When Ivan woke up that morning, it looked to be a pretty good day. The sun was shining, the temperature was a balmy three degrees, and the air was mercifully free from any chants of “Marry me!” Really, it didn’t get more perfect than this.
Which is precisely why he should have stayed in bed.
Not gifted with clairvoyance, however, he had no idea of the horror that awaited him. Instead, he got out of bed and headed to the closet in search of a pair of trousers, which is exactly where his day began to go downhill.
He opened the closet door and was met with a high-pitched whimper. A high-pitched whimper that seemed to be emanating from the man who was currently curled up into a ball on Ivan’s closet floor.
Ivan stared. How had this intruder managed to get all the way into his bedroom without him noticing? Worse yet, the longer he looked at him, the more he realized…
...they looked almost exactly alike. True, the intruder was a bit shorter, rather skinnier - yet, oddly, curvier somehow - and his face was rounder, redder, more feminine, but the similarity was impossible to ignore. As Ivan stared at him a delicate blush spread over his cheekbones and tears welled up in his doe-like purple eyes.
Ivan was unmoved, and continued looking down at him, trying to make sense of the situation. The clothes he was wearing were the same that Ivan wore each day - but he hadn’t stolen them from Ivan, because Ivan’s clothing would have swamped this scrawny figure and the intruder’s clothes fit him reasonably well. And he had a scarf, quite like Katya’s scarf, and there was only one of those - currently wrapped around Ivan’s neck.
There was only one possible explanation. He had come to kill Ivan in his sleep and take his place.
Ivan picked him up by the scruff of the neck - and ignored the way his lower lip trembled, and a single shining tear rolled down his cheek. “Who sent you?” Ivan growled. “Was it the CIA? CSIS? MI6?” MI6, mostly likely. They couldn’t even make a convincing fake rock; no wonder they thought this could successfully impersonate him.
When his questioning failed to elicit a response he shook the imposter, and was rewarded with more whimpering. Ivan shook him harder, and finally, the stranger choked out, “Nyet! No one sent me! I w-was just hiding from him! He hit me and then he groped me and then he said I was fat! He’s meaner than Stalin!” The whimpering swiftly degenerated into actual sobs.
Ivan’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
He was beginning to wish that he kept the vodka in his bedroom. And that he’d drunk enough of it to still be unconscious, right now.
“Quiet!” moaned the imposter, “He’ll hear you!” He sniffled, and proceeded to ignore his own advice. “I just wanted to be one with him! I’m so alone!”
Ivan tore his attention away from the spectacle in front of him and eyed the doorway. That noise had come from downstairs. He was almost glad for something else to focus on...until he heard the voices.
“Oy, moy bozhe! Da?”
“KOLKOLKOL.”
Still carrying the first intruder by the collar - he’d quieted down a bit, but every so often he would let out a dramatic sob and then look to Ivan for a response - Ivan headed downstairs in his pajamas, stopping along the way to grab his pipe. What promised to be a splitting headache was starting to work its way behind his eyeballs, and he regretted ever making the decision to get out of bed.
The sight that greeted him at the bottom of the stairs did nothing to change his mind. There were two more of… well, him, for lack of a better word, except like the first one neither of them looked quite right.
The one on the left was quite a bit bigger than Ivan. He cracked his knuckles and greeted him with a hearty, “KOLKOLKOL.”
The one on the right was his size, and looked almost correct, except for the idiotic grin plastered across his face. As soon as Ivan looked at him he stepped forward and threw an arm around his shoulders.
“Vanushchashenka! It’s so good to see you, da?”
Ivan shoved him away, letting go of the first imposter in the process. “Who the hell are you?!
Before he could answer the big one had picked up the first one, his collar in one massive fist. The first one squirmed and began to weep more heavily, as the big one peered down at him with a crazy smile.
“I SEE YOU’VE BROUGHT ME THE FAT ONE!” he roared. “I HAVE BEEN LOOKING ALL OVER FOR HIM. HE THINKS THAT HE CAN HIDE FROM ME. NO ONE HIDES FROM ME. KOLKOLKOL.”
“You see?” wailed the first one, and wrenched himself away. He ran and hid behind Ivan, clinging. “I told you he was mean! Protect me with your strong arms! Protect meeee!”
