[fanfic] Request fill 9+10: Russia+Cuba, Rum vs. Vodka, US+UK, The Battle of Britain
Title: It's Warm
Author/Artist: sayasama
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Russia and Cuba
Rating: Um...PG for alcohol?
Warnings: A nondrinker talking about booze D:
Summary: Russia is hesitant to drink something that isn't his beloved Vodka, but he's also hesitant to let a good drink go to waste.
For whitesin
Ivan looks completely out of place, and not even the dim lighting can obscure that fact. He’s too pale; his pallor is the lightest in the room. His bulky uniform looks far too hot, almost obnoxiously so, and the scarf was really just overkill. The few people around him feel themselves getting heat stroke whenever they look at him.
Then again, perhaps the most affronting thing about him at the moment is his drink of choice?
“Drinking vodka during the Havana carnival? That doesn’t fit the atmosphere!”
Russia doesn’t jump when a large hand claps him on the back and a loud, friendly voice greets him. He just turns to look over his shoulder as his friend took a seat next to him at a bar, the name of which he probably won’t remember in the morning.
“It doesn’t? It’s just like drinking water, really.” Russia’s expression is calm and a little cheerful; he isn’t quite being swept away by the festivities, but there is really no way to resist the infectious joy of the locals.
“Water is hardly any better,” Cuba say with a sigh and waves over the bartender, orders a drink for himself.
“You’ve just got to have something with rum in it, or you’re not in the spirit of things.” As if to illustrate his point, Cuba drinks deeply from his thin, tall glass. Almost immediately he feels warmth burn down his throat. He sighs in a pleased sort of way; no matter how much rum he drinks, Cuba never enjoys the initial kick of it any less.
“The spirit of things?” Russia tilts his head to the side most innocently, as though he doesn’t understand why his beloved vodka doesn’t match the mood of carnival.
“Yeah! Vodka’s relaxing an’ all, but it doesn’t give you even a buzz. Well, at least it doesn’t for you. What’s the point of drinking alcohol that doesn’t do anything for you, anyway?”
To this Russia just shrugs, because he doesn’t really know how to explain why he drinks it so avidly. It’s his fuel, and there isn’t much to say aside from that. Well, maybe there is, Russia thinks as he stares at his drink in an almost fond way.
“…It’s warm. It’s warm and that relaxes me.” It also makes him a tad less restricted in his anger, but that only matters when someone upsets him, and Cuba simply doesn’t do that.
“Hah, if that’s all you’d love my stuff. ‘S like drinking liquid fire, really.” Cuba’s swirling the liquid around in his glass idly, looking at Russia with a happy smile; the way eyes narrow warns the taller nation of what’s coming.
“Two mojitos, please,” Cuba is quick to order once the bartender is unoccupied. It’s not long before two drinks in tall glasses are passed down the counter to them.
“It’s not straight-up Cuban rum, but the mix of sweetness and mint is something I think you’ll like.”
Russia stares at it the same way he stares at water when he doesn’t know its origin: with suspicion. But he reminds himself that it’s just a drink and he’d seen everything that went into it.
Cuba is patient, silently waiting for him to take a sip. Feeling the other’s stare on him and deciding it would be offensive to waste a good drink Russia sighs and lifts the glass to his lips. He takes a swig, feels the pleasant burn of alcohol as it makes its way down his throat; it’s nothing he isn’t used to, though the feeling is different from vodka, which he hardly feels any longer. Aside from the burn there is a pleasant taste; sweet and minty, just as Cuba had described it. It was quite the interesting flavor when combined with the bite of the liquor.
At first there is just that burning at it moves through him, but that changes quickly. He feels it when the drink hits his stomach and heat moves right back up his chest, spreading like a wildfire through him. Just as steadily, a smile spreads over his face. It feels warm.
-As I have never had either of the aforementioned drinks, I relied on my mother's descriptions for this. She more or less said this about vodka and rum, respectively. "Vodka is what you drink when you don't want people to know you're drinking. Rum is totally different, you feel it when it hits your stomach" and then there was added description of how vodka, once you're used to it (and Ivan obviously is used to it) it doesn't to anything more than relax you, and Rum can knock you on your ass pretty quickly.
Title: Enough
Author/Artist: sayasama
Character(s) or Pairing(s): US and UK, some Canada
Rating: G for Alfred breaking his own laws.
Warnings: Possibly faulty characterization, un-beta'd.
