Back to the U.S.S.R.
Title: Back to the U.S.S.R.
Author/Artist: heh.
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Finland, Russia (Soviet Union actually)
Rating: G
Warnings: None, except I'd like to officially apologize for the lol!pun title. -.-
Summary: Another historical fic: there really was a restaurant rather legendary among the Finnish tourists. It was the place where you went to blow the rest of your travel funds.
Back to the U.S.S.R.
“Cm'ooon for old timess sakess.”
“But you're already drunk, Finland. Will I have to put you to bed afterwards?”
“Hah, you jusst try it!”
Russia, although he had now renamed himself Soviet Union, laughed airily, already pushing his glass across the table. Then he kept moving it around some more to catch as much vodka as he could: for once Finland couldn't aim properly at him no matter how much he tried.
Outside the weather was turning cold but in here the oncoming winter could be forgotten. The restaurant did not look that special at the first glace. It was a fine place and he was quite proud of it, but what set it apart from the others was that it tended to be full of Finnish tourists. They were never overcharged here, and if they drank too much a member of the staff would see that they got to their hotel without trouble. There were plenty of ladies around too, although well dressed and not obvious about their profession. This was the place where the lucky ones worked at and where money was aplenty. It was not unheard-of for a Finnish tourist to leave the whole contents of his wallet as a tip as they left...
This was partially due to the good service but not only because of it. They threw their money away like that because for that evening, just for them, it was worth absolutely nothing.
It was forbidden to take rubles outside of the Soviet Union. All these tourists would be on their way home to following day and at the border they would be asked to turn over the currency they still had on them. What wonder was it, then, that rather than giving it away to the state they chose to live like royalty for one evening, drinking until they dropped, eating the best the restaurant had to offer, tipping people left and right ensuring excellent service and perhaps, after the night was done, spending some quality time with a chosen lady? The people inside the restaurant were real people with real lives who needed the money a lot more than the angry-faced border officers, that was how the tourists thought. In any case to them the money was not even worth the paper it was printed on. It could, and should, be wasted with style.
It was no good. He reached to grab Finland's hand and steadied it to help him actually hit the glass. Emptying it with one gulp, he took the bottle to pour the next one himself. Finland muttered something and slid sideways off the table, landing on the floor with a soft thud. A waiter walking past glanced at him and then at the other person sitting at the table, nodding politely and then pretending nothing out of ordinary had happened.
“Well. Time to just try to put you to bed, then?” He finished his drink just as quickly as before, slung the unconscious Finland over his shoulder and left. Outside the first snow was covering the ground in soft whiteness.
Author/Artist: heh.
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Finland, Russia (Soviet Union actually)
Rating: G
Warnings: None, except I'd like to officially apologize for the lol!pun title. -.-
Summary: Another historical fic: there really was a restaurant rather legendary among the Finnish tourists. It was the place where you went to blow the rest of your travel funds.
Back to the U.S.S.R.
“Cm'ooon for old timess sakess.”
“But you're already drunk, Finland. Will I have to put you to bed afterwards?”
“Hah, you jusst try it!”
Russia, although he had now renamed himself Soviet Union, laughed airily, already pushing his glass across the table. Then he kept moving it around some more to catch as much vodka as he could: for once Finland couldn't aim properly at him no matter how much he tried.
Outside the weather was turning cold but in here the oncoming winter could be forgotten. The restaurant did not look that special at the first glace. It was a fine place and he was quite proud of it, but what set it apart from the others was that it tended to be full of Finnish tourists. They were never overcharged here, and if they drank too much a member of the staff would see that they got to their hotel without trouble. There were plenty of ladies around too, although well dressed and not obvious about their profession. This was the place where the lucky ones worked at and where money was aplenty. It was not unheard-of for a Finnish tourist to leave the whole contents of his wallet as a tip as they left...
This was partially due to the good service but not only because of it. They threw their money away like that because for that evening, just for them, it was worth absolutely nothing.
It was forbidden to take rubles outside of the Soviet Union. All these tourists would be on their way home to following day and at the border they would be asked to turn over the currency they still had on them. What wonder was it, then, that rather than giving it away to the state they chose to live like royalty for one evening, drinking until they dropped, eating the best the restaurant had to offer, tipping people left and right ensuring excellent service and perhaps, after the night was done, spending some quality time with a chosen lady? The people inside the restaurant were real people with real lives who needed the money a lot more than the angry-faced border officers, that was how the tourists thought. In any case to them the money was not even worth the paper it was printed on. It could, and should, be wasted with style.
It was no good. He reached to grab Finland's hand and steadied it to help him actually hit the glass. Emptying it with one gulp, he took the bottle to pour the next one himself. Finland muttered something and slid sideways off the table, landing on the floor with a soft thud. A waiter walking past glanced at him and then at the other person sitting at the table, nodding politely and then pretending nothing out of ordinary had happened.
“Well. Time to just try to put you to bed, then?” He finished his drink just as quickly as before, slung the unconscious Finland over his shoulder and left. Outside the first snow was covering the ground in soft whiteness.