This is fail!anon's first fill and first attempt at Hetalia fanfic. Also, I fail. That has been established. OTL Forgive me if it's like... really bad... ----------
The annual world meeting was being held in America's house this time, and in some spot far off from his capital, "just to make it more interesting!" he'd declared. Russia wasn't quite sure where - he'd been given the airplane tickets and had simply gone along, and he wasn't quite concerned about America's geography.
Like most of the so-called "meetings", it devolved into nothing productive and simply the nations bickering about... whatever. Russia calmly ducked a lamp that had been chucked across the room by England and stood up.
Humming to himself, he exited the room. In the chaos, no one noticed. It couldn't hurt to look around, could it? It was nice and warm here, he'd noticed on the way in. Perhaps he could sit outside, maybe drink some vodka. He wouldn't be missed.
After managing to find his way out of the maze-like corridors, he pushed his way out the door with a spring in his step. Yes, it was nice out here, he decided.
The highway that led to this rather deserted building (why had America chosen this of all places to meet?) was scattered with trash. He frowned. Not pretty. America ought to take better care of this place! It was so nice. And over there, there was a lovely little hill and a field of sunflowers -- Sunflowers!
Russia headed out to the field, subconciously picking up his pace as he went so that by the time he reached it, he was flat-out running. Slowing down as he moved closer to the center of the field, he twirled around happily. This was really lovely! Why hadn't he known that America had such nice places here?
He sat down happily. Perhaps, he could ask America to send him some of these flowers? No, they'd only die during the winter if he planted them all around Moscow. His face fell at that thought.
Maybe he could come out and live here, later, when he had finally persuaded them all to become one with him. It would feel nice, he thought, to have such a warm place as part of his territory. He would feel all yellow and sunny inside, and in the winter, when the blizzard were coming down on Siberia, he could come here and feel better.
He continued imagining that for a little while, then remembered the vodka bottle he'd brought along. Getting very drunk would probably be a bad idea, he pondered. Just a little bit. He uncorked it, took a sip, and starting singing quietly to himself.
"Как поздней осени порою, Бывают дни, бывает час..." He took another gulp of the vodka. It occurred to him that perhaps the other nations would be worried, or would notice he was gone eventually, but he put that out of his mind.
After all, he was here in a nice, warm place, surrounded by these lovely sunflowers, kept company by the bottle, and what more could he ask for?
"...Когда повеет вдруг весною, И что-то встрепенется в нас..."
----------- ...er, anon googled Russian folk songs and found one that she thought was fitting in part of one... So, translation for the Russian: "Just as in late autumn, there are days, the transient hour..." "...When suddenly spring wafts again, and something stirs within us..."
AAH I FEEL LIKE THIS IS REALLY BAD AND TOO SHORT "OTL some other anon should improve upon this prompt
also, reCaptcha says "comrade survived". I find that oddly adorable.
----------
The annual world meeting was being held in America's house this time, and in some spot far off from his capital, "just to make it more interesting!" he'd declared. Russia wasn't quite sure where - he'd been given the airplane tickets and had simply gone along, and he wasn't quite concerned about America's geography.
Like most of the so-called "meetings", it devolved into nothing productive and simply the nations bickering about... whatever. Russia calmly ducked a lamp that had been chucked across the room by England and stood up.
Humming to himself, he exited the room. In the chaos, no one noticed. It couldn't hurt to look around, could it? It was nice and warm here, he'd noticed on the way in. Perhaps he could sit outside, maybe drink some vodka. He wouldn't be missed.
After managing to find his way out of the maze-like corridors, he pushed his way out the door with a spring in his step. Yes, it was nice out here, he decided.
The highway that led to this rather deserted building (why had America chosen this of all places to meet?) was scattered with trash. He frowned. Not pretty. America ought to take better care of this place! It was so nice. And over there, there was a lovely little hill and a field of sunflowers --
Sunflowers!
Russia headed out to the field, subconciously picking up his pace as he went so that by the time he reached it, he was flat-out running. Slowing down as he moved closer to the center of the field, he twirled around happily. This was really lovely! Why hadn't he known that America had such nice places here?
He sat down happily. Perhaps, he could ask America to send him some of these flowers? No, they'd only die during the winter if he planted them all around Moscow. His face fell at that thought.
Maybe he could come out and live here, later, when he had finally persuaded them all to become one with him. It would feel nice, he thought, to have such a warm place as part of his territory. He would feel all yellow and sunny inside, and in the winter, when the blizzard were coming down on Siberia, he could come here and feel better.
He continued imagining that for a little while, then remembered the vodka bottle he'd brought along. Getting very drunk would probably be a bad idea, he pondered. Just a little bit. He uncorked it, took a sip, and starting singing quietly to himself.
"Как поздней осени порою, Бывают дни, бывает час..." He took another gulp of the vodka. It occurred to him that perhaps the other nations would be worried, or would notice he was gone eventually, but he put that out of his mind.
After all, he was here in a nice, warm place, surrounded by these lovely sunflowers, kept company by the bottle, and what more could he ask for?
"...Когда повеет вдруг весною, И что-то встрепенется в нас..."
-----------
...er, anon googled Russian folk songs and found one that she thought was fitting in part of one... So, translation for the Russian: "Just as in late autumn, there are days, the transient hour..." "...When suddenly spring wafts again, and something stirs within us..."
AAH I FEEL LIKE THIS IS REALLY BAD AND TOO SHORT "OTL some other anon should improve upon this prompt
also, reCaptcha says "comrade survived". I find that oddly adorable.
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Thank you for filling it! :D
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