#prusliet

“…Youknow, France used to be soweirdabout writing, like…  Sexualweird.  Hewasn’t even talking about those filthy novels, he meant pamphlets. ‘Course he did always have a boner for revolution.  But still: ‘thejoy of a well-placed semicolon—better than sex’, he’d say.  And,you know, this is France. ‘Ohthe satisfaction of a perfectly balanced alexandrine-orgasm face-’ Like that.  So weird, right?  Or what do you think?”  Hepicks up a paper from next to him.  “Isthis your translation?  Let’ssee. The front has stabilized and currently the airforce, comma, which has recently changed its tactics,open bracket, see note of fifteen dot seven– Romannumerals and everything – close bracket, isespecially active, comma, striking massively, comma,and often effectively, comma, in a single place fullstop. …Well.  Hotstuff.  Considermetitillated.

Lithuaniaplucksthe paper from Prussia’s hand with hardly a glance and replaces it ontop of the pile.  “I consider you as seldom as possible, asa rule,”hesays.

Prussiacrowsdelightedly.  “Oh, goodone, Lithy.  Bonus points for the word seldom,maybe you really have been reading a few of those sexy, sexy thingscalled books over the centuries, well done.” Heslides papers around onthe deskwith an index finger.  “I guess since Russia’s got you doing hispaperwork they must have taught you to read and write at somepoint…”

Anotherold chestnut.

“Butliterature, you never had much of that, did you?  Notlike me.  Hey,andyouknow I keptmy own memoirs?  Stillworkingon themactually, atleast when I can get the damn paper around here.  Andby the way, youshould talk to me more and be more interesting if you want anythinglike a role in this chapter. Course,whatI really find all these years is thatI truly amthe star of my own life.  I read back over them and it’s like, wow,who isthat guy; he’s kindof amazing.”

“So where are they now?”  This is the point Lithuania’schosen to break his silence?

“Huh?”

“Yourdiaries.” His eyes are fixed on the desk; he’s not writing, but he’spretending to read, rather than look at Prussia.  Themetaphor is anunsuspectedvolcano, or a wild beast shaking off drowsiness.  “Gotthem here with you, have you, forevery time you need a shot of nostalgia?”

“Well, obviously no, they're—”

“Ijust mean, I hope they’re in a safe place. All that work gone in a single blast, that would be sad.”

“Ina very safe place, thank you.”  

“Really? How do you know?”  

“Iwould know.”  Prussia’sbrow furrows. “I would… I’m not completely stupid, I know how to protectmy things.”

“Butthey’re not here.  And youarestuck here.”  Finally Lithuania looks at him, right at him.  “Andthey’re not read,and they won’t ever be.  All that stuff you did doesn’t matterif no-one remembers, not even you, becauseyou don’t have so much proof as your own written recollections!”

“What?  That’s balls.  It matters.”

“No. Practically speaking.  Neverhappened.  Doesn’t count.  Anyway.”  He lowers his voice. “I’d’vethought you’d want to embrace someplausible deniability, now that you see where it all led.”

“Where it led?”  Prussia storms as best he can around thefive square feet of floorspace and punches a wall.  “Fuck you, ledto this?”

“Notthis.” Lithuaniajerks his head, indicating the cramped, cold room.  “All yourwarring, all your music,all your insecurity?  I wasn’t talking about it leading to this.”

Prussiaturns grey.“Don’t.”

“Isn’tit better you just accept what you are now?  Whatever it is you’re supposedto be, anyway.  Enclave,half-state.  Yourglorious pastcountsfor less than nothing.”

“I…” Prussia takes a deep breath, gathers himself.  “Just—what? The hell?  You sound like Russia!  Doctor the photos, denythe past, this is all you’ll ever be now, what?  Lith—youdon’t really think—” He stomps back to stand in front of thedesk. “You remember me, I KNOW YOU DO.”

Lithuania shrugs.  “Yes?  And, fine, maybe I don’t believe a word ofwhat I just said about burying the past, and maybe I do!  But, incase you’ve forgotten, no one cares what I think.  And no one careswhat you think either,  except maybe the police, and itastonishes me that you don’t seem to understand this!”

“So, what, you’re giving up?  You're—you?”

“Giving up?” Lithuania laughs.  “What are you talkingabout? You’re not in a fight!  You lost.  Yes, I’m talking likeRussia, because he’s in charge here, and, and do you act like this infront of him?!  I’ve said it before: I don’t like you, but—”

Prussia staggers down to sit on the desk again.

“—you don’t need to keep saying that.”

“WHY ARE YOU HERE, PRUSSIA? WHY ARE YOU BOTHERING ME?”

Lithuania pounds his fist on the desk, once, then sitsback and shakes his head.  “I don’t especially… care, actually. I’m done.  Could you please leave?”

Prussia doesn’t move at all for ten seconds, sitting on the desk,facing away towards the door, slumped with one hand pressed to hisforehead like a hackneyed attitude of agony.  “Don’t make me,” hesays, just as quiet.  “You don’t want me to.”

