he figured. Maybe he wasn’t even paying attention to what he was saying and lost himself in some sarcastic retort. Yes. That might have been it.
Well, it wasn’t like that would make anything any less awkward, even if America were lucky enough for any bit of that nonsense to be true.
“Um.” He began, fumbling with his words once again, this time much more severely. Really, what could he possibly be expected to reply with? What else could he ever do but state but the obvious? “Wow. This is awkward.”
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Post by Russia on Feb 13, 2012 17:42:33 GMT -5
For once, Russia thought, he and America were in agreement. This entire situation was awkward and he didn't think either of them knew what was going on anymore. Slight color went to his face as he made himself sit back against the couch once more, trying to not look nearly as confused as he was. Instead of smiling though, his face went completely blank once the initial color of shame faded away.
He could hardly believe he'd just said that... to anyone, let alone America, of all people. There was no way he'd really meant that. There was no way at all.
Russia would never have wanted to spend time with that brat in such a manner. Besides the fact that America was... well, he was America, he was several hundred years younger than the Soviet. That was just... disturbing, wasn't it? Sure, they all pretty much stopped aging at one point in their lives (granted in the past few decades Russia had been feeling his years creep up on him), but that wasn't the point of the matter! He was no cradle-robber! Good heavens, everyone thought he was a horrible "creep" or "pervert" as it was. Honestly, though, he had no idea where they'd gotten those concepts from.
He folded his hands in his lap and tried to look up at the ceiling. Well, this day had just gone... all sorts of wrong, hadn't it? Granted, it was already an awful day because he even had to pay remote amounts of attention to America today, but this... whole... mis-communication had made everything horrendously worse. When he got home... Russia was going to drink vodka until he blacked out, threw up, and blacked out again. Especially to get that visual of America without clothes out of his head and that whip-cracking in the background was not helping. Oh God... Oh God, that awful... His eye twitched again as he resisted the urge to pull out his handgun, put it under his chin and torque the trigger.
"So... we shoult make it clear now that farm animals do not belonk in bedrooms, okey?"
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Post by America on Feb 18, 2012 0:24:54 GMT -5
America felt he’d need to invest in something a little heavier than beer later that night, because the idea of he and Russia on a—God, no, he still couldn’t use that D word. Russia and the D word should not be in the same sentence, nor paragraph. No, they flat out shouldn’t be in the same anything. Same was and never would be a good word to connect those two words. Regardless, the idea made him want to crawl behind the couch he currently inhabited and never come out.
Deciding it was high time that he washed his hands clean of the topic and any ideas or images that might float along behind it, he swallowed, finally succumbing to casting his gaze toward the floor. It was predictably more comfortable than forcing himself to keep contact with Russia’s icy violets. For once, pride be damned.
The blond cleared his throat and nodded without giving much thought as to why he was nodding, quietly shuffling his feet as he did so. He couldn’t quite find the usual pointless but endless amusement in the way the sides of the soles squeaked when pressed together and embarrassedly pursed his lips in place of silly grins and giggles.
“Uh. Yeah.” He replied lamely, sinking back into the cushions. “Keep them in the barn where they belong, and all that.”
Though it irked at him, he didn’t bother addressing the fact that no one had once mentioned anything pertaining to farm animals in bedrooms. There really was no use, and it felt immensely awkward to be speaking any more than the bare minimum at the moment.
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Post by Russia on Feb 18, 2012 17:53:33 GMT -5
This day had turned out absolutely horrible and full of so many confusing words and concepts, some of which were downright disturbing and disgusting. Oh God, the very thought of... America... That would haunt him to his grave and given their immortality, that was going to be a very, very long time. Hopefully this wouldn't noticeably accelerate the rate at which he consumed alcohol. Maybe he could negate the nagging by merely switching to something with a higher proof... assuming that even existed.
America was probably going to need to get completely sloshed as well, he reasoned, so maybe he could ask what the highest proof liquor they had was. That would be logical and perhaps even fair. Besides, he didn't want any of the Baltics (except Latvia) or his sisters to start nagging him about his drinking... again. He'd give it up one of these days, really, he would!
Russia folded his hands together and leaned his weight on his knees again. He'd already betrayed more expression to America today than he'd rather wanted to... ever and this conversation was absolutely exhausting in addition to everything else wrong with it.
"What is the highest proof alcohol producet in your country?"
Well, while brain bleach didn't technically exist, some strong liquor would be a good substitute. It conveniently "bleached" his liver though at the same time, which was certainly a negative side-effect. It made him wonder if his immortality would be able to support that habit. Oh well, he wasn't going to stop any time soon.
He glanced up at America through his bangs just to make sure the younger nation was still listening. Unfortunately, the second he made eye contact with the American, that blasted whip-crack sounded again in the back of his head. Russia's eye twitched, making him look back down at the ground.
