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Post by Russia on Apr 28, 2012 19:56:16 GMT -5
Russia pulled his hand back, resuming his earlier game of bouncing it up and down in his palm. It was so small. He never ceased to be in awe of just how tiny they could make such sophisticated devices these days. It was almost magical. One day, he thought, they might have them small enough to implant in someone's skin without them even noticing or having any sort of pain. That would certainly be interesting.
"Looks like we’ve got a regular ace detective over here."
"Hm?" he looked over at America again when he continued talking.
"I might as well just give up now. How will I ever get anything past you?"
He closed his hand over the device, trapping it in his palm. "You are still messink with me, I think... Is not really appreciatet." He messed with America all of the time, but that was completely different. He did it out of boredom while America seemed to do it out of some sort of malice. Russia wasn't surprised though, especially considering how upset his rival was beginning to look. What was wrong with him now?
"Are you being serious right now? What the hell were you trying to do?"
Russia sighed, dropping his hand to slide the recording device into his pocket so he didn't lose it. Taking his time, he leisurely adjusted his gloves and the cuffs of his sleeves to make sure they were in the proper place. Wasn't the purpose of a recording device obvious? It was to record things and gather information for later. Sometimes America was such a simpleton.
With a smile, he tilted his head to the side as he thought of a way to word a statement of the obvious without sounding excessively rude. Sure, his rival probably deserved a snide remark, but since they'd already had their daily dose of fist-fights, he wanted to soften the blow some. America could just wait patiently.
"Out with it! What do you want?"
Or not.
With another smiling sigh, Russia crossed his arms. "I was recordink the meetink. I thought that much was clear from context~" There was a giggle. "You are so silly, Amerika~" His voice dripped with forced sweetness, not really wanting to be as pleasant as he was, but he didn't want to risk getting either of them upset again.
"Now tell me, you haff a lighter or no~?"
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Post by America on May 1, 2012 19:23:48 GMT -5
America couldn’t bring himself to conjure further sarcasm. There was no way he could focus on irritating the Russian or pay mind to the wreckage with this suddenly striking him out of the blue.
"I was recordink the meetink. I thought that much was clear from context~"
Was he being serious?
Here he was blathering about recording devices, cool as a cucumber, like it was the most casual of topics. Hell if America knew what casual conversation was in the eyes of Russia, but as for himself, he downright disgusted speaking of anything that could possibly lead to the subject of spy activity. It only beefed what was once looming terror. The source of this stood before him, and God, he didn’t even want to look at the guy. He was even bouncing the stupid thing again like it was some cheap toy! Why hadn’t he anticipated this kind of thing? He was dealing with a Communist, for Christ’s sake. Just because this was a lame crack at peace—one bound to fail, all the same—didn’t mean that he’d drop his guard and attempts at trickery in the least bit. Of course he’d be trying to catch stray bits of information. He was always calling him a blabber mouth, wasn’t he? The older nation was probably coaxing him unbeknownst to him the entire time.
Stupid mind tricks. Stupid Russia. The blond didn’t even want to come to this conference in the first place. It was a stupid idea, even more so than Russia or the mind tricks. The American drew a quiet, shaky breath, making an effort at willing himself to calm down. Shit. He couldn't get like this right now. He couldn't be shaking like this. He couldn't show fear in the face of the enemy. It would be better to put on a show of resentment instead. “How are you acting so damn relaxed about this?!” He went on, speaking over him, glaring shaky but sharp daggers all the same. “I get that you were recording our conversation, so answer me! What were you hoping I’d slip?”
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Post by Russia on May 1, 2012 19:43:44 GMT -5
Russia was no longer watching America, having slipped his hand back into his pocket to pull out the device once more. Smiling at it, he bounced it up and down again like a child's shiny bauble.
"How are you acting so damn relaxed about this?!"
Not pausing, he glanced over at America out of the corner of his eye, grinning innocently. He was doing nothing wrong or out of the ordinary, why was America so upset? Wasn't this sort of thing usual for them? Russia knew that America knew that neither of them trusted each other. That was just how it was. There was nothing surprising about at least one of them if not both having some sort of surveillance equipment.
