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Post by Russia on Feb 22, 2012 16:07:41 GMT -5
After the cringe, Russia's usual expression of grinning at nothingness retook its dominant position on his face. He seemingly casually resumed watching the American while leaning his weight on his knees. No wonder the more poorly mannered Westerners, and even some of his own people, liked to laze about like this; it was oddly comfortable. He felt more like he easily lean across the coffee table, reach out, and slap America should the usual desire to do so become uncontrollable. He'd have to do this more often when no one was looking, because he didn't want to set a bad example for his subordinates. They needed to be disciplined and well-mannered.
“And you called me a pervert. It sounds to me like you’re into some whacky stuff.”
Russia continued to stare at him, although his eyes were a little bit more blank as he retreated into his head for a little... processing time. There was a few minutes of silence as he searched for a way to truly understand what was being said to him. Leather... pervert... whacky. There was nothing whacky or perverted about that. It was perfectly normal, especially if one were to ask Germany.
"Is not 'whacky'," he corrected, still smiling. "Is why I sait you keep your teeth to yourself." He ignored the whip-crack that was starting to becoming background noise in his mind to the conversation that only grew more disturbing as for some reason he couldn't seem to derail the topic. However, maybe America knowing this type of weak point was more embarrassing than actually dangerous. He highly doubted America would use that as an espionage tactic. "You are just a proot." That was the price one paid for having been founded by Puritans.
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Post by America on Feb 25, 2012 5:06:37 GMT -5
America watched Russia as he spoke, one brow quirked in what might have seemed like suspicion. The other was smiling in that uncanny way of his again, so he assumed whatever had made him less creepy for the moment had unfortunately dispersed.
He was sort of hoping to determine what exactly it was that he did to cause that change in expression, simply for the sake of some fun during future encounters. It especially seemed like it could be several different colors of amusing during meetings whilst others were there to witness it. That would probably make them a bit more eventful, as well as bring along barrels full of laughter.
Now that he felt relaxed while thinking about it, Russia cringing was a ridiculously hilarious sight.
“No, no. Whacky fits it about right.” He eventually insisted with a bit of a roll to his eyes. “I mean, here you are going on about teeth and leather, and all that. To be honest—and keep with me, this may come as a huge surprise—but I don’t really want to know about it, or any of your other whacky fetishes.”
That would certainly have been tad too sarcastically rude for his president’s tastes, should he have heard him, but the blond couldn’t bring himself to consider it at the moment. The Russian had gone and called him a ‘proot’, after all. If he were to think of it, he probably would have supposed that to give him some ground to hurl a few stabs or so back in his direction.
Though, again, it wasn’t like he was taking any time to so much as bother giving it any thought. He was in the same room as Russia, after all. Sarcasm and slips of the tongue were a given.
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Post by Russia on Feb 25, 2012 18:48:03 GMT -5
Russia said nothing for a good long while. He just sat there, staring at America and thinking about how he wanted to go about responding. He could respond with words. He could respond with violence. He could respond by getting up, leaving and then being almost berated by his boss. It wasn't like Stalin was still alive. He wouldn't have to face getting smacked around with some random desk object or having a gun pressed to the side of his head. If that psychopath was still alive, Russia would much rather have been stuck in a room with America than that man.
"I don’t really want to know about it, or any of your other whacky fetishes.”
He continued to eye the other nation blankly for a second as he pondered further just... what he wanted to say, that ever-present grin unchanging. Russia hummed for a second before answering. "You were the one who wantet to giff me skin. You startet it." After all, Alfred was the one to initially even suggest such a thing. Granted, Russia's lack of knowledge regarding American English euphemisms quickly led to the downfall of any logical conversation along with all of the subsequent sexually-flavored nonsense that came with it.
"Woult your boss even approof off you makink passes at other men?" Russia made sure to keep his tone even this time, more as though he were genuinely asking a question without trying to be condescending. He knew his own boss would make such a frown at him... something the Soviet leadership was scarily good at doing. Unfortunately, this didn't get them off of the weird topic, but such things had been implied earlier and he wasn't sure if the American government would even see such a suggestion as even remotely kosher. "You are not even goot-lookink." No, Russia didn't know exactly how that was related, but he felt like he needed to put that out there in case the topic decided to swing into an even darker alley of... whatever the hell they were talking about now.
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Post by America on Feb 27, 2012 1:35:20 GMT -5
"You were the one who wantet to giff me skin. You startet it."
