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Post by Finland on Jul 6, 2011 21:17:39 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that Tino could have sworn that the bird that just flew by overhead had icicles forming on its wings. The slick material of his black skipants swished and squeaked together as little seizures ran up and down the tendons and ligaments of his legs. He’d had just about enough of all this standing around and lecturing.
As much as it pained Finland to admit, Russia’s latest practice run was not bad, and the man was proving himself to be a fast learner. The Soviet’s maneuvers were still far from advanced, of course, but he’d attempted the positioning in a way that made it at least seem like he had half an idea as to what he was doing. He’d gone way too fast near the end, but fortunately – or unfortunately in Tino’s slightly sadistic mind – he’d managed to stay upright for the duration of the run and had even managed a fairly decent hockey stop.
At least it looks like he knows something about hockey.
He listened as Ivan slid to a halt nearby and presented him with the question, “Why does there have to be so many different instructions and techniques to this sport?”
Tino wasn’t sure what to make of the question. It sounded more like a child’s hypothetical whining than an actual question. The Finn tried to picture little Kievan Rus on skis, pleading some mother figure to explain Mommy, why is skiing so hard?!
He shook his head. Really, the colder his brain got, the stranger his thoughts were becoming, though he wasn’t sure whether or not his vision of Ivan as a whiney brat was stranger than his previous mental image of the Russian floating around a sheet of ice on a single blade.
Forcing his train of thought to correct itself on the proper track, he gave a vague twitch of the head. It was no more a negative shake than it was an affirmative nod. It was merely something to acknowledge that he had, indeed, heard the question so his enemy/student wouldn’t feel the need to drive a ski pole through the fleshy part of his underbelly for having ignored him.
The Russian’s next question was much less hypothetical. “How was that for a stop? At least I didn’t slip up this time, yes?”
Tino wanted desperately to point out some serious flaw in the run, some mortal mistake in Ivan’s technique, but he was hard-pressed to do so. Mustering up all of his strength, he took a deep breath, forced a smile that could just have easily been perceived as a snarl and forced a faux-cheerful, “It was good. Much better than the last one.”
As soon as he gave his little token of praise, the Nordic slid his skis around and turned away from the Russian, panting as if the act of giving a compliment to this particular being had come as a great pain for him. He ran through his mind a string of insults about various aspects of Russia – his people, his appearance, his habits, his addictions – merely to assure himself that it was okay for Ivan to be good at one thing because there were still tons of other things wrong with his life. God was merely taking pity on the poor creature and giving him a break by not knocking him ass-over-tea-kettle down the hill each time.
Still turned away from the other, the Finn gave a little pause to note that the bright, glittering snow was beginning to collect on the legs of his pants. He’d be soaked through and frozen numb by the end of the day. Now would be a good time to warm up.
“Hei, Venäjä,” he began, turning back to face the other before continuing, “What do you say if we have a little contest?” He took a step sideways to turn to his right, motioning with a ski pole towards a couple small structures littering the base of the piste. They were conical in shape, almost like teepees. Little plumes of light grey smoke, darker by far than the salt-colored snow, escaped from openings in the top and arched high into the winter morning sky.
“These things are campfires. They have them around the bottoms of some of the busier slopes so skiers can go in and warm up if they need to. It’s important that you don’t let ice build up on your ski blades so we should probably visit one for a few minutes.” Tino conveniently left out any indication that he was currently freezing his extremities off. “So, how would you feel about a competition? You and I race to the bottom of this slope. Since I’ve only taught you a little about skiing, I’ll limit myself to techniques that I’ve taught you: snowploughs, straight runs and hockey stops.”
His suggestion was based partially on the fact that the extra hurry and movement of a race would warm them up, but more than anything Tino was bored and being mere inches away from his greatest foe was giving him the nagging urge to fight. With so many witnesses, a downhill race would have to do.
With a sly grin on his lips, a silent challenge to Ivan, Tino made his way towards the lift. In his mind, there was no way that the Russian was going to decline. For as many differences that existed between the two, both the Nordic and the Soviet were suckers for competition.
____________________ First off, I apologize that this was so incredibly late. I know I promised to have it up like three different times... orz Also, you're free to start the race if you choose to have Russia accept. Otherwise I think you're going to have to write an entire post about them going up the lift, which could be hard. ^^' I hope I gave you enough to work with~[/size]
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Post by Russia on Jul 8, 2011 17:52:35 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that even the pine trees that dotted the area seemed to groan in discomfort. Not that Ivan thought trees could actually feel discomfort or temperature extremes. Well, today he didn’t think they could anyways. On his less than sane days though he had often found himself thinking that plants- like his sunflowers back home- could feel and even think to varying levels. But today was not one of those days, and the trees seemed blessedly un-talkative to the stocky blonde as he shivered slightly against a chill breeze. It was not so windy that it was problematic for any of the skiers, but there were gusts from time to time that shook through the frozen conifers and made them sound as brittle as glass.
“It was good. Much better than the last one.”
Tino was smiling, but Ivan had the distinct feeling that it was not because the other was happy for him. After all, that would make no sense, given their past and animosities. Maybe their bosses were stupid enough to think that a simple ski trip could slap a bandage on the festering wound that was their war-torn history, but Ivan knew better than that. He and Tino would surely continue to dislike each other even after returning home. So there was no way that smile was genuine. Unless… the Finn was smiling because he knew something that Russia did not. The Russian’s eyes widened slightly and he quickly cast a glance around at his surroundings.
Everything seemed normal enough… there were still oblivious Finnish skiers making their way down the slope, and there did not appear to be anyone holding weapons and waiting for the command to fire on him. Unless they were hidden. Finns did that. Memories of Finnish snipers hiding in the snow or behind pieces of buildings and then firing upon him and his Red Army quickly flooded his mind again. His suspicion and paranoia peaked as the Finn turned away from him and began behaving strangely. It must be a code! Ivan backed away from the Tino a bit awkwardly in the skis, his eyes looking around desperately for the sniper he just knew was watching Tino signal him and preparing to fire. It occurred to him that he should ram his ski pole through Finland’s chest as quickly as he could. That way if he was shot at least he would take his foe down with him.
Before he could so much as raise his pole however, Tino had turned to face him again. Maybe the sniper couldn’t get a good shot at Russia without hitting Finland too? It seemed bizarre since some of those snipers were known to be able to pick a fly off a barn at over a hundred yards. Or at least, that was the rumor.
“Hei, Venäjä. What do you say if we have a little contest?”
Ivan blinked back some of his surprise. “A contest?” he repeated quietly, glancing around one last time for a hidden sniper. That didn’t sound so malicious. His eyes wandered to the structures Tino was pointing to. After listening to the other blonde nation’s explanation that they were for warming up, some of his paranoia died down for the time being. Then a smirk reached his pale lips. Was Tino by chance cold? Ivan would never admit it, but he was chilled to the bone as well. Still, he was sure now that he could clearly handle temperature extremes better than the Finn besides him.
“So, how would you feel about a competition? You and I race to the bottom of this slope. Since I’ve only taught you a little about skiing, I’ll limit myself to techniques that I’ve taught you: snowploughs, straight runs and hockey stops.”
“Challenge accepted.” Ivan was quick to state. How could he say no to such a challenge? Saying “no” would clearly be a strike against his pride, power and masculinity. Not that he would say such a thing, he loved the idea of any chance to best another nation. Especially at his own sport. He would win and prove his superiority. He would prove that even though he was starting to feel more and more sick these days, he was still the global power he always had been since the end of the last Great War.
Following Tino to the lift, the stocky Russian went over all that he had been taught mentally as they ascended the slope. Happy thoughts of him beating the Finn despite being so new to skis clouded his mind, planting a happy, confident smile on his boyish face. All too soon, his thoughts of victory were interrupted by their arrival to the top, and he quickly made to follow Finland off the lift.
Soon the two stood side by side at the top of the slope, and his eyes followed the various ski marks leading down over the chalky snow. Adjusting his goggles he turned his gaze towards Finland eagerly, waiting for the staring cue. Once the cue he was looking for was given, the impatient Russian pushed off, trying to push himself forward as quickly as possible without ruining his balance.
His start was a bit rocky, given his eagerness to go as fast as he could as quickly as he could, but at least he didn’t immediately topple over and end up a snowball racing down the slope. As much as he wanted to beat Tino, he didn’t want to do it by tumbling down at breakneck speeds and possibly fracturing several bones in the process. It would be hard to manage a victory smile while nursing injuries.
At first he didn’t spare a glance in the Finn’s direction, so caught up was he in the excitement and thrill of the competition. His heart war surely racing quicker than he was, and the landscape was moving under his skis much faster than it had before when he had just been leisurely going down the slope. ______________________________________________ ((Don’t care who you want to win at this point. I am guessing Finland would be more used to it, so we can go with him taking the victory if you want. ~))
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Post by Finland on Jul 10, 2011 18:58:23 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that Tino, quite numb by now, couldn’t even feel the weight of the bar pressing against him as he once again mounted the lift to ascend the slope. The only way he even knew he got it placed properly against his bottom and not low on his thighs was because he didn’t topple backwards over the bar when he started to move. He was a nation-spirit, so even for as chillingly cold as it must have been for his people and for Ivan at their day on the slopes, this frigid Lapp winter was actually taking place inside his body. His core temperature had been low even when he’d been sitting by the fireplace inside his cabin (which was starting to sound most lovely right now).
