Uprising (Ukraine and Poland)

[ukraine]

It was February in Pereiaslav, Ukraine. Sofiya impatiently paced in front of the hearth, waiting for Feliks to arrive. Her hair was pulled back, braided and pinned to the back of her head, a little bit windswept. Her face was flushed from the harsh cold of winter. As she sat down, she peeled off her cloak, dropping it onto the chair behind her. Her face was set into a serious expression, her eyes burning with determination. In her right hand, she held her pitchfork threateningly. Ukraine was angry, and she was determined to give her people freedom, by whatever means necessary.

She allowed her mind to drift to the man who was making this all possible: Bohdan Khmelnytsky. Poland might think of him as a rebel, but he was a hero to Ukraine. He was working to her benefit, after all. He was working to free her from Poland. She had already started to think of him as her new boss, even if it wasn’t really official yet. Shortly after his triumphant return to Kiev, she had even found the courage to reveal her secret to him: that she was more than just an ordinary Ukrainian girl, that she was actually the personification of the proto-nation that he was fighting for. It had been a terrifying experience, and she wasn’t entirely sure if he had believed her.

Well, I’ll convince him soon enough if this works out, she thought. And if it doesn’t, then I suppose it won't really matter.

She knew that Poland wasn’t taking her rebellion as seriously as he should. Well, he never took anything too seriously, but he really didn’t seem to see her Cossacks as anything more than a little irritation. He didn’t seem to realize that she had practically declared war on him. He certainly appeared to be oblivious to her ultimate goal – namely, independence. Well, that would change today. She knew that her new boss was planning to tell the Polish delegates at their meeting that day, and she wanted to be here to rub it in. Feliks was in for a shock.

Ukraine brushed away tears from her eyes. She wondered how it had come to this. Not that she wasn’t eager to fight for her freedom, but she was afraid. She hadn’t always hated Poland. How had it gotten to the point where her Cossacks were fighting his soldiers and she was preparing to tell him that she was leaving, whether he liked it or not? What if it all went wrong? If Khmelnytsky was defeated and she ended up as Poland’s subordinate again, or if she succeeded in gaining independence but she couldn’t support herself and ended up regretting it, or if she was conquered by a cruel nation … the awful possibilities ran through her head as the tears streamed down her face.

She hated herself for being such a crybaby. She should be stronger and have more control over her emotions. She just couldn’t help it sometimes. But eventually, she made herself stop. She knew her eyes were red and puffy and anyone who saw her would be able to tell that she’s been crying, but she wiped the last of the tears from her face and steeled herself. When Poland arrived, she would make him regret ever messing with her little “border land”.

--

OOC:
I'm not very good at coming up with titles, as you can probably tell from this one. If you have a better idea, Poland, feel free to suggest it.

I wasn't sure exactly where they would be meeting (I know they're in Pereiaslav, but I couldn't find which specific location within the city was where the negotiations took place), so I just did a kind of generic room without a lot of description.

[Poland]

Savior? Ridiculous. Liberator? Laughable. Polish oppression?

Poland halted in his steps. Oppression… now that was a word he didn’t like to use. Oppression, oppression. He didn’t think he was oppressing anyone—honestly, that Khmelnytsky loser was just being lame, power-hungry, greedy, whiny and damnably lucky.

Ah, however, Ukraine and her people were actually falling for his act. Unfortunately. No matter how menacingly and boldly they stepped forward, though, Poland, in all of his obstinate resolution, was not stepping back quite yet. Even as they threw their fits—killed his nobles, killed his townpeople, won their stupid battles with their stupid allies and their stupid numerical advantages—he knew that Ukraine was making a mistake. Going through a rebellious age, even. It was ridiculous, ridiculous, ridiculous! She shouldn’t whine just because her higher-ups liked him more; she should’ve just tried to be more like him. Adopted his culture and his ways and left her outdated, commonplace ones behind—seriously, Poland had given her every opportunity to do so. And yet, here she was getting needlessly riled up over a few small matters, following the example of that shiny new complaint-filled leader of hers when she should’ve just been good and obedient and docile. Hadn’t he already put up with enough of her silly Cossack uprisings?

They were getting horribly tedious and fast. Luckily, Poland had the best cavalry in all the land—and he flaunted it like a new coat on Sunday Mass. Unluckily, Ukraine wasn’t letting up just yet. He gave a quick run-through in his head of all the things she wanted, his frown deepening.

He knew that her precious Khmelnytsky was meeting up with his nobles today, and similarly, Poland would get to lecture Ukraine. Or, that was the plan, anyway. He knew once those Tatars quit helping them out, they’d be dead meat. So it was truly merciful of him to give her a chance to apologize and repent before hand, wasn’t it? He wasn’t quite aware of diplomatic deals done between their people except for the fact that he was the one making concessions. And he was slightly irked by that—but it was true that Feliks would’ve given much to rid himself of the problem. However, those damned Ruthenians were just impossible to ease, and Feliks didn’t understand their stubborn rebellion any more than he understood diplomacy or even war.