"I get that you were recording our conversation, so answer me! What were you hoping I’d slip?"
"Slip?" Russia turned his head to the side somewhat to get a better look at America, only slowing his leisurely play with the recording device. "I was not hopink you woult be clumsy ant fall... You think very little off me..."
Looking back at his palm, he closed his eyes in amusement, visualizing the little weight in his hand. "I was recordink the conversation-" He stopped the bouncing, curling his hand tightly around the device. With a pulse of his knuckles and a soft crunch, he opened his palm again to reveal the black refuse that once threatened their privacy, now little more than powder, metal strands, and jagged pieces of plastic. "-for posterity~"
Russia glanced at the newly christened debris in his hand, debating about whether or not now it was worth burning now that it no longer threatened security. "Shoult we still burn this, you think? Ant the table?" he asked, giving America a look of genuine inquiry. He didn't want to accidentally send the entire university up in flames.
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Post by America on May 5, 2012 18:31:31 GMT -5
America swallowed, pressing his lips into a thin line he hoped would do a good job of concealing and more or less stifling his senseless emotions.
No, he hadn’t just lost it. He just needed a moment, maybe a little longer. He didn’t want to think about this business, much less deal with it, but it was okay. It was all he needed, just a few seconds or so to calm himself down. That’s right. His pulse would be steady again in no time.
"I was not hopink you woult be clumsy ant fall... You think very little off me..."
At that, he made a face. Never before had he felt more torn between shock and irritation. The urge to smack his face off the nearest wall was rapidly beginning to resurface. Of course Russia was going and taking the things he said factually again. He probably always would. Whether he was that clueless or just messing with him was something America was seriously beginning to wonder about. Frankly, neither would surprise him.
Regardless, literal wasn’t so comical anymore. He was going to retort, but for once, he had no idea how he could respond without ending up with a lap full of more dense misconceptions via slang and language barriers, so he simply flashed him something like a scowl.
Despite his displeased expression, he watched on, growing somewhat intrigued as the Russian suddenly ceased with his bouncing, pulling his fingers inward and over the device. Oh God, what the heck was he doing no—oh, he squeezed it to dust. That definitely wasn’t what America was expecting, but oh well. It did wonders to ease his nerves.
"Shoult we still burn this, you think? Ant the table?"
The blond looked back up from his palm and met his gaze. He raised his eyebrows, actually giving consideration to the idea. Now that he’d calmed down, setting something aflame didn’t seem as jarring as it did before. It actually sounded like it could be fun, even if he would be doing it alongside someone like Russia.
“That’s.. an idea.” He settled for, glancing back to the fragments. “It’s a little intense. I thought just hiding it somewhere would work fine, but what the heck? With burning it, I guess we wouldn’t really have to go to the trouble of finding somewhere decent enough to hide it.”
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Post by Russia on May 6, 2012 17:52:10 GMT -5
"Why do you make that face?"
Why did America have to keep making all of those unpleasant expressions at him? He almost seemed to act like Russia was so hideous that it was pure torture to look at him. That wasn't very nice. Russia knew that he didn't care as much about his physical appearance as much as say... France did. France always did look great though, he had to give him that. Still, Russia more or less took good care of himself and he knew he wasn't too unappealing.
Russia frowned ever so slightly, looking a little insulted. "I know I am not that ugly..." He stuck out his tongue in distaste at the treatment before turning his palm upside down, letting the unrecognizable remains of the former recording device flutter to the ground. They had more important things to deal with at the moment than whether or not America thought he was repulsive to look at.
"It’s a little intense."
Blinking at America is slight confusion, Russia started to speak up. "Fire is intense by nat-" He stopped himself as America kept talking about the possibility of dragging the table off somewhere and burning it beyond all recognizable possibility. It seemed to be one of the few things they actually seemed to agree on as a workable solution.
