Author's Note: I do not claim the series Hetalia or any of the characters!
"Olivia, dear," a chimy voice rang.
Amythest orbs looked up at the former empire. A deep chill feasted from them, although uncaring and bored-looking, bore into the light redhead's. A sickly sweet smile met those merciless eyes. A pretty hum kept each corner of her pink lips up.
"Sit properly in your seat, please?" the tiny woman asked with that dolly grin in play.
Non-chalant, cold and bitter, a voice that would have been kind and soft in another world merely answered, "I don't see why I should?"
A giggle. A sickening, overly-girly giggle filled the brightly lit kitchen. The Canadian, who sat slouched in a dining chair at the breakfast nook, seemed to threw the threatening laugh off.
"You'll hurt your back like that," mewled the woman standing by the stove, stirring who knew what into a medium-sized pot. "Now please sit up right."
A soft groan scratched the other's throat. "I don't care."
Pretty pink lips parted, releasing an airy sigh. How did the children she raised become such rude young women?
Hours of forbidden silence seemed to stretch between the two. The sound of the radio playing all kinds of cherry music was the only noise in the bright pink kitchen. The sun, yellow and happy as the Brit at the baby blue stove, shown through the windows, where matching blue curtians were pulled back to allow the rays to pool in from the outside world.
Alice practically danced around her kitchen. At the counter beside a baby blue fridge, she seized her graceful spirited steps. Her straight back, covered in a sweet pink dress, faced her beloved former colony. A pinkish-white cutting board laid on the counter, whole carrots and a stainless-steel knife rested idly beside it. A hand disturbed the knife's rest as the light redhead picked it up by the handle.
Steadily, she paced herself as she expertly sliced through the orange sticks piece by piece. Her hands made quick work. One too many times, however, the silver blade came too close to soft fingertips. No care was given by the Briton or mountie, though. The cook merely swayed her hips along with the music she hummed along with while her oh-so quiet company stared almost boredly out the window still defiantly slouched in her seat.
Chopped carrots laid on the cutting board now. Alice picked up the colored wood, holding her lovely knife next to the vegetabls. Graceful as her tiptoed steps took her, she made her way back to the burning stovetop. Plops sounded around the kitchen as each orange disk fell into the boiling broth. The scrape of her knife's blade on the board pushed the last remaining sweet vegetable into the pot.
With a satisfied smile, Alive turned herself to dump the dirtied wood into the double sink. Her actions came to an abrupt standstill as she took notice of the dark blonde at her table.
A short sigh slipped past her lips. "Honestly, Olivia. If you continue to sit like that and ignore my warning, I will have to descipline you."
The voice that had broke her solitude caused violet eyes to snap in the direction of the freckled woman. That usual lollipop smile didn't form at first. Instead, a pup's pout puckered the Brit's ting pink lips. The grin, as if flipping a switch, returned though.
"Now, come come, darling," Alice's melodyvoice sang, "Sit up right, pretty please?"
Shoulders covered by a crimson coat merely rose then fell. The sight of the tiny gesture caused a twitch at the corner of the sugary grin. The grip on the kitchen knife, still dirty from Alice's earlier work, tightened.
"Oh, Olivia, why must you be so difficult?"
"Why must you be so damn annoying?" The mountie spat back to her former caretaker, who looked taken back.
"Why, that hurt," Alice pounted, her bottom lip jutting out. "Please don't say such hurtful words?"
Again, those offending shoulders shrugged in response. "Fuck if I care, old hag."
Now, that struck a cord. Fuck? Old hag? Just where had her adoring daughters learn such foul language? Rachell, maybe? That poor Frenchwoman is always swearing, drunk or not. Maybe it had been Sakura? Well, no way. Alice never alloed the rebelled woman near her home, much less her children.
No matter who taught her dear Olivia such manners, the poor dear had to be disciplined. Such naughty behavior couldn't be tolerated in the Brit's home.
Smiling her sickly just-too-sweet gfrin, Alice set the cutting board down on the pink counter with a loud clang. The Canadian at her table didn't even flinch. Only a pair of sharp white canines peered through a mocking smirk. Things were getting interesting now, she thought coldly.
The dark blonde bent over to pick up her beloved hockey stick, who was covered in barbwire. For years, just as her dear brother Mattie had called his 'Rebecca', Olivia had always called hers 'Ricky' as if to refer to 'him' as a living being.
However, her pretty porcelain hand outstretched, a flash of glinting silver flew past her sight. With late realization, a deep gash had been ripped into her same hand that reached for Ricky right at the top of her wrist, just to be exact. Crimson fluid, her life liquid, gushed out from the wound, wounding up staining the tile floor and her lovely black hockey stick.
"Shit!" The now trapped victim of her 'mother' swore.
The redhead made a click sound as she chook her head, "Tsk, tsk." Her smile was gone now, turned into a clearly unhappy frown. "Darling, won't you ever learn? Why must you use such nasty words around me?"
"Go to fucking hell, you damn whore!" Her not-so-little Canadian spat, craddling her bloody-drenched wrist close.
... Sorry, it's not finished. Will be soon, though! :D