Disclaimer: The usual.

So here it is, chapter 2! Partly because I've been fretting over this section so much and just decided to put myself out of my misery, and partly as an apology for not sending a letter yet to LNMPTGOML (gotta love acronyms!). I'm working on it, I promise!

And maybe also as a distraction from my (horribly cliche) guy problems. But that's a whole other story...

So anyway...

The Art of Rebellion

Chapter 2

"Operator, could you connect me to the Braginski residence? Like totes ASAP please."

"Please hold."

He sighed. "Yeah, okay." He leaned on the desk he was sitting at, tapping his fingers against the top in a rhythm. He was at the bank- the only place in town he knew of that had a public telephone. It was a busier day today than usual, he noted, as a woman brushed by him with long her long and billowing dress. He found himself smiling at the latest fashions- they were big and gaudy and altogether unnecessary, but he liked them. Too bad a farmer had no need for any of it.

Poland checked his pocket watch one last time, more out of boredom than anything else. He knew that every Wednesday at this time Ivan was at a meeting with his boss, and that's why he chose this time to call.

"Poland?"

"Liet!" He almost shouted after being dragged out of his thoughts by the sound of his friend's voice. "Like, where were you? You knew I was going to Ivan's for a meeting today, and we were planning to see each other."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "I was at the market… he'd told me you weren't coming."

Poland felt just the slightest twinge of irritation, but it was ignored. There was nothing anybody could do about it now, so he just resolved to spend a good minute being mad about it later. "Eh, whatever. Next time listen to me and not him. So how are things at Russia's house? Everything okay?"

"It's been… um, how was the meeting with Ivan?"

Poland almost managed to call him out on the blatant subject change, but at the mention of Ivan he burst out, "Like, it was awful! That guy has absolutely no respect for me or my citizens. Okay, so I told him outright that I wanted him to knock it off with the whole subjugation thing, and you know what he did?" Poland didn't even notice that his voice was steadily gaining volume, or the odd stares the bank goers were starting to give him. He was clutching the edge of the table so hard he was starting to hear the wood creek in protest. "He said that he was going to use me- my people, my army!- to suppress France and Belgium's stupid little rebellions! He can't do that Liet! I have rights, and I will not be his freaking pawn!"

He slammed his fist on the table, and heard a crunch. He looked down to find a long thin crack in the wood and a noticeable dent right where his hand was. He nervously glanced behind him to see if anyone had noticed, but the people either didn't see it, or were too afraid to say anything. He spotted a directory on the desk and slid it right over the crack, but it only covered about three fourths of the damage. He whistled innocently, pretending like he didn't notice it.

"So what are you planning to do about it?"

Poland slumped in his seat, "I have no idea…" He bolted up suddenly, previous somber attitude forgotten. "By the way, like, you never answered my question. How are things at Russia's place? And how's Ella doing? Viktoria really misses her." Actually, Feliks wasn't entirely sure of that, but he was sure that she would miss Ella if she wasn't so listless lately. He was really worried about her, but he couldn't even figure out what the problem was.

"Well it's-"

Suddenly, he heard a click and what sounded like boots on creaky wood.

"Toris? Who are you talking to?"

He gasped, "M-Mr. Russia! You're home early!"

There was a static-like noise, and talking on the other end of the line. He's been caught, Feliks thought, over and over again. Great, he's been caught, Viktoria's loosing it, and if I don't do something soon, Russia'll ship me off to fight France and Belgium within a fortnight.

The static was cut off abruptly. Feliks ground his teeth together, barely suppressing the urge to hang up right then. It didn't take a genious to figure out what was comming next. He heard Russia's lilting accent come on and say sweetly, "Hello Pol'sha. I'm afraid I don't appreciate you talking to my subordinates behind my back. Don't do it again, da?" There was more talking in the background, but he couldn't make out the words since they were both speaking in Russian. "And if you do call, I can promise you that he won't answer!"

His eyes widened, "What? Like, it was my fault. Don't touch him, Ivan, or I'll… I'll…"

Click.

"Russia?" He tried again, "Russia?" No answer. He groaned, slamming the earpiece on the receiver. He, put his head in his hands, muttering darkly under his breath. He could sense the presence of someone near him, and spun around, startling the bank teller just a foot away. His expression softened; she was one of his own people, and while he wasn't in the best of moods at the moment her presence lit something akin to patience in him. "Yeah, I know," he said, getting up. He sounded exhausted even to his own ears. "I'm leaving. Thanks for letting me use your phone and, like, I'm sorry about being so loud and all."

He offered her a hand-shake which she took, though seeming a little confused at his sudden change in demeanor. He stood and started towards the door, feeling as if the weight of the world had just piled on top of him. It was really starting to dawn on him what the Russia situation was going to mean for him, for his people, and for Warsaw.

