Plurk paste

Ivan never really expected for Tieria to best him. Sure the young man was faster and his lithe figure helped him to evade, but Ivan was stronger and more experienced. He knew where to strike and how to make it hurt, but that knowledge didn't matter if he couldn't use his arms.

In the end, Ivan was left snarling and struggling against the magical bonds holding his arms up above his head, shoulders pinned down against the floor by the boot on his chest. The wounds on his back had ripped open from their fight and Russia could feel the blood soaking through his shirt to pool around him. His eyes had gone wild and dark, irises just a sliver of color around pitch pupils. He hated to feel powerless, and that is what this, this *child* was doing.

It was obvious from the disdain on Tieria's face that he thinks nothing of the former nation he's beaten down. Ivan is nothing but an annoyance to him, something that must be dealt with and perhaps humored, but ignored when the notion has left him.

It's how he can tip up Ivan's face with the toe of his boot, tip his head to the side as if inspecting some sort of animal that must be put down and scoff. Tieria was easily the winner of this little battle, and it's humiliating.

Ivan was a nation.

One to be feared and respected, someone with the strength to stand toe to toe with America and back down only as his government crumbled around him and here this little human child has the nerve to best him. Has the nerve to leave him frozen like that and turn on his heel, leaving Ivan to figure his own way out despite the angry cursing that follows him. Yet somehow, Ivan will wait to find him again after he's gotten free.

No matter how much dislike he has for Tieria, and how much humiliation he's put him through, its thrilling having someone to fight against once more and Ivan wouldn't jeopardize that. So he waits, and watches for his chance to beat Tieria.