It probably wasn't a good sign for their relations that the only thing they both agreed on was destroying something with fire.
"Эта идея нравится мне," he said, dusting off his hands before striding over to the half-mangled heap in the hallway. They really did a number on it, pieces crushed out of it and dents where the impact with either America or the ground scraped away pieces. It was lucky to even still have the legs attached.
Russia sighed, picking up one end, only to find that... maybe the legs weren't so firmly attached as one squeaked off its joint to clatter to the floor. "Amerika~," he muttered, beckoning the other nation over to help him with the mess.
(( Эта идея нравится мне. = This idea appeals/pleases/is acceptable to me. ( or: I like this idea. ) ))
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Post by America on May 11, 2012 15:21:40 GMT -5
"Why do you make that face?"
In dull response to this, the American merely quirked his mouth. What was Russia going on about now? He’d been told he sported a plethora of interesting facial expressions once upon a time, but no one has ever made a jab at questioning them. Weren’t they just pieces of the puzzle that was eccentric personality? He supposed given the fact that he was currently being forced to interact with Russia could add more than a twinge of distaste to his usual more or less approachable demeanor. Sighing, he rolled his eyes, prying his crooked frown away and locking a grin down in place of it.
“What about my attractive face?” He retorted with an unnecessarily sugary tone.
"I know I am not that ugly..."
The blond had to stop and take a moment to check his ears, hearing that. If anything, he never would have thought of the older nation to be the kind of person to be broken down if even in the slightest when he thought someone was insulting his looks. He stared back at him, dumbfounded, but the more he mulled it over, the more it began to amuse him, and he couldn’t help but snigger. The next thing he knew, he was submerged in one of his shorter lived laughing fits. Really, what else could he do but laugh in the face of it?
“Oh, man!” He chirped in between laughs. “That’s the bee’s knees!” Taking this moment to nod and wave his hand in affirmation to the meager bit of Russian he managed to pick up, he moved closer, winding down from his little outburst. “Yup, yup, I got ya’. I got ya’. Don’t worry, guy.”
America went on to close the remaining distance, having picked up his pace to a bit of a jog. He gathered the leg that had fallen on Russia’s part, giving his end a swift, lackluster kick to make sure that what was left intact wouldn’t be coming to pieces in his hands. Figuring it would be fine, he lifted his section of the heap with a soft, “Alley-oop.”
Now that he had the muddle in a firm enough hold, he glanced up at Russia and down both ends of the hallway. After a moment, with a thoughtful hum on his lips, he looked back to the man in front of him.
“So.” He began. “You think there’s any way to look less suspicious about this?”
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Post by Russia on May 11, 2012 21:28:04 GMT -5
"What about my attractive face?"
America always had to have some sort of ego-stroking retort, didn't he? Russia just sighed some, trying to be preoccupied with carrying the table that had been the unfortunate victim of their... earlier indiscretion, to put it nicely. Maybe if he focused on getting this nearly obliterated piece of furniture out of where anyone would be able to miss it or identify it, then they could get along for longer than thirty seconds.
That brat? Attractive? Please. America didn't look old enough to drink in his own country, irrespective of his literal age.
"That’s the bee’s knees!"
That kid's strange sayings only got weirder. What did the knees of honey-producing insects have to do with anything even remotely related to the table? Russia looked up for a second, an expression of a perplexed child crossing his face. Was America implying that some bees came along and kneed the table into submission like Judo practitioners? "Amerika, bees do not practice martial arts. Do not be stoopit~"
"Yup, yup, I got ya’. I got ya’. Don’t worry, guy."
"Just be quiet, please," he wanted to say, biting his tongue by just smiling slightly at him with no heart behind him, even as America's kick disrupted his initial grip on the table. If they could just get through this, maybe they will have killed enough time for their representatives to be finished babbling about nothing. If that was the case, they could just go back to their respective dwellings and not have to look at each other or talk to each other for a good long while.
Once America had the table and Russia picked up the extra leg, letting it sit between the raised edges of the underside of the table, the question of conspicuousness came up. Raising one eyebrow for a second, he giggled.