When had it even come to this? Ukraine had always been, like, the good apple on the rotten tree. But in the last few years, she had gotten all antsy and glare-y and even somewhat tenacious. He sighed softly at the thought of actually coming face to face with her in battle—but no, he was optimistic that he could talk her out of her temper tantrum and save them both lives, pain and trouble. If the nation really did reflect the people’s will, if he could nudge Ukraine a ways towards a more peaceable and subservient position, perhaps the Ruthenians would also go that way.

And then he could kill the so wisely renegade Khmelnytsky. He didn’t like getting his hands dirty, sure, but it was for the greater good. And that guy was totally taking advantage of him at a terribly bad time—unfair, unfair, unfair! He didn’t want to blame Ukraine or her people—he most definitely wanted to blame that man, and whichever Cossacks wallowed after him like sheep. But mostly, Feliks wanted to get the whole incident over with, and shelve it in the library where it would merely gather dust because nobody cares about tiny uprisings that get nowhere.

Feliks kicked open the door when he reached it. Not out of anger or frustration, but just because he wanted to startle Ukraine and make a grand entrance—after years of keeping the girl at his house, he was hardly bashful around her, quite shameless in fact— but, he was kind of startled because… well, Ukraine was holding a pitchfork. And that was startling for a fraction of a moment before he almost burst out laughing. A pitchfork—how… how traditionally rebellious. It was odd, but to him it signified that weak kind of deviance, that meek and lukewarm and useless rebellion that ends up in vain because, well, who could pit a pitchfork against a cavalry unit? Disgruntled farmers against trained soldiers? Similarly, a crybaby vassal nation versus Poland, the king of Eastern Europe and the Baltic Sea.

Subsequently his eyes fell on Sofiya. It was initially unsettling—the steely defiance rolling off of her, the fiery determination in her eyes. He was taken aback; but after a few seconds of taking all of that in, he saw with a twisted satisfaction that she had been crying not long before. Obviously, that iron resolve could melt much easier than it was formed. “Afternoon, Ukraina. So, you wanted to talk, right?” And so did he, for that matter. Whatever emotion was running inside of him, all that showed was a wry smile and amused, if not noticeably tired, eyes. With little effort, he hoisted himself atop the table and crossed his legs, finding the warmth of the nearby hearth almost consoling in these horrendously annoying times. “Then, let’s talk.”

He kept an eye on that pitchfork, though.

(( ooc; I found writing this very ironic because Poland is always getting himself into them tiny uprisings that get nowhere. And post-WW2 Poland is different from Commonwealth Poland. /feels bad for himmmm but it’s kinda fun to have Poland be the douche for once haha.

Anyway, if I did something wrong, Ukraine, just bring it up with me~ Also, I don’t mind title woes because I come up with lame titles like it’s nobody’s business~ ))

[ukraine]

Ukraine glared and prepared herself to face the nation who she had once considered a friend. Friend? Ha! She could see now that he had never been anything more than an oppressor, and she would not allow her people to continue being oppressed.

Suddenly, the door flew open as if someone had kicked it. She flinched at the suddenness of it, but she didn’t allow her resolve to falter as Poland, who apparently had kicked the door open, strutted into the room. She rolled her eyes. How typical of him to want a dramatic entrance.

She saw a hint of surprise on his face as he looked her over. What was it, she wondered? Was he so unused to seeing the usually subservient nation looking so determined? Then she remembered the pitchfork that she had brought with her. She had intended it to make a point – that she was strong and wouldn’t be frightened out of her rebellion. She wanted him to take her seriously for once. She smiled slightly as she saw his expression of shock. Clearly she had made the impression that she intended. Then she noticed a funny look on his face, almost as if he was fighting back laughter. That made the anger inside of her threaten to boil over. What exactly did he think was so funny about this? Couldn’t that jerk be serious for once? Apparently not. The expression faded as quickly as it had come, and she dismissed it as part of Feliks’ irritating personality.

“Afternoon, Ukraina. So, you wanted to talk, right?”

Sofiya nodded sharply, still glaring. Unfortunately, the glare didn’t seem to be affecting her idiot oppressor, who continued to smile as if this was all just a game to him. Maybe it was. And suddenly, Sofiya found it hard not to smile herself as Feliks sat down on top of the table. It was just another sign that he wasn’t taking this as seriously as he should, but Ukraine couldn’t help but find it a little bit endearing, despite its annoyingness.

Why am I fighting against him? She wondered. When did I start hating him?

Then let’s talk,” he said.

And just like that, there was no time to think about the past and no room to doubt her decisions. This man was her enemy, nothing more. All that mattered was the here and the now, and she felt the anger flaring up again.

“Yes, let’s do,” she said.

She stood up, pitchfork in hand, glaring at the Polish man.

“You think I’m just a proto-nation going through a rebellious phase,” she said. “You won’t take me seriously, no matter how many times I rebel against your oppression and win. Well, fine. That’s your problem. If you want to pretend that my uprising is just an annoyance, go ahead. But I can tell you that it’s not. You’ve oppressed me long enough, and my people and I will not give up until we have taken what is rightfully ours.”