Summary: America can't help England during this fight, but that doesn't mean Alfred doesn't want to.
for subakai
“He’s mounting an aerial attack on Britain.” Alfred wonders at Arthur’s occasional straightforwardness. The older man doesn’t need to ask aloud for Alfred to know that he’s asking for help. He feels that this way of doing things is particularly cruel on Arthur’s part. He knows that America can’t help. Everyone knows that Alfred has been pointedly avoiding the war; he doesn’t want to take part in it and neither do his people. Why then is he giving Alfred that look, like he’s expecting the blond to jump in at any minute and take on the world’s villains?
Oh, right, he’s giving Alfred that look because he’s a hero who’s supposed to take on the big baddies for the sake of justice. For once though, he doesn’t want to be the hero. There’s a small part of him, the part that is not the United States of America and is just Alfred F. Jones (at least he thinks it is, but he isn’t sure that such a part of him really exists), that secretly wants to join the war and help defeat the rising evils in Europe. But that part of him is so small in comparison to the portion of his being that so deeply wants to remain uninvolved. His personal heroism doesn’t stand a chance against his nation’s non-interventionism.
“So, what are your plans concerning the matter?” Arthur asks when he receives no answer. Alfred wishes he hadn’t.
“I… think I’ll sit this one out,” he replies with a reluctant and somber voice. He isn’t dumb, he knows that Arthur is here hoping for more than just weapons and supplies. He wants more support but Alfred just can’t promise that. He knows he’s disappointing Arthur again, knows he’s turning his back to the other again and he hates it, but what can he do?
There’s a flicker of something in those green eyes that Alfred chooses to look away from, lest he succumb to his heroic instincts and decide to save the damsel in distress (and oh, how hard Arthur would sock him for thinking of him like that).
“Just going to peddle weapons on the side, then?” His expression has been schooled again and he shrugs as though he wasn’t hoping for another answer. “Well, it’s something.”
“What do you want from me?” Alfred murmurs with a difficult mix of hurt and anger in his tone. “My people-I don’t want to go to war again. There’s no reason for Americans to die in a European’s war.”
England opens his mouth to snap that he wants help, wants America to stop being selfish and just barge in like he always does and save the day. The conflicted expression on Alfred’s face and Arthur’s own pride strangle him though; keep the words trapped in his throat.
“Nothing-What you’re giving is enough.” England will make it enough.
000
It’s late July and Alfred can’t stand to hear about what’s going on in Europe at the moment. Germany is winning battles over the English Channel constantly; the sheer number of pilots on the opposing side seems to be enough to defeat England. But well, if Alfred knows one thing it’s that England doesn’t give up easily at all. So even though he doesn’t like hearing about the battles, the exhausted RAF pilots, the cancellation of British convoys through the English Channel, he still listens and waits for the moment when England will turn the tides in this battle.
000
It’s August now and Alfred just can’t take it anymore. The air raids are getting worse and they’re getting closer to the shores of England’s little island. He’s not blind to the fact that England’s holding his own despite the attacks, or the number of bombers he’s shooting down in the north. He’s not blind to it-but he is at the same time. He knows and he just doesn’t care because he wants to be there to be sure that everything works out.
Which is why he’s begging Matthew for this one, insy-tensy favor now.
“No way Al.”
“Oh c’mon Mattie, you’ve gotta let me!”
“No, no I don’t. Besides, that’s illegal! You’re trying to break your own laws!”
“I’m not seeing a problem here. Please Matt, just this once and I’ll never ask you to let me be you again unless the situation calls for it!”
Matthew sighs and massages his temples. “Such a promise means nothing when you tack on such a condition…”
Alfred is pretty sure this counts as situational irony. Matthew always hates it when people mistake them for each other (well, when they mistake him for Alfred), and now Alfred is asking to impersonate Matthew! America never thought he’d want to be Canada. (Not to say there is anything wrong with Canada, it just isn’t America.)
“Come on, it’s the only way I can help England! I’m prohibited from fighting in the war so I can’t go as myself, but we’re practically twins, no one would notice if I went to battle in your place!”
“Yes they would!” Matthew says with another long-suffering sigh. “I’m supposed to stay here at home and train pilots! I think someone will notice if I’m both here doing that, and over in England shooting down bombers!”
“Ah-“ Darn, he made a good point there. But there just has to be some way for Alfred to fight! Maybe as a nation he can’t do anything, but he himself could still sneak his way into the RAF somehow, right?