Hypothermic and in Lapland, Tino thought as he disembarked from the lift, pushing himself up to an unoccupied edge of the piste. I must be crazy. Ivan’s motion as he pulled up next to Tino was caught in the Fin’s peripheral vision. Stealing a sideways glance, Finland confirmed, No, I’m definitely crazy. After all, I agreed to this.
Though he knew it well enough deep in the pits of his subconscious, the Finn would have never admitted to himself that the day hadn’t been completely bad. He hadn’t been able to stifle the paranoia he felt every time Russia stood in his blind spot, yet he’d learned that he was a pretty effective ski instructor and he could never say no to a day at Levi, even if he hadn’t been able to feel his feet for the past several minutes.
Adjusting his ski cap once again, Tino announced, “I’ll count down to one and we’ll start at the same time.” He reached across the tips of Russia’s skis with one of his poles and drug a line into the frozen, achromatic crystals, dragging the pole along until the line reached his own skis. “Starting line,” he explained. “I’m trusting you won’t cheat.” He looked up to the Russian then, an uncertain look formed behind his goggles, and continued, “After all, I suppose even you have some integrity.”
Once the two had sidled up to the improvised starting line, Finland began the countdown. “Three.” He’d thought about doing it in Finnish to confuse Ivan; he hadn’t specifically stated that he was going to do it in Shaykomay. He was pretty sure Ivan wouldn’t know what number he was listening for if Tino called out “Yksi!” which would give him a head start.
“Two.” But after his comment about Ivan and his supposed integrity, he thought it unwise. The Soviet would surely call him out on it. Besides, the Finn really didn’t approve of lying. He’d probably done some unsavory things during his long lifespan, but lying was rarely one of them. Planting his poles, he bent his knees into position for launch.
“One!” he called out, simultaneously pushing off as hard as he could and then giving a few more pushes for extra speed. He kept his skis perfectly parallel, flat lining down the slope at breakneck speed. Surely he was in the lead. Ivan was good, but he’d only been skiing for a few hours. Tino had been doing it since prehistory.
Finland got the urge to know by just how much he was outrunning the other. Maybe he’d be generous and pull back a little to at least give the appearance of a close match. The proud little smirk that had formed on his face disappeared instantly as he caught sight of his rival. Somehow, amazingly and to Tino’s displeasure, Ivan was keeping pace with him. Tino supposed it must have been his larger size. Gravity was working harder on all that mass, or something.
Well, then, we can’t have that.[/color] Crouching even lower, thighs now carried parallel to the slope and elbows at his knees, Tino managed to build up even greater speed. Ivan disappeared into the blind spot behind him and he smiled triumphantly. The foot of the piste was rapidly approaching; he could taste victory.
In all honesty, it was a tiny little bump. It wasn’t the type of thing that one would be able to point out easily and it certainly didn’t seem hazardous. However, when the tip of Tino’s left ski caught against the lump of snow that had been kicked up by a previous skier, he found out just how dangerous such a small obstacle could be. He pitched forward, his face and chest hitting the snow first. It had seemed so pretty before, the snow. So delicate and fluffy, like mounds of pixie dust. The Finn never would have guessed how much it would sting to have one’s face slammed against it after travelling at a velocity of several kilometers per hour.
The next thing he noticed was that the world was suddenly inverted. Somehow, his skis had ended up skyward and the back of his head and his neck were pressed down into the snow. He could see the slope, now seemingly dipping down off the bottom of the world, and all the people and bordering trees appearing to hang off of it. It was around this point that his mind caught up with exactly what had happened – he’d fallen.
Perkele.
He gave a forced grunt as his back finally slammed against the ground, right side up once again. Miraculously, he’d even managed to keep his poles around his wrists. Tino turned his skis perpendicular to the piste to stop his free slide. Having had gained a fair amount of ground on Russia before his spectacular fall, he slid to a halt onto the flat part of the slope just seconds before he saw the Soviet slide past him.
Catching his breath, he sat up and gave a meek, “Well, I did cross the finish line first.”
Finland was just glad they hadn’t bet.
____________________ Plot twist! You can have them head into the hut if you'd like~[/size]
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Post by Russia on Jul 12, 2011 19:38:40 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that it managed to numb just a little of the pride that Ivan felt about being able to reasonably keep pace with the Finn at first. After stealing a glance at his rival, he had been ecstatic to find that Tino had not been able to outpace him by leaps and bounds just because he had possessed way more experience. The Finn had been just slightly in the lead, with Ivan quickly catching up. Apparently, Tino realized this as well, and Ivan watched with a sort of smug satisfaction as his Finnish rival lowered himself closer to the slope for more speed.
His feeling of smugness at being able to keep up with someone much more experienced vanished as his opponent’s tactic for gaining more speed seemed to actually work. Desperate as he slipped further behind the other nation, Ivan followed Finland’s unspoken advice and lowered himself closer to the slope as well. The position felt so very unnatural to the Russian and Ivan was once more haunted by images of himself falling over and winning the race as a broken snowball. He held the position however and was rewarded by an increase in speed.
A flutter or panic spread through the large Soviet’s chest as he saw the foot of the slope coming closer. The race would be over soon and he was still not in the lead! If Tino won, he was already devising an excuse. Clearly, the Finn would have cheated somehow, even if Ivan was not sure how exactly he would have managed that. Then, the best thing imaginable happened as far as the spiteful Soviet was concerned. One minute Tino was racing along in the lead, and the next Ivan witnessed his rival pitch forward and land on his face in the bleached, icy powder. A rush of glee ran through the stocky blonde, who would have laughed if he had not been busy turning his sights back to the snowy slope to watch out for any obstacles that might end up making him suffer the same fate. The snow in front of him seemed to be smooth enough.
Annoyingly, even though he was gaining ground quickly on his fallen foe, Ivan had still been far enough behind Tino that he could not reach the flat surface at the bottom before the Finn had slid to a halt across what would have been marked as their finish line. Internally swearing in his native tongue, Ivan slid past the still downed Finn before turning his skis to the side and stopping.
“Well, I did cross the finish line first.”
Ivan huffed in annoyance, narrowing his eyes at the Finn. "you slid across it on your back and not your skis. That shouldn’t count.” His natural animosity for the other nation was only fueled by the fact that technically, Tino had won. They had not agreed that either of them must have made it to the bottom on skis to actually win. But he had been so sure that he could best the Finn at his own game, that he would be victorious no matter how much more advanced Finland was at the sport.
“I should be considered the winner if nothing else, for the fact that I was at least able to stay on my skis.” Feeling the chill from their surroundings sinking in more as he stood there, Ivan started off toward the structures Tino had pointed out before the race. Warming up was sounding more and more appealing with every passing minute. Realizing he had turned his back to an enemy, the Soviet quickly cast a nervous glance over his shoulder to affirm that Tino was not raising a gun. Relieved to see that that was not the case, he continued onwards toward strange conical structures.
No sooner had he reached the closest of the huts when Russia came to an abrupt halt. Feeling a fresh wave of paranoia, he decided it best to allow Finland in first. What if the whole “let’s warm up” idea was a trap? What if there were Finns with guns pointed sitting around in that conical structure just waiting to fill the Soviet full of bullets the moment he came in? He had no guarantee that was not the case. Finland would love a chance to be rid of him, wouldn’t he? “Winners first.” Ivan stated the moment Tino was close. His grip on his ski poles tightened in nervous anticipation as he waited for the Finn to enter before him. If there were men on the other side of that flap just waiting to shoot, hopefully they would shoot Tino by accident first. Then Ivan would have enough warning to find cover and work out a plan for taking them out.
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Post by Finland on Jul 17, 2011 16:10:44 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that Tino could have sworn his eyelids froze together every time he blinked. It was quite an odd sensation, and to say he wasn’t happy to be getting out of the weather for a few moments would have been a lie.
“You slid across it on your back and not your skis. That shouldn’t count. I should be considered the winner if nothing else, for the fact that I was at least able to stay on my skis.”
Finland gave a little shrug at Russia’s insistence, doing his best to pretend he didn’t see the man glaring daggers at him.
“Never said that was a deciding factor.” He hadn’t specified many rules – the first person to reach the bottom was the winner, plain and simple. The Finn hadn’t used any technique that his less experienced student didn’t know and he’d crossed the flat part of the bottom of the piste first. Technically, he was the winner.
On the other hand… A slight nagging tug in the back of his brain told him that he was using some convoluted logic, but Tino suppressed that feeling. His pride would never let him admit he’d lost to this person. He’d made good and sure after World War II that Karelia was to be the last thing he ever lost to Ivan, war or race.
No, he’d been victorious. Clearly.
Sliding his skis along the firmly packed snow, now ivory rather than a pure white from the heavy traffic churning up frozen mud, the Nordic trudged side-by-side with the Soviet towards the nearest fire. There were several other skiers here on the flat ground. Most of them stood in little groups of two or three, chatting happily in the language of their nation of origin. There was a lot of Finnish, of course, but Tino was able to recognize some Swedish, Norwegian and English, too. No Russian. Tino supposed they were too busy dealing with their collapsing nation and alcoholism.
When they finally reached the fire, Tino heard Ivan insist, “Winners first.” The way he’d said it was strange. What type of tone was that supposed to be? It almost sounded like a threat, but why would Ivan be threatening him by telling him to go inside first?
