Handling a Crisis

Chapter Three: The Dinner

Edit: translation fix

Holy sweet Caroline, how does this have over twenty reads? Thank you???

I'm gonna be adding names to the chapters now 'cause why not. Feel free to comment things I could do better, including translations and cultural elements. And again, translations are at the bottom.

Now onto the story.

"I don't underrrstand how zat is such a popularrr movie," Russia stated, staring at the TV.

"Oh, come on!" America exclaimed. "Did you not see how memeable it was? Obviously it would be so popular!"

Russia sighed. "I kan't believe you got me to vatch a human and a bee fall in love. Vhy does such a zing exist?

America just laughed at his confusion. "Aw, come on Russia! It's art!" A few seconds later, he started poking Russia's arm. "Russia. Hey, Russia."

Russia looked at the shorter country. "Да?"

America cleared his throat and leaned forward, placing his arm on the couch's backrest. "Ya like jazz?" he asked, somehow making the exact same face Berry B. Benson had made when he said it to Vanessa.

Russia groaned as America laughed even harder because of his reaction. Though he tried to look annoyed, Russia smiled a little at America's antics. "Quit it, Amerrrika."

"Nah, I-" America was cut off by a quiet ping from his phone. He looked down at it. "Oh shoot, there's an hour left before the dinner." He stood up and made his way toward the kitchen. "Gotta start cooking."

America went into the kitchen and started preparing the meatballs, humming softly as he did so. As time passed, he soon forgot there was someone else who wasn't one of his kids in the house. He began wondering why the house was so quiet, but then passed it off as the kids being outside in the woods somewhere, which happened from time to time. America trusted them enough to find their way back home. He just hoped they didn't bring back another wolf.  God, was Sam annoyed when they did that the other two times.

He had just added spinach to his meatball-tortellini soup and was about to stir it when he heard Russia say, "It smells good."

America jumped, dropping the spoon into the pot and clutching the part of his shirt in front of his chest. "Jesus Christ on a fucking spork, Russia!" he exclaimed. Russia laughed at his reaction, earning a glare from America. "Shut up, it wasn't that funny."

"Yourrr rrreaction vas prrriceless!" Russia laughed. "I'm prrretty surrre yourrr voice vent up an octave!"

America rolled his eyes as he picked up the spoon he'd and started the soup. "Okay, ha, ha, fuck off. And no, it didn't." It did. "When did you even get here?"

Russia shrugged. "Few minutes ago." He looked down at his phone. "Vhat time arrre Canada and Philippines koming overrr?"

"Around eightish. Why?"

"Just vonderrring."

America nodded and added salt, pepper, and parmesan to the soup. After mixing it a little more, he tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot, set it down, put the lid on it, and turned off the fire. "Alright, that should do it," he said.

Russia nodded, not looking up from his phone. "Cool." He frowned. "Что за Блядь?"

"Language.

Russia looked up. "You understand Rrrussian? And zat's hypokrrrisy. You just cussed a few minutes ago."

America blinked, realizing it wasn't Alaska who'd cursed because Alaska was down in the basement with his siblings, hiding from Russia. "Oh, yeah, I know Russian. And sorry, I have a habit of saying that. It annoys the shit out of Aussie."