“Oh, for the love of—”
With this, the American was just about ready to smack his face off of the nearest wall. Then again, he’d been just about ready to do that the moment he’d gone and set foot inside the college. No, scratch that, since the moment the concept of he and Russia interacting was proposed to him.
He knew he shouldn’t have been feeling anything resembling scorn, because intentions were likely to be well thought out and in their right place, and he had consented—kind of—but honestly, why did his president have to put him in this situation in the first place? He could have met with the Russian Premier on his own. There was no way that Kennedy would have done this to him, was there?
No, wait. No, he didn’t want to think about that right now. There was no sense in making himself depressed on top of his irritation. He settled for shaking his head instead.
“No. No. Alright, no. I’m not doing this. I’m going to make this completely and utterly crystal clear for you. No misinterpretations allowed, sexual, disturbing or otherwise. I meant a handshake. A handshake—the act of taking someone’s hand in yours, moving it up and down, and then releasing it, all in a very brief period of time.” He explained, possibly more serious than he’d ever been in his entire existence. “Nothing else.”
The blond only paused to take a breath, afterward starting straight in on another rant. He wanted to think he looked the equivalent of fear rendering anger, but in reality, with his arms crossed, he only managed to give off the appearance of a pouting child, though he would never have said so himself.
“And just so you know, if you were the last person on the face of Earth, I wouldn’t be making passes at you. I’d be happier hanging out with a shovel. If you don’t think I’m good looking, I don’t care. Nothing could ever make me care. Ladies think I’m a total hunk.”
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Post by Russia on Feb 27, 2012 19:22:33 GMT -5
Russia, unlike certain other nations he could mention, knew it was polite to pay attention when people were talking, especially when they were giving what seemed to be a lecture. Unfortunately, America seemed to be doing just that at the moment. Granted, he didn't generally care for the things America had to say, but he would at least be polite and attentive. That was the civil thing to do. America wasn't very good at "civil", not in Russia's mind.
Ah... so he wanted... a handshake. Russia tilted his head to the side a bit, still smiling even though he'd rather do something to cause America mild discomfort, nothing too terribly "cruel". He hummed for a moment. "I do not want to shake your hant, Amerika~" He paused, leaning back against the couch comfortably, folding his hands in his lap.
Honestly, the vague thought crossed his mind, along with the visual of shaking hands, what it might be like if he just... cut America's hand off and kept in a jar of preservative chemicals. That could be kind of fun. He could put it on his desk or on top of his fireplace. Maybe it could go on his bookshelf next to the bear skull. That would look really nice.
"Which hant do you write with?" America's dominant hand would have been a much more valuable collector's piece. Of course, he had no intention to do such a thing to America, despite it being an interesting idea. Regardless, if he did, it would be kinder to take the less dominant hand. Yet... there would be so much effort involved and he didn't really want America's hand. That would be silly.
However, that lecture he'd listened to not long ago delved once more into who was attracted to whom. America's little spiel was boring, but Russia paid attention, like any cultured person would. "That is nice," he said, much like someone who couldn't particularly care. "Maybe one day, that will matter to someone~" It certainly didn't matter to Russia... or did it? No! No! No! It did not, absolutely not. Maybe his mind was protesting too much, but that was besides the point. He'd thoroughly berate himself later.
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Post by America on Mar 4, 2012 3:14:43 GMT -5
America took another breath, this time a deeper one, feeling in the least bit embarrassed for flying off the handle and spieling like he just did. He was not the type to rant, not at all. He honest to goodness wasn’t. To his knowledge, only cranky old men ranted—because the first person that came to mind when he considered ranting was England, and he didn’t want to put himself on that age level, at least not for another thousand years or so.
As a matter of fact, he wasn’t quite sure he’d ever be ready for that age. The mere thought of being classified as old horrified him.
Though, back to the main point, he supposed he was speaking to Russia. If he propped the uncharacteristic raving up against that, it made a little more sense, much like many things did when he shoved the blame in the other’s general direction. Regardless of why, America didn’t want to lose his cool, not because of him nor in front of him. That would chalk right up as a loss on his part.
“In case you didn’t pick up on it before, I didn’t actually want to shake hands with you.” He made a point to correct. “Just now, I was only telling you what that meant, because with you being you, you’ll hear it again someday and think the same exact thing, and the poor fella’ who said it will be stuck with.. you being you.”
