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Post by lietuva on Oct 9, 2012 13:19:51 GMT -5
((Could I possibly enroll as Lithuania? ^^))
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Post by Hipster Prussia on Oct 9, 2012 21:51:43 GMT -5
[ I would love to join as Austria or Germany. XD ]
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Russia
New Member
Become one with Russia, da?
Posts: 40
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Post by Russia on Oct 10, 2012 15:00:11 GMT -5
"What are you reading, Matthew...?" Russia looked at Canada with honest curiosity. He always felt reaxed around the calm and shy nation that is canada.
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Post by Hipster Prussia on Oct 10, 2012 16:56:57 GMT -5
Ung... It's time for z'eh fall festival again. Germany thought to himself. He sat at his desk with his crisp white collar shirt followed with the black uniform jacket required by students. He tapped through the schedule in his mind today: He had already jogged for this morning, already prepared lunch for the latter of the day, and was expected to start early on a paper tonight for Western Civilizations. He nodded and rubbed his chin in silence, staring out the window as he was waiting in the hallway for the classroom door to open for his next class. His shoulders were very stiff, and he sighed and closed his eyes for a mere second.
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Post by lietuva on Oct 10, 2012 18:43:26 GMT -5
Lithuania sat quietly in the back of the classroom, making sure he'd finished up the assigned homework from the night before and checking his calendar. He was a little stressed out, as the Fall Festival was coming up and he didn't really have any ideas for what to do. Sighing to himself, the brunet tucked some hair behind an ear and chewed on his pencil. It was a nervous habit of his, really. Sighing again, Lithuania cast a glance out the nearby window. At least the weather was nice today - rainy days tended to give him headaches.
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Oct 10, 2012 19:19:07 GMT -5
It was all too easy to wrestle with England, to fall into familiar steps with him and relish the expected blows and parries. This path he walked with England was horrendously tried and true, a worn and dusty road stripped bare by sheer usage. Try as he may to veer to the left or right, to take the road less traveled, France found himself gravitating to the old path of conflict and war. Britain was in his face now, towering over his place on the bench with his finger shoved in France's face. It was irritating, it was grating, it was glorious.
"Honhon! I accept your challenge, mon ami! But I assure you zat I am already victorious in all zhings--fashion and foodstuffs to say ze very least. 'Owever, I cannot guarantee mon best be'avior when you finally pass out drunk, my darling!" He stood with an elegant flourish, passing his hand gently, teasingly over the British gentleman's cheek. He tapped the man's nose. "Don't be surprised eef you wake up nude et weeth a sore butt tomorrow. HONHON."
Looking round, Francis realized with a start that Alfred had gone traipsing off for the bar a long while ago, and he was in fact several paces away. He was marching rhythm discernible only in his own head, and Francis was struck with a strange sense of affection once more. He was a brute, a hard-headed inelegant brute, but he did look absolutely delectable from behind. Hohohon! Perhaps... dare he even consider...? Well! Well! What better way to get back at the bull-headed Brit?
Francis tossed his golden head.
"Ah! Ah! Mon ami!" he cried, waving wildly in America's direction, "do wait for mooooooi!"
He paused momentarily to gesture to both Spain and Monaco, who had become remarkably silent.
"Come, come! Zere will be a fair drunkening today, mes amis! Et a fair round of lovemaking tonight, HONHON!"
Once he had arrived at the bar, a small fortuitous pub several miles away from the school, France settled himself resolutely at the bar, flirted liberally with the bartender, and ordered several rounds of gin for himself and, really, anyone in his general vicinity.
He would become fantastically inebriated before afternoon. He would triumph over Britain, who would most likely pass out in a corner, inviting any and all to scribble obscene messages on his forehead. He would fondle any good-looking woman who walked through the pub doors, and if that were not enough, he would corner America, woo him with his stupendous amounts of charm, and coax him to attend the Fall Ball with him. Oho! Wouldn't that be a knock in the head for Britain?
