Here's what I want to know: Did America wear fedoras and pinstriped suits? Did he say things like "Golly," "Oh gee," and "Swell"? Shatterdoll and I both wholeheartedly believe that would be so boss. Unf. ... That's all I wanted to know.
On to chapter two. I cant believe it took this long, I'm very ashamed. I need to do something about my laziness. But I wont. Please review!
The search for a restaurant had led the two powers down many twisting streets and the two had to fight the crowd to move even a little in the right direction, though America was seriously questioning whether or not Russia knew where he was going. The Russki had probably blown so many brain cells out with vodka and bear-related injuries that his memory had been affected. That, or he was going to abandon him in a ditch to be eaten by Germans. Of course, there was no way he could call him on it. He was hungry and following Russia might get him food. So he chose to complain loudly instead.
"Europe is too crowded. Why are there so many people? Didn't they all die out from the bubonic plague and stuff?"
"Your idiocy is breathtaking."
"Huh? Did you say something?" The irate American turned to face the Russian that was towering over the rest of the crowd and was met with a cheery, smug smile.
"Nyet, nothing at all. Might I remind you that your country is also crowded? Ah, but much of it is spread out... How nice you have so much space to strut around in." He looked around the street. It seemed familiar, they were getting close.
"Me? You're the largest country in the world... unfortunately. You have more space than I do! But it's all taken up by frozen wastelands. Sucks to be you, asshole." Russia giggled as though he had said the funniest thing in the world.
"But of course! The tundra is beautiful. How sad that you cannot appreciate it, though I suppose you never have had good taste."
"Something about you just pisses me off..." Russia giggled and reached over, unable to help himself, and tousled America's golden blond hair. "Stop it!"
"Oh, but you would make such a cute pet. If you didn't talk, I would make you one with me! Ah, we are here." Russia blinked a bit, caught off guard. It was not so much that the place was different, it was who was entering-- two people who looked suspiciously like Germany and Italy. That practically confirmed that this was the restaurant he had eaten at before. His smile grew. The two of them were holding hands. Oh, how amusing.
America turned his eyes to look where Russia pointed out and his annoyance was instantly forgotten. It was a small place, but there were quite a few people going in and out. It looked promising. Maybe they would have hamburgers there. Hamburg was in Germany, right? So naturally, they would serve them. It made perfect sense. America grinned and quickened his pace, entering the small restaurant with Russia close behind him. The temperature seemed to drop a bit when he entered and the lighting was low, almost intimate. He could not help but wonder what kind of places Germany ran, but shoved it to the back of his mind when he smelled food.
Russia entered after America, watching him with intense interest. The man-- no, boy's enthusiasm never ceased to amaze him. How did this child have so much power? No matter, such things were the mysteries of life. Though he was a little surprised America did not have numerous friends. A friendship with him would be a boon to any country. But he supposed it was for the same reason that he disliked him. His personality was terrible.
"You're sure this is a good place, right?" Russia blinked and smiled reassuringly. Then again, he always smiled. Perhaps America would not be able to differentiate the two. Not that it particularly mattered, they both had the same effect of startling everyone in the vicinity.
"Da, very good. Though to your American tastes... let's just say there is no 'happy meal' on the menu." Their server led them to a high-backed booth where one was not required to stare at the back of his neighbor's head throughout the entire meal. The server promised to return after slipping them menus, and Russia took his and began to scan it. He vaguely wondered if America could speak German.
"Don't make fun of my tastes, Commie, you eat bears." America flipped through the menu. To the surprise of many, including himself at times, he was multilingual. But English was just so much cooler, not to mention it came easier due to his many years as a colony. No hamburgers... It seemed God was not in a caring mood today. He shrugged and set his menu down. "Just order for me, Commie, I cant decide. Anything but a salad, I'll kick your ass."
Russia was still hiding his smirk. Bears? Really now... He was tempted to tell America that it was amazing what one will eat when hungry enough to string him along, then decided against it. As if he needed America to believe any more of those ridiculous stereotypes about him.
"Very well, America. I will order what I think is best suited to your tastes." He giggled and spoke in rapid German to the server, ordering for both of them, and also ordering them both drinks. A mug of beer and a vodka in a stein, which had gotten odd looks from some of the other patrons, were soon brought to the table and Russia eagerly took a swig. It was not quite as good as he had been hoping for, but it would have to do. After taking another swig, he set it down and smiled at the American across the table who was eyeing him warily. "Is something wrong?"
"You're going to die young. You realize that, right?"
