I do not own Hetalia, Hidekaz Himaruya does. I do not own anything I might've stolen from anyone, and thanks to those who inspire me!
Chapter One: Not A Circle; A Man
Rain poured down from the gutters above. The sky was a dark, sleek black, illuminated by the crashes of thunder clapping back and forth between flashes of lightening. The streets, murky and filled with puddles, were dark, and yet, despite the emptiness of the town, a small village somewhere in the middle of nowhere, a place that does not be, a town that does not exist, a man in his early twenties stepped out from an apartment building that had no address and into the rain, throwing up the hood from his black jacket. This town was a nether land, or, more appropriately, Neverville, for it cannot be found no matter how hard a human look, and it cannot be see no matter how much your eyes strain. This town was meant completely for those who do not exist, but are there every day, for they are the world. You cannot simply stop and talk to the world, unless you feel talking to the ground or hugging a tree will get you anywhere in life, no, and yet you can meet these countries, for they are wandering all around their land every minute of every day.
Except once a month. Usually on the nineteenth of every month, the world had a meeting properly called the World Conference.
Alfred F. Jones is America. He is the rolling plains of wheat and the purple mountains, he is every founding father's dream, and he is every cry his soldiers make for their country. They fight for him so that he could live, and with it, so can they. America, or Alfred, rather, walked out into the rain with one thought on his mind: food. You might think a country would act more noble, or would have a better purpose than to bicker and fight with the other residents of the town in nowhere, yet nay, if you think about it, that's not how the world acts. And still he does not control the way he does, he was made that way, and therefore, it is not his fault. Yet he does take pride and how he acts, and so does his other ego, Abigail R. Jones, for if you asked any America, they were solely proud to be who and what they where. Alfred and Abigail were ultimately the same person, the same thing, yet two different beings all together. Abigail was, obviously, a girl, who personified the American woman, while Alfred was the America man. At the moment, Abigail was in her room clicking through the reality channels on the television, and a moment later he'd been on the couch with her, but then they'd gotten hungry, so he decided to venture into the pouring rain to get something to munch on. Abigail and Alfred weren't technically related, yet it was common for the two genders of the same country to share a living space. Nobody expected anything to go on between the same country of a person, so it was looked past. Most of the time they looked alike, so even if a human would ever question their living habits, they'd merely take them as relatives, and move on.
Alfred was thinking of cheeseburgers as he walked out into the street. Yes, some nice, juicy fries ought to do the trick. The town that did not exist had everything a person from all over the world could ask for right at their fingertips, so walking to a McDonalds wasn't a large feat. He hunched his shoulders to try and get the rain from his face, even though his hood up he was getting soaked, and he grumbled about why he'd forgotten an umbrella or a rain coat in the first place. With his one strange of hair that always stuck up drooping in his eyes, he blew dripping rain from his face, off his lips and from the tip of his nose and turned toward the glowing yellow lights of the fast food restaurant. He opened the doors, and was, naturally, the only one in there, including where there should've been laborious teenagers ready to get him his food. He walked around to the back of the kitchen, where there seemed to always be a burger and fires waiting for him. This time there was a Big Mac, two servings of fries and some chicken nuggets. He knew the nuggets were for Abigail- she'd always preferred them more than the burgers, something he'd never been able to understand. He took the meal from the tray that stood in the back of the empty kitchen and stuffed it in a happy meal bag, then walked back from the empty store. He wondered where everyone else was- usually there was someone else in the world out on the streets of the town in nowhere, but tonight no one else was out on the streets.
Except when he rounded the corner back onto the street to get home. He stopped dead, a abrupt halt, as a girl with an umbrella poised over her head had almost rounded the corner into him.
"Allison!" The surprise in his voice was evident. If anyone was going to be wandering around in the middle of the night, it definitely wasn't the blonde pig-tailed British young lady, who rarely even went out of her house in the first place. This was clearly a shock to the both of them, because to her, who always knew Alfred to be holed up in his home with Abigail playing video games long into the night, she hadn't expected anyone to be out in the rain. Allison, normally looking irritated about anything, expressed mirrored surprise, and then frowned at the situation.