"Bartender-- look at you, you gorgeous zhing you. What was your name? Tristan? Trevor? Oh, nevermind, you're a doll, cher-- order us a round of gin! Gin for everyone! I... oh! But Tequila for ze sexy brunette." He paused to wink dashingly at Spain.
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Post by Hipster Switzerland on Oct 10, 2012 19:59:09 GMT -5
Britain's face went shocked. "D-Dont fucking mock me!" He called, smacking his hand away. "This is a pub. Not your scene. Prepare to meet your maker..." Arthur mumbled. F-fucking asshole. Still walking in the direction, he saw Francis waltz on over to his brother Al. What's with the graceful step? He shouldnt be all over him... Arthur looked over his shoulder to the rest of the people to join him. Enough, he concluded. Yes, enough. He reached the bar door shortly after the rest. He gave a heavy sigh, for it was time to live up to his challenge. He was surprisingly... Nervous. Whi would he make me take...? An Englishmen always lives up to his promise, of course Id go. Maybe... After all the times we had, hed pick a delightful gal? Handsome man? No... Francis seems vengeful at the moment. Maybe... ...himself...?[/color]
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Post by Hipster America on Oct 10, 2012 21:08:44 GMT -5
Admittedly, Alfred wasn't sure whether he should have been annoyed out of his mind when the two made the bet, or just amused. He settled on his usual medium - being the annoying brute of a man he often was.
The bar was certainly a nice place, he could admit that. But the smell of liquor and cigars really put him off as he stepped in. However, there was another reason of his suddenly-unstable presence. The smell itself reminded him much of France, and he was not very unsettled by such a thing. In a way, he was enamored by it. Smitten with the intoxication of a feeling it caused in the wake. Managing to look even more idiotic than usual, the man settled up at the bar near France. Far enough to evade him, but close enough to be in company with the man. "Oh... Uh..." Having caught the final words of the man about gin, he glanced down and rubbed his finger nervously over the sheen of the polished wood that the bar was constructed of, noting the scratches where cups, nails, and perhaps even knives had made their history. The sudden rest of unease was unnatural as it was humorous. He didn't drink, and that was that. Drinking had been a horrible problem a while back, as was his drug activities, but that was for another time.
But he couldn't very well refuse a free drink, could he? The hospitality of even the French - who just loved to hate America, as he once said - was preposterous. And extremely rude, if he had a care for that sort of thing. Shaking his head, he smiled and nodded gratefully to the Frenchman.
"I guess one drink wouldn't do much harm."
He knew those words just got him into a load of problems. An alcoholic who hadn't had a real drink in over several decades? Even worse that time when he swore off alcohol during the eighteenth amendment...
He would be in a huge amount of trouble at the end of the night. If he wasn't in bed with one of these countries, or hadn't gotten in a drunken fight, it'd be a miracle, in his opinion. Well, look at what I've gotten into. You idiot...
It's one drink, one. I won't have another, and everything will be good and fine... Right?
Yeah, and you'll wake up naked in, lemme guess, Britain's bed?
... Ew, dude...
Right. So, I suggest you keep alcohol out of this, unless you want to end up being the stupid one you are. Besides, you're already talking to yourself. Guess having dissociative identity disorder never wore off after all that upset during the Civil War, huh?
Shut up, dude. I'm going to have one drink, and maybe it'll stop this madness, right? No wonder I can't focus or try to understand or 'read' the mood...
Shaking his head, the nation stopped rubbing his finger over the polished wood, noting the small dent that had occurred as he worried himself with his... Abnormal... Thoughts. ... Great... I have that stupid disorder and this random strength... No wonder I'm so crazy to everyone...
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Oct 11, 2012 21:53:37 GMT -5
As he expected, America was beginning to respond to the rather large amounts of charm emanating from France's very romantic essence. His art of subtle seduction was sharp; Alfred's every move became beautifully significant to him. Presently, Alfred was running his thumb bashfully over the bar's thin scratches, a tinge of pink cresting his cheeks. France was sure to personally hand America his gin. Their fingers brushed together, and a jolt of electric attraction passed through France's arm. Ah! This would indeed be interesting. The prospect of bedding Alfred became more desirable by the moment.