Ivan didn’t have a chance to respond as the big one was now advancing on them both. “LET US BECOME ONE NOW, KOLKOLKOL.”
“Get out!” Ivan tried to make it a command, but the first one clung tighter to him as he said it, cutting off the air to his lungs, and instead of it sounding threatening it came out as a squeak. The big one’s smile widened.
“NYET. I AM HERE TO BECOME ONE WITH YOU. I HAVE ALREADY BECOME ONE WITH YOUR DRAPES. AND YOUR HOUSEPLANTS. AND YOUR TELEVISION.”
Wonderful. Now he was going to have to have the place steam-cleaned.
“AND YOUR CAT.”
That was just twisted.
“Who are you working for?” Ivan demanded, even as he tried to dislodge himself from the clingy one’s grip. “Who sent you here?”
The other one answered that, taking advantage of Ivan’s incapacitation to throw an arm over his shoulder again. Ivan stumbled, overbalanced, and tried not to wince as a demented version of himself leered in his face.
“Nyet, moya solnechkoshkasnegurochka,” he crowed, “I am no shpionka, da? Wherever did you get such a sumaschedschiy idea, da?”
It took him about three times longer than normal to figure out what this one - whom he was quickly beginning to think of as ‘the loud one’ - was even saying. Was this what passed for Russian language instruction these days? He made a mental note to send England a very strongly-worded letter, as well as directions on how to better conduct covert operations, and possibly some complimentary tickets for a vacation in Siberia. Seriously, this was just embarrassing.
He was knocked out of this reverie as the big one came up behind the loud one and choked him with his pipe. The clingy one gave a muffled “Eek!” and ran.
The loud one merely grinned wider and brought up a fist to strike him in the face, laughing maniacally all the while. “Nyet! Da?”
“Don’t you see me?” called the clingy one from where he’d hidden himself under the desk. “I weep tears of blood!”
“Hush, my darling elektrichka!” gasped the loud one. “You can become one with me, da?”
“No! Leave me alone! My tears are the only friends I need!” He gave an anguished wail. “They’re crimson, just like the stains upon my soul!”
Rare was the occasion when Ivan felt like the only sane person in the room. With a scowl he grabbed a box of bandages from the nearby shelf, tossed it at him, and somehow resisted the urge to curl up in the fetal position himself.
Instead he turned to the large one, who was slowly choking the loud one to death and who seemed to have forgotten that the others were in the room at all. Ivan took his own pipe and cracked him over the head, causing him to drop like a stone.
It wasn’t that Ivan hadn’t approved of his actions, really, but if anyone was going to choke the loud one to death he wanted to be the one to do it. Also, he wanted to get through the rest of the day without any other parts of his house being molested. Now that he did the cleaning himself, there were some things he just had no desire to deal with.
He did, however, have a strong desire to kill the loud one, which was only reinforced as the loud one advanced on him, clinging to his arm and babbling overexcitedly. “Spasibo pozhaluysta, da? Viz nas kot!”
Ivan ignored him as best he was able, still trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He was democratic, now, and he couldn’t just go killing willy-nilly. He had to assess the situation first. Clearly these weren’t spies. They couldn’t be. No nation could be that stupid. So...what, then?
“Viz nas kot! Viz nas kot, da?”
“NYET!” Ivan finally snapped, wrenching his arm away and retreating to the opposite end of the room. This was worse than that time two hundred years ago when Finland had decided that his new language was all the rage. It had taken days to scrape all the umlauts off the carpet.
Unfortunately, a response only encouraged the loud one to talk more. “Why won’t you skazat with me, Ivanashkacheburashka? We could be klassniy droogs! I feel it in my dacha!”
That. Was. It.
Ivan grabbed the nearest book from the bookshelf - which just so happened to be War and Peace - and flung it at him, catching him in the head with 1.63 kilos of deathless prose.
“Oh, chertniy ad!” the loud one weakly exclaimed, before finally falling silent. Ivan surveyed the twitching body on the floor, and, after a moment’s thought, chucked Moscow-Petushki at him as well. Maybe that way when he woke up he’d at least know how to swear properly.
When that was done, Ivan took a deep breath, regaining his composure and relishing the brief quiet. Now there was just the clingy one to deal with. He hefted his pipe.
