Off the Boat (6a/?)
anonymous
November 25 2010, 04:30:22 UTC
*
America invites Lithuania to sit with him in the living room after they've finished the dishes. Lithuania keeps expecting alcohol to pop up, forgetting over and over again that America has banned alcoholic beverages, so he's somewhere between resigned and confused when America does produce a bottle of wine. "France gave this to me," America says, conspiratorial, "and told me to save it for a special occasion. I think this counts!" He hands the bottle to Lithuania and goes to find a wine key.
The Baltic nation studies the label; the bottle is almost the same age as America, or at least his independence from Britain, he realizes, and wonders if America is just really stupid about wine or if he's really that happy Lithuania has come to his home. When America reappears, triumphant ("Hah! I knew I hid it in the pan drawer!") and two crystal glasses in hand, Lithuania returns the bottle wordlessly. "Are you sure you don't want to save this for something else?" he asks.
America studies the bottle. "Why?" He looks back at Lithuania. "Or - do you not like wine? I won't make you drink it if you don't want to." But he seems crestfallen, and Lithuania remembers that America is young - so young. And still idealistic. (Dangerous.) (He doesn't think about vodka.)
"I'm fine with it," Lithuania says, and America grins and sits down and starts working the screw into the cork with the bottle wedged between his knees. Lithuania thinks France would faint at the sight.
America surprises Lithuania by pouring a small measure into his own cup first and picking it up. He turns a little pink. "Look, it's not like I don't know anything about wine," he protests against some look on Lithuania's face, and the Baltic nation quickly tries to look blank. America swirls the wine, looks at it with a humorously overcritical eye, and takes a sip. "It tastes old," he declares, and laughs. "But it looks like I didn't accidentally break the seal." He pours a full glass for Lithuania and refills his own and holds up his glass for a toast.
"To Lietuva," he says. "And your independence."
Lithuania knows he's blushing like an idiot, but he's touched nonetheless; to hear his own language on America's tongue, saluting him, douses unwanted memories of toasts to the Russian Empire.
"Thank you," Lithuania says, sipping his glass. It's dry and oak-y and full of spice and currant, thick on his tongue - old, just as America said.
America just grins at him and settles back on the couch. "Least I can do." And for a little while there's a surprisingly comfortable silence (during which Lithuania marvels that America isn't making him toast in return).
"After we're done with these glasses, we can save the rest for tomorrow," America suggests. Lithuania manages to not splutter into his own glass by some miracle, but apparently he makes a face because America's eyebrows climb upwards. "What?"
Lithuania smiles to soften his words, but he doesn't hesitate correcting America: the wine is rich and quick to soften his nerves. "This wine is - it will go bad, quickly," he points out. "It's meant to be drunk all at once."
"But - we'll get drunk!" America protests, clearly caught between the regulations upon him and what surely is a rebellious population, given his contraband. Then he sighs. "But we shouldn't waste it ... another glass?" He offers the bottle.
Lithuania thinks he should have kept quiet.
But he's the one that pointed it out, so he holds out his glass to be refilled, and America pours himself another glass before gauging what's left in the bottle. "One more glass, looks like. We can split it or you can have it if you want."
Off the Boat (6b/?)
anonymous
November 25 2010, 04:31:11 UTC
Lithuania tries for a polite refusal (he mustn't get drunk his first night here, oh God in heaven please no). "I couldn't possibly ..."
"Yeah. I feel that way too," America sighs. "I'll try to save it, I guess, see if it takes." He re-corks the bottle with his thumb.
By the time they're done with their second glasses Lithuania is light-headed and worried about standing up; America is running at the mouth a bit, and throwing in English words whenever he can't remember the Lithuanian. Lithuania struggles to concentrate and gathers that America wakes up at six AM to go to work and brings a finger-food lunch with him and usually drinks coffee instead of eating breakfast. He's fond of steak (the wine should have been saved for steak, Lithuania thinks). He wishes he had more time to spend in his garden but he's supposed to be improving his relationship with England right now, stupid England, terrible England--
"Dunno why he dragged me into the Great War," America grouses. "In the end it was just a lot of European nations killing each other. Again."
Lithuania bites his lip to keep from protesting, stung by the younger nation's impression.
"Eh," America sighs, leaning back. "At least it's over now, and things are looking up." He eyes the clock on the wall and switches abruptly to English. "Oh, shit, it's getting late. Excuse my French." He chuckles and suddenly he's back to Lithuanian. "I need to get to bed."
Lithuania starts to reach for America's empty glass, but the other nation waves him off. "Just leave 'em out until tomorrow. I'm pretty tipsy so you're probably just as bad." Lithuania looks down at his lap, embarrassed, and America startles him by clasping his hand on his knee. His gaze flies up to America's face.
"I'm really glad you're here," America says, genuine and warm. "Don't worry too much, okay? I want to be friends."
America stands up, withdrawing his hand, and Lithuania is grateful that America is just a little too tipsy to see how frozen his smile is.
He's here to work, not to be friends, and he wishes (hopes) America would remember that. It's when these things get mixed up (be one with me) that things get really bad.
*
Lithuania dreams of rye fields and Poland.
When he wakes up, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling in an unfamiliar house, he wonders why all his dreams are nightmares.
Re: Off the Boat (6b/?)
anonymous
November 25 2010, 09:12:18 UTC
That last little bit was like being kicked in the teeth, off a bridge into a glacial lake and then somehow getting run over by a whale. Seriously, ouch.
