Operation Red Herring (Countryhumans Alternate History)

Chapter 28

TW: Implied/referenced homophobia, implied/referenced sexism

America was officially 165 years old, and things were going great.

She woke up to the golden light of sunrise streaming through her window, bathing the world in its fading, beautiful glow. She had never liked the color orange, but God was it beautiful at times such as this.

America got dressed in her typical uniform, taking the time to put a cornflower she had picked the day prior into her jacket pocket. She glanced into the mirror, pulling her hair into her usual style. She paused, staring at her reflection. America didn't look any older. She still had the same marks she had born since youth- calloused hands from a lifetime of working to survive in a world that she had barely managed to scrape her way into. It was just... her. The same woman who had cheered when she finally won independence, the same woman who barely managed to stitch herself together after a civil war, the same woman who burned London to the ground, and the same woman who (as of three days ago) was invading Canada with a strong military force.

She was a woman.

America grimaced slightly as the previous week's conversation flashed in her mind.

America had never been particularly... feminine, according to society. It wasn't that she despised being a girl- quite the opposite, in fact. And she did have some traditionally feminine interests, such as an appreciation for flowers and romance novels. But she had always been considered a tomboy, and was far too aggressive and loud. Not that she minded- gender roles were never of much concern to her.

However, when she realized her... unorthodox romantic tendencies... things grew infinitely more complicated. Because suddenly every move she made had to be careful, as someone even having the slightest inclination that she was different could be extremely dangerous. Not just for her, but for her people as well. What if other countries stopped trading with her once they knew? How could she support them if she was cut off from the global economy?

So, she attempted to bury herself in traditional femininity, painting herself in delicate mannerisms and pearls. She read every book she could on being a housewife (which, looking back, was odd, as she was not married) and even listened to France's advice on clothing choices. Outwardly, she could appear to be the peak of femininity if she wished.

But she was still America, and was a horrendous actress by proxy. She could fake the soft-spoken voice and dainty crossed ankles for a while, but after a certain point she would break the illusion, and her personality would come bursting out of her- loud and proud and utterly defiant.

Her only saving grace was that people were used to how she was. They chalked it up to her being immature, or having fought through numerous wars, or even her motherlessness (a theory she never dignified with a response). Some even said that it was just the way she was. Afterall, she was America. Rebellion and nonconformity simply went along with that.

So America gradually learned to push that worry to the back of her mind, mainly because she would drive herself insane if she tried to be a porcelain doll for the rest of her existence. But sometimes, someone would say something. Someone would comment on her being unladylike, or compare her body to a man (both in strength and chest size), or even (this was a horrifying occurrence for America) remark on how odd her and her best friend acted around each other, and a sudden panic would sweep over her, causing every worry about her femininity and womanhood to come rushing back into her mind.

Like the other day.

Thankfully, Italy had let the topic drop after a few moments (thank God), and America continued on with her life, only mildly considering stuffing her bra with toilet-paper.