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Post by America on May 20, 2012 8:51:12 GMT -5
“Why?”
America continued to gape up at the Russian. There was no way he could be clueless about this, was there? No, there wasn’t. He was probably just screwing around with him to get him agitated.
“Why?!” He practically squeaked. “See, I have this thing called personal space! I’m not too sure if you’ve heard of it or anything, but you’re not respecting it! You’re invading it big time!”
"You are not beink hurt~"
He glowered, exasperated to no end. What did him being hurt have to do with anything? Russia was definitely doing this on purpose. There was no doubt in his mind. More than ever, he wanted to wipe that stupid grin off of his face. As a matter of fact, he would have loved to shove at him some more, but he was more or less sitting on top of him at that point anyway. He wouldn’t come close to touching his shoulders or even his chest unless he tried to sit up himself. Instead of uselessly flailing his hands around, he began to kick his feet, which was probably just as much if not more useless, but in his mind, it seemed like a more fruitful alternative.
"You really are a spoilt brat, Amerika~ Thinks cannot always be your way."
At that, the blond huffed, even more frustrated. It always came back to him being an alleged brat with this man, didn’t it? Well, that was the last thing he wanted to hear at the moment. He was well past fed up with him.
“Oh my Lord! You royal jackass and a half!” He shouted, jerking his legs all the more. “This has nothing to do with me getting my own way! It has to do with you being in my damned bubble! Now get off!”
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Post by Russia on May 20, 2012 18:37:37 GMT -5
"You’re invading it big time!"
America was doing that weird fish-gasping-in-the-air face again. Oops. Maybe he broke the stupid thing. Why did America have to be more fragile than he seemed? Maybe he was just pretending to try and make Russia feel bad. That was probably it. America was a big faker. Besides, Russia wasn't invading him. He was sitting on him. That was different. He didn't claim any American land for his own or send troops to infiltrate and capture American soil. America really didn't speak English very well, did he?
"You are not beink invadet, Amerika, do not be stoopit." He really was stupid a lot, Russia thought as he crossed his arms, staring down at his American chair. Maybe there was actually something wrong with the brat's brain that couldn't be fixed. Maybe he deserved pity of some sort, but until Russia knew that America was technically retarded or slow in the head, he wasn't going to give him any sympathy. Maybe England didn't feed him enough of a particular food for his mental development when he was a kid. That seemed possible, considering England wasn't known for cooking edible things. "Dit Angliya starf you when you were small? How negligent..."
Russia sighed, tilting his head to the side and looking idly back over at the pile of wood they'd have to be moving before too long to wherever they would burn it.
His attention was immediately redirected to America once the younger nation started kicking, knocking Russia forward but not off of his perch. Pitched towards him, Russia put out his arms on either side of America to catch himself. This situation just kept getting more awkward and uncomfortably touchy-feely.
"Oh my Lord! You royal jackass and a half!"
"But I am not a prin-" He closed his eyes in a hissed wince when one of those kicks hit somewhere he really wished it didn't. Ow. Ow. Ow. "A-amerika..." he grumbled, opening one eye with another wince. "Th-that hurt... y-you careless..." Ow, that really smarted, he thought, wishing America would stop bouncing him around, making this only look worse.
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Post by America on Jun 14, 2012 9:46:43 GMT -5
"You are not beink invadet, Amerika, do not be stoopit."
America grit his teeth. If he had to hear the Russian call him stupid in that accent of his one more time, there was no way he could be held responsible for whatever destructive things might occur. To heck with morals and guilt. The guy was practically asking for it now.
"Dit Angliya starf you when you were small? How negligent..."
Yeah, he was definitely asking for it with that. He didn't know why, but the fact that he was pulling England into the argument really pissed him off. Then again, any time England was brought up in reference to his childhood, he had a tendency of growing somewhat irritable. Russia being the one to reference it probably didn't help.
“You're the one that's stupid!” He snapped in response. “I knew how to fend for myself! I didn't count on England's slop, thank you very much!”