ACTUAL 1d/1
anonymous
January 20 2012, 06:54:49 UTC
The clingy one was still holed up under the desk, but he’d taken every bandage in the box Ivan had thrown at him and stuck them artfully all over his face, placing them just so to highlight porcelain cheekbones and pouty lips. “Look!” he whined. “I hurt so much! Don’t you just want to become one with me? Only sexual healing can fix the rifts in my tortured heart!”
“No!” Ivan answered. He raised the pipe.
The clingy one whimpered, and batted eyelashes that were far longer than any eyelashes any man had any right to have.
Ivan dropped his arm. He couldn’t do it. He did have standards, after all.
He did a swift about-face, ignoring the sudden glimmer of hope this ignited in the other’s eyes, and hurried back upstairs to barricade himself in the bedroom. The clingy one could be someone else’s problem.
No sooner had he locked the door than he heard the noise of fingernails scraping down it, and was more than a bit perturbed that he could recognize the sound so quickly. Thankfully - though this was debatable - it was quickly replaced by a keening wail.
“But-” sniff “-I’m-” sniff “-so alone!”
Ivan sighed heavily, massaging his temples and cursing himself for being too nice. “Natalya is coming to visit tomorrow. I am sure that she will be… happy… to be your friend.”
“But only you can understand my pain!” When that failed to get an answer he heard him reciting, in a voice that was just loud enough to be heard through the door, “Noch, ulitsa, fonar, apteka…”
Ohh, hell, now this one was doing it too?
He jammed a pillow over his head and wished he’d thought to bring a bottle of vodka in with him. He really could use a drink.
END
Stupid character limits! I spit on your social ladder!
Noch, ulitsa, fonar, apteka: the first line of a really depressing poem. Think of it as him singing "Crawwwwling in my skiiiin," except with slightly more literary overtones.
Viz nas kot: a useful device for remembering how to pair up Russian prepositions under certain circumstances. The 'kot' makes it sounds like a meaningful sentence. It is not.
Re: A Couple Notes (in the proper place this time!)
anonymous
January 20 2012, 12:50:04 UTC
OMG! Poor cat ^^' And poor Russia, the IC one, of course. Great job for a great prompt, anon. This was funny and sadly very true. Russia is one of the most hum...wrongly interpreted carachter in Hetalia!
Re: A Couple Notes (in the proper place this time!)
anonymous
January 21 2012, 08:08:35 UTC
This was great. I-I'm laughing so hard right now. Well, as hard as I can without waking up the house. But, this was, as stated above, beautiful. (And, I felt it was appropriate to say, when I was on the part with the "bad ones" my Soviet!Russia shimeji chucked the window off the screen and shot it. )
Re: ACTUAL 1d/1
anonymous
January 22 2012, 20:33:07 UTC
This was beautiful <3 I think I love all of them. I think there isn´t such as IC for Russia, since he´s so complicated. But the GoogleTranslator!Russia is my favourit, since I do understand a bit Russian and the fails are just precious XD
Which is precisely why he should have stayed in bed.
Not gifted with clairvoyance, however, he had no idea of the horror that awaited him. Instead, he got out of bed and headed to the closet in search of a pair of trousers, which is exactly where his day began to go downhill.
He opened the closet door and was met with a high-pitched whimper. A high-pitched whimper that seemed to be emanating from the man who was currently curled up into a ball on Ivan’s closet floor.
Ivan stared. How had this intruder managed to get all the way into his bedroom without him noticing? Worse yet, the longer he looked at him, the more he realized…
...they looked almost exactly alike. True, the intruder was a bit shorter, rather skinnier - yet, oddly, curvier somehow - and his face was rounder, redder, more feminine, but the similarity was impossible to ignore. As Ivan stared at him a delicate blush spread over his cheekbones and tears welled up in his doe-like purple eyes.
Ivan was unmoved, and continued looking down at him, trying to make sense of the situation. The clothes he was wearing were the same that Ivan wore each day - but he hadn’t stolen them from Ivan, because Ivan’s clothing would have swamped this scrawny figure and the intruder’s clothes fit him reasonably well. And he had a scarf, quite like Katya’s scarf, and there was only one of those - currently wrapped around Ivan’s neck.
There was only one possible explanation. He had come to kill Ivan in his sleep and take his place.
