Drinking contest (1/2)
anonymous
January 10 2009, 20:56:35 UTC
I wrote this with no particular prompt in mind. This is just a fic of America and Russia during the Cold War-- with both as women, because the idea is much more intriguing to me. They are the only swapped gendered chars. Um, please enjoy!
It’s hard whenever she goes to a party and realizes the other is there, crashing it. It means making polite smiles and pretending to care what the other says, and some days, America really doesn’t have the energy for it. She watches Russia speak with a critical eye, her lips pouting in disbelief.
How could anyone listen to her?
God, if she could get that… that woman alone, she’d give her a piece of her mind or something.
Though, honestly? She hasn’t really ever thought about what she’d do if she and Russia were alone in a room together. She figures it’ll never happen, and turns away to find England or something, because anything is better than staring at that.
A few hours and a few drinks later, it’s suddenly too hot and the room is spinning and the last thing America wants is to end up making a fool of herself out there where everyone else can see it. Hey, making a polite excuse and then making a beeline for the bathroom-that’s not completely obvious, is it?
England’s eyes are really odd when she’s feeling tipsy (because she’s certainly not drunk).
What had she been thinking, drinking that much? Oh, but Russia smiles behind what has to be her fifteen billionth bottle of vodka that night alone, and America impulsively grabs another cocktail, and glares at the Russian as she passes.
Hey, it doesn’t taste so bad anymore. Go figure.
When she stumbles into the bathroom, she drinks the cocktail and drops it into the washroom sink. Perfect place for it, it’ll get clean there and everything, she figures. But man, the world is tilting and America decides it’s better to sit-or she doesn’t really decide. She realizes when suddenly her back and bottom hurt because she’s fallen to the ground.
She wanted to sit anyway, she tells herself, and rubs her eyes.
But damn, when everything’s all topsy-turvy like that, it’s suddenly a lot easier to feel… sick. And America is certainly feeling it. Hell, she didn’t even realize she wasn’t alone (though wasn’t the room empty when she first came in there? She could have sworn it was) until she’s hanging over the toilet, and someone is pulling her hair out of her face and rubbing her back.
Which is a pretty good thing, because she probably won’t have a stomach left once she’s finished.
She’s not sure how long she’s there like that, but when she gets the chance, she croaks out, “Thanks, England.”
God, her throat feels like someone took glass to it or something.
“Hmm~? England…? No, no… It’s Russia.”
Russia, Russia… why does that name sound so wrong? Oh yeah, she hates Russia! American swallows and wipes her mouth with her hand. She hates her so much, she wishes she’d pretty much go die.
America stands up, awkward and wobbly, and god would the other just stop staring at her like that? “Hey, stop looking at me. And go fuck off, bitch. This is my turf.”
Russia laughs. “Such strong words. And claiming the bathroom as yours is unfair, America~ Other people might need to use it.”
She did not just question her authority! If she wanted to claim the bathroom, she damn well could! She figured she could anyway… She might let others in if they asked, because she was a nice superpower, unlike Russia. They wouldn’t even need a password or have to change or anything.
Drinking contest (2/2)
anonymous
January 10 2009, 20:57:15 UTC
Russia’s hands on her arms were like ice-and had she stumbled again? Well, that wasn’t good. She frowned up at the other and opened her mouth to speak, but the words quite failed her. Not that she didn’t know what she wanted to say, but it all sounded so slurred and funny, she had to laugh.
“Hehe… oops,” she said with a sigh. She wasn’t sure what happened next.
Her back was pressed against Russia, and she was practically passing out, and yet, she was still awake. Well, that wouldn’t do, Russia thought with a smile and offered the other her bottle of vodka, supporting her so she wouldn’t have another… unfortunate fall.
“Here~! Drink this. It seems you’re not quite drunk enough.”
Russia wasn’t sure what exactly America heard, or even what she was saying in response. Not that she cared, or anything, forcing the bottle into her mouth, and tilting upwards. Most of the vodka splashed down onto that snug white blouse America had decided to wear.
But watching her throat, she could see that the other was actually drinking. And Russia had so much more where that came from.
That morning, Lithuania received a message from a cross England. America, that idiot, is missing. Lithuania just smiled at England, promising him he’d do his best to help find her. She couldn’t be far-and considering how much she had seemed to drink last night, she’d probably just fallen asleep somewhere odd.
To be on the safe side, Lithuania decided to take it upon himself to let Russia know that America was missing. As much as he didn’t want to, knowing that Russia’s likelihood of helping would be… next to none. Still, it’d be best if everyone was alerted, right?
He hoped so.
As he approached the door, he noticed that there weren’t any lights on… It was unusual for Russia to sleep so late, too. Lithuania knocked lightly.
He hoped, hoped, hoped that Russia was already awake.
When he pushed the door, he was surprised that the figure in bed was completely uncovered. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know, but he could see ropes binding their wrists tightly, and the dark stains on white sheets weren’t impossible to miss, even with the low light, though he could still see her chest moving up and down. Whoever it was, wasn’t dead at least.