"Alfred, what're you doing out so late?" She asked. Allison had always been sort of a bossy lady and acted like his mother almost all the time, but he had a feeling she was still in denial about the independence thing. Of course, he figured she'd enjoyed taking care of the two American persons when they were growing up just as much as Arthur had, but she wasn't taking being around him so well. Alfred always thought she was always just a little more cranky half the time than even Arthur was, if that was even possible, but she could be nice when she wanted to be. Allison was wearing a black raincoat that fit over a long plaid skirt and tights with suitable, modest black shoes on her feet. She dressed like she was straight from Mary Poppins, Alfred always thought, but somehow it was cute. Alfred and Abigail had caught up to the British nations in age, so it wasn't hard for him to think of Allison in that way. However, Arthur would be extremely irritated if he ever found out he was hitting on his other half.
"Hungry," he answered, holding up the bag. It was almost soaked through by now, and he wrinkled his nose. Well, it would probably still taste the same. He swept a look up and down her. "Why, what're you doing out so late as well?"
"Taking a walk," she answered simply. They fell into step together towards Alfred's house, walking together through the puddles as she lifted her umbrella over her head. "Why on earth did you go out in the rain without a coat? You could catch a cold that way."
"I forgot," Alfred answered with an oblivious grin. Allison's lips tightened as she thought over Alfred's poor decision, and he scratched the back of hi wet head. "Um, yeah, I didn't think it was raining this hard."
"Well," she said, bristling, pushing up her wire-framed glassed higher onto her nose so that her green eyes glinted back at him. Alfred wondered how long it was going to take her to get over his silly act. She took a deep breath and clutched her umbrella tightly. "You should at least drink something warm when you get inside," she told him carefully, measuring the amount of direction in her voice. Then her eyebrows came together, a little irritated. "And for goodness sakes-"
"Yeah, don't worry I will," Alfred cut her off, huddling under the umbrella, closer to her shoulders where she ducked down, her cheeks flushing. Now that there wasn't a constant pouring water on his back, he shivered, his teeth chattering loudly against their silence that accompanied them fro the rest of the walk. He wondered what she was tittering about, but he really didn't care at that moment. "I know how to take care of myself," he mumbled, too low for Allison to hear- which was a good thing, because when he talked like that it usually ended up in some very loud and angry argument that ended in tears- usually on Allison's end. Both the British nations were a little emotional about just everything, thought Arthur, counter to his other half, usually only showed that side of himself when beer was involved.
They rounded the corner into the entrance to his apartment and she stopped outside the steps, waiting for him to get the door for her. Alfred guessed she was used to being sucked up to, living with a nancy like Arthur all the time who reflected on gentlemanly behavior. But he hadn't had neither Arthur nor Allison over at his home for a good while, since then things had been moved around and replaced. The apartment was about four stories high in which there were no other residents but himself, his on the very top level with large windows and modern furniture, with two small bedrooms and one bathroom he and Abigail shared with the compromise of a snake and a wolf. The two were never very good at sharing, no matter how alike. He started to push the key into the doorknob, when she asked; "You'll let me come in? I haven't seen Abigail in a while."
"Sure," he said. He wondered how Abigail would take that- for some reason she got along better with Arthur while Alfred and Allison were more compatible. Arthur was just as unstable toward him as Abigail had been in her teenage years, which was practically a nightmare of raging out-of-whack hormones. Maybe it had something to do with how they were raised, he didn't know. Allison accompanied him up the stairs, a few steps behind since she shook out her umbrella and the folded it, looking more like Ms. Poppins than ever. All she needed was a bag that could fit entire lamps and desks inside it. They entered his apartment with the same unexpected air wafting around the room, not sure how to react to the mutual awkwardness between them, so she paused by the doorframe and didn't fully step in.
"Abby!" Alfred yelled Abigail's nickname around the corner loud enough to reach her room, where she lay on her stomach across a pink starred bedspread with a game controller in her hand. "I got soaking Mickey's! And Allison is here." The last sentence was spoken with a bit less enthusiasm, and he saw Allison look down, embarrassed.