"We are within ten feet off each other, yes?" The smile broadened. "That is suspicious on its own, I think~" Besides, they were going to carry this table off to some remote area to destroy it with fire. That was something anyone seeing them sneak off together would immediately think they were doing. "To which secludet place are we takink this?" He punctuated the question with a huge smile, hoping it would be a somewhat open place that they wouldn't catch the surroundings on fire too easily.
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Post by America on May 14, 2012 17:32:30 GMT -5
"Amerika, bees do not practice martial arts. Do not be stoopit~"
There he went again, taking things literally in what had to be the weirdest way possible. Well, America figured since this current activity of theirs was somehow waxed to be enjoyable—even if in a distorted sort of way—he might as well start enjoying himself a little early.
“Wow. I didn’t know we had a bee expert over here.” He practically gasped, his grin all but widening. “Are you sure? I’m pretty close to positive I’ve seen some bees going at it before, kung fu fighting, and all that good stuff. You’re just trying to mess with me, huh? Aren’t ya’?” At that moment, he shook his head, effectively ah, ah, ah-ing over whatever kind of retort the Russian may or may not have come up with. “I’m onto you, daddy-o. Good luck catching me with my guard down. You’re definitely going to need it.” Absentmindedly adjusting the beyond splinted wood in his hands, he laughed and tilted his head, making a bright show of looking skeptical. “Of course bees do kung fu. Golly gee willikers, Russia. Just how dumb do you think I am?”
Maybe that wasn’t the best thing he could have said, in hindsight. Obviously the older nation thought he was immensely stupid. He’d probably have a stab back straight away, but when he considered it, he supposed it didn’t exactly matter. This was how any conversation between the two worked, after all, even though ‘conversation’ was a very flimsy term for their verbal happenstances.
"We are within ten feet off each other, yes? That is suspicious on its own, I think~"
The American took his words into consideration for once. He figured he made a rational enough point this time around. The fact that they were accompanying each other beyond an official or work setting was more than enough to raise a sum of questions. Granted, it would probably be impossible to so much as portray the simple act of leaving the building together as anything less than extremely suspicious, having the mangled table in their possession didn’t exactly help their soon to be case.
“Yeah, I know that much. I meant more.. I know most of them are in the conference room and everything, but aren’t the bodyguards stationed outside, too? I don’t really think the ‘we’re just getting some air’ excuse is going to work all too well when we have, well—” He gestured with his nose toward the ruins in their collective grasp. “—this.”
"To which secludet place are we takink this?"
At that, America couldn’t help but laugh, amending the position of his thumbs once more.
“Trust me. Around these parts, there’s nothing for miles. That won’t really be a problem.”
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Post by Russia on May 15, 2012 15:55:59 GMT -5
Here we go again, Russia thought, just as America opened his fat mouth again.
"Wow. I didn’t know we had a bee expert over here."
And so it began. Russia just rolled his eyes, letting America keep talking on and on about kung fu fighting bees. He just had to argue the point, no matter how ridiculous it was, didn't he? This was part of what Russia found insufferably frustrating about the younger nation. He just couldn't let any sort of disagreement go.
He sighed, adjusting his grip on the partially mutilated table as he tried to look where they were going so they didn't run into anything or anyone on accident. They were already a hazard just being in the same room, so he figured it was best to minimize the potential damages from their temporary association.
"Golly gee willikers, Russia. Just how dumb do you think I am?"
"You remint me off ugly rock with a face," he said, not really bothering to stop himself at the moment as he gave America a big fake grin to emphasize the point. He was oddly comfortable being blunt with America, but maybe that was just because he knew they couldn't possibly be anymore annoying to one another.
Still, they had to make it out of there with the table. "We coult just tell them that you are pregnant ant goink into labor." As they tried to scoot the damn thing down the hall, he paused, eyes catching sight of a large-ish window mid-explanation. "Or... Amerika, let go off the table, please~" he sweetly demanded, giving the table a tug before dropping the mangled piece of furniture.
