The year is 1945. The two world powers are seated at a table, mommy America a mere arm's length away from mother Russia who, at this range of closeness, was tense. Mommy America, however, had no sense of personal space whatsoever and felt not a qualm with reaching across the table, bumping elbows and snatching a single 'nother chili dog, sighing contently as the meaty goodness filled her belly's inners. What a surprise it had been, strict and severe mother Russia inviting mommy America over to a tea party! She was no fan of tea. But the other world power had offered her a helping of dogs on the side, and how could she refuse then? Junk food, the light of her life, fire of her loins. Her sin, her soul. Junk food. "PožÃ¡lusta. Help yourself, da?" And America would help herself alright. To another chili dog, that is. She hadn't a clue what language that woman was speaking in, but it sounded funny. She was pretty suspicious at first, Russia inviting her over to a tea party (dogs included no less!). And Russia never invited anyone to anything, let alone little ol' missus America. Never invited her to anything. To anything. And, and suddenly, mommy America found herself all too aware of her shortage of gowns; all secondhand, all shabby, and all largely unworn. She settled finally on a red 'n' white striped one. She liked the colors red and white. And she liked stripes. And the shock of mother Russia inviting her over for a girls' night out soon slipped her mind; her suspicions soon swept away, swatted like flies. "...tea good?" America giggled. Mother Russia trying to lessen the air of awkwardness surrounding her, quite obviously, and quite frankly, mommy America found it quite endearing. <3~ She cursed under her breath. She was beginning to sound an awful lot like missus Britain, her cranky old bat of a mom. Quite. But no. She didn't like tea, much preferred a coke, and mother Russia was not getting the hint. The ruskie continued to up out of her seat and refill, rerefill, rererefill her half-empty teacup. She had had enough. "Is time we talk business." Mommy America's eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. So, so it was... the ruskie was not interested in her, for a get-together. Of course. She allowed her hopes to be raised, raised as had her billowing flag after her split from the missus on 1776. Mommy didn't want for any of this business shit; she left that shit to England, the shit eater of the family. Haha. Shit eater. Shit. Shit! Repeated reiterations... funny words, she don't know what those means. Haha. Oh, bloody hell. Her mother would say. Not even yet gotten into the rum and acting a total drunkard. "Talk business?" A hand was stuffed into the front of her shinel, and out a bottle of vodka was whipped from Russia's pocket. A gasp from America, her breath having been held for several seconds. She had been taken by surprise. Totally by surprise. Totally. By. Surprise. "Very dense. You are, mama. Tea was facade. You choose now. In right hand vodka, in left vodka. You choose vodka or you choose vodka. Best vodka in all of Moscow. Choose quickly, mama." Then mother Russia surprised mommy America once more, by producing a crystalline glass out of what appeared to be, not a split of a second before, thin air. A vodka glass out of thin air. Mother Russia must have spiked her visitor's teacup with alcohol before proposing the vodka/vodka offer, because she was seeing things. Must uh been. And now, she was seemingly trapped. With what the ruskie would think to be a fork in the road for her. Oh, yeah! Bitch. She'd show her. "I'm sorry. Your tea tastes like piss, and I'm willing to bet that your alcoholic beverages ain't any better." And with that, mommy America whipped a bottle of bourbon out her coat sleeve. And she stared mother Russia straight in the eyes, she was no wuss like her missus, and would be damned to back out now-- she was determined to show this bitch who the real world superpower was. She had gone and made herself another path, another road in the fork... or whateva. Now, now it was a proper fork. Three choices, not two. I mean, two, not one. Vodka, vodka, one choice really. I mean, forks have three tines! America was no ace at math but she was fairly sure of her calculations. And then, they both raised the bottles... Then, they both lowered the bottles to their lips... And began to drink. And began to chug. And the Cold War began. Spoiler Now! What happened after America and Russia whipped out the alcohol? I leave that to you. What happened? What occurred? Let your creativity carry you and please, be descriptive.
I have no clue. I just came to say that this is very similar to Hetaliaâ„¢, just with all the countries as women/mothers. But this is purely original. You had me laughing at many points. Also, I'm too tired to remember my history.
Yes. Hetalia is my guiltiest pleasure, but in all honesty Hetalia was not my original inspiration, except... well, with the vodka... I thought of their Russia. Ivan Braginski. I couldn't help it, vodka had to be included.
I hadn't intended on continuing this, was going to allow the readers to continue it. But you readers, how lazy you are. I refuse. You, you continue it yourself. Come now. A continuation should be in order. And if you do, please be sure to introduce sunflowers at some point in the story. Even more fitting, for a woman Ivan. Spoiler: sunflowers
Damn. I'm gonna have to upload it to Tinypic, the image, apparently you cannot link to zerochan. I forgot. Will edit when back, I can assure you that this image will have you grasping a woman Ivan... quite nicely. I did NOT mean for that to sound so... ehm... dirty. edited. Also. Her name is Ivana. Says I. Or should we vote on it?
God damn. Wait here. Pesky, pests, saving the image and reuploading it to another site did not work. I'll try screenshotting it, cropping it in paint and then reuploading to another site. This must not fail. Be back with edits. You can't not see this or it is you...
It works for me. Did you click the link? I really like this. I had my doubt about the premise, but it turned out well. Well done, Lili.