[Poland]

Feliks had always found it needless and difficult to listen to someone rant about what a hard life they had. He didn’t really try to ignore it mostly, but it was evident to him that he was simply incapable of notdoing so. He just couldn’t bring himself to care enough most of the time, to listen carefully without slipping in his own views.

But as Ukraine went on, he made a special show of being disinterested, just for her—he pulled his legs onto the wooden table with a rather loud thud and rested his cheek on his hand, letting out a grudging and unnecessarily loud sigh. He examined his nails as if they were the most interesting things in the world; he stared longingly at the fireplace or the door and let each angry drop of the voice, each threat, each complaint, drift softly through one ear and out the other. He carefully avoided eye contact with the raging woman, purposefully rolled his eyes even in an almost comic display of complete irreverence.

It didn’t even occur to him that such mannerisms would set her off even a miniscule degree, and as soon as he realized a silence had lasted in the room for more than ten seconds, he cheerily glanced at Ukraine and stretched, his legs kicking back and forth off of the table now. There was hardly a rhythm at all to the swing of his legs, but their speed increased and increased as he started to talk.

”You are a rebellious proto-nation—now, now, don’t disagree, that’s what you are. And frankly, I totally don’t see why. Haven’t I given you like… everything?” Here, he closed his eyes and held up a hand as if to silence any forthcoming denials or comebacks, and continued hastily, “These… uprisings of yours. I wanna make something clear here: I don’t like them. I don’t think they’re that big of a deal, but I don’t like them, got it?”

He sneaked a brief glance at her expression, and with a distant smile, continued after a few moments of tense silence, the kind that rolled off of Feliks like it was nothing. Maybe it was bad, but… he liked watching people’s faces move. He could hardly discern one expression from another, or think as to why someone’s face might contort itself in such a way, but he just loved to see faces… crying faces, angry faces, sad faces, laughing faces. He loved his own face best, but the way Ukraine could tear up after a few harsh words never failed to interest him.

”You know what?” his voice was raised, somewhere between a laugh and an angry shout. Without even realizing it, venom had seeped into his voice. “If my king hadn’t died… if the Tatars weren’t helping you… I hope you know that this rebellion of yours would have been totally and completely crushed. What is all of this even for anyway?” And now he was complaining, ranting as if he had every right to rant, staring daggers at Ukraine all the while. “It’s just because… what? Some wages? Some bad luck for that Khmelnytsky guy? The stupid Orthodox Church you love so much? God, Ukraine, you didn’t have to be such a whiny bitch about it.” He crossed his arms, blew his hair out of his face, looking obviously frustrated. He didn’t much enjoy speaking with such malice towards Ukraine, but this was merely a secondary thought—primarily, he was pissed. Why? Because Ukraine and her people were following that stupid Cossack around like love sick puppies. His outright and careless lewdness was nothing new, and yet, the near hateful tone with which he spoke towards her was. He didn’t like to talk to his subordinates that way, and all but… in his mind, that’s what needed to be done. Poland always, always knew best, after all. Ukraine obviously didn’t, if she expected to make such a fuss over nothing and then run straight back into his good graces afterwards.

[ukraine]

As she spoke, Ukraine noticed that Poland was behaving very childishly, making a show of not paying attention. This infuriated her, and she stopped talking and glared at him. Maybe if her words couldn’t get through to him, her silence would. However, he did not even seem aware for a moment that he had stopped speaking. Then he began swinging his legs and smiling at her as if there was nothing wrong.

“You are a rebellious proto-nation.”

Ukraine opened her mouth to retort, but she was cut off by Poland insisting that she was, and telling her not to disagree. How typical of him, to insist that she not disagree. Even if he might have a valid point in that she was, in fact, a proto-nation that was rebelling, it still infuriated her.

“And frankly, I totally don’t see why. Haven’t I given you like … everything?”

She snorted contemptuously at this. Surely he could see that this wasn’t the case. She had to admit that he had been kind to her, but she didn’t understand why he thought that would be enough. Shouldn’t he be able to see that she wanted to be in charge of running her own life? After all, that was how it worked for humans. No matter how kind and loving a child’s parents might be, there always came a time when they grew up and wanted to leave, to have their own households and be responsible for their own lives. It was only natural. Why was it so much more difficult for nations? It was the same concept, really. Poland might not be her father, but he was the one controlling her life right now. Why was she having so difficult a time convincing him that she needed her freedom?

Caught up in her thoughts, Sofiya barely noticed that Feliks had stopped talking until he started up again, raising his voice, telling her everything she already knew about why her rebellion was succeeding. Did it matter that she would have been crushed if this or that wasn’t the case? His king was dead, and the Tartars were on her side, so she didn’t see any reason to think about what would have happened if things were different.

“What is all of this even for, anyway?” Ukraine listened as Poland listed some of her reasons for fighting, acting as if they were nothing, as if she was foolish for wanting to fight over them. She couldn’t believe that he thought things like Khemlnytky’s “bad luck” were the problem here, when they were really just the details. Of course she wanted to help Khemlnytsky get revenge for the way that Poland had treated him, but more than that, these recent events had made her realize that she needed independence. That was her real goal.

“God, Ukraine, you didn’t have to be such a whiney bitch about it.”