Well, that seemed unlikely now. Something in Alfred’s expression must have look particularly crestfallen because the next sigh Matthew lets out is a bit more exasperated than straight-out annoyed.
“Oh fine. If you really want to try this out then go ahead; I doubt Arthur would mind having an ace pilot help him out anyway.”
Matthew is only half-prepared for the bear-hug he receives, which isn’t quite enough to stop the two of them from toppling over. “Seriously? Thank you so much Mattie! You won’t regret it, I promise!”
“I’m sure I won’t,” he said, reciprocating the hug just a bit.
000
“Al-Alfre-“ Arthur cuts himself off before he got the whole name out; of course Alfred isn’t here with him, he isn’t allowed to be. “Matthew, sorry. Ah, hello. How’s the training going?”
“It’s going well, though it’s taking a bit longer than expected.” Alfred realizes then why his brother hates being mistaken for him. He wants to say ‘I’m here, it’s really me! Everything will be alright now’ but he can’t because he has to pretend to be someone he isn’t. So instead he just makes the face Matthew makes every time someone calls him ‘Alfred’ and goes on with the report his brother had told him to give to Arthur.
“The instructors have a handle on things; I don’t think they need me looking after them.” This is how Matthew told him to ask for permission to stay and fight, so for once he’s going to do as told because he truly wants to help. Even though he’s just one man, one pilot, it’s all he can do so he’s going to do it. He’ll regret it too much if he doesn’t.
“Really?” Arthur’s expression turns questioning as he looks at Alfred. “Then is there something else you’d rather be doing?”
“I think I could be of most use up north, protecting one of the satellite airfields.”
“Are you sure? That’s where Denmark and Norway are concentrating their attacks, you know.” Arthur gives the man before him a skeptical look, because while he has no doubts about Matthew’s courage, there is something decidedly non-Canadian about this entire exchange that has been bugging him for a while.
“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” Alfred realizes he probably shouldn’t have said those words with that slightly over-confident inflection only after it’s too late to take them back. Arthur sighs, moves out from behind his desk and tugs on the little twisted hair extension Alfred has attached to Nantucket.
“I assumed you’d be a better actor than this,” he says, rolling his eyes at the other as Alfred gives a sheepish grin. The somewhat exasperated expression melts into a kinder one, and Arthur has to look away because he doesn’t want Alfred thinking that he condones this sort of thing. Still, it was sweet of the other to go through all the trouble, and he is in no position to deny an ace pilot a place in the RAF, not when the battle is so precariously balanced on a fine thread that even the smallest change can turn the tides in his favor.
“Don’t send me home, please? I just-I just couldn’t stand sitting around doing nothing and-“
“Now, now, who said a thing about going home?” Arthur asks with a hint of a smirk; there’s just something about watching Alfred plead that makes him want to grin. “You’ll receive your orders in the morning, for now just get a good night’s sleep ‘Matthew’.”
Alfred is more than a little excited when he finally returns to his quarters that night.
notes:
1. The Battle of Britain was the name given to the effort Germany made to gain air superiority over Britain in the summer and autumn of 1940. It was the first major campaign fought entirely by air forces.
2. Due to neutrality laws, American citizens weren't yet allowed to participate in WWII yet. The most America could do at this time was trade weapons and supplies on a "cash and carry" policy, where other countries only got the goods if they paid in cash. This was done with the knowledge that only England and France would actually be able to take advantage of this deal.
3. During the first phase of the battle, German aircrafts flew over the English Channel and sometimes attacked convoys. It was more like training for the German troops, and while it helped the British pilots in the same way the constant patrols also wore them out.
4. The second phase of the battle was the main assault, where axis nations Germany, Denmark and Norway started moving in on Britain. They struck hard in the north because they believed that was the weak point in Britain's defenses. They were also looking to take out their communication systems. They failed in that objective and met a surprising amount of resistance in the North.
5. America had very little to do with the battle at all. Only seven RAF pilots were acknowledged to be American (though I wouldn't be surprised to hear there were two or three more that slipped by unnoticed). These Americans managed to enlist by misleading British officials about their origins; most claimed to be Canadian.
Ah... I wish I'd thought of a better way to finish that last one.... I'm so sorry for the long wait on these two! Easter weekend was much busier than it I'd thought it would be.... Well, hopefully you all had a nice Resurrection Sunday?