Re: Off the Boat (6b/?)
anonymous
November 25 2010, 20:52:33 UTC
Oh my God, this is fantastic! Your characterisation of Alfred is a lot different to my headcanon, but it's still really amazing to read. And Liet...he's just so amazingly written. It's like you've crawled inside his head. The whole narrative is so vivid and engaging.
America invites Lithuania to sit with him in the living room after they've finished the dishes. Lithuania keeps expecting alcohol to pop up, forgetting over and over again that America has banned alcoholic beverages, so he's somewhere between resigned and confused when America does produce a bottle of wine. "France gave this to me," America says, conspiratorial, "and told me to save it for a special occasion. I think this counts!" He hands the bottle to Lithuania and goes to find a wine key.
The Baltic nation studies the label; the bottle is almost the same age as America, or at least his independence from Britain, he realizes, and wonders if America is just really stupid about wine or if he's really that happy Lithuania has come to his home. When America reappears, triumphant ("Hah! I knew I hid it in the pan drawer!") and two crystal glasses in hand, Lithuania returns the bottle wordlessly. "Are you sure you don't want to save this for something else?" he asks.
America studies the bottle. "Why?" He looks back at Lithuania. "Or - do you not like wine? I won't make you drink it if you don't want to." But he seems crestfallen, and Lithuania remembers that America is young - so young. And still idealistic. (Dangerous.) (He doesn't think about vodka.)
"I'm fine with it," Lithuania says, and America grins and sits down and starts working the screw into the cork with the bottle wedged between his knees. Lithuania thinks France would faint at the sight.
America surprises Lithuania by pouring a small measure into his own cup first and picking it up. He turns a little pink. "Look, it's not like I don't know anything about wine," he protests against some look on Lithuania's face, and the Baltic nation quickly tries to look blank. America swirls the wine, looks at it with a humorously overcritical eye, and takes a sip. "It tastes old," he declares, and laughs. "But it looks like I didn't accidentally break the seal." He pours a full glass for Lithuania and refills his own and holds up his glass for a toast.
"To Lietuva," he says. "And your independence."
Lithuania knows he's blushing like an idiot, but he's touched nonetheless; to hear his own language on America's tongue, saluting him, douses unwanted memories of toasts to the Russian Empire.
"Thank you," Lithuania says, sipping his glass. It's dry and oak-y and full of spice and currant, thick on his tongue - old, just as America said.
America just grins at him and settles back on the couch. "Least I can do." And for a little while there's a surprisingly comfortable silence (during which Lithuania marvels that America isn't making him toast in return).
"After we're done with these glasses, we can save the rest for tomorrow," America suggests. Lithuania manages to not splutter into his own glass by some miracle, but apparently he makes a face because America's eyebrows climb upwards. "What?"
Lithuania smiles to soften his words, but he doesn't hesitate correcting America: the wine is rich and quick to soften his nerves. "This wine is - it will go bad, quickly," he points out. "It's meant to be drunk all at once."
"But - we'll get drunk!" America protests, clearly caught between the regulations upon him and what surely is a rebellious population, given his contraband. Then he sighs. "But we shouldn't waste it ... another glass?" He offers the bottle.
Lithuania thinks he should have kept quiet.
But he's the one that pointed it out, so he holds out his glass to be refilled, and America pours himself another glass before gauging what's left in the bottle. "One more glass, looks like. We can split it or you can have it if you want."
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"Yeah. I feel that way too," America sighs. "I'll try to save it, I guess, see if it takes." He re-corks the bottle with his thumb.
By the time they're done with their second glasses Lithuania is light-headed and worried about standing up; America is running at the mouth a bit, and throwing in English words whenever he can't remember the Lithuanian. Lithuania struggles to concentrate and gathers that America wakes up at six AM to go to work and brings a finger-food lunch with him and usually drinks coffee instead of eating breakfast. He's fond of steak (the wine should have been saved for steak, Lithuania thinks). He wishes he had more time to spend in his garden but he's supposed to be improving his relationship with England right now, stupid England, terrible England--
"Dunno why he dragged me into the Great War," America grouses. "In the end it was just a lot of European nations killing each other. Again."
Lithuania bites his lip to keep from protesting, stung by the younger nation's impression.
"Eh," America sighs, leaning back. "At least it's over now, and things are looking up." He eyes the clock on the wall and switches abruptly to English. "Oh, shit, it's getting late. Excuse my French." He chuckles and suddenly he's back to Lithuanian. "I need to get to bed."
Lithuania starts to reach for America's empty glass, but the other nation waves him off. "Just leave 'em out until tomorrow. I'm pretty tipsy so you're probably just as bad." Lithuania looks down at his lap, embarrassed, and America startles him by clasping his hand on his knee. His gaze flies up to America's face.
"I'm really glad you're here," America says, genuine and warm. "Don't worry too much, okay? I want to be friends."
America stands up, withdrawing his hand, and Lithuania is grateful that America is just a little too tipsy to see how frozen his smile is.
He's here to work, not to be friends, and he wishes (hopes) America would remember that. It's when these things get mixed up (be one with me) that things get really bad.
*
Lithuania dreams of rye fields and Poland.
When he wakes up, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling in an unfamiliar house, he wonders why all his dreams are nightmares.
tbc
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Or if not, will you allow me to marry your fic?
I looooooove this. The psychological aspect of it is perfect and I love the sense of time. (High-tech refrigerators and Prohibition! Ahh!)
Can't wait to read more! And happy Thanksgiving to you too! ^^
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captcha: commie mom. what
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this fic is quite intrigung on how it will play out.
i will be camping for a bit here XD
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Please update soon! I will make camp.
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