Alright. That did it. She wasn’t going to stand there and take any more.

“So I’m a whiney bitch, am I?” she had to choke back tears now. “Is that really what you think of me? I don’t think you understand at all. This isn’t just me whining about some insignificant little problem, okay? Take something seriously for once.”

”Is it really so wrong of me to want my nobles to be proud of me, instead of mimicking you all the time until you would hardly even know they were Ruthenian? Is it wrong for me to want to practice my own faith, without you trying to shove your beliefs at me? Is it wrong of me to follow a strong leader who can give me what I want?”

She paused, gasping for breath, then continued. “If you were forced into subordination by another nation, forced to give up your own culture and beliefs and conform to someone else’s, I’m willing to bet that you wouldn’t take it lying down. Nations live long lives, you know, and a lot can change in a short time. Maybe someday you’ll be the one fighting against an oppressor who’s trying to squash your rebellion. Then you’ll see what it’s like.”

“You want to know what this is about? I wouldn’t think you would even have to ask. This isn’t just about Khmelnytsky, or my Church, or any of that, although they’re certainly contributing factors. This is much, much bigger than all of that. You're obviously not smart enough to guess, but don't worry. You'll find out soon enough."

Sofiya felt a little guilty for yelling at Poland like this. As angry as she was, she still couldn't quite bring herself to hate him, although she knew everything would be so much easier if she could. But still, she couldn't wait to see the look on his face when she told him that she didn't intend to remain a part of his Commonwealth.

[Poland]

Maybe not actively, but on some level he had hoped that she would begin crying after hearing him speak to her in such a way, apologize, end her rebellion, and then go back to being the sweet, obedient proto-nation he had developed a liking to over the years. But she didn’t. It was almost painful to see her stifle her sadness and scold him with such passion and solemnity. Feliks felt himself scooting backwards on the table, the corners of his mouth slowly turning downwards as he watched her wearily. Most of her words he dismissed, but the fire in her eyes was just disquieting enough to make Poland’s resolve to be distant from the entire ordeal falter just slightly. She was so upset that, Poland noted with an almost amused amazement, she kept on in her tirade without even having to breathe for some time, it seemed.

He scoffed at her trying to appeal to his empathy—he didn’t have any, and if he did have even a little, it wasn’t going to be wasted on her cause.

”Like I’m ever going to be in your situation, Ukraine. Get real.” He paused, a finger placed thoughtfully on his chin as he stared blankly ahead. “Bigger, huh?” He turned towards Ukraine, now looking interested, mildly bemused. No matter how he was berated for it, he just couldn’t take things seriously, as irksome as they may become. “I don’t get it. Just fill me in now!” He slammed one of his boots down on the table to accentuate his point, and his other foot followed suit. “You know, I don’t like being so confused by this…” He furrowed his eyebrows, gave a long, melodramatic sigh. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to give you what you want if I don’t even get what you want, get it?” Geez, that was obvious stuff. He gave little thought to it otherwise though; whatever she wanted, he wasn’t going to give in just yet. Once the Tatars left her side… and his leadership was strong once again…Yeah, once he was on his feet, he felt he could take down the Ruthenian uprising without even calling in Lithuania’s help. So he held her gaze with a cocky, self-assured smile, mouth now curled into a smug smirk. Her fight couldn’t proceed forever.

[ukraine]

Ukraine could tell, subconsciously, that Poland was not paying a lot of attention to what she was saying, but she was angry enough that she hardly cared or even noticed.

“Like I’m ever going to be in your situation, Ukraine. Get real.”

Sofiya frowned. She knew that this was probably true. Poland was strong. He was the most powerful nation in Eastern Europe right now. There was no way that he would ever be dominated by a foreign power. Now that she stopped to think about it, the words that she had shouted in a moment of anger sounded ridiculous. There was no way something like that would ever happen. Right?

“Bigger, huh?” he said in an irritated tone. “I don’t get it. Just fill me in now!”

Feliks stamped his foot. It was such an immature gesture, so childish, and somehow it irritated Sofiya to no end while also making her feel a sort of grudging affection. Even though he was far older and more powerful than she was, she felt almost motherly towards him. She knew that was completely weird and irrational, but she just couldn’t help it. But she had to stop thinking like that. She was fighting against him now. He was the enemy.

“Oh, Feliks,” she sighed softly. “Do you really want to know? You won’t like it.”

He was obviously frustrated, with his brow wrinkled in confusion, talking about how he didn’t like feeling confused. She snorted a little at that. Most of their kind would be able to figure out easily what Ukraine wanted. If only Poland wasn’t so silly an immature, if only he could think about this logically. Really, what in the world could a teenage proto-nation staging an uprising possibly want? It didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to give you what you want if I don’t even get what you want, get it?”

Ukraine hesitated. She knew that she should probably just tell Poland and get it over with. On the other hand, she was a little worried that he would overreact, and that thought scared her a little. But she had to think about her people and what they wanted, and also what she wanted – which most certainly did not include spending the rest of her life under Polish rule. She had already decided that she wanted to be the one to inform him of her decision. She didn’t want to leave it up to his diplomats, she wanted to face her fears and do it herself. Maybe she could make him see sense, make him realize that he couldn’t keep her in his power forever. Not likely, considering that he was Poland, and therefore very unlikely to listen to anyone else, but she could try.