Around the corner sidled Abigail, her lips pursed. She didn't resent Allison, who offered a tiny smile and a hand wave, then a grin stretched across her face. She stepped fully into the kitchen, wearing tiny pajama shorts with the Wonder Woman emblem all over them and a red tank top, her blond hair floating over her shoulders in light, flirty waves bouncing around her face. She came up to Allison and grinned.
"What's up? Didn't think you were a night owl," she said, taking the spoiled bag from Alfred and taking a peek, then grimacing and leaning against her counter lazily. Alfred knew that the stare between them was confident on one end- he wondered if it had to do with girls and their self-esteem between each other. He wasn't about to decide who was prettier, but he could feel Abigail taking in the plaid skirt and tights like a sponge, then her mouth moved to one side of her face.
"Oh, I'm not," Allison said, flapping her hand at the comment. She seemed to ignore the way Abigail had sized her up. She quietly shifted her feet in the silence as Alfred stuffed a couple wet fries into his mouth without a care about their condition. "Well…I just thought I'd drop in to see you," she said, taking her umbrella in both hands.
"Hey, it's cool," Abigail said, pushing away the bag. "Good to see you." The way she sounded like she threw out the words made Alfred catch Allison's offended wince.
"Right. I-I mean, yes, it was." She backed up, looking extremely cornered. "I think I'll go…Arthur's probably wondering where I am."
"Hey, say hi for me," Abigail said quickly, the enthusiasm back in her voice. She paused, biting her lip and squeezing in her shoulders. "Um, please."
"Yeah, me too," Alfred chimed in, just as Allison opened her mouth to speak.
It was definitely clear which of the British countries' gender was proffered. Allison tried not to look offended, but her eyebrows arched in a line together, and she nodded and put her hand on the doorknob to go-
Alfred didn't like the disclosed look on her face as she left, yet he couldn't help himself as he saw Abigail turn away and take the fire escape ladder down into the street for something, he caught the door just as Allison was ready to close it and he offered her a grin. "We should get together sometime," he said quickly, ignoring the surprised look on her face. "Er, I mean…" Allison had let go of the door so they stood with a half-closeted door between them, and Alfred reached up to scratch the back of his head like he usually did when he was nervous. "Like I really miss your fish and chips these days, so, like, could we do it sometime?"
"Oh," Allison's look was pure surprise, her eyes wide. She struggled to put herself back together. She shook herself quickly. "That would be lovely. I'll drop you a call when I talk to Arthur about dates, so we can find a day that works for the four of us."
"Dates?" Alfred's mind had stumbled on the word. "I didn't…uh, mean like…a…date."
"As in days of the week, Alfred," Allison said glumly. But she forced a smile out. "I'll call you once I get an answer, don't worry."
"Right," Alfred said, backing away. "No worrying here."
"Goodnight. Don't stay up too late."
"I won't!" And with that, he closed the door, and Allison retreated down the stairs.
While all this was happening, Ivan Braginski, the tall, Russian nation looked out the window at the rain splattering the paned windowsill of his house. Unlike most of the nations living in the town that did not exist, he lived more outside of it, in a field that did not exist and a house that was not there, for he had lived alone almost all his life, and it was nothing he and Ivisse (the typical Russian woman, like himself in almost every way) weren't used to. The two of them had a very large house all to themselves, where no matter how warm it was in town, it was always cold in the field they lived in. Of course, the town that did not exist was merely a scramble of all the things that made up the land of the nations, so it was no wonder that Ivan lived in a dying field alone, and that Alfred lived in a busy city-like landscape with lots of residents that never existed either. His fingers glazed the window pane, and Ivisse came and stood next to him, gazing out in the same unfeeling manner. They looked genuinely alike, even though some of the womanly counterparts were quite indifferent to each other. They had the same unnatural lavender eyes and soft, airy white-blond hair; yet while Ivisse wasn't as tall as Ivan, she could sport just as he to be about a head taller than anyone else almost all the time. They weren't exactly petite, yet they weren't extremely rounded, their body types were stocky and full.
"I wonder if anyone is outside tonight," Ivan said. His voice was usually cheerful, and it was when he spoke as well, but mixed with his accent, he would always sound between the fine line of intoxication and flaxy happiness. Their voices were round and deep, and sometimes hard to understand when speaking English.