Hurrying over to the window, Russia quickly opened it before sticking his head outside. Alright, the second story... Well, that didn't matter, as long as they didn't get horribly hurt which they shouldn't. No one else was a around on this side of the building... Perfect.
With a few quick strides back over to the table, he put his foot down on his side. Hearing the wood splinter and crack as the halves of the table roughly separated from each other, he giggled. The table was already wrecked and they were going to burn it to nothingness at any rate, so what did a little added destruction matter?"It will be easier this way~" he explained, clapping his hands together in delight before picking up his pieces and casually tossing them out of the window.
Turning back to America, still grinning like a child with a new present, he said, "We shall jump~"
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Post by America on May 16, 2012 1:10:22 GMT -5
"You remint me off ugly rock with a face,"
America could only blink, face screwing up to some degree. It was sort of strange to be caught in between, but he couldn’t tell if he was amused or irritated. Regardless, he had to hand it to him for being unique, at the very least. He wasn’t at all expecting to be compared to a rock in retort. There was no way he heard that one before.
He had to wonder then just what exactly constituted as an ugly rock. Knowing Russia, there’d be an outlandish as outlandish can be answer should he actually inquire about it. It would probably be better to settle for lobbing some sort of ugly remark right back at him instead of asking questions that might leave him feeling disturbed afterward.
"We coult just tell them that you are pregnant ant goink into labor."
Hearing this, his lips twitched, forming more of a livid smile. Now that straight on irritated him. There wasn’t so much as a doubt in his mind. He was going on and insinuating that he was a woman again, after all. It didn’t get much more insulting than that.
“Nah. That won’t work.” He replied, taking on a bit of a gooey tone. “We’d have to try and convince them of something a little more realistic. Like, you left your makeup bag somewhere and you just can’t go another minute without it. That shouldn’t be all too hard, though. It makes more sense than what you said, don’t you think?”
Though he complied with the following request of releasing the table, he didn’t exactly take much care while doing it. Some part of him thought it he dropped it abruptly enough, Russia’s hands would slip and a heavier piece would end up gifting friendly jolts of pain to the man’s feet, but he knew it wouldn’t actually happen. It was simply an enjoyable idea to entertain.
Setting his imagination aside for the time being, he refocused and watched with a bit of curiosity as the Russian moved across the hall, stopping at the window nearest to them and taking the time to stick his head on out. The blond raised an eyebrow, wondering what on Earth he was concocting now that he’d come back and made more rubble out of the pieces of wood that used to make up a functioning table.
"It will be easier this way~ We shall jump~"
The next thing he knew, the wood was flung out the very same window that Russia had seemed to take an interest in, and that was when it clicked. This was how they would get outside without being noticed! It wasn’t all too far of a drop at all, and better yet, no one would see them them this way! So long as they didn’t make too much of a ruckus, anyway.
“You’re saying that we should jump out that there window?” The American’s words might have held something like vacancy, but not when paired alongside his expression. He gazed in the direction of the older nation, eyes beginning to widen as if he was just now grasping the full extent of this supposed endeavor. It wasn’t long before his entire face was lit up with a ridiculous and juvenile kind of excitement that only the exhilarating prospect of leaping from a two story window could supply. “Crackerjacks, Russia!” He exclaimed. “This is the single greatest idea you’ve ever had! I’m not counting on more, or anything, but this is just great!”
In a moment’s time, he was hurrying over to the window himself, all touches of frustration having fled from his features. He was going to be jumping out a window! This summit was finally getting interesting as opposed to obnoxious and meaningless.
“I get to go first, okay?” He insisted, much like a child might lay claim to a slide on a playground.
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Post by Russia on May 16, 2012 17:45:23 GMT -5
"Like, you left your makeup bag somewhere and you just can’t go another minute without it."
Russia merely gave a shrug. If they were going to have a "who is the girliest" contest, he could play that game. Games were always fun, even with America because at least America would play along. "At least I am prettier than you," he said, leaning on the window frame.
