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Post by Vietnam on Jul 11, 2011 4:58:08 GMT -5
It was quite the odd sight to see. Lien, in her tight-fitting, low-cut ao dai, struggling to kick out the kickstand of her motorcycle before settling with leaning it against the far wall of the parking lot. She made dusting motions at her lap where dust was already gathering to her perfectionist displeasures—perhaps a white dress wasn’t the best choice, after all, but the Asian girl had recently found that it was somewhat, well, nice to look fashionable. Her First Lady Nhu had said so, and Lien had admired from the start her ability to make traditions look more and more appealing to the new generation. “It is important for us Vietnamese women,” Lien could hear her bell-like voice ringing in the back of her mind, “to look presentable and alluring and impressive. But that doesn’t mean you should give everything away either.” A laugh. A wink. A friendly pat on the hand—Lien had bristled a little bit at the unexpected contact, but she had come to like the First Lady more than the President, at least.
“Anyone who has the Americans as allies does not need enemies.” Same bell-like voice ringing with an edge of hatred. Lien wandered away from the motorcycle, thinking about that statement as well, wondering if it was necessarily true, pondering over the volumes of history she’d memorized a few years ago in preparation for the issues that troubled her now—but then, everything she did in preparation never seemed to be enough. Lien passed the cars and jeeps, every one undoubtedly owned by some influential American or another, and briefly shared that bit of resentment towards Americans with her first First Lady.
As of late there was never an hour that passed without their presence becoming obvious to her. Lien saw them around every street corner in Saigon, and she hated them. She couldn’t help but hate them for their obnoxiousness, their arrogance, their indifference to all things Vietnamese… and above all for being there, making another difference between the North and the South, widening a crack in Vietnam’s unity with their… ideas. And yet, she loved those ideas. So she could never hate them, or him completely, or so she fancied. She didn’t much like the idea of having to hate another person with as much intensity as she had for France and Japan and China.
Lien climbed the stairs from the underground garage somewhat sullenly, distantly aware that she had to steel herself for whatever was coming—oh, she knew what was coming, didn’t she? Lying. Speaking and breathing lies, because no one could know that there was only one Vietnam when all the world, and her allies and enemies and ally-enemies thought that there were two. And besides that, there was also an American to deal with, and he knew about as much about what to do in their current situation as she did—which wasn’t very much at all.
It was all so very grating. So much that when she opened the door of the bar on the first floor and saw a large majority of American hooligans celebrating the coming of Christmas there, she could have sworn her teeth grinded against each other for a moment. It did make sense. The Brinks Hotel was frequented mostly by Americans, Americans with their fancy cars and their rowdiness and their booze-stained military uniforms. But Lien was tired of feeling like a foreigner in her own country, so she simply wandered past all the commotion after taking one long, scanning glance around the room and not finding another nation there. The Asian girl took a seat at a table outside, ordered a glass of wine—places frequented by Americans had to be classy, and so did she—and folded her hands in her lap, trying to keep the irritation from touching on her face. The sky was darkening slowly and steadily, lowering behind the six-story hotel. It was at that point that Lien decided if America made her wait longer while listening to those Americans in the next room prattle and chatter… well, she might have made some of her more negative opinions of Westerners known.
(( FFFF. I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry. I do happen to have a lot of excuses for why this is so late but… excuses are lame. Oh, it’s my headcanon that Vietnam doesn’t tell anyone that she’s the only nation personification until later in the war. Or someone figures it out, or something. Either way, more drama that way. So to South Vietnam’s allies she’s only South Vietnam and to North Vietnam’s allies she’s only North… whataconfusinglifetolive. Anyway, I’m super sorry this was so fantastamically late. >o< If anything's wrong with it, be sure to tell me o/ ... the copious America-hate doesn't count, she really just does that a lot))
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Post by America on Jul 18, 2011 22:09:16 GMT -5
Date: December 24th, 1964
Saigon, South VietnamAh crap, he was running so late it wasn't even funny! Alfred's feet thudded hard against the dirt road, kicking up little puffs of dust and getting his pants dirtier with every step. Of course, Alfred's mind was anywhere but the fact that he was getting less presentable the longer he ran: he was more worried about the tongue-lashing he was going to get from South Vietnam for making her wait.
