Anya
needs
help with making cake. Messes guaranteed.
Alfred
will
help... to distract himself more than anything else. Even if he doesn't know who you are. But he's not that good of a chef either, so don't
blame him if anything goes wrong.
Okay! Who are you? peers carefully
You resemble Allison.
stares at her warily. Well that was rather... forward. Should he pretend to play stupid? Probably, but... "Alfred. You should give out your
own name first before asking for other's, you know."
I'm Anya. Anya... Braginskaya.
stares at her, for a good few seconds... before realizing her accent and twitching. He clears his throat. "... Right. Anya. Sorry, I have
to go."
Anya
wonders
why, then she realized she already knew.
"Nobody's stopping you." She wouldn't.
"Nobody's stopping you." She wouldn't.
sighs, stopping in mid-step. Was he really going to push another one of them away? ... He should have realized there was a female
version too, since there was Allison, but still... He clears his throat. "My apologies. I didn't mean to come off as rude. You're...
you're Russia, aren't you?"
"That's what others call me," she replies, dipping a finger in the flour bag. Same half-sure tone, same wary stance, same words.
clears his throat again, willing the feeling to go away. He just stares at her for a few seconds, unsure of what to say. "Then... you
know who I am?"
"It's obvious," she replies, licking the finger. Gah, how bland. "You're America. The hero- yes, that's what you call yourself." Her voice
Anya
was
flat, emotionless.
narrows his eyes at her tone, but doesn't comment on it. He only continues to watch, pondering to himself. "Have you been in contact... with
the... other you?"
"No," she said, calmly, though that had never crossed her mind. Was there another Russia? Funny. What would he be like?
"Oh..." He sighs; why was he getting worked up over that? Oh right, because that stupid thing called hope could not be smashed in his
gut, no matter how much he wanted it to. "Sorry." He repeats again, not sure what he's sorry for.
gently tips the flour into the mixing bowl. What a waste , she didn't know how to make cakes...
...and this American was different - he said sorry.
Allison did little more than smile when they started dying.
Allison did little more than smile when they started dying.
"Hey..." He didn't like this feeling, not at all. He realized he craved more attention and this... this was not helping. "Don't ignore me
when I'm trying to be nice."
looks at him and smiles. "I'm not ignoring you," she said, quietly, "and you're not being nice." She wondered how many poor people would
be able to live another day on the flour she was wasting. Three, probably. Being an entire day and all.
"Well, I'm trying to be, if you'd stop with the damn cake," he retorts, not having realized that his anger had blown off again until it
Alfred
was
too late. He takes a deep breath, and shakes his head. "This is just weird for me, alright?"
[I've to go to bed now. ^^ School tomorrow. Good night/morning!]
[Night to you!]
"Well, it ought to be weird for me too," she said, "seeing as I just discovered a genderbent version of a nation who once wanted to see me
dead."
[<3]
"I..." Fuck, well then. Direct to the point, wasn't she? And that was a part of his past he had been adamantly kept locked up,
especially considering... Never mind that. "It's not as though you didn't want to see me dead either, so don't give yourself all the
credit."
thought he had a point, but she wasn't done. She stared straight at him.
"But who ended up dying?" Little more than a whisper. Hopefully it would have the intended effect.
"No one," he deadpans. "It's not like I stabbed ya' in the heart, or somethin'." He sort of just wants to move away from this topic, but it
seems inevitable.
"No," she replied, and that was true. "If ca-pitalism works for you, it doesn't for me." It was an effort to keep her shoulders from
slumping. In the end it hadn't been his fault, but things wouldn't have been quite so bad if half the world wasn't against her.
raises an eyebrow at her, feeling some barely repressed anger boiling up inside him. "It works well for everyone. I don't see your people
complaining about it now. I don't think anyone missed your little farce from before. Just let it go." Well, now, he was being a hypocrite.
In any case, she was done with cooking. She lifted the bowl and dropped it. On the floor. Glass flew out in all directions. Those three
imaginary people were dead. Nobody would mourn them.
felt Alfred was missing something. "You know something, Al-fred, when I still wore red with pride, the poorest of the poor had bread in
their unfortunate stomachs." They didn't anymore.
jumps at the shattering of the bowl, his senses finally awakening at the loud disruption. "H-hey, what the hell was that for? If you were
trying to prove a point, you could have done it in a less violent method!" He glares, looking around for something to clean it up with,
but pauses at her words. "Then it's your problem that you can't run your own system well. And don't pretend it was all sunshine and daisies
for them. That's just one good thing."
isn't really listening. How many times has she heard the same thing from Allison? Stubborn, all of them. It was a cruel repetition of the
tale of the Savior in a different fashion, with a different ending.
scowls at her silence, but finally finds a broom to attempt to clean up the shards on the floor. He sweeps them up, all the while glancing
to her every now and again. "Look, I didn't come here to discuss politics with you. That's better saved in the meeting room, alright? So
just lay off." (Oops. xD)
"Then what did you come here to do?" She mustn't let her anger show. "Not to help me with cakes, certainly."
