backdated to last week, sorry guys [video]
[She's telling a story. What happened in France's court recently. Voltaire's involved. As she reaches the story's climax, everyone in the room laughs. With her, never against her. Russia laughs, too. More of a giggle. More of a chuckle. But it's a laugh, and it makes him ignore the thin line of red on her arm. Drips of blood, let out by the knife. Routine procedure. But every time she bleeds, he bleeds with her. That's the way it's always been. That's the way it stays. But when she laughs, he laughs too. It makes him ignore the doctors swarming around like bees. It makes him try and ignore the thin line of red, always red, although he can't succeed for long. And as she finishes her story, to laughter and disbelief in equal parts, she catches a glimpse of him. Looks him in the eye. Clear and violet. And all at once, she understands. He can tell. He can see it in her eyes. Clear and blue. He can see it in a smirk, that fades at the edges and becomes a smile. Can hear it, when she calls the doctors over from their parade of papers. The smile fades. Serious. This is serious now. Her tone matches when she calls the doctors over. The lingering laughs fade away. She speaks, glancing at the line of red, the drops of blood.]
This must be draining all my German blood away. Good. [A smile that doesn't match what she's saying. Everyone in the room is still. Everyone in the room doesn't dare to breathe. Only Russia breathes, because he breathes for everyone. The silence stretches for a moment, as the doctors stare and wonder if she's gone crazy. Russia knows she hasn't. Can tell, somehow. Has seen crazy before from his bosses and winters and self. This doesn't feel like that. But she finishes, more or less, before the doctors can begin more tests.] Now it can be replaced with Russian.
[Sound returns to the room. Doctors mill about again. People start presenting her documents that need to be read. Documents that should be signed. Conversations that need to be had. The world moves around him. Russia stands still. Eyes wide open. Fidgeting with a tassel on his coat. Fidgeting with his scarf. But still. He opens his mouth to speak, to rejoin the conversations. But no words form. None of the good ones. He takes a breath. Looks away from the red line of blood. Looks up at her, and she is smiling. Her eyes are clear and bright. And she catches him looking at her again. Shakes her head. Goes back to the hard work of bleeding out. And for a moment, a second, a fraction of time, Russia can imagine those next few drops of German blood joining their brethren. He can imagine so many things. Things she wants him to be. Things she's trying to make him, cultured and sophisticated and the biggest, best country on Earth. Things he already is, and wants to be a part of anyway. That last one. That doesn't happen very often.]
[So he smiles. Genuinely. Softly. Says her name.]
Yekaterina.
[Shakes his head with fondness. Before he rejoins the whirlwind of conversation around him.]
This must be draining all my German blood away. Good. [A smile that doesn't match what she's saying. Everyone in the room is still. Everyone in the room doesn't dare to breathe. Only Russia breathes, because he breathes for everyone. The silence stretches for a moment, as the doctors stare and wonder if she's gone crazy. Russia knows she hasn't. Can tell, somehow. Has seen crazy before from his bosses and winters and self. This doesn't feel like that. But she finishes, more or less, before the doctors can begin more tests.] Now it can be replaced with Russian.
[Sound returns to the room. Doctors mill about again. People start presenting her documents that need to be read. Documents that should be signed. Conversations that need to be had. The world moves around him. Russia stands still. Eyes wide open. Fidgeting with a tassel on his coat. Fidgeting with his scarf. But still. He opens his mouth to speak, to rejoin the conversations. But no words form. None of the good ones. He takes a breath. Looks away from the red line of blood. Looks up at her, and she is smiling. Her eyes are clear and bright. And she catches him looking at her again. Shakes her head. Goes back to the hard work of bleeding out. And for a moment, a second, a fraction of time, Russia can imagine those next few drops of German blood joining their brethren. He can imagine so many things. Things she wants him to be. Things she's trying to make him, cultured and sophisticated and the biggest, best country on Earth. Things he already is, and wants to be a part of anyway. That last one. That doesn't happen very often.]
[So he smiles. Genuinely. Softly. Says her name.]
Yekaterina.
[Shakes his head with fondness. Before he rejoins the whirlwind of conversation around him.]