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scribbling-stiks · 6 months ago

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Spring - XXXVII - Blood Red and Faded Teal

Russia stands up to look around in one of the other rooms when someone taps him on the shoulder. He spins around and sees Iowa, who takes a step back.

“Ope, sorry!” she exclaims, raising her visible hand in the air, “didn’t mean to startle you.”

Russia breathes a sigh of relief before looking closer at her. She has one hand behind her back and a badly masked look of excitement on her face. Minnesota stands slightly behind her, grinning widely. Both of them are covered in dust.

‘From searching,’ Russia assumes.

“But we have something for you,” Minnesota says, mischief in her voice.

“What?” Russia asks, trying to hide a smile that threatens his expression.

“This!” Iowa says brightly, handing Russia a sickle.

Russia takes it. The metal of the blade doesn’t shine like he expects, but it also shows no extra signs of age other than the dust-covered handle, which has a few spots showing new fingerprints. He laughs lightly.

“Where did you find this?” he asks, baffled.

Iowa shrugs, a large smirk on her face.

Russia laughs.

‘It is Dixie’s house. Maybe he kept it for something?’

He shakes his head to dismiss his musing. He looks down and studies the sickle for another moment, noting the dark wood handle and dull steel, before a large smile takes over his face.

‘I know exactly who I am going to give this to.’

“Ukraine!”

“What?” Ukraine calls from upstairs.

“Come here!”

“Why?”

Russia decides not to answer. He sees a few states around him look between him and the stairs, snickering.

“Russia?”

Russia smirks, hiding the sickle behind his back.

He hears a door shut loudly upstairs. Then, he feels the floor shake a little as Ukraine stomps down the stairs. Ukraine appears from around the corner, his hat barely peaking above the miscellaneous things he was holding, a spear nearly tumbling down the stairs.

“This better be important.”

“I have something for you.”

“What?” Ukraine asks, annoyed. He drops what he’s holding into a pile on the table.

Something interesting catches Russia’s attention. It looks like a sword hilt made of bone.

“Russia!” Ukraine demands, his hands on his hips.

“Oh yeah,” Russia says, pulling the sickle out from behind him.

“This is-”

“<Fuck off!>” Ukraine yells while Russia shoves the tool into his hand.

Russia laughs loudly and steps back, avoiding Ukraine’s swing at his neck.

“Can’t get me!” Russia laughs.

Ukraine snarls and hooks Russia’s arm in the blade of the sickle.

“<Why would you give this to me?>” Ukraine hisses, loud enough for Russia to understand

“You can fight with it,” Russia replies with a shrug, pulling his arm to his side.

“What is this?” Massachusetts interrupts, raising the sword hilt.

Russia turns to look at him, and Ukraine hooks him around the other arm, scratching him.

“Hey!” Russia exclaims.

“I don’t know,” Ukraine says, not looking away, “I found it up on a shelf and it looked interesting.”

“Dixie?” Massachusetts calls.

“I dunno,” Dixie answers, “it was given to me after…” He pauses for a moment. “I’ve had it for a long time.”

“Huh,” Texas says, watching it nervously. The star in his eye spins for a moment before quickly stuttering to a stop.

‘He can do that? How did I not notice?’ Russia wonders, once again removing his arm from Ukraine’s sickle.

“You are such an asshole,” Ukraine sneers.

“Is that made of bone?” asks British Columbia, sounding skittish, pointing at it hesitantly.

“Probably,” Dixie says with a shrug, “either way, I tried to take care of it.”

“You think there’s anything attached to it?” Manitoba asks nervously, turning to look at Louisiana, “because it looks human…”

“I don’t know!” she exclaims, crossing her arms, “and I ain’t checkin right now.”

“You could.”

“What are you talkin about? I just tried to use my magic and I got cursed,” she exclaims, swiping her hand through the air.

“But that’s probably because you were trying to use just magic,” Manitoba starts, waving their hands.

“What else would I use?”

“The source outside?” they say with a shrug, “Like directly?”

Louisiana goes quiet for a moment and then hums to herself. Manitoba suddenly seems unsure of themselves, their shoulders dropping for a moment before they straighten their back.

“I know what I’m talking about! I have magic too!” they defend.

“I just wanna be careful.”

Manitoba scoffs.

“If you’re going to try that, I’m coming with you,” America says sternly, his arms crossed.

Russia nods in agreement.

“Mass?” Louisiana asks.

“I don’t know,” Massachusetts says with a shrug, “if it is haunted, I’d want to know. But I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“And there ain’t no way a thing made of human bone ain’t haunted,” Alabama calls from another room.

