It is time for something new [Flashback][Open]

There had been something oddly final about that last meeting. Something concluditory, something bittersweet, something tense, and something terribly, terribly final. Peter had watched from by his Daddy's side, his brother being irritatingly protective, as the Nations shouted, or worse, whispered arguments. Raivis had sat as far from Russia as he could get away with. Mister America and Russia looked almost like they'd get into a fistfight, and not just a ridiculous world meeting sort of fight, either. The Middle Eastern Nations had almost all stood in their respective corners and refused to speak at all. Everyone had a weapon, concealed or plainly carried, even Peter. The arguments here hadn't been the sort that always cropped up. They'd been deathly serious.

Part way through, Peter had tapped his Daddy, always a bastion of calmness, on the arm. "I need to leave," he'd whispered. He never left meetings when he'd truly been allowed in unless there was a good reason, but today he had a good reason. He couldn't stand to be in this room anymore. He couldn't watch everything fall apart like this. He couldn't bear it, not quite, because he wasn't quite strong enough to stand up and tell everyone to stop it, that hadn't these meetings been a combination of a place to get the frustration out of their systems and a way to stop another World War from happening? And yet...

He'd looked with pleading eyes at his Daddy then grabbed Lad's hand and slipped out from behind him, being surprisingly quiet, not that it mattered. He doubted that anyone had noticed they'd left. And then he'd curled up into a ball before slowly getting up and sitting in a circle with the other micronations and they'd all just sat there. They'd sat there and one by one they'd talk about what they'd do if they weren't Nations, reminding themselves that it was possible while reminding themselves that they never would just quit like that, even if it was fun to imagine about when things hurt. And Peter was pretty sure they'd all been crying before they'd gotten there, even as they quietly informed each other of what majors they'd get in college or what pets they'd have or what jobs they'd have or if they'd have big families or small ones. They'd sat there and they'd held hands and they'd fantasize and swallow everything back together.

There had been something painfully final about that meeting, too.

They'd spent more time together than they did at most meetings because they didn't spend any time at all trying to sneak into the world meeting or spy. None of them wanted to. Most of them had come with their respective siblings/families, most of them had been let into the meeting because they didn't want them to get hurt. It was an odd experience, sneaking out instead of sneaking in. Peter found he rather didn't like it. So they'd held hands and told stories and laughed, and at some point one of them had pulled out old photographs they'd taken, old drawings- Peter still held the dubious honor of managing to do the least artistic art and yet the most realistic- that they'd done in meetings, one of them had even brought one of their first ridiculous world-takeover plans.

They'd known they'd need a lift and that's what they did for each other. They were, after all, just kids, no matter what they said. Children who'd been through more than any kid should, perhaps. But children. So they did ridiculous things, and sometimes, when they really needed it, they didn't even pretend to be adults. As the world meeting wrapped up, they were playing Risk. Peter was losing, badly. Of all the people, it was somehow Kugel who was winning. He looked at his watch.

"We have about five minutes if we still want to sneak out and get blackmail," he says, being completely honest. They've never really used the blackmail they've collected over time. Occasionally, he's used it for a laugh, but normally they don't use much at all. Peter had a massive folder with stuff his brother did while drunk. Some of it was hilarious. It helped that Arthur was capable of things most people were not, especially while drunk, so it often dragged other Nations into the mess, normally while drunk. The results were often quite hysterical, and Peter was pretty sure they all needed hysterical at the moment. After a brief but heated argument on whether or not Kugel got to win, since they'd run out of time, they ditched the room.

A few minutes later, a few of them were in the bar. Peter was by himself, but he knew some other micronations were there, too, just not near where Peter was standing. He'd already accidentally shown himself to the bartender, but Michelle was had been working in this bar for years and years. He'd dealt with crazy Nation things before and had given up trying to kick out Peter and his camera. Peter was pretty certain the bar even closed to regular patrons after world meetings, since crazy things often happened, though apparently not today. He frowned.  This seemed like the sort of day when something actually bad might break out... maybe he should warn Michelle. Then again, there were still fewer Nations here than normal.

