Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Warnings: This will be a gory story, and possible character death. Read it very carefully.
Twitch.
Twitch… Twitch.
He twitched.
Again.
Latvia dared a glance at the winter beast that sat across from his brother. He wouldn't normally wish his brother anymore grief than he normally had to deal with at the hands of the Russian, but did he honestly have to stare at Latvia when Lithuania was right across from him? Everyone knew Lithuania was his favorite, anyways.
The young Baltic sighed. Internally, of course. Though it always proved futile, he thought it might deter the crazed man from staring at him. He always gave in; the man was simply the most intimidating thing he'd ever had the karma to meet. Even Germany, in his power-obsessed craze of the twentieth century, hadn't frightened him as much as his former owner.
And he'd seen what Germany had done to Poland.
Maybe he'd been a bad nation in his past life, and was being torn into now because of it. He then wondered what he could've done that was bad enough to land himself in this situation.
His eyes began brimming, and he could swear he heard Russia staring at him. Seriously, there was this little buzzing "ji…" that sounded suspiciously like Russia.
The winter nation, satisfied that he'd terrified the littlest Baltic enough, turned to Estonia. Instantly, he noted with glee, the nation froze up and glanced surreptitiously at the man. Russia tried to hold the gaze, but the glasses were quickly glaring back at him and the eyes of the second Baltic nation were hidden.
The tension in the room seemed to escalate. Every nation, even the micro-nations and provinces, had thrown their gaze at one point or another to the nation that seemed intent upon making them all uncomfortable.
CREEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!
The nations jumped, for once the world was in perfect sync, sans Russia, as the little bird that always rode somewhere on Prussia's body took flight and flew in tiny circles around the ex-nation's head.
His owner reached his hands up to try and catch the little creature, who'd probably been spooked by Russia. The bird pecked at the gloved hand that reached towards him and, in his delusion, flew towards the open door. Prussia, in desperation, abandoned the meeting hall, regardless that Norway was giving some fascinating-though nearly entrancing, with his monotone- story of some serial killer.
They could hear his voice fade as he ran after his mad bird. "Wha'do'ya mean, danger? Of course it's dangerous, Russia's in there! Gilbird come…"
Russia giggled at the antics of his former charge as Norway continued on without missing a beat.
Don't you want to come play with Mother Russia, malenkaya? He thought after it. It wasn't a matter of if the little guy would come to him or not. Oh no, no, no, all would become one with Mother Russia one day; it was simply a matter of when.
And so, he would wait patiently for the day when the little bird would once again join the house of the future.
Russia also giggled at the Prussian's statement. He, too, would become one with him one day. The man's dislike of him could only last for so long. Then he would once again see the greatness of being under Russia.
The meeting wrapped up shortly, with the female, the one with long, brown hair, and a flower and frying pan, hurried to exit. He could hear her mumbling across the room, the dark tone of his voice almost mesmerizing him. "When I find that stupid kraut, I'm going to beat him so badly, he won't be able to walk…"
She was a lovely person, Russia thought. A lovely woman who knew how to get what she wanted and what to do if she couldn't. A beautiful person should definitely become part of the Russian empire.
His smile and purple eyes slowly scanned the room. Oh, how he enjoyed making the others jump when they realized he was looking at them. It made him feel so powerful. He liked feeling powerful.
Across the room, America whispered in a conspiratorial voice to England. "Is it just me, or has Russia been seriously creepy lately? I mean, dude, he even managed to send Prussia running!"
England, though he felt similarly about the Russian's behavior, also doubted it, and waved his concerns off. "Maybe it's just that time of year again. Anyways, he's always been a creepy git. Why should we worry just because it's become a little worse?"
America looked dubious. "I don't know, man, it just feels like he's taken on a whole new level of disturbing, you know what I mean? He's never switched staring targets so often before. He even glanced over at the Nords, and he's always left them alone."
England grimaced. The America had a point, as rare as that was, in and of itself. But he held his own uncertainties above those of his ally. "Maybe he's agitated? I'm sure it will wear off eventually. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have afternoon tea with the queen, and would like some time to prepare." The island nation took his folders and his person out of the room, stalling any further discussions of the irregular behavior for the next time they met.
America could and couldn't believe England's stance on it. Sure, the man was prideful, and once something got stuck in his head, he was loathe to change it. But something in America's gut was telling him that this wasn't just "one of those times." He trusted his gut; it had been right about McDonald's being the best food ever, and that he would still somehow end up in the second war, despite his neutral stance on it. You just don't doubt something that has been right about important stuff like that.
And now, his gut was screaming at him to leave the room. It seems the Russian had turned his roving gaze onto America, and was intent upon chasing the nation out of the room.
As the superpower fled, he grumbled about crazy commies and stupid instincts, though he knew they were anything but.
Russia felt proud. He had every right to. He'd scared his old rival out of the room.