[This place really isn't much different from home. Cold, isolated, and lonely, though this cabin doesn't even have the luxury of a small TV to keep Russia occupied. No vodka, either. Perhaps that's why he's beginning to see things out of the corners of his eyes: great ghastly faces pressing up against the small square windows, pits of black tar where before there'd been nothing but floorboards. Even through his coat, designed specifically for this kind of weather, he can feel the sting of the cold setting in. He wishes he had something to warm up his insides.
He's smiling when he logs onto his tablet.]
To those of you who are so interested in making faces at my window,
Please come in! It is not very warm, but we will be able to pass some time together. It is much easier to endure the cold when you are surrounded by friends!
Unless you are the reason I cannot find my way home easily. If that is the case, I will be happy to crush your head under my foot for causing me such trouble.
I look forward to meeting with all of you! )))
Love, Russia
[Prompt 4]
[Russia is not a stranger to freezing to death, but he'd not done it in a very long time. It was as unpleasant as he remembered. Waking up in a morgue isn't that odd, either, and he looks surprisingly content when he rises from his slab and opens and closes his hands to work some feeling back into his fingers. He's happy to see that he isn't alone, so he waves at the morgue's other occupant, and tries to give them a friendly greeting.
His lips move, but no sound comes out of his mouth. His face goes from cheery to confused in an instant, and he looks down as if trying to see his own throat, raising one hand to touch his Adam's apple. He mouths "What," but it's quiet as if he's a character in a silent movie.
Russia | Axis Powers Hetalia
[This place really isn't much different from home. Cold, isolated, and lonely, though this cabin doesn't even have the luxury of a small TV to keep Russia occupied. No vodka, either. Perhaps that's why he's beginning to see things out of the corners of his eyes: great ghastly faces pressing up against the small square windows, pits of black tar where before there'd been nothing but floorboards. Even through his coat, designed specifically for this kind of weather, he can feel the sting of the cold setting in. He wishes he had something to warm up his insides.
He's smiling when he logs onto his tablet.]
To those of you who are so interested in making faces at my window,
Please come in! It is not very warm, but we will be able to pass some time together. It is much easier to endure the cold when you are surrounded by friends!
Unless you are the reason I cannot find my way home easily. If that is the case, I will be happy to crush your head under my foot for causing me such trouble.
I look forward to meeting with all of you! )))
Love,
Russia
[Prompt 4]
[Russia is not a stranger to freezing to death, but he'd not done it in a very long time. It was as unpleasant as he remembered. Waking up in a morgue isn't that odd, either, and he looks surprisingly content when he rises from his slab and opens and closes his hands to work some feeling back into his fingers. He's happy to see that he isn't alone, so he waves at the morgue's other occupant, and tries to give them a friendly greeting.
His lips move, but no sound comes out of his mouth. His face goes from cheery to confused in an instant, and he looks down as if trying to see his own throat, raising one hand to touch his Adam's apple. He mouths "What," but it's quiet as if he's a character in a silent movie.
Help?]