The world was beginning to waver before his eyes.
He surveyed Alfred in the same manner one might survey a new piece of land, admiring the hills and valleys, considering the fruits of vigorous labor-- Never before had he laid eyes on a man so perfectly chiseled. He was an Adonis, a model of manhood so sculpted was America! He was a little like the statue of David; his skin was of the same clear, cool complexion as marble, his hair the same sexily tousled mess, his every limb as carefully crafted as that fine work of art.
France drew his tongue over his lips. To have a taste of America would be to taste certain victory, to claim the world's ultimate man for himself. Yes. Yes. The more he mulled over this concept, the more palatable it became.
He was becoming wonderfully drunk now. He scooted close to America and draped an arm around the man's broad shoulders. With the help of the bartender, he lit a chocolate flavored cigar and sank into the delicious aroma.
"Alfred, mon cheeeeer! You are looking awfully uncomfortable. Tell papa France all about your troubles, mm?"
He brushed Alfred's cheek affectionately, then fixed him with a charming smile.
Every now and again, France made certain to look round at Britain, who he hoped was burning with jealousy or at least getting ridiculously tipsy.
"Alfred..." he said more slowly. He was trying desperately to control his tongue, which threatened to ruin his carefully constructed facade with wayward words. He leaned in. "Alfred, really. 'Ave you given any zhought about zis silly ball? Are you going? Of course you are. Look at you. You're so damned handsome, I bet all ze nations are asking you, mm? Tell moi. 'oo do you 'ave an eye on? Zere must be some lucky-- 'ow do you American's say eet?-- gal? HONHON."
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Post by Hipster America on Oct 12, 2012 2:02:22 GMT -5
"Huh? Me?" Looking startled by the sudden act of being addressed, the nation's eyes flickered upwards to meet France's. Admittedly, he had been giving some thought to the Fall Ball, but really didn't see why a drunken Frenchman was prodding into such things other than for gossip. He supposed feeding a little... 'Information' that may or may not be true wouldn't hurt, and maybe would humor the man. "Well, to tell you the truth, a few of the nations have been hinting at it..." Think. Think. What's some countries that he wouldn't check reference with...? Maybe... "Like Prussia, for instance... I didn't think he'd be the dude to even hint at that. Especially not to me..." A little lie wouldn't hurt him, and it'd satisfy France, he hoped. Lifting the drink absentmindedly to his lips, he took a sip, freezing immediately. He knew better than to drink... But maybe this once it wouldn't be bad to have a sip or two.
"As for having an eye on someone, dude, can't say I have anyone in particular in mind... Though I know I don't want to end up being the one taking my quiet brother... That'd really be bogus, you know?" Not like he'd be able to ask his brother, anyway. The boy was strangely popular at times, or it seemed to him. He turned his attention back to France, noting that his glass was extremely light. Eyes fluttered downwards, spotting a strange lack of gin. That explained the buzzing in his head and the heaviness of his tongue. Well, this sucks. Can't say I remember drinking it in the first place, but I guess what's done is done...
"You know, you seem rather interested in me." His mind distracted by his thoughts let his tongue run on without a hesitation or care of what others would think. "If I didn't know better, I would've thought you were trying to ask me to the ball. Of course, why would you need to ask me to that, if your real aim is to get me in your bed?" Quickly, he worked to control his mind and tongue, having felt a bit harsh on the last comment.
"Sorry... I'm just not used to all this drinking. It makes me say things that are obviously true, and yet... Gah..."
And this was why he hated drinking.
"Never mind. Look, I'm surprised you care anything for me, is all I'm trying to say... You French love to hate America... Or... I thought so, I guess..." Trailing off and flushing an awkward pink, he ducked his head and took a deep breath, trying to calm his buzzing mind. He obviously couldn't hold his liquor well, and it had been quite a while since he had needed to work to get out of the sluggish effects of alcohol.
