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III.
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The scene has gone from day to night and the shrill cries of the white violin echoes off the theatre's walls as the performance crescendos.
The Violinist stands with perfect posture, the intensity of his act doing nothing to relinquish his bearing while the other curls into himself amidst the loose soil and dying grass. His head lifts when a split second of silence overtakes the auditorium, thinking it to be the end and has his spirits crushed once more as music fills his ears.
"What exactly are you aiming for?" he dares ask.
"For the end," comes the simple answer, spoken as though it is the most reasonable conclusion.
"The end of what?"
"Of many things," he's told. "Of everything."
The other's pair of baby blue's look up at the identical pair looking down on him. "Why?"
"What part of the greater good do you not understand?" The Violinist replies in an irritated tone. "This will be beneficial to the children, this will make everything better for them, for you-"
"Things were better for me already."
"How could you possibly say such a thing after the mess that's done nothing but accumulate over the years bombards you with slander and hatred?" The Violinist demands. "How could you be content in a situation that needs me to pull you out of?"
"I had Vanechka!" the other shouts. "As long as I had him, nothing else mattered!"
The Violinist falters, a note goes sour and the bow falls from his hand as he brings it down unto the shrunken form who remains still and waits for the contact against his face that will have him crash onto his side. The force against the other's cheek snaps like the crack of a pistol and fills the hall before the impromptu intermission comes to an end with The Violinist kneeling slightly for the bow and returning to his posture.
The beginning low tones mix well with the strangled whimper that's not able to be held back by the other cradling his reddened face. They're soon overtaken, completely washed out by the progression of music as it struggles to return to it's former sound.
"You're so selfish," The Violinist talks down to him all the while. "Willing to let everything I've created crumble while you dick around like an idiot."
"I'm not an idiot," he mutters.
"You are an idiot," comes the correction. "But you'll see, how better off we'll be when the end of the world comes with the new day."
The Violinist tells him of an apocalyptic vision that will occur from those who choose to pay no mind to the workings of the world, more concerned with their petty complaints and overindulgence of superficiality and from those who've decided to put a stop to greed and corruption by drenching their hands in the blood of their fellow man and from those who understand and acknowledge the wrong and are ignored, left to do little more than broadcast their findings to the general public in hopes of alerting the masses and are only recognized as paranoid conspiriologists who turn on one another for their differing viewpoints and are therefore belittled and beaten down on and tossed to the gutters…
-.-.-
While Spitting Out the Blood and Screaming, "Someone Save Us!"
-.-.-
The dining area buzzes with conversation, mostly with talk of how America and Japan sit away from the others which leads to theories of this being the reason why Ivan himself is absent from the scene. The two notice, of course, but think very little of it even with the added disapproving looks from both of their respective 'families'.
"In a way it's kind of funny," America says. "It's like we actually got people to feel some kind of sympathy towards Ivan."
Japan makes no audible reply, a simple dip of his head is all that's given to assure the other that his words are heard and taken into account for.
"I think Arthur's actually glaring at me," he goes on.
"Have you made any official contact with Arthur-san?" Japan asks.
America slides his eyes away from his former mentor and answers, "No, not really. We did have a nice little chat where he cornered me before the first half started, but I kept that as short as possible."
"Will he not find that suspicious?"
"Probably," the blonde shrugs. "But the way I figure he'll just think it's me not wanting to hear a lecture than me keeping something from him. Nah, I can't have a lot of contact with him, he'll figure it out."
Again, there is no reply from the man across from him, mainly for the reason that there is no real reason to reply. All the same, the silence lives for no more than a few moments before America breaks into it with speech.
"I appreciate the cooperation though," he says. "I thought I was gonna have to talk your ear off before I got you out to negotiate something."
"It was either cooperate or struggle," Japan tells him. "Considering the outcome of the last time we met, perhaps I have learned something from that."
America immediately takes the defense. "You can blame your messenger for that mess."
"And not your translator?"
"That's over with," the blonde huffs. "Forget that, we're working on this right now."
"Of course."
Silence again.
"I'm not a total asshole," America mutters.
"Of course."
America shifts forward in his seat to regain some level of comfort, though in doing so, he's able to spot the glimpse of a light colored garment barely peeking from behind the massive entry leading into the room before it disappears from his line of sight completely, most likely being pulled back by it's owner. A sudden bought of intrigue sparks his curiosity in a way that has him favoring the idea of abandoning Japan in search of some sport, though those thoughts are slightly pushed back with the other's sudden interest in conversation.
"I will admit my concern of the other's when you make it publicly known just what it is you are planning tomorrow."
America snaps back into the conversation with a quick shake of his head. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. No, I'm more concerned about the people when it becomes world wide knowledge. There will be those who won't take too nicely to a sudden disillusion to the workings they've known for all their lives. Though I'm pretty sure it'll be the normal cases of rioting and violence, which isn't too hard to handle either, but still a pain.
"And you are certain of this?"
"That's the beauty of it," he tells Japan while standing. "People do terrible things to each other when it all falls apart, but it's always the same things. That's what makes our jobs easier. I'll be right back."
"I will be sure to collect you before the meeting begins," Japan farewells with a rare open expression that shows he knows exactly whom it is America plans to corner.
America ignores the parting all together and leaves the other's side, maneuvering through the tables and pays no heed to the many eyes he feels follow his movements as he makes his way to the entrance. Once outside, he has no need to look about him in search of anyone, he's already aware of the presence lingering despite the visual absence.
