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Post by Russia on Dec 5, 2010 5:48:11 GMT -5
((Before you kill me for the silly name, Toris, blame Iron Maiden. I can change it tomorrow though. After sleep. XD))November 12th of 1904Of all the roles Russia had played in various wars over his lifetime, he decided that “Naval Officer” was perhaps the very worst. It wasn’t that he hated the sea. He found it lovely to look at from the safety of shore. What he despised was being trapped on a ship, in the middle of a heated battle with Japanese forces that never seemed to give up. The constant rocking of the boat and explosions of gun fire all around had been enough to make the tall Russian more than a little queasy. It seemed every time there had been a calm in the fighting, he had found himself leaning over the side of the ship and praying for a calmer stomach and land. Near the end of his most recent bout of fighting in the east, Russia had been tempted to just hand Port Arthur over to Japan so he could get back on dry land and avoid boats again altogether for awhile. His boss would never allow it however, and whether or not he would actually give up a position was shaky anyways in reality. No matter how much he had fantasized about it while defending Port Arthur. The truth was, Russia was just as land-hungry as his Tsar appeared to be, and was not about to let the Japanese win this war if he could avoid it at all. But for now, the tired Russian was once again back on the blessedly dry land of his capitol city, and en route to the Winter Palace to relax and inform his leader of the current situation in their prized warm-water port. With winter approaching, the situation was sure to take a turn for the worse, and he hoped his Tsar had some master plan to help speed them towards victory. He probably didn’t. It had been Russia’s experience that his leader could be rather clueless when it came to dealing with their now Japanese foes. The negotiations had been proof of that. In all honesty though, the violet eyed nation couldn’t say that he would have done anything differently. He did not want the war for the same reasons that the Tsar must have, but as a nation, he loved gaining and keeping new land, and was not about to agree to Japan’s crazy agreement. So in a way, as much as he hated being shoved onto the Port Arthur front, and despite the issues he had with his boss recently, he couldn’t blame the man for his lack of response to the Japanese agreement proposal. Glancing around at the familiar sites of the Palace Embankment, Ivan felt a wave of contentment. It was colder in St. Petersburg than it had been in Port Arthur, but he still felt far more at ease here than anywhere else; warm or not. This was his capitol after all, and he was sure the few officers that had returned with him agreed that this place was far superior than what they were fighting over. Who couldn’t love a city as beautiful as this? With its canals and gorgeous architecture, who wouldn’t be happy to return home here? Smiling ear to ear, he turned in the saddle slightly and glanced to the officer on his left, who was surprisingly wearing a somber frown as he rode almost mechanically towards the Palace Square. Unlike the nation himself, these officers did not actually live in the Winter Palace. Likely, they would find themselves returning to their various small ramshackle homes after their business at the Palace was through. Ivan couldn’t help but feel they should be happier though, after all, they had it better off than the increasing number of his peasant population. He turned his thoughts away from his less fortunate citizens. It was such a depressing and confusing topic, and it hurt his head just to think about it. Though the skies had been grey all day, the snow was only just beginning to fall again as Russia and his companions arrived at the gilded gates to the Winter Palace. The rhythmic hoof beats of the horses he and the other two rode had been so peaceful and made daydreaming so easy, that had the snowy white horse of his not stopped of its own accord, Russia would have ridden right into the ornate gate. Two unamed servants immidiatly opened the gates for them. Realizing that they had reached their destination, Ivan dismounted the white mare and handed the reins over to one of the servants before merrily making his way past the gates and gardens and into the palace itself. The excitment at being home again drove off his initial weariness, and the tall Russian nation made his way past the “French rooms” and towards his own personal space. Since the assassination of Alexander the second, the imperial family rarely lived here, but Russia himself was not afraid to remain in the Palace; even when his boss and family were away at their other abode. He had the servants for company after all; nations and humans alike. Since his boss had ordered him back to St. Petersburg for the time being, he was fairly certain the man was around the palace somewhere though. For whenever Ivan decided to seek him out and fill him in on the latest happenings at the port. For now, he was in no hurry for that encounter. Hot black tea and some relaxation were far more appealing. Maybe after that he could go out into the city itself and prowl around. It wasn’t much for entertainment, but it was better than being cooped up inside talking to the boss. Especially since the war was not really going in a direction either his boss or himself could be happy with. The ash blonde nation paused by one of the kitchens, remembering his desire for hot tea. If one of the servants was about, he could order them to take some up to his room. All the better if his favorite Lithuanian servant was prowling around the kitchen, then he would have instant company as well. Toris was so odd sometimes, it was downright cute. Now that he had beaten the other nation into shape properly, Ivan found himself thoroughly enjoying his company. Even if their interactions were sometimes just him silently following the other man around and watching him clean. Pushing the door to the kitchen open, the Russian scanned the room. “Toris?” He was careful to use the nation’s human name, in case someone other than Lithuania was lurking around. Not many people knew about personified countries, and he wanted to avoid looking like he was calling for a chunk of land off to the west. He really didn't like the idea of having his sanity in question. ((Okay, I have some lovely links to research stuff I used. I already have an actual book on St. Petersburg, so I didn’t need a reference for the Winter Palace and the various facts about it. If you need maps or anything, I can surely scan a few pages of my book and send them your way. ~ I have a lovely full color map of the Palace itself, as well as a timeline for the city. I am tired and it is 2:15AM here, so please excuse any typos and weird grammar.
Here is a link for the uniforms used in 1904 for the Russians. www.lead-adventure.de/index.php?topic=16504.0
I have Vanya wearing a grey overcoat, something like the man in front in this pic here: i53.photobucket.com/albums/g53/tainted_wolf/Russo1.jpg
And here is a timeline for the Russo-Japanese War. www.russojapanesewar.com/time-line.html ))
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Post by Lithuania on Dec 5, 2010 19:09:13 GMT -5
The kitchen was pandemonium, bubbling over with a myriad of clashing sounds and smells, servants bustling about and jostling each other, various pots and pans bubbling over on the stove, the chef barking orders and arguing with the cook.
While the Winter Palace was a sought-after place of employment for any servant, the grand surroundings and prestige of serving Russia's nobility did not exempt the staff from the fact that they were as overworked and underpaid as any other working class citizen in Russia at the time. And a current outbreak of influenza among the staff had left them woefully short on manpower
Even among servants, there was a hierarchy, and only a certain class of domestic staff could be found in the back room, elbow deep in dishwater, scrubbing pots and pans. But there, with his chestnut hair loosely tied back in a messy ponytail, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his uniform jacket slung over the back of a wooden chair, stood Toris Lorinaitis. It didn't matter that he happened to be the butler and personal secretary to the notoriously powerful and strangely secretive Ivan Braginski, that what he was doing was completely undignified and that he'd already worked a full day putting his absent master's paperwork in order and cleaning his quarters until they were spotless. No, as soon as the pathologically helpful little nation had heard that the kitchen staff were having a crisis, he'd ran downstairs and pitched in with everyone else. He had a friendly, easygoing attitude and a willingness to help that generally made him generally popular among the staff, despite being so outwardly young and not a native Russian.
There was something that might have been almost heartbreaking about his humbling situation but, in all honesty, after his failed uprising in the 1860's and Ivan's subsequent brutality, Toris was just grateful that things had settled down into something bearable again, even if it meant putting his pride and dreams of independence on the backburner for a little while. Ivan had seemed to take his latest uprising so personally, as though there had been some kind of genuine hurt behind his vicious punishment. And Toris had the distinct impression that the other nation didn't really trust him; after all, he was forever silently following him about while he did his chores. But then, did Ivan really trust anybody?
