Starlight (rusame)

ocean man, take me by the hand

This is an ordinary situation. It's very normal for two people to hang out. The only difference was that this was the United States, who, as his name suggests, is a country, and he just asked Russia (also a country) if he was free tonight right after the-suicide-attempt-that-may-or-may-not-have-been which Russia is decidedly not over, but the world does tend to move too fast for him at times, so Russia has to quickly pack up that mental bag, toss it in the trunk, and hop aboard the next Train of Thought that's already leaving Mouth Station.

"Yes— I mean no, no I don't need to sleep." He lied, like a bad liar that he honestly shouldn't be considering his job kind of depended on lying.

States smiled without teeth, then out of nowhere bowed with a great dramatic flourish: "my name is the United States of America, and I'll be your guide this evening across this no expenses paid impromptu tour of the city that never sleeps, the Big Apple, New York City in New York State, named in 1664 and home to approximately a fuckton of people. Ready to get this show on the road?"

Secretly delighted, Russia decided to play along.

"It's nice to meet you, United States of America. I'm a big fan."

Russia blinked, and the next thing he knew, States was already leading the way.

"Also-!"

" Да ?"

"No refunds!"

Now, it certainly wasn't the time nor place, but States suddenly thought of home , and not as a passing idea or sudden recollection, but the resurfacing of that all-damning ache inside his ribcage of what he'd never see again.

True, in these familiar streets walked his people, and in these familiar buildings they just were , and it was all that and everything else that made him America– for he did not end the moment that sand met water, for he was not a concept bound by the ocean: he was the memory of the ocean splash and the calling of the sailors to land, he was the imprint of water on the ship's hull, he was the land calling for its people and calling them back home. As much as he was the United States, the United States were also him. From every breath across the pond, to trade deal, to war –

Is it so damning to remember when he had instead been an eagle's call and the scent of pine? If not, then why did it hurt so much?

His fatal flaw is that he is so proud of where he is now, yet at the same time his heart pains for everything to be this way. Had he been given the choice, he would do it all again in a heartbeat; this future is rightfully his .

So... why is it that he wants to go to a place that he cannot go to, to see a place he will never see again?

Why does he suddenly want to go "home"?

Home...

Home was...

Faces. So many faces, all of them dear.

No, he didn't want to think of this. He pushed it all away. Now was not the time.

Unfortunately for this American country, it was. Einstein was the one who said time is relative, Master Oogway said the present was a gift, and the universe told him fuck you .

Crashing tide.

1694 brought forth a new Western wind ushered to Russia by Peter the Great and the rising dawn of a grand new era of the place they called the New World.

For a spirit of Turtle Island the States, it would be the first meeting with the "Russia" that Britain and France mentioned once and again.

Wet expensive boots dragged into the sand. The Russian Empire usually stopped by in Russian America (Alaska, mind you) or a place that would eventually be heralded as Northern California.