"Have a good day, sir," the teller said.

Poland stopped in his tracks. Have a good day. It was just a simple pleasantry, yes, but coming from one of his people, it somehow made things a little better; like someone actually wanted his day to be a good one. He slowly turned back to her and flashed a genuine smile. "Yeah, I'll try. Someday soon, I hope."

OoOoO

(AN: And this is about where I start ignoring history. So take it with a grain of salt... or like a whole ocean of salt, that works too.)

Warsaw walked aimlessly down the dark city streets at midnight. She wasn't allowed to be out so late of course, but she'd snuck out of her bedroom not long after she'd heard Feliks close the door after checking on her. That had been an hour ago, and since then she'd made it from their home almost to the center of town, which was virtually deserted. There was the occasional drunk, and more often just random people who happened to be out late at night, walking or riding carriages.

She wasn't worried about anything happening to her here. For some reason, none of her citizens had ever made moves to hurt her before. They all seemed to like her even if they didn't know why- it was as if her people knew her personally, though they'd never met. She understood. She felt the same way. She could never think of them as her children like Poland did, more like she felt a strong bond to them. As if she had a string connecting herself to each of them. It sounded silly to her when she thought of it, but she could find no other way to describe it.

But by this point she wasn't even sure why she had left in the first place, or where she was going. Viktoria had never planned on getting up and sneaking out. She had just been lying in bed, almost asleep, when she had snapped wide awake, and suddenly she had to leave. There was no arguing about it, no contemplating it, no worrying about whether or not it was the right thing to do. It was involuntary. Warsaw wanted to go, but even if she hadn't, she would have anyway.

So she had, and she walked. And she walked, and she walked, until she had lost track of where she was going. However, she was headed in some definite direction, that was for sure- she just didn't know where. She was starting to wonder what the purpose of all this was. She felt weak and exhausted, stumbling often and having to stop and lean against a building till her dizziness passed. Whatever it was she was looking for, Viktoria hoped she would find it soon.

She heard a commotion coming from up the road- the center of town. Her breath caught in her throat. Warsaw ran towards it as fast as she could, nearly falling several times along the way. She smelled smoke, the beginnings of a bonfire, and heard yelling. When she reached the sight, she had to take a moment to stop and stare.

There were men, hundreds of them and their huge wagon, and they were bustling to and fro, wielding pitchforks and guns, shouting at people who were not around to hear them. It was a scene of chaos. And the target of their wrath: the town armory. It had been lit on fire, and had started to become engulfed in flames. It began to blaze, the fire spreading upwards at a pace Warsaw didn't think was possible. The smoke curled up towards the sky, and the flames gave off an ethereal glow in the dark.

They're setting me on fire…, was her first thought. Then, No, they're setting the armory on fire so Russia can't use the weapons there against them. This was no random act of violence, her people were finally standing up and fighting against Russia's control. It was a show of open defiance against him. It was anger, it was rage, it was the Poles refusing to lie down and be good while their own friends and family were sent off to die in a battle that was not theirs- that they did not even want!

It was the most beautiful thing Viktoria had ever seen.

She clutched her chest, feeling the burning spread. It hurt, but she didn't care. She was beyond caring. And in that moment something changed in her. She was no longer having to struggle to stay upright, no longer feeling confused and unfocused as she had been lately. She ran to the fire, her bare feet hitting the cobblestone in a fast, steady rhythm. She was within feet of it, reaching out to it and getting as close as she dared, and then closer. It was life, it was death, it was hopes and dreams and reality in the flame. It was defiance, sweet defiance.

And she knew what she had to do.

She snatched a rifle from the men's wagon and held it above her head. They didn't stop her, but they ceased their own cries and didn't throw any more wood on the fire. They just looked at her, surrounded by light, which made her look absolutely angelic in a white nightgown with the rising heat lifting her blonde hair up like a halo. "People of Poland! We have been subjugated too long. We've, like, tried to play nice with Russia in the past, and what has that gotten us? They tear us apart, ignore our totes amazing constitution, and now they want to force us to sacrifice our own and to do their dirty work for them?"

There were shouts of agreement from the crowd. It was growing now, as more and more citizens came out to see what was going on. What had started as just over two hundred men was now well over one thousand people. And she had their attention. "No! Not anymore! We won't let them do this to us. We've gotta stand up and take back the rights we have as people. We are not Russian, we are Polish, and they need to get out and stay out! And if they won't we'll make 'em! We will fight, and we will win!" She fired a shot into the sky. "For Poland!"

There was a mass uproar, "For Poland!" They yelled back.

She felt it burn, and she was glad.

Feliks watched from the back of the crowd, a small smile on his face. He had never been so proud of his daughter.

"For Poland!"

And so it began.