river swimming [c]

[native americas]

god i want to dream again

take me where i've never been

i want to go there and this time i'm not scared

it was hot; nothing like the temperate climate in which malila spent most of her time. but she liked the heat prickling the back of her neck, the feel of the sun against her skin; it made her forget, for a while, that she was a nation, really. a nation of people or something like that. it made her think that for a while, she could be just a person at the edge of the riverbank, out of reach of civilization for miles, letting the kiss her face and spending some down time in south america. she could believe, if only for a short while, that the only place she ever needed to be was in the sun and the heat and the cool depths of the river.

cool tongues of water lapped at her bare toes, making her wiggle them briefly before she tugged her longer over shirt off and began moving into the water dressed in her tank top and shorts. who cared if america wanted her for the meeting that day? she wasn't showing up, because it wasn't any of her business. she didn't want to hear about who joined up with who. she just wanted peace. when she got up to her thighs in water she paused, letting her body adapt briefly to the lukewarm water. the only problem with south america was the bugs; they landed on her neck and she had to smack and swat them away repeatedly before moving deeper into the water, up to her stomach. a soft noise of contentment escaped her lips; the sun was heavy and hot up above, especially with her dark hair, and the water was refreshing. with a deep breath, malila shut her eyes and let herself drop under water.

the world was silent and still and perfect for a few moments; she breathed out through her nose, letting bubbles break the surface, before her lungs started aching with lack of oxygen and she resurfaced with water dripping from the tips of her short, dark hair. the warm air buzzed with a sudden vivacity, a change from the silent underworld of the water, and a smile splayed across her lips.

this was the life.

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note : kdhakdf

tagged : united states of america plz

other : made by the loverly pidge ♥

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[united states of america]

History was a fickle mistress. Or possibly a bitch; whichever category suited you. (America subscribed to the former more than the latter. It had a much cleaner ring to it.) Stripped to an unbuttoned dress shirt and dress pants, he swiped hair from his brow and tugged at his collar haphazardly. The air was muggy and practically seeping into his bones, and America swore he'd almost been gagged, kidnapped, or murdered in some alleyway more than ten times the past week. (And he liked his trips to Brazil and Mexico, damn it.) His dealings with South America ranged from the very popular—free trade, he always hated those godawful taxes. Might as well just leave them in the grave—and the very, very unpopular—George W. Bush Jr., among other things that were decidedly less unpopular.

However, he was not here for Latin America, but rather a very old acquaintance of his. Dark eyes and black hair with a Tribal feel; Malila, a native girl who had her history in the land. Her face might have been all curves and sweetness, but she was well beyond his own age and he didn't resent that as much as not know what to say about it. Their first meeting didn't go well, and their second, third, forth, and so on were pretty much hell. And that was being lenient, so he wasn't surprised she led him on a chase like this. He caught her before she headed to Panama and Belize, where she left him standing at the bus stop when he got distracted negotiating prices outside of the States. America was . . . not necessarily happy, but he could forgive her! He was patient, and he needed to keep all his country in order—Native Americans included. He offered his apologies for President Jackson, and he was not going to pretend he had any greater ambitions; she hated him, but that would never make him any less friendly.

Swatting at branches in a play on European Explorer, he watched her flit at the water's edge as sun beat down on the pocket of wild grass and crags. Stepping lightly, he crept the river bend and dipped to his knees, waving in a parody of good-humored. "Enjoying the water?" It was cheery, but he knew she didn't expect him there as her head bobbed on the surface.

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OOC: Sorry, tried my best. X_x; Wanna have them traveling together on a not-vacation or something?