“All right, but you won’t like it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “My people aren’t happy living under the Polish Crown. They don’t want to be part of your Commonwealth anymore. They want to make me an independent nation. And I … I support that. I want it, too.”

[Poland]

“Oh, Feliks. Do you really want to know? You won’t like it.”

Feliks didn’t consider it a second time. He didn’t give a moment’s thought towards the possibility of ignorant bliss. With a toss of his head and a roll of his eyes, he arrogantly snapped, “Of course I want to know! Why do you think I’d be asking you? I’m sure I won’t like it, but…” After trailing off for a moment, he shrugged and smiled again. “It’s not like I’m going to give in to everything you say just if you ask or throw a fit, Ukraine,” he said tiredly, resting his head on his hand with a small smile, “You gotta know that, at least.”

Sensing her hesitation, he jumped off of the table and stood in front of her with a pronounced frown. His moods swung from one side of the spectrum to the other in diplomatic situations, and this was no different. Furrowing his eyebrows, he said again, both as if ordering her and pleading with her, “Come on, Ukraine, I don’t waaant to figure it out, I want you to tell me.”

He crossed his arms, distractedly peeking around the room, taking in every random detail, as she seemed to briefly contemplate her choices. He knew he wouldn’t like it. He couldn’t even guess as to what it was—he wasn’t trying to, though, he was trying to get his vassal to tell him what she wanted. Evidently, given her hesitation and multiple warnings, it would be something ugly. And Poland would hate to have such things running rampant in his region.

“My people aren’t happy living under the Polish Crown. They don’t want to be part of your Commonwealth anymore. They want to make me an independent nation. And I … I support that. I want it, too.” She admitted with unexpected calm.

At this point, Poland himself wasn’t sure what to do, or what expression to make, or even what words to say. There was simply an influx of differing emotions boiling within him. Despite all of the feelings, though, he knew for sure that he definitely wasn’t calm. The room seemed hot, when just moments before it had been decidedly cozy. Feliks didn’t say anything for a few moments, turning his gaze towards the hearth from across the table.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ukraine…” He admonished her in an almost quavering voice. Sharply, he turned back to her and was glaring right at her eyes, displeasure written all over his face. “You don’t even know what being an independent nation these days is like, do you? You don’t. You have no idea! Did it ever occur to you that I’ve been the one keeping you safe from our enemies all of this time? Why would you even need independence? You don’t! It’s only going to get you in trouble, and under the subjugation of some other nation—and trust me, they’re going to be way worse than me! I’m not even that bad! I don’t get it still… This is so stupid! You’re so, so stupid, Ukraine, expecting such a thing like that. That’s why you need me. I mean, I… I let you have your own nobles and I let your people join my army and I have helped you so much and now you’re trying to get independence from me? Why do you hate me so much?”

His words had gone from angry to a self-concerned notion of unfairness. He looked very unhappy now, like a boy being denied something he desperately wanted. It didn’t feel right or fair to Poland, though, and he was sure to show it in every fiber of his being and every intonation of his words. Having been staring at the floor in brooding resentment, he now raised his head to look at Ukraine again. Of course, he was the one that held the power. He was the one that decided whether or not Ukraine would be independent in the end.

But just knowing that she wanted to leave was making a profound and uninvited effect on him. Still. He convinced himself for what felt like the hundredth time that day that he truly couldn’t care less about what she wanted.

[ukraine]

In all the years that she had spent living with him, Ukraine had never seen Poland speechless. He was usually so unaffected by anything that anyone said. But now, after hearing her revelation about her future plans, that was exactly what he was. And, watching the expression of shock on his face, Sofiya almost regretted her words. Oh, she still wanted her freedom. She wouldn’t be swayed from that so easily. But she hated seeing the confusion and anger on his face and knowing that she was at fault.

And yet as soon as he started speaking, calling her stupid and telling her that she didn’t know what she was talking about, she couldn’t feel guilty about it. This was exactly why she had to leave, because Poland was so self-centered and idiotic that things would never change otherwise. She would spend the rest of her life being pushed around by a cross-dressing blonde nation, forced into adopting his ways until her own culture, her own identity, even eventually Sofiya herself, faded away into nothing. She felt, so desperately, that she was in danger of losing her national identity and just being Polish, and she knew that she would literally die if that happened. How could he not see that, by influencing her nobles to adopt his ways and forcing his religion down her throat, he was slowly smothering Ukraine? As he asked her why she would even need independence, she wondered how he could really be so blind.

“It’s only going to get you in trouble, and under the subjugation of some other nation – and trust me, they’re going to be way worse than me!”