Though he never much liked to reminisce on it, he was rather skilled as far as hunting and gathering went. Even on the occasions where England was actually around and made something up for him, after he went and scarfed it down without so much as a comment regarding how distasteful and malnutricious it was for the sake of pleasing him, he knew his way around when he wasn't looking, as well as how to fetch some actual food. It wasn't like he had a choice in the matter. There was no way a growing child could possibly function forcing down nothing other than whatever the Englishman's creations could be described as. It certainly couldn't be called food.
He shook his head, discarding the unpleasant thought. It wasn't like he had more than a moment to muse over it, anyway. Now Russia was apparently going on and whining about how much his kicking hurt. Well, good. He deserved it, even if it was somewhat of an accident and he hadn't actually been aiming in any particular direction. As far as America was concerned, this just summed up as payback for the way he flat out pushed him out the window.
“Then get off!” He went on clamoring, doubling his efforts as opposed to ceasing them. Now that the other was more or less hunched over him, he brought his hands into the action as well, pushing at his shoulders once more.
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Post by Russia on Jun 14, 2012 17:19:42 GMT -5
"You're the one that's stupid!"
Of course he was stupid. That made sense. Russia was clearly stupid. You live to be around a thousand years old and still manage to be stupid. That made perfect sense, of course. If he was stupid, of course he could have thrown off the Tatar Yoke. Of course. Simple. America really did have a knack for being a completely illogical idiot. Maybe he ought to just strangle him here and now to save the younger nation a life of misery. It would be a present. He wouldn't want to have to explain a strangled America to England or France though. That would be problematic, especially considering he would probably end up surviving despite Russia's best well-intended efforts.
Maybe now wasn't the best time to think of his motivations for gifting America a mercy kill. Now was the time for trying not to curl up in a ball like a baby and hoping he didn't cry-- Ow! America really needed to stop kicking like a madman that thought he was about to be put to sleep like an old dog.
The shove and renewed kicks were more than enough to distract the older nation from trying to maintain his seat. Pushed off, he rolled onto his side next to his rival, unable to keep from curling up and clenching his eyes shut in discomfort and pain. America had just... the worst aim. Or maybe it was the best aim. Either way, it was not appreciated.
"F-fine, Amerika," he grumbled before trying to uncurl on the grass. The brat could have what he wanted this time. Why was he so cranky, anyway? It wasn't like he was being hurt by Russia's presence unless he was suddenly allergic to his... Russia-ness. Maybe the younger nation ought to invest in some sort of... medication.
"How... is your healthcare?"
Russia sat up, the worst of the discomfort ebbing away before he pulled himself to his feet. Leaning forward, he extended a hand to his rival, offering silently to help him get up.
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Post by America on Jul 3, 2012 12:45:00 GMT -5
America breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief the second he felt Russia giving way and pushing off of him. As it turned out, having the older nation on top of him once was one far too many times more than he ever wanted to deal with. Lesson learned. He wouldn't be letting his guard down around him again, especially when there were windows in the vicinity.
"F-fine, Amerika,"
Oh. He didn't sound too good.
Upon pulling himself into a sitting position, the blond found he didn't exactly look good either. He was curled up against the ground like some kid with a raging stomach ache. Well, whatever. He couldn't really bring himself to feel remorse. If it hurt, he probably deserved it, what with the obnoxious and painful sequence of events he'd managed to create for him not within the time span of three minutes.
"How... is your healthcare?"
“My what now?” He immediately inquired, baffled at the lack of transition. “What's that got to do with anything?”
The American watched him work his way back up to standing, as well as offer him a quiet hand of assistance. Now, he gazed at the very same gloved hand, blinking in bewilderment like it had never occurred to him that the multi-fingered extremity of his could do anything other than clench into an affronted fist in response to his very presence. In actuality, that was what he had come to think, given their relations as of late.