Honestly, Alfred could respect that. It was nice to be told things so straightforwardly...but Lien was so prickly that it seemed like all he ever got was the sharp edge of her tongue. Then again, it wasn't like she didn't have a perfectly good reason to be cranky either, what with the strained relationship she must be having with her twin sister at the moment...
...Still, that didn't mean Alfred was looking forward to it.
'I even left early so I'd get there at least on time,' [/color] Alfred thought to himself as he continued to run, 'If I hadn't gotten the unluckiest jeep in the country, that is!'[/color] First it had needed gas - despite the gauge saying the tank was full. Luckily all military jeeps came with emergency supplies, including jerrycans full of extra gas. This added an extra half-hour to Alfred's trip. Then the jeep'd gotten a flat tire (despite the tires not driving over anything that could damage them) but there was a spare in the back. Swapping the flat tire for the spare took Alfred almost an hour due to surprisingly stubborn lug nuts (which he couldn't just rip out with his hands because that would have damaged the lug nuts, and he needed them intact to keep the spare attached). And then, inexplicably, steam had started pouring out from under the hood, the gas gauge dropped to E in a split second, and the other three tires instantly deflated the second Alfred pulled the jeep to the side of the road and hopped out to see what was going on with his car. Which, as it turned out, had a busted radiator. Worst. Christmas. Ever.(Or at least a close second for whatever the actual worst one was.) Hopefully that Vietnamese family got some use out of the jeep. The sound of American swearing had drawn a whole group of them out from the fields next to the road. Alfred's very weak grasp of Vietnamese and a hell of a lot of gesturing had finally gotten the point across and the family had accepted the gift of the jeep from the American soldier with obvious puzzlement. It wasn't like Alfred wanted to keep the damn thing, and he couldn't exactly carry it back to the base in that condition without a lot of people seeing him...plus it was Christmas, the season of giving! That was also the reason he was running below full speed: Saigon's outskirts were full of people, South Vietnamese and otherwise, and they were all laughing at the sight of the poor American soldier running down the road in a frantic hurry. Alfred grinned and waved back to everyone as he passed: at least he was probably scoring some kind of diplomatic victory, right? Something John would have thought great fun... Shaking the sudden melancholy from his head, Alfred kept on running. Eventually he made it to the Brinks Hotel, where he was supposed to be meeting South Vietnam, but by then the sun had set. Not stopping even for a moment's breath - what with him not being out of breath - Alfred scurried up to the door to the first floor bar and headed inside. They'd agreed to meet down here first, if he remembered right... Oh good, she hadn't left yet! Over in the far corner, away from the Americans celebrating Christmas Eve, sat the slim Vietnamese woman. Waving off invitations from his boys to join them at the bar, Alfred made his way over to Lien's table with a bright, albeit sheepish, smile on his face. "Hey...uh, Merry Christmas, Lien!"[/color] Alfred greeted her. He stuck to Shaykomay with South Vietnam: she often refused to use English and claimed that Alfred's attempts at Vietnamese constituted a war crime, so the common tongue was what they were left with. With all the noise in the bar, it would definitely go unnoticed.[/center] ---- - PFFFFFFT MY LATENESS IS TERRIBLE~ ;_;
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Post by Vietnam on Jul 24, 2011 3:38:39 GMT -5
Punctuality-- a Vietnamese value, but evidently not an American one. Lien made a mental note to obnoxiously underline the date and time the next time she sent a message to the other nation. She glanced up from the table, a flash of irritation writ all over her face until she softened, sagged a little bit and gestured tiredly at the other chair. She hadn't waited too long, but perhaps she was just on edge. On edge, that's it. Surely, she was more easily annoyed than usual, but there were things more important than her personal short-term annoyances.
Merry Christmas? Christmas, right. That was that holiday that France had her celebrate for a few years there, as if adapting silly, pointless Western traditions would do her any good. After France, Diem. No... she couldn't count the number of Merry Christmases she'd ever experienced on one hand. Why? Because she hadn't experienced any. In her excellent memory, all Christmas seasons had been tinged with bitterness and loathing. That was probably it; she couldn’t accept having any enjoyment of something that had been forced on her by a Western power or a Western religion. Maybe that was a Northern Vietnamese thing to think, in which case she’d have to abstain from it. Nonsense.
