[Archive] From Now On We Are Enemies [ Russia ]

[aniskywolf]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,480,true][atrb=width,20%][atrb=vAlign,top] THE DATE IS OCTOBER, 1918 ...and with the end of World War I, out of fear of losing the Eastern front to the Germany and the Bolshevics, the British and French have asked U.S. President Woodrow Wilson to send troops to Russia. The campaign is known as the "Polar Bear Expedition". Arkhangelska, Russia

     A sharp shiver rang through his body as a chilly wind swept through and stung his skin. Shit, he thought, why did he have to be here of all places? He could have been fighting in western Europe like everyone else, but nope. He was stuck here. Fighting a fight that shouldn't be his-- what he didn't want to be his, though as the world's hero he had volunteered for such an expedition, despite the fact that in reality he was very reluctant.. But alas it seemed as though in a sense he felt that he needed to morally. As the Russians conflicted with each other on ideals and government, the Allies intervened and wanted to put an end to the spread of communism that would perhaps spill out into the rest of Europe. There was much at stake, and with a dwindling number of troops to boot, the Americans had been asked to join by the close allies of Britain and France. Amusingly enough, he and his troops had been put under the command of a British officer. Charming.

      But even the Americans had trouble defending themselves. There was just too much front to defend, and it was becoming easier and easier for the Bolsheviks to counter the Allies. It had been a bit since Alfred saw Ivan's face, and if he should see that Russian face again, he wasn't sure if he'd ever look at it the same again after all this. All this talk of communism and totalitarian government wore on America's sense of justice, finding it vile and repulsive, against everything he stood for. Of course he'd come to defend the liberties of people, even if they were not his own. He had helped put an end to World War I, perhaps he could help the people of Russia find an end to this civil war when their own nation seemed to be unable to. He shivered in his place, adjusting a gun that he was low on ammunition against him, awaiting to see another foe. Ah.. he had been on good terms wit the Russian before... maybe times were changing...

      The blond didn't see what all the silence was about. They had pushed back some of the enemies a little while ago, but it was just eerie to not hear anymore gunfire. Plus the snow was beginning to actually weigh something as they accumulated on his shoulders. Shifting he rested his head back against a tree worn with bullets and shattered branches. he hated fighting, but you had to do what you had to do to win and prove yourself. America had been waiting for the moment to finally show himself off to the world. He had chances before, but they never seemed to impact anything. Though with the results of World War I, he was quite proud of himself. Of course, just as someone who wanted to be an active part of the international community was expected to do. He was getting better at this, though right now he felt as if the cold was going to get to him before any Bolshevik.

      Thinking he heard footsteps crunching against the snow, he readied his gun, cocking it and slowly looking over his shoulder around the tree he rested against to look ahead. It was perhaps just an animal, then. The youth hated feeling so jumpy, but he relished the adrenaline that flowed through his body. It got him ready, excited, pumped up. Blue eyes were far from tired, but showed signs of boredom. It had been this way for a while now, but in a way he was feeling quite anxious. If he let his guard down, what might happen. He couldn't mess up now. Not in this freezing environment anyway. He continued to look ahead, scanning the are multiple times as to make sure that his ears were not still ringing from all the noise from earlier. Gunshots and yells were nothing new, but the after effect on the ears effected one's mind many times. How much longer would this war last?

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,260,true][atrb=width,20%][atrb=vAlign,top] And just for the record, just so you know I did not believe that you could sink so low You think that you can beat them I know that you won't You think you have everything But no, you don't

I AM way SORRY THIS IS SO LATE

[erava]

Blood splashed across the snow as he watched another enemy fall, and he blinked impassively as the fluid spattered on his front, adding to the many stains already there. He turned the corpse over with his foot, checking the uniform. American, he registered with dull surprise.

Ivan gazed over the snowdrifts with a slight frown. He had spotted several of the English and the French before, but this was the first American soldier he’d come across. Such a pity, he thought, that the young nation, practically a child, had to be dragged into this messy business. He ought to be busy killing Germans in the trenches, not here in this frozen—

He heard the crunch of snow that signaled an approach, and he quickly concealed himself the best he could in the shadow of a snowdrift. With some relief, he noticed the Bolshevik uniform, the first one he’d seen since they’d split up hours and hours ago. An ally, at last! He began to stand to greet his fellow, but there was a sudden blast of noise—a gunshot, he realized as time seemed to slow—and he saw the man begin to turn toward the enemy before the bullet struck him in the temple and he crumpled like a paper doll, more blood spilling out onto the snow. His hands clenched into fists, and with an enraged snarl, he aimed his pistol and fired once, twice, seven times, emptying the entire magazine into the enemy soldier. He didn’t even care that he’d probably alerted every enemy soldier within earshot of his location; he just wanted to watch this filth die, to watch the blood drain from his corpse, and to make sure he was never found—

Shouts rang out nearby as Allied forces converged on the noise. With a violent curse, Ivan threw himself down into the snow, sticking the empty pistol back in its holster. Outnumbered and outgunned, he thought grimly. His only choice was to move as quickly as he could and to hope that Winter would protect him.

