Crossing Borders [Hetalia]

два - heroes and villains of the revolutionary war

In the midst of her morning tea session with Toris, the girl looks up, a sharp knock of the front door capturing her fine-tuned attention.

"Eduard will get it," Toris smiles around his cup, knowing she felt the need to ask if he would be the one to answer the door. In the past few days, she's seen enough of his relationship with Mr. Russia (or Ivan, as she's been instructed to call him) to understand what position he has while staying in this house. She doesn't enjoy his role in the "family", but, being an outsider, she doesn't contest it either, only stepping in when she feels Toris is being overworked or underappreciated.

And even then, she's only allowed to aid him in his chores, not confront Ivan directly. Toris couldn't stand the guilt if something were to happen to her on his account.

She lifts her gaze from the frosty-white tablecloth (which she's been studying in unconscious detail for some time now) and lets her eyes flit over Toris' quiet form. Quite the gentle, caring man, she's noted, though horribly lacking in backbone. Ivan, though off-putting with his manic smile at times, and perpetually oblivious to the fear he so fervently instills within his "guests", isn't anything the girl would shake over. 

Perhaps this is so only because she knows him to be the man who rescued her from the fate of eternal, icy slumber. Even so, she wishes he'd treat Toris and his brothers with a bit more respect, seeing as how they keep up the household and demand no thanks in return.

They only pray they won't be brutally murdered, something they've yet to mention to the girl in the quiet hours of the morning.

"Toris?" she speaks up after a moment, her eyes straying towards the door.

"Hm?"

"Were you expecting guests?"

The question is enough for Toris to flinch back in surprise, unexpected as it was. He's on his feet then, moving to the door, beyond which the sounds of muffled bickering and shuffling and something that resembles a body being thrown against the hardwood paneling of the walls can be heard. The girl stands as well, a trill of concern shivering through her. Knowing what she does about the Russian home she can't help but wonder if Ivan's done something regretable as of late...

She looks to her green-eyed companion questioningly, only to see him lay a hand at his forehead, seemingly lamenting the day. Muttering to himself, he apathetically pulls open the door, inviting the two flailing bodies just on the other side to lose their footing and topple helplessly into the room, folding over one another in a manner that prompts smothered giggles from the girl.

"Dude, get off!"

"You bloody wanker, you're on top of me!"

Toris lets out an inaudible sigh as he surveys the rowdy blondes heaped at his feet. No, he can't quite say he enjoys their unexpected visit, nor can he say he's in the mood to endue their enternal feuding. With the arrival of the still-nameless girl he and both his brothers have had their hands full, their time divided between seeing to her needs (a rather gratifying task, in all honesty) and occupying Ivan's time. 

The girl's lips curl in a smile, amusement rounding out her features with a soft glow. She peeks, unabashful, simply curious, around Toris, and at the sight of her, the two writhing blonds tussling across the carpet still, fists half-cocked, inarticulate curses poised to roll of their tongues.

"Dude, dude, it's her!" the blonde-haired-blue-eyed man (who is, in fact, on top of his green-eyed brawling buddy) gushes, earning an incredulous stare from Toris and the heavy-browed blonde alike. "It's, like, totally her! The hero always recognizes the damsel in distress!" And with that, he rolls off the rumbled blonde and comes to his feet, striking what he must consider to be a heroic pose. "Nice to meet ya, dudette!"