Title: Winter's Cold (-Only When You're By Yourself)
Summary: "Gospodzin, you look chilly..."
Russia was used to the cold, harsh winters his land was known for, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel the icy words of all the other countries. He visits a small peasant village just outside Nizhny Novgorod, stares at the beautiful fields of sunflowers, and watches a young peasant girl who's beauty could've rivaled that of the flowers, and who's happiness should have been something of legend.
"Gospodzin, Gospodzin, you will dance with me, da? Dancing will make you happy and warm, Gospodzin!"
Pairing: N/A
Privyet Comrades,
I think Russia is horribly misunderstood, and I actually quite like the the Russian Personification, so I'm going to write a continuation of "I Apologize (-And I Forgive You)" just with Russia as the focus character instead of America. I think I might doing one for Prussia or Germany next, so please tell me if you would like for me to write more one-shots like this...
Hope you enjoy it!
Paka~~
Mellow-chan
(Warning: May be foreign languages, I'm not fluent in anything besides English, so please correct me if I have anything wrong! I do not own Hetalia, the Ukrainian poem in the beginning of this fanfic, and the Russia folk song within it.)
The sunflower has lowered its head,
The girls' song flies through the gathering darkness.
I'm listening to that song that comes from afar,
The swift passing of my youth saddens me...
Russia was used to the cold. He had lived through times when all he ever felt was the cold, unrelenting bitterness that could only be a Russian winter. He had lived through years of tyranny, solitude, and unrestful sleep as he made his way to the very pinnacle of his existence.
The United Soviet States of Russia. The U.S.S.R. The Soviet Union.
Whatever you wish to call it.
Communism ravished the land, resources, and morale of his people, slowly, but surely.
It was 1991
The Berlin Wall had fallen two years prior.
And everything went downhill from there.
His Soviet Union dissipated in just the beginning of the cold winter months, leaving Russia to feel nothing for the rest of the harsh season. He had secluded himself after the Dissipation (of his country and his pride).
Russia had never desired the power he received. He had never wished for the Communist movement, nor had he ever wanted to hurt his siblings, his friends, the ways he had. All he could remember was the intoxicated feeling he had, the rush he felt, when he was in control of the chess board that was the world.
Ivan Braginski was human in the sense that he was easily influenced and swayed by power. His morales charged with power. His feelings changed with power. He changed with power. It was his greatest flaw. One he hated.
If Ivan was the kind of man to shove the blame onto someone else, he would shove it on the newly reunited Germany.
They had caused all this; they had wanted so desperate to close the Eastern Front, to seclude Russia, in WWI, that they sent a Revolutionary in exile with funds to start a revolution. And oh, that was exactly what Vladimir Lenin and Joseph Stalin did. They started a Revolution. One that the Czars lost. Horribly.
(Anastasia, Anastasia, his poor, sweet Anastasia. She was the only one who loved him, and he was the only one who loved her when she had perished in his hands. Anastasia, Anastasia, his sweet lover that was dead.)
The Germans had caused this.
The Germans.
Not him.
Of course, all this history was kept from the general public.
Communism was evil.
Communist are evil.
They could never had been the ones victimized.
They were the ones that victimized others.
They could never play the innocent.
Now, it was summer. A summer he would like to forever forget.
The sneers from all the nations peeved him, but what angered him the most was the American bastard that had looked at him sadly and shook his hand, saying,"Ivan, I know you aren't as bad as they say you are. Don't let them get to you. You're stronger than they are. I'm speaking on a personal level, Ivan. You're political beliefs, however, are an entirely different story."
Russia was in a small farming town, whose name he forgot, but he knew it was just leaps and bounds away from Nizhny Novgorod, a city he was quite familiar with.
Ivan wandered the lifeless fields of this small farming down, the poverty striken local fresh on his mind as he wandered the fields of weeds and potatoes he knew would sure turn out horrible.
("Everything was destined to fail in Communist Russia.")
Russia could hear singing from afar, a young girl, singing.
Who sings during times like these?
Ivan's long legs carried him to a sunflower field.
A beautiful sunflower field with a beautiful girl, dressed in rags, and singing her heart away, as if that was the only thing she could do. The girl had short brown hair from want Russia could observe. She was short, stocky almost (probably from years of farming and planting), but beautiful, non the less. The girl spun in circles, and her feet moved like the wind. Her hair flowed with movements of the air, and her sweet voice was carried away in the summer breeze-
"Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka moya!
