To Love A Monster

Ch. 9 The Witch's Brew

Japan sat at the table, eating some of the last bits of food he had stored away in the cabinets. He turned it over in the bowl, tired of eating the same rice porridge all the time. Russia sat down beside him, slamming down a mason jar full of a purple soup.

"Want some?" Russia offered, pulling Japan's watery porridge off to the side.

"What is it?" Japan asked, swirling the liquid in it's sealed container.

"Borscht." Russia said, taking the jar away. He stood to go into the kitchen and was followed by the tiny Asian. From a bag he had slung over his shoulder he got out some potatoes that he had smuggled from Germany.

"I thought you were talking to Germany today." Japan said softly.

"And he wanted you to have some food. But he couldn't spare a whole bunch. So I just took some potatoes. Figured they have to be good for more than Vodka." Russia said, taking a knife out of his pocket and peeling one of the potatoes. He took the skins and put them in a bowl. America would probably know of some nice way to cook them up. Then again, that blond bastard would probably throw it away.

Japan just picked up the bowl and went to the sink to wash them. He sat on the counter, eating the raw peels happily while watching Russia take off his gloves to chop the potatoes. Russia looked back at him and shook his head.

"What?" Japan asked, popping another peel into his mouth. It tasted awful, but it was better than eating that nasty porridge again. Besides, his stomach probably wouldn't let him keep the skins down anyway. He was having one of his bad days, where his skin tried to rot off his bones and his head spun in huge spirals. Well, his head spun. His skin had stopped rotting a couple weeks ago.

"Raw potatoes." Russia said softly, throwing the chopped potatoes into the pot of purple soup. "I don't see how you and Germany can eat those things."

"What is that stuff?" Japan asked, Russia scowled taking a spoon and stirring it.

"Beets. Yummy yummy beets. And potatoes. Yummy yummy potatoes." Russia sassed, stirring it. Japan frowned. Beets? That purple looking turnip thing that Russia liked so much? Tasted like rotten pickles?

"But I have porridge." Japan complained.

"No, I have porridge. You have yummy, good for you borscht." Russia said, still stirring the mess.

"I'm going to eat my porridge. You can have beet nasty." Japan said jumping off the counter and walking towards the table. Russia ran past him and took the bowl of porridge right off the table. He held the bowl above his head.

"What are you doing?!" Japan demanded, reaching for the bowl. "That's mine!"

"No. Communist take porridge." Russia smiled.

Japan frowned, pouted and sat in the chair. Russia seemed unaffected, walking into the other room and finished cooking his soup.

It took no time for the soup to finish cooking. Despite the steam fuming off of the purple fluid, there was barely any smell to it at all. Japan still didn't want to eat it. He could easily remember Italy trying to get him to eat one in a salad one time.

"But they taste good, ve." Italy would sing, sliding the bowl of greens over to him. "They taste like onions. Really."

Japan frowned, furiously, thinking about how many other memories he would rather have. If he could forget Germany and Italy all together, he would be much happier. Those two....friends...some friends. Got him into this mess. He was perfectly happy being left alone. How they talked him into this was beyond him. All those lies....

Of course beets didn't taste like onions. Italy was retarded and had gotten them mixed up with radishes because they were, and quote, 'the same color'. Beets tasted like disgusting rotten pickles that were left out in the sun to rot some more. Beets deserved to rot in the ground where they were grown. How any one could eat them, even in a soup, was beyond him.

Russia watched him carefully, his violet eyes scanning the small Asian man carefully. He hadnt even picked up the spoon and Japan was already flipping out. Frowning, growling to himself, smirking, practically getting up and walking away at one point. Was it some sort of eating dance that Russia had overlooked in his research? Or was it just the radiation sickness?

Reluctantly, Japan scooped up a spoon full of the purple mess. It looked like something that a witch would brew. He half-way expected bubbles to froth from the bottom of the bowl. Exhaling deeply, he stuffed the spoonful of purple nasty into his mouth. Russia stared intensely, not missing a single twitch. It was so interesting to see peoples reactions to food, to dances, to artwork. Especially if the person reacting was Asian.

Japan huffed, taking in another spoon full. He couldn't taste a thing. Nothing besides the soft mellow flavor of well-cooked potatoes. It felt good for his soul, warming him up from the inside. Even though he knew it was just a placebo. A small smile painted itself on his face, he sighed taking in the steam from the soup, and, breathing out slowly, he took another spoon full of soup. He had completely forgotten about the porridge.

Russia, only so satisfied with the reaction, left and cleaned up the mess he had made. Japan, upon finishing his soup, left and took a nap in his room. Even though it was hours before his usual schedule.