“No,” Sofiya murmured as Poland stated, once again, that he didn’t understand. “You really don’t understand, do you? I’m not a child anymore, Feliks! I’m getting stronger by the day. I don’t need to be under anyone’s control anymore. I have my own culture, religion, people … now I even have my own boss. You won’t have control over me anymore, and your king won’t have control over me either. My sole autocrat, the only human who I will take orders from, is Khmelnytsky. Maybe you’re right and I won’t be able to make it as a country, but I don’t think that will happen. I have enough power now to be independent, and I don’t intend to do that just to fall under the control of some other nation. I don’t need you to protect me anymore. Your enemies are not my enemies – the Tartars are helping me, aren’t they? – and when I do make my own enemies and have my own battles to fight, I have confidence that I will be able to form my own alliances and deal with threats on my own.”

She had known that Feliks wouldn’t react well to being contradicted, and she was right. She listened as he called her stupid and explained that she was foolish for even thinking about wanting independence. As he listed all the things that he had done for her, she felt a lump rising in her throat. He was right, for once. He could have made her life a lot worse than it had been – a lot of nations probably would have – but that didn’t change their current situation. If anything, it only made it harder, because she still wanted – no, needed – her independence.

“I have helped you so much and now you’re trying to get independence from me? Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you, Feliks,” Sofiya muttered, sitting down and wiping a stray tear from her eye. She blinked back the deluge of tears that threatened to spill out. She didn’t want to seem weak, but she had never been able to control her emotions.

“I’ve never hated you. You’re right, you’ve done a lot for me. Back near the time when I was born, when the Kievan Rus fell, I’m really thankful that you rescued me from the Mongols. And I’ve liked living with you, I’m glad that I grew up under your control and not someone else’s, I’m glad that you’ve always been there to take care of me and protect me. I’ve always liked you, Feliks.”

At this point, Sofiya couldn’t control herself. She stopped trying to restrain her tears and simply buried her face in her hands and let them flow.

“But don’t you understand?” she sobbed. “That’s not enough anymore. I’m not a child who needs protection anymore. My people want to be free. I want to be free! I hate that I have to fight with you to get what I want, but I can’t help it. I’m sorry.”

“Please just let me go. It would make this so much easier. I don’t want to have to fight with you. And I don’t want … when this is over, I don’t want to have to keep on being your enemy, but that’s what’s going to happen if I have to form alliances with your enemies to convince you to let me go. I’m already working with the Crimean Tartars. But there are others I could ally myself with who would be able to bring an end to this very quickly, and I will do it if that’s what it takes. Why don’t you think about that?”

She shuddered and wiped away her tears. She didn’t like having to go through this with Poland and she wished that he would just give in and be independent. She really did like Feliks, and it hurt her to have to fight with him and threaten him. But she reminded herself yet again that it didn’t matter if she had to hurt Feliks to get what she wanted. The tears spilling from her eyes were only a stupid emotional reaction that she needed to stop right now! But somehow, she couldn’t.

--

This is really ironic to write because Poland is actually right: Ukraine ends up under Russia's control almost immediately.

[Poland]

Ugh. Usually Ukraine just cried all the time, and Feliks rolled his eyes or made some sort of remark with a careless 'get-over-it' attitude. At first, he remembered her constant teariness had irked him because he honestly didn't like the idea of coming back from dealing with some noble or king or rye field or whatever being difficult, just to find Ukraine bawling her eyes out because she made some sort of mistake or some paltry misfortune had befallen her. And because... tears, crying, sobbing? They were all the clearest of clear indications of unhappiness.

And Feliks didn't really know how to deal with anyone's unhappiness besides his own.

So after figuring that Ukraine's bouts of sobbing were somewhat... usual, Feliks had decidedly come to ignore it. But could there be any clearer indication, now, that she was horribly and monumentally upset? Maybe it wasn't the crying this time. Maybe it was the desperation in her voice, that voice which rang in his ears even when he stubbornly turned his eyes away from her. He looked all over the room, anywhere but at the uprising nation, and he still heard every deep breath and pleading word. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, his breathing slow and heavy and deep, as he folded his arms over his chest and tried to act as if nothing she was doing was impacting him in the least. Because if she kept crying like this, then... then if he started crying or something too, because crying of this sort, with personal words of this sort, are enough to make crying contagious, that would really be bad, and that would really be stupid-- the two were practically at war and here was Ukraine, pleading with him, and Poland, unwilling to give in but hating the situation all the same.

"No." He replied instantly once he thought she'd finished. "No." Again, just to make clear. Unless his boss said otherwise-- which he certainly would not, guessed Poland-- Feliks himself was willing to make no concession of independence to Ukraine. And he wasn't going to say sorry about it.

He dared a look at her, though, sighing a sigh meant for her to hear, eyebrows knit in obvious frustration. Behind this, he could hardly hide the fact that now he felt... pity for her. Still, he couldn't very well... and after what her people did... No. He closed his eyes, reminded himself to be firm and resolute.

"I can't just let you go after what you've already done, you know." He said, and his mouth felt dry. He swallowed, and continued, keeping his voice even. "Like... I don't want you to become independent, either. Obviously, you're not ready." He stared pointedly at her, her tears, her shuddering breaths, the way her shoulders twitched when she cried. It was a nasty remark to make, but one he felt was true. "And it benefits me personally to have you around. So, sorry, you can't just leave like that, and I can't just let you unless my king and your..." he struggled to find the right word, and settled lazily, "guy reach some kinda agreement. I don't think they will. And I'm gonna pretend I haven't heard what you just said, 'cause that sounded like you're threatening me, and if you can get allies, I can get allies and better ones. I don't even know who would ally with you other than those damn Tatars, and they can be like, easily taken care of." Another tired sigh.