Tilting his head a little, he looked back up to the Russian that owned the hand, smile going wry. Usually he might go so as far to knock his hand away before bouncing back to his feet on his own, followed up by some kind of smooth stride, but he didn't really think that would fit at the moment. They were still headed off to burn furniture together, weren't they? Or at least something that used to be furniture. As strange as this sounded inside and out of the situation, and as much as he still wanted to sock the man in the jaw for pushing him out of the window, he figured he'd save it for another day. They were very much literally playing with fire, and he really didn't want to deal with something going awry because of the added effect of their shortened tempers.
Stifling some laughter, America finally reached and clasped his hand, using it as leverage to hop back onto his feet as well. As opposed to the just barely civil thank you that could have been, he offered a brief hum, retracting his hand at the earliest opportunity and clasping it against his other, motioning to free it of any dirt or dust. He went on to pat the rest of his body down as well. He probably looked atrocious. Not that he cared, but his boss would have some kind of a fit. It was a new suit, after all. Given, he'd probably never wear the thing again, not when the memory of this meeting went along with it.
Directing his attention back to the even further wrecked stash of wood, he sighed a second time, stretching a little before moving to gather some of it in his arms. With all the racket they'd likely just went and made, he didn't want to stick around any longer than they had to.
“Come on.” He ushered. “Help me out here. You're carrying the heavier load, you big jerk.”
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Post by Russia on Jul 5, 2012 14:05:37 GMT -5
"What's that got to do with anything?"
Russia shrugged it off, not bothering to answer. His mind had already skipped to the next thing they had to deal with. They could figure out something to do about the fact that America was apparently allergic to him later. Still, he didn't need to be quite such a brat just because he had a really unusual allergy. Really, how was Russia supposed to have known? It wasn't like America was sneezing and coughing in his presence. There were no signs of an allergic reaction save for the crankiness.
Then again, maybe his earlier assumption was right and America was just bleeding out of his lady-parts at the moment and therefore feeling a little hormonal. With a smile he didn't mean, Russia helped America up once his hand was grabbed, hoping that he didn't hurt the delicate lady by tugging him up too hard. Then again, he hadn't hurt America too badly by pushing him out of a window and then subsequently landing on him. Yeah. He'd be fine, the silly little princess.
Walking over to the pile of thoroughly thrashed wood, he picked up the remaining chunks that America hadn't grabbed, wondering just how America would look in a dress and tiara. Huh. He could be kind of pretty. Maybe with long imperial sleeves that sat just off the shoulders and some pretty little heeled shoes that were still somewhat low to the ground and had just enough decoration to be tasteful as opposed to gaudy. If the tiara was dainty, perhaps in a silver, he'd look downright pretty.
"Amerika, what is your favorite color?" Maybe one of these days, he would just invest in some fabric and ask France to make a dress for America so that he could take a picture of him in it. "You woult be a pretty princess, I think~" he hummed, trudging along beside his rival with his arms full of broken timber. [/size]
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Post by America on Jul 25, 2012 13:04:15 GMT -5
America pouted agitatedly when Russia seemed to flat out shrug him off. Figures. Leave it to a guy like him to confuse the hell out of him then nonchalantly refuse to at least attempt explaining himself. Even if it didn't matter at all, he'd surely be up late tonight wondering what the significance of his healthcare was.
Or he could also just forget about it entirely. Scratch that, he'd definitely be forgetting about it, disregarding late that night entirely. Like he'd be losing any sleep over something nonsensical the Russian said. Not to mention, the man was sure to be confusing him with something else in a matter of minutes. He'd only been living up to that expectation the entire time.
Now that he'd more or less had what he'd deemed his portion of the pile in a secure grip, he hoisted it up with ease, glancing back to his companion before proceeding. Maybe there'd be a nice period of silence until they came to the portion of their misadventure where they'd actually have to start burning things. While he wasn't normally one for silence, he had to vote for it in this case. He was sure Russia would agree all the same. It meant they wouldn't be forced to idly converse, after all.
