Russia App~!
For History is Now.
Russia considers it, in retrospect, one of his more humiliating defeats in that damn war. Sure, he got what he had wanted- Turkey wasn’t pointing missiles at him, for sure- but it had never been made public. It looked a loss to the world; he considered it one. It looked like a retreat, and he has never been one to retreat.
Ivan hates the memories. The “Cuban Missile Crisis”, they called it. It had merely been a move against an enemy, which was swiftly retaliated. The Cold War was between himself and that damned American, he shouldn’t have involved anyone, let alone Cuba. The other man had a grudge, sure, but it wasn’t his smartest move. Especially when the retaliation was for Sadik to get involved; he had forgotten that Alfred had more allies than just his European friends.
He settles into his dilapidated couch, bottle of vodka idly swinging from his hand as he remembers. The quarantine had been effective, and he wishes that things had been different. Things…might be different now. They would be so different. Scavenging a win in the Cold War could have made all the difference. He wouldn’t be here now… Then again, neither would America.
That man’s success is something he can’t begrudge- he’s so young, so new. They’ve all had their chance, perhaps it is only fair that America gets his turn in the power seat. But how Russia wishes things had been different; how he dreams that things were better.
He stares at the ceiling, at the vibrant red flag tacked there, and sighs, a world-weary, tired sigh. It’s too bad, he muses, that it is impossible to change the past.
О, моя кровь алмазов, вы так блестят при свете. Блеск, блеск, и в один прекрасный день, вы исчезнет то черным.
(Oh, my bloodied diamonds, you shine so in the light. Shine, shine, and one day, you’ll fade to black.)
Russia considers it, in retrospect, one of his more humiliating defeats in that damn war. Sure, he got what he had wanted- Turkey wasn’t pointing missiles at him, for sure- but it had never been made public. It looked a loss to the world; he considered it one. It looked like a retreat, and he has never been one to retreat.
Ivan hates the memories. The “Cuban Missile Crisis”, they called it. It had merely been a move against an enemy, which was swiftly retaliated. The Cold War was between himself and that damned American, he shouldn’t have involved anyone, let alone Cuba. The other man had a grudge, sure, but it wasn’t his smartest move. Especially when the retaliation was for Sadik to get involved; he had forgotten that Alfred had more allies than just his European friends.
He settles into his dilapidated couch, bottle of vodka idly swinging from his hand as he remembers. The quarantine had been effective, and he wishes that things had been different. Things…might be different now. They would be so different. Scavenging a win in the Cold War could have made all the difference. He wouldn’t be here now… Then again, neither would America.
That man’s success is something he can’t begrudge- he’s so young, so new. They’ve all had their chance, perhaps it is only fair that America gets his turn in the power seat. But how Russia wishes things had been different; how he dreams that things were better.
He stares at the ceiling, at the vibrant red flag tacked there, and sighs, a world-weary, tired sigh. It’s too bad, he muses, that it is impossible to change the past.
О, моя кровь алмазов, вы так блестят при свете. Блеск, блеск, и в один прекрасный день, вы исчезнет то черным.
(Oh, my bloodied diamonds, you shine so in the light. Shine, shine, and one day, you’ll fade to black.)