He'd found that, for all Ivan made him nervous, uncomfortable and downright afraid, it was very difficult to hate the violet eyed nation. There was a child-like simplicity to his demeanour which sparked some strange, almost protective instinct in Toris, a kind of charming vulnerability which existed just below the surface of his calmly eccentric and slightly sinister exterior. Ivan was regarded by most of the staff, and perhaps even the other nobility, as something of an odd creature, a close confidant of the Czar, but not particularly socially desirable. Toris had often heard unkind things whispered about him behind his back. It angered him somewhat. None of the nobility, or the court or the servants had any inkling of the kind of weight that Ivan was bearing on those broad shoulders, of the blood and pain and loneliness that his life had been steeped in. And he might not have possessed the outward obsequiousness of many of the Csar's inner circle but Toris knew that he was better read, better educated and more intelligent than most of the residents of the Winter Palace and there was often something slightly hypnotic about being in his company. No, despite everything, Toris regarded his slightly unhinged captor with a quiet, suppressed awe.
Not that it particularly mattered what he thought of Ivan. And he was fairly certain that the other nation did not spend nearly so much time analysing Toris' character.
Although it was really, really unnerving when Ivan had taken to stalking him around the palace, hovering around and watching him silently. He wondered if that was just another way of keeping him down, a reminder that he could never, ever get away with stepping out of line again.
He found himself half thinking of his strange and alarming master and half listening with a bemused smile to some tawdry gossip that was taking place between two maids working behind him, when the head chef, a brusque, overweight man, burst into the back room.
“There you are, Lorinaitis!” he called sharply. “General Braginski just came in looking for you. Something about wanting tea.”
Immediately the brunette went white and dropped the pot he was holding into the tepid water with a loud clang. Had Ivan been due back today? He could have sworn the Russian wasn't due back for another few days. Was he early, or had Toris made some awful mistake?
“Oh hell...” he muttered under his breath with a grimace to the maids he'd been helping, “I have to run.”
Drying his arms hastily on a towel, he grabbed a heavy iron kettle and hurriedly filled it with water, letting it boil on the stove while he threw together a tea set with the kind of practised speed that came from years of servitude. By the time the water had boiled, a beautifully presented tea tray was sitting on the work surface, and he'd even managed to make puppy eyes at the notoriously bad tempered cook and beg some freshly baked scones and a pot of jam from the larder.
He yanked down his shirt sleeves and threw his now-crumpled jacket on as he picked up the tray and made his way through the ornate corridors of the Winter Palace, occasionally respectfully stopping to bow his head and let nobility pass. They typically ignored him, with no idea whatsoever that he was a nation, not simply another invisible servant. And Toris, for his part, took it on the chin.
As he reached Ivan's quarters, he nudged the door open gently, peering cautiously around the doorframe. There he caught sight of the other nation, still in his grey army overcoat, and he met those startling violet eyes and felt a little lurch in the pit of his stomach.
“Sir!” he blurted out and stopped in front of him, brushing his messy brown hair away from his face and blushing slightly red at he glanced down at his dishevelled uniform. “You're home! I'm so sorry...I was helping out through in the back rooms at the kitchens and...I wasn't expecting...” He cleared his throat apologetically as he cut himself off, quite certain that Ivan didn't really care if he'd spent his free afternoon scrubbing pots.
“I brought you tea. And something to eat, if you're hungry. You must have had a long journey.” He set the tray down on the mahogany coffee table and wrung his hands as he looked up at the taller nation anxiously. He had a hundred and one questions he wanted to ask, about his time away, about the war, about the world outside of the walls and gardens of the Palace that he was so rarely allowed to leave. He realised that he was surprisingly glad to see Ivan back and that, perhaps he hadn't admitted it to himself, but the blonde's soft and strange observations were far preferable to the loud, pedestrian chatter of the other servants. Even if there was something about Ivan that made him so very, profoundly nervous. He realised that his breathing was just a little too fast, and that his palms were inexplicably clammy.
“D...do you need anything else?” he enquired hesitantly, hovering a little. He was half-hoping that Ivan might be in one of those moods where he asked him to stay and talk awhile. But then again, he was also desperate to bolt out of the door.
“I can have the cook make you a proper meal if you'd prefer?”
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Post by Russia on Dec 7, 2010 3:25:00 GMT -5
Making his way into the warm, jostling kitchen, the blonde nation saw no sign of his personal servant. There were so many other servants bustling about though, that he figured he might just be overlooking him. He doubted his faithful Lithuanian could hear his calls over the noises of the kitchen anyways. His eyes immediately began to search the moving kitchen staff, looking for any sign of brown hair and a more effeminate face. He wasted no time at all in moving through the servants, grabbing anyone with a similar hair color to Toris and roughly spinning them around to face him. Much to his dismay, none of them turned out to actually be who he was looking for. The closest he came was a slender brunette woman whom he had grabbed as she was adding wood to a stove. Releasing her with a sigh, he turned his attention to the head chef, who had no doubt came over to see what the hell the General was doing to his staff.
“Can I help you General sir?” the plump, dark-haired Russian asked him courteously, his eyes lingering on Ivan’s dark grey coat and decorations.
“Have you seen Toris?” Ivan glanced around the kitchen briefly once more before staring at the chef again. “That’s Toris…Lorinaitis.” He hoped he had gotten the other nation’s last name right. It was such an odd sounding name, and even though Toris himself had told it to him before, he could never seem to remember it right most days. “If you see him, tell him I would like some tea brought to my quarters.” He gave the chef a bright smile before patting him on the shoulder in what he thought of as a friendly gesture, but with enough strength to nearly cause the poor chef’s knees to buckle.
Making his way past the curious servants and out into the hall again, he considered where that Baltic could possibly be hiding. He was probably finding some chores to keep himself busy somewhere around the palace. If there was one thing that Ivan had noticed about the meek brunette, it was that he seemed to really enjoy chores. The other nation was always doing them these days, and he did them with such quickness that it led Russia to the completely irrational conclusion that he now enjoyed them. It was as though he just couldn’t wait to finish one chore and move on to the next. It was certainly an admirable trait. Russia liked certain types of physical labor as well, but even on his most productive days he never had been able to go about tasks as eagerly as Toris. And he did not care for household chores so much as building projects to begin with. He considered it a good thing he had the other nation staying with him, it meant Russia did not have to do any of those tasks that he found more boring, and Toris could have all the fun he wanted with them. A perfect arrangement.
Russia's favorite job was fighting on the front lines. Not on some boat, but out there on land shooting and stabbing anything that wore enemy colors. He lived for the thrill of battle and the promise of expansion. So long as there was something going on to keep him busy, he was happy. The only thing about wars he did not like was when large numbers of his own people were killed. That was not so fun, but so long as his people were doing decently in the battles, he was more than a little content to fight and gain more land and power.
Entering his personal chambers, the peculiar Russian removed his gloves and looked around. The place looked immaculate, just as it had when he had left. Setting his thick gloves on one of the tables by the bed, he couldn’t find even a speck of dust. It was nice to know that even when he was away Lithuania took his job very seriously. Ivan shivered slightly and drew his scarf tighter around his throat. A fire had not been lit in the fireplace and the room was chilly enough to make him regret being so quick to remove his gloves. Sitting on the bed, Russia couldn’t help but feel the immaculate condition of the room made it appear more empty somehow.
