Crossing Borders [Hetalia]

one final conversation

[I apologize for the swearing; Ekaterina's slightly worse than Romano]

"Fuck off, Vanya."

"Not until you've apologized, Ekaterina."

"Fuck, my name's Rina, dumbass; don't try to make it all nice sounding. And for the love of Prussia, speak English."

"Why?" the man asks, in all seriousness, crossing his arms and jutting his chin at her, inviting an honest answer. He's been through conversations indentical to this one many times; he's perfected the art of digging in beneath her brazen skin. "Are you ashamed, Ekaterina, of our linkage to Russia? Because, if so, I'm more than happy to continue shoving it down your throat."

A growl vibrates thickly in the back of her throat; her red-tinted lip curls upwards in a snarl, revealing perfectly polished teeth bared in a hunter's savage smile. Flipping a knife from within the inner holster of her coat, she lunges at the ashen-haired man, only to be halted as he effortlessly snatches her assaulting wrist, twisting until a gasp of pain passes over her lips the knife tumbles harmlessly to the ground.

She stumbles forward, unable to save herself the humiliation of having her forehead smack harshly into Vanya's sculpted chest. Even through the veil of his pin-stripe vest and starched shirt, the curves and ridges of his muscles are obvious, and Rina hates him passionately for it. Despite his initially passive nature and abhorrence of violence in general, Vanya can overpower her as easily as he might pin a child.

Valentina (the oh-so precious first player) may have no qualms over Vanya's clear gender advantage, but Rina doesn't possess her pleasant nature. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" she hisses, shoving away from Vanya. She nudges a toe beneath her knife and kicks it into her waiting hand, angling the blade upwards at Vanya's cheeky smile. "One of these days, I'm gonna catch you off guard, and there'll be one less bastard incarnation of Siberia!"

Her absently flicks her forehead, elicting another barrage of profanities he simply waves off. "I'll ask again," he says, "will you apologize?"

"For what?" she sneers, turning up her chin haughtily, her smirk smug and sloppy. "Going after the little Italian bitch? Fuck no; I was paid for that. Or," she says slowly, bitter realization sparkling in the bloody crimson of her irises, "I woulda been paid if you let me kill him! You know what that asshole Allen is gonna do to me when he finds out I failed 'cause I lost to myself?"

He cocks a fine brow, more annoyed with her refusal to speak a lick of Russian than her foul mouth. "If I hadn't stopped you, I'm more than certain Ludwig would have, and he would have been far less forgiving of your actions." Pausing a moment, studying the raging color flooding her cheeks, the unbridled hatred so clear in her eyes, he huffs a fatigued sigh, lifting the bangs from his violet eyes. "Ekaterina" - she snaps It's fucking Rina, knowing perfectly well he has no intention of heeding her words - "you've gotten yourself into this mess. It's not my problem how you dig yourself out."

Vanya makes no move to sidestep as she thrusts the knife towards his chest - the point comes to rest above his thorax, cutting a slit through both his vest and shirt, as well as the first layer of his skin. Rina stares, almost transfixed, as the perfect droplet of blood that bubbles up from the shallow wound, blossoming into a crimson flower across the white of his shirt. 

This is the first time she's drawn blood.

The knife retracts, stowed once again inside her holster. She catches the flighty smile on his lips, and her own curve downwards as a response. "I don't get why anyone fucking likes you, you shitty bastard. You don't play the nice guy role as well as you should - not like Val."