Sure enough, the General was kind; a large polar bear lumbered his way, stopping right next to him. He crouched beside the animal as he walked, using it to disguise his footsteps. He was able to guide the bear towards a frozen tree, hoping to use it as shelter, only to see a solitary American uniform crouched beneath it already. The soldier whipped around when he heard their approach, and he almost gasped aloud when he recognized the boy’s face. Not just any American, then.

What was he doing here? He had another war to fight in the West! But then, of course he’d been sent by Arthur and Francis. How dare they, he seethed. How dare they send a mere child to do their dirty work, a child that was almost his friend—

But then, Amerika would understand, surely. He was young, and he had ideals; he would see that that this was right! Ivan shot a glance behind him. There was a warehouse not far back; he could take the boy there, and he would talk to him and make him see…! Yes, he thought. This would work!

Russia stealthily moved toward the American, making barely a sound before putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Alfred? It has been some time since we spoke last, yes?”

[aniskywolf]

      It really did feel like forever. He shook his head, becoming almost bored as he leaned back against the tree after having scoped the place a few times. That ruffling noise had him on edge, though. It was... discomforting. He only kept his rifle close at hand, gloved hands feeling the chill of the snow nip at his fingertips. A long sigh condensed in the cold air as he tried not to close his eyes- not out of lethargy, but simply because it had been a while since he had last blinked, and so a nice, long one seemed appropriate. He did so, but his heart almost jumped into his throat as a hand was placed and he pointed the gun at the culprit who had startled him so severely as glasses almost fell of his face. Coming to reality, he lowered his gun as he looked shocked at the tall, bulky man with discomforting stains of blood on his front. His voice-- It was Russia.

“Alfred? It has been some time since we spoke last, yes?”

A slow nod. "Ivan...?" The words came out stuttered, shocked at how soft the man was being despite obvious circumstances, "It has... hasn't it." He reminisced. "And what... a place to see each other again." He smiled slightly, but only slightly.

     Alfred had no idea of whether this was just a facade to catch him off guard or if it was really Russia trying to be civil. How was that possible in the battlefield, though? Technically half of Russia was his enemy, so... Ah.. it was hard to say. Alfred still could not yet decifer the difference between a liar and an honest person on the battlefield, but he always had faith that everyone had some good in them, and so when they presented such a side, he would take it and presume that's how they were. There was good in everyone, or so he thought for the longest time. He never thought that such a belief would break. America was a very kindhearted person behind all the harsh words and childish misbehavior, it simply took a while to see this. Time that no one had the patience for, leaving him alone, but at least there were the few who put up with him, Russia included.

Standing he kept his gun to his waist. "What brings you?" Asking curiously he looked into volet eyes. "I thought you'd be too unwell to be all the way out here." He shrugged. "Obviously not, but, you know what I mean."

      He had remembered his own civil war. He almost lost his life to it, but here he was, one nation under God and all that. It simply took enough will from the people to continue on. He never stopped, even when he was trapped behind closed doors almost the whole time, agonizing over everything. He assumed that most nations were like that under the circumstances, but it seems not. Ivan seemed relatively fine aside from obvious appearance changes due to all the fighting. It was interesting really. Alfred so young had yet to really see how everything differed from nation to nation, but it let his young curiosity wander.

[erava]

“And what…a place to see each other again.”

Russia smiled as well in reply, but his grin was much wider, much more sincere than it had been in a while. He knew he could trust his young friend! Amerika would not be like the others; he would understand. Yes, surely he would be able to understand that this was all for good, this was to help his people, and that England and France were wrong, that they were the evil ones, killing his people, trying to stop him, how dare they do this, how dare they!

His eyes darkened dangerously for a moment, and his hands subconsciously twitched towards the pocket in his jacket where he kept his metal pipe, but he quickly remembered Alfred and calmed himself. It wouldn’t do to be killing the boy’s allies, not while he was trying to gain his trust. Patience, he thought to himself. They would see soon enough how wrong they were; what he needed to do was to get the younger nation to see it.

Russia’s smile dimmed sympathetically at America’s reference to his own civil war. He remembered that time as well, remembered how Alfred tore himself to pieces, remembered how broken he became, remembered being the only one who cared enough to want the child whole again. He closed his eyes momentarily as he recalled the first uprisings; he had been mad and terrified as well, but he had been saved from that pain.

“It is different for me than it was for you,” he explained. “You were physically divided, yes? And your heart was also divided with your people. It is not like that for me, I think, because I know which side is right.” His eyes darken again for a moment. “It was very difficult, abandoning my own people,” he said quietly, a hand absentmindedly going to cover his heart, “but I did what must be done.”