The creak of the door opening caused him to turn his head, his eyes resting on the missing Baltic as he entered the room with a tray of tea. The chef must have found him after all, and given him Ivan’s request.
“Sir!”
The larger nation watched in amusement as Toris starting explaining where he had been and what he had been doing. So long as he was here now, with the requested tea, Ivan could care less that he had been helping in the back rooms of the kitchen.
“I brought you tea. And something to eat, if you're hungry. You must have had a long journey.”
He watched quietly as the Baltic set the tea tray down on the table, locking eyes with the smaller man as he looked up. “Too long. I am happy to be back home for a bit. I only hope that my boss won’t send me back to Port Arthur soon. I hate being on a ship for so long.” He grabbed the cup of hot black tea appreciatively, relishing the warmth that the cup provided his cold fingers with.
“D...do you need anything else? I can have the cook make you a proper meal if you'd prefer?”
He took a sip of the hellishly hot tea before answering the other nation. “Нет. This will do fine.” Holding the tea firmly in his left hand, the Russian reached out and grabbed the front of Lithuania’s outfit, pulling him closer and forcing him to down to sit on the bed besides himself. “Sit for awhile. I have not had a good conversational partner since I left.” He very seldom considered non-nations good for conversations. In his experience, they were far less interesting to talk to and even more reserved and strange than his fellow nations; this was especially true of the Russian royalty. People at the bars however could be very amusing to talk to, especially after he had had a decent amount of vodka. The men tended to seem more amicable then, and the women more beautiful somehow. St. Petersburg was just all around a better city after the liquor.
“Do you think we’ll win this war, Litva? Japan is such a tiny country, he can’t have that impressive of forces, can he? Surely we’ll be able to defeat him soon and keep our land, да?” He stared at the smaller man curiously before taking another swig of the tea. Full of all sorts of random questions, he couldn’t wait for Toris to even answer before he was asking him another. “Have you ever been on a ship?”
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Post by Lithuania on Dec 7, 2010 5:40:08 GMT -5
Toris nodded in quiet sympathy at Russia's declaration that he did not want to go back to Port Arthur. He might have said something else, but was abruptly startled by a large hand grasping the front of his shirt and hauling him onto the bed. He let out a startled squeak as he found himself half sat, half sprawled beside the larger nation. Straightening himself up hurriedly, he looked at Ivan anxiously for any sign of anger.
“Sit for awhile. I have not had a good conversational partner since I left.”
The brunette stared at Ivan, slightly startled by the knowledge that the other man considered him to be good conversation. A shy smile crept across his lips as the Russian continued.
“Do you think we’ll win this war, Litva? Japan is such a tiny country, he can’t have that impressive of forces, can he? Surely we’ll be able to defeat him soon and keep our land, да?”
Toris winced at the question, the answer to which was loaded with potential disaster. Should he be honest and say that he thought that, from the news he'd heard filtered down, Japan was actually putting up a surprisingly excellent strategy of attack? But that kind of candour might darken Ivan's mood, or earn him a slap. Should he lie to Ivan and tell him what he wanted to hear? But then, what if Russia knew he was lying? Just as he was starting to panic, Ivan followed up with a much more benign question and Toris exhaled a tiny little sigh of relief. While he found military strategy fascinating, he had no desire to end up in a conversation topic which might end with him accidentally causing offence.
“Ah...yes I have...” he said neutrally. “Back in the early 14th century, at Nemunas River when we fought the Teutonics. I didn't mind it so much.” He laughed to himself softly. “Well, I didn't really enjoy the fighting...I never really enjoyed battles...” he sighed and steered the subject back on track with a little smile. “But the sailing was nice. And we won. Which was also good.” He felt a brief little thrill as he recalled the victory, before looking down at his servant's uniform and then fixing his gaze on the tea set. “But that was a long time ago, I suppose.”
Emboldened slightly by the memory of his past triumphs, he looked up at Ivan and began quietly. “Kiko's boss was really out of order, attacking the fleet like that before declaring war. And he's putting up some vicious tactics, from what I hear. He seems willing to pour all his resources into this, but you have him out-manned and out-gunned. It...might go either way, but you're surely the stronger military power.”
He studied the other man for a long moment. Ivan's hair was in ever so slight disarray, no doubt from the ride home and he found himself seized with a sudden and completely inappropriate urge to reach over and smooth it down. In such close proximity, he could smell the cold, crisp outdoors scent which clung to his overcoat, mixed with a lingering scent of sea air and saddle leather. It made Toris wish, with all his heart, that he could take a horse and go riding. It had been one of his favourite past times once, when he'd still had a commonwealth and land to ride through.
He realised two things simultaneously. Firstly, that it was frigid cold in the room, and secondly that he was looking at Ivan a little too intently. With a start, he pulled his wide green eyes away from his master and stared at the empty hearth. And although he wasn't sure exactly why he was so jittery, those nerves were getting the better of him and he was suddenly anxious to be out of Ivan's personal space.
“It's so cold in here. I'm really sorry," he blurted out, "W...would you like me to set the fire, sir?”
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Post by Russia on Dec 7, 2010 18:35:27 GMT -5
“Ah...yes I have...”
He listened attentively to the other man, already trying to picture Toris on some sort of battleship. It seemed such a bizarre idea for such a meek little nation. All the time Ivan had spent with Lithuania, and he had forgotten that the other nation was not always so obedient and eager to please. He had fought with Lithuania in the past-before the commonwealth had been crushed under his boot-and not had such an easy or pleasant time with it. As much as he avoided thinking about it, in his younger days, the Lithuanian would have probably been able to force him into some sort of servitude if he had so desired.
The 14th century? It seemed like so very long ago. Too long for Ivan to have much in the ways of a memory of it. Then again, Ivan’s earliest memories were rather scattered and fragmented. The ones he still clung to and thought about, anyways. He had had a very violent and unpleasant nationhood at first, and some things were far better to simply forget. Toris must be very old to have been sailing around back them and defeating foes. It was amazing, since the nation himself did not look as old as Ivan physically.
The fact that Toris had not found the sailing unpleasant was startling. How could anyone enjoy being cooped up on a boat with all that constant motion? Toris further amazed him with the statement that he did not enjoy fighting. How could he have claimed so much land and power once, with lack of a proper bloodlust? It was fighting and battles that led to new conquered territories and victories. How could someone not enjoy that? And of course, the thrill of the kill was always alluring; or at least, it was for Russia. There was always a feeling of accomplishment with staining the ground in the blood of enemies. All the better if there was a layer of snow to allow the pretty crimson to show up better. He smiled gently at the thought before realizing that Toris had still been talking.
“But that was a long time ago, I suppose.”
Russia nodded a bit thoughtfully. “A very long time ago.” He agreed softly, staring at the contemplative nation besides him. “You’re so old, Toris.”
The smaller man finally decided to get back to the topic of the war for a moment, and Ivan listened in silence as he gave his input about Kiku’s boss and the outcome of the war. A feeling of pride swept over him. He was the stronger empire and he did have them out-manned, out-gunned and out-classed. The last one he was willing to figure might just be his personal opinion on the matter, but he was certain of the other two points. Of course he was the stronger military power. That was without a doubt in his mind. Toris’ apparent faith in his victory only made him more eager to hurry up and finish off those Japanese trouble-makers. He stared at Toris wildly, already envisioning the fields and seas of dead and dying foes. He was so sure that his forces were close to winning now. Despite all signs to the contrary.