Ivan picked him up by the scruff of the neck - and ignored the way his lower lip trembled, and a single shining tear rolled down his cheek. “Who sent you?” Ivan growled. “Was it the CIA? CSIS? MI6?” MI6, mostly likely. They couldn’t even make a convincing fake rock; no wonder they thought this could successfully impersonate him.
When his questioning failed to elicit a response he shook the imposter, and was rewarded with more whimpering. Ivan shook him harder, and finally, the stranger choked out, “Nyet! No one sent me! I w-was just hiding from him! He hit me and then he groped me and then he said I was fat! He’s meaner than Stalin!” The whimpering swiftly degenerated into actual sobs.
Ivan’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
He was beginning to wish that he kept the vodka in his bedroom. And that he’d drunk enough of it to still be unconscious, right now.
“Quiet!” moaned the imposter, “He’ll hear you!” He sniffled, and proceeded to ignore his own advice. “I just wanted to be one with him! I’m so alone!”
CRASH.
Reply
“Oy, moy bozhe! Da?”
“KOLKOLKOL.”
Still carrying the first intruder by the collar - he’d quieted down a bit, but every so often he would let out a dramatic sob and then look to Ivan for a response - Ivan headed downstairs in his pajamas, stopping along the way to grab his pipe. What promised to be a splitting headache was starting to work its way behind his eyeballs, and he regretted ever making the decision to get out of bed.
The sight that greeted him at the bottom of the stairs did nothing to change his mind. There were two more of… well, him, for lack of a better word, except like the first one neither of them looked quite right.
The one on the left was quite a bit bigger than Ivan. He cracked his knuckles and greeted him with a hearty, “KOLKOLKOL.”
The one on the right was his size, and looked almost correct, except for the idiotic grin plastered across his face. As soon as Ivan looked at him he stepped forward and threw an arm around his shoulders.
“Vanushchashenka! It’s so good to see you, da?”
Ivan shoved him away, letting go of the first imposter in the process. “Who the hell are you?!
Before he could answer the big one had picked up the first one, his collar in one massive fist. The first one squirmed and began to weep more heavily, as the big one peered down at him with a crazy smile.
“I SEE YOU’VE BROUGHT ME THE FAT ONE!” he roared. “I HAVE BEEN LOOKING ALL OVER FOR HIM. HE THINKS THAT HE CAN HIDE FROM ME. NO ONE HIDES FROM ME. KOLKOLKOL.”
“You see?” wailed the first one, and wrenched himself away. He ran and hid behind Ivan, clinging. “I told you he was mean! Protect me with your strong arms! Protect meeee!”
Ivan didn’t have a chance to respond as the big one was now advancing on them both. “LET US BECOME ONE NOW, KOLKOLKOL.”
“Get out!” Ivan tried to make it a command, but the first one clung tighter to him as he said it, cutting off the air to his lungs, and instead of it sounding threatening it came out as a squeak. The big one’s smile widened.
“NYET. I AM HERE TO BECOME ONE WITH YOU. I HAVE ALREADY BECOME ONE WITH YOUR DRAPES. AND YOUR HOUSEPLANTS. AND YOUR TELEVISION.”
Wonderful. Now he was going to have to have the place steam-cleaned.
“AND YOUR CAT.”
That was just twisted.
“Who are you working for?” Ivan demanded, even as he tried to dislodge himself from the clingy one’s grip. “Who sent you here?”
The other one answered that, taking advantage of Ivan’s incapacitation to throw an arm over his shoulder again. Ivan stumbled, overbalanced, and tried not to wince as a demented version of himself leered in his face.
“Nyet, moya solnechkoshkasnegurochka,” he crowed, “I am no shpionka, da? Wherever did you get such a sumaschedschiy idea, da?”
It took him about three times longer than normal to figure out what this one - whom he was quickly beginning to think of as ‘the loud one’ - was even saying. Was this what passed for Russian language instruction these days? He made a mental note to send England a very strongly-worded letter, as well as directions on how to better conduct covert operations, and possibly some complimentary tickets for a vacation in Siberia. Seriously, this was just embarrassing.
He was knocked out of this reverie as the big one came up behind the loud one and choked him with his pipe. The clingy one gave a muffled “Eek!” and ran.
“BECOME ONE WITH ME OR ELSE!”
Reply
“Don’t you see me?” called the clingy one from where he’d hidden himself under the desk. “I weep tears of blood!”