"Good evening," she said stiffly in response in their shared language, hands folded in her lap politely. It might have come across as cold, but Lien was in such a mood—America would just have to deal with the chills. How little there was in a tropical country like hers, anyway. She sipped quietly from the wine she’d ordered during the wait, and thought. Personally, it was her top priority to unify the North and the South—but first she would have to calm the tensions between her countries. Which was harder than it sounded, partially because Vietnam herself had ugly shades of hateful feelings towards the other side. She wanted to destroy the Saigon government, who were often rash and ill-fitting, yet she wanted to do the same to their Hanoi counterparts for widening a gap as they were. She supported Communism and hated it. Wanted to unify and wanted to stay separate—if only that were a choice without ripping herself apart. For her own survival she would have to unify sooner rather than later. And for that, she’d have to stop herself from wanting to destroy herself, ignore the desires of thousands of South Vietnamese and North Vietnamese.
Harder than it sounded. But she had America’s help, and he was a superpower. Besides that, he’d been through a Civil War too, hadn’t he? She wasn’t sure about the nation’s personal circumstances, but she had read up on his general history for quite some time. It was probably stupid. Yes, it was really stupid to study it like some kind of school-going child, but it did seem somewhat important to understand how he became the beacon of freedom, independence and liberty her countrymen likened him to. “America,” she started haltingly, feeling foolish for bringing up such a subject when their meeting clearly had other purposes, “What was your Civil War like?” She looked at him curiously, apparently unaware that such a question might make the other nation more uncomfortable than talkative.
It wasn’t like her to ask such a question, to pry like that, but he was her guidance—or one side’s guidance, anyway—so she figured it would be helpful to know more. It was always helpful to know more. And even to her, blunt, blunt Lien, starting a conversation with, “Are you going to destroy North Vietnam with your planes and bombs?” or “Are you going to help me with Saigon’s government, who are ripping even the South into pieces?” or even, “Are you going to help me?” … well, all of those seemed like questions that were too big to ask right away, and questions she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answer to. Especially that last question, as she had absolutely no idea how anyone at all could help her now.
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Post by America on Jul 25, 2011 11:41:18 GMT -5
Date: December 24th, 1964
Saigon, South VietnamThat look South Vietnam was sending him made Alfred wince: oh boy, he was really late this time wasn't he? The notion that being wished a Merry Christmas bothered her didn't occur to him in the slightest.
"Good evening." [/color] Her tone was cool enough to chill a glass of lemonade (something Alfred had had half a mind to introduce to Vietnamese cuisine this last summer, what with all the tropical jungles around making things unpleasantly sticky and unpleasantly hot) but she wasn't berating him or anything, so Alfred took that as an excuse to sit himself down across from her. One of the bar staff practically materialized out of thin air the second Alfred was seated, inquiring in heavily accented English if there was anything he wanted to drink. South Vietnam had a wineglass in front of her, Alfred saw, but he wasn't in the mood for it and ordered a beer instead. Thankfully the beer materialized as quickly as the "waiter" had. South Vietnam seemed to be thinking about something, so Alfred started on his beer and waited. It was all part of the 'superpower mystique' that Alfred was trying to cultivate - other nations came to him to solve their problems (especially their scarf-wearing problems), not the other way around. And it was a lot easier to act all respectable and superpower-ish in someone else's house. He loved his people, with all his heart and soul he did, but they were just so damn loud! Even McCarthy - especially McCarthy. Good ideas, but he'd used too much too soon. Vigilance was important though, no sense in spending good American lives and money containing the Red Epidemic if you were a carrier and anyone could be a carrier, anyone - fuck. He was slipping again. Sipping awkwardly at his beer, Alfred focused on the nation in front of him. She was wearing an all-white version of her normal outfit today. It made her look very classy, actually. Before Alfred could think up a good way bring this fact up (she couldn't possibly get mad if he was complimenting her, right?) South Vietnam decided to start speaking. “America.”[/color] "Hmm?"[/color] She was sounding awfully hesitant...not like how she normally was. “What was your Civil War like?”[/color] Alfred choked on his beer. Setting the glass down, he hurriedly thumped a fist against his chest to get things flowing down the right tubes and coughed until the burning in his lungs and windpipe had died down. "Wha - What kind of question is that?"[/color] It had nothing to do with what was going on, right? And it had been...this was 1964, so it had been about a hundred years since the War Between the States. Next year would be the centennial anniversary of the end of the war, and of that hideous night when he'd lost Abraham... 'Why do I always lose the best ones that way?'[/color] That wasn't true, but it was just over a year since Alfred had lost John. And now Lien was reminding him of Abraham...he'd think about it later. It didn't matter right now, this wasn't the time or place to think about it. He'd give them both a Christmas toast later that night, or something. "...Why would you want to know, anyway? Shouldn't we be talking about your situation?"[/color] Alfred eventually added. He'd managed to compose himself, finally, but the choice of topic was really puzzling. What good would talking about a war from a century ago do South Vietnam, anyway? It wasn't like she was interested in studying American history or anything, right?[/center] ----- - 'John', as you might expect, is JFK. This thread is set just over a year after the assassination. 'Abraham' is Abraham Lincoln.
