Russian Roulette | Rusame | Countryhumans AU

The Adventures of Little Russia (Extra)

This is an extra of little Russia being little Russia. I was just in the mood to write out a small bit of Russia's backstory as an extra chapter. Don't worry I'm still working on the actual next chap, just wanted to say thank you for the support :)

This was supposed to be short but now it's 7k words. Well... fuck. What is with me and making long chapters, the book started with an average work count of 2-3K and now it's 5k+

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"я скоро вернусь, будь здоров, (I'll be back soon, be good,)" Soviet stated, it wasn't a request but rather a demand. The tall dragon slid his arms into his brown coat, pulling the cloak around himself and hood over his head. "на столе сырники, а твой обед в холодильнике. (there's syrniki on the table, and your lunch in the fridge.)

Little Russia buried his nose into his scarf and played with it's frayed ends, "да папа. (Yes papa.)"

Slam! The sound of the door made the little Russian boy flinch. He should be used to it but he isn't. Just like how he hates the loneliness that fills their cabin when his father leaves.

After staring at the closed door for god knows how long, the Russian boy got up to his feet and rushed to the couches where his masterpiece lay unfinished. He dragged his pile of measly, crumpled pieces of paper which he dubbed his 'sketchbook' in front of the door.

There he sat on the cold hardwood floor as turbulent wind rattled the cabin's windows.

The papers were stained a light brown color and displayed an unfinished drawing. Well, more specifically, a child's scribble.

Russia wasn't even 8 yet, he had yet to understand the concept of good and bad art, just drawing away to his heart's content. Perhaps to make up for all these years he spent in isolation, his imagination grew wild and extravagant.

With his worn out pencil in hand, he continued the scene, a party, a majestic one hosted by aristocrats in Central. Russia picked up a yellow pencil the size of his thumb, it grew so short from overuse yet he didn't dare ask his father for new ones.

He scribbled on the lower area of the paper with yellow, 'A nation where roads are made of gold and where water is made out of wine,' his father said in a memory with his deep husky voice. Most of the knowledge he knows about the outside were from his father's stories.

'Aristocrats stood mighty with their sprawling mansions made of marble, they'd host parties where the food was endless,' Russia scribbled a few circle heads followed by fancy clothes. But his father did describe them as pigs and slobs most of the time.

Russia always loved fancy things, royalty, gold, red carpets, all things related. To his brain, they seemed like things from out of this world. How could someone live in a giant castle with food always ready to be served? It was like a fantasy and Russia loved to get lost in it.

In his drawing, he and his father were there, two figures with crudely drawn horns and tails. Everyone was smiling, not necessarily at them, but they were unbothered by their presence which was already a dream come true to Russia.

Russia colored inside the lines messily, giggling as he buried his face into the warmth of his scarf. As he colored, the tip of his tongue poked out of his mouth, he's very deep in focus indeed.

He was promptly interrupted by the growling of his stomach.

Russia pushed himself off as his pencils rolled over the wooden floor, and rushed to the table where a plate of delicious looking syrniki steamed. However, as much as Russia tried to reach it, he was a bit too short.