"I'll ask you again to reconsider and just give up already.... and, hey, Ukraine, stop sniveling, will you? Please." He asked, voice laced with a unique mix of irritation and concern and even pity. "Just... stop crying."

[ukraine]

Sofiya’s heart sank deeper with every word that Poland spoke. So much for trying to reason with her oppressor. She shouldn’t have even bothered asking him to release her; of course he wouldn’t want to, and for someone like him it was all about what he wanted. Nothing else mattered, not the happiness and wellbeing of his fellow nations, not even common sense. If keeping her under his control was what he wanted, then it didn’t seem that he could be persuaded to let her go. He was just so frustrating!

She rolled her eyes as he voiced his opinions that she couldn’t find any more allies. Just another sign that he was naive and childish and hadn't though any of this through very well, if he couldn't see what she was going to do. “What about my brother, then?” she asked, wiping away more tears. “I’m sure he’d be perfectly happy to help out his big sister. Do you want me to bring him into this? Because I will, Poland. I will if I have to.”

"I'll ask you again to reconsider and just give up already....”

Sofiya shook her head miserably. “Not until you give me what I want.”

“And, hey, Ukraine, stop sniveling, will you? Please. Just … stop crying.”

She looked up with watery, desperate eyes. “Why? Why do you care if I cry? You obviously don’t care enough about me to let me go my own way, so why would you care how I react when you say no?”

Bitterness filled her voice as she continued. “Is it annoying you, Feliks? Well, I’m sorry, but we’re fighting a war here, so you’ll have to excuse me if it doesn’t really matter to me that I’m annoying you!”

Ukraine stood up loudly, pitchfork in hand, and walked toward the Polish man with an anger engraved on her face. “Feliks, I told you that I don’t hate you, and I was telling the truth. I'm not particularly happy with you right now, but I, Sofiya, do not hate you. But my people, I would be lying if I said that they all feel the same. Some are loyal, but a lot of them … well, humans’ memories are shorter than ours, and most of them have never seen the human side of the kingdom of Poland. They see nothing but a foreign oppression from a distant king who cares only about the Polish, not my own Ruthenian people. So as the soon-to-be nation of Ukraine, I have no choice but to see you as my enemy. I’m sorry.”

As she finished talking, Ukraine stood with one hand on her hip, meeting Feliks’ gaze with a tearstained glare, holding her pitchfork threateningly in the other hand.

[Poland]

Poland wrinkled up his nose at the mere mention of Ukraine’s brother, who’d been a thorn in his side for too long. He didn’t think Ivan could be much help to anyone—like Ukraine, he was no fearsome force, but certainly an irritation. The difference was that Poland wished Ivan didn’t exist at all— the world would be so much more peaceful and so much better that way, wouldn’t it? But he wasn’t just going to stop existing, unless Poland intervened, which he’d tried to do over a looong period of years. Nonetheless, if Russia existed, Poland figured he was just an irritation, albeit a steadily growing threat to him. If Ukraine wanted to ally with Russia, fine then. Poland was confident he could take them both, maybe with the help of a few allies—Sweden was out of the question, which was a shame since he’d been so helpful the last time they’d needed to put Ivan in his place…

Wait. Right, the Tsardom was on a land-snatching rampage lately, wasn’t it? And Ukraine was foolish enough to like, trust such a nation? Feliks paused, and when he looked up at her again, she was bitter. Well, she seemed more bitter.

“Why? Why do you care if I cry? You obviously don’t care enough about me to let me go my own way, so why would you care how I react when you say no?”

Feliks gave some thought to this momentarily, and then shrugged and said with a thin smile, “I’m just annoyed by it, I guess!” Maybe that wasn’t true, and maybe it was. Feliks was having enough trouble trying to get Ukraine to act as he wanted; did he really need to tap into and classify how he felt? He felt how he felt, and acted as he acted. Feelings were complicated things to understand.


“Is it annoying you, Feliks? Well, I’m sorry, but we’re fighting a war here, so you’ll have to excuse me if it doesn’t really matter to me that I’m annoying you!”

Poland only shrugged again. She had a very valid point, really. He knew he sure didn’t care that she was frustrated with him, even though he was just perceptive enough to catch the fact that she did hold negative feelings towards him at that moment. He just didn’t care. Ukraine had no idea what she was getting herself into; she was being naïve and vapid and silly.

“I have no choice but to see you as my enemy. I’m sorry.”

Feliks made a face again, shifted his weight, and then shrugged with that very same thin smile. “Fine. That’s fine; I don’t care. But about your brother… are you so sure he won’t take advantage of you then? You do realize he’s on this whole land-snatching streak and he’s my—our enemy, right? Since when have you even talked to him? It’s… funny if you think he’ll really help you.” His eyes glinted rather maliciously as he leered at her, and then at that pitchfork. “I’m still not all that bothered by it—I hope you know that—I’m just not going to let you go all easy like.”