Tino shrugged again; if Ivan wanted to stay out in the cold longer, that was his choice. Placing a ski pole at the lever on the back of his binding, the shorter blonde popped off first his left ski, and then his right, gathering up his skis and poles and hoisting them over his shoulder. His feet felt more awkward and bulky in the ski boots, which obviously were not made for walking very long distances.
The heavy white flap to the hut was pulled open after Tino popped the snaps open at the bottom, stepping inside and holding it open until Ivan took it from him. Inside, there was a horseshoe shaped wooden bench, the opening allowing skiers to leave and enter. In the middle of the cone was the fire, the smoke being sucked through an opening in the top and out into the frigid sky in which more clouds had taken up residence.
The heat that radiated from the crackling fire was instantly thawing, little pins and needles of feeling beginning to prickle through the numbness that had built up throughout Tino’s frozen body. The little Finn plodded over to an empty spot on the bench, giving a polite greeting to the two other people that were in the tent. They responded in Finnish which prompted Tino to grin; now Ivan was trapped with three Finns.
“Ahh,” Tino sighed happily as he plopped himself down, stashing his skis and poles under the bench. Gloves were pulled off of frozen fingers with his teeth and laid on the bench to warm up. With his hands held up to the fire, the feeling in the tips returned quickly and he was able to go to work undoing the buckles of his boots. Once Ivan had also found his seat, Tino explained, “Take off your boots and make sure your socks haven’t slipped down and that you’re not getting any blisters.” With one boot off, he went to work on the other one.
The two other Finns in the tent seemed to be staring at the newcomers. It took Tino a moment to realize that they’d likely never heard Shaykomay before and the fact that Tino had spoken Finnish moments ago was confusing. Giving them a friendly nod of the head, he explained in his natural human tongue, “Hän on venäläinen; perkeleen kauhea hiihtäjä.” The three Finns shared a little laugh at the Russian’s expense before Tino turned back to make sure his student still remembered how to unlatch his boots.
With both shoes off and outer jackets unzipped, Finland stretched happily and took in the warmth. “See?” he began, turning to face the Russian with a dopey sort of grin. “These things are great!”
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Post by Russia on Jul 21, 2011 1:51:22 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that the ski poles Ivan was gripping tightly felt like icicles even through the fabric of his gloves.
With the wind starting to pick up a bit and rustle his hair, Russia watched Finland merely shrug at his insistence on the other nation entering first. It seemed an odd sort of carefree gesture for someone suspected of plotting against him. If Tino did have people in there waiting to open fire on him, why would he be so fine with going in first? The other man’s attitude helped to calm the Russian’s nerves slightly as he watched Tino pop off his skis. But if there was one thing the lead Soviet nation was, it was a paranoid mess. No matter how relaxed the environment, Ivan couldn’t help but feel nervous and uneasy.
Following suit, the taller nation poked at his skis with his poles until he found the lever in the back and managed to push down and then pop them off one at a time. Moving forward awkwardly in his boots, Ivan grabbed onto the flap when it was pulled back and made to follow Tino inside cautiously. One thing was for sure, he was glad that his usual boots were not half as uncomfortable to walk in. How disastrous his past wars would have been if all he and his people had been given for footwear would have been ski boots.
The first thing the frozen Russian noticed about the hut was the fire at its center. Almost as soon as he had entered his hands had shot out a bit towards the flames. He couldn’t actually feel much of the heat through the gloves yet, but just the sight of the crackling flames was enough to make him feel warmer. Then he noticed the bench and heard the other inhabitants of the hut greet Tino back in Finnish. Suddenly the fire didn’t seem as inviting as it had before and he was almost tempted to turn on his heel and walk out again, putting some distance between himself and more of what he still considered "enemies." He was far too cold to actually follow through with that urge however, and the Finns seemed harmless enough for the time being.
With mild hesitance he sat down besides Finland, staring at the other two Finns wearily. They lacked guns as best as he could tell, but who knew whether or not they just had them hidden somewhere and were waiting for him to look away. The Russian had made up his mind long ago that Finland’s people were sneaky and untrustworthy. They would not think twice about waiting until a man-or nation- had his back turned before firing. Not that he or his Soviets were any different, but being biased he still liked to think that his people were less rat-like.
Taking his own red-accented gloves off, Ivan set them down and went to work on his boots as Tino suggested. It felt good to free his feet from the strange footwear and he pushed them aside when he was done, still staring with intensity at the other men in the hut. Luckily his socks had not slipped and he did not appear to be getting any painful blisters. So not everything that could go wrong with the day was, it appeared. Without the gloves and boots, the warmth of the fire engulfed the Soviet and he leaned back a bit with a contented sigh.
“Hän on venäläinen; perkeleen kauhea hiihtäjä.
Ivan turned his sights from the other Finns to Tino again. Having never bothered to learn a lot of Finnish, he was not sure what the other had said, but he was willing to bet it had not been nice. He could have sworn that he did recognize the word for “Russian” in that mess of vowels though. Along with the word “devil.” He didn’t care for the thought of those two words being used together in one sentence either.
“See? These things are great!
Russia was not as convinced. The fire was certainly nice and cozy, but he couldn’t help but feel that the conical structure would be even greater without any Finns occupying it with him. “They would be better if they were more roomy.” Ivan mentioned idly, refraining from adding so that I wouldn’t have to sit so close to more untrustworthy Finns. “But I suppose they do their job. I imagine skiing would be much worse without handy little huts to warm up in.” He tried to recall if he had seen any huts similar to this back in the war when he and his men had encountered Finnish ski soldiers. He seemed to remember seeing something similar a few times, although for sure a lot of those Finnish soldiers would have probably had to be without such nice ways to warm up sometimes.
Pulling his thoughts away from the bitter memories of war, the Russian turned his sights away from the other men to stare into flickering red, orange and yellow flames. “What did you tell your people about me a bit ago?” he questioned Tino softly, not sure if he expected the other to tell the truth or not.
Finally allowing himself to relax as much as he dared, the stocky blonde held his hands out to the fire to warm them. Though he could survive and function in some of the chilliest conditions on the planet, it usually took him awhile to warm up and today was no different. Taking his scarf off, he held the beige-ish garment out closer to the flames to heat it up as well before wrapping it around his throat again. After getting reasonably heated from the merry little fire, the Russian quietly went to work getting his boots and gloves back on. “I’m ready to head out again.” he informed Finland, casting one last suspicious look at the strange Finns, who were also slowly buckling their own ski boots back up.
It had been a fairly calm day when they had first started out, but the sound of the wind had been picking up slowly but surely as they had warmed themselves by the fire. Now the ominous rustling sounds of the wind pushing against and around the hut was almost enough to make Ivan start to shivering again. It did not sound promising at all for skiing. _________________________________ ((Sorry for the fail! before bed post. I will probably catch a million typos in this tomorrow. XD But I was eager to post and attempt and catch up, so here you go.))
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Post by Finland on Jul 28, 2011 14:44:18 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that there was currently an advisory being broadcast on the local weather station in Kittilä warning people to stay inside due to impending inclement weather. Tino, meanwhile, could care less. He was cozy and warm inside the tent at the base of the slope and he knew nothing of the approaching storm. The feeling had returned to his extremities and his knees, sore from the awkward bending required by skiing, had relaxed.
Ivan, on the other hand, did not look so at ease. “They would be better if they were more roomy.”
The source of Ivan’s discontent was obviously the high Finn-to-Russian ratio inside the tent. At least Tino assumed it was. The Soviet appeared to be giving some pretty nasty glances towards the two strangers huddled on the other side of the bench.
“ But I suppose they do their job. I imagine skiing would be much worse without handy little huts to warm up in.”
“You’re right,” Tino responded with a nod, leaning against the wooden back of the bench and holding a sock-clad foot up towards the fire to warm his toes.
The Nordic could remember learning to ski as a young protonation, his Norwegian brother taking him into the mountains on rudimentary wooden skis. Very early in the morning Tino would have to hike up the slope and then attempt to ski back down, doing his best all the while to avoid running into trees and falling. His training lasted from sunup to sundown and by the end of the day he would return to his home frozen and soaked to the bone with chilling snowmelt. He’d proceed to spend the rest of the night shivering under layers of heavy blankets and furs beside the fireplace, gently massaging the life back into his feet.
If only there had been fires located at the bottom of the slopes back then, perhaps Tino would have more feeling in his toes today.
“What did you tell your people about me a bit ago?”
The question caught Tino off-guard. He had assumed that when Ivan didn’t bring up the subject right away that it meant he wasn’t going to bring it up at all. It seems he was mistaken.
With a roll of the shoulders, the Finn replied, “I just told them you were Russian. Just in case they tried to talk to you, or something, they’d understand why you didn’t speak back to them.” He conveniently left out the bit where he described what a terrible skier Russia was.
After his brief explanation came a few minutes of silence. Tino used this time to continue thawing out, making sure he didn’t get too hot. He didn’t want sweat freezing to his body, after all.
Outside the warm confines of the teepee, the wind had begun to pick up considerably, big sheets of silvery clouds creeping in from the west. The icy snow blew about like pale, frozen ash on the wind, the stingingly cold frozen flakes swirling madly about. The temperature had plummeted by several degrees, making it even more bitterly cold than it was before. It was about this point that Ivan made the declaration, “I’m ready to head out again.”
“Alright, let’s do it,” Tino responded, moving to strap on his boots.