He looked around and sighed. He hoped someone did something funny. They had to leave soon. Wy and Hutt had already left, and Peter wasn't sure, but Lassia and Mister America might have as well. It was a longer flight for them, after all. Soon he'd have to leave, too. And yet the bar was empty. It looked like he wasn't getting anything interesting today. Everyone was leaving too soon, no one wanted to linger when there were other things to do, wars to prepare and wars to avoid and the worry of what might be around the next dark corner.

Though, there was Russia, in a dark corner of the bar. Did he do that on purpose? Peter slid under the counter (Michelle gave him a disapproving but resigned look) and tried to get closer. Russia wasn't as fun as Peter's brother. England couldn't hold his liquor even sort-of. But Russia- he just looked a little sad, sad and thoughtful. Weird.

He supposed everyone felt a bit like crying today.

Fumbling with his camera, he found himself watching the older man for no reason, even if it was a little sad. Maybe they should just go back to Risk, because Peter was suddenly remembering the sense of finality and wishing it would just go away.

The vodka tasted like water as it slid down his throat, and when the bartender returned with more, he merely took the entire bottle. The man obvious knew better then to argue with him and quickly left to serve the other customers. Ivan merely kept feeling his glass and shooting back more of the substance to sooth his thoughts, his loneliness. His friends would receive his help. He planned to guide them to victory, but even when he defeats America in the Middle East, it would not solve the overarching problem.

Some accused Ivan of being an instigator, a power hungry monster in search of land and nations. They point to Georgia and Ukraine as examples, spouting rumors of the terrible actions, but Ivan did not like war. He never had. People died, his people died, and a constant ever looming threat of possibly losing lingered in his mind. The wars he lost in the past, the battles, the nations who came to conquer him. He did not like war, and yet something needed to change. Someone needed to take the world from America before the boy drug it into destruction, and Ivan knew the truth, knew that if anyone could accomplish it…it would have to be him.

He took another shot of his vodka. He did not remember how many bottles he had gone through at that point, but his usually cold body felt warm and his balance seemed a bit off. He felt a heavy weight on his shoulder, knowing what he would need to do. He could change the world. He could.

He barely noticed Vietnam appear at his side, for when he didn’t see Lithuania enter, his mind blocked out the entrance. It was not until he heard a voice at his side, did he finally notice her presence. His brow arched, few people came up to initiate conversation with him. However, Vietnam strangely never seemed frighten of him. He gave her a closed eye smile, his face flush from the alcohol. “Da, you may sit,” he answered, “I was thinking too many thoughts though I already know the answer.” The answer…oh, it would be unfortunate to lose so many to war, but it was the only option.

If tomorrow he would declare war in Europe, then tonight he would attempt to forget. Forget about all those who will be angry with him, forget all those who will call him names, forget the hatred in his friend’s eyes. It would be best for everyone. It was the only answer, and for that, he would forget, if only for tonight. He grabbed his bottle of vodka and brought it to his lips, he took deep chugs finishing the entire bottle and slamming it on the bar.

“Actually, I would enjoy a dance,” he smiled at the young Asian women, his statement not a request. He slid out of his chair and held his glove hand to her, not even noticing the small micro nation hiding with a camera.

Is Vietnam afraid of Russia? Yes and no. She is and she isn't afraid of every nation that's much stronger than her - whether ally or enemy they are, by their very nature, a threat. But even so, she's had more than her fair share of experience in having to defend herself against stronger nations - most of it thanks to her beloved brother China. It's not that she now expects victory, it's that being the weaker party is an extremely familiar scenario for her. Many in her position would have become a timid and fearful long ago because of this, but being fearful about such things just isn't her - instead its in her nature to face impossible odds with fierce determination.

So even if they were enemies she wouldn't look scared of Russia. Instead, as they are friends and allies, she's smiling. But she doesn't have to observe him very closely to notice that he must have been here awhile, and that the bottle in front of him is probably not the first. "Vâng, I can see that - the day has been difficult and nonproductive," she comments as she sits. And alcohol is certainly not a good way to stimulate good thinking. On the other hand, it can be very useful in situation where all the good thinking in the world can't get you out of an unpleasant situation and you just want to forget about it.