[ukraine]

Poland could say whatever he liked. It wouldn’t change a thing. Ukraine, usually so weak and obedient, was not going to listen to a word that he said. Perhaps the teenage proto-nation was going through a rebellious phase.

Poland’s warnings about Russia fell upon deaf ears. Ukraine would indeed ask for her brother’s help if it came down to that, and nothing that Poland could say would change her mind on that. Who else was she supposed to ask for help against Poland? Anyway, he might be snatching up land right now, but Ukraine was sure that Poland only had such a negative view of him because the two men were enemies.

“He’s your enemy and my little brother,” said Sofiya. “And we may not have talked for a while, but I’m sure I can trust him. We are family, yes?”

Sofiya frowned. From what she could remember of him, she wasn’t entirely sure that she could trust Ivan, but she wasn’t going to admit that now. “Just forget that I said anything about him, okay? He doesn’t have to be involved in this at all if you just give up and let me go.”

Ukraine sniffled again as Poland repeated what he had said so many times before, that he was not going to let her go easily. She couldn’t change his mind. It was hopeless.

“Okay,” she said. “You’re not going to let me go. I get it. And I’m not going to stop fighting. You need to understand that, Poland.”

They were both too stubborn for their own good. Feliks would dramatically insist that anyone who disagreed with him was wrong. He made a big deal about always being right, whether this was true or not. And Sofiya, while she seemed the more likely of the two to simply go along with what other people wanted, could be as stubborn as a mule when she set her mind on something. She might cry and plead and seem weak, but she didn’t give up so easily on things that she felt strongly about. Poland was determined to keep Ukraine as his subordinate, and Ukraine was determined to escape. A fortress that cannot be breached is attacked by an army that cannot be defeated, and in the end, only one of them will retain that reputation. Except that Ukraine was not undefeatable by any definition of the word. Her strength lay in her determination and endurance, not her virtually nonexistent physical power. But still, she was determined that this time, she would not lose.

“Eventually, one of us will have to give in. I don’t plan on that being me, and I know you don’t think it’s going to be you. But we’ll see, Poland.”

[Poland]

“Just forget that I said anything about him, okay? He doesn’t have to be involved in this at all if you just give up and let me go.”

Poland scoffed. Giving up was not an option, ever. Russia or no Russia, the irritation Feliks felt didn’t rise or fall. He was still confident about the eventual defeat of any and all rebels. “Yeah, right, like that’s gonna happen.” He said, obvious doubt dripping from his voice. He peered straight into Ukraine’s defiant eyes with his own, and they held a stare-down for a few moments until Ukraine relented slightly, speaking again. Poland listened, still seeming cross—but almost as if he was cross simply for having to stay there in that spot. He didn’t even want to talk about it anymore; he didn’t want to be civil with her and discuss their standing. He wanted to fly out the door with dust clouds in his wake, and only see Ukraine again when she wasn’t so… unbearably rebellious.

“You’re not going to let me go. I get it. And I’m not going to stop fighting. You need to understand that, Poland.”

Poland didn’t understand her reasons and logic; no matter, he was no stranger to misunderstanding logic. But he did realize that she wasn’t going to step down, and this incited an all too strange mixture of irate annoyance and begrudging respect. Okay, so maybe in a way, she was growing up. That didn’t mean she and her land and her men could just waltz out of Polish hands though, he resolved, but didn’t quite shove away that sentiment of endearment.

Feliks stared at her coolly for a few moments, and then dusted himself off as if he’d become dirty just by standing in the room. And he spoke again to her, with as much casual indifference as he had in him, “It’s not like you’re going to beat me, you know.” He could have been frustrated, and he was aware of this, but the feeling wouldn’t come into his words or his manner. “By any means. I don’t even know how you could think to even try…” He sighed, brushed a lock of his hair neatly behind his ear and looked at Ukraine, taking all of her in for what he hoped was the last time. He was going to be the one to cut off discussion; he was going to be the one who remained in control. After his last cold stare, he walked hastily towards the door of the room and reached for the doorknob with much less enthusiasm or energy as he’d possessed coming in.

He was stopped by Ukraine’s words. His hand stilled. He didn’t turn around, but for the first time that day it was blatantly clear that he was listening.

“Eventually, one of us will have to give in. I don’t plan on that being me, and I know you don’t think it’s going to be you. But we’ll see, Poland.” She said, steadily, defiantly. Feliks shrugged once more, feeling little but numbness towards her at that point. It ate up that flurry of feelings he’d felt only minutes before, and he was calm and irreverent and uninterested, just like he was used to.

“We’ll see; either way, I’ll still be right.” He smiled a challenging smile at her, but didn’t look directly at her again. He didn’t like what he saw anymore. With that, and with a little more hurry that necessary, he pulled open the door and walked out with pride—yet with an urgency, as if he was escaping something amiss. I don't want to, but I guess I'll see you on the battlefield, Ukraina.


(( I liked doing this one! I'm only sorry it took me so long... if you want, you can post a closer, or we can end it here!))