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Post by Vietnam on Aug 2, 2011 4:56:39 GMT -5
Lien twitched, pursed her lips thoughtfully. He wasn't trying to offend or berate her or anything, and perhaps the subject matter was more personal than... well, no, of course history was always personal. Not to humans, but always to nations. But Lien didn't want to feel foolish, so she didn't. She didn't want to feel guilty, but she didn't. But she did mak a note that to be so sensitive about it meant he also must have faced quite a few horrors on his own. He wasn't the child France mentioned, he was as much a viable threat as a helpful ally-- and she was the same way. "Sorry," She said insincerely in that perfected, controlled voice, "Yes, you're right. It was stupid of me to not be straightforward. It was a rude question. Civil wars are difficult to remember, yes? It's so very difficult to fight with my sister all of the time." She laid her forehead on her arms tiredly. She was tired, but certainly not because of any sister. Maybe she was laying her lies on thick, but she didn't expect anyone to see through them. She could hardly believe that she'd survived so long as one entity when those two halves were becoming more and more distinguished by the day.
It was all so complicated. Helping and harming aside, America just made it more complicated. She looked at him, long and hard, even though it was disrespectful in her culture, and tried to simplify the issue. You're ruining everything by being here. You're just like France. But I have to forget all of that because you're going to help me by helping me destroy myself. But you don't know that. You think you're protecting me. Somehow, the ignorance was slightly frustrating and despicable too, even though it was her own fault that such a secret-addled mess was splayed out pathetically all over her life. Hrg.
Revisiting the present, she continued thoughtfully, "It was just... I wanted to know if you were going to bomb North Vietnam more now. Your president was speaking about toning down the violence during his campaign, right?” Yes, she called it violence. Sensible or senseless, it was still violence. And yes, she looked into it a little. Someone told her about it. She had to know something real before she could latch onto something intangible like her feelings on the matter, which shifted from supporting any further violence to repressing it seemingly on her mood. “I don’t know if I want you to. But they’ve hurt both of us so…”
The low, despairing tones of her voice annoyed her, and she straightened out and tried to be dignified and strong and above it and unaffected while not being too careless, because this was important. “I also don’t know if you even know about it, but you’re the nation so you should, isn’t that true? Ugh. I don’t know a lot of things.” She sounded pitiable, she realized, and immediately sought to remedy it. “Don’t pity me.” She ordered. Her voice was harsh but the way she insisted upon it was so sickeningly desperate. He'd probably pity her anyway; Lien would pity herself too, if she didn't already.
She seethed with a great deal of frustration, silent for a few moments. It was not her plan to be such a wreck while talking about things, and she hated it when her plans went so dreadfully awry, even her insignificant personal ones. But when she began to talk about it, she couldn't help but get confused and bitter and stumble over her words like a tumbling fool and the fact that America was currently looking at her somehow made it worse. At least, she thought, seeking some meager solace in her anger, the fact remained that she was only frustrated and she had yet to cry or scream or pound her fists on the table like an angry child. She resumed some semblance of self-control and calm and gracefully motioned for America to answer even though she wasn't sure she was ready to even know where they were going. But it was her duty, her responsibility to know and try to coordinate some good out of it, despite all directions pointing towards some kind of unbearable hell.
