Intoxicated // Countryhumans RusAme

Chapter 5 - Feeling Good

It's been about three hours since the Russian nation wandered off on his own. Light-headed and a bit confused over his surroundings, Russia aimlessly walked around the brightly lit streets of Las Vegas. Music from a handful of outdoor performances and the sounds of people chattering and arguing meshed into one huge mess of noises in his head, and only contributed to the pounding headache he was trying his best to ignore.

He tilted his head back, finishing drinking another can of beer, and tossed it in the trash can before grunting.

"America's alcohol is so bland. It's like I'm drinking water." Russia chuckled to himself and quickly corrected his words of choice, "overpriced water." There weren't any liquor stores or bars nearby, however, so he had to make do with whatever they had in the downstairs lobby of their cheap hotel.

Russia paused for a second when he heard a familiar voice coming from a nearby alleyway. Tilting his head in to see what was going on, he chuckled, humored at the interesting scenario that he had walked in on.

America was backed against a wall with a messy gang of criminals cornering him at every side. Russia could feel the tension in the air even by standing from afar. America was obviously holding back himself back from bashfully murdering his own citizens again and Russia decided that it might be best to maybe step him and lend him a hand. Before he would though, Russia decided to maybe poke fun at him for a bit.

"I see you've got your hands tied 'Meri," Russia teased, with a hiccup in his voice. His slight drunken state gave him little to no thought to what he was saying. He tilted his body a little from side to side to keep up the balance, and squinted at the so-called "threatening" thugs that looked as if they were about to kill the Slavic nation. America gave no response to this, but his eyes shot daggers at Russia for calling him the childish nickname he was given in high school.

"'Meri?" One of the men laughed, "Hah, what kind of ladies name is that?"

"My ex-girlfriend's name is manlier than that and she works on the strip," a man wearing clothes twice the size of him chuckled, "night hours."

"I wouldn't try provoking him if I were you," Russia warned, "He can get quite scary."

Puffing out a cig with a condescending glare, the same man asked, "And who are you,
freak show?" scanning Russia head to toe. His height was always something off-putting to most people, but he usually didn't care much when someone teased him over it.

"It doesn't matter who I am to you. Leave him alone," Russia replied in a dangerous tone. The men took this threat as an invitation to a fight and ganged up together.

"As if I'm about to listen to some foreigner. Go back to wherever you came from and fuck off—" a punch in the face broke his speech and everyone back up for a second at Russia's sudden action. Some yelled back at him and others even attempted to jump at him as soon as the fight broke out.

Russia panted heavily in excitement. His punches were loose and drunk, but they easily overpowered the smaller men who attempted to fight him back with the same amount of brute strength, proving to be a quite futile attempt.

It didn't take long for them all to disperse into different directions. Once they were all out of sight, Russia smiled, wiping his grin off his face with a bloody hand. "Who knew that beating up some Americans felt so satisfying," he chuckled to himself.