That sound led to the smell of leather and the thought of teeth, hair being pulled... Oh God, no, no, no, no. That was just so wrong, especially with... that bastard child across from him! If only that characteristic smile would go away... just for a little bit. It didn't fit right now with how he was feeling inside. In fact, he was feeling a bit queasy. That was what he told himself at least.
Russia clenched his jaw shut for a second, mentally sighing before relaxing again.
"Amerika, please keep your teeth to yourself."
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Post by America on Feb 19, 2012 23:38:30 GMT -5
America would have been perfectly content if their what-probably-couldn’t-have-been-considered-a-conversation ended then and there. He would have been glad to stare down at the floor, even to the point where the creases in the wood would start to look like faces. With the way everything he’d said made something take an awkward downturn for the worst, he would have been happy to be silent for once. He would have been even happier if Russia had played along and remained silent as well—but no. Of course not.
"What is the highest proof alcohol producet in your country?"
At that, the blond’s attention was torn away from the flooring more or less against his will and focused on the man seated on the other side of the room. Heat assumed his cheeks once more as he struggled to keep a straight face.
What on Earth was he trying to suggest now?
His stomach did all sorts of unpleasant twists and turns as they made eye contact. For a flicker of a moment, he thought he’d vomit, but he didn’t, and simply watched with arched brows as the Russian averted his gaze. For some reason, that made him feel all the more fidgety.
"Amerika, please keep your teeth to yourself."
That only served to wrack his nerves further. He wanted to punch himself for shuddering like he did. There was no reason to shudder! Yes, the things Russia was saying were more disturbing than they normally were, but that didn’t mean he had to shudder like he was out in frigid, winter air! That was downright ridiculous!
Though he tried to convince himself of this, it wasn’t exactly effective in calming him down.
“My teeth? What—what—”
It was funny, because America had grown and developed upon standards and under those who served as constant reminders that God loved him. They’d practically drilled it into his head, to the point where it was difficult for him to so much as consider thinking otherwise. Now, being in a situation like this, he wasn’t sure. If God loved him, then why was he spluttering indispensably in this more awkward than awkward situation? How was it steadily becoming more awkward, even when he remained silent?
“Are you.. asking me to a bar?” He finally blurted out.
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Post by Russia on Feb 20, 2012 20:33:21 GMT -5
Russia only barely noticed the weird shudder that went through his opponent. That was... strange, but he decided not to draw attention to it. America was probably just being perverted again and maybe if Russia ignored it, it would go away all on its own, unlike the things he wanted to bleach from his skull.
“Are you.. asking me to a bar?”
However, this caught his attention. Russia tilted his head to the side, no longer smiling at all but merely seeming devoid of emotion. Well, at least that was what he'd rather have portrayed. America couldn't be serious. There was no way he'd ask that brat to a bar.
Wasn't he "underage" in his own country anyway when asked to present paperwork? Granted, he could have been wrong, but he certainly remembered America being quite young on paperwork. That could have been a memory malfunction though. Sometimes Russia had those. His own paperwork listed him at about twenty-five these days. He really was starting to show more of his age, but that didn't really matter. He could still get a drink in most countries without people stopping him. At home, the point was irrelevant. Drinking age? What a myth.
"Нет, Amerika," he said, trying to not sound condescending after his earlier outburst that lead to things being said he wished would just be erased from the time-line of things that ever happened. Unfortunately, this time, he couldn't keep himself from being blunt. Normally, he'd have liked to dance around the point, but today just... was not his day.
"I want to scour my brain off you in leather." Oh, that felt disgusting to say. Russia visibly cringed for once in his life with his tongue out before regaining composure.
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Post by America on Feb 22, 2012 15:48:25 GMT -5
America felt his shoulders begin to sink. He watched the Russian with wary eyes, looking somewhat skeptical.
So he wasn’t asking him to a bar? Well, it wasn’t as if the blond was disappointed, or anything. Obviously not, when the thought of being in a room with the man for even a few seconds practically made him gag.
“Ehh. If you say so. Before, it sort of sounded like, you know—” He caught himself, frantically shaking his head and pursing his lips before he ended up saying something that might take the conversation back down a road he definitely didn’t want it to. This particular road was one he now engraved as one he wanted to avoid at all costs. “Never mind.”
All of the sudden, the leather of the couch he was seated at was very interesting to America. He took to prodding at it in favor of more warped discussion.
"I want to scour my brain off you in leather."
With that statement, all the sense the American could make out was jumbled a good, incomprehensible measure, which, to be fair, wasn’t a lot to begin with. It was like a train was crashing in the confines of his mind. Had Russia just said something about him in leather? Is that what he’d heard? Was he cringing? He’d never seen Russia cringe, let alone express any kind of emotion aside from creepiness. Yes, creepiness was an emotion, especially if you were Russia. The blond had come to this conclusion a long time ago.
“Leather.” He finally managed, practically spitting the word. It took a moment, but his skepticism returned at full force. “And you called me a pervert. It sounds to me like you’re into some whacky stuff.”
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