[Table Challenge] - Claim: Belarus- Table: Angst/Prompt: Fight: Standstill Liberation
Title: Standstill Liberation
Author: saiechan
Claimed: Belarus
Table/Prompt: Angst. 18: Fight.
Rating: T
Summary: She meets him for the first time and is determined not to be overwhelmed
FF.net"You cannot." She stared at the man in steeled horror, "You cannot do this to me."
She took several attentive steps back and glared hatefully at the man, her anger replacing the numbing shock, the fitful terror she had experienced earlier.
"This," she motioned her opened hand to her chests and then to the circular room, "cannot be done to me."
He stood to her front and was unamused, unfazed at the righteous display. "It can and will be done." He said in finality. It was odd to hear that there was a cape of optimism in his voice, but she knew that it was all but a lie. A horrid, horrid lie that gripped at her sides and throttled her about, to do what he wished with her. She shook her head; no, it cannot and will not be done, not to her, not to the land. The man had no right over her! No rule! No, no, no, she didn't believe it to be and refused to.
"You are but a child compared to me," and she twirled her head at him in soundless fury, her violet-blue eyes narrowing into cat like slits, "but a child."
She was appalled to watch him shake his head like a disappointed father and take a kind seat in a nearby chair. Tch, she heard his lips pull out, Tch, tch."A rebellious daughter," there was no humor in his laughter, "I have no daughters, but they are manageable, like sons." She moved further back and bumped to the wall, and her face contorted into a psychotic brew. Her lips quirked up like a broken mirror, a torn feline smile, twitching at the sides, and her nails dug through the faintly gray but blue wallpaper. Her feet pulled together, but her knees kept bouncing at one another. One would think, one would see, that she was terrified of the man, but at the same time, which the man had taken notice of, was there was a pure defiant nature held within the swirls of her violet-blue eyes.
Oh no, it was true. The woman would not be giving in as kindly and sweetly as he thought.
"You will not do this to me." She laughed out bitterly, and her eyes went wide with rage, "And if you do, how long will it last? Men like you come and go, but I, I, am forever!"
And in the moment where her body had lost control, her eyes wet with unshed tears, strands of her beige blond hair sticking out, it had abruptly ended. The man wasn't surprised, and if he was he didn't show it beneath a stony mask. But the woman regained her composure; her flushed face returned to silky smooth white, her stricken hair strands flattened out and curled at the tips, and her eyes that were wide in a mixture of panic and defiance smoothed out to cool indifference.
The man was curious, to say the least. He had heard rumors of the woman's distress, but not once had imagined that he would see it surface so soon.
The woman stood upright, her hands carefully folded on top of her white apron, and her eyes stared darkly at the man, unseeing but seeing all at the same time. "I am," she said resolutely, "I am Belarus. I am the country Belarus, and I am the people, Belarus."
"As I am aware of, yes." Faintly amused at her declaration, he leaned to the back of the chair, the whiskers from his graying moustache tickling his upper lip, "And I am Alexander Lukashenko, President of Belarus. You submit to me. You conform to me, and I shall mold you into the proper woman that our country should be."
He smiled at her. Had the indecency to smile at her behind his president's chair, behind his president's desk, and he smiled a wicked smile that teased and mocked everything she stood for. Her feet remained planted on the carpet rug, and her hands were pressed firmly down on her white apron. She lifted her chin high and proud at the man who called himself her leader. Her boss! The man was clearly insane; she was not a fool to deceive herself with pleasurable lies. At the same time, she noted, the man had a right to say what he said with much confidence. He was the President of the country, but that would not her, the country Belarus, from itching beneath the waistband of her white apron, tickling at an object that was both deadly and divine.
"I' have heard things about you, Belarus,"it relieved her to know that the man was unaware of her human name, "I have heard that you are a prideful, arrogant, and rebellious young woman."
She lifted a curious brown.
"It is good to know," he went on and ignored her gesture, "that you and I share a common ground." When her lips curled downwards, much further than they were previously, he nodded in confirmation, "Yes, we do. I too want to become one with the Russian government. It is a powerful alliance, and having Russia, your big brother, as an ally would be sublime for our cause."
"Our cause?" She scoffed, "My big brother is noble and kind. He would defend me no matter what!"
He acted as though he had not heard the words come from her mouth, and it roughly stroked her anger.
It was a disgrace to hear her beloved brother's name and government be released from the mouth of that man. But oh! They did have a common ground, but the common ground that they shared could and would not save him. It was impossible to prevent the engulfing flame of her rage content. She appeared to follow the unheard instruction. She appeared to be thoughtful and considerate of the man's cause, but her eyes narrowed, low and dangerous. It was apparent and visible; the man turned from her eyes, oblivious to the boiling of the woman's veins, the veins pulsing madly on her forehead and hands. He didn't care to see the man. He didn't think to see it. Incompetent bastard, the woman thought icily, After all, I am a rebellious young woman who has no good mind and no proper etiquette.