[native americas]

god i want to dream again

take me where i've never been

i want to go there and this time i'm not scared

there was something terribly endearing, she supposed, about his douchebag-y-ness (for lack of a better term, as it were), and she almost thought it so endearing that she wanted to knock it straight off of his face. and maybe stab him in the eye with something cheap. like a pencil. or a drawing pen. the point of the matter was that malila was not in the least bit happy to see america standing there, and she would have preferred it if he had been floating down the river in a body bag.

or something like that.

she swept dark hair from her eyes as she resurfaced, feeling water drip from the spiky tips and down her neck, shoulders, and collarbone. she wasn't going to let the likes of him ruin her self-entitled vacation, after all. with a huff she smoothed out the front of her soaked tank top and regarded him suspiciously with dark eyes. "you have impeccable timing," she replied, wryly. "it's a sixth sense, i think, you knowing to when to come in just to ruin my day." her tone was as dry as the air, but not nearly as humid. not nearly.

pulling the hair from her face a little more, she sunk low into the water again, until she was regarding him with just her dark eyes. water droplets clung to her lashes, heavy with moisture. "in case you didn't understand when i left you the first and second time, that meant i didn't want you near me. you can attend the meeting yourself -- you did well enough showing me my place way back when." her tone was not as blatantly bitter as she would have wanted it, but it was clear her feelings on the subject after all.

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note : kdhakdf

tagged : united states of america plz

other : made by the loverly pidge ♥

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[united states of america]

"Hey, I suppose Providence enjoys its share of schadenfreude, eh," sighing, he rose to his feet and murmured an exhausted, "And those are cutting words, but I won't resent your honesty." Digging a hand into his pocket, America tugged at the inner lining before tapping his heels against the rock and ducking into the underbrush. Trudging through dirt as he climbed the limestone overhang, he felt the tease of wind and listened to the water gurgle below him, her hair a pool of black on its surface. Tugging his shoes off and dropping them in a patch of grass at his feet, America laid back and stretched leisurely with his arms behind his head—not necessarily uninterested as much as leaving her to herself because that was what she wanted, but keeping near enough to be heard.

His was a lazy ambition, and he didn't ask for her silence or her forgiveness. It wasn't in him to do things more than once or hold himself to the idea that she would accept it. Blind idealism wasn't always blind faith, no matter how he chose to crusade for his causes, and she didn't owe him pretty words. It was her life—Malila was free to hate him if she wanted to, but America wouldn't say that was an excuse for ignoring diplomatic relations. A dying culture isn't worth anything except to the individual, and he flipped open his cellphone and browsed through voice-mail. 'I won't force her, but we came here together and will leave here together.'

As far as he was concerned, the blame was not necessarily his by default; Europeans were not all Americans, but they had the longest history together. He did not go around advertising that everyone like him—er, outside of the political ring, since that was its own game altogether—and had his share of glorious bastards in the history books. Her's was a sick case of 'only the good die young,' but that label did not fall to him. With that thought in mind and drowsy in the tropical air, he managed a neutral, "Have some sympathy for the devil. ♥ I'm sorry, Malila, but I need you to speak yourself and for yourself."

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OOC: DON'T WORRY, THIS IS SOUTH AMERICA. BODY BAGS COULD HAPPEN, MALILA. yay for shockingly high tourist death rate?

[native americas]

god i want to dream again

take me where i've never been

i want to go there and this time i'm not scared

it seemed that, whether she wanted it or not, america was sticking around. in fact, he (annoyingly) made himself right at home while she silently fumed in the water. it wasn't that she hated him. it was that his attitude was intolerable and there was nothing more that she wanted to do than drive some sharp object throw his frontal lobe -- or something to that extent -- until he understood exactly what was going on and he proposed to fix it. while that seemed unlikely to actually happen, lila refrained from doing so and instead resorted to taking out her anger when no one was around.

lila didn't owe him anythingp.

she studied her hands beneath the surface of the water, brooding silently. she was a brooder, after all. passive, you could say. she didn't like to be openly bitchy but if she didn't then she'd bottle it up and her brows would furrow and she'd get stuck in frustration for hours on end. was that really her fault, after all? it wasn't as if america cared about her anyway; he was only here because he needed her for her stupid meeting. in fact, what she really wanted to tell him was to fuck off and find someone else -- but she didn't, of course, because that's not what good, obedient nations did.

