"Look at that."
Ivan Braginsky (Respectivley known as teh Russian Federation.) blinks from the sight of one Alfred F. Jones (The U.S. of effing Awesome!... Respectivley.) stuffing his mouth with a spoonful of ice cream to the scene the other finds so interesting.
Outside the renovated ice cream parlor window they sit beside stands strangers, a man and woman. The woman (standing straight with her amrs folded across her chest) looks insulted and hurt while the man (standing with a slight slouch and hands gesturing as he speaks) carries an expression between pleading and defeated. Ivan raises an eyebrow at the two, but ultimately returns his gaze back at the blonde now the plastic spoon into something unindentifiable. For reasons beyond him, Alfred seems to be taking a keen interest.
"What is so interesting?" he finally asks.
"It's like a soap opera," Alfred responds in an unnecessary harsh whisper excitedly. "What d'you think they're fighting about?"
Ivan turns back to the scene, noticing that the two are standing closer to each other, though the animosity between them is still very much lingering between. He glances back at Alfred, an amused smile plays at his lips as he observes the other nation watching the scene like one of his own football games.
"I did not know Amerika was so fond of the sort of entertainment many housewives find themselves engrossed in," he says.
"Drama's drama," the blonde replies. "So, what d'you think they're fighting about?"
Ivan shrugs indifferently. "Most likely it is some trivial matter not worth fighting over."
"You would say that. It could be pretty important to her, lookit, she's pretty mad about."
"Naturally. From the way he is handling the situation, it would seem this is not an abnormal occurence. One would think he caters to her emotions so greatly, therefore whatever they appear to disagree on now can only be a matter of unimportance."
"Like I said," Alfred says, "you would say something like that. I don't think so. She seems genuinely hurt."
"Genuinely annoying, you mean."
Alfred frown considerably at his words. "He seems worried about making things alright."
"Of course, anything to keep the situation from spiraling out of control with the result of him being single once more." Ivan gesutres at the male's posture and motions. "He is saying things like, 'Please calm down, I did not mean to upset you.'."
"Which doesn't help her calm down because all she wants is an apology," Alfred replies. "Something that tells her that he really didn't mean to start something to upset her. So she ends saying something like, 'I don't get why you had to go and do something like that.'."
Alfred bites down harder on his spoon and mumbles, "He might want to end whatever it is and move on, be he still won't say it."
"He has no need to say it."
"You don't know that."
"Don't I?"
Alfred tears his gaze away from the window scene and looks to the other across the baby blue lacquered table. The two hold a steady gaze until Alfred breaks it to turn back and says, "No. You don't."
Ivan sighs audibly and shifts uncomfortably against the white polyester of the booth. The "50s" mix CD clicks onto a new track and the sounds of Paul Anka fill their ears and Ivan wants nothing more than to leave. Alfred however, continues the subject.
"There," he points out. "Now it's a full on fight. He should've just said sorry."
Ivan looks back at the two and sure enough, the quiet storm brewing beneath their hushed words and soft glares breaks into a war with over the top hand gestures and contorted mouths hurling insults back and forth out of rage. Their words are still inaudible (amazingly enough), that does not stop the two inside the shop to give them their own diaglouge.
"You're such an asshole," Alfred provides.
"You take too many things out of context," Ivan defends.
"I don't know why you just can't fucking say you're sorry."
"You do not need to swear at me."
"Stop changing the subject, I'll swear all the fuck I want."
"It does not help anything."
"Just say you're sorry."
"I have nothing to be sorry for."
"Yes, you do. It's your fault we're fighting. We're always fighting because of you."
"They why stay with me?"
"Because I still love you."
Alfred's last words added to their improved script causes another stretch of silence to descend upon the two. Ivan turns from the window again, and focuses on the blonde in front of him. Alfred ignores the stare he's being given in favor of watching the fight between the two escalate before each one storms off in the opposite direction. Definitely not wanting to stay any longer, Ivan uses the break to his advantage.
"Are you finished?" he asks.
Alfred barely gives him any eye contact before staring down at the mess of melted vanilla mixed with half eaten bananas and dripping whipped cream. He tosses the spoon into the styrofoam bowl and crumples his napkins over it.
"Let's go," he says, sliding out of his seat and making for the exit before Ivan had even begun to get out of his own.
Ivan picks the small bowl up for self-disposal after sliding out from the booth. Alfred in his hurry had not seemed to notice that while the parlor may have been renovated to look like one of the many back in the day, it did not run as such and they must clean up after themselves.
With the left over treat thrown into a nearby bin, Ivan walks back out into the streets of the city where Alfred waits for him to catch up with his arms folded across his chest. One look at the indeciperable expression splayed across his face and Ivan knows that for whatever reason it is, he should just apologize and be done with it.
He walks to Alfred's side and the only words that spill from both their mouths simultaneously are those of parting before they both walk off in opposite directions.
xxx
Disclaimer: Where, oh where, can my baby be?
-Dedicated to the love of my life, you facking betch, I hate you so much.
-Anyway, wrote this while waiting in line to see Harry Potter.
-I can't help but feel like they were having a pleasant enough time before that fight happened in front of them. DX