As long as this didn't descend into a contest of dresses and high-heeled shoes, they would be fine. Actually, now that he thought about it, that could be fun. America might put on some of those weird little pastel dresses with the pillbox hats. That would be downright hysterical. Looking up at the ceiling in thought, he pondered whether or not an evening gown would look good with a sca- no, that would look hideous. What was he thinking? He could go as a Ukrainian housewife, he thought, perhaps with a headscarf. That would be nice, especially if he went with greys and maybe green. "Are you a summer or a winter?"
"You’re saying that we should jump out that there window?"
With a sigh, feigning contentment in the tone, he nodded as he continued to stay against the frame. "Amerika, you are bat at listenink~" Tapping the frame of the window idly with his knuckles, he looked out of the window again with that phony smile of his. After a moment, he crossed his arms, turning slightly to peer down at the cracked pile of splintered wood he'd tossed through the opening in the wall.
"This is the single greatest idea you’ve ever had! I’m not counting on more, or anything, but this is just great!"
Was that praise? The smile curled up into a smirk for a second before it slackened once more. America had just complimented him, back-handed as it was. Well, that was different. He giggled quietly under his breath as he watched the younger nation bound over to the open window like a child to a swing-set.
"I get to go first, okay?"
Was this now a competition again about who went out the window in what order? Did it really matter? Probably not, but apparently America wanted that privilege badly enough. "If you insist~" he said, pushing himself away from the window frame before standing behind his rival and temporary companion in hi-jinx. If he wanted to go out first so badly, then, since they probably wouldn't be hurt much, maybe he ought to give the excitable nation some experienced help, he thought. That could be fun.
"I will ait you~" he announced, taking the flats of his palms and giving them a hard shove into America's back to try and get him out of the window and onto the ground more quickly. He'd right himself in mid-air, wouldn't he? Of course. Besides, America was tough. He'd be fine. "Watch your head~" Russia gave himself a shrug before tossing the remaining bits of wood out after him.
Putting his boot on the window-sill, he tossed himself through the opening. [/size]
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Post by America on May 16, 2012 20:47:54 GMT -5
America was practically bouncing in his eagerness. Really, when was the last time he’d gone and jumped out a window for the fun of it? He couldn’t remember, and that translated right out to it having been far, far too long. He couldn’t even recall the last time he considered it. Thank goodness this travesty would be remedied soon enough.
"At least I am prettier than you,"
Hearing this, he tore his eyes away from the ground below and directed his attention back toward the Russian who just so happened to look a little too lax for his own good, eyebrows arching up in a very matter of fact manner.
Oh no he didn’t. Russia did not just say he was prettier than he was. Just because he preferred handsome didn’t mean he wasn’t pretty. He never liked to brag—well, okay, maybe he did—but he knew how to strut his stuff when he wanted to. Heck, he looked right attractive even when he wasn’t trying. The older nation was just jealous that the blond could work anything he put his mind to whereas he couldn’t. If they were on the subject of being pretty in particular, what better to prove his point than sporting a spaghetti strap? Not that he owned a spaghetti strap, obviously. It was just a hypothetical idea, and probably for the better that he didn’t, anyway. That would be too dangerous. He’d have women and men swooning within a twenty mile radius, and they were trying to keep on the down low at the moment.
He’d still look damn fine if he were to wear one, though. That was for sure, his masculinity be damned.
“I don’t think so.” The American finally retorted, lips giving way to a toothy smirk. “That’s why I mentioned your makeup bag, cool cat. You could use a little touch up. Or a lot of touch up. Just thought I’d let you know, because it would be a crying embarrassing shame if anyone else saw you without your cover up and blush, right? Don’t worry, I got your back.”
Feeling triumphant in having set that matter straight, he was peering down over the sill once more, taking a moment to debate how exactly he should go about his descent. He supposed he could jump, tuck and roll, but that was a little too basic for his tastes, especially considering this was a rare kind of occasion. What if he tried for a cartwheel landing?