"Amerika, what is your favorite color?"
As it turned out, there wasn't going to be a bride of silence between bemusement. This caught the blond off guard, just as much as the kind of question he'd asked did. It seemed so casual, almost like the older nation was trying to make friends, or something crazy like that. The idea of the two of them as friends normally tickled him enough to make him burst into laughter, but for the moment, he suppressed it, keeping a tight smile and quirking a brow at him. Maybe he'd answer for the sake of seeing if this was going to lead into anything else. It didn't seem like there was a way Russia knowing his favorite color could lead to his downfall, after all.
“Favorite color?” He repeated, not bothering to conceal the surprise in his tone. “Blue, I—”
"You woult be a pretty princess, I think~"
America stopped dead in his tracks now, nearly dropping the wreck in his hands in the same instant that his jaw did. Out of everything he'd said, that had to take the cake in terms of confusing and general 'what the fuck'-ness.
Now that he'd closed his mouth and ceased his stupid gaping, he took a few seconds to think this over, wondering if it wasn't exactly as confusing as he thought it was. Was that some sort of common insult toward someone's manliness in Russia? Yeah, that had to be it. It made enough sense to him, at least. The bastard! He would!
“Yeah?! Well—well—” He tried to start, putting on his best glare, cheeks burning once again in a combination of embarrassment and anger. A princess, he'd said! A pretty one! “You'd be a prettier one!”
With that, he was storming ahead of him, feeling much like he'd won.
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Post by Russia on Jul 25, 2012 14:49:37 GMT -5
Russia was already humming to himself, awaiting the answer of America's color so he could start mentally planning what sort of dress would look best on the other nation. That was perfectly normal.
"Blue, I—"
Russia paused with the bundle of wrecked table in his arms, considering the possibility of America's princess dress being an appealing shade of blue. Maybe a pale blue, like people wrapped newborn boys in. That might be a nice color. "That woult be a very nice color, I am thinkink~" It would go with his eyes. They had an almost similar sort of blue to them.
Wait, why'd he been looking?
Oh, right, just in case those eyes ended up in a jar somewhere, he'd need to know who they belonged to so they could be properly labelled. Of course, organizational purposes were perfectly permissible. That was surely the reason he'd taken time to memorize the color of his rival's eyes.
When you were over a thousand years old, who was really going to tell you that you couldn't entertain thoughts of dresses and colors? No one else had any say in what Russia thought about and besides, surely France had already had this discussion with himself with how best to put America in a beautiful dress. His old friend would be proud.
Maybe with a high-neck on the dress... It wouldn't be good to send America out in public in a dress that could be taken to be less than modest. The poor thing wasn't exactly old enough to take responsibility for the looks he'd be getting from some of the less scrupulous bystanders.
He stopped in his tracks, staring off into space as he realized something.
If America was really pregnant, assuming Russia had misread his strange hormonal shifts, they would have to alter the entire cut of the dress to make room for the unborn child. The poor lady... all the pains Russia was going to have to take to make him beautiful.
"You'd be a prettier one!"
"Hm?" Russia looked back over his shoulder at America when he heard his voice. Once he caught it properly, the smile he usually wore stretched farther with pride. "You really think so~? Thank you~ That is so sweet off you to be sayink~"
Huh. Maybe America was less of a bitch than he thought. They could go dress-shopping together after they lit the destroyed table on fire.
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Post by America on Aug 2, 2012 16:57:11 GMT -5
America didn't bother acknowledging Russia's comment regarding blue being a nice color, because that much was made strikingly obvious in the first place. Why else would he himself like it so much? It would be silly to start a conversation with him about it, especially when he'd just gone and made a cheap shot at him.
Like hell he'd carry on with this. He wouldn't be asking the other what his favorite color was any time soon. It wasn't like he cared to know, anyway. He flat out didn't even want to speak with the guy anymore. He never wanted to.