The other two Finns in the tent were definitely becoming freaked out by the strange blabber being passed back and forth between the two nation-spirits. Tino assumed so, anyway, as he watched them beginning to gather their belongings and latch on their skis while shooting puzzled glances at him and Ivan. He couldn’t blame them. Shaykomay was sort of a Latin-Japanese sounding language with a bit of a Welsh accent and spoken with the fluidity of Arabic. Definitely nothing they would recognize. Maybe they thought they were speaking in tongues.
With his boots on and hands safely inside freshly dried gloves, Finland stood and went to work locking on his skis. “Get them on before you go outside,” he explained, nodding at Russia’s skis. “You don’t want ice on the bottom of your boots.”
The little Finn took another moment to adjust his hat down over his ears and to slip on his goggles before making his way over to the flap of the tent which the humans were currently popping open. As soon as the thick material was peeled away, they were greeted with a freezing gust of wind, little clumps of snowflakes blowing in to land on the warm dirt floor and melting quickly. Tino shivered and turned back to Ivan.
“The weather’s turning a bit,” he explained. “You might get to experience a Lappish blizzard.” After saying this, Tino reminded himself of the Winter War – it would certainly not be the first time Ivan had spent time outdoors in a snowstorm in northern Finland. He added a quiet, “Again.”
Leaving the warmth of the tent was likely the hardest thing Tino had done that day. No, that wasn’t true. The hardest thing he’d done was not chuck his ski poles at Ivan’s head or push him off the lift. But this was pretty hard. Even though it was now slightly past midday, the temperature had gone down another two or three degrees. Tino could feel it against his skin and inside his body.
Once outside, Tino had to raise his voice a bit over the howling wind. “I don’t see any kind of warning markers, so we should still be fine to ski. They’ll close the slopes if the weather gets too bad.” The number of people skiing was still plentiful and little slivers of crisp blue sky were yet visible between the grey clouds, so Tino wasn’t too worried. “So, then, ready for your next lesson?” Pointing a pole towards the lift, he explained, “We’ll stay on this slope for a bit longer. I’m going to teach you how to do a parallel turn, but first I have to show you how to do a stem turn. It’s sort of a fusion of the parallel turn and the snowplough turn, so it’ll be a good transition for you.”
Finland pushed off through the fluffy mounds of fresh snow, other skiers’ tracks already becoming filled and buried, and made his way to the lift, keeping a close eye on Russia to make sure he was keeping up with visibility down. On his way there and after they’d boarded, Tino gave his lesson.
“See, a snowplough turn is what you’re used to. In a parallel turn, you don’t make the V shape with your skis; you keep them parallel.” Obviously “A stem turn combines both techniques. At the beginning and end of the turn, you keep your skis parallel and at the widest point, you make the snowplough shape. Just remember to lean forward a little when you begin your turn and understand that you’re not going to start turning as soon as you shift your weight; it takes a moment for it to work. Simple, right?”
Once again at the lip of the slope with Ivan, the two skiers from the tent keeping well away from the nations and their crazy speak at the opposite end of the ridge, Tino continued, “As always, I’ll show you how it’s done.” Giving a gentle push with his poles, the Finn glided down the slope, starting off by traversing the slope with his skis parallel, and then shifting his weight subtly and widening the distance between the back of his skis as he came to the apex of his turn. After making a nice smooth turn, he brought his skis parallel again, once again traversing the slope sideways before rolling into his second turn, ending up at the bottom with a nicely executed hockey stop.
Tino quickly dismissed the nervousness he’d felt once he reached the bottom of the slope on his feet. He’d messed up pretty badly before and it had been quite embarrassing, but he did well this time. Now let’s see Ivan do it,[/i] he thought as he waved the signal to the Russian to begin his run.
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Post by Russia on Jul 31, 2011 16:40:56 GMT -5
((I apologize for the length of this one, Finn. I tried to cut it down to size, but I wanted to give you something to work with so it was a bit difficult. You might want to get a nice cup of coffee or something before you try and read this. ))
The snow was so cold, that Ivan had to seriously wonder if he was secretly a masochist to want to leave the warmth of the hut and go back out into the elements.
As his ski teacher agreed that he was ready to head out as well, the Russian watched the other country strap on his boots. He was sort of hesitant to go back outside just to attempt skiing in higher winds, but hopefully it would not be so bad. Tino must have heard the wind pushing on the hut and not thought it that bad of weather for skiing. Ivan suspected that the Finn would be all too happy to drag him into a dangerous situation, but he didn’t think that Tino would also want to put himself in a nasty situation. So surely it must still be safe out there for skis.
“Get them on before you go outside. You don’t want ice on the bottom of your boots.”
The Russian looked down at his own boots momentarily before setting his skis into position and attempting to lock them on. He had thought they would put them on outside at first, but thinking on it, Tino’s idea of putting them on in the hut made more sense. He imagined that ice on the bottom of his boots would make locking them in place a bit harder. And skiing in windier weather was bound to be difficult enough for a newbie like himself. He didn't need or want anymore complications.
The other, strange Finns were already opening the flap of the hut to head back outside, causing Ivan to shiver as a gust of icy wind hit him in the face. The blast of chill was enough to make the Russian want to go right back to sitting by the fire. He knew better than to say something so indecisive as that though around Finland. How weak and pathetic that would make him look! Surely it was better to face a freezing blizzard than to suddenly change his mind and go back to warming up by the fire. Real nations could handle the chill, and Ivan wanted to be damn sure that Tino knew that he was indeed a real nation and not some pathetic excuse who would rather stay by a nice warm fire and be warm.
“The weather’s turning a bit. You might get to experience a Lappish blizzard.”
Ivan frowned at the other nation’s words. Finland was surely baiting him now. He had to have known damn good and well that Russia had already experienced Lappish blizzards at their worst. And wearing far less warm and waterproof clothing than what he was now too. His Red Army coat may have been just warm enough to keep him from freezing into an icicle, but it had been by no means warm enough to block out the bone numbing cold of a blizzard. The memory of trudging through thick snow drifts with frozen wind and heavy snowfall in the Winter War was all too fresh in his memory. The large blonde once more had the distinct urge to punch Finland in the face, even after he added his quiet “again.” He certainly hoped that after they had spent the time that they were required to together, that he would have the chance to punch the other nation’s teeth out before going home.
Then he was following the Finn out into the snow, and all thoughts of physical violence were temporarily forgotten. It was snowing now, and the wind had indeed picked up a lot since they had entered the hut. But there were still people on the slopes, so it must not have been as bad as he had initially thought. Still, the larger nation couldn’t help but feel that things would get far worse soon enough. Looking up, the clouds seemed innocent enough-with strips of blue sky breaking them up in places. That being the case, how many nasty blizzards had Ivan encountered in his lifetime that started out the same way?
“I don’t see any kind of warning markers, so we should still be fine to ski. They’ll close the slopes if the weather gets too bad.”
Ivan gave one last look around to check for any sort of warning markers being put up before he reached up and adjusted his goggles over his eyes. If nobody else was concerned with the weather, then he wouldn’t be either.
“So, then, ready for your next lesson?”
“Да. I‘m always ready.” He confirmed, re-adjusting his grip on the ski poles as he spoke. His gaze followed the Finn’s pole as he pointed towards the lift and explained that he was going to teach Ivan some more turns. Sounded easy enough. He was determined to master anything the other nation threw at him to learn.
With the snow and wind obscuring his vision somewhat, Russia followed Finland almost mechanically, never letting him get too far ahead as they made their way to the lift. The wind was drowning out some of what Tino was saying on the way though, leaving Ivan to only hope he was catching all that was being said by his instructor.
“…Just remember to lean…when you begin your turn…understand that you’re…start turning as soon as you shift your weight… it to work. Simple, right?”
Ivan stared at the Finn as though willing him to repeat himself louder so that the wind wouldn’t block out some of his words. He then gave a nod of agreement despite not hearing everything. He had surely heard all the most important parts, and by his reasoning he could just wing it concerning any parts of the lesson he may not have heard. Once you knew some parts of skiing, how hard could it be to learn different turns anyways?
“As always, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
They were at the lip of the slope now, and at least he could hear Tino somewhat better now that they were not in motion and he was closer to the other man. Ivan watched as the other country demonstrated the turn flawlessly. Or at least, it looked pretty flawless to Ivan, who did not have the best idea of what different techniques were supposed to look like anyways. And then Tino was motioning him to follow suit, and Russia pushed off with his poles without hesitation.
He started off keeping the skis parallel as instructed, but when he leaned and shifted his weight, he knew that something had to be off. Tino had said that he would start turning as soon as he had shifted his weight, right? It was just not happening right away and the violet-eyed nation was beginning to worry that he was doing it wrong. He tried to recall exactly how Finland had looked when doing the turn. It seemed that he had been going faster than Ivan had, hadn’t he? Worried, Ivan quickly considered how to remedy the mistake he must have been making. When in doubt, make the wedge shape that he previously used to turn, right? He quickly followed that idea, reverting back to the familiar snowplough turn.
Even though he was nearing the bottom of the slope, he attempted the stem turn again. The snow was falling heavier and heavier now, and the wind was distracting as he tried to figure out where he had went wrong the first time. Maybe he needed to lean more? It turned out to be a bad idea and the heavier blonde nation ended up leaning too much, throwing his balance off. Instinctively, he allowed himself to fall backwards so as not to toppled down the rest of the slope. Sliding on his back, he ended up once more in a snowdrift at the end of the slope, ski poles somewhat comically sticking up and out of the ever deepening icy crystals.