The blond focused back in, now keeping his expression paired along with his mindset relatively leveled. He did, however, find himself feeling jumbled once more as Russia dealt out another inquisition that made no relative sense, only for it to fall into a pile of nonsense within America’s mind. He didn’t even consider the insult that hurled along after it. He was too enticed with trying to decide if Russia knowing of his writing hand was something that could be used against him in some way.
“Uh, well, why do you want to know what hand I write with?” He asked, cautiously, visibly inching back in his seat.
It wasn’t as if he were scared, or anything silly like that. He was only uneasy, because at the moment, there was a dangerous glint in the man’s eyes that he really didn’t want anything to do with. Anyone else in his situation would have felt the same.
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Post by Russia on Mar 4, 2012 16:14:54 GMT -5
Again, America was reiterating his stupid lecture about the meaning of a handshake and insipid insults to Russia's character. What else was new in the world? Hopefully something more interesting than America going on one of his litter rants the said nothing with more words. If America disliked him so much, why was he even still talking to Russia? Wouldn't he just ignore his presence and pretend there was no such being as Russia in existence? No, of course not, that would be too logical.
The younger nation's voice was starting to be annoying at this point. Did he have to keep talking? Was it some sort of compulsive need, like gamblers needing to gamble and alcoholics... needing to drink? Not that Russia knew any alcoholics. No, none at all. There were no alcoholics in the room- Who was he kidding? Normally he drank his troubles away and, after today's encounter, that was going to be especially true. America had a knack for making him nurse the bottle. Maybe if he drank himself to obliteration later, he'd forget what America's stupid voice sounded like for ten minutes. That would be a relief, especially after all of the... things that were implied earlier.
"It helps to know which hant is more valuable to you, is that not obvious?" Russia tilted his head to the side, still grinning innocently as though he'd merely asked about the weather or his rival's health. Granted, he considered America's health at this point moot. Maybe if America conveniently croaked on the floor in front of him, he could just... let one of the delegates in the other room know and strike a deal for the land. That way, he could have both of America's hands in jars. Maybe one of his eyes, too... or his tongue. He could jokingly use it as a reminder for people who talk too much. But, he wouldn't kill America. That would take effort... and would be quite rude. No, America would be left to live, unscathed physically.
Russia continued to hum, not bothering to betray his less than sunshine-filled thoughts. That brat had seen enough of his potential expressiveness today. He wasn't going to blessed with more weak spots. "You talk a lot, Amerika, quite aggravatink~" he said, as though it were a compliment of some sort. He'd half a mind to say that his mouth might be better suited to doing other things as opposed to yapping, but that would probably be taken horribly. He would have only meant eating like a fat, capitalist pig, but no... America was unable to have a clean mind. He kept that thought to himself this time.
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Post by America on Mar 13, 2012 20:55:20 GMT -5
America made a face. In that moment, he was one hundred percent positive that in the entire world, there was neither a person nor country that was more bizarre than the man currently dwelling within the same room as him, and there probably never would be. Minutes ago, Russia had nearly gone and—alright, never mind, he didn’t really want to revisit that—but he’d told him he wasn’t good looking, which was a ridiculous idea on its own. Now, he was going on and inquiring about his writing hand. In all honesty, the blond wasn’t really sure what he was suggesting by that, but he knew for a fact that it didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.
“Is that, uh, really obvious?” He probed for some obscure reason he couldn’t and probably wouldn’t manage to conjure. It only occurred to him that he might regret it after he began speaking. “Because that isn’t the kind of thing I’d be trying to weasel out of someone.”
If he were trying to find someone’s weakness, he’d be aiming more along the lines of allergies, fears and deep, dark, embarrassing secrets. Then again, Russia probably didn’t have more or less harmless pranks in mind. When it came down to it, he didn’t really want to think about what Russia had in mind. The main point being, he wouldn’t be coaxing information about someone’s writing hand.
"You talk a lot, Amerika, quite aggravatink~"
The American made yet another unique face, this time just slightly livid, despite his recent plastered smile. The way Russia sounded so perky despite the insult served to irritate him more than anything.
“Look, cool cat. If you want to end this conversation here and now, I’m fine with that.”
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Post by Russia on Mar 13, 2012 21:36:24 GMT -5
Russia had a hard time associating America with any semblance of logic when talking to him. They never really seemed to understand each other.
“Is that, uh, really obvious?”
He felt almost like America didn't understand him on purpose, as though he made an effort to not connect on an intellectual level. Russia figured it was obvious why he wanted to know about America's hand dominance. Which had more value, either be it collected in a jar to be put on display or be it to just debilitate someone.