"i'm not going to that meeting," she replied after a few more moments of brooding. she stood from the water, making her way to shore, pulling her hair to the side and rubbing her fingers through it to help it dry. not like there wasn't enough heat already. she grabbed her over shirt from the rock, leaning against the hot stone and watching him. "and i do have sympathy for you. or rather, i pity you. for being such an ignorant--" she pursed her lips into a fine line. no swearing, of course. "for being such an idiot."

oh god. she was so lame and it almost made her sick to her stomach. her cheeks burned slightly and she looked at the ground, slowing the embarrassed flutter of her heart. she couldn't even bring herself to swear at him. "the point is," she continued, jaw tight, "that you're either going to miss that meeting entirely or leave without me."

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note : LOL I BET

tagged : united states of america plz

other : made by the loverly pidge ♥

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[united states of america]

Too much animosity darkened his mood, and he waved it off with a reminder that patience was a virtue. America wasn't interested in hearing his faults organized and rehearsed, "Mmm. How wide do you think this river is—?" It was more to himself than anything else, and he jerked awake again under the weight of her stare while she watched him from the shore. took all the fun out of diving in if she wasn't down there to begin with "Done already? And I was taking strides to be considerate," sitting upright, an arm propped on his raised knee, America heaved a sigh and listened to the buzzing of insects in his ears. 'Always so serious, Malila, it has to be painful. . .' Not that serious was his state of affairs outside the office, and so he hooked his fingers around the quarter of his shoes and pulled them back to him.

Smiling graciously, he added a offhand, almost airy, "Well, we've got five days to understand each other—let me play your escort, Malila. It's your decision, but you did tell me yes when I asked, so I have an alibi for being tactless this time around. ♥" Glancing out into the wilderness spilling over the riverside, he thought idly about what she wanted to do, and decided to go from there. No point in arguing his point-of-view, since that never moved anyone much to begin with. 'Least of all the woman whose kink is calling me an idiot. Deserved or not.'

"But I promised that this is a vacation first, eh," America grinned widely and motioned to the curve of the bend, which broke into caves some mile ahead if the brochure wasn't complete shit, "So if you hate dealing with the details, I have a simple solution: don't. ♥ We're here, so we may as well see the sights." Restlessness was a curse with him, and America was back on his feet again; closed the distance while politely keeping a good two feet from where she sat. Burying a hand in his pocket out of habit, he was more than familiar with her silence, and always had trouble placing the meaning of it. There was no harm in insisting given that she had no interest in him, and he continued playfully, "Come on. Do me the honor." 'Yes' was preferred, 'no' was likely, but he knew she clung to a secret hatred for inner city life. If they were going to get anywhere, then it started with the calculated risk of having his enthusiasm shot down.

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OOC: Sorry, massive muse!fail on part of that topic with France, so I'm going to focus on this for now. :'<;; Also: hey, how did she get her scar? We could rp about that, too . . . but after a few posts, it would be kind of rude to be like, "HEY HOW DID YOU GET THAT, IS LULZY AND NOTICEABLE WHEN UR IN THE WATER 8D"

[native americas]

god i want to dream again

take me where i've never been

i want to go there and this time i'm not scared

his enthusiasm wasn't exactly unappreciated, it was just that malila found it neither amusing nor endearing. in fact, there was very litlte she found endearing about the man who had so cleverly said, sorry, but your opinion doesn't matter because of manifest destination, bitch, but really, that wasn't what bothered her. in fact, one could say that really, malila hated herself, not him. she hated the fact that she was so passive about everything, that she just let him take over like he did. of course, the indian wars weren't for nothing, and it had been clear that she had tried her hardest, but during that time she had underestimated him (one more thing on the "reasons to hate malila: failuer of the century") and flung herself head first into a war that she had no chance in winning.

she was stupid.

this didn't stop her from blaming america for everything.

it was raining the day she wanted to go out with her brothers. america's fault. if he's so fucking awesome, then he should be able to control the weather, right? winter came early, and those of her people that still grew crops were unable to do so because of the weather. america's fault, because obviously if winter came early it was because his frozen and dead heart got excited by something.