Disoriented, he rose out of the pristine snow deposit and shook the powdery flakes from his hair. “I think I like the snowplough turn better.” He informed Tino, pretending that all had went well with the stem turn anyways, and that his dislike had nothing to do with the fact that he had botched the turn. Dusting himself off as he stepped all the way out of the snow drift, the Russian was blasted with yet more frigid wind and snow. It seemed to be getting darker too, and the cold nation looked up to see darker, heavier looking grey clouds ominously taking over the sky. "Should I do it again?" He had to nearly shout to be heard over the howling wind as he approached Tino.
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Post by Finland on Aug 7, 2011 21:40:53 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that Tino’s lungs protested at being forced to take in the frigid February air in huge gulps through his mouth. Such an inefficient method of breathing would not have been necessary had the Finn not currently been laughing at Ivan, watching him perform some kind of bizarre maneuver, slipping haphazardly down the piste. That was certainly not what Tino had demonstrated. By the time the Russian fell completely, the other nation was howling with laughter. Never did he mind that Ivan was probably going to kill him for it later.
He finally stopped, coughing sharply as he inhaled a big clump of snowflakes. He thought for a moment that he might be choking, but then it melted.
Oh, right. It’s just water. Stupid Tino…
It was just as well that he quit laughing as Ivan was approaching him now, anyway. Tino squinted to see the black and red form of the Soviet’s heavy clothing approaching through the thick snowfall. When had it gotten this stormy? He checked his watch, having to shield the glass face from the torrential whiteout. It had taken under an hour for this blizzard to whip up, a bit unusual, but certainly not unheard of in these regions. Well, that would certainly put a damper on his lesson.
“I think I like the snowplough turn better.”
A little puff of vapor came through Tino’s nostrils as he happily snorted. “Well, there’s really no way of deciding that, Ivan, since you didn’t actually perform a stem turn.” Instinctively, he took a few steps backwards in case Ivan got the urge to run his belly through with a ski pole. “Though I could see how you would prefer the snowplough turn over… whatever that was.”
The sneer on Finland’s cold-cracked lips finally disappeared as a particularly strong gust assaulted his face and forced his lips to tremble in a shiver. The wind lifted little powdery swirls from the ground and sent them rampaging around in the air. The nation-spirit was almost positive he felt that gust inside his head.
Maybe it wasn’t my land body that I was feeling,[/color] he thought. Maybe the wind just went through one ear and came out the other. Is that possible?[/color] It sure felt possible. The wind was positively slicing through his thermals. Noting that it was becoming increasingly harder to form rational thoughts, Tino abandoned that notion and strained to listen over the screaming wind as his student was presenting his newest question.
“Should I do it again?”
That was a good question. Amazingly, there was still no sign of the ski patrol. It was possible that Tino and Ivan were far enough to the backside of the mountain that the patrol had not yet been able to get around that far to warn them that the slopes were shutting down.
In the meantime, Ivan seemed eager to go, so despite the numbness now spreading from his toes to his heels and beginning to creep up his ankles, Tino would oblige his diligent student. It would hardly seem right for the Nordic to be the first to admit that he was ready to call it quits due to the cold when they were in his own lands. That would be like admitting defeat and that was not acceptable. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by or jealous of Russia’s resilience to the cold. He supposed the larger man did have plenty of experience in dealing with General Winter in his own lands, but it was still embarrassing to be shown up like this.
Tensing his lips into a thin line to stop their incessant trembling, the little blonde shook his head and smugly replied, “No, you shouldn’t do that again. You should do what I showed you – a stem turn. Do you need another demonstration?”
Without waiting for a response, Tino turned and headed for the lift. It was likely a dangerous move on his part, leaving himself open to attack as he was doing. His fears were quelled by the fact that once he turned to peer over his shoulder, he could hardly make out the Russian’s shape even though he was mere centimeters away.
“Stay close,” he demanded, the wind sucking the breath from his throat. It was like being snogged by a tornado, or at least he supposed that’s what it was like. He turned back around, trudging once again towards the lift.
Taking a look around as he marched valiantly on, he could discern several dark shapes moving away from the slope. People were leaving which was understandable since the deep grooves left in the snow from repeated passes on skis were already beginning to fill. It wasn’t a problem for Tino, who’d had to ski in nearly every condition during wartime. After all, ski-troops couldn’t wait for a clear blue sky before mobilizing if the enemy was encroaching on their rear flank.
Kind of like right now,[/color] Tino mused, thinking of his foe slipping along behind him.
Nevertheless, it was uncomfortable to snow with visibility this limited and for a day out merely for pleasure, it was turning out to be quite displeasing. With luck, Ivan would finally concede, admit that he was cold and the two could buy a bottle or ten of vodka and return home to drink the remainder of the weekend away. Surely Tino had taught Ivan enough so that if his boss demanded him to show his new skills off, he could do so without hesitation.
The ride up the lift was more uncomfortable than ever before, a fine layer of ice forming on the T-bar and making it slippery. Soon enough, as always, the trip was over and the two were at the mouth of the slope.
“How about you go down next to me?” Tino asked, the question more of a demand than a suggestion. He got his footing and pushed off with his poles, praying that the blubbery Russian wouldn’t get too close and bulldoze over him.
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Post by Russia on Aug 10, 2011 1:40:43 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that it made Ivan feel as though he were made of solid ice. Maybe that was how he had managed to refrain from throwing a punch at Tino for having a good laugh at his expense? Usually lashing out physically was the first thing Ivan liked to do when he was pissed at someone, but with the bitter bone-numbing chill, he just couldn’t get his muscles to move very quickly. Not that he would ever admit to being cold to Finland of all nations. No, best to smile and bear whatever General Winter threw at them without any complaint.
His smile became slightly more heartfelt when he noticed Finland shiver just a bit as a flurry of wind and snow washed over them. It was nice to see that he wasn’t the only one uncomfortable in this frigid weather.
“No, you shouldn’t do that again. You should do what I showed you – a stem turn. Do you need another demonstration?”
Ivan gave a joyless laugh at the reply. Oh Finland, how I would love to gut you right now and paint the slope with your pretty red blood… He kept the thoughts to himself. Obviously now was not the time to charge forward and attempt to eviscerate the cocky Finn. There were not many other skiers around anymore to witness the gruesome murder, but if he were to kill Finland so soon in the vacation, he just knew his boss would not be happy. And an angry boss was not something Ivan wanted to deal with. Knowing his luck, his leader would order him to stay away from any form of hard liquor for a week. It was a punishment that seemed worse than death, and enough to make the flaxen-haired Russian shiver at the mere thought of it.
Ivan had to consider a response to his foe’s question quickly. If he said “no” he might very well make the same mistake again and look bad. If he said “yes” then surely Finland would have something more to laugh about and come up with some more snide remarks. He was doomed to ridicule no matter what. Luckily, the Finnish nation started back towards the lift before he needed to answer. Ivan followed in silence, pleased at the fact that the goggles were protecting his eyes from the blasts of wind that tossed his bangs into his face.
“Stay close.”
As if Tino needed to say it. With the strong gusts of wind blowing large, sloppy snowflakes all over the place, visibility was down and Ivan naturally kept closer to his instructor. The land was unfamiliar to him, and losing Tino would mean losing his way back to the cabin. It was yet another reason to keep the Finn alive a little longer at least. Wandering around lost in a blizzard while trying to retrace their steps did not sound at all appealing at the moment. Especially since those steps would be long since buried under fresh snow.
With the air choked with snow, Ivan nearly walked right into one of the moving bars of the lift when they had reached it again. Luckily, he saw that malicious glint of frozen silver barely in time and stopped, but it had been too close for comfort. The ride up the slope was not at all fun with an ice slicked bar pressing into his thighs. Luckily his thick clothing helped nullify some of the cold from the frozen steel, but the bar was extra slippery and more than once he feared he was going to slip right off. He was all too happy when the time came to follow Tino off and onto the slope again.
The large Soviet was starting to become concerned. He had expected Tino to insist on them going back to the cabin by now, but so far the other nation had yet to even mention it. Either Tino honestly was insane and did not mind this weather at all, or he was far too stubborn to admit defeat and be the one to suggest getting out of the cold. Ivan was betting on the second idea. His own pride was surely the reason he had yet to admit that he wanted to go back to the cabin and sit in front of a nice blazing fire with a ton of alcohol. He had to prove he was superior to Finland, didn’t he? And he wasn’t going to do that by whining like a little girl about the inhospitable weather conditions. No, he was convinced that he would outlast Finland, or else turn into a snowman trying to.
Of course mentally telling himself something was one thing, and actually being able to keep consistence was another. The more his mind wandered to thoughts of a toasty fireplace with bottles of vodka all around and a nice hot dinner, the more his iron will started to crack.
“How about you go down next to me?”
Running over the instructions in his head, Ivan gave a slight nod at the suggestion, pushing off alongside Finland. At least being fairly close to Tino, he could better observe what the other man was doing. Just trying to follow the verbal instructions without a decent view of his instructor’s actions had not turned out so good last time. Keeping the previous instructions in his head, he followed just a bit to the side and slightly behind the Finn, mirroring the other nation’s moves to the best of his limited ability. Tino did not seem so concerned when he did not immediately turn, so Ivan followed his example this time and refrained from attempting to do something to correct his position and turn faster. To his amazement, not doing anything seemed to work better. That didn’t make the sensation of skiing down a slope in the middle of blizzard-like conditions any better, but it did keep him from falling over or botching the turn. He felt a wave of pride as they neared the end of the slope, despite not being able to feel his extremities anymore.
