Riga: Nice Plage [America, Latvia]
Jun. 30th, 2012 05:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roesslyngTitle: Riga: Nice Place
Characters/Pairing: America, Latvia
Rating: E for Everyone
Length: ~1200
Summary: Latvia hadn't planned on playing the part of a tour guide that day, but he wasn't about to let the opportunity to impress someone slip by, either.
Other: Written for the Eastern Euro Funk fest. (Original entry)
Riga: Nice Place
A crisp breeze swept through the streets of Riga's old town, kicking up fallen leaves and the hair of a few off-season tourists. It was a chilly day, but a good one, the autumn sky bright and blue and cloudless.
Latvia wrapped his woven scarf about his shoulders, slid his change into the pocket of his blazer, and stepped out of the cafe in search of afternoon sunlight. Soon the days would draw shorter and he'd be left craving it, so regardless of the presence of the cold breeze, he would enjoy the sun while he could. There was still plenty of time before the political meeting he had to attend later that day, anyway.
He made his way through the old, familiar streets, sidestepping people now and then until he reached a particular square. There, with a clear view of the magnificent guild hall of the Blackheads, he sank onto a bench to enjoy the light.
The coffee cup was warm in his hands and as he drank from it he found that he could not imagine a better day: sun and coffee and a meeting later in the afternoon that would, hopefully, set him on his way to strengthening ties with a few nations who he dearly hoped to be close to.
Nearby, next to the statue of Roland in the centre of the square, a guide was giving a tour in English. The words carried to him from there, the foreign language strange to his ears.
"So, to your right, you'll see the House of the Blackheads. It was their guild hall, built in..."
The sunlight caught the gilt touches on the building, as if it knew it was being talked about.
"And it was destroyed in the Second World War, and completely pulled down by the Soviets shortly after that. It wasn't until the Nineties that it was restored once more to its original appearance, which you see now!"
Just like everything else, Latvia thought wryly as he savoured his coffee and listened to the murmur of questions and explanations. In some ways it seemed that there was hardly a building standing that had not been knocked down or damaged at one time or another.
But, he reminded himself, they rebuilt it. His people always rebuilt, or replaced what had gone with something better, and no matter how many times the buildings in his city crumbled, they always set to picking up the pieces, one by one.
"If they rebuilt it, then it isn't really the same building, is it?" he heard an Amercan ask.
"You're right, the stones it's made of aren't the same, but it's made in the same image and at the same place. It's the same old building in spirit, isn't it?"
Latvia smiled as he listened to the guide explain it, her Latvian accent rolling over the English speech, making the warm words all the more pleasant to his ears. Yes, that was it. No matter what, they weren't the kind to give up, his people weren't. It was a great stubbornness - no, resilience. Yes, that sounded more poetic.
Eventually the group moved on, and his lovely tour guide led the way, the tourists trailing after her like ducklings. One remained behind, and after watching them go, he turned to Latvia and flashed a wide, familiar smile.
"Well, well! Didn't expect to see you here!"
America.
Latvia blushed and found his words catching in his throat. "I-" Keep calm, he told himself. If you can't talk evenly now, you won't be able to do it at the meeting later, either. Make a good impression. "I didn't expect you either, but I, um. I'm glad. That you're here, I mean!"
If America noticed how flustered Latvia was, he gave no sign of it, instead making his way over to him and plunking himself down next to him on the bench, casual as he pleased. "Sure is a cute little city you have here."
"A 'cute little city'?" Latvia blinked at him, unsure what to make of that. The way America smiled at him seemed to indicate that it was a compliment, so he decided to take it for what it was: an offhand tourist's comment. "I guess it is, isn't it?"
"Yeah! Y'know," America leaned toward him, his eyes bright and eager and inquisitive, "I was thinking! There's a long time before that meeting of ours over at the, uh... whatever it is you call your government-"
"Saeima," Latvia replied helpfully.
"Right, that. So, how about you show me the sights?"
"Well, now." Latvia stalled by taking a long drink of his coffee, trying to make time to give a proper answer - and to quell his nervousness. America didn't seem to notice, as he continued to go on talking, saying something about how he'd tried to make his way around but hadn't had a lot of luck because, wouldn't ya' know it, a lot of signs and directions were in that language - uh, what is it you call it, Latvian I guess, right? - and it just wasn't as easy as back home. Latvia hadn't planned to spend any part of the day playing tour guide, but as he breathed deeply and tried to hear himself think over the sound of America's talking, he started to actually consider it. It could end up for the better, Latvia told himself. If he did it - if he led America through Riga's streets and managed to impress him, it might make him think well of Latvia, too.
And even if it weren't for that - leaving aside politics, and economics, and impressions - Latvia had to admit, if only to himself, that a part of him itched to show off. Let's make him see how nice this place can be, he thought.
Latvia cleared his throat, and tried to answer him - which necessitated interrupting him. "That sounds-"
"Huh?" America stopped, blinking at him as if he'd forgotten that he had asked him something in the first place, before it dawned on him that he had, and he offered him a grin. "So, how about it?"
"I think it'd be - I mean that, um, that is, I'd love to."
"Great!" America said, giving Latvia a hearty slap on the back and making him wonder just what exactly he had gotten himself into. "Where to first?"
Latvia rose, and nodded down across the square. "Um. This way, first. Come on." Toward the Dome Cathedral. That direction would do - just to begin with. Just for a start. "So, you heard what she said. The guide, I mean. About this part of the city. But, um, there's more to it than that. Before - I mean, a long time ago - it started this way...."
As they walked, the words started to come more easily, as if every step Latvia took on the old streets made the nervousness fade.
I'll show him everything, Latvia thought as he gestured and told of how he had seen the very sights being built, how he had been there when his people put all of it up, when everything was new. A smile slid over his lips, small but heartfelt. I'll really show him.