She could make Georgia suffer later, but not. now. Bear this imbecile for now. Only for now.
did want to help bake the cakes, until he figured out who she was. Now, he wasn't so sure... but he could still use this to his advantage,
somewhat. "A distraction," he says simply. It's the truth, after all.
glares at him. "Is this a habit of yours?" He was strong, she had enough proof, so maybe he wouldn't pass into a coma if she hit him hard
over the head with her shovel. Maybe.
raises an eyebrow, reigning his temper back in. "What is?"
дурак. "Your troubling other nations when you feel like it." Was that the word?
sighs and goes back to his previous mood, just staring emotionlessly at her, shaking his head. "I told you, I wanted to bake a cake. I don't
really think I'm troubling you, when I've barely even done anything."
Of course not. He'd done nothing at all. Absolutely nothing . She turned and picked up her shovel.
Was he still looking at her? He must
Was he still looking at her? He must
not see her eyes. A distraction would do.
She swung the shovel at the table with all the force she could muster. A leg collapsed, and
She swung the shovel at the table with all the force she could muster. A leg collapsed, and
everything on the table fell on the ground.
Messes guaranteed .
Messes guaranteed .
She whipped her head around almost immediately and repeated her chant to herself. Everything would be alright tomorrow, the sun would shine
again, and there would always be her sunflowers to tend to, a few million extra in her bank account, and the winter to moan about.
jumps once more at the sounds of plates and various objects crashing to the ground, and he merely flicks his eyes at the mess for a second,
before going back up to meet her gaze. "I ain't cleanin' that up," he deadpans, unsure of what had caused such actions. She was so much more
... volatile than her counterpart, it seemed. Nothing like him. He wasn't sure how to take that... so he goes back to just staring
at her. "What'd you do that for? Now your floor is messy."
blinks hard. Heaven and hell would pay in equal measure if her throat sounded choked when she spoke.
And who was he to be expected to clean up her messes? She managed well enough on her own.
Her knuckles were white around her shovel.
Her knuckles were white around her shovel.
Her shoulders threatened to shake. They had better not.
stares at her reaction, confused. Where were the angry words he had expected? Some sort of little fit that would come out of nowhere?
She had done nothing but piss him off since he'd arrived, but he could never pretend to look away when someone was... well, what? Troubled?
"... Are you okay...?" He eyes her grip on the shovel warily.
"Funny you should ask."
Where was Lietuvis, now? She lived a little way away, but that didn't mean she couldn't pay her a visit ...
Where was Lietuvis, now? She lived a little way away, but that didn't mean she couldn't pay her a visit ...
Oh, the fun they'd have... she let out a low laugh.
"That's not an answer." He's unnerved by that laugh of hers; dammit, even though this was still a Russia, he could barely grasp the male's
reactions. How the hell was he supposed to read her? "... What are you going to do?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Another giggle. Maybe she could get some of the old sheets torn into strips. Liet hated playing blindfolded,
but she didn't have an opinion here.
"Yes, I would actually." That giggle. Familiar. It was so familiar. It echoed in his head, but in a tenor that was much lower than hers.
His eyes narrowed. "What is wrong with you?"
More giggling. Oh, she'd wake up really late tomorrow morning.
"Me?" she asked, turning around. "Nothing."
"Me?" she asked, turning around. "Nothing."
Her eyes were wide, and the arm carrying the shovel seemed looser than usual.
"Don't give me that! Turn around and look at me when I'm talking to you!" Alright, now he was just that bit freaked out. Of course, leave
it to a Russia to rile him up to some sort of emotion... and it had to be that one. "... Talk to me!"
picked at the sharp end of her shovel. Let's hope the red was rust. She was sure she'd cleaned it from last time...
"If you must," she said
"If you must," she said
, vaguely wondering what was wrong with Alfred.
Anyways, what would they do? Stains weren't pleasant in the morning. Maybe she should change to the maroon sheets. Mm, this would be lovely.
