Paved with Good Intentions
Sometimes, in their desperation to live the life of a normal human with their normal human loved one, the immortal embodiments of nations made rash choices.
But all were made with a pure purpose at heart.
Russia stared expectantly at the empty table in front of him, in his periphery seeing America bouncing giddily up and down on the balls of his feet.
"Well?"
"You have to close your eyes! So you take it all in at once!"
Russia let out a resigned sigh, leaning back in his chair. Despite his weary demeanor, a soft smile tugged at his lips as his eyes fluttered shut. There really was no saying no to that excited little look America took on, especially when he seemed so excited to surprise him, Russia.
"Okay, keep them closed until I give the go ahead." Much rustling and bustling could be heard as America retrieved whatever his grand surprise was. After some more sounds of movement, interesting scents wafted to Russia's protuberant nose. It was…oddly familiar yet somehow almost disquieting.
"Okay, so I know how you put jam on everything, and can't go through a meal without dill, or pickling something," America began, his voice positively oozing giddiness. "So I thought, why not give the big guy everything he loves at once!"
"You coated yourself in honey just for me?" Russia teased without opening his eyes. He jumped slightly and laughed as his jab earned him a hard flick on the nose.
"Yeah, in your dreams."
"Mmm. You are quite right about that."
"Don't make this weird. I put a lot of thought into this and spent, like, an entire day in Brighton Beach taking a poll, all to give you the most Russian thing I could produce. Okay, open your eyes."
Russia allowed himself a moment to brace himself before his violet eyes fluttered open and fell upon…upon…
Russia stared. Despite the remarkable capacity for mankind to multitask, it seemed he was only capable of staring uncomprehendingly at the display before him, distantly hearing Alfred's explanation as if from far away.
According to Alfred, the thing before him was composed of chunks of pickled herring wrapped in thin blini that was swimming in jam with a dollop of sour cream garnished with dill atop a bed of cabbage leaves and drizzled with caviar all sitting within a hollowed out watermelon with slices of black bread covered in mayo lining the edges.
"I," was all Russia was capable of producing in the English language. Alfred nodded, beaming expectantly. Russia looked from the bizarre meal then to Alfred, then back to the food, then his boyfriend. "This…you…put a lot of thought into this," he said slowly, poking at it with a fork. His eyes slowly roved over each item, committing each to memory.
America nodded happily beside him. "Like I said, I did my research, found out what you guys like. Emptied my entire supply of sugar getting the jam right, phew!" He draped an arm around Russia, giving him a friendly nudge. "You get first dibs, big guy, so dig in." America took a seat beside him, looking so very pleased with himself.
"You should not have," Russia said faintly, bringing a forkful of food to his mouth.
0o0o0
Upon the commencement of the next meeting amongst the nations, members could not help but notice the peculiar attitude between Russia and America when they arrived. They entered together, and there were no open signs of hostility between them, but there was something…sheepish in each of their expressions, and anytime one caught the other's gaze, they looked away hastily. Besides that, however, all seemed normal.
"Is everything alright between you and America, Russia?" France asked kindly after pulling the other aside. It was his job as big brother to the world to make sure all his charges were happy.
Russia started, looking at first confused by the question. "What? Oh- yes, everything is great. We just…he surprised me with a special dinner."
"That was very sweet of him."
"Made entirely of things I like."
"How thoughtful."
Russia held up a picture from his phone. Before too much had been consumed, America had insisted on immortalizing it by taking a picture with his phone, and immediately sent it to Ivan.
"How…creative," France said slowly, squinting at the creation.
Russia returned the phone to his pocket, nodding with that same sheepish expression as before. "I wanted to return the favor and make something entirely out of food Americans typically like." France nodded for him to continue. "And…well…Alfred liked it, he seemed excited by it."
"I am very glad to hear that!" France said, smiling in approval. It slowly slipped as Russia continued.
"We had to dispose of it."
"Pardon?"
"We had to call to have it professionally disposed of. There were just…so many artificial preservatives, and chemicals, and GMO's, all concentrated onto one plate, it…set off Geiger counters." All this was said in a rush, Russia shifting from foot to foot.
France gaped.
THE END
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
I have sinned.
That concoction was put together based on things classmates, family friends, and myself have openly claimed to crave with an insatiable want that knows no bounds. For example, I have been told buttered bread with sugar sprinkled on top is perfectly acceptable as breakfast and that same person's family often pickles literally everything, including much beloved watermelon, and mayo goes on EVERYTHING.
A lot of foods in America have chemicals and such to maximize the shelf life. It's good for economics, but not so good on the body.
Lemme know what you think.