Louisiana sighs. She looks toward Russia.

“If this goes wrong, you’re finna help me,” she demands, stomping to the pile.

She snatches the bone hilt from Massachusetts, who offers a loud complaint in response. She quickly turns toward the back door.

“Lu, are you sure this is a good idea?” Georgia asks hesitantly.

“I dunno, but I don’t wanna anger nothin else right now,” Louisiana states, her brow furrows and scowl makes its way onto her face, “and it does look like a magical item.”

“Can I see it?” Russia asks, reaching out a hand.

Louisiana sighs before handing it to him. He flips it in his hands. The actual handle is wrapped in old, dry leather. The base feels smooth, worn under his fingers. The guard looks scratched, but not broken.

He also notes how it feels fuzzy in his hands.

‘Definitely magic. And there was probably no physical blade.’

He holds it, and the handle it a little too small for his hand.

‘I wonder if I can see anything else.’

He breathes in deep.

“Russ?” America calls, “You have to tell us before you do anything.”

“Sorry. There is magic attached, I want to see it,” Russia explains plainly, closing his eyes.

He tries not to flinch at America’s annoyed sigh.

He opens his eyes again, and the remaining sound he could hear falls under the ringing. He looks around, noticing the grey around them is a little duller. He feels like he’s breathing in campfire smoke instead of the acrid house fire smoke of earlier.

‘Still unpleasant, but better.’

He focuses his attention on the sword hilt. The bone glows with a deep, blood red. Then, he blinks.

A whispy teal surrounds the hilt, shifting around it. It tries to cover the red, but fails to disguise it. It seems to cling lightly to his fingers. He passes the hilt between his hands, watching it move.

‘Those are magic signatures.’

‘Why?’

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, the world shifts back into focus.

“The grey magic around us is less,” he announces, “and magic signatures are attached to this.”

“Signatures?” Louisiana asks, startled, “like more than one?”

“Yes,” Russia says, “I don’t know why.”

“Now you have to check it out!” Manitoba says.

Louisiana paces for a moment, mumbling to herself. Then, she curses.

“We need more magic items. Dixie, are you sure you don’t know where this came from?”

“It was given to me after the Civil War. I don’t know,” Dixie says sternly. A “don’t ask me again,” is left unsaid.

Louisiana sighs loudly.

“Russ?”

“Yes?”

“You can filter magic to me, right?”

Russia nods.

“Cool, You’re gonna do that,” she says, walking toward the back door.

Russia follows close behind, watching America side-step behind him, a visible limp in his stride.

They walk outside, and Russia spots several groups of four scouting the area, some on the ground and a few in tree stands. There is a larger group sitting at a picnic table in the center of the backyard, idling chatting and eating snacks.

Louisiana walks past them, waving a stiff hello. A few of them wave back, and others eye the hilt in her hand suspiciously.

They arrive at the stump and Louisiana looks toward him. Russia nods, closing his eyes for a moment. He opens them again and stares at the clean magic erupting from the stump.

‘It is working hard to filter this,’ he notes idly.

He grabs some of the strands and dully notes Louisiana slowly putting the hilt on a rock pile nearby. She steps back and looks at him, one hand outstretched. He takes a few steps toward her.

He funnels the strings to her, and they take on a purple hue as soon as they reach her grasp. He watches her speak, unable to make out the words. He breathes in deeply, turning down the valve in his chest, teetering between the physical and magic worlds.

‘I need to be able to hear them.’

Then a man, who looks around her age, emerges. He looks almost solid, and Russia takes a startled step back.

The man opens his mouth and speaks in a tongue Russia doesn’t understand, facing Louisiana.

‘That sounds familiar.’

Louisiana’s face scrunches. His face seems to dim at not being understood. The man looks at Russia and Georgia, his shoulders falling.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?” America answers nervously.

‘I don’t understand what he’s saying.”

America’s shoulders fall and he seems to sigh in relief.

“Just try to repeat it back to me and I’ll see what I can do.”

Lousiana does, her tongue tripping over unfamiliar syllables. America goes a little pale and rubs his face.

“Okay, I’m gonna try something. Let me know if he responds.”

America says something in a similar accent, and the man jumps, his eyes lighting up and he begins to speak rapidly.

“He’s responding,” Louisiana reports.

“God damn it,” America says, grinding his foot into the dirt, “It’s fucking Prussian.”

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#countryhumans #ch russia #ch america #rusame #statehumans #i should tag these more often lol

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