"... Anya." The name so close to the one that had been in his head all this time burns him, but he holds that reaction in as he stares at
her. Was her shovel supposed to be like his Russia's pipe? Weird-ass family they got there. "What is wrong with you? You're acting...
differently."
swung the shovel down. Both were red, who cared? "I am?" Did he mean, more strange than usual? The people inside the cage probably thought
the people outside were in cages. Provided the cage in question was very large, or just a barbed-wire fence.
She looked around, just to see his face, and it was a little like how she'd imagined it. He wasn't liking this very much, was he?
"Yeah, you kinda are," he states plainly, staring at her when she finally does turn to face him. Again, there's that familiarity in that
look, something that his gut tells him he should be aware of, but damn, he couldn't place it! It warns him though, to stay away, keep a
distance. "So why don't you stop being such a prissy and tell me what's wrong."
"You," she said simply, and she paused long enough to make it sound like an accusation. "You are very curious about my happiness all of a
sudden." A half-laugh. Happiness would come soon enough.
raises an eyebrow at that. Obviously he was. They may have had problems with their countries in the past (still do), but it didn't mean he
couldn't be concerned. "And your point is?" He didn't find anything funny about this situation at all.
"I'm happy," she continued, "because there's nothing wrong with me right now." Not mentally, at least - she didn't feel wrong, no.
And he did seem concerned, so she decided to let on a little more. "I remembered something that would make me happy again."
knows he should relax at those words, but a better part of him tells him not to let down his guard. Just because... the other Russia was..
well, Russia, it didn't mean she followed the exact same rules, the exact same personality. "And would you be willing to share that thought
with me?"
wondered how he'd react. He'd probably be horrified, and try to save the day by ruining everything.
"I'm going to dig in my sunflower bed,"
"I'm going to dig in my sunflower bed,"
she replied. Yes, under all the snow. With his mostly mild winters, he wouldn't guess quite so quickly.
She wasn't stepping outside, or give the General any chance to breathe down her neck. She was going to stay warm at home... why was that
so funny?
"O-oh..." Well, he hadn't expected that. Actually, at this point, he wasn't expecting anything sane at this point. He didn't like being so
confused, dammit all. But it seemed a normal enough answer, so he sighs a little warily. "Then... if you want, I can help you out, I
suppose."
Anya
is
alarmed by this suggestion. "It's cold in November," she says, grimly. "Very cold."
blinks. "Are you going shovelling in your place, then? You know sunflowers can't really survive over there."
waves the shovel.
"They'll survive with care." They could, they would with a lot of love and care. Beautiful little sunny blooms.
"They'll survive with care." They could, they would with a lot of love and care. Beautiful little sunny blooms.
"I suppose." He wills away the comparison... fucking sunflowers. No, he would not let that dam burst right here, with someone completely
unknown to him (somewhat). "I can still help you out. I've been in Russia.. a.. a lot recently. Or. Previously. So I'm somewhat used to it."
catches that. "Have you been to visit my... other self?"
He must be used to arguing, then. And that meant he wouldn't hate her quite so
He must be used to arguing, then. And that meant he wouldn't hate her quite so
bad. Hopefully. This was a little confusing. I mean, if he could bear stepping on Russian soil, it meant... she peered at him, head tilted.
"I-" There is a sudden something in his throat preventing him from speaking, and for the first time since he'd entered the room, he breaks
eye contact to stare at her shoes. He still couldn't let his guard down, no matter what. "Yeah." That was it. That was all he could muster.
Any more... he wasn't sure if he could hold himself.
There was more to it, she could see, but she wouldn't press him.
"Then I suppose you could," she said, hesitatingly. Maybe she could just
"Then I suppose you could," she said, hesitatingly. Maybe she could just
shovel up the snow today, instead of asking Liet over.
"Alright." He's glad she doesn't pursue it, and finally looks up from her shoes to stare at her again. He's vehemently trying to ignore
their similar shade of eyes, clearing his throat to force the obstruction away. "I just have to pack for it though. Sorry if it takes a
little long."
She had doubted whether he would agree, and didn't quite know how to react when he agreed.
She nodded. "I don't mind. Pack very warm."
She nodded. "I don't mind. Pack very warm."
Why did he look so haunted? Something she'd said had done it, but what? As much as she knew Alfred didn't seem to have such scruples, she
would have to steer clear of the topic next time.
[yay? Did you see the new plurk?]
[Woop! And I will refresh right now >o]