"Die young?" Russia asked with a chuckle. "I am quite old already, you know. It has helped me survive if anything. And really, you would be surprised at how well it goes with everything. Care to try?" He pushed the stein towards the center of the table. As long as America just took a little sip, there would still be plenty for him. But he would not put it past him to take a giant gulp.
America was having an internal debate. On one hand, he was almost certain Russia had somehow poisoned it. He had not seen him put anything in it, but he could have spent years cultivating poison in his spit just waiting for this moment. On the other hand, he was really curious to see what all the fuss was about. As usual, his curiosity won out and he picked up the mug, bringing it to his lips. He hesitated for a moment before taking a sip and promptly choking. Alcohol was not supposed to hurt like that.
"I pity your liver." He pushed the mug back to him, repressing a shudder. His throat now felt raw and disgusting. "My stuff is way better."
"Well, your vodka is shit anyway and that is just about all I drink. To each their own." Russia took another drink, savoring the burn that America found intolerable, and stared across the booth at him. "So, the moon. It was the first thing that came into your mind, was it not? Only you could come up with something actually interesting like that."
After a quick swig of his own beer to get the bad taste out, America gave him a half-glare. He was not sure if that was an insult or not. "It'll be more fun this way. And it's originality! You're probably the only one who would take me seriously anyway. That's one of your few good points."
Russia beamed. "Oh, so I have good points? I am so pleased that the great America thinks so. I thought to you I was nothing but a Commie bastard trying to poison you at every turn. Yes, your originality, your unconventional way of thinking... I suppose that is one of your good points." He spotted the server coming with two plates. Germans, such efficient creatures. "I do hope you like sausage, America."
"Yes! Who doesn't?" The scowl that had come to America's face when he was speaking was quickly replaced with an expression of utter joy. He fidgeted in his seat until they were served and grinned at the food. His own country had sausage, of course, but it was nothing like German wurst. He dug into his food. "Let's eat!"
Russia smiled softly down at his plate, carefully choosing what he wished to eat first. America was just like a little boy, all enthusiasm and energy. It must have been nice. Even as a child, he could not remember being that way. "German sausage really is the best," he mused after a bite. "Germany once told me has over a thousand different kinds. It's no wonder."
America only managed to nod, mouth full of wurst and potatoes. After swallowing his mouthful he gave him a quizzical look. "Really? Wow, he needs a new hobby. Or a girlfriend." He continued to stuff his face, but his mind was starting to wander from the food now that the hunger was subsiding a bit. This was really weird. He had just finished challenging him, and now they were eating together like pals. And it was actually kind of pleasant, but that was a contradiction! He knew Russia was incapable of being pleasant. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but his smile seemed less menacing. An optical illusion in his brain or something like that. Or maybe not, because now Russia was smirking.
"I think he has a 'girlfriend' already. If you turn, you can see them in that booth over there." Russia pointed to a booth across the aisle just out of America's line of sight. Germany sat across from Italy, glancing up from time to time then pretending he had not seen anything. "I suppose I happened to remember this place because Germany mentioned he was coming here. How funny, da?"
"What?!" America spun around, nearly cracking his neck as he turned to look at Germany and his companion. He quickly turned back to Russia and tried to sink in his seat. "I can't believe you! This looks totally awkward! They're going to get the wrong idea, and why aren't you mortified?" he hissed, panicking. Now instead of his stomach, it was his image that was on the line. Russia only raised an eyebrow.
"Perhaps you should learn to be less excitable? Why should I be mortified, are we not simply two countries sharing a German meal? I'm sure if you were to ask, you would find that they don't care. In fact, let's!"
"Don't--" But it was too late. Russia stood and waved, impossible to miss except perhaps by someone who was deaf and blind.
"Germany, Italy, hello!" Germany hunched down in his seat, face flushing, but Italy turned to look at them.
"Ve...? Germany, look. It's Russia and America! They must have come for sausage too! I guess your food isn't that bad after all. Aren't you happy?" He waved at the two of them, cheerful. It was odd to see the two of them together. He had the strangest feeling that they were not on good terms... clearly he had been mistaken.
"Sit down! Haha, sorry guys! We're not doing anything of interest, just eating wurst. Great stuff, am I right?" America peeked over at them and gave his best attempt at a grin before grabbing Russia's hand and pulling him down. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" he hissed, squeezing it in what was meant to be a painful warning. But the cat was out of the bag. Italy might be too dense to think it was weird, but Germany sure would.
Russia looked down at the hand America was holding. Why was he being so intimate? Oh, perhaps he wanted, what was it called, 'alone time' with him? What an interesting turn of events. He called once more to Germany and Italy. "My apologies for interrupting you. It seems he doesn't want to share me!" With that he sat down, all smiles. Germany raised an eyebrow and buried his face in a drink menu. America slumped down in his seat, utterly defeated.