It had indeed been difficult, one of the most difficult things he had ever done, including the first time he’d fired on and killed his people in 1905, even including the execution (the murder, it was a murder, no, it wasn't, you know it was, shut UP!) of the Romanovs. He remembered the intense, all-consuming pain he’d felt as he’d denied half of himself, as he’d cut them off from himself, as he’d forced one of the sides warring in his mind out and let the other take complete control. He remembered writhing, screaming, but persisting, never once stopping in the face of what seemed like hell itself. He remembered the pain slowly focusing, concentrating in his chest, throbbing and pounding with the beating of his heart, he remembered clawing at it, wanting to take a knife and carve it out, anything to get some reprieve, and he remembered the pain surging one last time before stopping completely as his heart suddenly vanished from his chest and appeared, still beating, in his hand. He’d replaced it easily enough—the organ was somehow able to phase through cloth and skin and bone—but it continued to fall out during some of the worst conflicts, when the pain in his chest escalated until it was too much to bear. In a way, he thought, it was perhaps appropriate. Better sometimes not to have a heart than to endure the pain it caused.

The sound of gunfire in the distance jerked him back to the present, and he recalled what he’d been trying to do in the first place. He grabbed America’s shoulder and pulled him down so they were both crouching out of sight. “But never mind me,” he hisses. “I must speak with you now. There is a warehouse there,” he says, gesturing back toward the Bolshevik lines. “My people will not attack if you are with me. We will be safe there. Will you come?”

---

Yay, finally some headcanon on what the hell is up with Russia's heart! Though I do feel I should define the mentioned incident in 1905 as Bloody Sunday. And, if you read my RP sample in my application (if not, here you go: war-and-peace.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=accepted&action=display&thread=179 ), you'll know that Ivan personally took part in the killing of two of the Romanovs. Though I'm sure you deduced that anyway XD

Also, as I'm sure you noticed, there's still a bit of Red vs. White going on in Russia's head. Less now, but it comes out when there's something he's feeling guilty about, even if he doesn't admit it to himself.

[aniskywolf]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style,padding: 40px 0px 10px 0px; height: 240px; background-image: url(http://i55.tinypic.com/63y9zk.jpg);][atrb=vAlign,bottom] I just want to be better than your head's only medicine

[bg=5b2935][atrb=style,padding: 20px;border-top: 3px solid #FFFFFF;] “It is different for me than it was for you. You were physically divided, yes? And your heart was also divided with your people. It is not like that for me, I think, because I know which side is right. It was very difficult, abandoning my own people, but I did what must be done.” "Oh... well I guess that makes sense..." He said, kind of jealous that Russia was able to tell what was right while he was unable to have the heart to abandon his people like Russia so did. Then again, he wouldn't have it any other way. "Anything to help you people, that's what's important." He sighed a bit, still on edge about where he was. "Don't you have regrets, though?" Adjusting his fingers on his gun he looked closely at Ivan's overall facade, still wary. He could have sworn he saw a flash of something intimidating, but it and came and went a bit too fast for Alfred to really register it. There was always this thing about Russia that put him on edge. He wasn't sure exactly what, but just something about how the taller man carried himself. It was... so odd but Alfred overlooked it for quite some time. They were probably small details that shouldn't need too much paying attention to, and yet America stared at them as if they would betray him if he looked away. Right now was the same case. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on Ivan's, figuring that in this type of war he shouldn't be too lax with the Russian man. But even then, he was being fair enough, and Alfred decided to lower his moral guard with him just a bit to seem more relaxed. Keeping his gun close he made sure to not be caught off guard physically by enemy attacks. This... was a horrible place for talking. A short was fired and America flinched, whipping around to point the gun in that direction. It was just beyond a bunch of trees in the distance. It was hard to see because of the snow that continuously fell creating an almost thick blanket that was hard to see through. White stained with red was before them, and quite frankly it made the young nation sick. One would think that he would have gotten used to it due to his experience in the Civil War, what with vile trenches and rudimentary bombs that caused larger messes than ever predicted and disease that crawled through soldier wounds. Regardless, that didn't mean he didn't like it. His young mind was still in a phase where warfare and the like was still hard to absorb. It wasn't a way of life for him like it was for older nations. Simply it was something he wished he didn't have a part in. “But never mind me. I must speak with you now. There is a warehouse there. My people will not attack if you are with me. We will be safe there. Will you come?” He blinked in somewhat surprise. He was very unsure about that idea. Nodding slowly he simply complied with his eyes never leaving purple ones. "I'm trusting you, Ivan." And with that he'd follow the other into whatever danger was going to arise. And really he did trust the tall nation that was before him... for now. Should that trust be broken and he was lead into a trap, then all bets were off and Alfred would be set on taking him down with his brash head ready to tackle whatever enemy came before him. He wouldn't necessarily like it, but it was all in getting back. An immature notion, but one that he was used to. The snow was thick and piled on his shoulders. He'd follow Ivan into Bolshevik lines should they continue on, and quite frankly Alfred wasn't too happy about the idea either. He flipped over a hood to conceal himself. This was more of a hassle than it really should have been. Better hope England and France are happy.

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