"If you insist~"
“I do insist. Thanks.” He was agreeing in an instant, not paying enough mind to notice the man’s position changing.
Aside from a cartwheel landing, he figured could always go for landing directly onto his feet. That was something that took a bit of skill. All of the sudden, it occurred to him that showing off wasn’t nearly as fun, because there wasn’t an audience. No, Russia couldn’t be considered one, because he was Russia.
Just as he was thinking he would be just as well having fun with it anyway, because he probably wouldn’t be doing this again for another long while, he felt what couldn’t be anything other than large hands pressing down against his back, immediately after following suit and pushing—hard.
"I will ait you~"
Wait, what?
He whipped his head around as far back as he could just in time to catch a glimpse of none other than Russia. He couldn’t be sure with how fleeting it was, but he was probably smiling that stupid fake smile of his—smiling while he was shoving him out a window. The bastard would. He would.
“Oh, you mother—” His body flipped, arching forward over the frame, effectively biting off his snap. “—Jesus—” Then went his legs. “—holyfifthamendmentBatman!”
Following his expletives, a hefty string of curses mingled with his screeching as he plummeted down, face first. So much for his impressive, once in a lifetime landing. Luckily enough, the force of Russia’s drive gave his body just the right amount of momentum to flip mid-air. His face was spared a painful skid in the soil, but the same thing couldn’t be said for his back. Not more than a second later, he was landing just beside the fallen wood, in the exact reverse of the position he hoped he’d be in.
Hissing, he squinted, having to adjust to the sudden harsh light of the sun overhead. When his vision had cleared enough, and the force of the impact was wearing off, he was raring and just about ready to jump up, flip the bird and then some. Russia would never hear the end of it after that little stunt. There was a little issue with this, however. The man had just leaped from the window as well, and of course, at the angle at which he was falling, he’d be landing right on top of him a split second later. There probably wouldn’t be time for yelling and cussing to no limit just yet.
Stunned, America’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, the ache in his back deeply set on protesting to his urge to scramble to his feet and then as far away as possible. Oh God. Oh good God, why?
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Post by Russia on May 17, 2012 20:14:23 GMT -5
Before he launched himself out of the window, Russia took a moment to observe America's fall, grinning down innocently at the man he'd just more or less "helped". Heavily amused by the flailing and twisting, he waited for the younger nation to hit the ground.
Maybe he'd splatter? Oh... but then he'd have to clean him up and that would be a bit of a disgusting mess. Maybe he could just fold up the Amerigoo and cradle what was left of the younger nation in the side-guards of the table to burn with the rest of the refuse. Then again, he didn't want America dead. That would ruin all sorts of fun and he was sure England, France, and that quiet guy would have absolute fits. He didn't want to upset France. Hopefully America could bounce.
"Oh, you mother—"
That sounded like an oddly familiar saying-
"—Jesus—"
-Or not.
"—holyfifthamendmentBatman!"
America was just full of colorful language today, wasn't he? Russia giggled to himself as he saw the impact. Good. He looked fine. No harm done. America would be perfectly alright and the tossed wood missed him.
Satisfied with the "crash", Russia hoisted himself out of the window, not quite sure yet where exactly he was going to fall. Hopefully, he thought, he'd get his feet underneath him first and try to just... absorb the impact. That probably wouldn't happen, knowing his luck.
Closing his eyes, he tried to right himself, having not noticed just how square on of an unintentional target America was proving to be as Russia neared the ground. He opened his eyes again, still failing to turn so he'd land in a manner he would consider favorab- HOW LONG HAD AMERICA BEEN RIGHT THERE?!
Struggling some, he tried to roll in the air so that he'd at least land next to the smaller man instead of directly on top of him. The plan of escaping out of the window was looking less and less desirous the more he failed at getting out of the way. At least America was tough, he thought as he braced himself for impact, like one of those rubber bouncing balls.
THUMP!