"Oh God, why the hell did you say that? They've totally got the wrong idea now. They're going to think we're gay or something." America let go of Russia's hand and buried his face in his own. Being gay was not nearly as big of a problem as the fact that Russia was his supposed partner was. Russia took a drink from his stein, smile not fading.
"So? I couldn't care less what they think. To be fair, you were the one who took my hand." He spread his hands out as if that adequately settled the matter.
"Because you brought attention to us." America took a bite of the wurst, his appetite fading, a phenomenon which shocked him. "I just don't want to get lectured by Arthur. If they mention it, I'm gonna get an earful. You want my potatoes?"
Russia reached over to take the plate. "I was simply trying to help. That England is such a mother hen. I thought your war of independence was to escape his thumb?"
"Yeah, but he's still on my ass all the time. Always has something negative to say, drives me up the wall." He finished up his sausage once he got the plate back. "I think that's just the way he is. And for your information, just because he lectures me and scolds me and acts like he's my mom does not mean I'm not independent."
"I see. Of course not. It must be difficult. Family..." Russia shuddered at the thought of Belarus. "One cannot escape them. Even if they try. Very, very hard. And England is particularly annoying." He almost frowned. What was this they were having? A conversation in which they were sharing information... Bonding! Yes, it seemed they were doing this 'bonding' thing. If nothing else, it would give him good blackmail material for later. He giggled to himself.
"Yeah, but it's not like I hate him or anything." America gave him an odd look. Russia's expression was becoming creepy again. "You seem like you've tried. I thought you liked those three. Like, a lot." He knew Russia had sisters, but when he thought of his 'family', his thoughts automatically went to the Baltics. Russia blinked.
"Three...? Oh, the Baltics? Oh my, yes, I am quite fond of them. They're so cute, like little pets really. I was referring in particular to my youngest sister Belarus. She is... Well, her personality is quite strong." He looked at his plate for a moment. "... Quite strong."
"Isn't she the one who follows you around and sits outside your hotel room at night? She pulled a push knife on my one time when I was talking about you." With this at least, Russia had his complete pity. Crazy bitch needed a muzzle. "But she does seem to, er, love you a lot."
"That's her. Yes, she certainly loves me. Ah... there is such a thing as too much love." Russia laughed, an awkward sound. He was becoming uncomfortable. Discussing himself was something he had never really done. People rarely asked. "I apologize if she attacked you, she simply... she cares too much. Though I can't imagine why you would be talking about me, unless you were saying something she probably had no reason to get jealous over, like the usual insult."
"No need to apologize. She's not your responsibility. And it was probably just a Commie remark." Alfred set down his fork and tried to meet his eyes, curious. This was certainly interesting. They had gone almost five minutes without any fighting, snide remarks, or intimidation techniques. Maybe this was not good. Arguing he could deal with, but having a decent conversation? That was uncharted territory. "Er, sorry if I pried."
Russia fidgeted somewhat shyly. He had not expected the American to apologize about it of all things. "No, I just... Well, I'm not used to it. I volunteered the information." He speared a piece of sausage and put it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
America sighed and glanced behind him at the other couple's table. Not that he and Russia were a couple. They were just two people eating together and having a meaningful conversation. Totally. "Hmm. I never knew much about you other than that you were a crazy-ass Communist in a scarf. It's kind of cool... I guess. To learn about you. But only sort of!"
"Eh? Really?" Russia looked up in surprise, some of his usual cheer returned. No one had ever said anything like that before. "Yes, it is, I suppose. Is there anything else you want to know? And before you ask, no, I don't really eat bears."
America pouted for a moment. "Hmph. Wasn't going to ask that, dumbass. Uh, well, it's really cold there. Do you ever want to be somewhere warmer? I hate the cold! I don't know how you do it. I usually end up shutting myself up in my house until winter is over." He realized that this was probably a stupid question. Russia must love his cold, snowy home. It was... Well, it was his home. However, Russia did not seem to think so. He tapped the table, eyes becoming distant.
"What can one do? We can't move. Some of you are so lucky. I wish I could be somewhere warm, too. A place where I could be surrounded by sunflowers." He shook his head. "I am used to the cold. But I like the meetings, especially when they are somewhere that isn't cold like my country. It's nice to get away for a while."
America frowned deeply, watching him. That was not right, Russia was supposed to make some sort of comment about how wonderful the tundra was and throw in a rude comment about America's landscape. He was not supposed to look like that. Before he could think, he blurted out something he was most likely going to regret.