Not used to being so close to another skier though, the Russian instinctively tightened his grip on his ski poles as he executed his stop perhaps a bit too close to Finland. Ready to lash out and jab for the other nation if threatened, Ivan thankfully managed to avoid barreling into Tino with his stop, but not with much room to spare.
The tall nation instinctively moved aside a bit when he could to put a few steps between himself and Finland. With the wind beginning to howl fiercely, he really wanted to get indoors more than ever now. The problem would be suggesting the idea to his ski partner without looking weak or pathetic. He carefully considered his words before speaking. “Wouldn’t it be nice to be indoors right now with a nice bottle of your favorite spirit, Tino?” He prodded hopefully. “Maybe by a nice warm fire..” He trailed off for a moment, frowning briefly at the pathetic attempt to get Tino to admit he wanted to go in. “What I mean, is that it’s been a long day and I can understand if you want to go back to the comfort of the cabin. I could stay out here all night and do this personally, but then I would miss out on the vodka that our bosses must have been nice enough to provide us with back at the cabin. If you went back alone, you would drink it all before I got back.”
It was possibly the lamest excuse he had came up with in awhile, but he hoped that he had masked the fact that he really wanted to go in because he was freezing his ass off and wanted to relax in front of a comfy fire and drown his sorrows with vodka before going to bed.
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Post by Finland on Aug 17, 2011 11:47:05 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that the sound of Tino’s teeth clacking together from the shivers seizing his jaw was beginning to become quite audible, even over the intensifying storm. The wind pushing back against his face as he descended the slope hadn’t helped, either. By the time he reached the bottom, he felt even more frozen than ever, the exposed skin of his face completely numb and his nose and cheeks bright red from the bitterly cold snow landing against them. Little glass flakes clung to what blonde hair his hat didn’t cover, giving it an almost pretty glisten. Tino shook them away at once.
Finland was so cold, in fact, that he almost couldn’t will himself to react when he saw Russia plummeting towards him. It was his premonition coming true. What would the news headlines read tomorrow? Finnish skier crushed by Russian; Finland and Russia at war (again)!
The Finn made a stiff, ineffective scramble, skis slipping on powder. Fortunately for him, who was making absolutely no progress as he seemed to run in place on his icy skis, the Soviet was able to stop a few centimeters away. Even so, they ended up uncomfortably close, and so Tino finally managed to get his poles into the snow and push away. He saw Ivan do the same.
So maybe going down together wasn’t the best idea.
“M-Much better,” Tino managed to chatter out. He hoped Ivan hadn’t heard the way his jaw had twitched from the cold, but given the volume of the wind, he was beginning to doubt that Ivan had heard any of it.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to be indoors right now with a nice bottle of your favorite spirit, Tino? Maybe by a nice warm fire…”
Said Finn quirked a brow at the wistful remark. It was so sudden and out of place… Was that Russia’s way of saying he’d had enough? Had the cold broken him at last? A smirk crept across the smaller blonde’s mouth until it tugged painfully at a crack in his lip and made him drop the smile. Nonetheless, this could only mean one thing: Ivan, home of General Winter himself, had given in before him. Victory.
Another gust of wind throwing snow like a hundred little needles forced Tino to consider the Soviet’s words, then. Maybe it didn’t sound so bad. He pictured the cozy little cabin and himself in it, wrapped in a heavy fleece blanket, perched in front of the fireplace and sipping shots of koskenkorva until pleasantly intoxicated with a bubbly warmth. Or maybe he would pay a visit to the sauna, letting the heat work the soreness out of his tired knees and rubbing down his wind-chapped skin with warm pine tar soap. Come to think of it, he hadn’t eaten yet today, had he? So maybe some lohikeitto with leipäjuusto and cloudberry jam. Yes, it did sound nice, didn’t it?
“What I mean is that it’s been a long day and I can understand if you want to go back to the comfort of the cabin. I could stay out here all night and do this personally, but then I would miss out on the vodka that our bosses must have been nice enough to provide us with back at the cabin. If you went back alone, you would drink it all before I got back.”
The Nordic scoffed and rolled his eyes. “If you’re cold, Ivan, I have no problem taking you back to the cabin. I mean, I’m not cold, of course,” he added quickly to quell any suspicions Ivan might have had, continuing, “but it would look bad to let my guest freeze to death.” The shiver that shook his small frame probably defeated his message. With luck, Ivan couldn’t tell how cold he was and how badly he wanted to go home and thaw out. Tino had been frozen for quite some time, now, and even if they did quit, there was still the long walk home through the brewing blizzard to think about.
Pulling his cap down for the hundredth time that day, Tino gave a decisive, “Well, then, let’s go get our things and have that drink,” and planted his poles, beginning the shuffling trek back to the locker. The two had ended up near the back side of the mountain, tacking on at least an extra half hour to their homeward hike. There were always the buses he had mentioned earlier that morning, but Tino was not going to be the one to suggest them.
I’m not weak like Russia is, he lied to himself even as he whimpered from a sudden gust slicing at his face.
Finland looked up as he marched on, sliding one ski in front of the other. The sky that had been so blue and innocent this morning was blanketed with a thick, grey cloud cover, though it was nearly impossible to see by the swirling blizzard taking place all around them. He wondered if the sauna would even be able to warm him up since all this was taking place inside his body and he once again began to wonder what it would have been like to have been born as a southern nation.
Mediterranean, he longingly pondered, picturing himself sitting on a warm beach without having to wear a jacket, surrounded by women in bikinis and tanned. He tried to recall any point in his life in which he’d been anything besides a pale pink, but could not. Yes, tan would be an adventure. In the winter, there would be sunlight and everything wouldn’t be hidden under several centimeters of snow! Perhaps he’d consider a winter home in Italy or Morocco.
When the locker came into view, Tino realized he’d let his mind wander throughout the duration of the walk. I hope I didn’t accidentally ignore Ivan. Oh, well.
“Wait here,” Tino motioned to the bench they’d sat on when they first arrived. “Go ahead and take your skis off. I’ll get our shoes.” After popping the latches on his own skis and stashing them under the bench, the Finn hobbled inside, worming his way through the crowd of people that had built up in the tiny building. If Tino was at all comfortable in large crowds, the body heat would have been nice, but he was not at all comfortable in large crowds. Quickly, he gathered his and Ivan’s shoes and returned to the Russian, plopping himself down beside him and making quick work of the bulky ski boots.
He felt like he should say something to Russia to finish up the lesson, but he wasn’t sure exactly what needed to be said. “Your knees will be tired later.” Close enough.
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Post by Russia on Aug 28, 2011 17:26:56 GMT -5
The snow was so cold it made Ivan almost ready to just quietly agree with the Finnish nation about who exactly was the colder of them. So long as they got back indoors, it almost seemed to not matter who had been the one to suggest going in first. Almost. Of course there could be no confusion as to the fact that Finland was the one who was not able to handle the weather. Tino was clearly the one who wanted to go in the most, and Ivan was not ready to quietly let the Finn think otherwise yet.
“But it would look bad to let my guest freeze to death.”
“No need to worry about that. As far as cold weather goes this is nothing. I’ve been in much worse.” His voice was so very quiet though, and the wind was picking up with every minute it seemed so he was not sure if his boast had been heard in it’s entirety. The Soviet stared hard at the Finn for a moment or two, looking for any signs of coldness that he could use against the other nation if they ended up having to argue about who was the most chilled and whose idea it actually was to go inside. A visible shiver in the smaller blonde would have usually been enough to make Ivan laugh in triumph, but since his own larger form trembled slightly at a sudden gust of icy chill, he decided to drop the matter for now and keep silent. Besides, he knew he was the superior nation when it came to cold tolerance, right? So why argue with Tino, who was so clearly just jealous?
A flurry of heavy snowflakes blocked the Finnish nation from vision for a few seconds. He could still hear the other man luckily, and agreed with his idea of heading back for their things. Having been stuck out in many blizzards over the course of his life, Ivan knew that this one had yet to reach it’s worse and hopefully they would be snug and warm in their cabin by the time it did. If not, and they found themselves stuck out in the whiteout with the temperature dropping dramatically, then he fully intended to steal Finland’s coat as well. If they ended up stranded in the weather it would be Tino’s fault anyways.
Tino was moving again, and Russia started off after him, making his way through the deepening snow with some difficulty. It was so fine and powdery, which was better than the clumpy wet snow, however still not the easiest to walk through on skis for someone not used to wearing them as much. He was surely getting the hang of them, having been wearing them for a not small portion of the day, but he had yet to get to the point of comfort that a more seasoned skier like Finland would probably have.
The wind was howling around them and visibility was getting lower and lower as they trudged onwards. With the bone chilling wind shoving against him with a cold fury and his toes starting to feel numb, Ivan let his mind wander to images of sunflowers and sunshine almost as if it would help make him feel better in his current situation. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could pick up our landmasses and move them closer to the equator?” He questioned aloud as he instinctively followed the smaller shape in front of him. “Though the General has been a great help to me in the past, so maybe I would only have my lands further south for some of the year.” He pondered the idea, not really noticing that Finland was silent and either had not heard him or was choosing not to answer. No answer meant that the other nation was in agreement in his mind anyways.
