#ch lithuania

Papa’s voice and harsh laughter rang through my head, as loud as the wind in a blizzard. 

His words repeated in my mind as I poked, prodded, and squished my nose until it hurt. It didn’t do me any good. When I tried to imagine what I would look like if it were smaller, it would morph back seconds after I removed my hands. It was frustrating. 

With an infuriated sigh, I dropped my hands and thought back to the creature Papa showed me before.

The rat.

Big nose. Beady eyes. Gluttonous.

I had gluttony covered. I mean, I ate behind Papa’s back all the time! Regretfully, I don’t think that’d ever change. I try not to do it, but I get so hungry… I must be gluttonous.

Beady eyes? I’m not sure if I had them or not. How could I tell, anyway? 

Big nose… I definitely had one of those. But unlike the two formerly mention issues, I think I can change that.

Noses barely had any bones, right? That’s why they’re so soft and flimsy. That’s why Mama’s people could pierce them. From the sound of it…

I stared down at the borrowed kitchen knife I held.

Noses seemed pretty easy to cut through. They were just meat, right? Thinner than the bites I take when I get food.

Turning this fact over in my head, I lifted the blade, letting it hover a centimeter above my nose as I tried to decide where to carve.

It’d probably hurt, but I think I could handle it. I know how pain feels. 

Obviously I didn’t want to start from the middle. If I misinterpreted my starting point, I could butcher my face. Make it worse than it already was, if such a feat was even possible.

Starting from the bottom would be wise. Starting from the bottom, and whittling my way up bit by bit.

I think that’s a rather good plan! So good, a smile tugged at my face as I pricked my nose with the knife and—

“Alyeska!”

I could barely process Lietuva— Litva’s voice before the 15-year-old slammed into me, sending my knife flying. I was knocked onto the ground with a thump.

Chert voz'mi! I almost had it!

Ignoring the rude interruption known as my big brother, I crawled toward the blade, reaching out for it.

The handle brushed against my fingertips, sending a surge of hope through me. I was looking forward to getting this done. Maybe I would’t be such a burden on Papa’s eyes if I  fixed myself!

Sadly, my spark of excitement was diminished the second Litva kicked the knife away. What a suka.

“Gadina!” I groaned as he dragged me to my feet, “You can be such a bully sometimes!”

Litva firmly held on to my shoulders and turned me around to look at me. 

I stared right back at my brother. He seemed shaken up. Perhaps he was feeling guilty about interrupting me?

Litva raised his hand. I widened my eyes and  ducked my head. Maybe calling him a gadina wasn’t my best idea… I don’t recall ever getting really disciplined disciplined by Litva, but there’s a first time for everything.

I studied the floor and our feet, waiting for the blow. It never came.

I heard Litva heave a heavy sigh. He gently lifted my head up. Instead of the whack I was anticipating, he used his shirt sleeve to wipe the blood trickling down my face from the little puncture mark I managed to prick on my nose.

No! He can’t do that! No no no no—

“What do you think you’re doing!?” I cried, shoving his arm away, “Papa can’t see you ruining your shirt! He’d— He’d hate that!”

Papa would have to discipline Litva! I couldn’t— It was too awful!

“Alyeska—”

“Don’t call me that!” I sobbed, terrified. Surely Litva remembers how Papa dislikes us using anything other than the names he gave us under his roof!

“It’s alright—“

 “He might hear you, Litva! I’m Russkaya Amerika! While we’re in this house, I’m Russkaya Amerika! And— And you’re Litva!” I reminded earnestly, “Oh, blyat… We shouldn’t even be talking right now! Did— Did you ask for Papa’s permission to talk to me?”

“Otets isn’t home,” Litva assured, attempting to sooth me (like an idiot who doesn’t realize the depth of the situation!) by gently wiping away my tears, “He just left for the week, remember? The only people here are the staff, you, me, and that thing.”

Litva nodded his head to the doorway of the room. I followed his movement with my eyes and caught sight of a toddler, leaning against the doorframe as she sat on the floor. Litva must’ve been holding her before deciding to set her down and tackle me like a total jerk.

“Heh!” Finlyandskoye greeted.

“Tch. No need to get political.”

“Bsha!”

“Well, that’s certainly a hot take on Napoleon.”

“Doodoodoooo!”

Litva gasped in mock offense, earning a maniacal giggle from the little one, “Suomi, there’s no need to drag my mother into this—!”

“Don’t call her Suomi!” I snapped, “Finlyandskoye shouldn’t be here either! What— What if Papa found out? What if he’s not really gone? He’ll have to…! He’ll…! This isn’t right, Litva! Go away! Just… Go away and let me do this!”