"Once I beat your ass to the moon, you can come visit if you like. Just keep your Communist doctrine to yourself and don't let your sister know where you are." America listened to the words come out of his mouth and part of him wanted to snatch them back out of the air. This was not happening! Russia was intolerable. Him and his stupid mouth. He waited for the taller man to start laughing, but he did not. Instead, he stared at him in complete shock.
"You... will let me visit? During the summer?"
"Uh, yeah. Why not, you can come." America scratched the back of his head, chuckling nervously while his Capitalist soul shriveled up a little. But Russia seemed happy. He sat there with a nearly shy smile on his face, looking down at the table.
"I... would like that. But let's save your gloating until you've actually won, da? After all, there's a high chance that I will completely obliterate you."
"Hah! In your dreams, Russki." The server brought their checks as they finished, and America searched for his wallet. He froze when he realized it was not in his back pocket. This was not good. This was terrible... It seemed he would have to borrow money from a Communist. Owing the person he was competing with? Even he knew that was not smart, but it was that or be stuck in the back of the restaurant doing dishes for the rest of the day. "Uh... Hey, can I, uh... Can I borrow some money and pay you back when I get to the hotel?"
Russia gave him a smile that was perhaps a bit more delighted than it should have been, and America instantly regretted asking. "Oh dear, a bit short? Da, comrade, I would be happy to pay." He gave that odd little giggle of his. "I've heard about things like this, but I haven't ever been on one."
America's expression changed from one of embarrassment to thorough bewilderment. Damn Commies and their weird ways. "You haven't been on one of what?" That bizarre giggle again. That could not be a good sign.
"Oh you know..." Russia placed some money with the bill, sure to leave a decent tip. "A date."
The mortification set in again, but for an entirely different reason. It took him a good long moment until he could speak again. "Buh... Wha...? If this was a date, it was the worst one ever!" America declared for the whole restaurant to hear. "I'm gonna pay you back, this is no date! Stupid-- jackass!"
Russia was truly taken aback by the outburst. Was it not him who had been embarrassed when Russia had tried to call to Germany and Italy? And now they were most certainly looking in their direction, though Germany was quick to look away. "... Worst? Ah, perhaps I do not understand your concept of dating? We ate together, discussed personal details, and I paid. What else is there?"
"Stop calling it a date. And there's a hell of a lot more to it than that. At least in my experience." Then again, maybe he was not the best person to give advice. Russia tilted his head, somewhat bemused.
"And what would you say qualified as a proper date, out of curiosity? Your country isn't exactly known for being romantic." Not that his was either. But then again, that was why he was asking. And from the sound of it, the American potentially had 'experience'. Whatever that meant. It was probably a Capitalist lie.
"Neither is yours. And I don't know, kissing? Holding hands? Don't get any weird ideas, I'm just saying!" he huffed. "This isn't technically a date, and therefore null and void. Let's go."
Russia mused over these things. He had offered to hold hands with him, but America had not wanted to. Kissing? "Hmm, I see. Very well. And I am perfectly aware that I am not ranked among the romance countries." As he followed America out of the restaurant, he waved cheerfully at Italy and Germany. Germany looked down at the table, face flushed, as Italy returned the wave.
America refused to look at either of them, far too embarrassed. If they told a soul... More like if Italy told a soul he would be dead. He glared at Russia as soon as they were out. "Please tell me you booked a different hotel. Not the one down the road from the meeting."
"Down the road..." Russia looked at the sky, thoughtfully. "Isn't that the one they had all of us book? It seemed the best place to go. It is the closest, da? Besides, is it not more convenient for you to pay me back if we are at the same place?" He smiled, amused at how easily America was ruffled.
"God dammit." How he had ever been so deluded as to invite the jerk to his country was beyond him. It had been a lapse of judgement. It seemed that his whole day was just one stupid move after the next. But that would stop now, he would just go back and return his money, then he would be free of his presence. America jammed his hands into his pockets and headed off to the hotel, Russia close behind once more.
It was not like things could spiral into deeper weirdness than this anyway.
Eat beet, make Russian strong like bear. Eat Russian, make bear strong like beet.
America is a tart, so full of fail. Established relationships are annoying, but with Germany and Italy it's so canon... Again, sorry this took forever. Exams and such were a bitch, and I've been trying to get hired at a million places at once. That's me, the Jobless Wonder. Oh and that idiocy quote... I'm not sure if it's from a movie or not. My friend says it all the time, so yup. And my friend actually had a push knife pulled on her by another one of my friends. Shanking is no joke, man. Anyway, obligatory scary movie chapter is gonna be out of the way soon, methinks. Review!