Second Photo - Christmas Angst, Christmas Dinner.

[snapshot_brat]

[Anastasia Junior is scrapbooking away by the window. Not her own window - damned if she's spending the holidays with a pack of faceless drones, or any time she doesn't absolutely need to, for that matter. After just over a decade, 1444 Mitchell street is as close to home as she can get.]

[Private...sort of because she is actually saying this out

Comments

[kol_shevik]

...Should perhaps leave cooking to Russia, comrade.

[snapshot_brat]

There's nothing wrong with my cooking, Russia.

It's been five years, I've learned from my past mistakes, and everything's going to be juuuust fine.

[kol_shevik]

[...The memory of the burning smell and shouting say otherwise, but Russia doesn't push it. He'll just stand around nervously with a firebucket.]

Cannot be worse than little England's.

[He peers over at the photos she's clipping out.]

[snapshot_brat]

[Here we have... Russia making vodka. Big Anya reacting to drunken Russia singing at her. Sad Cornelius in snow. Russia building barricades out of snow. A thumb, someone's arm, and half a fireplace - how did that happen? Better chuck it. The Anastasia duo chatting by the fireplace. The Collective Family in a group, including Belarus at the window now how did she not notice that before. It stays anyway.]

Ugh, don't even remind me about that!

[kol_shevik]

[Russia has a beautiful drunken slur thank you very much.]

Will not have to worry about him much longer.

[snapshot_brat]

[Like a chorus of big fat heavily accented angels]

Are you going to kill him?

[kol_shevik]

Only if need to.

Would rather see him hang himself. Besides-- is not something for child to worry about.

[snapshot_brat]

...How long are you going to keep thinking of me as a child?