"I am and will never be your political puppet." She said slowly to him, the black handle firmly in her grasp, "I am and will not be a fool for you toy with, to do as you wish. I demand respect."
The man stared at her. Amused? Not so. Displeased? Quite indeed.
"It does not matter whether you want to or not. What matters is that I am your president, and you must obey me in all that I do. I command your land and your people. You belong to me." As he uttered the dreadful words he leaned over on his desk, his hands slamming loudly on the wood, and there was an awful glint in his eyes, a glint that even she could not understand. But she did not flinch and did not budge from where she stood, though his face was but inches from her own. She could smell the odor of his breath, see the oils on his skin, feel the heat of his rotting organs, and it was an unbearable experience. She endured the discomfort with an unbliknig eye, thin lips, and wanting to laugh at his audacity. A child he says, the words were true inside her head, It is he who is the child. A spineless little boy! Worthless!
It seemed to be a battle to see who would speak first. Seconds and minutes, felt like hours, passed until a voice broke through the silence, splicing it in half.
"I," her voice was remarkably calm, "am the land. I belong to the people, my people, not to one man. Not to a child who wishes he was a man. Not to a boy who cries and throws petty tantrums because he does not get what he wants. No boy can own Belarus. No man can tame Belarus. I am uncontrollable, you little turd. I am Belarus!" Eyes brightened with glee at the man's dumbstruck expression. In one moment she had gained the upper hand, and her eyes, she could not see them but felt the pure red come to them, masking over her violet-blue hue.
The man glared at her. He glared at her with as much hate as she did to him. "Y-you think you can, what a stupid woman you are." He looked at with furious eyes. How dare she mock him!
"I am not stupid, sir," she said, "I am what my people make me." She eyed him suspiciously, and his balding head, his sagging skin, turned beet red in anger.
"You damn woman!" He roared and slammed his fists on the wooden desk, "You damn woman! Have you lost your mind!" He raised a hand, a right hand, an open palm, ready to strike her.
It reminded her of the past. Never again!
"God!" A swift movement that could not be seen by the untrained eye, and the man's arm was twisted behind his back, painfully, and a blade was held at his throat. At once their bodies were connected, and he felt the heat of her warm land mass, her bosom, her breath. Even the grazing locks of beige-blond hair touched him, and he squirmed in terror from it.
"You,-"
"Be careful what you say," she whispered against his ear like a mother would do to her disobedient son, "you do not want to upset me any further than you already have." The blade was cropped some inches above the throbbing Adam's apple, and she was proud to feel the pulse. Yes, yes, this was what she wanted. Yes, this was what she needed. The excitement, freedom, that swam through her veins made her feel enthralled, so damn thrilled.
"I shall not break the skin as long as you listen to me. Do not hear me, listen." When he did not respond she twitch the blade closer, tearing an inch or two of skin, "Do you listen?"
He nodded.
"President Lukashenko, I am a woman. I am a country. I am land. I am, by default, nature, and nature cannot and will not be controlled by Godless hands such as yours. You will tear my people down. You will ruin them. You will taint my soil with your blood thirst and greed, but you will not tame me. I shall not be tamed for I am the country Belarus, and no man made damage will subdue me."
The man realized, President Lukashenko realized that it was the first time she addressed him by his formal title. He looked up at the ceiling and stared. He had a reason to fear his country, but he knew that she would not kill him. It was something that she could not do.
"I...," his voice was quiet, "refuse to submit to you, Belarus."
And he pressed the button hidden beneath his desk.
Shock appeared once more when the wide doors opened to reveal two men dressed in blackish green uniforms. He smiled malicious at her but not at her, but his teeth were still gritted against each other.
He had known of her. He had been told about her. He knew that his country was not right in the head, but he had not known the capability, the almost limitless boundaries, of her attitude. She attacked an official. She assaulted her president. The guards who burst through the closed doors attempted to overwhelm, he was mildly impressed with her fighting abilities. She refused to release him from her gripping hands, but she had to eventually as the guards approached her with snatching hands. She swung her knife them and aimed at non lethal areas on their bodies. He was flung to the side and tripped over his own chair, hitting the closed curtain windows, a low uttered swear came out of his mouth. His chair rolled from the scene unfolding, and he heard the pleas from the men who attempted to calm their beloved country down.
"Miss Belarus, please!" One man dodge a cutting blow at the leg, "This is not right!"
"Not right?" She laughed manically at him, "None of this is not right! My people are being oppressed by this beast, and they do not know it yet!"
