Sov Gott

Deaf

Norway kept his hands entwined behind his back as he stared out the window. The dress suit he wore was stiff and too confining for his comfort level. He had been forced to borrow it from Jeff's closet, considering that he had been incapable of going home to change before their travels. Iceland had managed to find a sweater out of foraging through the family's home and wore it though the color (a rusty brown) was not a shade that looked nice on him. He had protested privately to Norway, but Norway had silenced his brother by reminding him that it was both not their own clothing and that Jan had nearly torn apart the apartment looking for a sweater that fit the Icelandic teenager.

Iceland, however, was in the car main entrance of the home, surrounded by heavily armed police for his own protection. The Icelander had once mentioned to Norway that the thought of so many guns in his proximity frightened him and that he was terrified of a possible moment when these allies would turn their guns on him. As Norway tightened and fixed his tie using the reflection in the window as a reference point, he realized that he shared the exact same belief.

Russia... Norway wasn't sure how he felt in the nation. There was an existing tension from wars long gone, and though the two had resolved their differences and former conflicts, Norway still felt out of place while visiting. Despite these reasonable arguments when he requested to not be present at the meeting, he had still been forced to go.

Get in, avoid eye contact, get out, he thought over and over, mentally coaching himself on what he would do when the time came for their meeting to take place. He always felt guilty when he visited Russia, always so self-conscious while around him. He was shorter than Russia and didn't know him well, which was a horrid combination for his nervous system. Norway could feel his insides churning at the thought of having to talk to this person, who was practically a stranger, but he found comfort in the fact that their meeting was not scheduled to last for more than ten minutes.

The last time the police force had been given the capability to track Denmark it had been revealed that he had last been withheld in a secluded cabin inside of Russian boundaries. Based off of previous historic interactions with Russia the police forces decided it would be best to question Russia, and ask both if he knew that this had been occurring in his own nation and if he had helped them in any way.

Norway, not wanting to insult Russia (such as his idiotic friends had done in their early years) sought that asking the latter question would be unwise. He would simply ask if Russia knew about it, then go on from there.

A door opened at the end of the hall, and the tall, light-haired, smiley personification entered. "Ah, so you are here," he asked, an expression crossing his face that was similar to bashfulness. "I was told you were in one of the rooms on this side of the building, but they neglected to inform me of which one. I'm glad to find you in a hallway, or I'm sure my wrist would have twisted off!" Russia laughed, his violet eyes shutting as his soft laugh echoed against the walls.

Norway dipped his head in greeting, watching the Russian's actions closely.

"Now, now, don't start giving me that look. Before we get to global stuff, why don't we become a little more familiar with each other? How are you, Mister Norway?"

Norway found himself taken aback by the pleasantries that Russia was displaying. He was having a difficult time distinguishing the Russian's personality, he couldn't make out if Russia was genuinely concerned, or hiding a sinister side.

"I'm doing fine, thank you. And yourself?"

"Absolutely splendid," Russia responded, although there was something behind the words that sounded forced, false. Was it sarcasm or not? Gods, it was difficult to tell.