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Post by America on Aug 2, 2011 17:29:05 GMT -5
Date: December 24th, 1964
Saigon, South VietnamAt least South Vietnam seemingly understood that this wasn't a casual kind of topic to bring up - as if Alfred's reaction hadn't made that pretty obvious already.
"Yes, you're right. It was stupid of me to not be straightforward. It was a rude question. Civil wars are difficult to remember, yes? It's so very difficult to fight with my sister all of the time." [/color] ...Oh. That seemingly bizarre question made sense after all. A civil war was kind of what Lien was stuck in right now...from her perspective, anyway. Globally, it was just another chapter in the fight to protect democracy and destroy communism. South Vietnam surely knew that as well, but Alfred couldn't really fault her or her sister, wherever the other nation was, for taking the whole situation a little personally. They hadn't asked for the struggle of good versus evil to take place in their house. "It was just... I wanted to know if you were going to bomb North Vietnam more now. Your president was speaking about toning down the violence during his campaign, right?”[/color] Alfred was about to open his mouth and reply, but Lien kept going. “I don’t know if I want you to. But they’ve hurt both of us so…”[/color] She didn't seem to like how that came out, and straightened in her seat. Since Lien seemed to be on a roll, Alfred resumed drinking his beer and waited until she was done. “I also don’t know if you even know about it, but you’re the nation so you should, isn’t that true? Ugh. I don’t know a lot of things.”[/color] Suddenly her voice twisted into an authoritative snap. “Don’t pity me.”[/color] Alfred stiffened a little in his seat, frowning around his beer glass, but he let it drop. Normally he'd have every right to get irritated by someone trying to boss him around with no right to the privilege...but South Vietnam was clearly in a stressful situation and so Alfred could graciously let some things slide. Speaking of what his boss had said, the campaign during this last year had been more than a little one-sided...and while Alfred didn't like Goldwater any more than the rest of his people did, he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the man. But proposing, even as a joke, to toss nukes around the planet willy-nilly was not helpful. Compared to that, anything Johnson suggested sounded like a peaceful solution...including sending in more soldiers to advise the South Vietnamese, which was what Johnson fully intended on doing. Still, there was no point in bombing North Vietnam unprovoked, right? Lien and her sister (who Alfred was going to have to meet sometime, just see what the difference was between then) just needed to sit tight and wait for that commie bastard to give up, and then everything would be fine for both of them. "My boss is still working it out,"[/color] Alfred finally replied, choosing his words with unusual care, "Of course, we're not going to charge in and attack without provocation. And we're definitely not planning on using nuclear weaponry unless the Soviets do first. The important thing is to keep you safe, stable, and communist-free."[/color] That sounded about right. Alfred was really getting the hang of this now. Even if the Korean peninsula had been a little bit of a wash, what with being stuck drawing the line right through the middle of things, Containment was still a perfectly viable option. This time, Alfred was sure he'd gotten it down perfect. He could have left it there, but Lien's question regarding his civil war was still bothering him. Alfred decided to tackle that next. "And I guess I can see why you'd want to know what I did during my civil war, but it wouldn't really be of much help,"[/color] Alfred said, "The situation is too different. I dunno what you might have heard about from France, but I wasn't fighting over the house with a sibling or anything like that. It was between me, my states, and my people."[/color] That had been a sore point for a while. England and France had been so convinced that Alfred was only so angry afterwards because he'd had to drive off and kill a newborn sibling or something like that. Neither of them wanted to hear that he'd been angry because they'd been gleefully giving his people weapons to kill each other with! Alfred had forgiven them by the end of the first World War, more-or-less, but still... ...Lien, on the other hand, was in the middle a completely different situation. She'd already said so herself! Being torn from her sister like this and all, it was a whole other issue. Asking about Alfred's civil war wasn't really going to do South or North Vietnam one bit of good...except for maybe demonstrating a few military tactics that both of them could easily learn elsewhere.[/center]
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Post by Vietnam on Aug 9, 2011 2:16:39 GMT -5
"Oh, I suppose it was different." Entirely different continent, entirely different reasons, entirely different situation, she assumed, but it was good to know that more or less, there had been a situation of Civil War where the split had not spawned entirely new nations-- she tried not to let the relief show, but she softened considerably with that knowledge. If there were two nations from one, it wasn't just a break in the original's willpower or some kind of cosmic coincidence, it was an accurate prediction about the outcome of the war and the results on its people. Lien rolled her shoulders back, considering this. If the war ended and she was still intact, perhaps it meant that there would be a peaceful reunification between her peoples shortly afterwards.