Now he was going in circles, wondering once again why he needed to be here in the first place. Damn his rotten luck. There was no way he'd be letting any president pull him into something like this again.
"Hm? You really think so~? Thank you~ That is so sweet off you to be sayink~"
Hearing that typically strange yet not the kind of strange he'd been expecting reply, he halted once more, whipping around to face the man like he hadn't noticed his presence until just now. Had he misunderstood? Maybe he wasn't insulting or taunting him? But then what? He couldn't have actually been complimenting him, could he? There's no possible way.
No, he was definitely screwing with him, and he probably still was. Maybe now he was just flipping it around, trying to turn his reared back insult into an actual compliment. Yeah, that had to be it. The slippery jerk. There's no way he'd let him come out on top of this.
“Yeah, of course.” The blond continued on, switching to his rarely used, but too appropriate to pass off mockingly sweet tone. “You'd look even spiffier with a tiara. Maybe some bangles?” He jiggled his wrists a fraction for emphasis before continuing on his way, careful to mind the stock of wood in his hands. “Are those even a thing in Russia? Well, whatever. They'd really complete the picture. You'd look just like a lady.”
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Post by Russia on Aug 2, 2012 17:22:16 GMT -5
Russia paused when America turned around to stare at them. Couldn't they talk and keep walking at the same time? They really needed to get this wood blown to pieces so that no one could know what they had done in the university lounge. That could have gotten them in an awful lot of trouble if either of their bosses found out. Granted, it was almost expected that if they were put into a small room with one another for any period of time that potentially hazardous things were bound to happen. Even with that though, he really did enjoy swinging tables at America's face. It was just a shame the table didn't bounce off... Then again, if he'd known about America's ... predicament, he would have never raised a hand, er , table to him.
Regardless, Russia tilted his head to the side and grinned while waiting for America to get on with whatever it was he wanted to say. It was probably something silly anyway, especially if he had to stop to say it in his delicate condition.
"You'd look even spiffier with a tiara. Maybe some bangles?"
Oh, fashion, of course. That could potentially have been important. France would really have been the one to ask, but they could probably do that later. Russia would certainly need a secondary opinion because just America's word was a little iffy. Bangles and a tiara could be a good idea, he figured, looking up at the cloudless sky in thought. "Mm~" Besides, Russia didn't think he had the dainty wrists needed for "bangles."
"You'd look just like a lady."
Another compliment? America was really trying to butter him up for something. What did he want? Oh well, Russia would accept it for the time being, until whatever it was that America wanted from him became clear. Russia giggled, bouncing a bit on his heels on the spot.
"Oh~ Those coult really be nice~ We will haff to be goink shoppink after we destroy the evidence--"
Oh, God, he didn't want money, did he? Russia's eyes went wide for a second in surprise as stared back at the younger nation in front of him. Well, hell, he wasn't going to be getting any, no matter how knocked up he was. Besides, it certainly wasn't his so America was on his own. Maybe he wanted Russia to beat up the father for skipping out on him. Poor woman... man... thing... Russia quickly shook his head. Poor America.
"By the way, who is beink the father?"
He couldn't help the kid out without knowing what dastardly bastard needed to be shown Kuzma's mother. It wouldn't be right to not help an abandoned, expecting mother.
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Post by America on Aug 5, 2012 23:12:37 GMT -5
America wondered with a slight falter to his smile why Russia was humming, as well as why it had a tune of agreement to it. Was he trying to turn it right back around on him? Well, fat chance. He'd be prepared. If this was going to turn into a tennis match with insults for balls and their mouths as rackets, then so be it.
"Oh~ Those coult really be nice~ We will haff to be goink shoppink after we destroy the evidence--"
Now, the blond had to focus on wondering if he'd just heard that right.
Did Russia just suggest to him that they go out shopping once this was over and done with? What kind of shopping was he talking about? Clothes shopping? What was he, an actual girl? On top of that, they couldn't normally be in the same room as the other without the tiniest of things spiraling into arguments. How would being in the same shop together be any different?