Lithuania’s green eyes seemed to be focused on Ivan’s hair, causing him to reach up without thinking and run a hand through the sooty blonde in attempt to smooth it down. He was not personally so concerned with looks most days, but time with his female leaders especially had taught him that looking like you had just charged out of a wind tunnel was never a good thing. It was not “presentable," as they had said. Then again, he had to wonder if the flecks of gore decorating his coat and undershirt would be considered “presentable” either. Or all the mud he had somehow gotten on his boots and pants from the trip back home. Odd, since the trains and horses had not been particularly muddy. All the same, he would probably need a bath before going anywhere.
“It's so cold in here. I'm really sorry. W...would you like me to set the fire, sir?”
“You’re sorry because it’s cold? I don’t like the cold either, but it is nothing to be sorry over.” Ivan gave the Baltic a slightly amused look. “ A fire would be nice.” He added after a moment. “And I should wash up before going out again I think. If I decide to go out again.” A thought hit him as he scooted up onto the bed and leaned against the wooden headboard; ignoring the mud that chipped off his boots and onto the blue silken bedspread. “Toris, what do you do when you are not cleaning? That can’t be the only thing you ever do, yes?” He did not stop and consider how much free time he even allotted his servant, with all his demands.
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Post by Lithuania on Dec 7, 2010 21:57:51 GMT -5
“I um...” Toris got to his feet a little too quickly, stumbling in the process. He looked down at his shirt, which was splashed with stains from the murky dishwater. “I should probably do the same...I've been scrubbing pots all aft...”
He stopped abruptly with a horrified stare as the tall man kicked back on the bed and let the mud from his boots ruin the expensive sheets that Toris had, only a day previously, spent a full hour painstakingly hand-washing.
Oh my God in Heaven! Ivan, you're so messy...!
Looking away to hide a grimace, he turned his attentions to the hearth. Kneeling beside it, he began to deftly lay a fire, mumbling in non-committal assent to Ivan's statement about washing up, while privately lamenting the fact that the sheets would need washed and changed, on top of everything else. And of course, with a delicate, fine fabric like that, there would be no chance of just throwing it in with the rest of the laundry.
Seriously, don't I have enough work as it is? You've been back for five minutes and you're trashing the place. Would it kill you to take your boots off...?
He tried to keep his expression neutral as he concentrated on the fledgling flames, when the Russian caught him by surprise with another question.
“Toris, what do you do when you are not cleaning? That can’t be the only thing you ever do, yes?”
From where he was kneeling at the hearth, he looked around at Ivan in surprise. Was the other man really so completely oblivious to just how much work there was to be done around here? Between keeping Ivan's quarters immaculate and taking care of his paperwork, and making sure he essentially had everything he wanted, when he wanted it, from tea, to food, to getting his horse ready, to making sure his laundry was done and his clothes were laid out and...the list was so long that just thinking about it gave him a headache. Every time he thought he'd finished his chores, another one seemed to crop up. And then there was his compulsive inability to say no to people. He'd gotten a reputation among the staff for being a little too compliant, and seemed to end up finding himself helping out in situations that weren't even his responsibility, on top of everything else.
He looked around at the violet eyed nation and tried not to wince again at the muddied bedspread, meeting his gaze instead with a patient little smile.
“Well...sir...” he began softly, wondering how to tactfully break it to Ivan that he didn't really do much else except clean up after him and struggle to keep up with his whims. “I suppose I hadn't really thought much about it.” He wondered just how honest he should be. Keeping his tone pleasant and even, he looked down at the floor. “I used to do a lot of things. I loved riding. And gardening...I really loved to work in my garden. And cooking too...” he sighed softly under his breath. “And on rainy days, when there were no chores and things were peaceful and quiet, I would curl up in an old armchair and just read and read. I think that was my favourite thing of all.”
He checked himself, pulling himself out of his own memories and back into the reality of the here and now. He swallowed hard and tried to keep the faint sorrow from his expression as he looked up at Ivan. With some effort, he forced a gentle little laugh and a brave face.
“But times change, and the world moves on and my life is really different now. Taking care of things here is really a full time job.” He shrugged and gave Ivan a calm smile. Perhaps this wasn't how he wanted his life to turn out, but he found it hard to resent Russia, whose cruelty bore such a bafflingly innocent quality. Ivan might have been brutal at times, but he couldn't blame the other nation for wanting an empire and for setting his sights on conquest. Especially with how badly he'd been treated when he was younger. Bitterness was not in the naturally-obliging Lithuanian's nature and it was far better to try and make the best of things. Besides if he was being honest with himself, perhaps Toris fussed and fretted over him more than just a little more than the call of duty demanded.
“It's all right, though, sir,” he added brightly. “I really don't mind being busy.”
Fixing the messy Russian with an earnest look, he stood up and made his way back to where Ivan was sprawled on the bed, hovering uncertainly and clasping his hands in front of him, twisting his fingers slightly.
“Can I take your boots for you?” he blurted out, no longer able to tolerate the distress of Ivan's mud-flecked attire, and the havoc it was going to wreak on the room he'd spent hours cleaning. “And if you like, I can fetch you some clean clothes?”
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Post by Russia on Dec 9, 2010 21:10:19 GMT -5
“I suppose I hadn't really thought much about it.”
How could someone not think about what they liked to do? Ivan was baffled. Had someone asked him that question he could have told them in detail. Yet here Toris was, washing and cleaning all day, with no thought to more fun activities he might have time for when his work was done. Maybe he just finished up his chores and then went about the palace looking for more. Ivan concluded that his servant must be a workaholic.
“I used to do a lot of things. I loved riding. And gardening...I really loved to work in my garden. And cooking too...”
Propped against the headboard, he listened to Toris explain about how much he loved to read. They had tons of books in the library, he was amazed the other nation did not spend his free time there. Surely he could read Russian after all. If not, he should learn, since he would be staying with Ivan for a very long time. Forever, if the blonde had things his way.
“But times change, and the world moves on and my life is really different now. Taking care of things here is really a full time job.”
The other nation seemed happy enough to Ivan. He was even smiling and laughing and claiming that he did not mind being so busy. Still, the Russian had to wonder how anyone could be happy with not doing any of the things they had once loved. He would be devastated if chores kept him from fighting or drinking, for example. And here Toris was, relishing in the work and not bothered at all by the fact that his job seemed to take up all his time. If the strange Lithuanian was content with that though, all the better. The work needed done one way or another and Ivan himself did not want to do it.
His Lithuanian servant returned to the side of his bed with his hands clasped in front of him. The younger looking nation appeared as though he wanted to say something and Ivan meet his gaze expectantly. He figured Toris probably just wanted to ask permission to sit down again. He was a respectful country like that. Always asking for permission before doing things. It was another of his little traits that Ivan found somehow enduring.
“Can I take your boots for you?”
Having not expected that request, Russia’s eyes drifted down to where his muddy boots where resting on the bedspread. He had almost forgotten he was even still wearing them. “Da, I won‘t need them inside after all.” Sitting all the way up again, he reached down and unfastened the buckles on the mud-splattered, leather footwear. Pulling them off, he all but shoved them at Toris, causing a few more drying flakes of mud to come lose and fall to the clean floor. The mess did not bother him in the least. He had just spent months in far less clean conditions, where there was mud everywhere and sometimes even blood to go with it. Wars were never clean events, whether they were fought on coastal areas and ships or not. Sure they had had access to lots of water for washing things up if they so desired, but the fact remained that most of his men did not have the time to really care about clean conditions. When your comrades were being blasted literally to pieces by enemy canon fire, the last thing you cared about was whether or not you were spick and span.
