Chapter 2
Friendship treaty?" Yao questions with furrowed brows. The new chairman merely glances back at him and points with his fingers at the document that had been signed merely hours before. Yao nods as if to say he understands the fact that the document exists, but why was still his question.
" We already have one...Why make another?" The personification asks. Mao shakes his rounded head and slides the papers forward for the others viewing.
" That treaty was with the Republic of China. This is a new age Wang Yao. Times have changed and so have we," He says sternly as he watches Yao skim the papers. As he reads some of the confusion only alleviates. Did the two leaders view each other as threats? They were both communist and readers of Marx, was this truly friendship or just an alliance guaranteeing that the two wouldn't get in each others way. He reads his nation's newly enforced name 'The Peoples Republic of China' and it's like reading a blatant spelling error of a word as simple as the. It, like everything else, would take some getting use to.
Certain words stand out more than the others, the constant mentions of Japan, and military for example. His hands shake just a bit but he dismisses his actions with a steady breath. Something did seem to be triggered by reading the name, and having it fresh in his mind once again. Yao slides the paper back bitterly, as if it had stung him, and in a way it did. Mao looks up at him passively before continuing to write notes to himself.
" I want you to befriend that Russian. This is not an option. Keep our relations good on all terms to show that China is committed as much as they are."
" I don't like making friends," the nation replies flatly while he glares at the other. To befriend Ivan because he wanted friendship from another would be fine, but to befriend him out of diplomacy simply seemed too much like a lie. It's not like they weren't already...acquaintances in a sense anyways. Yao viewed almost all his fellow nations as acquaintances. A first name basis and respect was all he really wanted. He prefers the isolation and the thoughts of only himself. Simply put his thoughts are the only one he hears, and the only ones he likes.
"This isn't a debate Wang Yao. The age of Communism has come upon us. It would be nothing but beneficial to keep such a strong superpower as a close ally if we want the same prosperity for our own great nation."
Reading over the treaty again he gains a new understanding of it's purpose, as well as a sense of shame from it all. He accepts that as of right now his country was paranoid, damaged, and too weak to not use any crutch they could take right now. A weak wry scoff leaves his lips before he could think against it.
Mao opens his mouth to speak but a knock on the door forces him to merely frown at the chinese man before telling the person outside the door to come in.
A familiar large nose pokes itself inside, causing both men to stand immediately.
" Lunch is ready," Ivan beams before opening the door fully to reveal the stern faced Soviet leader next to him. Stalin was a tough looking older man. Yao notes the mustache he possesses which looks like his nose had sprouted two fat legs and was preparing to jump off of his face. His sleek salt and pepper black hair was combed back into an average style, and he wore a military Jacket.
Ivan stands by Stalin, and Yao by Mao as the two leaders exchange a few words and then depart, leaving the two personifications behind to stare (in Ivan's case) At each other. Slowly the chinese man looks up at him, his stomach feeling uneasy by the sudden awkward silence that had befallen them. Ivan laughs a bit and moves backwards a few steps. Instinctively Yao steps forward, not really knowing why he did so.
"Let's leave the old men to their own fun, let us go do something! I wish to take you somewhere," Ivan beams before turning to leave. It wasn't really an offer it appears, Yao would have to follow him eventually. China stares at the now empty doorway with a blank expression for a few minutes before realizing that the other would seriously leave without him.
"Hey! Wait Ivan I'm coming," He calls out aimlessly before rushing after him.
Yao stares at the company warily and then at Ivan, the only familiar one in this small puddle of strange room is dimly lit by the small bulb that swings precariously from the wooden ceiling. The shadows in the room only serve to heighten the ominous feel of the room and the nauseating odor of Vodka and something else that just doesn't belong.
"Why is Chinese man here Ivan?" A man slurs. Said man possesses a narrow face with small craters on his cheeks and nose as if someone had taken a small knife and carved out small holes in his face for play. Tiny hairs can be seen sprouting from his chin and his hair-if he had any- was hidden under the hat he kept firmly pressed on his head.
Yao glares at him for his rudeness.