“Because that isn’t the kind of thing I’d be trying to weasel out of someone.”
Russia sighed somewhat, neither blatantly out of annoyance or contentment, but somewhere in between. In truth though, annoyance was the source but not the seeming. Still smiling, he shook his head, much like a disappointed father would.
"Your life must be really quite borink~" he mused, figuring that America's hobbies must be quite mundane if something as basic as pondering the mutilation of your rivals seemed unusual to him. Though, he considered it only "pondering." He'd no desire to actually follow through with such nonsense. That would be absolutely barbaric. It was just a passing fancy to think about how such things might work. "I merely debatet the value off puttink your hant in a jar off preservatiff fluit. Nothink terribly unusual~"
Maybe if he did that, he could show it to Prussia. Prussia might be amused by that, but... maybe not, considering Prussia had helped teach that brat how to fight. Better not to show that to him then.
“Look, cool cat. If you want to end this conversation here and now, I’m fine with that.”
Russia raised one eyebrow very slightly. "I am not cat, Amerika," he said, feeling a little confused. Great, now America was hallucinating about Russia being a cat. "Perhaps you haff some sort off fever ant neet to see physician?" America was making some interesting faces over there... It was actually kind of amusing.
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Post by America on Mar 14, 2012 8:50:09 GMT -5
“Hey, my life is plenty fun!” America retorted. He always had to justify himself. It couldn’t really be described as a good or a bad habit, though maybe a bad idea at the time, considering who he was speaking to. “I go out dancing a lot. I don’t even need to go trollin’, because the chi—I mean, the ladies all see my moves and come up to me on their own. And I’ve been keeping up with all the new toys. They’re real neat. Oh, and when I can, I surf! I might even truck on over for some surfing once this is wrapped up.” He paused, feigning sudden realization for a moment. His smile became small and tilted as he spoke. “But then again, you’re too busy trudging through snow for food in your spare time, right? You don’t really know what fun is.”
Had he a few moments, he would have relished in that genius insult, because it really never did get old. As per usual in their conversation, however, the Russian was spouting things that made his thought process grind to a startling, helpless halt, the blond’s amusement be damned.
"I merely debatet the value off puttink your hant in a jar off preservatiff fluit. Nothink terribly unusual~"
“Jar.. of preservative fluid.” He repeated to himself, blankly, only serving to reflect the way he was now staring blankly at the Russian.
It took him a good minute to wrap his mind around the words, but only the words. Comprehending them was a different matter entirely. That took another minute. As a matter of fact, even when he managed to comprehend them, he was left speechless; a predicament the blond didn’t find himself in all too frequently. His mouth merely fell open wordlessly.
Wait, what?
"I am not cat, Amerika,"
America shook his head frantically, beyond perplexed, holding his hands up in an attempt to bring the topic back before he ended up all the more confused. Luckily, he’d somehow caught his tongue.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute—no, hold on, never mind cats or your weird misinterpretations. Did you just say a jar? A jar of preservative fluid? Putting my hand in it? Is that what you just said?”
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Post by Russia on Mar 14, 2012 9:28:47 GMT -5
More talking... more talking about absolutely nothing important. That was something he could let America have, the ability to tell him nothing in very many words. It was like a super power. Russia didn't even bother attempting to understand what he was going on about now. "Trollin'." Was that even a word?
... Toys. Did America seriously say that he was staying current on toys? Like for children? Well, America was very much like a child so it almost made sense. "Why do you play with children's toys, Amerika?" he asked, keeping his tone even, "Is that why you are so childish sometimes? Because you play with toys insteat off readink books?" He let out another of those undefinable sighs. "Perhaps I shoult confront Angliya about his parentink behaviors~" There was a brief pause of silence as Russia tried to think of a relevant English idiom. He knew there was one, he just had to think of it. Oh, that was it. "All play ant no work makes Jack a stoopit boy." That was definitely it.
Russia wasn't even going to bother addressing logic of driving a truck into the ocean to surf on top of the of the truck. America was just saying crazy things now just to sound crazy, wasn't he? "You are completely loony-" Russia stopped mid-sentence America brought up that.
“You’re too busy trudging through snow for food in your spare time, right? You don’t really know what fun is.”
His eye twitched slightly. How dare he? This impudent child, what did he know of constant hunger? Since the beginning of his life, his people have starved and struggled. It has been almost centuries since America's people would have been at that ever-present risk of starvation, hadn't it? Russia honestly didn't know for sure. He'd only really started giving him any validity in existence since after America's little "revolution".