"That is not true, Miss Belarus!" Said another guard and she gave him a quick kick in the groin, "That is...not true, please, you must listen."
"I shall not listen to my children when they are being useless dumbasses!" She grabbed a hold of an old book that sat peacefully on the desk and threw it carelessly at one of the man. They were fortunate enough to dodge it without it making contact on their bodies.
She rounded on them in her blind and mad fury, and the fury she released was aimed at him. In time, as it was to come to eventually, one of the men, he could not tell which, came up from behind and grabbed a hold of her arms. The silent move caused the dangerous knife to fall from her hands, but it did not stop the infinite string of obscenities to come out of her mouth.
"You are a monkey ball sucker!" She spat at him as she tried to escape the tightening hold of the two men, "I'll cut your God damn balls off and force down your fucking throat. And then after you have shat them out, I'll make you bathe in your own shit!" She struggled against them. Her long hair stuck to her precipitated face as she swung about.
"Sir!" The guard to the left said, and he sounded relieved, "Do you want us to send Miss Belarus to her room?"
He watched her fighting body. He watched the hair fly about, the skirts move, and the eyes, the blasted eyes, look him square in the eye as she did so. President Luksashenko realized that he hated his country, his sweet and little Belarus.
"Yes," he answered after several minutes, "you can send Ms. Belarus to her room. I am sure she must want some rest, and please, bring her some food too."
"You balding cunt!" She nearly launched at him once more if it were not for the men, "You got not balls! They are all shriveled up and shoved up your ass!" She pushed against the men as they dragged her out, "How dare you! How dare you do this to me! I am Belarus! I am the people!"
She spat him. She swore. She cursed him to the grave, but he stood and watched her go with a pleasing face. He hated his sweet and little Belarus, but she was much more capable of being tamed. He was sure of that. Yes, yes, the doors closed behind the screaming nation, She will learn. Just like a daughter.
"What have I done?" She asked quietly as she was led to her bedroom, "What have I done to deserve this?"
"We must follow President Lukashekno orders, ma'am." The guard to the right said, "It must be done for your best interests."
"And you are to tell me what my best interests are?" She looked up at the man with tired eyes, "I know what is best for me as I know what is best for you. What I do is not out of greed or envy. You would not understand," she looked between them, "you are but simple minded children."
She was led to her room, and the door was locked behind her. It was a nice room. It was a pretty room. The curtains were a peach color, and the walls were pink with white roses on them. The bed was massive in size, and it too was white. There was a small sitting table with fine cushioned chairs, and a reasonable sized fireplace to the right front of the room. She supposed that a bathroom was connected somewhere in the room, and she reasoned that because she knew they preferred her to remain in the room for the duration of the day. A punishment, she snickered bitterly at the truth, As if this can punish me? No. It does not. What disobedient and stupid children she had. Her fingers danced on the smooth surface of the small sitting table. Stupid and arrogant and lively children she had. They did not realized that the greatest punishment she endured was their betrayal, and to an even stupider child.
It was easier to cry, but the tears could not come. Her tears had dried out in the morning sun when she opened them for the new day. She guesses that it was sometime passed noon now. So she took a seat on the bed and removed her shoes. She popped her toes and stretched her legs, and she leaned back on the bed, falling gently on the mattress. Ah. Her eyes began to sting, but no water would come out. What is this? Her mouth opened but nothing could be heard. Please stop it. Her hands twisted sickeningly on the bed sheets, gripping tighter and tighter. Her body was stripped of its clothing and was wrapped in the whiteness of the bedsheets, cool and protective. She wanted to cry, but she could not cry. She wanted to scream, but she could not scream. She wanted to break, but she could not break.
Belarus buried her face into the pillow, and the burning of the unshed tears continued. She twisted and cracked her body, her legs sticking out in abnormal ways, and her mouth continued to scream out silent sounds into her pillows. Somehow, somehow, some of the sheets managed to wrap around her neck, or maybe she had done it on purpose. No matter, she wonder how it would feel, feel for the people, if she decided to rip it through. She would not die, not like that. Death did not come to nations like that, but the tremors underneath the soles of their feet and shoes would be present. Oh, if she had decided to tighten the sheet around her little neck, then her people would see that she, their nation and world, was suffering. They would certainly get a taste of what was to come.
It was impossible for her to do that. The thoughts were there, the images were present, but she had no will to put her people through such hardship. The future was a bleak place, and she peaked one eye through the pillows and sheets, staring out at the cloudy sun. It was probably a hot day outside, but she would not know. She was trapped inside where the sun was not allowed.
Eventually exhausted entrapped Belarus, and it carried her off to a dreamless sleep where the only consolation that could be felt was the coolness of the stale air.