I was half way done with chapter seven when I realized that I hadn't posted chapter six yet. Oops. ^^;
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The winter continued on regardless of the change. They readjusted, though Lithuania suspected that only he and maybe Russia truly noticed Poland's absence. To the Baltic, the house seemed particularly dreary without his odd ditziness. At least the unpleasantness Latvia had displayed previously quickly vanished with the blonde's leave.
Less than a week after Poland's return to Germany, Russia locked them all out of the kitchen, insisting he make dinner himself. Lithuania had no idea what he was planning. Why would he suddenly breaking the standing pattern of letting them tend to all the chores? It couldn't be a party; he would need all of them cooking if he were trying to throw together one of those elaborate affairs. So when Russia finally reappeared and called them to dinner, Liet went with a mixture of worry and curiosity.
The kitchen table was set with their best china and silverwear, and the table itself sported a white tablecloth, its surface slightly bumpy. The cause, Liet saw as he quickly peeked while Russia's back was turned, was a thin layer of straw and hay under the cloth. It felt old and familiar, but it took him a moment to place it. The Epiphany! Little Christmas! But, wasn't religion banned?
Russia returned from the counter with a large proclein bowl, setting it in the center of the table. He held out his hand expectantly and Liet handed him a bowl; Russia ladled out a steaming helping of kutya, the thick wheat and honey porridge that in older times had been associated with funerals, and he repeated the process with Estonia and Latvia. They waited quietly, unsure of what to make of this sudden change.
When Russia held out his hand a fifth time Liet was momentarily confused until he saw the extra place setting next to him; still puzzled, he handed that over as well.
Russia filled it and broke the silence with "For those no longer with us."
For one horror-filled moment, Lithuania thought he was talking about Poland, that Poland had died, but that wasn't possible, he couldn't be dead; Liet realized that instead, Russia had just invited the dead to dine with them. He carefully accepted the bowl back and place it at the empty seat, vaguely unnerved.
Russia didn't seem to notice his discomfort. He scooped up a spoonful of kutya and, in a move that made all the Baltics jump, flung it at the ceiling where it stuck with a splatter. He waited a few moments as some of the grains fell back to the table; Liet could see his lips move slightly as he silently counted before smiling softly and pronouncing, "Ah, there will be many bees come spring, xorasho."
Estonia and Latvia stared uncomprehendingly at the ceiling, dumbfounded.
Continuing with his strange ritual, Russia took another spoonful of kutya and gestured for Lithuania to do the same. He followed the huge nation to the window, snow swirling in when he opened it.
Russia flung the spoonful of porridge out the window. "To Grandfather Frost, a spoonful for thee! Please leave our crops alone!" he stated loudly. He took the second spoonful from Liet and turned back to the window, pausing a moment, staring out at the dark night as cold poured in and settled around their feet.
"To General Winter," he said quietly, almost low enough that Liet nearly missed it. "A spoonful for thee." He flicked the kutya out into the snow.
The wind shrieked, howling bitter cold—Lithuania staggered back under the force of the gust, arms shielding his face from the stinging ice, but Russia only flinched, standing fast as the wind whipped around him.
The blast of air vanished as quickly as it came; the Baltics watched Russia fearfully, suspecting they knew what they had witnessed but unwilling to say anything. Russia too seemed frozen, gaze locked somewhere out in the dark, but then he moved, shutting the window slowly. As he stepped back, Liet caught a glimpse of his face, pale as a sheet, wide violet eyes making him appear more child-like than ever, and his cheek—
"Russia Zimavich, you're bleeding," Lithuania pointed out gently.
He blinked, reaching up—was he shaking slightly?!—to touch the small cut, drawing his fingers away to see the proof.
"So I am," he murmured, but made no move to staunch the sluggish trickle.