“And if you like, I can fetch you some clean clothes?”
He gave the helpful little servant a nod of consent before turning his attention back to finishing off his tea. Setting the empty cup back on the tray, the large blonde rose from the bed and made his way over to the wash basin in one of the corners of the grand room. Gathering some water in his hands, he rinsed some of the flecks of dirt and grim off his pale features. Most of the dirt was on his clothes luckily, so washing up a bit would not be such a chore. Unfastening his grey military overcoat and removing it, the violet-eyed Russian examined the streaks and splatters of blood on his uniform from when enemies got too up close and personal with him. The blood had seeped through the uniform in the thinnest areas.
Setting his overcoat on a nearby chair, Russia worked on removing the top of his uniform, despite the fact that the fire had only just been lit and the room was still too cold for his comfort. Once he had set the dark green-ish military vest aside, he went to work rinsing the blood off his flesh with a cloth dipped in the water basin. It was not as good as a full out bath would have been, but it would do for now, since he wanted to go out later anyways. He became vaguely aware of Toris returning to the room with those new clothes he had mentioned. “On the chair.” He instructed, gesturing to one of the chairs very much like the one he had placed his overcoat on. He examined his reflection in the mirror for any other flecks of blood on his chest and torso before turning his eyes back to his servant.
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Post by Lithuania on Dec 10, 2010 1:01:30 GMT -5
Toris staggered back a little as Ivan shoved his boots into his arms, dirtying his shirt and jacket in the process and...oh God, he didn't even want to look down and see the state of the floor that he'd been on his hands and knees scrubbing all morning.
Swallowing hard, he scuttled out of the room with the offending muddy footwear, leaving the other man in peace to wash up. His small servant's room adjoined Ivan's chambers, and he dashed in there quickly, stowing the boots in the corner with a mental note to clean and polish them that evening. Hastily, he pulled off his own shirt and slung it over the chair, before shoving on a fresh one, shivering a little in the chilly air. Fumbling with the buttons, he glanced at himself in the cracked mirror and frowned. Splashing a little cold water on his face, he wiped a smudge of dust from his nose with a flannel and then half-walked, half-ran back to the cupboard which held all of Ivan's freshly-laundered clothes. Taking what he needed, and grabbing the Russian's spare boots as he went along, he made his way back to the other nation's room and unthinkingly walked in without knocking.
When he did, he almost dropped the armful of clothes he was holding with a sharp intake of breath. He was expecting the shirtless man to order him out of the room, but the taller nation seemed entirely unconcerned with his own state of undress, and did not bother to look round as he instructed Toris to leave the clothes on the chair.
Flustered, he did as he was told, glancing up awkwardly. It was so very strange to see Ivan without his usual layers of clothes and ever-present scarf. And it was all he could do not to stare and stare at the larger man, with his impossibly broad shoulders and pale, battle-scarred skin and...
Oh for God's sake, Lietuva!
Ivan turned around to look at him and there was a long, interminable pause before Toris realised with a hideous lurch of embarrassment that he was still staring at the Russian. A deep, dark blush spread furiously across his cheeks and he cleared his throat and grabbed the clean shirt from the chair and held it out abruptly, turning his gaze desperately to his shoes and wishing the ground would open up.
“Please wear this!” he blurted out, and then realised how utterly bizarre he sounded and cleared his throat with an embarrassed cough. “I mean...it's a shirt...” No, christ no that made him sound like even more of an idiot. “Um...that is...I ironed it this morning, sir.”
Scarlet-faced, he looked up at Ivan, still holding the item of clothing out at arm's length and willing him to hurry up and put it on. He couldn't put his finger on exactly why he found the whole situation distressing...he'd shared a house with Feliks and seen him in various states of undress more times than he cared to count and it had never bothered him particularly. But in this situation, he felt so ill at east that the bottom seemed to have fallen out of his stomach. Almost certainly, it was because Ivan already managed to make him so nervous, with his creepy ways, without adding to that by standing about half naked as though it didn't matter when it was so blatantly inappropriate.
And he realised, with another horrible, awkward flood of self-consciousness, that he was staring again, that his gaze was shifting compulsively over Ivan's arms, his shoulders, his collarbone and chest and...
Just take the damned thing and put it on, won't you?
He thrust the shirt towards Ivan a little more insistently, biting his lip and looking back down at the floor, blushing all the way to the tips of his ears.
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((I take no responsibility whatsoever for anything I've written at 6 in the morning... XD))
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Post by Russia on Dec 11, 2010 21:59:57 GMT -5
The expression on Toris’ face was priceless. Ivan watched with amused fascination as the Lithuanian’s cheeks reddened and his eyes fixed to the ground. He almost laughed at the reaction. Lithuania had surely seen shirtless men before. Over his long lifetime, how could he not have? It was true that Ivan did not like to walk around shirtless often. He usually preferred layers upon layers of warm clothing, since he hated the cold with a bitter passion. He still did not think the sight should be so awkward for Toris as to make him embarrassed somehow. And yet his servant was blushing like a woman. It was downright hilarious.
“Please wear this!”
Russia did not make a movement to take the shirt at first. Instead he merely stared at the Baltic nation with amusement. He could not refrain from laughing when Lithuania next explained that it was a shirt; a fact that was very obvious. Did his servant honestly think he was unclear as to what was being held towards him? It was more likely that the maid-like embarrassment was the cause for such silly statements.
“Um...that is...I ironed it this morning, sir.”
Undoubtedly making the situation even more awkward for his servant, Ivan just stood there for another moment or two before reaching out and grabbing the shirt. “You act as though you’ve never seen a man shirtless before, Toris. Funny since you are one. The way you act sometimes though makes me wonder. You’re blushing like a young woman.” He slid the shirt on before studying himself in the mirror again briefly. Turning, he gave the other man a jovial smile.
“We’re going to go out on the city tonight.” He stated very matter-of-factly. Grabbing his scarf once more and wrapping it around his throat, his hands went to work unbuckling his still muddy pants. He honestly had no problems with undressing in front of another man. It was such a common practice in the Imperial Army, that after it while it just had ceased to bother him in the slightest. This was his room anyways. It wasn’t like he was out in one of the main halls dressing. He might have issues with doing that, but not here in his own personal space. The fact that Toris was there was really not a bother to him in the least.
After getting all the way clad in the clothes he had been brought, he turned his attention back to his servant. He had already decided that he would drag the Lithuanian along with him, but now he had to figure out where exactly they should go. St. Petersburg was such a large city; there were so many places they could go and so many things to see. Going anywhere really seemed better than staying in the palace and waiting for that inevitable conversation with the Tsar. It would be best to get out before his boss had even realized he had returned from the Port Arthur front. Bosses had a way of ruining any fun evenings that might be planned out. Depending on his mood, his boss might go so far as to order Ivan back to the front as soon as possible, in some attempt to further speed up victory. Ivan was sure his men fought just as well without his presence, but there would be no use trying to explain that to a cranky boss.
“We should go out for a drink, yes?” He gave the other nation an excited look, already thinking of the many small pubs that decorated his capitol city. What could possibly be better than drinking? He loved the pubs and it was an excellent place to hear about any of the latest happenings in the coastal city. “Come, we’ll walk. Unless you think we should take my mare? I suppose it depends on which part of the city we want to go to and how much walking you want to do.” Grabbing the muddy clothes from where he had previously dropped them, he tossed them on the bed and grabbed Toris by the arm, dragging him towards to door without a care in the world. As far as he was concerned, there was no question as to whether or not the other nation wanted to go. Russia was the master and he was the servant. So even if the smaller man was not as keen to go out drinking, he had no say whatsoever.