Still, seeing the state that he's in, she frowns very slightly. He doesn't need to tell her his plans for her to see the direction that all of this is heading, but she won't say a word to try and tell him that he shouldn't do whatever he thinks is best. But even if she doesn't like the idea of war, she'd rather see him moving forward with boldness - not trying to drown his troubles.

Taking a sip of her coffee, her eyebrows lift in surprise as he asks her for a dance - the fact that it's not a request escapes her entirely because she's hardly unwilling. Though she questions just how well he'll be able to dance if he's been drinking too much, if it would make him happy to try then she's not opposed to letting him. And if he can still dance, it's not like it isn't an activity that she enjoys. "Vâng, I would enjoy it as well," she says as she puts her coffee back on the table and takes his hand before she stands.

She doesn't notice that they're being observed, though it would hardly bother her even if she did. It's not like she's doing anything that she wouldn't also do in front of the entire world conference, after all - it's no secret that they're on good terms. Perhaps it might surprise a few that they're on good terms to the point of dancing, but it's hardly shocking.

The rhythm of the lilting, charmed, powerful classical strings seemed nearly out of place, actually. Peter wondered if it was Michelle or someone else who had decided to turn it on. On days like these, the bartender-turned-owned and all of his staff tended to purposefully cater a little to what the Nations wanted, because they'd end up getting it anyway. Of course, someone could have been playing it anyway, on their own. It was just a little bit different than what was normally playing in the bar. Peter wondered why he'd noticed so quickly; it had probably been because he'd sunk into habitual motions after an emotionally draining day. 

Not that anyone would blame the boy, or so he assumed, even as he decided that this sort of different was decidedly different than the different that the world meeting had been drenched in, drowned in, stained in, colored in. It was the good sort of different. It wasn't like all of the different that was making Peter's skin crawl and his hackles to rise and his heart to sink to the bottoms of his feet. It was just a change from the routine, and while Peter noticed it immediately, it wasn't the sort of thing he should mind.

The Asian took Russia's hand lightly and they both stood, sliding easily into a surprisingly graceful dance, especially considering how drunk Peter could tell Russia was. Instinctively, Peter nearly slid closer. He stopped himself. He didn't know how to dance properly. He'd almost certainly be a complete and total shipwreck if he actually tried.

But there's something hypnotic about strings and piano and graceful footsteps, and there's something haunting about the melody. Something melancholy. But it's haunting and bright all at once. It's mostly just... bittersweet. A bittersweet beginning, a bittersweet ending, a bittersweet note of longing. Still, it was romantic, a piece that rose to major keys before falling back and settling easily back into the minor key it started in. It could have been played by a few soloists or whole symphony; Peter wasn't even sure if Russia and the Asian woman noticed what was playing or not. They were certainly keeping time well enough, though.

Beneath the music, there is murmuring. The whole bar (though there are, in reality, very few people in the bar as a whole) is murmuring, talking, living. But Peter's just focussed on the two dancers for now. No other Nations that he's noticed have walked in. It's probably good. They may have started a fight had they come in. It seemed that whichever Asian this was (and Peter felt a little bad that he had absolutely no idea) and Russia were apparently rather close. If it had been two enemies, things might have come to blows. Everyone, Peter's fairly certain, was a little emotionally compromised.

He just barely hears some of Russia's words, and only because he's intently focussed. What he does hear nearly makes Peter drop his camera, though he doesn't quite. He was fairly certain that Russia had just asked the Asian if she ever wished, or perhaps thought about, or perhaps wondered, of being human. He's not quite sure, as some of what he thinks is filled into read lips and gaps covered by the music. Peter nearly gets up and says this: "I would get a Newfoundland. That, and a masters in engineering. Or perhaps a physics PhD." He doesn't quite.