They sat down and Russia opened the meal with a toasted to a good new year. Liet frowned as they eat their meal in silence. A good year? But this was clearly a Little Christmas celebration. Ah, but that made sense though. With religion illegal, Russia couldn't hold any Little Christmas festivities, so he dropped out the religious influences and styled it as a New Year's celebration instead (even though that had been six days ago). The pagan elements he could keep because his people didn't recognize them for what they were; to the Russian populace, that was simply what one did this time of year.
Old habits died hard, he supposed, even for countries.
Something clinked in his bowl and he glanced down, catching sight of silver. Confused he fished it out: a silver coin.
Russia noticed. "Ah, Litva, you found it!" he exclaimed, taking the coin and wiping it off with his napkin. He handed it back, smiling as he curled Liet's fingers around it. "Now you have good luck for the year!"
Somehow, Lithuania doubted that.
Wisely, he didn't voice this.
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A blizzard struck not a week after Little Christmas, burying them in nearly a meter of snow on top of the half meter they already had. The deeper drifts covered the some of the windows on the ground floor, obscuring the sunlight and allowing only an eerie muted glow during the day.
Everyone's attention was unspokenly focused on surviving the sudden cold snap. Russia deemed it unsafe for the Baltics to venture outside, so he shoveled the walkway himself, loudly singing a marching tune as he worked. Lithuania and the others were instead regulated to the frigid basement, checking the water pipes for freezing and taking shifts shoveling coal into the furnace. The coal supply rapidly dwindled and Liet dutifully informed Russia, who announced that he would lower the temperature in the house to conserve fuel, since that coal had to last until the end of the month when they were slated to receive another shipment.
Latvia made the mistake of complaining about the uncomfortable change—Russia threw him outside without a coat or boots and locked the door. Lithuania and Estonia looked on in horror, fearing for Latvia's life as Russia blithely made a cup of tea, seemingly obvious to the pounding on the door, the shrieking cries of 'Russia, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please let me in, it's freezing out here! Please Russia!!' By the time Russia had finished fixing his tea, slightly over five minutes later, the pleas for forgiveness had stopped. The Arctic nation went to the door and opened it; Latvia lunged for the hallway but Russia caught him, forcing him to stand nearly barefoot on the frozen stone porch.
"Is the house warm enough now?" he asked pleasantly, hands on the boy's shoulders.
"D- D- D- D- Da," Latvia chattered, nodding jerkily.
Russia scooped the boy up into his arms and shut the door before carrying the young Baltic to the kitchen were the steaming cup of tea waited. Latvia was shaking too hard to hold the cup without spilling it, so Russia sat him on his lap and held the cup up for him to slowly sip, all the while murmuring some patriotic propaganda about how everyone had to make personal sacrifices for a land to run smoothly.
Latvia was left in Lithuania and Estonia's care once the tea was done, and the two carefully peeled off his iced socks, soaking his frozen feet in room-temperature water to fight off the threatening frostbite. None of them mentioned the incident, the cause or the reason, because it was Russia and that was just how things were.
In response to the lowered temperatures, Liet started to make up any excuse he could for staying in the kitchen, turning out a variety of breads and sweets and multi-coursed dinners, anything to stand by the warm stove. It was in times like these that he saw and appreciated the wisdom of an over-stocked pantry. While the deep snow might cut off their supply of milk for a few days, they lacked little else. Russia made certain the hens he kept were well cared for despite the huge snow drifts around the coop, so they even had fresh eggs. Lithuania was more than happy to avoid the trips all over the city looking for food.
Of course, as the weeks passed by, he couldn't escape the outdoors entirely. In an attempt to provide heat without using their meager coal supply, Russia would take trips into the woods, rifle slung over his shoulder and ax strapped to his side, to return with firewood. Occasionally he dragged Lithuania along, who followed behind in the pathway the huge nation carved through the snow, pulling the sled.
