Crossing Borders [Hetalia]

четыре - world meeting (the unofficial world war three)

The girl can't quite fathom what, exactly, is going on, though she knows it to be rather amusing from the enraged looks dotting the room and the occasionally uproarious laughter released from the rowdy American seated at the head of the lengthy oval table.

So this is a world meeting, she muses, glancing from face to face, looking for something recognizable that might indicate their "country of origin" so-to-speak. And, like a perfect repeat of her time with Estonia, she only draws a very hearty blank.

She can't help but squirm a bit in her chair; the outside world is very glaring, she's decided, and she much prefers the subdued beauty of Russia to the outlandish desires bombarding her at the moment. Toris, though, seems to have no trouble, slipping into the bubble of excitement as easily as he threads through conversations with his siblings. Looking to him for cues (as she's still deaf, in a sense, and has not a clue as to what's been going on around her for the last half hour or so), she stills herself, clasping her hands in her lap, eyes ghosting around the room - an attempt to gain a simple distraction from the sight of Arthur feuding incessantly with another blue-eyed blonde just across the table.

Lithuania (he's asked her to disregard his "real" name in favor of his country while attenting the meeting), looking away from his conversation with Poland, catches a glimpse of Valentina's ashen face, her clenched hands, coiled posture. A glimmer of concern passes through his forest-green gaze, and he excuses himself from his friend (much to the blonde's flippant annoyance) to tap Valentina's shoulder, gaining her flickering attention.

He smiles, a soft, inviting smile, and gestures towards the door - lonely and spacious in comparison to the raucous environment they've currently ensconced themselves in. In quick, soothing Russian, he suggests they slip out, as he isn't one to actually voice his opinion much during meetings and certainly won't be missed, if only for a few minutes.

Her relief is palpable, tinging the air with a feathery lightness that curls Lithuania's lips into another gracious smile. He takes her hand and - after waving an apologetic farewell to Poland - leads her from the room, the grand doors sweeping together again just as Valentina's skirts clear the threshold.

America looks up, ears pricking as the lock clicks. Valentina's gone, along with Lithuania (he could tell from the way Poland has begun to huff and ramble on about something being totally uncool and against the BFF code). Abandoning his half-eaten burger (a remarkable feat in the others' eyes), he leans around the solemn figure of Japan and snags England by the collar, yanking him free of France's wrath.

"Hey, where d'ya think Val went off to?" he asks.

"Wipe your mouth! You look disgraceful covered in crumbs! And who the bloody hell is Val?"

The bespectacled man chuckles, brushing the remains of fast-food from his cheeks as he says, "It's Valentina, dude! Like the nickname I gave her?"

"No."

"Eh?! Why not?"

"You're trying to Americanize her, just the rest of the bloody world! Besides," England sighs, "Valentina is a lovely name. As much as I disagree with Russia most of the time, he chose a name that perfectly suits her. You shouldn't try to change it to fit your desires."

America only rolls his eyes, prompting the Englishman to raise his hand, so as to slap a bit of decorum into the blonde; he catches himself at the last moment, the atmosphere pressing down on him like a vice. He can't act uncivil; he's the bloody United Kingdom, a country known for raising perfect gentleman.

And then there's America, known for gorging himself on hamburgers and other rather unsavory things.

Once more, England will have to be the better man, much as it pains him to do so while in America's oh-so-lovely company.