"Right... I'm fairly certain I would not be able to compete against myself." A casual chuckle, as if the idea seemed sad but improbable and distant. She thought back to his other words, a frown finding its way onto her face.
"Well, they've already attacked your ships in the Gulf, and an airbase or two... they're infiltrating villages," she said, searching her mind for more things the Viet Cong had done. There was almost an edge of anger to her voice, and upon noticing she immediately calmed. What was she doing, encouraging retaliation? No, her theory was to stop the war before it got worse. If the South did not strike back against the North, perhaps they would set their sights elsewhere and tensions would calm? Lien bit her lip; that was improbable, and it was against her nature to not strike back in the face of danger.
It was foggy to her whether or not she'd have to remind herself that her other half was the danger. It never left her mind, yet sometimes she acted as though she was completely disconnected from the other side when she was still its very essence.
"No," she said suddenly, both to herself and to him, "I don't want to strike back yet, but it seems to me that North Vietnam and the guerillas are going to make more and more attacks on the South. I can feel it." She let a moment slip by, and then tried to tilt the corners of her mouth upwards-- it felt like a grimace to her, but maybe it looked better to him. "At least you are not going to use nuclear weapons though. I don't think Russia will either," she spoke in hushed tones then, "I think he is afraid of you. So it is reassuring to know that will not be a concern." Yes, but non-nuclear weapons were still very possible, and still deadly. She knew the South would not move forward without foreign support, so in the end whether or not the conflict became a full-fledged war rested on whether or not her Hanoi superiors chose to push the envelope, and secondly on whether or not America would stand against communism even in a jungle nation halfway across the world.
"I don't want this to escalate, of course, but if it does, you would help, right?" she asked, feeling and sounding uncertain more than pleading. "I would guess you would have to since you are so dead-set on containing communism." Her voice was barbed, somehow, and for a fraction of a second, she felt her eyes narrow at him before she cooled off her Northern sentiments and quickly pushed them to the back of her head. Now was not the time to doubt the Westerner's intentions, dubious as they seemed to her.
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Post by America on Aug 18, 2011 0:35:23 GMT -5
Date: December 24th, 1964
Saigon, South VietnamThankfully, South Vietnam took Alfred at his word and let the subject of his Civil War drop. Really, they needed to focus on the war right in front of them before they looked at any other wars...although the fighting between North and South Vietnam wasn't quite a war yet, was it?
No, Alfred reminded himself as Lien mused aloud about what her sister's people had been up to, because if there was an outright declaration of war it was just the excuse to bring everyone's allies piling in to fight that Ivan would want. While having all that backup in Korea had been pretty awesome, Alfred didn't want to give Russia or his patsy, China, an excuse to come storming into either Vietnam full-force. Hence why all of Alfred's guys were clearly labeled as 'military advisers'. It wasn't cheating if the best military advisers around were fully-armed and fully-trained soldiers, right? Of course it wasn't!
