I didn’t particularly get along with Russia’s little sister, Belarus. We had a, um, hrm…well, rivalry of sorts.
A knife flew through the air and stuck to the wall by my head. “Work on your aim, Bel!”
“Only brother dearest calls me that!” she screamed, grabbing a pitch fork. I grabbed a shovel and we went at it like two Jedi, but without the cheesy sound effects.
“Enough with the incest! He’s taken!” I roared back, scratching her cheek. At some point we had both ditched our weapons and were rolling in the dirt bare-fisting it. Hair was pulled, teeth were knocked out, eyes were made black.
Poor Russia was stuck cowering the corner.
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