Still, he makes no show of knowing and begins to trudge through the maze of corridors all while feigning oblivious to the second shadow that stalks his own. He quickly takes on a familiar path and in a few swift strides saunters through the door to one of the many smaller conference rooms and leaves the door slightly ajar before taking a seat in one of the many leather fitted chair surrounding the elongated table in the center and closes his eyes. A subtle draft creeps in, brushing against the hem of his pants and a minute of a smile plays on his lips.
"You used to be sneakier," he remarks, slowly opening his eyes to see the tall figure standing in front of the closed door.
Ivan gives him a curious once over before stepping away and approaches with light footsteps.
"I still am," he says. "When I choose to be."
"Does that mean that you meant for me to see you?" asks America. "Someone might wonder why."
"Perhaps they will think that it is for the same purpose you meant for me to follow."
America raises an eyebrow at that. "What makes you think I meant for you to follow me?"
"If not," Ivan begins while running the tips of his fingers along the surface of the table before them, "then I would like to say what an interesting room choice to make for a private moment."
America's eyes follow his movements, he knows exactly what this room is and has no doubt that Ivan is recalling those many instances where he's pressed the blonde's back against the table while lifting one leg over his shoulder to bury himself deeper into Alfred, who in turn becomes nothing more than a half-dressed mewling mess squirming beneath him.
"The chair's are pretty comfy," America says off handedly, acting to snap them both out of the reverie. "But you wouldn't know about that, huh?"
Ivan's eyes widen for a fraction of a second before they snap in another direction as another foggy memory of him straddling Alfred in one of the chairs present and then bit down on the blonde's shoulder as he aligned his member with Ivan's entrance and pushed himself in while muttering encouraging words and terms of endearment into his ear.
"Why did you come here?" he asks America after quickly snapping himself out of his day dreams.
"Because I knew you would follow me," is the honest answer. "Why were you hiding?"
"Because I knew you would come looking for me to know why… I wanted to speak with you."
"So you had to go into KGB mode? You could've just come up to me at any moment."
"Would you have spoken to me in that case?"
America hesitates. "Probably not."
"And there you have it."
"Only because I'm pretty sure you would want to talk about all that break-up bullshit," he tells him. "Which is still what you wanted to talk about with me, right?"
"Amongst other things."
America scoffs. "Like you calling up my brother at all hours of the night for who knows how long?"
"Hardly," Ivan replies. "It was the one time, and it was made at a decent hour for Matthew."
"Whatever you say," America responds with a wave of his hand and reclines in his chair. "Why can't you just leave it alone already?"
" Because I do not believe you. Our arrangement could have been seen as a bit of an inconvenience, but it never was one for either of us."
"Maybe not for you two, but it was for me."
America realizes his mistake too late as he bites down on his bottom lip and looks away from Ivan who furrows his brows together at the extra words he would have been able to hold back had he not been so honest before hand.
"I'm done," he says quickly while shooting up from his seat and ignores Ivan's calls for him to wait and continue their discussion.
America leaves the room in a hurry, leaves the door wide open as he begins to storm off back into the direction of the dining area only to come back into contact with Japan, who as promised had been on his way to fetch the other for the remainder of the day's meeting. He passes him by, not a word exchanged.
Naturally, Japan follows after, keeping behind him in step though at the same pace and even stops beside him when America's flight finally comes to a halt. He makes no inquire verbally, instead he waits for what America will tell him when he's coherent enough to admit what he had done.
He does, however angrily, admits it to the other's impartial looking expression.
"I fucked up."
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Ivan comes to the conclusion that there are many advantages to knowing someone so intimately for a long period of time.
Unlike many of the others whom have taken the night off to whisper with their bosses behind closed doors on the many interesting transgressions that occurred in both party's separate conferences, Ivan remains by his lonesome in his own hotel room with the lights shut off and slightly reclined in a provided armchair by the sliding glass door that leads out to the balcony.
He slumps further back, slipping his eyes closed and raises a hand to rest against them for added effort. In this position he thinks back to what had transpired between him and the blonde hours earlier, the words and the actions, to his manner during the conference, filled with double meanings and subtle insinuations hidden underneath subtext that are overshadowed with a boisterous air that is almost in character for his Fedya.
He's not fooled by it though, not after their previous encounter, he's able to discern the flaws and cracks in the mask the other's been wearing, and he has no doubt now as to what is the reason behind many events he's been aware of in the time frame of the last Conference to this moment.
The only uncertainty that remains is the why behind the reason, and that he feels may very well be the most important of all.
The hand falls away from his face and Russia opens his eyes. He stands away from the chair and in a few short strides is by his bed, shrugging his coat back on before exiting from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
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-Spot the quote from The Filth and I'll write you a oneshot. :D
-So the next chapter won't be out 'till May~. Why? Because I like to correlate things that may or may not make sense to anyone other than me.
-Really though, I'm having my own fun with this fic. Like those vids I link, those are total Dr. D inspired and they're not important. They don't really have anything to do with anything.
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Hey, you! Yeah, you!
Check this link out: www. dailymotion video/xi7srf_now-at-midnight-all-the-agents_fun
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Anonymous Reviews:
Em: True... And I never said you couldn't quote Nietzche, I just said I wouldn't take you srsly if you did.
Sunshine: Glory is boolshit! Violate! Violate!