All too soon it seemed, his dreams of sunflowers, sunshine and moving landmasses was interrupted by Finland suddenly speaking up and telling him to wait there. The Russian blinked in surprise before realizing that they were back to the area where they had stashed their stuff earlier. And they weren’t alone, from within the building the vile sound of Tino’s native tongue could barely be heard over the sounds of the wind. Annoyed, Ivan found himself wishing the wind were louder so as to block all the sounds of Finnish being spoken.
“Go ahead and take your skis off. I’ll get our shoes.”
He sat down on the bench and quickly set to work getting his skis off. He almost didn’t notice at first when Tino had returned, but the feeling of someone suddenly plopping down on the bench besides him was enough to make him look up. Seeing his familiar footwear, the Soviet made to remove his ski boots next before grabbing onto the darker army boots, quickly shoving them on.
“Your knees will be tired later.”
For a moment, Ivan merely stared at the Finn. At least he would have the bed to himself and be able to rest his tired knees. That would definitely help dull some of the fatigue. Maybe a nice hot shower before retiring would be a good idea too, since Ivan had enough aches and pains to deal with already considering the current state of his government. The ever-present throbbing in his head had not been as noticeable when he had been focused on skiing, but it was still there as a reminder that all was not well within the Soviet Union. Another stark reminder of his current poor condition was the fact that their little ski trip had actually tired him. Back before things had reached their current levels of stagnation, such a trip would have definitely not been enough to wind him so much. He used to do much more physical activity every single day during the last world war. It was frustrating to actually feel like he needed to rest up after such relatively little activity.
“I don’t tire out so easily.” The Soviet lied, turning his sights away from Finland and trying to see through the increasing whiteout in front of them. He wished he could have sounded more convincing with that lie. He rose to his feet when Finland seemed to be ready, prepared to follow the smaller nation through the heavy snowfall.
It felt so good to be walking in his normal footwear again. With the snow deepening all around them, trudging through was getting more and more difficult the further they went. As undeniably pretty as the crystalline flakes were, the unhinged Russian was convinced that they were plotting against he and Finland. Even with his goggles on to block them from getting into his eyes, they still continued to their insistent assault, making him have to reach up more than once to stop what he saw as their devious plan to collect on his goggles and block his field of vision. Not stopping or slowing his pace as he followed the Finnish form ahead of him, he was certain that by the time they reached the cabin both he and Finland would have enough snow collected on them to resemble snowmen.
The torturously long walk was mostly silent on Russia’s end. Though he kept Finland in his limited field of sight, if the Finn was saying anything then his words were swallowed up by the howling wind and the sometimes loud cracking sounds of the brittle pine trees as they were overloaded with snow. In reality the walk was not nearly as long as it seemed, but with the near whiteout and harsh conditions it seemed to take them eternity to reach their cabin, which was now skirted by a deep drift of snow. Stepping onto the porch, Ivan reached up and swept some of the snow from his flaxen hair and then his broad shoulders before making to enter the cabin.
“Let’s hope our bosses were merciful and left us some alcohol here.” He stated, a hint of worry coloring his tone as he imagined the horror of finding out that they had no liquor. He didn’t want to have to go anywhere to find some in a blizzard. “Since they are expecting us to have to try and get along here, you would think they would be sure to leave us something strong.”
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Post by Finland on Sept 5, 2011 9:05:26 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that the coffee Finland had consumed earlier that morning was beginning to turn into ice crystals far in the depths of his bladder. If he’d actually been able to feel anything, it probably would’ve been very painful and he would have had to make the trip hunched over and mumbling something about thousands of needles stabbing him in the gut. Fortunately for him, he was quite numb and had been for the past few hours. The sudden blizzard that had whipped up outside, marring road signs and blocking buildings from view and just generally making the trip a veritable Hell, was still raging inside his body, making him numb from the inside out.
Finland mulled over that thought as he tramped along the road to the house. He was in the midst of the blizzard that was happening inside his body. So was it that the drop in body temperature had caused the snow, or did the snow cause the hypothermia? Whoa, he thought, eyes wide. I think I blew my own mind![/i]
It was rare that Tino thought too hard on the nature of nation-spirits, but there was little else to do when walking through an opposite-of-blackout with that Russian. Whichever came first in the cycle of hypothermia and blizzard, the Nordic decided, at least the lack of heat inside was keeping his goggles from fogging up too badly.
Ivan had asserted earlier that he was not tired and Tino wished the same could be said for him. He felt bulky and unbalanced as he trudged along with his skis over his shoulder, feet numb and muscles in his legs aching. Maybe Ivan had some secret Soviet technique his boss had taught him to prevent him from getting aches after heavy activity? The Finn would just have to get it out of him somehow. Maybe if he got him drunk he’d be compliant? That shouldn’t be too hard of a chore. Or maybe he’d trade information for information – Tino had just spent the day teaching him to ski, after all.
No way,[/color] he decided, sneaking a glance back at the Russian. That was not a hard feat as the concentration of snowflakes between them was heavier than ever and visibility was increasingly limited. I’d definitely have to get him drunk first.
They were soon out of the city and trudged on in snowy silence until their cabin became visible, though just barely, though, because of the snowflakes. Just a small jaunt up the steps and the front door was before them. Tino leaned his skis against the bannister, pulled off a glove with chattering teeth and searched numbly through a pocket for the house key.
“Let’s hope our bosses were merciful and left us some alcohol here. Since they are expecting us to have to try and get along here, you would think they would be sure to leave us something strong.”
“Mmhm,” Finland agreed, mouth still occupied with the glove. The heat from inside was so close he could practically taste it. Maybe it was just because his brain was frozen, but he almost could have sworn that he heard a small voice beckoning, Come sit by me, Tino… Let me warm you up.
Finland wondered if all fireplaces could talk or if he’d caught Russia’s craziness like a virus. The latter seemed more viable.
At last, the lock turned and clicked open and the warmth of the cabin was theirs for the taking. Tino toed off his snow-caked boots at the door and motioned for Ivan to do the same before finally opening the door. He felt almost like he was receiving a medal. He played out the scenario in his head: For wasting a perfectly good weekend training a Russian how to ski – a most daunting task only to be accomplished only by a true hero – Herra Tino Väinämöinen will now receive a warm spot in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a wool blanket with a bottle of koskenkorva! Of course the fantasy crowd went wild. A crowd of women only,[/color] Tino adjusted with a slight grin. That would be the best.[/color]
Once inside the house, he gave a mighty stretch as the warmth permeated his tired bones. He felt the snow in his bangs turn to water almost instantly as he went to work shucking off layers of clothes.
“I’m soaked,” the Nordic commented, uncomfortably aware that he was, once again, alone in the cabin with the Russian. “So I’m going to get changed. Um, make yourself at home, I guess.”
That sounded pretty good. His boss would be so proud at how good of a host Tino had been this entire time. With any luck, he’d never be crazy enough to suggest anything like this ever again. Finland didn’t even want to imagine what his boss would do if he wasn’t satisfied with the outcome of this experiment.
Gathering up his warm pajamas, the Finn made his way to the bathroom to change, peeling off the many layers of thermals and jackets and ski pants and slipping into the soft, warm sleep clothes. The wet clothes were flung haphazardly over the shower curtain rod to dry (such housekeeping manner was customary in any bachelor’s home, so Tino figured Ivan would be used to it) before he breezed through the living room and into the kitchen. It only took minimal rummaging through cupboards before he found his target: a brand new bottle of Finlandia. He would have preferred kossu, but alcohol was alcohol. And the ribbon tied around the neck of the bottle was a nice touch that made him question his boss' intentions a little.
He wondered if he would be able to keep the alcohol a secret from Ivan, but knew that if the man was anything at all like him (which he was discovering, much to his discontent, to be true) that his alcohol-detecting senses would be going haywire already.
Knowing that, he found two shot glasses and poured one for each of them, then tucking the bottle under his arm and hobbling into the living room. He sat Russia's shot and the bottle on the coffee table and downed his own before collapsing onto the welcoming softness of the couch.
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Post by Russia on Sept 14, 2011 23:51:33 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that the relative warmth of inside the cabin seemed to almost seep out through the door as Ivan waited for Tino to get the keys out. Resting his hand against the wood impatiently, he could almost see the bright flames in the fireplace, and hear the merry crackling of burning wood from the fire to come. Of course he would need to re-light the fire in all liklihood, since the one that had been lit earlier had probably died down or gone out by now. Never a very patient nation, he narrowed his violet eyes in Tino’s direction as he waited for the Finn to finally unlock the door. At his cabin-mate’s indication, Ivan hastily removed his snow-caked boots as well to leave at the door. Finland was just lucky that he had planned to leave them at the door anyways. Otherwise, he would have been perfectly fine with just ignoring the other nation’s request and tromping in there with snowy boots anyways. Russia did not take orders from other nations and he could only hope that by seemingly complying with Tino’s demands, the other man would not be quick to assume that he did.
Wasting no time, Ivan made his way into the cabin, taking his wet coat and tossing it at a coat hook near the door. Being inside the cozy cabin at last felt heavenly. For a moment even, he completely forgot that he was still in enemy land and in a Finnish cabin. With Finland himself.
“I’m soaked.”