He frowned now, biting back an irritated groan. Analyzing his words and actions was starting to make his head hurt a little. He blamed Russia entirely. Settling on the fact that the elder nation was major weirdo was a lot easier. For now, he'd just go along with it.
“Oh yeah, definitely. I know some places. Unless you had ideas. I'm not all too sure what you're into, and all.” The American went on, pulling up a more excitable tone. “Lunch on me, too.”
Wow, did saying that make his eye twitch like nothing else. Well, he was facing away anyway.
"By the way, who is beink the father?"
Though he didn't pause this time, he did toss a questioning glance over his shoulder. To think people were constantly telling America that he had a short attention span. He had to wonder how this guy managed to jump topics so easily, not to mention the fact that they're all completely absurd. Maybe he really was an actual girl.
Then again, he might have just been trying to dodge the bullet with this one. He could be working to divert his as well as his own attention from the comment regarding him looking just like a lady. Heck if he'd let him. Though, he was curious as to what he meant, even if it would probably lack sense, like everything else. If he didn't have more issues than he could count on two hands with the guy, he might find his thought process kind of interesting, or amusing, at the very least.
“Who's being the what now?”
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Post by Russia on Aug 5, 2012 23:36:00 GMT -5
America really seemed to be going along with this idea pretty well. Maybe he'd been wanting to go shopping before and just didn't know how to ask. Geeze, Russia knew he wasn't that scary.
"Oh yeah, definitely. I know some places. Unless you had ideas. I'm not all too sure what you're into, and all."
He knew he wasn't built to wear anything meant for... light and curvy women... partially because he was a man and partially because he was built not unlike a tank. "I think more modest... house-dresses with aprons, maybe?" Russia could never quite get into the more revealing styles of clothes. He would see them on women and find them so distasteful. Maybe something elegant for the evening would work with America's thinner frame...
"Lunch on me, too."
Russia couldn't recall America ever being so generous, which was strange since he was apparently hard up for money being a single mother and all. Hopefully he wasn't standing on the corner at night to pay for-- that was probably how he got pregnant in the first place. Of course. No wonder the father was a deadbeat; the father must have been one of America's scumbag Johns. If America was really that hard up for help, he should have asked somebody...
"That is so sweet off you~ I will be sure to pay you back later after I stop by the currency exchange~" Besides, it wouldn't have been very nice of him to just take the money from America and not reciprocate in such a situation. That would have made Russia a bad guest... but then again, trying to beat America over the head with the table probably also made him a bad guest.
So maybe he was a bad guest... today... this time... because America made him do it. There. Russia was absolved of any sort of blame.
"Who's being the what now?"
Oh, America's hearing must have been going. It was all of that loud music he was listening to these days, wasn't it? Oh well. The boy was asking for that, Russia supposed, and now America could only blame himself for his hearing damage. Sad stupid little America. Sometimes Russia really pitied him, especially now that he was pregnant with some deadbeat's child who'd run off without leaving any sort of support. Even America deserved better than that. "The... father?" he repeated, hoping that was more clear for the other nation. "Are you not beink pregnant?"
Russia paused, still smiling as he thought. Maybe he'd been wrong and America was really just on his period. Gross, but a good reminder of why the other nation was just a cranky-pants. "Well, if you are not, then findink a dress to fit you will be much easier than I was originally thinkink~" There wouldn't be a tummy to worry about which eliminated a lot of problems for availability and styling.
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Post by America on Aug 24, 2012 15:50:31 GMT -5
There Russia went, predictably trailing on with what America was pretty sure was morphing into some silly strung joke now. If he was right and it was meant to be an insult originally, it sure didn't seem like it anymore. He figured he could have been way off base in the first place, but there was no real way to go about confirming it, considering who he was dealing with.
"I think more modest... house-dresses with aprons, maybe?"
Yeah. He'd keep playing along for the moment. It was easier that way.