" I am his company," he snaps defensively. It was bad enough he had hope that Ivan would take them to somewhere appropriate, but to be referred to as just his ethnicity is something else. Yao's feistiness at this rudeness earns him a breathy laugh from Ivan who pats his shoulder like one would pet a small angry dog to soothe it. The Chinese man of course smacks his hand away in offence.
The Russian that insulted Yao scowls and looks to Ivan to defend him against this newcomers sharp tongue, but is heavily disappointed to see Ivan smile that same cheerful smile and do nothing. Golden eyes shift constantly as they search for an exit. Maybe he could say he was cold...But how could he when Ivan had not only insisted that he layer up, but also so generously provided. The coat is saturated with white fur that he thinks once belonged to a magnificent creature, no doubt about it. Besides the shawl like fur accompaniment he is also dressed in black with gold decorated buttons on his jacket and boots that he likes to run his gloved fingers over.
'I am cold' can not be an excuse nor can he say he is hungry, for Ivan also made sure to feed him. Did this brute purposely take away any excuse he could have made!? His small head turns enough to witness Russia smiling fondly down at him. China quickly looks away and focuses his attention to the four men around then, the rude one included.
They all seemed to fit in the same category. Large burly aged men of different shapes and smells that could make anyone stop and stare at them for a good period of time to process their features. It was only intimidating to be around everyone. Yao takes note of the prominent distinguishing features they have and gives them names accordingly.
The Rude one, The stern one, the bald one, and the blinded one. He could tell by the cloudiness in the one eye that the blinded one couldn't possibly see out of it. Politely he looks away from him instead of staring at the disfigurement. The bald one speaks up, saying they should get the game started already before the snow threatens to lock them in.
They talk to each other in Russian and pass around Vodka and cards while Yao sits there quietly, hoping to go unnoticed. His Russian was fine, but don't expect him to speak it. Like everything else he did, it was very accented and he disliked using any other language besides his own unnecessarily. Much to his dismay 5 cards are placed in front of him as well as a smaller glass than all the others were offered. 'It is a stereotype that the chinese can't handle their liquor' he comments internally.
"Ivan….I can't play poker I don't know how," He whispers to other a bit sheepishly as he watches the others place their money on the table. Ivan looks at his cards and then at Yao.
" Do you wish to play something else then Yao?" He asks him earnestly. At this there is a hard clank of metal on the table and it is pushed forward under the light. A Nagant M1895 identical to the ones he has come to know because of the fact that Ivan always had one on him.
Yao stares at the gun and then up at the Rude one who had placed it on the table. Was he threatening him? Attempting to intimidate him? The presence of the lethal metallic object is met with a few drunken chuckles and nods of agreement.
" Do you really have nothing left to lose?" the bald one laughs with a shake of his wrinkled head to follow. The rude one just keeps his eyes on Yao and grins.
" That's the cost of war, you give your body, but you lose everything else around you. A bullet cannot hurt me," He replies. Admittedly there is a lump in Yao's throat upon hearing this. He has always considered the russians to be strange in both their language and their culture, but this put him off to no end. Only fools play so loosely with guns. He watches with wide eyes as the rude one takes the gun and holds it against his temple and wraps his gloved fingers against the trigger.
The asian man looks to Ivan for some sort of guidance. Surely he'd stop this...This is just a dark prank correct? People don't actually play around like this. Ivan watches with dull interest in his purple eyes. Willing himself to focus on a stain on the wall, he forces himself to look away, but the click still made his shoulders raise a bit quickly. There was no bang heard after, no sound of combustion and liquid hitting the floor.
The gun is passed to his left, and the same process was repeated yet again. The boisterous bastard he came here with takes the revolver and places it against his temple before clicking it twice and passing it to Yao.
" Are you mad. I will not take part in such foolery," He snaps before making an attempt to stand. A strong grip on his arm however seats him down again and the gun is placed in his hand. Immortality is something that never really crossed his mind until the time to prove it presented itself in an often unpredicted and agonizingly slow moment. 'I'm going to die' is the sentence he usually tells himself before closing his eyes, and accepting the logic of the circumstance before letting it happen. The logic he could understand...Everything dies, even immortals, but unlike everything considered dead he would come back. Born again in the heart of his homeland intact, and sometimes scarred. Slowly he lifts the loaded gun and presses it against his forehead.
