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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Mar 18, 2010 9:56:26 GMT -5
"Oh, so you're still... really motivated to do that, then? Makes sense." He remembered how seriously she'd taken it all those years ago, confiding in him some of her less top-secret plans to get this "prince" guy to love her, and his cheery but confused "good luck"'s and what not. After all this time, to be so obsessed and not give up... he could almost respect it. But only almost. "Good luck with that, I guess," he added for old times' sake.
America then walked over to the edge of the pond, only a few more feet away, and began setting up his fishing gear - hopefully any fish in the pond wouldn't be frightened away by Belarus, but if they were he could always try another location. He felt it was probably a bad idea to leave her here all alone, who knew if there were serial killers or bears or anything around here? He could fight them off.
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Post by Natalia Arlovskaya on Mar 18, 2010 13:35:08 GMT -5
Her extremely faint smile remained on her face. She gestured toward the piles and piles of discarded flower petals and stems, "Seven out of twelve flowers agree," she informed him. "Russia and I are destined together."
It then occurred to Belarus that maybe her penpal friend knew Russia. Any information she could get on him friend of Russia's is a friend of hers. She made her way over to where America was setting up to do something. She was not sure what but she'd probably find out soon enough. "Do you know him?"
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Mar 18, 2010 20:55:52 GMT -5
It was pretty obvious that she also had a thing for destroying Nature. Great. How... interesting. "Seven out of twelve isn't a very big majority, you know," he pointed out.
America accidentally tangled his fishing line. He didn't try to untangle it and instead asked, "Russia? As in... the country? The one that used to be communist?"
He hadn't met him personally, no, but being a fledgling country himself, he automatically had a certain amount of mistrust and bitterness toward Russia over the Cold War and the nuclear arms race. And Sputnik. Damn Sputnik.
"Why do you like him? What's so great about him?" America might have been a bit bitter, and his expression clearly showed it. Or maybe 'jealous' was the better word. Why weren't any smaller, crazy countries in love with him? Was that something he should even be jealous over?
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Post by Natalia Arlovskaya on Mar 19, 2010 7:10:01 GMT -5
She put both of her hands over her heart at America spoke about Russia. The way he said Russia's name; Russia. It was no different from the way anyone else said it, honestly, Belarus just liked hearing it.
Belarus felt that she could have sung an entire song about what is so great about Russia. However, she had never thought to write one (next on the To-Do list) and she was embarrassed about her singing voice. Though, if America asked, he should probably be answered.
She didn't even know where to start answering that. A small giggle escaped her barely smiling lips and her blush deepened. "You're making me feel like a school girl," she admitted even though she was, technically, actually a school girl and thus feeling like one saw no actual point.
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Mar 19, 2010 17:54:17 GMT -5
America observed her with confusion as she made some weird gestures, her eyes appeared to gloss over a bit, and she... giggled.
"No, seriously, I don't get it. Why do you like him? Does he like you?" He supposed it might be possible for Russia to like her, she was pretty enough... but then he remembered the whole brother-sister dynamic going on there and cringed a bit. That was reason enough for him not to go along with her, surely!
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Post by Natalia Arlovskaya on Mar 19, 2010 20:39:36 GMT -5
"He loves me," Belarus replied, her smiling disappearing in a matter of a half a second. Her eyes grew wide, her features darkened and her voice became low. "He has no choice." There was a pause between the two of them before Belarus brightened up and smiled again. America obviously didn't know what it was like being in love. He'd never understand.
"Is that more clear, Mr. Alfred?" she asked for clarification.
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Mar 19, 2010 21:28:17 GMT -5
"He has no choice"? That statement and the way she looked right now only made America want to back up slowly into the pond, swim across it at the speed of fast swimming, and never come back here again. Belarus was beginning to remind him of the types of young, ghostly, long-haired dead chicks with half-rotten flesh that often come back from the dead in the horror movies he... uh, loved so much. If he was shaking at all and wishing for someone else to be there so he could panic a little and grab onto their arm or shoulder, he hoped it wasn't noticeable!
And then in another second, that image of her was gone and she was asking him something. All he could do after that was to nod blankly and wonder if that had been caught on camera - it would have been amazing on an episode of Ghost Hunters...
Was he supposed to be fishing? Yes, he was. He practically threw his tangled line into the water of the pond, having forgotten to put any bait on the hook and not even caring.
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Post by Natalia Arlovskaya on Mar 19, 2010 21:41:04 GMT -5
Belarus was placated for the moment when she saw America nod at her. She considered leaving when the line was tossed into the water. After all, she did not want to be accused of adultry before she was was even married and although she did not love America (and who could love anyone else when one so obviously had Russia?), she did not want to leave any room for mistakes in her otherwise perfect relationship with Russia.
"Good luck catching fish, Mr. Alfred," she gave him a short bid. She found his technique lacking a bit and typically fished with a mace but she wasn't about to criticize.
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Mar 19, 2010 21:52:18 GMT -5
She was leaving? Good! Maybe the fish would have no reason to be scared anymore. Because it was the fish that were scared most, definitely not him.
"Thanks?" he managed, adding a little wave. "Have a good one..."
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Post by Natalia Arlovskaya on Mar 19, 2010 22:04:03 GMT -5
She didn't wave back, it didn't feel right at that moment. He was an interesting sort of fellow, that America. Belarus found herself not entirely hating being in his company and she was sure she would probably run into him again. Not that she would engage him in a conversation, she just decided he didn't need to have his soul removed in the unforgivable event that they should run into each other.
"You're welcome," she was not sure what she was being thanked for but she responded anyway. "Have several good ones."
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