Latvia moved slowly and deliberately, his motions practiced and smooth, flicking a wrist here, running his small hand along that area there– dusting, of course, as ordered by Mr. Russia. The miniature blond stretched up high, raising his arm up as high as he could reach to clean the top shelf, his scarlet jacket rising along his torso to reveal bare skin. He never wore a shirt under his jacket– it was cold in Mr. Russia's house, but it got hot when Latvia had to run around and do everything Mr. Russia told him to do. He yawned once, then looked around with a tremor. If Mr. Russia saw him yawn, he'd say that Latvia needed to work more to be stronger so he could be less tired doing everyday chores, and Latvia really, really didn't want that. It was bad enough he was the last Baltic in the house-- a beating would just make it torturous. Not that it was really new to the poor little nation.
He sighed, then turned to the next bookcase, doing the same process. However, halfway up the mahogany bookcase, a shiver worked its way up his spine and back down. The little hairs on the back of Latvia's neck rose and a tingle wound its way through his body, making him shiver nearly continuously.
Mr. Russia was here.
Russia watched the small nation calmly, leaning against the doorframe of the library, violet hues taking in each flit of movement from the tiny boy. Well, Latvia wasn't that young, but he looked young. He was so gentle, so easily led, so naive, so gullible. He was as soft as a puppy... Russia inhaled slightly deeper than usual at the thought. Latvia would be such a soft puppy. An adorable one, like the small, chocolate brown pup he had received from Ukraine years ago. He smiled slightly, remembering.
The puppy was soft, and Russia was young. He petted the puppy so gently, so carefully. Ukraine was proud– she said he finally understood his strength. He smiled to his older sister, happy. Here was a warm animal, a happy animal, and it was so wonderful to have something warm around when it was so cold all the time. It followed him everywhere, it was so loving. He didn't name it; there was no reason to. It was just an animal. He called it Dog.
Dog was so loyal. Russia trained Dog til he was a mighty beast that could fight as well as Russia. Dog also helped keep General Winter away, and that made Russia very happy. Dog was strong, but Russia knew he was still a puppy and he was still young– Dog was only half a year old, but even then, he was so strong. Russia didn't know that he still had to be gentle when he pet him.
He was grown, after all, that blond hair so silky under the gloved palm. The gloved hand ran along the others body gently, but beginning to apply force.
Russia ran his hand along the fur of Dog's head, feeling the gentle fur ripple under his hand, those trusting coal eyes exuding love. A bit rougher couldn't hurt, could it? Just a little more strength to really show Dog his love.
His hand pressed down harder upon the small blond suddenly before him, those aqua hues hiding terror deep within even as he shook.
He pushed a little more and those onyx eyes didn't change, but a small bark of protest was heard. Russia frowned; Dog must not have learned his lesson from the week before. Russia was the master, Dog was the pet, and if Dog did not want to keep quiet when Russia told him to, he would be in trouble.
Russia hit the creature with a swat, nothing too hard. Dog's eyes widened and he yelped– stupid Dog, stupid Dog. He was supposed to be quiet. Russia stood from the snow-covered ground, then knelt to meet Dog's eye level, grabbing the canine's head to meet violent hues to obsidian orbs. There was fear in the dark eyes.
"Mr. Russia, sir, I'm so sorry, please Mr. Russia, don't hurt me, please, please, Mr. Russia sir, p-p-please!" The small scarlet-clad nation shook badly, tremors making his lithe body spasm.
A smile worked its way across Russia's features, growing to terrifying proportions, too many teeth showing in the caricature of a kind smile. "Bad Dog, very bad, and nobody wants a bad dog, do they? Oh, no, no... kolkolkol..." He began to giggle.
Dog reacted with fright, feeling the change within the massive and powerful man before him, shivering and attempting to pull away. He managed to slip from those large gloved hands, running off through the snow. Russia continued to giggle, picking up his pipe from the ground.
The forgotten feather duster was left on the ground as the young man ran from the horrifying specter, doors flying past in a blur as he searched for sanctuary. Tears fell, wetting that beautiful uniform to a dark crimson. What a color, what a nice color, the color of drying blood.
Russia walked calmly and easily through the large snowdrifts separating himself and Dog. Stupid Dog, disobedient Dog, what a bad, bad Dog. Punishment was in order. He quickened his pace softly, seeing the creature pinned in a inconvenient corner, dead trees of a bygone age with sunshine surrounding him. There was nowhere to run.