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Oct 12, 2012 17:31:34 GMT -5
France savored the gin, like burning silk, over his tongue. Alfred was speaking, but he was only tenuously listening; his entire being was reacting to Alfred's closeness, an effect of several martinis and six shots of gin, and he was growing more enamored with the American by the moment. He watched the man's hands work and gesture wildly in the air-- the way only Americans do-- and he leaned his cheek on one hand. Alfred was clearly fabricating the details-- he had failed to realize that Francis and Gilbert were close comrades-- he knew most every thing about the Prussian, particularly about his love life, as that was their main thread of confidence. The lie, all for the sake of conversation and courtship, only served to deepen France's desire for Alfred. How cute! That he would falsify such a thing to keep France interested! France himself had performed such romantic acrobatics in the past.
France placed one comforting hand on Alfred's leg, stroking his thigh lightly with his fingertips.
"Oh, oh! I certainly understand why Prussia would want to ask such a magnificent specimen of a man, mon cher." He withdrew his hand slowly, then slid his fingers along Alfred's spine. "After all, Prussia zhinks very 'ighly of 'imself et... desires only ze best for 'imself. Zis includes dates to ze ball." He withdrew his hand again; he wished to drive Alfred wild, and this familiar, lusty dance was all part of the motions.
But then, their silly flirtatious game rounded a crucial corner. The American, further emboldened by drink, reached into the very heart of France's main objective. Alfred had grown tired of skirting round the issue it seemed-- and so, there it was, hovering between them like a deliciously forbidden fruit-- the prospect of not only attending the Fall Ball together but becoming even more deeply intimate with one another.
France's very insides grew hot and tight. Yes. This is what he wanted. If he could bend Alfred over the bar and take him then without being arrested he would. He licked his lips, fighting the animalistic urge to pounce hungrily upon Alfred's form.
"Well," France began, raising his martini glass to his lips, "why not? You are attracteeve, I am attracteeve. You are... clearly one of ze most... 'andsome, 'eroic men at ze school, et... very sexy. Would eet be so bad to admeet zat... I want both? What would... you say to zat? Mm?"
His hand found Alfred's thigh again and began a slow descent between his legs. He moved very close to Alfred to whisper warmly into his ear.
"Let us discuss zis... elsewhere, mon cher. I 'ave...somezhing very important to tell you."
With this, he led Alfred into a dim, isolated corner of the bar, away from prying eyes.
(Permission was given to lead Alfred into a dark corner, but remember kiddies, eef you don't ask permission, zis is technically power playing. Et zat es very bad!)
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Post by Thor Odinson on Oct 12, 2012 18:55:14 GMT -5
Spain found himself distracted by his thoughts, so much so that he hardly heard England, Monaco, or France address him and missed their entire conversation. He stared off across an empty field, tilting his head slightly to the side and squinting into the shadows of the one of the trees dotting the edge of field. Something had moved, he was almost certain, but whatever it was had either disappeared or fallen still. Probably a stray or some small wild animal.
He mentally shrugged it off, his attention suddenly drawn to France who was gesturing at him and running off after America. A smile broke over his lips and he was quickly on his feet. Si! Si! Ya voy!
Spain followed after the other three nations to the bar, taking a seat just in time to hear France order him a tequila. You know me so well, amigo, gracias! He laughed, reaching a hand back to rub at his neck. The drink was promptly set down before him and he lifted it in silent cheers to the bartender before throwing it back.
The burn of the alcohol was hot, strong, and familiar. He let out a sigh of contentment as he set the now empty glass down on the bar. Spending the day like this was definitely much better than dozing his way through his classes. A warm smile was on his lips as he waved the bartender down and ordered a second tequila.
Britain and Monaco had become strangely silent, but America and France had not escaped his notice. Spain had watched France in action countless times; the way he draped himself artfully over his chosen object of desire, the way his nimble hands teased and flirted, and the way he carefully chose his words, all seemingly with ease. Spain never really understood any of it, and on most occasions he simply ignored it as it was too common an occurrence as old as time.
