By 6.30pm the dinner party was in full flow. Soft music played through the entertaining rooms as the waiters, all dressed in smart tuxedoes, served ice cold glasses of champagne and tasty titbits on silver platters to whomever crossed their paths. Ivan stood tall among the menagerie of Englishmen, trussed up in his best military uniform, smiling politely at each suited Labour man who came to eagerly converse with Nikita Khrushchev and the Soviet Premier Nikolai Bulganin, who Ivan had cohered into coming last minuet, insisting that he too should come and see his English comrades (and help spread Communist propaganda- the more the merrier).
By 7.00pm Ivan was getting bored, tuning in and out of conversations restlessly. He had half hoped Arthur would have made an appearance or at least welcome him on arrival. However half an hour in and there was no sign of Arthur, not physically at least. His gut instinct insisted that Arthur was there. Shutting his eyes he concentrated…..feeling for him. A smashing sound and curse from his left snapped him out again. Purple eyes searched the room fervently passing from one nameless face to another until a shock of blond hair, immaculate suit and glance of green eyes caught his attention from within the sea of people before it disappeared hastily back into the depths. Ivan grinned, excused himself from the dull conversation and strode into the mass on the hunt for a blond rabbit.
He found Arthur skulking around the liquor cabinet.
‘Arthur! There you are I’ve been looking for you. Were you hiding from me?’ Ivan asked innocently to Arthur’s turned back.
Arthur jumped. He had been desperately trying to dodge Ivan all night, constantly spying out the corner of his eyes and keeping close tabs on him. Each duck and dive a pathetic attempt to avoid the all too real bulk of Russia on English soil, so pathetic in fact that he had ended up walking into a waiter and knocked his platter off onto some poor man’s head. In all the kafuffle hadn’t realised Ivan had found him, not until he heard that familiar childish voice and felt his looming presence at his back. As if to recover some dignity Arthur ignored Ivan and pouring himself a large measure of thick amber liquid, portraying the very image of nonchalant.
‘Arthur?’ Ivan questioned, this time resting his hands on Arthur’s small but wiry shoulders as his statement.
It still ceased to amaze him that such a tiny nation once held half the globe mercilessly under his foot. A half remembered image of Arthur covered in enemy blood, expression fierce and body unyielding, crept into his mind. Whether it was a memory from one of their battles against each other or a battle they had both shared against a common enemy Ivan couldn’t remember, and in all honesty didn’t care. Arthur was spectacular either way and was welcomed as both ally and opponent; the Great Games had been a great game after all. But here today Ivan wanted nothing more that for Arthur to acknowledge him, to turn towards him and greet him as a friend, not as a rival. Arthur however would still not turn and acknowledge him, preferring to return the used bottle to its proper place within the cabinet and look around for some ice. Let the bugger wait, he thought sourly.
Re: England/Russia - FILLED prt4.
By 7.00pm Ivan was getting bored, tuning in and out of conversations restlessly. He had half hoped Arthur would have made an appearance or at least welcome him on arrival. However half an hour in and there was no sign of Arthur, not physically at least. His gut instinct insisted that Arthur was there. Shutting his eyes he concentrated…..feeling for him. A smashing sound and curse from his left snapped him out again. Purple eyes searched the room fervently passing from one nameless face to another until a shock of blond hair, immaculate suit and glance of green eyes caught his attention from within the sea of people before it disappeared hastily back into the depths. Ivan grinned, excused himself from the dull conversation and strode into the mass on the hunt for a blond rabbit.
He found Arthur skulking around the liquor cabinet.
‘Arthur! There you are I’ve been looking for you. Were you hiding from me?’ Ivan asked innocently to Arthur’s turned back.
Arthur jumped. He had been desperately trying to dodge Ivan all night, constantly spying out the corner of his eyes and keeping close tabs on him. Each duck and dive a pathetic attempt to avoid the all too real bulk of Russia on English soil, so pathetic in fact that he had ended up walking into a waiter and knocked his platter off onto some poor man’s head. In all the kafuffle hadn’t realised Ivan had found him, not until he heard that familiar childish voice and felt his looming presence at his back. As if to recover some dignity Arthur ignored Ivan and pouring himself a large measure of thick amber liquid, portraying the very image of nonchalant.
‘Arthur?’ Ivan questioned, this time resting his hands on Arthur’s small but wiry shoulders as his statement.
It still ceased to amaze him that such a tiny nation once held half the globe mercilessly under his foot. A half remembered image of Arthur covered in enemy blood, expression fierce and body unyielding, crept into his mind. Whether it was a memory from one of their battles against each other or a battle they had both shared against a common enemy Ivan couldn’t remember, and in all honesty didn’t care. Arthur was spectacular either way and was welcomed as both ally and opponent; the Great Games had been a great game after all. But here today Ivan wanted nothing more that for Arthur to acknowledge him, to turn towards him and greet him as a friend, not as a rival. Arthur however would still not turn and acknowledge him, preferring to return the used bottle to its proper place within the cabinet and look around for some ice. Let the bugger wait, he thought sourly.