He couldn't quite figure why Russia brought him, considering there was only one ax and Russia insisted on hauling the sled back once it was loaded with wood. Perhaps, for the company? But even that didn't make complete sense, as Russia often instructed Liet to go searching for suitable trees. He wandered around, struggling to adjust his gait to the long oval snowshoes that Russia provided for trekking over the deeper drifts, and looked for dead trees to fell, the sound of the ax echoing through the forest fading as he drifted further away. Gazing at the monotonous expanse of white, broken only by bare trees stretching naked branches to the grey sky in a futile search for warm sunlight, Lithuania was certain he'd never grow to enjoy winter.
He heard the shift of snow and glanced over absently at the sound; he froze.
A large grey wolf stood just a few feet away, watching him intently with pale eyes. His first instinct was to run, but he forced himself to stay still; running only triggered their chase instincts. (Besides, he was pretty certain that he couldn't run in his ridiculous snowshoes.) He glanced into the woods around him; where was the rest of its pack? It didn't look like it had rabies. Lithuania hoped that it wasn't sizing him up as prey—don't be stupid, wolves don't actually attack people, he chided. But it made him nervous nonetheless, and not for the first time did he wish that Russia permitted him to carry a weapon.
The wolf advanced slightly, stiff legged, hackles bristling, ears erect. Aggressive, dominant. Had he stumbled into its territory? Liet bowed ever so slightly in a human mockery of a submissive wolf's behavior, trying to make himself seem smaller like they did, hoping to avoid an attack. The wolf snarled, bearing its teeth. Liet hastily straightened up, truly worried now, wondering if yelling would provoke it, knowing that he had little chance of winning a fight.
A gunshot—tree bark exploded next to the wolf; it jumped back as Liet whirled to face his rescuer.
Russia advanced steadily, rifle trained on the wolf as he worked the bolt one-handed, reloading another clip. Lithuania took a step towards him.
"Stop!"
Liet lurched to a halt. But, the wolf—
"About face, Litva," he ordered, eyes locked on the huge canine.
"What—?"
"About face!" he barked, rifle muzzle flicking towards the Baltic for the shortest instant. Liet heard the snow crunch as the wolf moved, closer he instinctively knew, in the breath of time the rifle wasn't aimed at it. That was frighteningly intelligent…
Lithuania obeyed, turning to face the wolf. He felt dread finally settle over him; stupid, considering that Russia was here and would theoretically help him, but his current position was so unsafe it wasn't funny. Before him a wolf; behind him, Russia, with a loaded rifle pointed in his general direction. For one twisted moment, he imagined the huge country marching him forward at gunpoint, right into the wolf's waiting jaws.
"Now, Litva, back up slowly," Russia commanded.
Liet did so, and heard the other nation walk up next to him. Once they were even, Russia stepped in front of him, shielding him from view. The wolf flattened its ears back briefly, pacing back and forth, apparently unwilling to come any closer.
"He's mine!" Russia pronounced loudly. Liet shot him a startled look. "Take you wolves and your beasts, General; Litva is mine!"
General—?!
The wolf snarled and Russia shot the ground beneath its paws. It leapt back, ears flattened to its head as it snarled again, more viciously than before, but the powerful creature turned tail to leave. By the time Russia had cocked the rifle again, the wolf was gone.
Slowly, the huge nation lowered the gun, eyes scanning the forest.
"Russia Zimavich, sp—"
"Get back to the sled, Litva," Russia said quietly, turning back to face him. "Come on, back to the sled," he insisted when Liet didn't immediately move, nudging him with the side of the (still loaded) rifle.
They loaded up the remaining wood onto the sled and proceeded home, Russia quiet and contemplative, Lithuania unwilling to break that silence. He noticed that cold country didn't switch the rifle safety back on until they reached the house.