But as France led America away to some dark corner, he felt a twinge of something blossom inside him. It was a strange feeling, something beyond his comprehension. He shook it off, raising his second glass of tequila to his lips and taking a hearty swig.
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Post by Hipster Switzerland on Oct 12, 2012 19:32:10 GMT -5
Looking from his distance, respectively at the corner of the bar, Arthur had noticed Francis talking up Alfred. Though it was crowded and full of blabbering drunks, his ears seemed to point up in listening to the two. He picked up words like 'attractive,' 'ball' and 'HONHON' W-what the fuck does this even mean...? Was he hitting on my brother? No... He was... trying to s-sabotage me! That fucking bet. Tch, stupid France... Oh he'll get a fight alright...[/i] And with that the Brit shouted, "Oi! 2 beers, for me... and," Arthur gestured his hand toward Francis, "...this lovely lady over yonder, please." And with a condescending smirk the battle was on, as Arthur had intended. Not going down without a fight... Hell no. Take the kid down with you, I will be on top.
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Post by Hipster America on Oct 12, 2012 21:26:49 GMT -5
"So you had something 'very' important to tell me, dude? What's up about that? Is it something about getting me into your bed? 'Cause I wouldn't mind that... I bet it's warm sleeping next to someone..."
The obviously drunk country slurred his words, grinning foolishly as he leaned against Francis, singing a country tune under his breath. He was having a fun time being drunk. Of course, the killer headache from a hangover tomorrow wouldn't be nearly as fun, and he'd probably be a bit irked by the pain. Francis knew he didn't drink, but that didn't seem to be an excuse, for at the moment he couldn't even remember where he lived, let alone if he was trying to lay off the alcohol or not. Continuing to cling to the rather hot guy he had found dragged him into the corner, Alfred smirked and trailed his hand lazily down to the Frenchman's thigh. "Have I told you how hot you are, dude? Like, seriously. You take my breath away, babe..." The entertainment and pleasure France gave him was clearly humoring him into a sense of security, where he flirted without a care in the world; looking never the more pleased by his attempts.
You know, he's beautiful... And being hot was a crime, he'd be on the death sentence. Wonder why I never noticed it before... His soft gaze, his confident stature, his blonde locks... Oh, I'd love to curl my fingers in those locks and hold him close... The things I'd do with him...
His mind trailed into deeper, more inappropriate thoughts and he smirked broadly, sliding his fingers into Francis' hair. "I swear, you've turned me on... Now, kiss me." The comment was more of an order, sharp and crisp on his sluggish tongue. All of his thoughts focused on the man's lips as he leaned forward, eager to taste the Frenchman. Just one kiss, really, wouldn't do much harm.
As far as his sluggish, alcohol-driven brain knew, having sex with the man wouldn't do much harm, either. Which really said something about his current morals. "Just kiss me once." Eagerly, he leaned forward even more so, brushing his lips gently, sloppily, against Francis'. The touch sent a thrill of chills down and up his spine, making the drunken man stumble into his partner's chest.
"Umph..." His chest... So soft... And his heart is... So strong... The beat of it makes my own flutter...Clenching his fists into the man's shirt, closing his eyes and leaning against him, he smiled just a bit.
"... You're soft... Francis..."
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Post by Hipster Switzerland on Oct 12, 2012 22:01:56 GMT -5
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see two blonde masses as one... of different shades... One more golden and one that kind of l-- "A-ALFRED!" Leaving the bartender still at order he hopped off his stool, almost tripping, toward his wavering brother. Pausing for a second in shock... he could see, those light bags under his eyes. Okay, at least he wasn't doing this on purpose. He's just drunk. "Al-Alfred! Get a hold of yourself here dammit!" The Brit exclaimed as he pulled up the man from the other, separating the two. "You should really head home Al. Before you make ANOTHER mistake, fucking traitor."
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