“Hush, my darling elektrichka!” gasped the loud one. “You can become one with me, da?”
“No! Leave me alone! My tears are the only friends I need!” He gave an anguished wail. “They’re crimson, just like the stains upon my soul!”
Rare was the occasion when Ivan felt like the only sane person in the room. With a scowl he grabbed a box of bandages from the nearby shelf, tossed it at him, and somehow resisted the urge to curl up in the fetal position himself.
Instead he turned to the large one, who was slowly choking the loud one to death and who seemed to have forgotten that the others were in the room at all. Ivan took his own pipe and cracked him over the head, causing him to drop like a stone.
It wasn’t that Ivan hadn’t approved of his actions, really, but if anyone was going to choke the loud one to death he wanted to be the one to do it. Also, he wanted to get through the rest of the day without any other parts of his house being molested. Now that he did the cleaning himself, there were some things he just had no desire to deal with.
He did, however, have a strong desire to kill the loud one, which was only reinforced as the loud one advanced on him, clinging to his arm and babbling overexcitedly. “Spasibo pozhaluysta, da? Viz nas kot!”
Ivan ignored him as best he was able, still trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He was democratic, now, and he couldn’t just go killing willy-nilly. He had to assess the situation first. Clearly these weren’t spies. They couldn’t be. No nation could be that stupid. So...what, then?
“Viz nas kot! Viz nas kot, da?”
“NYET!” Ivan finally snapped, wrenching his arm away and retreating to the opposite end of the room. This was worse than that time two hundred years ago when Finland had decided that his new language was all the rage. It had taken days to scrape all the umlauts off the carpet.
Unfortunately, a response only encouraged the loud one to talk more. “Why won’t you skazat with me, Ivanashkacheburashka? We could be klassniy droogs! I feel it in my dacha!”
That. Was. It.
Ivan grabbed the nearest book from the bookshelf - which just so happened to be War and Peace - and flung it at him, catching him in the head with 1.63 kilos of deathless prose.
“Oh, chertniy ad!” the loud one weakly exclaimed, before finally falling silent. Ivan surveyed the twitching body on the floor, and, after a moment’s thought, chucked Moscow-Petushki at him as well. Maybe that way when he woke up he’d at least know how to swear properly.
When that was done, Ivan took a deep breath, regaining his composure and relishing the brief quiet. Now there was just the clingy one to deal with. He hefted his pipe.
Reply
“No!” Ivan answered. He raised the pipe.
The clingy one whimpered, and batted eyelashes that were far longer than any eyelashes any man had any right to have.
Ivan dropped his arm. He couldn’t do it. He did have standards, after all.
He did a swift about-face, ignoring the sudden glimmer of hope this ignited in the other’s eyes, and hurried back upstairs to barricade himself in the bedroom. The clingy one could be someone else’s problem.
No sooner had he locked the door than he heard the noise of fingernails scraping down it, and was more than a bit perturbed that he could recognize the sound so quickly. Thankfully - though this was debatable - it was quickly replaced by a keening wail.
“But-” sniff “-I’m-” sniff “-so alone!”
Ivan sighed heavily, massaging his temples and cursing himself for being too nice. “Natalya is coming to visit tomorrow. I am sure that she will be… happy… to be your friend.”
“But only you can understand my pain!” When that failed to get an answer he heard him reciting, in a voice that was just loud enough to be heard through the door, “Noch, ulitsa, fonar, apteka…”
Ohh, hell, now this one was doing it too?
He jammed a pillow over his head and wished he’d thought to bring a bottle of vodka in with him. He really could use a drink.
END
Stupid character limits! I spit on your social ladder!
Reply
Noch, ulitsa, fonar, apteka: the first line of a really depressing poem. Think of it as him singing "Crawwwwling in my skiiiin," except with slightly more literary overtones.
Viz nas kot: a useful device for remembering how to pair up Russian prepositions under certain circumstances. The 'kot' makes it sounds like a meaningful sentence. It is not.
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(And, I felt it was appropriate to say, when I was on the part with the "bad ones" my Soviet!Russia shimeji chucked the window off the screen and shot it. )
But it was...yes. It was lovely.
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Wonderful. Now he was going to have to have the place steam-cleaned.
I died of laughter there. But super uke Russia was my favorite. He was so perfect. Excellent job anon.
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Anon, this is just brilliant, thank you!
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