Today was Saturday, and Ireland was at the local bar like she does every Saturday. Ireland put her feet on the table and motioned the bar tender to hurry the f*ck up with her drink. Ireland was probably just as violent as Russia. The bar tender glared at her but didn't say a word. Not because it was his country he was about to curse out but out of sheer fear and not wanting to shit his pants he didn't speak. When she went drinking she always invited Scotland but was always to busy to show up. Scotland always seemed to hang out with their bigger brother. Ireland didn't like that but put up with it. Today, instead of inviting Scottie she invited Russia. She'd heard what happened at the last meeting and thought the guy could use a nice drink. Now, Ireland was never this nice so Russia thought as soon as he was off guard the redhead was going to invade his country. This wasn't the case, and since Ireland pratically FORCED him to come it wasn't like he had a choice. Russia walked through the door of the Irish pub and looked around. It looked just like an American bar. Ireland caught sight of the old chap and called him over, "Over here, striapach!" Ireland waved over to him. Russia went over and sat down next to her, looking just as disturbed as ever. Ireland picked up a shot glass and bashed it on his pitiful head, "The fuck is wrong with you?" Blood leaked from Ivan's head to his eyes.
"The fact you actually are doing something nice for me, da."
"I can be nice! When I want too..."
"...Right, da."
"Pft! Whatever. WAITER! 3 BOTTLES OF VODKA STAT!" shouted the red-haired country. Russia wiped the blood out his eyes with a napkin and sat paitently for his vodka. About 5 minutes later, the waiter came back with 3 bottles of vodka. Ireland took a bottle and ripped the cap off muttering, "About time, slowass." Russia took a bottle and hit the top of the table, breaking it. After one gulp he immediatly spit it right out, "What is this, da?" He looked on the label and there it said, 'Whip-cream flavored vodka. Brewed in France.'. Well no wonder it tasted like shit. Those surrender-monkies made it. For Frenchies they can't make very good alchohol. Russia pushed the bottle away in absolute disgust(The reaction of any sane person) as another trail of blood trickled down his adorable little head. Ireland could just FEEL the awkward atmosphere and in hopes of breaking the ice she said something very interesting, "I know a way we can get America back." Russia's eyes perked with interest. "What do you mean...?"
"I know what happened at that meeting. How he humilated you. Turned your own friends against you. And I know how we can make 'em pay."
"I'm listening."
"Ok, here's what we're gonna do..."