“Ohh! So you're into the simple kind of stuff! I see, I see.” He nodded as if he was sympathizing with the man. It was strange, but this was feeling like an actual conversation, despite the irregular topic they were building it off of. “I prefer the flashier works myself, but I guess that has a charm to it. Yeah. Your scarf is probably enough of an accessory, anyway.”
Now that he actually gave thought to it, smooth and clean would probably look better on Russia as opposed to whatever fashion nonsense he was trying to sport out of soreness previously. What with the way the guy never takes off that scarf, it'd have to be color coordinated. He could see a white dress and a very light shade of lilac for the apron. Topping it off with a matching pair of sandals could complete it, too. It'd all match so nicely.
.. Wait, why was he even considering this kind of thing? He was a guy—and not at all the kind of guy he would usually be imagining in a dress, he wouldn't be able to stress that enough if he tried. At least for all he knew, he was a guy, even if he might have been second guessing himself on that at one point or another.
"That is so sweet off you~ I will be sure to pay you back later after I stop by the currency exchange~"
Again, he adjusted the mangled wood in his hands, not really wanting to end up with splinters on top of all the soreness he'd contracted. It was probably another thing he was better off not thinking about.
“No, no, no. I offered to pay, so I'm paying. My treat. Paying me back would be silly, not to mention insulting! You can just handle the food deal next time I hang around at your place. Sound good?” The blond went on, like any polite and decent person picking up the bill would.
Then, a moment later, he realized the full implications and consequences of what he just said.
Did this also mean he was actually subject to take Russia out shopping, and then buy him lunch? It also sounded like he'd be visiting Russia sometime soon, and on top of that, eating with him again. What was even happening anymore? This was all just some crazy joke, right? Right?
"The... father? Are you not beink pregnant?"
With that, America stopped yet again, turning around to face him. There was no way he'd just heard that right, was there? No. He was probably zoning out little too much. Maybe he needed to clean his ears, too. Probably. He'd be doing that the second he got home. Yeah.
“Uh.. wait, what did you just—”
"Well, if you are not, then findink a dress to fit you will be much easier than I was originally thinkink~"
A moment of open mouthed silence silence dragged by.
“You.. thought I was pregnant.” He concluded once he thought he had a proper bearing of what he'd just said to him. It sounded more like a bewildered statement than a question, really.
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Post by Russia on Aug 24, 2012 17:26:59 GMT -5
Russia really hoped they'd get to wherever they were going to burn this table soon. It wasn't heavy but he was getting really tired of carrying its pieces. With any luck, they'd get far enough from the buildings so they could just light this witness on fire and giggle together over their escape from justice.
"Ohh! So you're into the simple kind of stuff! I see, I see."
He paused. Was America calling him a simpleton? That was awfully rude. You don't just call people simpletons when they're being polite to you and trying to help you. Were all Americans like that? He really hoped not otherwise they'd never reproduce, unless "assholery" was a desirable trait here. Russia adjusted his grip on the broken pieces of table so that he didn't accidentally drop them.
"I prefer the flashier works myself, but I guess that has a charm to it."
Now America was a flasher?! His morals were beginning to leave something to be desired... and not in the less than noble sense. A look of surprise crossed Russia's face, as though he couldn't really piece together what was wrong with the poor boy. This was probably how America got pregnant. With the way this was going, he was almost surprised that America wasn't offering him favors in exchange for his potential help to assuage the impending debt of being a single parent.
Ew. God. Those visuals weren't necessary and whipcracking sounds needed to stop playing. They only made things worse. Russia took a step back away from the other nation, trying to keep from visually cringing. A little faltering of his smile was the only tell.
"Your scarf is probably enough of an accessory, anyway."
Mm, well, America had a point but Russia would rather not think that much about his scarf at the moment. Granted, he always wore it and it was a source of comfort, but it still wasn't exactly something he wanted to broach, at least not to America. Besides, the other nation was far too young to know why he wore it. Even the older nations didn't really know since the list was rather short, mostly limited to Prussia, his sisters, a Baltic or two, and maybe a cousin here or there. With America bringing it up, Russia felt immediately self-conscious and stared at the ground without moving his head.
