Mi Vida Contigo [4b/?]
anonymous
August 11 2009, 00:25:21 UTC
Mexico had hardly ever seen the girl, let alone spoken to her, but when Belarus showed up on her front porch in hysterical tears, Mexico had to feel sympathy for the poor dear.
“Hola! It is Belarus, right?” she asked the girl with long blonde hair.
Belarus nodded, too distraught to speak.
“What are you doing here?” Mexico asked.
“Oh my God? Didn’t you hear! It’s horrible, horrible!” Belarus bawled. “My perfect brother Russia is marrying that horrible brat America! Tomorrow! Tomorrow, Mexico!”
The pierced through Mexico like a bayonet. Russia…marrying…America…America…marrying…
“No! No! No! No!” Mexico cried, dumbfounded. “You’re lying! Tell me you’re lying!” She took Belarus by the shoulders and began shaking her furiously. “Tell me you’re lying!” she screamed.
“I’m not lying!” Belarus sobbed. “I heard it from Latvia who heard it from Poland who heard it from Italy who heard it from Germany who heard it from France who heard it from England!”
And without even thinking, they each grabbed the other in their arms and wailed together in sorrow.
Finally, after several long minutes, Mexico regained enough composure to generate an idea.
“Hey, Belarus, wanna come inside and have some enchiladas?” she asked weakly, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
“Nothing will ever dull the pain of this terrible blow,” Belarus lamented. “But I’ve never had enchiladas before.”
“Confiar en mí, we can talk about muchas cosas importantes,” Mexico said, leading Belarus into her kitchen. It was a very colorful place, Belarus noted. The cabinets were painted bright shades of yellow and orange, and from the ceiling hung large strings of dried red and green bell peppers.
“When I am America’s wife,” she said defiantly, “I will always cook for him. Because he can’t do it himself. All his food is disgustingly bland. He needs me! Why why why can’t he see that?” She thought painfully back to the day when she had been so cruelly tricked by Alfred’s twin brother. She had taken the poor boy home with her, gotten him into bed, and that’s when it finally hit her. The boy wasn’t America. He was America’s brother Canada-that boy from way up north, where it always snowed, even in summer. America’s other neighbor, the one he actually liked. She seethed in jealously. What a cruel, cruel joke for him to play on a poor, poor girl like her. Just because she wasn’t rich like him or America…oh well, she would be rich, she would be powerful, she would be a highly respected part of the continent…when she finally married America. Oh, America!
“I would be such a good wife to Russia!” Belarus added. “I would always be loyal and faithful and I’d never get bored of him! Never!”
“And you will be Russia’s wife someday,” Mexico said, laying a dish of steaming enchiladas on the kitchen table. “And I’ll be America’s. We’ll make sure of it.”
“How’s that?” Belarus inquired, taking a small, tentative bite of an enchilada.
“We’re not going to let them get married to each other,” Mexico said slyly.
“Are you suggesting that we crash the wedding?” Belarus suddenly looked quite chipper.
“Ah, chica, I like the way you think.” Mexico smiled, just as Belarus began coughing very loudly.
“Do you have any…water?” she choked. Mexico scowled as she got up and poured Belarus a cup of water.
“Honestly, they’re not that spicy,” she said.
“No, no, not at all.” Belarus assured, “I like it a lot.”
“Do you know where their wedding is supposed to be?” Mexico asked, trying to ignore Belarus’ obvious stretching of the truth.
Re: Mi Vida Contigo [4b/?]
anonymous
August 11 2009, 03:55:30 UTC
Hell yes Mexico, you go girl, chase down that no-good vato and put a RING ON HIS FINGER, chica! Make an honest man out of America! Everyone knows Mexican women know how to keep their husbands in line.
“Hola! It is Belarus, right?” she asked the girl with long blonde hair.
Belarus nodded, too distraught to speak.
“What are you doing here?” Mexico asked.
