Guess who’s in Venice
Just Finnish history from 1808 until… some still undetermined point in time, with flashbacks and world history thrown in \(*W*)/ But I’m a really slow writer, so I’m not ready to actually start posting it :3
But I’ll give you one of my so-far favourite scenes because yay :D It still needs editing but oh well.
The blond man swirled the wine in his goblet, lounging on the hard chair as if it was the most comfortable divan imported from the Near East. His blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his face was adorned by a calculatingly bored expression. Russia himself was hiding his annoyance and frustration behind a fixed smile as his own hand clutched at a wine goblet, nearly crushing it in his grip.
"Your dear Alexander seems to be getting along with my Emperor," the other Nation observed smugly, taking a sip from his wine.
Russia’s smile widened, his violet eyes flashing dangerously. “It certainly seems so, Фра́нция.”
France smiled. “We should get along as well, as the two strongest Empires in Europe,” the gaze of his blue eyes was careful as he watched Russia.
‘Good,’ the Slav thought, ‘He has at least enough sense to not dismiss me.’
"Certainly," he agreed, "What do you suggest?"
The Frenchman reached to the side, bringing up a rolled map, which he spread on the table, revealing the crisscrossing black lines crawling across its surface, forming the map of Europe. Russia raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. He wanted to see what game France was playing.
The blond’s elegant finger trailed the lines on the map, as if caressing the shores of the British Isles. “You are well aware of the Continental Blockage I’ve been working on for dear L’Angleterre,” he stated, not even waiting for Russia’s acknowledgement. “After the treaty has been signed and you have joined the Blockade, his only ally will be…” the finger lingered on western coast of European continent before tapping meaningfully at the northernmost part of Europe, “Sweden.”
Russia’s heart skipped a beat as he stared at the map. “You want me to force him to join it, да?” he stated more than asked.
"Exactement," France purred.
"That means I have to attack Finland," Russia mused softly, staring at the map. "There’s not much there… Rather insignificant all things considered," he should know. He had fought both Finland and Sweden so many times – and often on Finland’s land too – that he knew it as well as they. And while the land itself was beautiful, it didn’t have that much value or use to him. Besides, he didn’t want a repeat of the Great Northern War.
"True," France agreed, "But more important than Finland is…" his finger moved a bit to the east from Sweden’s coast, coming to rest on a cluster of islands in the Baltic Sea, between Sweden and Finland, "Åland. Imagine, those islands are just like a loaded pistol, pointing right at Stockholm, at Sweden’s heart…”
He knew all of this already. Peter had made similar plans a century earlier but later dismissed them. Threatening Sweden and forcing him to do his bidding would be so easy if one had a foothold on that Archipelago. They were also in a perfect position to control the whole of the Baltic; Gulf of Bothnia, support to the closure of the Gulf of Finland… But to control them, one had to control Finland first.
Russia smiled, “It seems I’ll have things to do when I return to St. Petersburg.”
France chuckled and saluted the eastern Nation with his goblet. “À votre santé, Russie.”
"Fucking pretenders the both of you," came a disgusted snarl as an empty goblet was slammed on the table and chair legs screeched against the floor.
Russia looked to the side, meeting Prussia’s enraged red eyes as the third Nation in the raft entered the discussion, standing tall and breathing heavily. His cheeks were sunken and his skin appeared even more pallid than normally and his dark blue military coat could have used a wash and several patches to fix the more worn parts.
France scoffed. “Do mind your manners, Prusse. I’ll get to you the day after tomorrow, oui?”
Prussia’s face twisted into an ugly snarl but he held his tongue, which surprised Russia. But maybe he should have expected it, he had read France’s demands and they were certainly no smiling matter. Maybe Prussia had finally realised that he really was in no position to argue, for it just might make the situation even worse. Although what could be worse than losing half of your landmass?
The pale Nation dropped heavily back to his chair, still scowling.
France smiled, refilling Prussia’s goblet. “Bon, trés bon, mon ami…”
Prussia’s hand swept across the table, hitting the goblet and bottle in France hands, spilling the red wine all over the victorious Nation.
To Russia, he seemed to be covered in blood.
"Ich bin nicht dein Freund," he snarled, his eyes promising revenge.
Treaties of Tilsit 1807 :D
WOAH OK AMAZING?!