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Nov. 15th, 2011 03:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whiterusestraAction: 842 Hastings Boulevard, morning
[Belarus does not wake up like a normal person after her droning. She grunts, sitting straight up in bed as if surfacing from deep water, and scrabbles at the covers, holding them in a white knuckled grip. She looks around erratically, checking to see where she is, only to see the room looks very similar to the one she had fallen asleep in. Or at least, it would have, if she had not consigned herself to the couch, and there was not a strange woman in her bed.
Strange woman in her bed she is not supposed to be in. First a strange man. Now a strange woman. She is not the kind of person who wakes up with people she doesn’t know in her bed. Much more quietly than the way she woke up, Belarus pulls back the covers and slides her feet over the edge, intending to find a knife to threaten her with, obviously not having learned her lesson from last time, only to sense something-something on the floor-and then she gets tunnel vision-because her brother is right there.
She scurries over, her feet thumping along the ground in her haste, but lightens to a tiptoe when she is closer. Her hands hover around Russia’s shoulders and face as she crouches beside him. Normally the type to have no qualms whatsoever with touching her brother, she feels almost as if he might pop like a bubble and disappear if she were to do it now. So instead she whispers, however much she doesn’t want to interrupt Russia’s sleeping face, she can’t contain the need to speak.]
Brother…brother wake up
[Belarus does not wake up like a normal person after her droning. She grunts, sitting straight up in bed as if surfacing from deep water, and scrabbles at the covers, holding them in a white knuckled grip. She looks around erratically, checking to see where she is, only to see the room looks very similar to the one she had fallen asleep in. Or at least, it would have, if she had not consigned herself to the couch, and there was not a strange woman in her bed.
Strange woman in her bed she is not supposed to be in. First a strange man. Now a strange woman. She is not the kind of person who wakes up with people she doesn’t know in her bed. Much more quietly than the way she woke up, Belarus pulls back the covers and slides her feet over the edge, intending to find a knife to threaten her with, obviously not having learned her lesson from last time, only to sense something-something on the floor-and then she gets tunnel vision-because her brother is right there.
She scurries over, her feet thumping along the ground in her haste, but lightens to a tiptoe when she is closer. Her hands hover around Russia’s shoulders and face as she crouches beside him. Normally the type to have no qualms whatsoever with touching her brother, she feels almost as if he might pop like a bubble and disappear if she were to do it now. So instead she whispers, however much she doesn’t want to interrupt Russia’s sleeping face, she can’t contain the need to speak.]
Brother…brother wake up