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IV.
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When America answers the door, he knows exactly who it is that's calling on him.
He allows himself to be brushed to the side as the tall Slavic nation saunters into his hotel room and takes a small bit of time to close the portal shut and secure it with the minimal amount of security the locks provide. He slowly turns; his back pressed up against the wood and regards the other standing in the center of the room with some amusement from being stared back at so coldly.
Russia remains silent, as does America, and there's only the far off distant sounds of nightlife happenings from beyond the shut window while the latter attempts to think of something a little more fitting for this reunion other than Hello? How are you?
-.-.-
And Did You Come to Stare or Wash Away the Blood?
-.-.-
"You're looking good," America finally comments.
The compliment does little to relieve the tension, if anything it only accentuates how stiff the atmosphere is between them, though neither one seems too inclined to have it alleviated.
He removes himself from the doorway and languidly saunters to his own set of provided arm chairs, making sure to take the one directly in front of Russia's line of vision. He gestures to the empty spot perpendicular to his own and says, "Take a seat, why don'tcha?"
"I will not be staying for long," Russia replies but approaches cautiously all the same.
"Well then, what can I do you for? It's getting late, y'see, and it's gonna be a busy day tomorrow."
"And why is that, Amerika?"
A feral smile starts to slowly form on the blonde's lips. "It's a surprise."
"I never did appreciate a surprise," Russia tells him, his own small smile taking shape.
"Nah, you were never all that fun."
"And you never all that bright."
"If that's a jab at the slip up I made, what can I say?" America shrugs. "Just got caught up talking to an old friend. Though we were never really friends were we?"
"Not with you. Never with you."
"No," the blonde agrees. "No one's ever friends with me. It's always Alfred they've wanted. It's easy to handle an idiot, isn't it?"
He lightly chuckles at the sight of Ivan tightly clutching hands into fists. "Now that, that's one little thing that made me accept their relationship when it started. Maybe not completely accept, 'cause God knows I hate you, but tolerated it. Ivan has a sort of dedication that's a rarity nowadays, almost admirable if he didn't come off as clingy. But, with your history, guess that's not too surprising."
"I do not think Fedya would like you to be speaking of Ivan in such a way."
America waves his warning off. "There isn't a lot of what Alfred thinks that matters to me. We don't work like you two, y'see. Small differences in us that just doesn't let that happen."
"Unfortunate, he is the better half in my opinion."
"Yeah well, your opinion also means shit to me."
"Yes, I recall that conversation."
"No need to sound so emotional over it. If I recall correctly, you were unhappier than me about that unofficial alliance of ours."
"You were not exactly capable of keeping your displeasure to yourself either."
"No, but every little thing I did or said or even implied was criticized. None of it was ever good enough. Of course, I got used to it, but I don't think Alfred did."
"And what is the meaning of that?"
America sighs dreamily while a fond smile shapes his lips as he recalls a certain memory. "Alfred, Alfred, Alfred… I thought there was some promise in him, y'know. Something beyond that enormous hero complex of his, and I was really sold when it was his call to drop those bombs. But then there he went, wanting to help Japan afterwards and the whole fucking world afterwards, and he got himself into one mess after another, after another, after another, until we end up here, where even our own home has nothing good to say about us anymore. And as much as I think he's an idiot, he's still a part of me, still have to take care of him."
The blonde runs a hand through his hair tiredly. "It's my fault too though. I shouldn't have gone away completely, and I wouldn't have if I had known that you and the other one over there were going to throw a pissy fit for forty years. Ah well, live and you learn. Which I think is a lesson that everyone needs to remember."
He reclines further into his seat, crosses one leg over the other with an all around pleased look on his face while saying, "Let's teach everyone what it's like to live in a world without the States interfering. Let's close up the borders, cut off all ties, and let the world deal with their own problems like they used to. The world can fuck itself over and I can make myself strong again."
"That is impossible," Russia tells him. "In this day, Isolationism is an ideal long gone. With the political ties that have been made up while you left Alfred in charge, such a feat is impossible to manage without rousing suspicion from within your own government-"
"Not if every politician who has any pull is already on my side, rady to do my bidding, and ready to do whatever it is I tell them to," America snaps, sitting straight up in his seat. "They're adorable really, especially the ones who were gutsy enough to take out their own predecessors. But even those that didn't are still ready to pass anything I tell them to, making everything that goes through perfectly legal as far as the People are concerned."
"And what of your President? I hardly think he will allow you and your followers to ruin his own country. How do you plan to dispose of him without rousing notice?"
"Russia," America laughs. "He already knows."
Russia keeps his eyes from widening in surprise, doing the opposite and narrows them down to slits as though trying to come to terms with the blonde's words. This of course, gives America ample reason to delve even deeper into an explanation with a jubilant grin.
