[hetachallenge] 15/Freedom
Title: [untitled]
Author: kahlanaisling
Claim: Romania/Norway
Character(s): Romania, Norway
Table/Prompt: Random/15 - Freedom
Word Count: 672
Rating: G
Summary: In the early nineties, they take a walk.
Romania doesn't think he's ever breathed air this thin.
He's got mountains back home -- one of his many houses is embedded in one -- and it's not like he isn't used to them. Far from it, some of his favorite moments have taken place high above the world, often overlooking some sort of cliff that gives one the irresistable urge to jump. But this isn't merely thin air, this is cold, freezing, and brighter than the glow of a candle in a burning house on a cloudless, sunny day. Bright and white and thin and cold and rigidly, starkly beautiful in its own way.
Norway is ahead of him, walking on his own and keeping to himself. Romania doesn't blame him. They've known of each other for decades, but they only started trying to get more aquainted a few months ago. It was England's idea, England's fault, England's insistance that if they were going to be a team, they needed to be capable of knowing what the other was thinking long before they thought it. Romania doesn't think he's having trouble with this, but the only thing that makes him think so is that he knows Norway is.
It's not his own fault. He's been good about keeping an open mind lately, as difficult and painful and nightmare inducing why does he keep doing this he needs to stop curl up in a ball hide away no no don't as it is. England doesn't seem to have any problem detecting what he's thinking -- he's almost better at it than Bulgaria is, which is more than a little bit scary.
Norway, though, either can't read him or doesn't want to. He used to think it was the latter. Now, he's not so sure.
The view from up here reminds him of flying through clouds, except smoother and much more dangerous. One wrong step could send him tumbling through the snow, leaving him a crumpled, tangled, bent bloody beaten bruised everyone kill it kill it now kill it with fire and it will stop mess at the bottom.
Norway stops. They're far, far, far away from the top, but Romania knows from experience that there's no way they can go all the way up. Not in this condition.
Speaking of conditions, he often wonders about Norway's health. The man insists he's fine, says, "Worrying is pointless," but he's too thin and gaunt and Romania knows what thin and gaunt looks like. And sometimes he has a glassy look in his eye, one he saw on Bulgaria enough times to know that it means something bad. Also, he drinks too much coffee.
Even though Romania isn't really a coffee person, he knows that someone can't possibly ingest that much.
"Problem?" he asks, losing his breath in the cold.
Norway takes forever to just shake his head.
"What are you thinking?" Romania continues. Norway doesn't really talk, not unless you ask him to. Romania likes conversation. It doesn't really mix well.
Another long pause. "Just that I really, really dislike England sometimes."
It's not a snarky comment. Actually, it sounds surprisingly truthful. "Oh."
"Ja."
Romania takes a breath, but it's not very gratifying. "I have to agree," he replies. "He is too good at what he does. Not something I particularly care for."
Norway glances back at him. He doesn't look surprised at all, but somehow Romania can just tell. "I don't know why I still associate with him."
Shrug. "Maybe because he can get us far?" That is why I associate with you, Norvegia, though he won't admit it.
"Mm."
Romania half hopes that will change. Ever since the breakdown a couple years back, things have been getting much better for him -- but on the other hand, things always go well for him right before he makes a mistake and it all comes crashing back down. But he's an optimist. He thinks, this time, it'll all work out.
That's probably the reason he's on this mountaintop in the first place.
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Author: kahlanaisling
Claim: Romania/Norway
Character(s): Romania, Norway
Table/Prompt: Random/15 - Freedom
Word Count: 672
Rating: G
Summary: In the early nineties, they take a walk.
Romania doesn't think he's ever breathed air this thin.
He's got mountains back home -- one of his many houses is embedded in one -- and it's not like he isn't used to them. Far from it, some of his favorite moments have taken place high above the world, often overlooking some sort of cliff that gives one the irresistable urge to jump. But this isn't merely thin air, this is cold, freezing, and brighter than the glow of a candle in a burning house on a cloudless, sunny day. Bright and white and thin and cold and rigidly, starkly beautiful in its own way.
Norway is ahead of him, walking on his own and keeping to himself. Romania doesn't blame him. They've known of each other for decades, but they only started trying to get more aquainted a few months ago. It was England's idea, England's fault, England's insistance that if they were going to be a team, they needed to be capable of knowing what the other was thinking long before they thought it. Romania doesn't think he's having trouble with this, but the only thing that makes him think so is that he knows Norway is.
It's not his own fault. He's been good about keeping an open mind lately, as difficult and painful and nightmare inducing why does he keep doing this he needs to stop curl up in a ball hide away no no don't as it is. England doesn't seem to have any problem detecting what he's thinking -- he's almost better at it than Bulgaria is, which is more than a little bit scary.
Norway, though, either can't read him or doesn't want to. He used to think it was the latter. Now, he's not so sure.
The view from up here reminds him of flying through clouds, except smoother and much more dangerous. One wrong step could send him tumbling through the snow, leaving him a crumpled, tangled, bent bloody beaten bruised everyone kill it kill it now kill it with fire and it will stop mess at the bottom.
Norway stops. They're far, far, far away from the top, but Romania knows from experience that there's no way they can go all the way up. Not in this condition.
Speaking of conditions, he often wonders about Norway's health. The man insists he's fine, says, "Worrying is pointless," but he's too thin and gaunt and Romania knows what thin and gaunt looks like. And sometimes he has a glassy look in his eye, one he saw on Bulgaria enough times to know that it means something bad. Also, he drinks too much coffee.
Even though Romania isn't really a coffee person, he knows that someone can't possibly ingest that much.
"Problem?" he asks, losing his breath in the cold.
Norway takes forever to just shake his head.
"What are you thinking?" Romania continues. Norway doesn't really talk, not unless you ask him to. Romania likes conversation. It doesn't really mix well.
Another long pause. "Just that I really, really dislike England sometimes."
It's not a snarky comment. Actually, it sounds surprisingly truthful. "Oh."
"Ja."
Romania takes a breath, but it's not very gratifying. "I have to agree," he replies. "He is too good at what he does. Not something I particularly care for."
Norway glances back at him. He doesn't look surprised at all, but somehow Romania can just tell. "I don't know why I still associate with him."
Shrug. "Maybe because he can get us far?" That is why I associate with you, Norvegia, though he won't admit it.
"Mm."
Romania half hopes that will change. Ever since the breakdown a couple years back, things have been getting much better for him -- but on the other hand, things always go well for him right before he makes a mistake and it all comes crashing back down. But he's an optimist. He thinks, this time, it'll all work out.
That's probably the reason he's on this mountaintop in the first place.
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