Nice Day For a Drive [3/4]
anonymous
May 25 2009, 00:26:25 UTC
England saw his chance when Russia was reversing and quickly surged forward through the gap only just large enough for him to get through. He laughed as he urged his tank on faster. However, he had no idea how far ahead he was or what Russia was doing. He looked over his shoulder and saw, of course, the interior of his own tank. This wasn't a car, it wasn't like it had rear-view mirrors. He turned back to the road and swerved violently as he realised he was almost off it. But he overcompensated and ended up on the wrong side of the road (even though it was the left side and therefore actually the correct side, fucking continentals) though, frankly, when you're driving a tank, who really gives a shit?
Unsure what side of the road he should be on, where Russia was and lacking general hand-eye coordination, England continued to swerve.
It was a good plan. Until a rogue tree jumped out in front of him and he crashed into it. Fucking trees! Wherever it was that they were, the trees were made out of depleted uranium or something because they didn't fucking budge. He felt another jolt and tried desperately to reverse. He reversed until he was blue in the face, but nothing happened. There was only one thing for it, he was going to have to have a look at what was going on outside.
England popped his head out the top of the tank and found that Russia's tank had crashed into the back of his. Russia backed up and then came forward again. England held on for dear life as Russia rammed his tank. Once he had his balance again (or most of it, in his state, complete balance was probably asking too much), he waved his arms frantically. In due time Russia popped up out the top of his tank.
“What are you trying to do?” said England in exasperation, “Crush me?”
“Am I not allowed to crush you?” said Russia innocently.
“No, you're not a-fucking-llowed to crush me! Go around!” And just to make his point clear, England gestured to which around he meant. Russia ducked back down and England watched as he reversed, turned slightly and plowed straight back into the back of England's tank. Russia popped up again.
“That wasn't around!” cried England.
“I am sorry, comrade, I thought that I would make it.”
“Well you ruddy didn't, did you?” England was just a little stressed; someone would definitely give him a stern talking to if he wrecked two tanks in one go. “This time you should actually--”
“Quiet!” Russia interrupted. England quietened. “Do you hear that?” England strained his hearing and sensed the far-off cry of police sirens.
“Fuck,” he said expressively. “What country are we in?” Russia took a drink from a his bottle as he thought. Christ, how many bottle had he brought with him?
“Germany, I believe.”
“Fuck,” said England with feeling.
“We should stand and fight,” Russia declared, waving his bottle.
“What, are you insane?” Russia gave no answer. “We should abandon tanks! I can't get caught by Germany again!”
“Germany is no match for m-- us!”
“No, you don't understand,” England pressed frantically, “He'll never shut up. He'll give a speech on health and safety so long you'll want to kill yourself by the end of it. And then he'll make you fill out the forms. Oh god, the forms!” The despair on England's face was obviously very persuasive because the next words out of Russia's mouth were;
“We run, then.” Quicker than England could follow (though not necessarily actually quickly), Russia disappeared and then reappeared and exited his tank with a spare bottle of vodka. England followed his lead (what? Even enemies could have good ideas from time to time) and grabbed a six-pack before he made his dismount.
I was a far more messy dismount than his earlier one and ended with him on his knees at the side of his tank. Russia grabbed him by his collar and dragged him up and onward as he ran by. The two of them ran as best they could, leaning against one another and trying not to drag the other down too much when they tripped. It was quite possibly the most cooperative they'd been in their entire history.
Unsure what side of the road he should be on, where Russia was and lacking general hand-eye coordination, England continued to swerve.
It was a good plan. Until a rogue tree jumped out in front of him and he crashed into it. Fucking trees! Wherever it was that they were, the trees were made out of depleted uranium or something because they didn't fucking budge. He felt another jolt and tried desperately to reverse. He reversed until he was blue in the face, but nothing happened. There was only one thing for it, he was going to have to have a look at what was going on outside.
England popped his head out the top of the tank and found that Russia's tank had crashed into the back of his. Russia backed up and then came forward again. England held on for dear life as Russia rammed his tank. Once he had his balance again (or most of it, in his state, complete balance was probably asking too much), he waved his arms frantically. In due time Russia popped up out the top of his tank.
“What are you trying to do?” said England in exasperation, “Crush me?”
“Am I not allowed to crush you?” said Russia innocently.
“No, you're not a-fucking-llowed to crush me! Go around!” And just to make his point clear, England gestured to which around he meant. Russia ducked back down and England watched as he reversed, turned slightly and plowed straight back into the back of England's tank. Russia popped up again.
“That wasn't around!” cried England.
“I am sorry, comrade, I thought that I would make it.”
“Well you ruddy didn't, did you?” England was just a little stressed; someone would definitely give him a stern talking to if he wrecked two tanks in one go. “This time you should actually--”
“Quiet!” Russia interrupted. England quietened. “Do you hear that?” England strained his hearing and sensed the far-off cry of police sirens.
“Fuck,” he said expressively. “What country are we in?” Russia took a drink from a his bottle as he thought. Christ, how many bottle had he brought with him?
“Germany, I believe.”
“Fuck,” said England with feeling.
“We should stand and fight,” Russia declared, waving his bottle.
“What, are you insane?” Russia gave no answer. “We should abandon tanks! I can't get caught by Germany again!”
“Germany is no match for m-- us!”
“No, you don't understand,” England pressed frantically, “He'll never shut up. He'll give a speech on health and safety so long you'll want to kill yourself by the end of it. And then he'll make you fill out the forms. Oh god, the forms!” The despair on England's face was obviously very persuasive because the next words out of Russia's mouth were;
“We run, then.” Quicker than England could follow (though not necessarily actually quickly), Russia disappeared and then reappeared and exited his tank with a spare bottle of vodka. England followed his lead (what? Even enemies could have good ideas from time to time) and grabbed a six-pack before he made his dismount.
I was a far more messy dismount than his earlier one and ended with him on his knees at the side of his tank. Russia grabbed him by his collar and dragged him up and onward as he ran by. The two of them ran as best they could, leaning against one another and trying not to drag the other down too much when they tripped. It was quite possibly the most cooperative they'd been in their entire history.
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