“I do—” Lithuania starts to huff, and Prussia gets offthe desk, walks around to his side and stands there, looking down athim mournfully, throwing him into shadow.  Lithuania turns slowly inhis seat to look him in the eyes.

“Hey,” Prussia says, still soft.  “Come on.  Don’t yell at me.” He nods at the papers.  “Sexy punctuation, remember?  Sexywriting.  You’ve got such nice hands.  I like the angles of yourwrist there.  I like the bones by your throat.  You’re too bony thesedays of course, but I bet you could take me in a fight.  Anytime, youcould take me anytime, just…”

“Prussia, stop it…”

Prussia falls to his knees.

“—consider me.”  

Quick as an electric shock he grabs Lithuania’s wrist.  Like he’stracing those bones and angles he was admiring earlier, but grippingwith enough force nearly to break them.  “Please.”  Hisnails are dirty (what happened to Mr. Neat?) and not trimmed, digginginto Lithuania’s flesh.  “I know I’m nothing muchnow either, sure, but…”

He could do it, but Lithuania will have to exert some physical forceto get rid of Prussia.

So in the meantime, Prussia puts his other handon Lithuania’s chest.  (The desk is up against the wall on the otherside; he will have to get through Prussia to leave.)

“Just… consider me: frantic, undone, so… hot…  Is thatwhat you want?  You want me to play nice with you?  Or… everyonethinks you’re a pushover, you know, but I remember you.  You neverdid fucking quit, that’s what made it fun.”  Just a shadow ofhis old sabre-edged smile.  “So much fight.”

The hand on Lithuania’s chest presses abruptly up and back, pushinghim back in his chair, then Prussia reaches up with trembling fingersto touch his throat, the bones there— Still on his knees,it’s a reach, like a gesture of supplication or of worship, butsudden and violent—

Lithuania grimly grabs his hand and holds it still, holds it backdown against his own chest. They are hand-in-hand, each holding hard.

“Don’t tell me you want to forget the old days,” Prussiamurmurs.  “I remember you when you were a major player.  AndPoland, for sure he was a big noise—and I mean an incrediblyloud noise, my God, he was annoying—acting like he was Prince ofeverything… and I know you were getting some of that.”

Lithuania hisses—finally, something!  “I could break every bonein your hand,” he growls.

“Comeon,then.  Comeon, don’tyou want to get your own back?”

Lithuaniasays nothing.

“Come on… just imagine it… Consider me, telling you, ’oh Godoh God, Liet that’s hot, hurts so good, harder, please—‘”

He lets his head roll back, panting ecstatic… then glances up tocheck the reaction, eyes red slits.

It is cold in Russia’s house but sweat beads on his forehead.

Lithuania swallows.  He’s gripping Prussia’s hand so tightly it’sbeginning to go numb.  

“Have you finished?” he rasps.  “Feel better?”

Prussia bows his head, defeated.  “Fuck no.”

An answer to the second question.  He looks exhausted but then theyall do.

Lithuania pulls both his hands free in a single sharp motion.

“Prussia, get up.  And get out.”

“What do I have to do to get you to—”

“Before you embarrass yourself even more!”

Prussia stands up. “I felt your heartbeat,” he says, voicestrained, “my hand on your heart I felt you breathing—DON’TIGNORE ME!!!”

He sweeps his arm across the desk, through the papers like a wave,and sends the old-fashioned ink pot flying.  It hits the oppositewall and lands, streaming ink down the paint and across the papersand splashing both of their shirts.

“Prussia!” Lithuania scrapes his chair back and stares,hands splayed and tense.  But he doesn’t stand, doesn’t hit out, justquickly starts blotting up the spilled ink.

Prussia stands with both fists on the desk supporting him, lookingdown, panting.

“Move,” Lithuania mutters. “Move,” – tugging at a piece ofpaper.  

When Prussia doesn’t, Lithuania lifts his fist with both of hishands, or tries to but it’s heavy with Prussia leaning on it alldead-weight.  He finally succeeds and Prussia staggers.

Lithuania carefully tears the next page, with some ink damage, fromhis pad and presents it under Prussia’s nose like a commission.  

“Here.  Congratulations, you solved your paper shortage.  Forgetyour diary, write down those speeches you made and you’ve got afilthy little novel of your own.”

White and shaking, Prussia takes the paper, screws it into a ball andthrows it to the ground.  It makes hardly a sound on the old carpet.

noteses: (well placedsemicolons & sex are alluded to by Camille Desmoulins in HilaryMantel’s A Place of Greater Safety,iirc; it’s been a while since I read it.  but I think that’s where I got thatreference in particular.)

setin the 50s I guess??  I wastrying not to worry toooo much about the time/place.  Poland doesn’tlive here, but Prussia seems to at least a bit in the comics hencewhy maybe Kaliningrad is relevant.