"No, I don't want to strike back yet, but it seems to me that North Vietnam and the guerillas are going to make more and more attacks on the South. I can feel it." [/color] Alfred kept a serious face on while he took note of what Lien had just said. His boss had already insisted they increase their numbers in Vietnam, but while the boss had told Alfred it would be better to keep this information close to the chest he hadn't ordered Alfred not to tell anyone. "Thanks for letting me know, Lien,"[/color] Alfred told her with an easy grin, "Actually, my boss has been planning on increasing the number of guys we have over here, just in case North Vietnam gets too trigger-happy. With more forces on this side of the border, she'll definitely think twice about starting something."[/color] Alfred honestly intended that to be comforting. Really, the goal was to eventually re-unify all of Vietnam (as a nice, peaceful, and non-communist democracy) and anything that kept the two halves from fighting would only make that easier, right? Though if Russia pushed poor North Vietnam into attacking, Alfred would definitely remember to keep that in mind when his and Lien's soldiers counterattacked. Naturally, he would never be the one to start the fight! "I think he is afraid of you. So it is reassuring to know that will not be a concern."[/color] South Vietnam's hushed tone surprised him. And the choice of words was even more perplexing. As much as Alfred hated that ass of a backstabbing traitor commie bastard...'Russia' and 'afraid' usually didn't make it into the same sentence in that order. ...The compliment made Alfred smile. So, poor Ivan was afraid of the greatest nation on Earth, was he? He'd damn well better be, Alfred was going to box him up in his little house and there wasn't a damn thing Russia could do about it! After all, Russia had a serious communism infection - you had to quarantine serious cases until they came to their senses and let you fix them, fix them so they realized what idiots they'd been and never never ever ever did anything so bad hideous unnatural WRONG ever ever ever again - Lien's voice broke into Alfred's rapidly accelerating train of thought, which he only realized was doing so the second he lost track of what he was thinking about. Shit, he hadn't even noticed...it wasn't usually this bad away from his house, what the hell was going on? Maybe it was due to all the American soldiers in the area? That might explain it, but Alfred didn't like it much. "I don't want this to escalate, of course, but if it does, you would help, right? I would guess you would have to since you are so dead-set on containing communism."[/color] Sighing, Alfred rested an elbow on the table and plopped his head down on the palm of that hand. "You don't have to say 'have to', y'know,"[/color] Alfred replied with a pout, "I'd help because containing communism is the right thing to do! And heroes are always there for people who need them to do the right thing! It's as simple as that!"[/color] As he spoke, Alfred's voice grew louder and more confident, drawing the attention of the men at the bar. Alfred promptly grinned brighter than ever and saluted his boys with the beer in his other hand: they all cheered and returned the salute with their own beverages before turning back to their own cheerfully boisterous conversations. "So yeah, just stick with me and the two of you will be one big happy democracy before you know it,"[/color] Alfred added as he turned his grin back toward South Vietnam.[/center]
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Post by Vietnam on Aug 21, 2011 2:31:07 GMT -5
"That almost seems too easy," she said wryly, amused by his flippantly cheerful thoughts. He did seem to think it would all even out eventually, and she couldn't help but envy the sure weight of his optimism. It was something she might have been lacking in-- it was just that all of the facts suggested a struggle before the calm. It was harder for her to think things would be easy; it just seemed so unlikely, and Lien was already set on believing that much work would need to be done before she could reach the results she wanted.
It was undeniably pleasant, though, to take a short break from that way of thinking and believe for a moment that everything was going to turn out okay because of this boisterous Westerner and her own determination. But that just wasn't productive. It was her very purpose, and her duty to be productive in order to...
She bit her lip.
"It's all just going to be okay because you're a hero?" she sounded skeptical, but still that tinge of amusement remained in her voice. She stared at him, beaming as he was, and felt sad and disappointed and inspired nonetheless. "It's really very childish to think that way." There was a hitch in her practiced skepticism, and she felt the beginnings of a smile, a brief laugh, and it was all very foolish of her but at that point she couldn't bring herself to care.
It was in this careless, silly state of mind that she heard the sound of an explosion booming. Distant, and yet within a range of immediate effect-- the ground rumbled and when Lien looked up, she saw a flurry of panicked excitement within the bar. She glanced a ways over, eyes widening once she realized that popular, American-frequented hotel which was connected to the bar was currently ablaze and shuddering.
For a moment, all Lien could think to do was gape at the unexpected flames, feeling all warmth drain out from her body. Within the next second, she passed an almost desperate look at Alfred, taking in what she could of his reaction, before bolting towards the hotel. She knocked the chair over with a clang in her haste, leaping over the decorative fencing enclosing the outdoor eating area.
As she ran towards the fire, her confusion began to piece itself together-- this was behind that dreadful sense of foreboding, which meant it was the work of Northerners. Just what she needed, a reason for retaliation, yet another stone set in the path to war. Lien was only vaguely aware of why she was running in the direction of trouble. To help? To get details, or some explanation? For some improbable hint that the explosion was not the work of any Northerner? She neared the heat, these thoughts dissolving into pure frenzy until all she could think was, it's not going to be okay.
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