I shoved past Litva and went for the knife again. I managed to grab it, but of course my bad influence of a brother grabbed my hands and started to try to wrestle it out of my grasp. Finlyandskoye whimpered in the background.

I fought my hardest, but at the end of the day I was only eleven. I was shoved to the ground once more as Litva took the knife. Typical weak, little Russkaya Amerika…

“No!” I exclaimed, eyes widening in terror as I realized what he was doing, “Don’t—!”

He threw it out the open window. All I could do was watch as I saw the blade I smuggled out of the kitchen and past the staff disappeared.

He walked over and crouched beside me.

“You suka!” I wailed, punching his arm as hard as I could. That’ll show him. “Now what am I supposed to do? The kitchen’s been locked up for the day!”

Litva winced and rubbed his arm. He lifted his sleeve to check on the preexisting bruise he sustained from Papa, the one I just whacked   again. It looked worse.

I stared at it for a moment, surprised at myself.

A wave of shame and guilt overtook me. I shouldn’t of done that. Only Papa can decide who gets disciplined.

“…I’m… I’m sorry, Litva,” I apologized quietly, bowing my head, “I wasn’t thinking, I swear! I… I don’t like seeing you… hurt.”

Litva slowly nodded, seeming a little distant. His mind was somewhere else.

Silence feel upon the room. Even little Finlyandskoye was quiet, looking back and forth between her older brothers with concern shining in her blue eyes.

“…I don’t like seeing you hurt either,” Litva eventually spoke up, “That’s why I tackled you.”

“Don’t… Don’t worry about it, I forgive you.”

Litva shook his head, “That wasn’t an apology. I’m not sorry. What on earth were you trying to do, Alye— Amerika?”

☆ Lithuania’s POV ☆

Alyeska squirmed at my question. He glanced around, possibly trying to look for a distraction or an escape route. Realizing there was none, he hesitantly met my eyes.

I gave him my best look of ‘you’re not getting out of this.’ I wasn’t used to giving it, but it had to be done. I’m too worried about the situation to let him get away.

Reluctantly, the story came to light.

Less reluctantly, I envisioned pushing our terror of a ‘father’ off a cliff. Then lighting him on fire. Then feeding him to a pack of wolves.

Who needs therapy when you have a vivid imagination?

Still, the story that was told made me see red;

Alyeska was hungry. He said it was his own fault, but I know that’s not true.

An already ticked Rusja found him. His shouts scared a rat out of the pantry, but before he threw it outside, he chose to bully Alyeska with it, comparing his own son to a rat.

Understandably, it upset Alyeska. He was  terrified of rats, and Rusja holding it inches from his face certainly wasn’t helping. One thing led to another, and…

“‘Rika,” I sighed, wrapping my arm around Alyeska. I liked doing that, the opportunity rarely came around. Surprisingly, Alyeska didn’t protest. He leaned against me, seeming to be too in need of comfort to recite Rusja’s rules, “There’s nothing wrong with your looks.”

Alyeska— The poor kid— shook his head vehemently, “Papa compared my appearance to a rat’s, remember? He’s usuallyright about those things!”

Po velnių. He’s going to be hard to convince…

He won’t listen to me if I try to negate Rusija’s words; he’s too scared. I don’t blame him.

 But… What if I don’t negate Rusja’s words?

What if I twisted them?

“…What’s wrong with looking like a little rat?”

Alyeska blinked at me, confused, “…Literally everything?”

“‘Rika,” I tsked, shaking my head, “Don’t tell me you think rats are ugly.”

“Litva…” Alyeska furrowed his brow, “What are you talking about?”

A smile spread across my face.

“Rats? The bigger and softer version of mice, right?” I chuckled, “Don’t tell me you think they’re ugly.”

Alyeska frowned and sat up straighter.

“Of course they are,” Alyeska argued confidently, “Nobody likes rats.”

I gasped, pretending to be appalled. Someone should give me an Oscar. And everyone won’t even know what those things are until at least 1929.

“Are you kidding me? People love them!” I exclaimed, “Some even keep them as pets!”

“Rats?” Alyeska scoffed, “Why?”

“Well, let me think…” I pondered out loud, “There’s the adorable little eyes.”

“You mean the beady ones?”

“Yes! They’re so cute, don’t you agree?”

Alyeska seemed to think back, most likely visualizing the rat Rusja showed him.

It took him a second, but he slowly nodded.

“I guess they were big and curious,” He admitted, a ghost of a smile visiting his face, “Like Finlyandskoye’s.”

There we go.

“See? Now you’re getting it!” I encouraged, “Don’t forget their tiny ears!”

“Those were pretty cute,” Alyeska recalled, “And— And their noses aren’t… huge. They’re… actually pretty cute!”