again, not exactly like that -- something of that variety, though.

but... escort? was america being stupid? of course he was. (he always was, in lila's opinion.) "i wonder if maybe the heat is getting to you," she replied dryly, eyeing him with such suspicion that it was almost tangible. even with him standing two feet away, she felt suddenly self-conscious, bringing her hand up to rub absently at the puckered red scar that burned along her collar bone and down just above her chest. a permanent reminder, as it were, of her failure years ago.

do him the honor? the honor? malila wanted to spit at him that he didn't have an honorable bone in his entire body, but of course, as usual, she didn't. she made an almost complacent noise and turned her gaze away. it seemed she stopped herself from doing a lot of things lately, especially concerning asserting her independence. she didn't need him. she especially didn't want help from him. but... it seemed that either way, she was stuck with him. unfortunately.

"only because you pursue this," she replied stiffly after a moment, keeping her dignity in tact as best she could. she'd gotten good at that, at least. "but i don't appreciate your tagging along. after all, you should be doing more important things. like running a country or something." her voice was dry with sarcasm, even a little snide, and she pulled her over shirt on and began lacing her shoes. sometimes, she wondered what life would be like if she was nice to america, perhaps if she went so far as to like him. she assumed it would be easier than the life she led now, if she plodded along complacently like a good conquered nation and obeyed orders as she should.

well, she'd never been one for conquering, anyway.

once she was done, she pushed off from the rock and brushed past him, pushing wispy strands of dark hair from her face as she hopped onto a ledge and began walking. he'd better keep up -- because she certainly wasn't going to wait for him.

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note : we could probably have a thread that has to do with her getting her scar O:

tagged : united states of america plz

other : made by the loverly pidge ♥

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[united states of america]

America was pleasantly surprised. She could have easily punched him—he was more than used to a hit or two and she was pretty damn good at it, which didn’t make it degrading—and he would haven taken it because he didn’t have much of a choice. Smiling again, he shrugged and deterred with a goodnatured, “I’d be glad if you did, thanks.”  (And hey, a good man handles cynicism with style. He was a sarcastic bastard when the situation called for it, and had a shameless love for dirtier words, Malila.)

“Someday, Lady,” it was a low baritone, sung more then spoken since America had a fondness for it, “You’ll accompany me. Or at least kill me while I’m trying; still impressive.”  His eyes found her scar, a blotchy red under white cloth clinging to her curves, and he didn’t let them trail too far because his intentions were mild today. America didn't want to be impolite if he could avoid it. (Other countries had an amazing ability to miss the point—he had standards of conduct, but just didn’t give a shit about other people’s. Completely different.) It had its own story to tell, although America knew it was nothing he felt like reiterating. He brooded enough in the last few days to have the world wondering where his usual textbook narcissist act had run off to—he needed to get that back, since someone up and stole it—but bullets and oil were in his blood. America remembered the smell of burned flesh and gunpowder in summer and fall, with screams that he didn’t care about then. It wasn’t a matter of fairness, and slaughter was a prerequisite to being a country in spite of what the pacifists argued. (Not to imply that pacifists existed back then.) Was it good? No, he was going to hell, but hell liked to keep its doors open for him. In the United States, the past was something to escape from or to overlook; the only difference between himself and Native America was that the side of the gun he was on changed with time.

America side-stepped lightly as she strode ahead of him. “Valid argument. I could be running a country,” he fell into a mock role of thoughtful, a hand to his chin, before breaking into a grin, “But I don’t feel like it, so no reasons to rush. ♥ ” He did wish her undershirt was slightly less distracting because the cut blazed on her collarbone like a fire across the Great Plains, and he found himself staring. (That wasn’t incriminating; in perfectly good tastes, America. Christ.)