Reaching up instinctively, he pulled up on the cloth to adjust it and make sure the entirety of his throat was covered. That wasn't something he really wanted anyone seeing, especially not America who would probably laugh. If he could tick off all of the marks, he'd run out of ways to count... Still fiddling with the cloth, he finally let his head drop, not wanting America to see the discomfort on his face.
At least the subject changed quickly to food, money, and propriety. That was simpler and easier to think about. There wasn't much that could have really been controversial save for potential cultural differences in the concept of politeness but those were hardly worth arguing over. Lifting his head, Russia forced a smile as he resumed looking the other nation in the eye.
"You.. thought I was pregnant."
America was making a really interesting face... If only Russia had a camera, then he could remember it for the rest of eternity and put it on his wall next to the jar where he would put America's hand and the jar of misery. Wait. No. That was starting to form into a little shrine of "the brat." Nope. Nope. Memories of stupid faces were good enough but he still wanted to bottle up America's misery and keep that all to himself.
Apparently his worries about America being some poor, knocked-up streetwalker whose baby's father was a no-good bastard that needing a good beating were proved silly with one sentence. Oops."Well, yes, off course, with those moot swinks of yours~ I thought you were tryink to get me to beat up whoever left you expectink~"
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Post by America on Oct 9, 2012 14:54:05 GMT -5
America didn't notice any of Russia's pauses or falters, as brief as they may have been, nor the adjustment of his scarf. He instantly stopped bothering with the wood he'd been lugging, at least for the moment. He was far too busy being distraught by his comment about him.. apparently thinking he was pregnant somehow. He wasn't quite past the shock of it, but it was most definitely the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. The fact that he apparently had to take him out for lunch might as well have been knocked right out of the playing field when compared side by side with this bullshit.
Maybe it was good that he set the wood down for now. It was only now occurring to him how much his entire body had been aching when he did. Well, that's what happens when you fall out a—no, wait, that wasn't quite right, was it? That's what happens when you're pushed out a window. In fact, it's probably worse. No, definitely.
God damn it. He knew he was supposed to be keeping the agitation tucked more or less neatly aside, at least until they had everything tossed and burned, but he couldn't help but think how sore he'd be tomorrow morning, and all because of Russia.
"Well, yes, off course, with those moot swinks of yours~ I thought you were tryink to get me to beat up whoever left you expectink~"
Right. There were bigger fish to fry. The Russian bastard still thought he was knocked up for some stupid reason.
Clearing his throat, the blond tried to straighten himself as well as his expression up and take this seriously. If he'd learned anything from this sorry excuse for a conference, it was that if he was anything other than completely and utterly blunt with this man, he was sure to misunderstand him somehow, and whatever his misunderstandings were, it would always bite him in the butt later. That had only been the pattern as of all afternoon. It was sure to become a universal constant if he didn't nip it in the bud.
“Russia,” He began, taking a deep breath like he was about to start in on lecturing some unruly child. Well, that's funny. He was usually the one acting like an unruly child, at least going off of what certain nations told him. “I'm a man. Men can't get pregnant.”
That was perfect. That was as simple as he could possibly word it. There's no way he could skew that anyway, anyhow. No other nation would be catching a rumor of his 'pregnancy' and looking at him funny at any future meetings.
He hesitated another moment, frowning before opening his mouth again.
“And I don't have mood swings, either! If there was someone I wanted beaten up, you can be damn sure I'd do it myself.”
There. America's masculinity was saved.
((LET IT BE KNOWN THAT 10/09 WAS THE DAY HICKSVILLE GOT EVEN MORE CONFUSING TO FOLLOW THANKS TO VILLYBEAR'S COMPUTER AND RED VS. BLUE.))
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