“Exactly!”

“Their paws were funny, too! Like little hands, almost.”

“Don’t forget their fluffy fur,” I reminded, ruffling Alyeska’s curly hair. He giggled, trying to fix the hair I was messing up. He was failing miserably.

He eventually pushed my hands away playfully, desperately trying to save his hair.

He glanced in the mirror, seeing what I messed up. His neatening hands soon slowed to a pause.

“But…” Alyeska frowned, looking away from the mirror, “Why does Papa think they’re ugly, then?”

Šūdas. I didn’t know Rusja called him outright ugly. That really throws a wrench in the plan. I need to find a way to sway his thoughts.

“It’s just his opinion,” I shrugged, “But not everyone thinks that way. Beauty is relative.”

“Isn’t it a bad thing not everyone thinks like Papa?”

“I mean, Otets likes Russian salo…”

Alyeska couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. Understandable. That dish should be burned with fire.

“He says I’ll grow into liking it,” Alyeska weakly protested, “He also says that unless you’re listening to him, you’re wrong most of the time. I mean, look at what you’re wearing.”

I blinked and looked down at my outfit. For a colony that was covered in ice, that was pretty uncool of him.

Even more distressing than the 11-year-old roasting my attire; was the fact that I was losing him. He was shrinking back to his previous beliefs.

What could I say to him? As much as I hate it, I know I can’t sway him against Rusja’s beliefs. 

Maybe I can strike up a deal— or at least plead— with the country to take his words back. But until then, I was helpless in this situation. Mostly. 

I think I might be able to spare some physical pain, even though I can’t do anything on the emotional front.

“‘Rika… I don’t think you’re not ugly in the slightest,” I stated, earning a hurtfully doubtful look from my little brother, “I know you don’t believe me, but your opinion on your looks is no reason to hurt yourself. It’ll be painful and messy, and I’m positive it would permanently screw up your nose. No matter how you look at it, it’s not a good plan.”

I waited for Alyeska’s response, hoping, praying that this would be the one thing he agrees with me on.

I watched the poor little conflicted one debate with himself. A minute or two later, he hung his head in embarrassment.

“…You’re… probably right. Not about the looks, but about the practicality…” Alyeska confessed, making me heave a sigh of relief, “It’s a… It was an idiotic plan. I’m… I’m glad you stopped me…”

“Trust me, I’m glad too.”

“Thank you, Litva. You might not have much common sense, but I guess a broken clock’s right twice a day.”

I nodded, electing to ignore the latter sentence. I knew those were Rusja’s words, not his.

Scooping up a yawning Suomi, I glanced out the window. A blanket of darkness was falling over our home for the night.

“Listen, it’s getting late. I need to get Suo—“

Alyeska’s eyes widened.

“Finlyandskoye,” I corrected, feeling the sleepy Suomi’s grumpy glare piercing me. Sorry little lady, I don’t want to scare your older brother, “To bed. You should head to sleep too.”

“I will,” Alyeska nodded, “Goodnight, Litva.”

“Goodnight, Amerika,” A small smile appeared on my face, “Sleep well.”

“Hvaaaa… ta!” Suomi nodded firmly to Alyeska, patting my arm twice.

I chuckled, departing to the hall, “We really need to work on your swearing.”

☆ Alaska’s POV ☆

I will go to bed. Eventually. 

Not yet, though. I had to find it first.

Luckily, the winter moon was full and beautiful, illuminating the outside of Papa’s home.

I trudged through the snow, searching through the bushes.

Where was it? Where did he throw it?

After fifteen more minutes of searching, it caught my eye. It was right under the window of the room Litva and I were talking in.

I crept over quietly and crouched down.

I stared at it, trying to decide if I should go for it or not. I was honestly scared, but it had to be done.

I slowly reached for it, hand passing over something glittering in the snow. That’s probably the kitchen knife. I’ll have to remember to return that tomorrow. But for now, my priority was the fuzzy creature in my shaky hands.

The rat looked up at me curiously as I wrapped it up my scarf. I offered it a little wave.

“Privyet,” I greeted nervously.

The rodent stared back in silence.

“…I’m sorry for picking you up out of the blue, but I wanted to apologize,” I admitted, realizing that just staring at it wasn’t polite, “I was scared of you before, but now I’m realizing you were probably scared of me, too. I’m sorry.”

The rat blinked. I’ll take that as forgiveness.

“…It’s cold out, isn’t it?” I asked, starting to make my way away from home, “You’ll be cozier in the stable. There’s hay and food in there, you’ll like it! I’d let you be my roommate, but I don’t think Papa would allow  that… But I’ll try to visit you! We can be friends! You know, some people say we’re a lot alike!”

The rat squeaked.