He wonders if they know it's possible. They probably don't. They probably can't, not that the micronations had ever actually experimented with the knowledge that it's possible to stop being a Nation altogether. That would be- well, it would be cruel, and it would hurt, Peter was fairly certain. But they had all decided at some point that the more people a Nation had and the older they were and the more important to the world they were, the harder it would be to quit. Because they were fairly certain doing so had to somehow involve severing ties with your People.

He's not going to ask. But a part of Peter is curious. In a moment, he realizes that Russia's seen him. But then he would just be curious, even if Russia had seen him, and he'd be fine. He hadn't taken any particularly incriminating pictures. Just a video, Peter supposes, that he'll probably get rid of. It's not funny, though it is a little sappy and warm (or at least, in Peter's mind it is). It couldn't possibly fit in the same collection, after all, that contains pictures of things his brother did while drunk. He's not sure what's possessed him to take the video. Oh well.

Ivan often found himself lingering over the possibility of mortality. He cared for his people deeply, his country. He wanted to bring everyone happiness and safety, and as the nation it was his responsibility to ensure such, but the selfish part, the childishly simple and demanding side wished so much that the responsibility was not his to bare. His long life had been filled with suffering and struggles, and no matter how he tried to be kind to others, in the end he was always alone. So alone. How could anyone not wish for something more after facing such true terrifying loneliness?

He wished to be human. He imagined his life in a warmer part of his country where sunflowers often bloom. He would not know the hidden secrets of his government or the constant threat of war that loomed over them. He would be blissfully ignorant to all but his small community. He hoped to own a small flower shop where he could cut and build beautiful banquets each day, surrounded by light. He would often read during the quieter hours until one day a man might stumble in, catching his eye. It would start off as simple teases and slowly build to something more until possibly marriage and children. Many children. Ivan would love to teach them how to read the stars above during clear nights and show them the vast and wondrous universe. The thought of growing old as they grew old, watching them chase their own dreams, while his own had always been far simpler. Family and love.

A lass, he had been born a nation, an honor and a cure for him to bare for eternity.

No flower shop. No husband. No children.

He might have been surprised by Vietnam’s natural dancing skills, but his drunken mind barely noticed. He followed the beat with grace as he listened to her words. Yes, she was Vietnam, and he Russia. He should feel the same fire he could sense in her eyes, a determination that all was as it should.

He nodded. “It is selfish of me to expect I might deserve happiness,” he stated to himself, such gift did not belong to nations, only brief glimpse. The music stopped and he slowly brought her to a stop as well. He sighed. A dream could only last for so long. Eventually we must wake up and face reality. “Excuse me, I have to deal with an occurrence quickly,” he remarked with a nod and left her side to move to the micro nation. He forced his friendliest smile (slightly creepy) as he went to the boy. “Little one, it is not nice to spy,” he said in a cheery voice.

At his response to her words, the happy expression on Vietnam's face fades into a more neutral one and her manner becomes quiet for a moment - clearly his words trouble her. But finally she quietly says, "The world is not a fair place - few get what they deserve, many get what they don't deserve. If you do not have happiness that does not mean that you don't deserve it." Now, does that mean that she thinks that Russia deserves happiness? Well, she certainly doesn't believe that he deserves to be entirely unhappy. He may do things that she disapproves of to other nations, but he's also done much that is to be commended and not just for her. He certainly deserves more happiness than America.

When the song and therefore the dance is over, she's quick to smile and say, "Cám ơn for the dance." She really quite enjoyed it, actually - probably more than he did given the mood he seems to be in, though she does hope that it cheered him up some. She nods once when he excuses himself, though curiosity causes her to watch to see what this 'occurrence' is and whether or not it might be rude for her to observe it. When she hears him accuse the boy of spying, she decides that it wouldn't be rude at all - after all, if he was spying on Russia, then she was being spied upon as well.

"Who is this?" she can't help but ask the moment that the boy finishes speaking. His face is unfamiliar to her. Well, then again, it is and it isn't - that exact combination of features may be unfamiliar, but some of them she recognizes from other faces. "Is this one of England's counties?" she guesses, looking at him curiously. She certainly doesn't appear to be offended at all by anything he's said, but then again that's mostly because she's not decided whether or not to be offended and suspects that Russia will have an opinion on that - and his opinion would greatly influence her own.

