Alright, so this chapter is a bit shorter than the last one (I'm sorry), but I'm so far ahead of schedule that you'll be getting a new chapter every Friday this November.
Also, in case you haven't noticed, there's a new image for this story, and it is Russia and England, except you can't really see it. So, I have it uploaded onto my deviantArt account. You can see it if you put this: /#/d5jgsgi at the end of the url (because I can't get the whole address to work otherwise)
How they managed to survive the two days before the gala without another major blow out, England didn't know. They kept to short, clipped sentences, and only talked to each other when they desperately needed to. They slept in the same bed, but England was out the door an hour after waking, and Russia returned an hour after she did to begin cooking. There was enough space to simply walk around and never cross paths for an entire day. Even on the night of the gala, she returned to the cottage before he did.
After she returned to the house, she pulled her dress in its garment bag down from the closet and brought it into the bathroom. She hung in on the towel rack, shut the door, and then immediately began to work on her hair. Her hair had finally reached waist length this past year, and she found that it took longer to style her hair each formal event she went to. She had decided on something a little simpler for this gala. She began by pulling her bangs back and away from her face to start a French braid. She continued the braid down the right side of her head to the nape of her neck. Once she had finished plaiting her hair, she coiled and twisted it into an elegant bun. It was much easier than trying to recreate the volumized updoes that had once again returned to popularity.
She then began applying make-up. She had never used blush, but she always wore a light layer of foundation. The eye shadow she used was dark, perfect for creating a smoky look with just enough purple to contrast beautifully with her green eyes. She might not wear make-up every day, but she did know how to wear it when she did. She finished with a deep red lipstick that went well with her pale skin.
Next was the dress. Russia had intended to go with her dress shopping, whether to coordinate outfits or to simply spend time with her she hadn't known, but had been unable to due to a few work related issues she hadn't been privy to. Putting on the dress now for the second time, she was glad he hadn't. It gave her a chance to surprise him. She couldn't explain why she wanted to look gorgeous for Russia, except that perhaps that she wanted to show herself off to her husband. She finished putting it on and felt a flash of regret once more for letting their situation spiral into a fight. She had let her fears get the best of her, but forcibly pushed those thoughts from her mind.
She glanced in the mirror and thought she looked wonderful as she smoothed out her dress. It was an unusual cut and design, inspired by late Victorian fashion. The man made material was soft, smooth, and slimming. It felt wonderful to the touch, and the color was a near perfect match to her eye shadow. One of the reasons she had thought it was worth buying. The other was that even though the dress was sewn to look as if it had a corset and buttoned up to her chin, it had no sleeves and the back was cut out from just beneath her neck down to about the small of her back.
She put on simple, gold dangle earrings to match with her with her wedding ring, which she currently wasn't wearing. She pulled on long matching gloves that went up past her elbow. She slid her ring back onto her finger. She jumped when she heard a knock on the bathroom door.
"Are you ready yet?" Russia called through the door.
"Wait a moment," England called back to him, fixing all the little bits and pieces of her appearance. After a few touch ups, she was ready to leave for her first public appearance with her husband since their wedding. She opened the door.
Russia was looking rather dashing in a plain, standard suit, even with his scarf. It was better than if he had worn his uniform. The colors would have clashed horrendously. He was holding a small, black box in his hands. "What's that?" she asked, looking directly at it.
"It's a gift," he answered, holding it towards her, "for you. I bought it before we left."
"Thank you," she said demurely as she took the gift from him. She pulled off the top, and was pleasantly surprised. She asked, "You picked this out?"
"Yes," he said simply.
She put the box inside of its top, and pulled out the hair pin nestled inside. She had never been partial to hair decorations, but she could make an exception for this one. Attached to the end of the golden pin was a magnificently detailed butterfly. She was pleased to note that it matched. She gently stuck the pin into the center of the right side braid, just a little forward of her ear. "You have good taste," she complimented, and received a nod of acknowledgement.
"I just have to grab my purse then we can leave," she said, heading for their bedroom. She set down the empty box, snatched up her black clutch, and returned to find Russia wearing a hint of his little insanity smile.
"Your dress has no back," he commented, tonelessly.
"I know, that's why I picked it," she said, sweeping past him to the front door.
"If I had known that," he said as he shut the door, "I would've given you a shawl."
England didn't laugh, but she did smirk. They left the little house, and arrived just in time for the gala. She had stopped believing in fashionably late centuries ago. Others were arriving, and Russia guided her into the building, her arm linked in his. The building was beautiful, and so were the decorations. The company seemed polite, but England could only understand about one word out of twenty. She regretted that their fight had prevented her from learning more Russian. As the guests Russia was speaking to were oblivious to her, she bitterly thought of how she hated being ignored and that she had once wanted nothing to do with their language. These people only wanted to discuss the weather in English.
She abandoned her post beside her husband to take a glass of champagne and become a wall flower. She detested that category of party goer, but it didn't have a language barrier. She must be a beautiful one, she thought balefully as she caught a number of glances or lingering stares in her direction. None were her husband's. The dancing began by the time she had finished her glass. She was asked to dance by a man she didn't recognize, though she could understand the simple enough question, and left her glass for the dance floor.
She avoided eye contact with her partner. He said very little, and she answered even less. The end of the dance came soon enough, and she sought out another glass of champagne. She was stopped on her path to the wall by an older gentlemen. He asked in English if she was Russia's wife. She leapt at the opportunity to have a proper conversation, and had answered yes. She was grateful that the man kept the subject on the policy changes between the nations. It was an inexhaustible topic.
She felt a sharp pain in her wrist, and the glass slipped through her fingers and shattered against the floor. She almost dropped her clutch to hold her wrist, but quickly realized her left wrist was broken. Less than a few seconds later, Russia was by her side. For a man who had ignored her for the past hour, it was an impressive reaction time.
"What's happened?" he asked, sounding unusually severe.
"I don't know," she answered, wondering what had happened to cause one of her bones to break.
"Пожалуйста, простите нас (Pozhaluysta, prostite nas)*," he said to the gentleman she had been talking with. He took her uninjured arm and placed a hand on her back, and quickly led her out of the main room. He ordered the flocking staff around until he was directed to a room with a television. He set her down in the nearest chair, and began flicking through the channels until he reached the one for current international news. A town in Eastern England was featured.
They listened silently as the reporter covered the story of how the decrepit water main in the town had finally burst apart. The government had not renovated that area's piping yet, still working out the kinks in their solutions for the major cities. The casualties were in the double digits and the total cost estimation was steadily rising.
"Shit," England commented calmly. She placed her clutch in her lap, and rubbed her forehead with her uninjured hand. "I knew this was going to happen," she murmured.
They sat for several minutes, silently watching the television. "Do you want to get a cast now?" Russia asked quietly.
England's wrist wasn't going to heal until some of the damage caused by the incident was remedied. Modern medicine couldn't cure her body, but it would certainly help alleviate the pain. She nodded and stood. Let the doctor deal with getting her glove off.
*Please, excuse us
So yeah, not a very happy ball. Infrastructure is definitely a concern for current first world nations as it gets older (it being roads, bridges, pipelines, dams, and levees). It would definitely continue to be a concern in the future, so this could feasibly happen. If it doesn't, I don't think anyone will bother to tell me 'I told you so'. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and are pleased to hear that you'll be getting another update next Friday.
Please review!
P.S. I think my new ulterior motive for writing this is starting a Fem!EnglandxRussia movement in the Hetalia fanbase because there seriously needs to be more.