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OOC: IN HIS incredibly stupid DEFENSE, MANIFEST DESTINY WAS A LONG TIME AGO? 8D;;

[native americas]

god i want to dream again

take me where i've never been

i want to go there and this time i'm not scared

lila didn't suppose that he really regretted giving her that scar. well, maybe not back then. her surly self insisted that he didn't care then and he didn't care now, that obviously he needed some sort of exorcism and that he was responsible for the nasty ache in her chest, for the scalding tear that was eternally marked against her otherwise scar-less flesh. which, he sort of was. maybe not exorcism, but he was definitely responsible for her scar. but to be honest, malila didn't blame him; at any rate, she would have done exactly the same thing to him for the sake of her nation. it was what they did; and this world now, it seemed that you either commanded or you were conquered.

malila found herself conquered.

as to whether her undershirt was distracting or not, malila was unaware. she didn't care, anyway. it wasn't like she expected anything less than lecherous from america ( though she had yet to experience any such lechery from him in the first place ) and she paid little attention to style these days. she knew he was only staring at her scar -- people did tend to do that, it seemed, when it was visible; many forgot exactly where she had gotten it and found it important enough to stare at with widened eyes -- and she gave a heavy sigh. the movement rose her shoulders up and then down, made her eyes shut and then open once more; in, and out. temper control. hold your tongue.

( not going to happen. )

"i don't know why you bother," malila replied dryly, her voice crackling slightly like autumn leaves underfoot. "you could just as easily entertain yourself with one of your states. but i suppose the fact that i wish to be alone is exactly why you attend to me in the first place." she grimaced at the thought; hopped onto another ledge of rocks, and didn't look back. "and please stop singing. you look stupid." snip snip snip. cut at him while he was down ( literally, he was on a lower altitude than she was at the moment ) because it makes you feel good. she stifled a noise of complaint at her own self -- because she's better than him, she insists -- and leans against the next ledge and peers down at him.

"and you're unbearably slow at this."

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note : LOL poor america, she just loves hates him D:

tagged : united states of america plz

other : made by the loverly pidge ♥

[/center]

[united states of america]

America cocked his head to the side politely and murmured a sullen, “I would love to be entertaining myself with the States, but this was urgent business . . .” Being at home was a calling of his and he missed their comforting, 'No, that's bull. Go back and try that argument for federal funding again.' And that was a genuine truth, since they talked to him in a way only a brother or a sister could. (You all know the way.)

She drew her mouth in a tight line, sighing as she held up her head with a shrug of dismissal. Watching lazily as he swiped away mosquitoes, America realized that she wasn't uncomfortable no matter where his eyes fell. Well, hey. That was good enough for diplomatic relations, and he jerked his collar loose again with a flick of the wrist. (Mild intentions implied some looking, but women knew how stupid men are. God made them to be exactly what they were, and America didn't resent his own interest—scar or no scar.)

He closed his eyes and tried to shake the image from his mind. Ruddy, old, and deep—still there from over a century ago. Scars were a bond between different countries in war, and Native America accepted, hell, embraced that. She took up arrows and let houses burn to ash on the roadside without shame. But the mass extermination of a people? America pulled that shit on his own, and the blame was his alone after the Spanish and British were ostracized by the Revolutionary War. At the time, he was an idiot and a kid—rebelling against Europe, very much enjoying his new-found autonomy, France's admiration of his freedom up until the murdering the nobility part, that was kind of, uh, unexpected, and just being a prick across the nation. She happened to get in the way of that; nothing more, nothing less. It was bloody, one-sided, and a demonstration of his hatred for her.

Optimistic on the surface, he quickly forgot his nostalgia in favor of conversation. “Ah, my singing has failed to impress you. That hurts, Malila,” and he grinned, whistling playfully as she leaped from one ledge to another with lithe grace—swift, calculated, and still more suited to nature than people, “Not sure how I'll beat that one, but all right, all right.” He could manage himself as he trudged after her, slowly at first before jumping from one crag not quite clumsily. More like badly executed, with a sort of flounce for balance. (Never mind, that was worse, and he sighed in defeat.)

". . . That didn't happen ♥," America added half-jokingly, raising an eyebrow as he steadied himself.

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OOC: Well. He was kind of d*ck. she does have a right too I don't think he'll bring it up if she doesn't, by the way, but we can have them talk a bit more.