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That night, armed with hot chocolate and blankets, the Baltics curled up in front of a roaring fire, while Russia lounged on the sofa behind them with his ever-present vodka. They listened to the radio, to music and new broadcasts, the latter of which Lithuania never trusted, since all the broadcasts to which Russia listened (and Russia had the final say to which stations they listened) were bound to be filled with propaganda. So when the news came on, Liet stared into the fire and tried not to let the biased political agenda seep into his head. Instead, his thoughts kept drifting back to the wolf.
Russia had called it 'general'. Or maybe not. He could have been addressing General Winter—it had to have been General Winter he was talking about, who else could it be?—overall, as if the wolf was a messenger or something. All speculation. It sounded like something out of a fairy tale. But the gust of wind immediately after the kutya offering; the wolf a few days later… And Liet had no idea what General Winter was like, what his relation with Russia was aside from rumors that occasionally drifted among the other nations. It was the forbidden topic; you didn't ask Russia about General Winter. You just didn't.
The fire had died down to embers by the time the radio broadcaster signed off for the night. Lithuania blinked, rousing himself from his spacey state as static cackled softly. Glancing down, he saw that Latvia and Estonia had dozed off, leaning on each other and him for support. Just like in their waking days. The thought was sobering; he gently woke them, whispering the hour and instructing them to go to bed. They nodded sleepily and drifted away towards their rooms. Then Lithuania turned his attention to Russia.
Said country had also fallen asleep—or passed out, given the number of bottles that littered the floor near the sofa. Liet picked his way over, careful not to kick any of them, and stood there a moment, weighing his options. His safest choice would be to leave Russia on the couch, but that could result in a rather unpleasant morning. However, he had no idea what mood Russia would be in if woken up. The slumbering nation appeared deceptively peaceful, but the vodka he held as one would a teddy bear went a long way towards reminding Lithuania of whom he was dealing with.
But what if the reason Russia clung to vodka was because he didn't have anything better?
"Russia Zimavich?" Liet whispered loudly.
No response. He hadn't really been expecting one.
He tried again, slightly louder, a light hand on his shoulder.
Russia shifted and murmured something under his breath.
Frowning, hoping he wasn't about to be accidentally hurt, Lithuania tried once more, louder, with more force.
Slowly, Russia opened his eyes and his gaze took even longer to focus on the Baltic's face. "Litva?" he slurred, disorientated.
Oh god, he was legitimately drunk. "Da, Russia Zimavich. Let me help you get to bed," Lithuania said, coaxing the vaguely conscious country into a sitting position.
Russia's first attempt at standing ended with him losing balance, the vodka slipping from his grip as he flailed and flopped back down onto the sofa with a giggle. At Liet's encouragement he tried again, swaying dangerously, but he remained on his feet, leaning heavily on the shorter nation. He nearly dragged them both down when he stepped on one of the many bottles on the floor—Liet cursed himself for not having the foresight to move the stupid things—but succeeded in catching himself clumsily.
Lithuania had no idea how they were going to make it up the stairs.
A good ten minutes later, after much silent swearing and bruising on Liet's part, in which he banged his knees into the steps no less than seven times as he struggled to bare Russia's full weight when the larger nation temporarily collapsed, they managed to reach the second landing. After the stairs, getting Russia down the hall to his room felt like child's play.
Russia sat heavily on the side of his bed and laid back, staring at the ceiling with a pleasant expression on his face. Liet waited a moment before sighing in the realization that Russia wasn't going to do anything more himself.
"Russia Zimavich, would you sit up so I can remove your coat?" he requested politely.
The childish nation shook his head. "I dun wanna," he said, garbling the words hopelessly.
Suppressing another sigh, Lithuania leaned over and daintily began undoing the straps on the military coat. Russia didn't respond until Liet tried to ease an arm out of a sleeve.
"Taking advantage, Litva?" he queried, voice soft.
Lithuania nearly flung himself backwards in his haste, apology and denial on his lips, but Russia caught him by the wrist in a surprisingly coordinated moved, though it lacked his usual grace.
"Stay with me tonight," he said flatly, liquor-hazed eyes imploring where his words were not.