Re: Drinking contest (2/2)
anonymous
January 10 2009, 21:00:42 UTC
I love you and hate you both at once for this. Poor girl!America. She never saw it coming. This is why Russia should never be allowed in bathrooms without supervision.
It’s hard whenever she goes to a party and realizes the other is there, crashing it. It means making polite smiles and pretending to care what the other says, and some days, America really doesn’t have the energy for it. She watches Russia speak with a critical eye, her lips pouting in disbelief.
How could anyone listen to her?
God, if she could get that… that woman alone, she’d give her a piece of her mind or something.
Though, honestly? She hasn’t really ever thought about what she’d do if she and Russia were alone in a room together. She figures it’ll never happen, and turns away to find England or something, because anything is better than staring at that.
A few hours and a few drinks later, it’s suddenly too hot and the room is spinning and the last thing America wants is to end up making a fool of herself out there where everyone else can see it. Hey, making a polite excuse and then making a beeline for the bathroom-that’s not completely obvious, is it?
England’s eyes are really odd when she’s feeling tipsy (because she’s certainly not drunk).
What had she been thinking, drinking that much? Oh, but Russia smiles behind what has to be her fifteen billionth bottle of vodka that night alone, and America impulsively grabs another cocktail, and glares at the Russian as she passes.
Hey, it doesn’t taste so bad anymore. Go figure.
When she stumbles into the bathroom, she drinks the cocktail and drops it into the washroom sink. Perfect place for it, it’ll get clean there and everything, she figures. But man, the world is tilting and America decides it’s better to sit-or she doesn’t really decide. She realizes when suddenly her back and bottom hurt because she’s fallen to the ground.
She wanted to sit anyway, she tells herself, and rubs her eyes.
But damn, when everything’s all topsy-turvy like that, it’s suddenly a lot easier to feel… sick. And America is certainly feeling it. Hell, she didn’t even realize she wasn’t alone (though wasn’t the room empty when she first came in there? She could have sworn it was) until she’s hanging over the toilet, and someone is pulling her hair out of her face and rubbing her back.
Which is a pretty good thing, because she probably won’t have a stomach left once she’s finished.
She’s not sure how long she’s there like that, but when she gets the chance, she croaks out, “Thanks, England.”
God, her throat feels like someone took glass to it or something.
“Hmm~? England…? No, no… It’s Russia.”
Russia, Russia… why does that name sound so wrong? Oh yeah, she hates Russia! American swallows and wipes her mouth with her hand. She hates her so much, she wishes she’d pretty much go die.
America stands up, awkward and wobbly, and god would the other just stop staring at her like that? “Hey, stop looking at me. And go fuck off, bitch. This is my turf.”
Russia laughs. “Such strong words. And claiming the bathroom as yours is unfair, America~ Other people might need to use it.”
She did not just question her authority! If she wanted to claim the bathroom, she damn well could! She figured she could anyway… She might let others in if they asked, because she was a nice superpower, unlike Russia. They wouldn’t even need a password or have to change or anything.
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“Hehe… oops,” she said with a sigh. She wasn’t sure what happened next.
Her back was pressed against Russia, and she was practically passing out, and yet, she was still awake. Well, that wouldn’t do, Russia thought with a smile and offered the other her bottle of vodka, supporting her so she wouldn’t have another… unfortunate fall.
“Here~! Drink this. It seems you’re not quite drunk enough.”
Russia wasn’t sure what exactly America heard, or even what she was saying in response. Not that she cared, or anything, forcing the bottle into her mouth, and tilting upwards. Most of the vodka splashed down onto that snug white blouse America had decided to wear.
But watching her throat, she could see that the other was actually drinking. And Russia had so much more where that came from.
That morning, Lithuania received a message from a cross England. America, that idiot, is missing. Lithuania just smiled at England, promising him he’d do his best to help find her. She couldn’t be far-and considering how much she had seemed to drink last night, she’d probably just fallen asleep somewhere odd.
To be on the safe side, Lithuania decided to take it upon himself to let Russia know that America was missing. As much as he didn’t want to, knowing that Russia’s likelihood of helping would be… next to none. Still, it’d be best if everyone was alerted, right?
He hoped so.
As he approached the door, he noticed that there weren’t any lights on… It was unusual for Russia to sleep so late, too. Lithuania knocked lightly.
He hoped, hoped, hoped that Russia was already awake.
When he pushed the door, he was surprised that the figure in bed was completely uncovered. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know, but he could see ropes binding their wrists tightly, and the dark stains on white sheets weren’t impossible to miss, even with the low light, though he could still see her chest moving up and down. Whoever it was, wasn’t dead at least.
He flicked the light switch, and gasped.
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New rule, starting right now.
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♥
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WHY IS GIRL!RUSSIA SO HOT(Tall and curvy and that accent)?
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.
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