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Post by Lithuania on Dec 12, 2010 11:35:51 GMT -5
Russia stood there staring at him with barely concealed amusement and Toris began to feel more and more foolish with every second. After an interminable pause, he took the shirt and put it on, teasing him as he did so. As Ivan pointed out his lack of composure (and, rather insultingly, his lack of manliness), the smaller nation winced with embarrassment.
“No...of course I have...I mean...sorry...I'm just not accustomed to...” he started to mumble something vaguely defensive.
“We’re going to go out on the city tonight.”
“We...?” he began, in faint surprise, and he was about to ask if the other man really meant for him to come too, when Ivan decided to casually unbuckle his trousers and let them fall to the floor. “Oh Jesus!” Toris blurted out, averting his eyes and turning his head away towards the window, his discomfort now utterly acute. He continued to stare at a suddenly-extremely-interesting cloud formation, feeling his cheeks burn as he waited for the other nation to get dressed.
“We should go out for a drink, yes?”
Toris stared at the (thankfully now clothed) nation with a sort of half-pleased, half-frightened expression. The slim Lithuanian was not much of a drinker himself. In fact, he was so busy these days that he could barely remember the last time he'd touched alcohol, let alone been in a pub. The prospect was slightly exciting, slightly alarming and, where Ivan was concerned, slightly surprising.
“It would be nice...” he began but was not entirely convinced. His list of chores for the evening was already looming in the forefront of his mind, and now there was the mess that Ivan had made on top of everything and hadn't wasn't there some paperwork to be done too...?
“Come, we’ll walk. Unless you think we should take my mare? I suppose it depends on which part of the city we want to go to and how much walking you want to do.”
“I...um...” He wasn't sure if Ivan was really asking for his input or merely pondering aloud. “I...don't mind...but...um...” His eyes went wide with horror as Ivan threw his filthy clothes onto the bed, ruining the bedspread in the process.
Oh God, that's silk...I'll surely never get that out now...
The other man grabbed his arm and began to drag him in the direction of the door. Toris stared back in a mild panic at the state the Russian had left the room in.
“Sir...I...um....I really should clean up in here before we....” he trailed off weakly, giving up with a tiny, hopeless sigh. When Ivan wanted to do something, he was a human bulldozer. There was little point in arguing. He would just have to hope that his evening wouldn't end with him cleaning up any vomit. And he could only pray that the dominant nation wouldn't force him to drink too much. After all, he couldn't turn down a drink from Ivan and, unlike his former commonwealth partner, the slight little Baltic nation was an utter lightweight when it came to alcohol. And oh, God, this was Russia and wasn't there some social etiquette about making toasts? Or was that just at the dinner table? He would surely make some further social disaster of himself, and he was already embarrassed enough by the events of the past five minutes. Besides, he was fairly certain that drinking on an empty stomach wasn't healthy, and he hadn't eaten since breakfast and he was already prone to the most terrible stomach aches and...
Lietuva...! Get a grip! he told himself sternly. He'd fought and won wars, he'd charged headfirst on horseback into terrifying battles and he'd once been one of the most respected powers in Eastern Europe and now he was blushing like a schoolgirl, stammering like an idiot, fretting about housework and having an attack of neurosis over the simple matter of going to the pub. Oh how the mighty fall, he thought to himself ruefully.
Besides going out might not be the worst thing in the world, he reasoned. The violet eyed man, for all his eccentricities, could be exceptionally good company, especially when he was in one of his more jovial moods. And he found that he rather liked the idea of spending some time socially with Ivan. It was a compelling prospect, in a strange and slightly frightening way. Not to mention, he couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a break to do something fun. And of course, it wasn't as though this was “free” time per se, trailing along after Ivan's coattails, at least it was a change of scenery from scrubbing floors and doing laundry.
When they were firmly in the corridor, he looked up at the blonde with a slightly nervous smile. “I'll fetch our coats then, sir,” he said with a note of defeated resignation in his voice.
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Post by Russia on Dec 14, 2010 0:57:18 GMT -5
“Sir...I...um....I really should clean up in here before we....”
Ivan ignored the other man’s words, instead choosing to continue dragging him towards the door. There was no need to clean up right now. The other nation had all night to do that. Right now the only thing Ivan placed any importance on was getting out of the palace and into the city. To Hell with the room. It wasn’t like a little mud and dirt would hurt it anyways. That was easy enough to get off the floors and out of a bedspread, right? Probably wouldn’t take more than a few minutes of Toris’ time when they returned.
Dragging Toris along out into the corridor was surprisingly easy. Either the other nation was all too happy to go along with him, or Toris was so much weaker that his struggling did not even feel like struggling to Ivan. Being able to pull another nation around like a rag doll was certainly a good feeling. To him it was just a smug reminder that he was gaining power in Eastern Europe.
“I'll fetch our coats then, sir,”
Russia beamed at the other nation encouragingly. “Good boy.” He squeezed Toris’ shoulder affectionately before letting him go to retrieve the coats. Not one to stand around and wait in the corridors, the Russian made for the main southern entrance. He was confident that Toris would meet him there. It was the very same entrance he had used when he had first returned home earlier.
Making his way past more servants- most of which he did not even remember the names of- Ivan strode back through the magnificent French Rooms, pausing every now and then to look at a few new paintings that had been hung some time while he had been away. The palace was full of such beautiful works of art. With new pieces being hung every so often, and new stuff being added all the time, it really was an exciting place to roam. Whenever he was away for any lengthy amount of time he would always return to more interesting sights. For all the various problems he sometimes had with his Tsars and Tsarinas, he had to admit that they knew how to make and decorate a palace.
All this luxury however did not seem to sit well with his common people. Their complaints and resentments were getting harder to ignore. Sharing a connection with all of his people, the rich and the poor, gave him such a headache sometimes. Even he did not always know where he stood on the issue of classes and wealth. He had read some interesting arguments lately that he was sure his leader would frown upon. Arguments that shook some of his previous beliefs. Since he could remember though, he had always just stood by his leader and hoped for the best. As far as he knew, he could not turn on his bosses anyways, even if he did want to suddenly throw his support in another direction. No matter how restless the lower classes got, he would have to be content to play by his Tsar’s rules as he always had. Maybe things would die down on their own and his people would suddenly be happy again. It was an encouraging thought, even if it was not a realistic one with tensions on the rise. After they had won the war with Japan, things would be better.
The main southern entrance was quiet as the grave by the time Ivan stepped onto the highly polished marble floors. He could hear the usual commotions going on somewhere out in the adjacent gardens, but at least for the time being he was the only one in the main entrance room. Stopping by the large gilded doors, he waited for his servant to find him with the coats. The entrance room was already colder than the corridors had been, probably due to the fact that the main doors got opened a lot during the day. As chilled as he was standing there waiting, he knew it was colder outside. Typical November weather. And to think, it would get even colder by next month. Just the thought of the approaching winter was enough to send a chill down the tall blonde’s spin. If he could, he would have loved to be able to snap his fingers and make it May again. Mosquitoes and humidity were by far preferable to the thick layers of snow and ice that would coat the bustling city soon.