“Oh my God? Didn’t you hear! It’s horrible, horrible!” Belarus bawled. “My perfect brother Russia is marrying that horrible brat America! Tomorrow! Tomorrow, Mexico!”
The pierced through Mexico like a bayonet. Russia…marrying…America…America…marrying…
“No! No! No! No!” Mexico cried, dumbfounded. “You’re lying! Tell me you’re lying!” She took Belarus by the shoulders and began shaking her furiously. “Tell me you’re lying!” she screamed.
“I’m not lying!” Belarus sobbed. “I heard it from Latvia who heard it from Poland who heard it from Italy who heard it from Germany who heard it from France who heard it from England!”
“America can’t marry Russia!” Mexico yelled. “He’s supposed to marry me!”
“Russia can’t marry America!” Belarus moaned. “He’s supposed to marry me!”
And without even thinking, they each grabbed the other in their arms and wailed together in sorrow.
Finally, after several long minutes, Mexico regained enough composure to generate an idea.
“Hey, Belarus, wanna come inside and have some enchiladas?” she asked weakly, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
“Nothing will ever dull the pain of this terrible blow,” Belarus lamented. “But I’ve never had enchiladas before.”
“Confiar en mí, we can talk about muchas cosas importantes,” Mexico said, leading Belarus into her kitchen. It was a very colorful place, Belarus noted. The cabinets were painted bright shades of yellow and orange, and from the ceiling hung large strings of dried red and green bell peppers.
“When I am America’s wife,” she said defiantly, “I will always cook for him. Because he can’t do it himself. All his food is disgustingly bland. He needs me! Why why why can’t he see that?” She thought painfully back to the day when she had been so cruelly tricked by Alfred’s twin brother. She had taken the poor boy home with her, gotten him into bed, and that’s when it finally hit her. The boy wasn’t America. He was America’s brother Canada-that boy from way up north, where it always snowed, even in summer. America’s other neighbor, the one he actually liked. She seethed in jealously. What a cruel, cruel joke for him to play on a poor, poor girl like her. Just because she wasn’t rich like him or America…oh well, she would be rich, she would be powerful, she would be a highly respected part of the continent…when she finally married America. Oh, America!
“I would be such a good wife to Russia!” Belarus added. “I would always be loyal and faithful and I’d never get bored of him! Never!”
“And you will be Russia’s wife someday,” Mexico said, laying a dish of steaming enchiladas on the kitchen table. “And I’ll be America’s. We’ll make sure of it.”
“How’s that?” Belarus inquired, taking a small, tentative bite of an enchilada.
“We’re not going to let them get married to each other,” Mexico said slyly.
“Are you suggesting that we crash the wedding?” Belarus suddenly looked quite chipper.
“Ah, chica, I like the way you think.” Mexico smiled, just as Belarus began coughing very loudly.
“Do you have any…water?” she choked. Mexico scowled as she got up and poured Belarus a cup of water.
“Honestly, they’re not that spicy,” she said.
“No, no, not at all.” Belarus assured, “I like it a lot.”
“Do you know where their wedding is supposed to be?” Mexico asked, trying to ignore Belarus’ obvious stretching of the truth.
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“Ah, maldito!” Mexico interrupted. “All the way in Boston?”
“All the way in Boston!” Belarus wailed, grabbing on to Mexico’s shirtsleeves desperately.
“Oh, mierda!” Mexico sobbed into Belarus’s shoulder. “How are we going to get Boston by tomorrow?”
“Just listen to me. I think I have an idea,” Belarus whispered.
A/N: Damn word limit. I was so close!
Is it bad that I totally ship Mexico/Belarus after this?
Anywho, the Spanish translations (I hope):
Confiar en mí= believe (in) me
muchas cosas importantes= many important things
maldito= damn it!
mierda= shit!
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But this is still seriously so amazing and you are my hero ♥
I felt bad for England, Mexico, and Belarus (but I was still giggling like a moron) I feel like drawing Mexico and Belarus being sad together now...
And keep it up author anon!
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I promise I will post the next part soon.
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And good luck with college!
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