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Post by Russia on Mar 30, 2013 20:04:20 GMT -5
Russia did his best to more or less ignore his unwanted companion as they walked along to the hotel for supplies. Why was America always so cheery? Russia just couldn't understand it. Of course, America was probably just still in the incredibly energetic stage of his extended childhood, whatever that meant. Russia could tolerate him for the time being, he supposed, especially since where they were going was probably just a useless abandoned property.
Once they were at the hotel, Russia held up a hand. "Will meet you back in here in the lobby in twenty minutes," he said before striding over to the elevator so that he could go up to his room without being tailed by the over-eager puppy of a country.
Buttons were pressed and Russia returned to his room relatively quickly, skirting around his sisters who asked questions about what the hell he was doing. "Will be back for a late dinner, am promisink~" After changing into more comfortable clothes for an adventure and making sure he was armed, he headed back downstairs with his trusty pipe. In all honesty, he'd really only gotten it so that America would believe he was being taken seriously. Humoring the child, you might say.
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Post by America on Apr 2, 2013 21:18:56 GMT -5
America, all rainbows and sunshine—or more accurately, deserted mansions and fun times—didn’t hesitate in moving off in the opposite direction of Russia down the main hall, excitedly waving a hand in his dismissal.
“Roger that, man!” He called out, drawing several sets of eyes as per usual with his volume.
Within moments, he’d rounded the corner and stepped on up to wait for his elevator, grinning cheerily at some younger, professional looking woman doing just the same as he stepped into place. She gave him a bit of an odd look, but said nothing. He went on to eye the ceiling tiles, not minding her silence and skepticism much. The elevator ride was quiet, even more so past the nameless woman’s stop, but it didn’t bother him in the least bit. Amusing himself wasn't all that difficult of a thing to do. Amidst it all, he whistled up a new tune, and managed to keep at it all the way to his temporary room’s door.
Well, it was technically his and Canada’s, but judging by the sounds of it, Canada wasn’t in just yet. Not that he could have had the slightest chance of hearing his northern neighbor’s muttering from out in the hall. He probably would have heard his weird little polar bear’s voice, though.
The blond poked his head in the doorway after slipping his card along the slot to find the room empty, as he thought it would be. Not a Canadian or bear in sight. He couldn’t say he minded. This sped up the changing and equipping process, where there probably would have been a barrage of questions of all sorts. After he’d tugged on his beloved, slightly worn jacket, he slid his gun mostly comfortably under his clothes, as he came into the habit of doing long ago. That’s really all it was, sheer habit. Danger was the least of his worries. Coming back before he grew all too hungry was more daunting than anything else.
Once he’d scrawled out a little note for his brother, insisting he pick up some food for him as well should he go out, America was on his way out the door, the former skip returning to his step.
He continued to work out the spur of the moment melody he paused earlier, at least until he was downstairs once more, stepping toward his companion, who… took it upon himself to bring his pipe along with him. That was—well—a little weird, to say the least, but who was he to expect any different? This was Russia he invited to come along with him. Not to mention, he himself had brought a gun along, so he couldn’t pinpoint good reason to poke and prod at the other for his choice in arms.
“Ready?” He chirped, letting his hands settle into his pockets now that they had nothing to do. “You didn't forget anything, right?”
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