Russia was glad to be pulled from the chilly thoughts of winter by the sound of approaching footsteps. Not even bothering to turn, he kept his violet eyes fastened to the large doors, almost as though he expected them to open up on their own accord. Impatient to get outside again, he held out his had for his coat expectantly. “We can cross the Neva and find a pub in Vasilevskiy Island. I don’t really want to stay on the Embankment.” ______________________ ((I will try scan some images to send your way. Just to give you an idea of the city layout. Since I am assuming you are not as familiar with St. Petersburg as I am after reading this guide book. XD))
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Post by Lithuania on Dec 15, 2010 15:28:18 GMT -5
“Good boy.”
Toris winced as Ivan squeezed his shoulder a little too hard. But the tall Russian seemed in wholly jovial spirits and there was no apparent malice in the gesture, so he mustered a smile at the other man. He found that even while he dashed off to fetch the coats, and Ivan was out of sight, the faintest trace of that smile still lingered on his lips. He frowned again as he wondered when he had become so eager for the odd word of praise from the larger nation, even, bizarrely, for the times when Ivan spoke to him as though he was some kind of pet. There was something slightly pathetic about it, he decided in a fit of self-rebuke.
He grabbed one of Ivan's beautiful heavy grey woollen coats from his wardrobe, and a pair of gloves from the drawer. Hurrying to his own room next, he pulled his own winter coat from his little cupboard. Unlike Ivan's, the brunette's was several years old, the material wearing thin in places, and it had been patched up many times. But at least it more or less kept him warm. Pulling the dark green garment on, he realised absently that there was a button missing. He would have to try and beg, borrow or steal a spare one from one of the maids, he thought with a sigh. He must have lost weight in the years since he'd acquired it too, because it hung on his frame in an awkward, slightly-too-large way. Reaching to the back of the wardrobe, he found his scarf, a black woollen thing that he'd knitted himself about 20 years ago, which was starting to fray a little at the edges. Glancing in the mirror, he sighed ruefully, and then shrugged.
Making his way back quickly to the corridor, he found Ivan, unsurprisingly, gone. The other man was hardly renowned for his patience. There were so many exits in the palace that Toris had a moment of panic as he tried frantically to recall which one Ivan tended to favour. The main Southern entrance was closest and the most likely, so he set off in that direction at full speed.
On his way, he found himself waylaid by what seemed like half the palace staff, responding to various greetings with good natured, if slightly stressed smiles, mumbling the odd apology to his colleagues as he struggled to press on and avoid being pulled into conversations. Luckily, they were all in the same boat and understood his haste perfectly well. When your master said jump, the only response was “how high?”
He found Ivan waiting by the door and rushed towards him. The violet eyed man barely afforded him a glance as Toris handed him his coat.
“We can cross the Neva and find a pub in Vasilevskiy Island. I don’t really want to stay on the Embankment.”
“Whatever you'd like, sir,” Toris replied agreeably as they stepped out into the cold evening air. It occurred to him that Vasilevsky Island was much more appealing than spending the evening in the constant shadow of the Winter Palace. He often glanced out of his window at the bridge of the Neva and wished that he were free to explore the city, to come and go as he pleased. The palace was widely regarded to be one of the most beautiful places in the world, but for Toris, places that were full of ordinary people and easy, happy chatter were so very much more appealing than cold, stiff ceremony and aristocratic opulence.
Perhaps there was a part of Ivan that felt the same way, sometimes?
As they walked out along the embankment, the Lithuanian handed Ivan his gloves. “I thought you might need these too, sir,” he said, absently shoving his own chapped hands into his pockets and becoming vaguely aware that there was a hole in the lining of his coat. “It's chilly out, this evening.”
As they approached the bridge and began to cross the river, Toris couldn't help but slow his pace down just a little, slightly in awe of the beauty of St Petersburg at night. With the palace behind them, the lights from the island before them, and the Neva stretching out into inky blackness, the brunette realised that he felt more free than he had done in so very long, cooped up inside the palace like a caged bird, and letting his life revolve around nothing but household chores and Ivan's whims. And although this excursion was, undoubtedly, another of those whims, he still felt heavy with the sensation of the freezing night air in his lungs and the excitement of the change of scenery.
The tip of his nose was starting to redden in the cold, he could see his breath in small, freezing clouds before him, and his fingers were starting to go a little numb from the cold, but he still couldn't stop himself from looking up at the taller man with a smile as the palace grew further and further away.
“You have a really beautiful heart, sir,” he said quietly, before realising how inappropriate and ambiguous such a bizarre declaration sounded. Clearing his throat, he began to stammer. “I...I...mean...your capital city! St Petersburg. It's really beautiful.”
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Post by Russia on Dec 17, 2010 18:13:01 GMT -5
It was good to see that time away from him had not made Toris any less agreeable. Part of the charm to the other nation was that he was so mild mannered and easy to get along with these days. No matter what Russia told him, he always was quick to agree. He could tell Lithuania that they were going to pack up and move to Siberia and the other nation would not say anything to disagree with that idea. Not that Lithuania had to worry about Ivan making a silly decision like that. Siberia was a land of extremes, and Russia himself would rather live just about anywhere else in his lands as opposed to that place. That was were criminals were sent, not the embodiment of countries.
Ever one to think ahead, Toris handed the violet-eyed nation his gloves as they made their way towards the bridge. Russia pulled the rough leather over his hands, grateful to have something to combat the chill.
“I thought you might need these too, sir. It's chilly out, this evening.”
He stared at the other nation in silence for a moment or two, vaguely wondering how Toris planned on keeping his hands warm. The silly creature seemed to have been thinking only of Ivan’s well being, and had forgotten his own gloves in the process. Ivan felt tempted to bring up the fact that he was by far better suited for the cold than Toris was, and the other should have remembered his own gloves too. Apparently Toris was a man who preferred to keep it simple however, and the tall blonde watched as he shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them warm. If he was happy that way, Russia figured he shouldn’t ruin it for him by bringing up gloves. It might have been some sort of weird Lithuanian tradition to not use gloves no matter what the weather was like.
“Da.” He finally said in agreement. Eyes focused on the lights before him, Ivan quickened his pace slightly. The sooner they got to the island the better. It had been too long since he had been out and about in areas of St. Petersburg other than the Palace Embankment. It had been too long since he had been in an area where the vodka was used more as a drink than an antiseptic treatment for gruesome battle wounds too. And drink houses usually had flavored vodka in addition to the original, which was what Ivan had been practically living off in Port Arthur. It would be nice to be able to order either some anise flavored vodka or perhaps limonnaya for a change.
“You have a really beautiful heart, sir,”
Russia’s eyes widened slightly and he stopped and stared at Lithuania in mild confusion. Wondering how Lithuania could possibly tell that when it was still pumping merrily in his chest for the time being was baffling. He was about to question his servant when Toris seemed to have realized what and odd statement he had just made.
“I...I...mean...your capital city! St Petersburg. It's really beautiful.”
A serene smile overtook the temporary look of confusion. Of course it was a beautiful city. The most beautiful in Europe as far as Ivan knew. It had canals, elaborate cathedrals- complete with stunning architecture-and palaces. What more could anyone want? “You‘re sweet, Toris. And right in this case. I’m proud to have it as a capitol.”
Wrapping his left arm around the other man’s shoulder, he pulled him closer as he continued on across the bridge, paying no care at all to such bizarre ideas as “personal space.” He was silent as he they made it onto one of the streets of Vasilevskiy Island; wondering where they should go for drinks. “You know, you don’t need to call me “sir” all the time, Litva. We are not in a formal setting.” The larger nation spoke as though this should have been obvious to Lithuania. As though it were common sense.Arm still tightly around the Lithuanian’s shoulder, he steered the smaller man into one of the many pubs.
