Book 1 - Puppets

I - Russian in America

Russia didn't expect the world meeting to go so sideways.

Personifications are going missing and being attacked with more and more frequency, and nobody knew what was going on. At first, the attacks were considered separate fights since the personifications who were being assaulted would recall fighting against a familiar face.

However, when nations start going missing and none of the attacking countries seemed to remember the arguments, panic spreads. Russia notices that even his father had grown anxious.

His father is someone with the neutral expression of a scowl. He is taller than Russia, though not by much, and he has a smaller build, though still intimidating. With an eye covered by an eyepatch and his face normally contorted in a look of disappointment, Russia finds his visible anxiety concerning.

Russia kicks his legs out, fatigue in his limbs.

'These chairs are too small. They constantly remind me of my height.'

He leans over onto the table, propping his head on his hand. He stands just over two meters tall, and his face is adorned with his flag. He looks down at his white fingers and blue palms. His eyes, like all other personifications he'd ever seen, are gold.

His face falls into a 'resting bitch face,' as Ukraine had deemed it.

"Russia!" UN calls, his face stern.

"What?" Russia asks, jumping in his seat.

"You will be returning with America to New York to help monitor the United States' activity. Ukraine will be doing the same with Canada."

"But what about my own country?"

"Your father and siblings will maintain it."

Russia turns to look at America, immediately noticing the other's face filled with relief.

America is the opposite of Russia in every sense of the word. Where Russia is quiet, America is loud. Where Russia is muscular, America is not. Where Russia can turn his paperwork in on time and properly filled out, America can't. America's paperwork is constantly late and covered in doodles.

Russia can't imagine trying to fill out any professional paperwork in crayon.

Russia towered over America when they happened to meet, and if Russia had to guess, America only stood about one and a half meters tall. Even still, America never seemed to care. Russia's nose wrinkles.

'How is he even a world power?' Russia thinks with a scowl, 'he is shaped like a stick.'

Russia shakes his head, tuning out the UN's words.

'Why do I have to help him?'

'He's incompetent,' his mind supplies, 'and he needs help to do anything.'

Suspicious, he turns to his father.

"Papa?"

"Yes?"

"Is this a good idea?"

His father pauses before answering.

"Yes. America is going to need extra help."

"Extra help with what? It's his country," Russia replies indignantly.

"There is more to his country than you know. Now be quiet, UN has other announcements."

Russia sits, quietly fuming at the prospect that America couldn't handle his own country. He half-listens to the remaining announcements. He catches America staring at him, so he glares back. America is quick to avert his gaze.