End.
Characters/Pairing: America, Latvia
Rating: E for Everyone
Length: ~1200
Summary: Latvia hadn't planned on playing the part of a tour guide that day, but he wasn't about to let the opportunity to impress someone slip by, either.
Other: Written for the Eastern Euro Funk fest. (Original entry)
Riga: Nice Place
A crisp breeze swept through the streets of Riga's old town, kicking up fallen leaves and the hair of a few off-season tourists. It was a chilly day, but a good one, the autumn sky bright and blue and cloudless.
Latvia wrapped his woven scarf about his shoulders, slid his change into the pocket of his blazer, and stepped out of the cafe in search of afternoon sunlight. Soon the days would draw shorter and he'd be left craving it, so regardless of the presence of the cold breeze, he would enjoy the sun while he could. There was still plenty of time before the political meeting he had to attend later that day, anyway.
He made his way through the old, familiar streets, sidestepping people now and then until he reached a particular square. There, with a clear view of the magnificent guild hall of the Blackheads, he sank onto a bench to enjoy the light.
The coffee cup was warm in his hands and as he drank from it he found that he could not imagine a better day: sun and coffee and a meeting later in the afternoon that would, hopefully, set him on his way to strengthening ties with a few nations who he dearly hoped to be close to.
Nearby, next to the statue of Roland in the centre of the square, a guide was giving a tour in English. The words carried to him from there, the foreign language strange to his ears.
"So, to your right, you'll see the House of the Blackheads. It was their guild hall, built in..."
The sunlight caught the gilt touches on the building, as if it knew it was being talked about.
"And it was destroyed in the Second World War, and completely pulled down by the Soviets shortly after that. It wasn't until the Nineties that it was restored once more to its original appearance, which you see now!"
Just like everything else, Latvia thought wryly as he savoured his coffee and listened to the murmur of questions and explanations. In some ways it seemed that there was hardly a building standing that had not been knocked down or damaged at one time or another.
But, he reminded himself, they rebuilt it. His people always rebuilt, or replaced what had gone with something better, and no matter how many times the buildings in his city crumbled, they always set to picking up the pieces, one by one.
"If they rebuilt it, then it isn't really the same building, is it?" he heard an Amercan ask.
"You're right, the stones it's made of aren't the same, but it's made in the same image and at the same place. It's the same old building in spirit, isn't it?"
Latvia smiled as he listened to the guide explain it, her Latvian accent rolling over the English speech, making the warm words all the more pleasant to his ears. Yes, that was it. No matter what, they weren't the kind to give up, his people weren't. It was a great stubbornness - no, resilience. Yes, that sounded more poetic.
Eventually the group moved on, and his lovely tour guide led the way, the tourists trailing after her like ducklings. One remained behind, and after watching them go, he turned to Latvia and flashed a wide, familiar smile.
"Well, well! Didn't expect to see you here!"
America.
Latvia blushed and found his words catching in his throat. "I-" Keep calm, he told himself. If you can't talk evenly now, you won't be able to do it at the meeting later, either. Make a good impression. "I didn't expect you either, but I, um. I'm glad. That you're here, I mean!"
If America noticed how flustered Latvia was, he gave no sign of it, instead making his way over to him and plunking himself down next to him on the bench, casual as he pleased. "Sure is a cute little city you have here."
"A 'cute little city'?" Latvia blinked at him, unsure what to make of that. The way America smiled at him seemed to indicate that it was a compliment, so he decided to take it for what it was: an offhand tourist's comment. "I guess it is, isn't it?"
"Yeah! Y'know," America leaned toward him, his eyes bright and eager and inquisitive, "I was thinking! There's a long time before that meeting of ours over at the, uh... whatever it is you call your government-"
"Saeima," Latvia replied helpfully.
"Right, that. So, how about you show me the sights?"
"Well, now." Latvia stalled by taking a long drink of his coffee, trying to make time to give a proper answer - and to quell his nervousness. America didn't seem to notice, as he continued to go on talking, saying something about how he'd tried to make his way around but hadn't had a lot of luck because, wouldn't ya' know it, a lot of signs and directions were in that language - uh, what is it you call it, Latvian I guess, right? - and it just wasn't as easy as back home. Latvia hadn't planned to spend any part of the day playing tour guide, but as he breathed deeply and tried to hear himself think over the sound of America's talking, he started to actually consider it. It could end up for the better, Latvia told himself. If he did it - if he led America through Riga's streets and managed to impress him, it might make him think well of Latvia, too.
And even if it weren't for that - leaving aside politics, and economics, and impressions - Latvia had to admit, if only to himself, that a part of him itched to show off. Let's make him see how nice this place can be, he thought.
Latvia cleared his throat, and tried to answer him - which necessitated interrupting him. "That sounds-"
"Huh?" America stopped, blinking at him as if he'd forgotten that he had asked him something in the first place, before it dawned on him that he had, and he offered him a grin. "So, how about it?"
"I think it'd be - I mean that, um, that is, I'd love to."
"Great!" America said, giving Latvia a hearty slap on the back and making him wonder just what exactly he had gotten himself into. "Where to first?"
Latvia rose, and nodded down across the square. "Um. This way, first. Come on." Toward the Dome Cathedral. That direction would do - just to begin with. Just for a start. "So, you heard what she said. The guide, I mean. About this part of the city. But, um, there's more to it than that. Before - I mean, a long time ago - it started this way...."
As they walked, the words started to come more easily, as if every step Latvia took on the old streets made the nervousness fade.
I'll show him everything, Latvia thought as he gestured and told of how he had seen the very sights being built, how he had been there when his people put all of it up, when everything was new. A smile slid over his lips, small but heartfelt. I'll really show him.
End.