"He already knows! Hell, he's probably the first one to have figured out that I'm the one in charge, said nothing about it, allowed all these people to die, and he's agreed to do anything I say, just to keep himself alive. And y'know what, I can always use a new puppet. Keeps my hands clean. Well, cleaner anyway."
Throughout his revelations, he's able to dissolve the guise hiding the disbelief that he can now see radiating off from Russia's being by simple observation and his laughter begins anew. "Did you honestly think that I would tell you what I've been planning if I thought you'd be able to do anything to stop it?"
In all honesty, Russia's intentions had been to only provoke an upfront confrontation, all the same he cannot refrain himself from asking,"Are you insane?"
America only shrugs. "If I am, you'd be able to tell, wouldn't you?"
"Do not put me on the same level as you. I never did anything so degrading as to use my own people against each other for the progression of my home."
"No, you prefer the more upfront course of action and just shoot them down in the streets yourself."
His words cause an instantaneous reaction as Russia's hand dives into the depths of his coat and the pipe that's long since replaced his first comes out from within, just as America jumps from his seat and produces an S&W from the inside of his jacket. He's able to block the metal bar coming in at him by catching it right at the trigger guard and uses his free hand to grip at the tip of the pipe, causing Russia to place his own hand nearby to keep the power in check. America doesn't seem to mind the stalemate, all he does is smile.
"Did I hit a nerve?" he asks with an unabashed sense of false ignorance.
Russia grits his teeth as he sets his footing a little most solid; one foot in front of the other, urging the top half of his body forward to throw the blonde down and away from his weapon. America fixes his own stance as well, using his most of his strength to keep the other bay, to keep himself from harm.
"My, my, my," the blonde says. "Now this is a problem. I could easily push you off, but that would give you the chance to have another go at me and that's probably more trouble than it's worth."
"And so you think to rather shoot me, maybe?" Russia asks him, already knowing this game.
"It's not exactly a hard feat to manage." America proves this point by angling the barrel a little lower to aim at the other's forehead, he even pulls the hammer back for good measure. "See?"
"And what will you tell the others if you choose to shoot me? There will be no hiding which side you are now."
"Listen, cat'll be out of the bag later anyway, what difference does a few hours make."
Amethyst and sapphire lock on one another as the first quietly states, "You are the same as you ever were."
"Come on now, big guy, you're making me blush."
"It was no compliment."
"Now you're just being mean."
Russia's grip tightens, he forces more strength into his bearings. "Do not think for a second that I will allow you to take Fedya away, no matter the choice you make."
America can't help the smile that takes shape as he hears the words. "If you couldn't keep up with him, what makes you think you can take me on?"
"Things are not how you lived them. There have been many changes."
"Well, when you put it that way."
His eyes close with the splatter. He only hears him fall.
..
..
..
..
..
He's hunched over himself, his head hangs down to his chest while listening to the dying echoes of a performance coming to it's end. He's completely listless amongst the yellowed grass and dust covered planks of wood.
The Violinist has his back to him, no longer interested in anything he may do or say and in all honesty, there's not much for him to do now other than exist and serve. With a heavy heart, he pushes his hand through locks of blonde hair and presses his right index finger to the bridge of his nose, all with the intention of pushing his glasses back to their proper place before remembering that he is no longer in possession of them. This recollection seems to toss him even further down this whirlwind spiral of depression.
Though when the night backdrop falls, and in it's place the dawn is shown in the same manner as the first scene (though looking at it closely, the entire scene is a tad brighter than before), it's a small beacon of hope… for something… for anything.
"You were wrong," he breathes, unable to contain himself.
Despite his disinterest, The Violinist does acknowledge his words and responds. "What's that?"
"You were wrong," he repeats. "The world… the world didn't end."
His words go without a response for a moment or two, the last trickle of notes that flow over are far more favored that the pitiful clinging beliefs of a defeated man. It's only when the final note is drawled out unhurriedly and he takes the opportunity to breathe in deeply as new wind picks up and tussles his own strands of blonde hair that he's able to relax his stance and turn his own set of blue eyes on the other and peer from behind his glasses with a placid expression as the music ceases once and for all.
"Are you sure?"
xxx
-That's it! That's the end!
-Why?
-Because... the aftermath is secondary. :3
-Anyway, if you got the reference there at the end end, I love you forever. That's pretty much the only part of this chapter that stayed the same since the start of this mess. (Which means that Ozy's reference earlier, was totally added as I went along. I should not watch movies while I write…)
-But yeah, it's officially 3:30 am in the OC, and no amount of caffeine can keep me up anymore. Until next time then lovies, stay shiny. :D
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There's actually no video for this chapter. Well, there was, but my computer died and all my music, vids, and pics went with it. I could remake it, but I'm a lazy beezie. :P It's not like anyone watched them anyway, right?
EDIT: I remade it. Go here to check it: www. dailymotion video/xipo2v_o-er-the-land-of-the-free_shortfilms