Chapter Text
Imperial strode lithely through the halls of the *League of Nations* conference rooms, keeping herself a respectable distance away from others.
Once reaching the double doors, the woman stepped inside and to a seat with a small wooden block reading *Imperial Japan* at the front of the desk. Beside her sat, obviously, her allies or those who didn’t hate her enough to curse her very existence at the mere mention of her empire. She felt a sense of smugness as a few Far-Eastern nations purposefully avoided her radius.
[ o ]
A few silent beats passed before the meeting’s eventual beginning. The bickering and yelling soon followed, poorly drowned out by LoN’s gavel bashing against the podium’s oak desk.
“Order- ORDER!” They hollered, the gavel bashing the wood below with an implied authority “United States. You wish to speak? Do so civilly.”
The younger nation complied reluctantly, standing up from his chair and clearing his voice.
“Five days ago Imperial Japan bombed Pearl Harbour, killing 2,400 innocents.” The air in the room instantly turned charged with the unaligned opinions of many victims and perpetrators.”My people and politicians take this atrocity-” “THAT’S AN ATROCITY?!” Blurted a voice, rasped from what Imperial recognised as the distress she had been imposing on the nation and his citizens since before the whole war. It was China, speaking in an accented hiss. Imperial immediately began to listen in, already anticipating this.
“Order! China, you know not to speak out of turn.” Began LoN with aggravation in his tone from China’s attempt at involvement.
“My apologies, Ser.” China gritted, his expression reading anything but regret at his ‘outburst’. “It just shocks me that THAT is what causes-”
“ORDER.” LoN brushed the man off once more, immediately returning his attention back to America’s case file. The younger Nation seemed chuffed with himself once the spotlight was back on him. He continued his lamenting, offering vague statistics and even more cliche threats to the axis.
Imperial watched the ordeal silently, finding amusement in how easily the Westerner brushed China off from the conversation about his very invader. China stared from across the room at her, a look of simultaneous disdain and fear. All Imperial could do was smirk.
The conference dragged on, America suddenly giving more than half a shit about the war in contrast to his statements in previous meetings, of which he’d done nothing but aid his helpless father.
[ o ]
“Imperial, my dear.. Your expedition in the Philippines and Indonesia is beginning to get quite barbaric, even for you, wouldn’t you say?” A refined voice critiqued between sips of Earl grey. Britain tilted his head at her, looking forward with soft eyes that caused Imperial a deep sense of detestation towards the chubby man.
“All’s well that ends well.” Muttered J.E. boredly, twirling around her own china cup of Earl grey of which she found appalling, but would never bring to light.
Britain’s eyes hardened slightly at her disgruntled tone, sensing the mood of his former ally.
“Of course.. How are your children? West? He seemed quite intelligent for his age when I saw him in ‘40.” He changed the subject, attempting to extract some human reaction from the Imperialist.
Imperial scowled at his obvious patronism as she perceived him. “Oh, drop it, Eikoku. We both know why you called me here.” She spat, her figure tensing in the velvetted, antique seat.
The room was instantly blanketed by a thick tension that choked the tubby gentleman. “You know, he warranted it.”Cut in Imperial. She stared right through him. “And how did my *son* do that, dear?” Egged on Britain, returning her glare with equal detestation. He twirled the liquid inside the nearly empty cup, taking one final gulp and setting it down on the rosewood tabletop.
Imperial tightened her grasp on the teacup in a desperate attempt of self-regulation. “Nevermind it, but that yankee better watch his back from now on. And keep a tighter leash on him.” She spoke bitterly, nearly breaking the cup.
Britain stood from his velvet-lined seat at the slur. “I believe it’s time for you to leave,” He instructed. The Imperialist simply scoffed, pushing the still full cup of tea back into the centre of the table.
She too rose, marching to the exit of the hall, slamming the heavy oak door behind her as well as she could, despite it probably weighing more than three of her.
[ o ]
It’s all their fault. It’s all them.
Imperial sat at the mahogany vanity of whatever high-end London hotel her and her husband had been residing in for the conference. Reaching into the shallow drawers, she pulled out a brown pill bottle with the label torn off. She poured a small handful onto her left hand, bringing it to her mouth and washing it down with the beer Reich had brought for them both. It was cheaper and less fermented than the sake she preffered, but it would do.
“Mein Leiber.” Reich sang from where he was strewn across the double bed on satin sheets. He was grinning like an idiot. Imperial and Reich had been married since 1933. ‘Purely diplomatic’ as the two had insisted, which was the major truth.
“Hm?” She grumbled, pushing the pill bottle back and resuming unbuttoning the militaristic, painfully Westernised uniform she’d worn to the conference.
“Did you see the look on the bolshevik’s face during that meeting when he saw me? He *fears* me.” Gloated Reich, relishing in the feeling despite having failed in operation Barbarossa.
When Imperial had settled on not gracing his flexes with an answer, Reich’s expression visibly turned chagrined and bored. “Who pissed in your cereal,” He mumbled, turning over in the bed before stumbling over to the vanity, wrapping his arms possessively around her shoulders and subsequently around the chair, effectively trapping her there.
Now feeling the effects of the white pills take over her, Imperial wasn’t too opposed to the Nazi’s advances as she could be. She ignored them for a moment, before standing up from the chair, forcing his arms off her.
“The fuck are you- oh right.” He initially protested but shut up once she stripped off her button-up, exposing the numerous scars and scabs he found oddly attractive. Some from the Boshiin war, herself, Reich, and her puppet states and colonies attempts at retaliation.
Imperial perched her willowy form on the satin sheets, taking a swig from a beer bottle Reich had left on the bedside table on his side.
Instead of protesting directly, Reich snatched the bottle and took a few gulps himself. Gasping for air, he eventually grumbled; “You cock-tease me too much, frau. I have half a mind to drug you here and now.” There was silence as Imperial side-eyed him.
“You gonna cut yourself more or let me make you feel good instead?” Remarked Reich, clinging to her upper-arm now in an almost childish manner.
[ o ]
Now here she was, sweaty from both being manhandled by Reich (which she loved the pain of, but would never tell him that. His head could already be seen for miles) and a possible side effect of her self-medication that night. Imperial could already feel her mind returning to it’s monotony. The humidity choked her as her body was consumed by now lukewarm water. Feeling a sense of dread, desperation and dullness creep up on her, Imperial stretched her naked arm out of the claw-footed bathtub until her fingertips brushed a black eyebrow razor from her hygiene bag she kept in the hotel bathroom.
Bringing the instrument to her forearm in a rehearsed gesture the Imperialist pressed down onto the least scarred patch of skin she could see.
One swipe. White filled the wound before red seeped in from the sides. Going over the cut again, but harder- yellowish flesh peered through with a slight gape revealing a pinkish and flatter layer. Satisfied with the depth and the sensation of reality it provided her, Imperial allowed the warm wetness to beat from her veins in the rhythm of her heart.
This was one of the few ways she felt something other than the ennui that drove her decisions.
As the water turned red and blood swirled and swished with each of her movements, she felt an overwhelming sense of peace. Zen, even. Not malaise or dreary dullness she had felt for the majority of her existence.
Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she relished in the warmth engulfing her.
[ o ]