"No," Liet responded immediately. Russia was drunk, perhaps if he was quick enough he could talk himself out of this. "Russia, you need your rest; I need to go clean up downstairs, there's—ah!"
Russia yanked him forward and he toppled onto the bed next to the other nation; he scrambled to a sitting position instantly, panic sweeping through him.
Russia giggled again, rolling onto his side. "My little rabbit—did the big bad wolf scare you?" he wondered with a lopsided grin.
Liet remained silent, trying to gauge the distance from the bed to the door and how quickly he could reach it before Russia caught him. He wouldn't make it on a normal day, but with Russia drunk…
He didn't get the chance. Russia's hand clamped down on his ankle like a vice, hauling him down; Russia moved up next to him, shifting his grip quickly to a wrist, and Liet tried to throw his weight off the bed, but all that did was nearly wrench his shoulder out of the socket.
"Stop fighting, Litva," the other nation growled, and Liet heard the threat of violence in his voice. He stopped, shaking fiercely, tears welling up in his eyes.
Russia laid on his back and tugged Lithuania down next to him, pulling the covers over them; he looped an arm under Liet's neck to rest against his back and gently stroked the boy's hair with his free hand, quietly hushing the Baltic's frightened weeping to no avail.
In a few minutes the soft ministrations slowed, then stilled as Russia's breathing evened and deepened into sleep.
Lithuania sniffed, shivering in fear, curled up next to a surprisingly warm Russia (save for his hands—his hands were like ice). The lax grip tightened the moment he moved, and he quickly abandoned the idea of escaping, instead hoping that Russia had consumed enough alcohol to stay asleep, terrified of what might happen should Russia awake.
When sleep finally claimed his body, it was fitful and plagued with nightmares.
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I'm pretty sure that my nerves would keep me up the whole night, were I in Lithuania's situation...
Little Christmas, the Epiphany, is on January 6th (my mother's birthday!) and it celebrates the day the three kings visited baby Jesus. The hay under the table cloth symbolizes the manger, and kutya is the traditional food of choice. And yes, you really do fling a spoonful at the ceiling to predict the number of bees, and spoonful out the window for Grandfather Frost. I'm kinda sad that I couldn't include any more Christmas info; Russian Christmas and such is really pretty awesome~
Since I don't think I've actually explained this yet, here's the reason for "Russia Zimavich". Russians have three names, a given name, a patronymic name, and a surname. A patronymic is a name that shows lineage and is based on the father's name: father's name + male or female ending, depending on the gender of the person in question. For example, the Grand Duchess Anastasia's name is Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova--Nikolaevna is the patronym, derived from her father's name, Nikolay (Nicholas), plus the feminine ending 'evna'. In contrast, her younger brother the Tzarevich Alexei's name is Alexei Nikolaevich Romanov--the masculine ending is 'evich'. Patronyms are used in conjunction with one's given name as a formal address; in other words, the patronym is the Russian equivalent of the Japanese '-san' suffix. Since Lithuania addresses him as Russia-san in the webcomic, he's obviously showing respect. However, as neither Lithuania nor Russia are Japanese, he can't be using '-san'. Thus, Zimavich.
But wait, some say, you said a patronym is based off of a person's father! Russia doesn't have a father! An astute observation, and you're quite right. Zimavich is broken down into 'zima' + 'vich', vich being the masculine ending. 'Zima' means winter. Since Russia was raised by General Winter, I choose to give Russia his name as a patronym. This explains why Russia snapped at Liet back in chapter 2 for using his patronymic; he didn't want to be reminded of General Winter right then, not when he's currently bleeding and burnt and in a terrible mood...
Vocab: xorasho--good (the 'x' is pronounced like an 'h'; tricksy, da?)
Ugh, longest author's note ever. If you sat through that, congratulations and thank you! Hope you learned something new!
Read and review, comrades!