It was perhaps not the nicest little drink house he could have found. The wallpaper was yellowed and peeling in places and the lights were dim. The air smelled heavily of a mixture of alcohol and sweat. Not the best combination, but it did not bother Ivan in the slightest. Seeking out a table in the back, he shoved Lithuania down into one of the rickety wooden chairs and took a seat across from him cheerfully. _______________________________________ (( The description of the drink house is based heavily off descriptions in the book “Crime and Punishment” by Dostoevsky. Obviously there are some time frame differences between the setting of the book and this thread, but the idea I think would pretty much remain static. Drink houses = usually not taken care of the best and not places decent, higher class people spend their evenings.
limonnaya= lemon flavoured vodka.))
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Post by Lithuania on Dec 17, 2010 19:02:51 GMT -5
“You‘re sweet, Toris.”
The smaller man looked down at his shoes and gritted his back teeth together in an effort to keep his expression pleasantly neutral, in an effort to suppress his initial reaction to look up at Ivan eagerly to see if he really meant the compliment or if he was merely being dismissively patronising.
“And right in this case. I’m proud to have it as a capitol.”
He mumbled some non-committal agreement and continued to stare out at the stark beauty of the Neva. A sudden crushing weight on his shoulder sent him stumbling, and he made a muffled little squeak as Ivan pulled him close enough that the brunette could feel his warmth through the chilly fabric of his woollen coat. The nervous nation froze in a kind of stunned, nervous surprise, and it was only the Russian's insistent grip that steered him forward.
“You know, you don’t need to call me “sir” all the time, Litva. We are not in a formal setting.”
Toris looked up at the other nation, too stunned by the embrace to fully process such a statement. Did it mean that Ivan considered him a friend? Or did he simply just not care for formalities? Perhaps the honorific reminded him of the stiff formality of the Navy. Or perhaps it was another of his strange whims, and he would change his mind the next day.
“I...well...if you're sure, sir,” he began, and then winced and checked himself. “I mean, Ivan...?"
Or did he want Toris to call him “Russia” instead? Or something else? Green eyes flitted up anxiously for a reaction, but the blonde was already propelling him into the nearest ale house. Lithuania's eyes widened in a sort of horrified shock at the sight of the place. It was noisy, it stank, it was dirty and the patrons of the bar looked so rough. He shot Ivan a pleading look as they made their way to the back of the pub, but the other nation was already shoving him unceremoniously into a chair. He looked around with a kind of fascinated horror as Ivan happily made himself comfortable opposite him.
Jesus...when was the last time anybody cleaned this place?
If these were the sort of establishments that Ivan frequented, then no wonder he couldn't care less about a little mud on his bedspread. Toris' gaze flitted anxiously to a group of men sitting not far from them, who were already eyeing up Russia's blatantly upper-class clothing and whispering something to themselves with derisive laughter. In spite of himself, he shot them a little scowl.
“Don't you think that maybe...it's a little rough in here, s...um...Ivan?” he questioned softly, hesitantly. But then again, he supposed that the impossibly strapping blonde would never have to worry about the consequences of getting into fights, or about being robbed. Nobody would dare lift a hand to him unless they were suicidal. Studying the man opposite him, he realised that, if he was being forced to spend the evening in some utterly disgusting drinking den full of people who looked like criminals, then at least he was in some fairly imposing company.
“Ah, what I mean is that I wouldn't dare come here on my own,” he corrected himself hastily. “But I'm sure it's perfectly safe with you here. And it's nice to be out of the palace for a while.” Biting his lip, he followed up quickly. “Not that I don't like the palace. I do! But it's...um...well...” he floundered and then gave up on digging himself a bigger hole with a sigh.
“Would you like me to fetch you something to drink? Or will someone come over?” he asked, looking with trepidation towards the barkeep. He realised that he had absolutely no idea how things worked, either in this country or in this time period.
“It's been...over a century since I was last in a tavern,” he confessed, his cheeks colouring slightly.
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Post by Russia on Dec 18, 2010 18:21:32 GMT -5
“Don't you think that maybe...it's a little rough in here, s...um...Ivan?”
Russia gave the Baltic a confused look. Rough? Immediately the blonde turned his sights on the rowdy inhabitants that surrounded them. They did not look rough to him. Not in the imposing sense that he figured Toris must have meant. True a lot of them were rough in features, much rougher than he was, but that was nothing to make him shy away. Looks could be so very deceiving in the case of a country. Though he appeared much younger and softer featured than these men, he was positive that if they decided to go picking bar fights he would be able to kill or cripple any one of them without much difficulty. Not that he went killing his own Russians often. Usually he only resorted to that when he thought he needed to. And so far he had never done it on a massive scale.
“Ah, what I mean is that I wouldn't dare come here on my own.”
His gaze shifted away from the pair of cursing ruffians he had been watching with curiosity and settled on his green-eyed companion again. Toris was afraid of normal people? It was mind boggling for him to imagine anyone afraid of normal people. The other man did have a slight frame though, and looked about as intimidating as a child. That must have had soemthing to do with it.
“But I'm sure it's perfectly safe with you here. And it's nice to be out of the palace for a while. Not that I don't like the palace. I do! But it's...um...well…”
“You don’t need to worry about them.” He gave a quick glance to the other pub inhabitants, noticing that the two who had been cursing each other were now in a mild fist fight near the front of the drink house. “These are just people having a good time. They are harmless.” He considered the other man’s statement about the palace in silence, trying to figure out Toris’ true feelings on the place.
“Would you like me to fetch you something to drink? Or will someone come over?”
Drinks, yes he had been so busy trying to figure his mild mannered companion out that he had not gotten the drinks yet. Sometimes the barkeep would come over and ask straight out what people wanted. Judging by the looks of this particular tavern and this particular barkeep though, Ivan figured it best for him to go and retrieve the drinks. His eyes widened a bit as Toris explained how long it had been since he had been out to a tavern. No wonder he seemed so eager to get the drinks. Hopefully Toris was drinking on the job, or Ivan dreaded to think how long it had been since the other man had had decent alcohol.
“I’ll get it. You stay here.” Rising, the violet-eyed Russian made his way past a few of his people and to the bar. “Две бутылки лимонная водки.” Not even bothering to ask whether or not Toris liked citrus vodka, the larger nation just assumed that he would be happy to get whatever Ivan wanted. He had even been nice and ordered them each a bottle of the heavenly elixir, that way there would be plenty to go around. The barkeep eyed him over with an air of distrust-no doubt due to the fact that Ivan differed so greatly from his usual guests- but fetched the vodka and a pair of shot glasses. Shoving the appropriate amount of coinage at the man, Russia seized the bottles and glasses and returned to his table, setting one of the bottles down in front of Toris.
Taking his place across from the other nation again, Ivan ignored his shot glass for the time being and took a gulp of the beloved liquor straight from the bottle, cherishing the familiar burn and bitter citrus taste. Hard liquor was quite possibly the most amazing thing Russia could imagine. It had so many uses and always made things seem that much better. The world was a better place after he had been drinking for awhile.
“After nothing but plain cheap vodka in Port Arthur, I wanted to try something different.” He explained to his companion merrily. _______________________ ((Even though you can probably read the Russian just fine, Toris, here is a rough translation: Две бутылки лимонная водки = Two bottles of citrus flavoured vodka ))
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