"Is not joke, Amerika..." Now he was really starting to get annoyed again, but he had to hide it. This brat was just so good at upsetting him, hitting all of those little nerves that made him want just get up and casually choke the life out of that little runt. No, no, no, that would be rude. Besides, who knows where America has been.
“Is that what you just said?”
America was not only stupid and hallucinating, now he was deaf. Would it be a mercy to choke the life out of him? Would Russia be doing America a favor at this point? He rubbed the side of his own face in frustration before pinching the bridge of his nose to think. The goal now was to remain calm. He'd just... stay calm, wouldn't get upset again, and then he'd go home... and drink. "Indeet, is what I sait, Amerika, use your ears."
Normally, Russia really... never wanted to actually hurt anyone, but America was starting to be the exception to the rule. He was asking for it.
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Post by America on Mar 26, 2012 15:22:49 GMT -5
Despite his general flabbergast and disturbed mindset over the man’s comment regarding body parts held within jars full of preservative fluid, America’s lips did subconsciously quirk to a more cross frown at the following chastising of his liking to toys and similarly his ‘immaturity’, as well as the mention of England as a parental figure.
It was true, England was someone he looked up to—though he wouldn’t admit it—and he had once been a father figure to him, but now he wasn’t. He wasn’t anything even remotely close to resembling one. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much exactly, but the main point had nothing to do with the why or how, just the fact that it did. It just did, and for now, he’d resolve for blaming the fact that it was Russia who had referred to the constantly huffing Englishman as such.
Why was America bothering thinking so much about this? He should just chew him out already. That’s what he wanted, after all—but no. He’d gone and agreed to play nice, if not completely then to some degree. Him and his big mouth. Why did he have to go and do that? He could have just established the fact that he’d try, and he certainly tried, so he wouldn’t feel any kind of remorse.
Sighing, he straightened his posture a bit.
“Listen, alright. For one, toys are great. And they aren’t just for kids.” The blond went on to defend, not bothering to hide the fact that a chord had been struck, though he most certainly wasn’t getting upset about anything regarding the toys. “Next, England isn’t my parent. He’s..” He struggled for an appropriate word for a moment or two before gingerly shaking his head. “England. Also, just so you know, I think you have it backwards. You’re the one who’s the loony.”
The only thing that gave him the smallest amount of satisfaction and negated the blow was the way he could tell that his words from before were working their way under the Russian’s skin. He could just hear it in his voice. Even though he might feel stupidly guilty for it later, in the moment, it was something of a great accomplishment.
"Indeet, is what I sait, Amerika, use your ears."
America opened his mouth to respond, almost instantly closing it. There were so many things wrong with what Russia had just said that that he could hardly bring himself to acknowledge them aloud. Not only had the man just confirmed that he’d issued what he thought he had without the slightest hitch, but he was now talking as if it were completely normal.
Oh, God. He really was a loony. It wasn’t like he was all too surprised, though. He’d already known that.
“It’s not my ears, cool cat. It’s your head.” He finally settled for retorting, wanting to roll his eyes once more, but stifling the urge.
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Post by Russia on Mar 26, 2012 17:48:30 GMT -5
America just couldn't admit that he was in the wrong, could he? No, he had to constantly defend his position no matter how absurd it was. Every day, Russia believed America took "pig-headed" to new levels. He'd figured there would have to be a limit, but no, America shattered that little ray of hope.
“Listen, alright. For one, toys are great. And they aren’t just for kids.”
Here we go again, he thought. America was going to start blabbering stupidly again about how he was right and Russia was wrong because he was a "stupid commie" or something just as insipid. This time Russia wasn't even going to be polite and pay attention; America didn't deserve that from him anymore. All he heard was something about England and the very last line.
“You’re the one who’s the loony.”
Russia was getting tired of constantly being told he was crazy in some manner. It was really starting to be insulting. He wasn't crazy. He knew America just wrote off half of the things he did as Russia just being that "crazy commie again", but it was really starting to get old. He wasn't insane... Well, he didn't feel like he was at any rate. Just because he did things differently didn't mean he was off his rocker.
It was a miracle, America wiped the smile off Russia's face once more in a single day, let alone a single conversation, replacing it with a deep frown that seemed almost unnatural on him. Luckily, it was only for the moment.