Has he been in such a situation before? In war only a few times before. However you have to kill the people to kill the country, and that's how it will always be.
His eyes squeeze shut and he pulls the trigger after trying his best to mentally prepare himself for what was to come next. The pressure on the trigger tightens instinctively when his eyes fly open and a gasp of relief is given. He survived what felt like what seemed to be the longest thirty seconds this century.
China looks at everyone for confirmation that he was indeed still alive before them, unwounded and intact. The men look at him quizzically before motioning for him to pass the gun on to the next player. After doing so Yao strangely looks up to Ivan as if to make sure he watched him do it. To assure that Ivan had at least seen that Yao had done what was asked of him, with hesitance yes, but it was done. The loud pop and the wet feeling on his cheeks violently break him free of this want for praise. The men immediately get up and back up from the table, each one of them raising their hands as if to say " I didn't do it." The Chinese man doesn't dare turn around to see what the final result of the man next to him was. The reality of this game was far too cruel for him to really comprehend all in one moment, the reality of the game is also running down his face in red streams.
Ivan picks up the vodka bottle left behind and wipes the mess free moments before bringing the liquor to his lips and lowering it just as quickly.
" Well. There it is," He says.
" Good game."
Yao stays frozen on the ground, feeling warmth pool around his boots and knees. The unwelcomed feeling forces him upwards and backwards against the wall. Because of his uncareful movements he catches a glimpse of the mess, and the new stain on the wall threatening to join the others in their blackness.
They say curiosity killed the cat, that cat happened to be Wang Yao's ability to hold in his lunch. Quickly he excuses himself to be outside in the snow. The coldness out here could be easily be summer compared to the coldness inside that small shed. The man walks through the snow at a slow but purposeful pace even though they made his thighs ache. Soon he's on all fours and dry heaving as his golden eyes search the snow for an answer to what just took place.
'I could have taken it, at least then I would have survived...Death for such a silly game wasn't necessary. How can men play around so easily with the lives of others. It doesn't take thousands of years to know that all lives do matter….
He waits to be sick, he waits to expel the feeling of this sin from himself, but nothing happened. The most he is greeted with is the harsh sting of the wind on his cheeks and the hot feeling of snow seeping into his gloves.
A gentle hand is placed on his shoulder and rubs at it for a moment.
"Calm down Yao. That's just how the game works," Ivan says before plopping his body into the snow next to him, and continuing to pat the other.
"J-just...A game! You think the death of others is just a game!?" Yao shouts incredulously. The force he puts into knocking Ivan's hand off of him causes him to turn over and fall back into the snow. This gives him a good view of the Cabin he left behind only moments ago. Through the windows he can see the commotion inside.
" Life is a game," Ivan protests a bit childishly.
" Everyone dies Yao, one day or another it's inevitable. His death just happened to be tonight."
Ivan stares off at the shed and watches unflinching as the body is removed from the small building in a bag and disposed of through the use of liquor and fire. If the water around them wasn't frozen it would be a vikings funeral, he would have liked it that way.
" It could have been me. I think...I would have prefered to take the bullet instead of having someone mortal die for such a silly thing aru," the nation whispers. Ivan turns his head towards him and puts the Vodka bottle in his lap.
" It couldn't have been you," he says surely. With this remark Yao stares at him. 'It couldn't have been you,' he repeats in his head over and over. It was a one in six chance of dying. So how could Ivan be so sure with the odds so high? Perhaps he counted, perhaps he's talking nothing but nonsense as usual. Still there's an eerie feeling from his words and it's colder than the wind outside.
"Is it possible to cheat death?" He finds himself asking softly before bringing the vodka bottle to his lips and taking a large gulp of the stinging liquid.
"That's the funny thing about us Yao. We cheat death all the time."
He doesn't respond this time, instead he watches the flames eat the man he sat next to minutes before, and drinks till he forgets his face.