Ow... He groaned some, shuddering ever so slightly as he sluggishly opened his eyes. Why was the grass so weirdly textured? It smelled like leather, fleece, and... was that ketchup? Why the hell would grass smell like that? The leather smell was oddly comforting though. Russia found himself almost wanting to curl around it and hold it close as he rubbed his cheek against the strange animal skin foliage. Blinking, he tried to distract his mind from the ache in his body by focusing on figuring out who did radiation experiments on the grass to make it feel and smell so weir- Russia froze, looking down at the "ground" as he got his arms underneath him.
America was moonlighting as grass. That clever bastard.
"How much are you pait for grass services?" he asked, not bothering to get off of him.
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Post by America on May 18, 2012 17:39:26 GMT -5
America should have figured. He really, really should have figured.
There was no way that this summit could actually result in some fun. It would inevitably chalk up as misery, antagonism, demolition, more awkward than thought possible conversations and now apparently physical pain via being flattened to a pancake had wormed its way in. Honest to goodness, he hadn’t the slightest notion as to how Russia could have possibly overshot his descent, because HE HAD BEEN LAYING THERE THE WHOLE TIME, PLAIN AS DAY, YOU SADISTIC DOUCHE BAG!
The blond would have very much liked to swear some more—aloud—but the impact not two seconds later did a thorough job of knocking the wind out of him, if only temporarily. He could only grunt, faced with the force of it as well as the weight. God, did that hurt. And others called America hefty! Obviously he knew Russia was bigger, if not by all too much, but he’d never given it a lot of thought. Now that it was striking him, very much literally, he couldn’t help but take notice.
Well, with this blunder, he was certain to be out of commission for at least another minute or two. Maybe it would have been smarter to have just let the other go first from the get-go. Of course he would have pulled something like this. On top of that, their current positioning definitely wasn’t a favorable one. He could easily remedy that though, couldn’t he? He’d just have to—oh—oh God.
America’s eyebrows knitted. Was Russia.. snuggling up to him? What the hell? No. This was wrong on levels that he himself couldn’t even begin to fathom. Russia was most definitely the last person he wanted to cuddle with. There’s no way he would willingly, not even on a bad day. This was rapidly becoming far too up close and personal for his tastes.
Cheeks aflame with anger and maybe some given volume of embarrassment, he gawped up at Russian who just happened to prop himself up and cast his gaze down on him. All of the sudden, it was immensely difficult for him to decide what the appropriate course of action would be.
"How much are you pait for grass services?"
Alright, that was the last straw. He didn’t care if he was lacking his vigor at the moment. Russia needed to be off of him, and preferably as far away as possible.
“Get off, damn it!” He groaned, lifting his ground ridden hands and somewhat feebly shoving at the man’s shoulders.
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Post by Russia on May 19, 2012 21:36:18 GMT -5
Huh. America's face was all red. That was kind of funny... and kind of cut- No. No. No. Gross. Russia narrowed one eye, trying to get the thought out of his head. That was just wrong, oh so very wrong. America was never cute and he was less than half Russia's own age. That was just disturbing. He tried to shove the thought into a metaphorical furnace where it would forever be destroyed. Unfortunately, it was rerouted to a desolate shelf in his memory, probably where it would hide to haunt him later.
"Get off, damn it!"
The yell and half-hearted shove to his shoulders caught his attention again, still staring down at America with the smile of nothingness as he remained unmoved by the younger nation's effort.
"Why?" he asked, not thinking much of the situation, given they had just fallen/jumped from the window on the second floor of the building. So they landed and they happened to land on top of each other. Big deal. Russia would get up when he wanted to get up and America couldn't tell him otherwise. "You are not beink hurt~" he said, just grinning like his usually dopey-seeming self before he sat back some, more or less straddling his rival. It wasn't like he squishing him, at least not anymore. Besides, America was young and would easily bounce back, wouldn't he? Yeah, he'd be fine when he was done whining like a child who'd gotten the wrong flavor of ice cream. "You really are a spoilt brat, Amerika~ Thinks cannot always be your way."
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