"Err... Great Britain? Um, you called?" Russia spoke into the now-dark room. Wind was still whistling around him from being magicked into the cavern. The floor beneath his feet had an odd characteristic of pulsing periwinkle blue. He could hear the chattering of teeth, so he knew Arthur was somewhere around. He examined the room, and it slowly came to life as the potions on the desks illuminated the place with rainbows of dim, flickering light.
The room seemed to have the most light coming from a dragon-shaped flask. Filled with something bright red, it seemed to crackle like a hundred Chinese fireworks going off. Hypnotized, Soviet Russia began to walk over, attracted, like a moth to a candle. Only when he was two feet away from the desk with the flask upon it, Russia was distracted by a whimper emanating from under the desk. Russia stopped himself, and bent down to see what was the trouble.
Huddled in the corner under his desk, Britain was trembling feverishly. Arthur was already a nervous person when around Russia, but ever since the Revolution, he had become terminally so. "Arthur?" Russia asked, probing why the nation was so frightened. When Britain didn't respond except for huddling further under the desk, Russia tried to get under the table. However, he simply wouldn't fit under there, being such a large nation. He gave up, not only that it hurt to try to climb under from bumping his head, but Britain would cry out as though he were being whipped every time the table shook from Russia's futile attempts. Sighing, Russia cautiously climbed out. "Arthur, why are you hiding from me if it was YOU who wanted to speak with me?" Britain shook his head furiously. "I-I-didn't call you!" he cried, tears finally streaming down both cheeks. "Just- Just go away, Ivan!" Arthur yelled, stabbing his finger in the direction of the door.
Russia wasn't going to hear any of it any longer. Trying to keep himself from yelling, (which would scare Britain even more and make the situation worse) he stood to his full height of an intimidating ten feet tall and spoke slowly. "Now, you OBVIOUSLY needed me, or you wouldn't have casted a spell to bring me here, so-" Britain interrupted Russia's speech with a nervous laugh. "I never had anything to tell you about America needing to improve his-" realizing he let the cat out of the bag, Britain quickly bit his tongue. Furrowing his thick eyebrows, the United Kingdom rocked back and forth cursing himself under his breath. Russia grinned with malicious intent, his face draped in purple as he chuckled deeply. "Kol kol kol... Its not good to hide things from Russia, da? Well, not only do you have something to tell me, it's about America isn't it?"
Russia lifted the table, and the dragon glass fell and shattered- its contents evaporating in a puff of sparkling red smoke. Exposed, Britain curled up like a ball. He sat there looking at Russia with his emerald green eyes. His eyes seemed like candles, their essence flickering with fear, their light threatened to be blown out by Russia- forever. "Blimey..." Britain whispered, his body rocking like a boat on turbulent seas- the sea of Soviet Russia's large shadow. Britain was shocked. Russia's strength was increasing, and he seemed to be getting bigger everyday as nations became one with him.
Russia threw the cherry-wood desk across the room on the opposite side where Britain sat, where it hit a wall and shattered like glass. Britain stood abruptly, not believing his eyes. Russia dusted himself off and turned around to face Arthur, and his face eased into a sweet, gentle, yet cold smile. "Ivan- what... have- have you done to my...my desk?!?" Britain whispered, his face pale. "Ah, so you won't hide anymore." Russia said, his sweet, sweet smile turning into a sneer. Britain looked from side to side, and realized he was cornered. "Now, we have much to discuss. Mother Russia will hear you through." Britain didn't budge. "I may seem big and scary to you now, but I won't bite if you tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth..." Russia looked up at the ceiling in mock thought. "Even then, maybe I'll nibble... metaphorically, of course." At first Britain stepped forward, but as soon as the words 'Even then, maybe I'll nibble...' escaped Russia's sly lips, Britain backed away, shaking with fear. "Whatever happened to your sense of humor?" Russia said, bending over to pat Britain on the head. "Whatever happened to yours?" Britain whispered. "Now then, tell me what you have to say about our dear United States..." Russia said, his voice coated with honey.
"L-l-look, I-I don't have anything against you- or-or- America. However, China agreed to the p-p-plan as well." Britain stuttered. Russia nodded, digesting the information. "What is this 'plan'?" Russia said, coaxing the information out of the Brit. "Oh now that, I-I-I can't tell you. It's-it's... HIGHLY confidential. Yes, yes. That's it." Britain said, gaining courage. The Russian's face turned a horrid shade of purple as a growl came out from within him. "Tell me- this plan," The Russian said between clenched teeth, almost a snarl, "and don't make me hurt you to get it out." Upon the mention of violence, the corners of Soviet Russia's mouth curled up in a cruel grin. "Oh, I'll tell it to you Russia- but perhaps we should step outside first..." Great Britain squirmed, his false courage cracking with his voice. "We should get some fresh air... It's awfully damp and cold in here..." The Russian caught Arthur by the arm as the Brit tried to slink towards the exit. "I don't mind..." Russia said, squeezing Britain's arm so hard that he could have sworn that anymore pressure would snap the bone. "OW OW OW!!! LET GO, YOU BLOODY GIT!!!" Great Britain screamed, a fire of pain burning up his arm. "I'LL ONLY TELL YOU THE PLAN IF YOU'D ONLY...LET...GO!!!" Arthur roared. Russia released Arthur's arm, leaving a numb throbbing ache where the inferno was coursing only seconds before.
"Hand me that pen and paper and I'll write it down for you- but as soon as you're finished reading, I'm going to burn it, okay? What happens in this chamber, stays in this chamber, do you understand, Ivan?" Britain said, massaging his sore arm. Without removing his eyes from Britain, Russia briskly marched over to the other table where a peacock feather laid dipped in rich emerald ink, ready for use, on top of some parchment. "You mean this?" Russia asked, pointing one gloved finger at the parchment and feather. "Yeah, that..." Britain collapsed to the floor, holding his arm- cringing. "Britain!" Russia yelled, running over. Hurriedly picking up the nation, Soviet Russia carried him over to the chair and propped him up clumsily. "Can you still write?" Russia asked, handing the feather to Britain. "Yeah...I think... I told you to let go, you git." Britain said, pressing the tip of the peacock feather to the parchment to make the first letter. Russia admired the detail of each letter, the smooth liquidity of each stroke interrupted by Britain's shivers. Slowly, Britain formed words, then sentences and paragraphs. As each word was written down, the satisfaction on Russia's face was wiped away. "What?!?" Russia roared. "That's right, Mr. Russia. And you can't stop me this time." Britain laughed. Russia realized it was now HIS turn to hide under a desk and whimper.