Peter can't help but grin. He supposes everyone's gotten involved in something his brother's done in a bar at least once, even if it was just dragging him out of it. Actually, Peter's been involved in dragging his brother out of a bar more than once, too, mostly because he was amusing himself taking pictures and then realized that he should probably go find Mister Scotland or Mister America to deal with the problem at this point. "Well, he's not exactly subtle about it, is he? I distinctly remember a toga at least once... I'm sure I still have the blackm- er, I mean, funny picture somewhere..." He trails off, still grinning somewhat.

Russia's fairly drunk. He probably didn't catch that. Probably. Ah, well, it doesn't matter. Besides, it's only a moment later that Peter's squirming because Russia is pinching his cheek. "Hey! Stop that!" he says, somewhat disgruntled. He's not some little kid! Also, that kinda hurts and it'll make his cheeks all red and stuff. Then he's going to get made fun of by Lad. He'll probably be made fun of no matter what he does, but still, this seems like even more of a ticket to it than normal! He knew nothing good would come of accidentally calling Russia cute!

He manages to yank out of Russia's cheek-pinching grip at just about the same time as Russia lets go, if he's honest with himself, or at least, with the same timing as Russia suddenly losing attention and turning to something Peter had brought up only a moment ago. He sounds so sad that Peter suddenly wonders if he should say something, that Peter actively tries to hold back from saying anything despite his immediate lack of mental filter. Maybe Russia gets sad when he's drunk or something. Or maybe he's just sad tonight, too, after all of the shouting and arguing.

Peter's mental filter does not completely succeed, though. Luckily, he does recognize that the thing he wanted to say on first instinct would have derailed everything altogether too quickly, as in, 'But you can, technically, we just suspect it would drive a Nation with so many people completely and totally mad, if not kill them with pain, but in theory it's possible!' He actually opened his mouth to start saying that before catching himself, knowing, for once, that this would be the complete wrong thing to say. Instead he says "I just didn't know older Nations talk about that, or even think about that at all! Sometimes we talk about it when we're sad and don't want to have to deal with things," like tonight.

This conversation was... really going downhill fast. He... he should find a way to change the subject. Vietnam provides one that also generates a great deal of genuine anger and tiny righteous fury. "I am a real Nation! I'm gonna get big and strong one day, just you all watch! I'm not- I'm not itty-bitty tiny! I mean- well, I'm kinda small, but, but, but I have a big heart! Yeah! We all have lots of heart and you all just watch, I'm going to be super big and strong and jerks like you and my brother, I'm gonna laugh at them for ever thinking I wouldn't! Just 'cause no one recognizes me and people kick me out of meetings doesn't mean you can make fun!" Peter crosses his arms and sticks out his tongue for a moment before he realizes that he's acting counter to his point and stops real quick.

He hates it when people call him small, and definitely hates it when people suggest that he's not a Nation. It's worst of all when people say he's not a real Nation. That's the one Peter hates the most. And so what if he's a little sensitive? It's like- well, it's like going up to someone who's trying to learn piano and saying 'well, you aren't a real pianist', or going up to someone who's always known that he's different, painfully so, and and saying 'well, you aren't a real person'. It's just hurtful, and it's always been horrible, tearing, destructive to his self-esteem. Not that he lets it show. Peter doesn't do a good job of showing other people his hurt. He's embarrassed that he's hurt, most of the time, but it does hurt him and he reacts defensively, making people see him as even more childish and creating a sort of vicious cycle.

Peter's face is red for a moment more before Russia asks about the camera. He responds similarly there as well, at the surface, though in reality there's a lot less force of emotion behind that one. "No way! This was an expensive camera! Plus, I made modifications to it, which makes it doubly worth money. If you want the camera, you're gonna have to pay for it!" He hugs it protectively to his chest. He supposes he could just hand over the camera card, but hopefully Russia doesn't think to ask for that...