The voice reminded Ivan that as warm and good as things seemed now, he was still with what was one of his bitterest enemies. So long as Tino was there, there would be very little rest for the sore and tired Russian.
“So I’m going to get changed. Um, make yourself at home, I guess.”
Ivan smiled in spite of his displeasure at Tino acting as though he needed permission to make himself at home. As much as he hated it, his boss had made it painfully clear that for the duration of this trip, this was his home. So why should he need some Finn’s permission to make himself comfortable? Not that he could get comfortable anyways being just as wet as Finland probably was. More than anything, the blonde wanted a nice hot shower and then some warm dry clothes, complete with a big bottle of vodka. Since Finland was heading towards the bathroom, the Soviet instead approached the fireplace to start a fire and warm up some more. If Tino had the same idea he did, and wanted to jump in the shower before getting warmer clothing on, he certainly was not the type to want to walk in on him.
The fire from earlier was completely out by now, and only the warmth of the cabin attested to the fact that it had even been lit earlier. Gathering some small pieces of kindling from the wood pile nearby, the Russian arranged a teepee -like shape in the fireplace. Sticking some scraps of newspaper inside the small flammable structure, he grabbed one of the long wooden matches and struck it against the box, watching with pleasure as a flame erupted onto the end. Igniting the dry wood and paper, he tossed the match stick in as well and watched as the flames engulfed the cedar kindling with a hungry sounding crackle.
Holding out his hands to the flames, Ivan waited until the small sticks had some good red coals on them before adding some larger pieces of wood from the pile besides the fireplace. Standing, the Russian smiled to himself and enjoyed the feeling of numbness leaving his toes and fingers at a quicker rate. His ashen hair was already wet now from the melted snow, and the warmer he got it seemed the more he realized just how wet his was and how uncomfortable wet clothing could be.
He had not been standing besides the fire long when his mind started to wander to the possibility of alcohol again. He needed to find some, that much he was certain of. Turning his back to the fire, he considered places where Finland’s boss might have placed a bottle of heavenly spirits. The cabin was somewhat small, so there were not a lot of places. And there did not seem to be a liquor cabinet anywhere around. The kitchen seemed the next likeliest of places, and the strapping blonde was about to leave the comfort of the warm flames and go look there, when Tino suddenly made an appearance.
The Finn had been coming from the general direction of the kitchen, and he held two shot-glasses, confirming Ivan’s suspicions that Tino had had the same ideas about liquor. As the other man set the shots down, Ivan’s eyes wandered to the bottle itself as it was set on the coffee table besides his shot. He had no idea why there was a ribbon around the liquor, but he quickly decided not to ask. Finland’s boss was clearly a strange man. Moving over to the table, the soggy Russian grabbed his own shot of vodka and downed it, relishing the familiar taste and burn of the liquor. Nothing was ever as good as his own vodka of course, but he had to admit that Finland’s was not at all bad. Much better than some other nation’s vodka brands for sure. Namely America’s, which he had had the misfortune of trying last time his boss was on a political visit there.
Seizing the ornate bottle, the flaxen-haired Russian poured himself another shot eagerly. After downing it as well, he studied Finland for a moment in silence. “How many bottles did your boss leave us?” He hoped the number was high. It would take a lot of alcohol to help him forget the unpleasant company he was stuck with. “One bottle won’t last us long, so hopefully your boss left us well stocked.”
Setting his shot glass down on the table, Ivan was torn between the idea of taking a nice hot shower, and staying in the living room and drinking himself into oblivion. If there was more than one bottle, then surely there would be enough to last though. Even if Tino drank that entire bottle while Ivan was in the other room, there was no way he could drink up all the supply, right? Content that there was no way that Tino could make them vodka-less in one night, Ivan decided on that hot shower and dry clothes. “I’ll be back.” Not that he imagine Finland cared one way or another if he returned to the comfortable living room.
Russia found Finland’s wet ski clothing hanging over the shower rod, and wasted no time in pushing them out of the shower curtain’s way. Quickly pulling his own wet and uncomfortable attire off, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on, sucking in a breath as he was blasted with the first spray of cold water. Thankfully the cabin did have hot water at least, and it did not take long for it to help soothe away some of the aches from the day’s skiing adventures.
After running most of the hot water out, Ivan finally stepped out of the shower and dried off a bit, tossing Tino’s clothing back up onto the shower rod along with his own and his towl. The last thing he needed was a pissed off Finn complaining that his clothes never got to dry out because they were crumpled on the floor the whole time. Ivan knew that he couldn’t be there to make sure the other nation would not take revenge and do the same to him sometime if he were to just leave them on the floor. Pulling on some warm nightclothes, the violet-eyed Soviet made his way back out towards the fireplace, smelling pleasantly of the cheap hotel-quality soap that had been left for them.
His head still throbbing from the political problems he was dealing with, the Russian settled on the couch as far away from Finland as he could be whilst still remaining within reach of the vodka. Putting on his usual insane façade of happiness, he reached for the bottle once more, ready to drink some more problems away. ________________________________________ ((Late! post is late. Apologies I will be faster next time for sure. Hope I gave you enough to work with here.))
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Post by Finland on Sept 21, 2011 11:26:10 GMT -5
The snow was so cold that that bird from earlier, now soaring over the wintery Lappish terrain, definitely had ice forming on its wings. “Pull up! You’re losing altitude!” yelled the bird’s wingman. “It’s too late; my wings are frozen!” cried the frozen one as he plummeted in a spiral towards the bitterly cold earth. “Tell my wife and eggs I love them,” was the bird’s last command before he plopped into a mound of frozen powder.
But Tino didn’t care about the trials of birds. He was several feet below the flock in the warmth and comfort of his cabin, happily on his way to becoming intoxicated. Ivan had left to go somewhere –take a shower or use the bathroom, or something; with this much alcohol in his blood, Tino didn’t remember nor care – and the Finn had managed to finish off half the bottle of vodka himself. He was currently slumped down against the pillows of the sofa, feet propped against the coffee table before him and legs unceremoniously spread. The Finlandia bottle from which he’d been nursing was sat between his ankles, a well thought-out precaution. If I get too drunk, he’d told himself, I’ll still be able to find the bottle if it’s between my legs.
Ivan had seemed worried that there wouldn’t be enough of the precious liquor to go around when he’d asked “How many bottles did your boss leave us? One bottle won’t last us long, so hopefully your boss left us well stocked.”
“I saw at least five,” Tino had responded as he’d been pouring himself a shot, much less inebriated then. “So if this one’s gone by the time you get back, you can hardly blame me for not caring.” With a slight grin, he had lifted the small glass and held it towards Russia before giving a quick “Kippis” and knocking the vodka back.
Several minutes had passed since he’d last seen Russia and Finland was now what one might consider to be hammered. A warm, rosy blush had spread across his cheeks as he continued to defrost by the fireplace. The Russian had done an okay job with building the fire. Just okay. Tino could have done better, of course. Or so he told himself. He’d made himself content just resting on the couch and watching the raging blizzard through the large picture window in the living room. If the frozen hell hadn’t have been affecting his human body, Tino would have considered it almost pretty. He noted that the sky behind the thick, gray clouds seemed much darker, now. A quick peek at his watch (or not so quick given that it took several seconds for him to remember how a watch worked – what division of time does the little hand mean?)confirmed that the sun would be setting soon.
As Finland leaned forward to fill his shot glass once again, and in the process spilling a good bit of the drink on the table, he saw Ivan reappear out of the corner of his eye. He lifted his glass again in greeting. At least, he attempted to raise his glass in greeting. By the time he’d managed to fumble it into his hands and lift it up, Russia had moved from the spot he was toasting towards and was, instead, sitting on the couch. “What took you so long? ‘S almost gone,” he teased in a slur, looking down between his flannel-covered legs to the abused bottle of vodka sitting there between. His gaze shifted to Russia, then, who was keeping his distance well.
His eyes lagged to track the Soviet’s movements as he reached for the bottle and poured himself a shot. The glasses held an annoyingly small volume of alcohol, Tino’s hazy mind noted. Wouldn’t it be better to just use a tumbler or mug? He would have returned to the kitchen to acquire a proper vessel, but that would mean he’d have to bring one for Ivan, too, and that would mean Ivan would deplete their supply faster. Shot glasses were fine, the drunk little Nordic concluded, pulling idly at the drawstrings of his pants.
“How long are you here for, again?” Tino asked in such a voice that it seemed as though an answer with a big number would have greatly frustrated him. “What was it – two days? Three?” He paused to take another shot, then, feeling much more relaxed than before even though Ivan was just an arm’s length away. “We already did what our bosses told us to do; I taught you to ski.” He leaned forward to reach for the bottle, freezing in mid motion to chuckle and add, “Well, kinda.”
Finland frowned as the soft fabric of his pants came into contact with the puddle of vodka he’d spilled earlier and eagerly absorbed it. If there had been any question before, now he was positive that he was going to smell like a bar. “But anyway, we’re done, so I dunno what we’re s’posed to do now,” he concluded at last.
“Really tired, though, ‘n it doesn’t look like we’re going to be going anywhere with the storm like that,” he added with a nod to the window. “Y’want some food or somethin’? Think I’m gonna sleep, but if you want some food there’s probably some here.” Tino was already on his unsteady feet and headed towards the bedroom, casting a glance back over his shoulder at Ivan for a response that would likely be beyond the scope of his comprehension when considering the vodka bottle, between the two of them, was now completely empty.
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