He was trembling– it was clear that Mr. Russia meant business. Oh no, oh no, this was bad, very bad. "Mr. Russia sir, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't hurt me please!" He whimpered, covering his head with his hands, crying.
A large gloved hand fell upon the animal's face, slapping it to the side. Bad animal, bad animal. "Bad Dog!" He stated in his thick, guttural tongue. He was dispassionate– there was nothing to this but punishment, there was no need to be happy about it. If anything, Russia was sad. He had thought he had taught Dog better than that, but apparently not. Then why was he hurting Dog? It was Russia's fault.
The blond quivered, blood pooling on the carpet, scarlet drops pouring from a broken nose, shivering violently in pain and fear. "Please.... I'm so sorry, I'll be better, please, please, Mr. Russia sir, fo-fo-forgive me."
Dog was trembling, that dark fur shivering. Oh, what had Russia done? Oh no, Ukraine would not be happy, she would take Dog away, oh no, oh no. What a mistake he had made, Ukraine would take Dog away! Dog was Russia's only friend, his only warmth in the land of ice and snow.
Russia dropped before the crying Dog, gathering him in his massive arms to hug him tightly to himself. Poor Dog, poor Dog. "Russia is sorry, Russia does not want to hurt Dog..." He petted the soft fur gently, the blond, silken locks of the boy sliding like water under his glove. "Russia is sorry."
He petted the head a little harder. He had to make it known. He had to let the other know that Russia loved him, he really did. Russia just made mistakes. "Russia loves you. Russia loves you very much."
At times like these, the little blond nation simply let Russia do as he wished. It wasn't that bad this time– something had stopped Russia. But what? And why did Russia call him "Dog"? Latvia neither knew nor cared, honestly. As long as he lived, Latvia was content.
Russia petted and petted, and continued to pet again as the little one began to squirm in discomfort. It was not too hard, Russia thought, not too hard. He was being gentle. Very gentle. He smiled softly to himself as his mind wandered, hand continuing the motion absently. Soon, blond hair littered the ground, and the boy lolled in Russia's arms.
Russia stopped his movements, blinking, then looking down to the animal in his arms. Dog? Dog? Was Dog alright? He shook Dog gently. "Wakey wakey, Dog. Wake up time now." He smiled, but the smile faltered as Dog did not respond. "Bad Dog, listen to Russia. Listen, listen. Wake up time is now, Dog." He shook Dog once more, but then he grew angry. Dog was being disobedient again. Bad Dog.
He stood up, picking Dog up by his paws and shook him more violently. The blond head simply rolled back and forth limply. Russia held him by one hand, then slapped Dog. "Bad Dog! Wake up now!" Dog did not awaken.
Russia frowned, then gathered Dog in his arms and set off for Ukraine. Big Sister would know what to do– Big Sister always knew, and she was so kind. She would not run, for she would know that Russia had a problem, a big problem.
Russia did not knock upon her door, but rather walked in. Luckily, her boss was gone. She heard the barge in but did not panic– it was only Russia, the silly boy. He always seemed to know when her boss was not around. Such a clever boy he was. She walked from the kitchen, where thin mashed potatoes was the meal of the night, wiping her hands off on a towel. She froze upon sight of Russia.
Russia was holding Latvia, the poor little nation. He seemed to have his hair ripped out by... petting? And he was obviously dead, judging by how the neck moved so loosely. "Oh... Oh my..." She put a hand to her breasts with a dainty sigh, sitting down and beckoning him over. "Little Brother, you must be gentle..."
Russia shook his head in denial. He was gentle, and he had been nice. Dog was merely ignoring Russia. "Nyet. Dog is bad, he will not wake up." He raised his arms a little, as if offering the dead body to her. "Wake him."
Ukraine took a deep breath to steady herself and her beating heart, then stood to push down on his arms gently. He was remembering Dog, it seemed, that huge wolf that he had raised. She sniffled sightly, seeing those aquamarine hues stay unnaturally still, the blond hair ruffle only slightly with the forced movement. "Baby Brother... that is Latvia... He's dead."
Russia stared at her disbelievingly, violent hues refusing to agree before he lowered his head to gaze upon the body he held. His eyes widened slightly before horror filled his expression and a sniffle of his own broke the silence. "Little Latvia... Little Latvia... Russia is sorry..." He bent his knees and doubled at his waist to fall to the ground, holding the body to himself. "Russia is so sorry..."