“It’s not my ears, cool cat. It’s your head.”
That was it.
"Amerika, shut up~"
It was a quiet sentence, barely audible. The words were accompanied by a wide grin that seemed force in place and twitching in spots as though it wasn't real. His eyes widened as they locked on the idiotic bastard across from him.
He'd had more than enough lip out of that punk today and if America wanted a fight, well, he'd have one. Russia was now officially upset. His desire to originally leave America unharmed remained true, but it seemed like ability to make that choice was slipping away from him as he sat there, shaking a small bit.
Russia could feel the agitation in his stomach from earlier bubbling and boiling into condensed anger. He wasn't crazy. It frothed and seethed, burning slightly as it leeched into his blood and nerves. It almost seemed like a surge of strength, a need to move to release the sudden pent up energy. America had really gone a bit too far this time. He wasn't crazy. That coffee table didn't look too terribly heavy at all.
"Just shut up~"
Russia wasn't crazy.
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Post by America on Mar 26, 2012 20:04:30 GMT -5
America raised his brows as the man seated across from him uttered something incomprehensible. It was a genuine surprise to him that he couldn’t quite make it out, even with his experience reading his twin’s lips those times he got just a bit too quiet under his belt. When he took a flitting moment to think about it, he supposed he was on the other side of the room, and he may have even considered he’d just been hearing things, but the way the lips he’d been eying suddenly curled up in such an inhuman manner screamed otherwise.
The blond’s eyes widened, mouth falling open in sync. A small choking sound he didn’t know was his own escaped him.
No, he wasn’t scared. He couldn’t get scared. The United States of America didn’t get scared, and human side of him wasn’t exempt to that. As a matter of fact, the face Russia was making wasn’t in the least bit scary. It was just.. immensely unsettling. No one should be capable of smiling like that. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to call that positively manic expression a smile.
The next thing he knew, the other was speaking again.
"Just shut up~"
Well, he certainly heard that loud and clear.
Maybe he had went and prodded a little too hard. He would be regretting it sooner than later—in terms of his guilt, because he wasn’t frightened in the least bit. There was nothing to fear, after all. He was just in the same room as someone who wasn’t at all borderline psychotic, didn’t look like something out of a horror film and most certainly didn’t have a glint in his eyes that implied homicide.
That’s right. There was nothing wrong. Russia just liked to smile a little too much. That’s all. He was the same level of creepy as he was a minute or two ago. Nothing had changed.
“Woah. Cool it. Don’t get crazy on me.” He laughed, holding up his hands in playful defense.
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Post by Russia on Mar 26, 2012 21:45:11 GMT -5
The shifting expression on America's face was oddly satisfying. Russia felt the burn quell just slightly, enough to be tolerable for the time being until he could separate himself from this fool and drink himself into cheerful oblivion where nothing could disturb him. Maybe this wouldn't escalate at all. Russia wasn't crazy. They could let this go and move o-
“Woah. Cool it. Don’t get crazy on me.”
That which had quelled flared again. He wasn't crazy. Yes, that table would do quite nicely. It was light, balanced and America was within easy reach.
"I am not crazy, Amerika~" he said, expression unchanging except for the intensifying twitch that felt rather uncomfortable.
America was telling lies. Russia wasn't crazy, he was never crazy. He was perfectly in his right mind and America was just a bigoted idiot who had a grudge against him for whatever reason. He was probably jealous that money didn't rule the lives of Soviet citizens (ideally, whether or not it was the truth being irrelevant) the way it held the position of almighty God for the citizens of capitalist nations like the United States.
Russia knew he wasn't crazy. His hands found the underside of the table and felt around for purchase. Clenching his hands, cracks began to form in the wood and splinters started breaking off. Small puffs of wood dust dissipated into the air. This would do... He wasn't crazy.
A flick of his wrists flipped the table upside down, letting the wooden structure hit the flat of it's top surface on the floor with a CRACK! A bit of the fire relaxed itself for a brief moment. The rest needed to be satisfied. Forcing himself to his feet, Russia bent down just enough to grab the table again, lifting it off the ground by one end. More dust and splinters found their way into the air, floating away far more quietly than his thoughts swirled.
The wood's surface was smooth save for the brand new cracks and chipped areas. America's face would make a nice imprint on the table, he thought. It would take no effort at all to just swing the damn piece of furniture like a bat and satisfy the burn in his muscles... He practically beamed as he aimed the suggestion at America's stupid face.
Russia wasn't crazy.
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