Hey everyone. Life is hard, but worth it. Lots of shit happened, and now moving on. I think short posts will move this along much faster. So, recap: (has to go re-re-read all that hog-wash fic.) Wow. I totally forgot I was ganna have Alfred kill him and then run off and die in the wilderness. Nvm. I'm joking. Anyway, Alfred calls a dude and starts some shit and now Ivan has to leave and Alfred is planning on shooting him. Sorry if stuff changes. Also, how old should Ivan be. Recently I wanted huge age difference, but now that makes me uncomfortable. Vote maybe? 17, 18, 20, 24, or 27. I can completely accept unrealistic. This is a fix based off personified countrys after all.
Chapter 14:
I had most of the glass picked up, but the small splintered pieces still lay in a puddle of vodka. The irony of this was that, between my brother and I, I'm the one that can't clean for shit. This glass was headed for the trash, but was making an unscheduled stop to get all snuggled up warm and tingly between my fingertips. At least it was covered in its own antiseptic, right? Brightside y'all.
I looked around and started putting my plan together. Get the glass picked up, get the gifted gun, murder the gifter. Simple. Easy. No problem. Step by step. I took a deep breath and tried to put the important things in order. Kill a guy, but first do the things he wanted in case you can't. Logic at its finest.
"Okay. First things first. A towel for the glass. Yes. That seems… right. Good. Okay. A towel." I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and went carefully to look out the door for an arguably human-like polar bear.
With no such thing in sight, I stepped out into the living room with a slight pause. No falling net, no collapsing floor to a pit of doom, no man charging out from behind the couch with a knife. Good. All seemed well, but… paranoid is as (rightfully) paranoid does, I ran to the bathroom for a towel, throwing open the door and bursting in.
" A towel for the glass!" I told myself, right as a knife grazed passed my face. Startled, I stumbled back as I screamed, falling over backward and landing heavily on the floor.
There, in the bathroom, was our dear Ivan. He was all suited up, sitting on the pot, another knife in hand, with his bottom lip bitten so harshly between his teeth that blood was drawn. I sat back up crawling over to the door as I made eye contact.
"Hurry and shut it!" he yelled, pants to his ankles, jacket over the pale translucent past of his thighs, scarf thrown safely over the broad of his shoulders, gloves on the counter, all suited in clinging black.
I reached up, stretching out into the bathroom and frantically reached for the knob, just missing it and half falling back to the floor. I attempt again and manage to slam the door shut right as he raised his voice again.
"Sorry, I'm not slamming the door to what you're saying, just what you're doing!" I yell, and fell back on my hands. I could hear him mumbling on the other side, and decided to attempt cleaning the shards on my own.
…
A palm full of blood and quite a few stinging cuts later, Ivan walked into the kitchen with a towel. He clicked his tongue at me and set it on the counter, walking over and taking my cupped hands in his.
"I hope you washed your hands." I commented quietly. It quiet, so I added more. "They kinda burn." I said just as softly, lifting my hands for emphasis.
"Good." He he replied unamused. "Serves you right." He tipped my palm over, letting the blood drip to the floor, and continued. "Are you good for anything?" he asked. "Can't clean, can't cook, cant fuck. What can you do." he said, clearly not asking a question, while pulling out tiny shards and throwing them, all red and dripping, back into the pile.
"I'm probably the most fun you've had in awhile, and, maybe, you'd have more fun if you were a bit nicer to me!" I bit out, imagining the feeling of the gun in my hand as I aimed and pulled the trigger at his chest, his stomach, his face. His grip tightened on my wrist after, but he didn't say anything about it.
"We need tweezers." Ivan stated after removing what shards he could. We walked to the bathroom in silence, and while he grabbed the first aid kit, I washed my hand off.
"Were you pooping?" I asked. He paused only long enough to gives me an annoyed look, his pale skin and exotic eyes contrasted perfectly the full black of his outfit. "Do you have to wear black to kill someone?" I asked.
"Don't worry about it." He said, ending the conversation on his end. He's so lucky I can talk for two. "Well, at least you didn't blow up the bathroom with your shitty personality." I said, completely expecting the next few harsh removals of glass. "You know what that means right? Blowing up the bathroom meana your poop was so smelly no one can stand to go in-Ow!" I finished, pulling my hand away as he forced the tweezers in particularly deep.
"Shut up! Stop talking! Why do you always have to be like this!" He said, dumping a bit of liquid on my hand and tossing bandages at me as he got up to leave, dropping the small metal tool on the counter.
"Because you don't tell me anything and still expect me to let you put," I gestured to his crotch. "your elephant-potato in my bum hole and that's not happening!" I shouted, following him out.
"You don't understand what's going on!" He said towards me. "There are things happening that you don't understand and-"
"Because you won't tell me anything!" I interrupted. "You won't trust me and I can't trust you!"
"Alfred, there are plenty of people out there that trust me with their life-"
"They're scared of you! They-"
"That comes with the territory! They all agreed to their lives in one way or another and-"
" I didn't agree to anything!" I shouted as he turned and punched the wall.
"Shut up!" he yelled, grabbing his boots and slamming the door behind him.
I ran to the window and watched him put them on in the cold.
"I hope they rot off." I mumbled as he stormed off to the right and out of sight. I went to the kitchen and grabbed the towel, throwing it over the pile to absorb Ivan's bullshit, fuming the whole time.
I swept the pile up carelessly, building up and stewing in my anger. "Now where's that gun?" I asked myself as I tapped the dustpan into the bin. I tossed it aside and went to look through my clothes for something black to wear.