East Bound - Russia x Germany

Trouble with Marks

I always had issues with money. It was practically a family trait. Even though my great grandfather was very, very, wealthy, almost dripping with silver and gold, my grandfather didn't get much of the money, liked to spend it quickly on alcohol or likes, and then turn back to his cannery job at a meat factory after abruptly retiring from his newly acquired university job for reasons he didn't disclose. 

My other family member did fare better. My uncle tried and failed to work into politics, became very unpopular for advocating higher wages, and soon enough ended up being cursed by his high-status colleagues. His steps were counted and the price on his head was relatively high. He shrouded his life in mystery and feared for his life, turning to strange talismans and symbology soon after. My father was quiet at first, turned to creativity, failed miserably, and then fermented his anger, turned to war, then to politics, using words and speeches full of anaphora that enamoured his audience. His fate wasn't that nice either, though. Being overzealous and underestimating his opponents he soon also met a violent end. My own opinion on this was never asked, so I needed to turn to something else.

Being in the middle of this crisis,  I sought truth, I sought solace and light. This was why I halted my studies in biology to revert back to leafing through old manuscripts and hieroglyphics. Unfortunately, even though university life was a shield between my financial situation and myself, soon my eight years went by, and I found my own self back where I was, only older, and with a sheaf of paper with a fancy signature and university seal. Back to square one, with no purpose or want. My grandfather scouted out a flat for me with cheap rent, one of my three friends found me a nice, well, paying job. I got just enough to be able to sustain living in a studio, get food, and maybe a little luxury. This trip would cost me both arms and legs, but I felt it was worth the money. I was sick of counting my banknotes and wanted to be free from my burdens. In the city, I had many opportunities. My grandfather would bring me canned meat from his factory, I could get furniture from neighbours or the street, my friends sometimes paid for my meals, and everything else could be either bought at a thrift shop or a clearance sale. Nothing, absolutely nothing I had was new. Maybe except my circular glasses with thin gold frames, which you can't get at a discount rate. But they were old now as well.

"I understand you don't make much." Russia looked me over like a mannequin. "As a historian."

"No. I don't." I shook my head. I didn't want to speak on the matter further.

"Figures. You take food from me without guilt." He said, passing me another slice of the black bread. The last piece almost got stuck in my throat from his comment.

"Well, you're not saying anything!" I defended myself.

"I'm not saying I care." He responded calmly. "I could care less if you were a drug addict. It's my nature to share if I'm stuck with someone for more than a week in a confined space." He winked. "Shouldn't there be a positive first impression?"

"Yeah...I guess." I mumbled.

He smirked at my response but said nothing. Instead, he rummaged in his bag, took out a small bottle of what appeared to be water, and started to drink it after looking out into the hall and closing the sliding door. "This is getting boring. Don't mind my ramblings." He said. "I need to lighten up." Only when he obtained a feverish blush on his cheeks did I realise that he was drinking vodka. Oh, innocent me. You can't even notice the difference between vodka and water and how he closed the door! He didn't say anything but decided to stare about the window, smiling unnaturally wide. I pressed my knees to my chest, watching him, thinking of if I should leave or stay. Again, decisions...Russia started to laugh hysterically at absolutely nothing. I must've looked scared because he turned to me with a wide smile. "Do you want to hear a nice little saying, historian?" Even though he was obviously under influence, his speech wasn't as slurred as I thought. That still didn't make me feel very safe.