V sadu yagoda malinka, malinka moya!"
The girl laughed here, her rags catching the wind, and her face etched itself into Ivan's memories.
She was young.
She was beautiful.
But, oh, would that change.
He pitied the girl. He pitied her for being such a beautiful woman, in such a barren land.
"Akh, pod sosnoyu, pod zelenoyu,
Spat' polozhite vy menya!
Ay-lyuli, lyuli, ay-lyuli, lyuli,
Spat' polozhite vy menya!~"
The girl ended her song with a laugh, but her feet kept moving. The kept going, and going, until-
She was in front of him.
Ivan blinked, his sharp violet eyes meeting her deep blue ones. The girl tilted her head up to return his cool gaze, and she smiled warmly.
Her smile was a bright as the sun above them, and Russia vaguely wondered if the girl was American.
Her grin was that lovely.
"Gospodzin, you're eyes are delightful to look at," The girl commented happily. Ivan shivered, though it was quite warm outside, and the girl took notice to this, saying-
"Gospodzin, you look chilly!" The female stood on her tipped toes as she peered at the Russian closer, and she twirled on her toes as she tugged on his huge hands.
"Of course it is cold we are in Russia, da?" Ivan pointed out quietly, but the girl shook her head firmly.
"Nyet, nyet, it is summer, not winter. But even in the winter, it is only cold if you are alone, Gospodzin."
Ivan stood, baffled, and started to shake his head nyet, that was not how it worked, he was quite adamant to the statement, but-
"Gospodzin, Gospodzin, you will dance with me, da? Dancing will make you happy and warm, Gospodzin!" She had already grabbed his big hands, and she was singing that contagious tune one again.
"Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka moya!
V sadu yagoda malinka, malinka moya!"
The girl laughed, saying, "You have to sing, comrade, sing!"
Ivan stiffed a wince and a sneer, and decided he should just humor the girl.
And so, he sang.
"Akh, pod sosnoyu, pod zelenoyu,
Spat' polozhite vy menya!
Ay-lyuli, lyuli, ay-lyuli, lyuli,
Spat' polozhite vy menya!~"
Before he realized it, he was dancing, and he was singing, and he was clapping.
It was as if nothing horrible had happened, as if the U.S.S.R had never dissipated, as if everything was alright.
Ivan tricked himself for those two hours of singing and dancing with a nameless girl, whose smile belonged to the sun, and whose face reflected the sunflowers.
Over and over they sang the same song, danced the same dances, and after an indeterminable amount of time, collapsed into the sunflower field, breathing heavily, and smiling crazily.
Ivan felt like a child again.
He glad over at the girl, who was staring into the cloudy summer sky, and he wore he could still her the cheerful song echoing in the air.
She was breathing heavily, her face was flushed red, and her hair stuck to her forehead from all the sweat.
"My name is Ivan."
"Mine is Anya."
"I am Russian."
"So am I. So am I, Gospodzin Ivan, so am I."
She turned and smiled, "Aren't we all but filthy Russian's at the moment?"
Russia didn't reply to this comment, he couldn't.
"Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka moya!
V sadu yagoda malinka, malinka moya!
Akh, pod sosnoyu, pod zelenoyu,
Spat' polozhite vy menya!
Ay-lyuli, lyuli, ay-lyuli, lyuli,
Spat' polozhite vy menya!~"
She had already started singing again.
When she had danced away, into the sunflower field, she clapped her hands together and grinned.
"Paka, paka, paka, Gospodzin Ivan!~"
Again, she called-
"Please, remember, you are Russian, Gospodzin Ivan! Even if every other says we are Communist!"
And she danced away, into the breeze, never to be seen again.
"Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka moya!
V sadu yagoda malinka, malinka moya!
Akh, pod sosnoyu, pod zelenoyu,
Spat' polozhite vy menya!
Ay-lyuli, lyuli, ay-lyuli, lyuli,
Spat' polozhite vy menya!~"
Little red berry, red berry, red berry of mine!
In the garden (there is) a berry - little raspberry, raspberry of mine!
Ah, under the pine, the green one,
Lay me down to sleep,
Oh-swing, sway, Oh-swing, sway,
Lay me down to sleep.
I hoped you guys enjoyed, and to clarify-
Privyet- Hello
Gospodzin- Mister
Paka- Goodbye
Please review, I'd very much enjoy to know your opinions.
God Bless,
Mellow-chan