"They are probably all inside," Ivisse answer solemnly, taking her hand off the windowpane and backing to the sofa where she sat and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. "Nobody likes the rain. What would you do, Ivan, if you saw anyone outside?"
"I would say hello," Ivan said, and he took his coat from the hanger by the door. He smiled as he pulled his arms through. "I think I will do that now."
"Is someone outside?" Ivisse's voice was surprised, but she didn't get up from her seat quite yet.
"Hmm…no…but it's quite cold in the house. I'm going into town so I can warm up." He opened the door and stepped into the sleet, his hair almost instantly matting to his feet. He walked down the path which always lead into the town, like any path he took, worn down or not, somehow always ended up in the same east-side alley by Yao's house. Here the roads were cobbled and not paved like in most of the town, and the lights were lit by lanterns hanging from all the Chinese stores, casting an orange glow as he walked around the little Chinatown and into the more city-like landscape that most of Europe was made up of. He might've been aimlessly been walking around, and eventually he came along the other side of the town, back in the same field. He had always thought this was strange. No matter where he went in that town, there was always an exit, and that exit always lead to the field in which he lived. None of the other nations questioned it, and he might've not if he didn't take a keen liking to his everyday living space. In the mansion he shared with Ivisse, there were a total of eight fireplaces, but only one worked properly. He and Ivisse shared the same wish that was never quite expressed, but felt mutually between them, and that was that they could live in town. He had a feeling the city, in the way it seemed to feel and have a very mind of it's own, would not abide to this wish. The city itself seemed to want them there, and it was like an unsolvable paradox in which he could not leave. Not a lot of action had gone on in the world since the cold war and the Vietnam war, sure, people were fighting outside the town that did not exist, but the countries themselves rarely went on the battlefield together with their citizens anymore. He remembered the time when he could enjoy a good bloodbath, but now…? The only thing that ever really threatened the world was a zombie apocalypse.
Ivan turned back, in China town again, then took a few turns down the street into a little section of Europe and stared up. In the middle of the town that did not exist was a gigantic clock, identical to the one that sat in his living room, but larger by about a hundred feet. Tock. He knew that clock could make any time possible, for history was an unreeling events that could be replayed, but not undone. That clock, with it's golden hands, looming ominously over the town like a watchtower. The little windows far up were always steamed up, like something hot lay inside. Of course, the tower only had one door on the other side, but it was always locked. Everyone at one point had tried to open it, but it never budged.
The sound of footsteps made him look to the west, where a modern-looking alley was dimly lit, and out of it came the blonde-curly-haired America, or Abigail, by name, with a bright green raincoat and a large bubbled of gum between her lips. The bubble pooped when she approached him, and the gum fit back into her mouth, licking her lips, looking like the entire world was an expense to her every need. Abigail didn't bother him so much- Alfred did, who was the loudest and most irritating being on the planet that he could name. Yet Abigail was loud as well, but not nearly in the same way. She seemed to at least function and weigh her annoyances somehow so that they could be in the same room together with compatible frustration floating between them. Yes, frustration was the perfect word for his feelings toward her. He didn't know quite what to think, only that Ivisse hated her just as much as he hated Alfred. Ivan knew he had no place hating Abigail, for when countries went up against each other it was usually the dominant gender, which wasn't always man, but in Abigail's case, she and Ivisse had come head to head thirty years ago. Yet she was still America, she and Alfred were the same thing, but with a simple pact signed between their bosses, they were 'supposed' to be friends. Ivan didn't want to suddenly start a war by hitting Alfred upside the head (but it certainly would give him much pleasure) with his faucet, he just tried to steer clear of both of them. Tonight, it was inevitable, but to his surprise, Abigail came and stood with a good meter of space between them, attempting another bubble as she stared up at the clock.
"Ever wonder what's up there?" She asked him suddenly, the gum making her words trip a little. She blew a last bubble, then took her gum out of her mouth, rolled it between her fingers and then through it down the alley she'd come from. Ivan knew the second it would hit the pavement it would vanish instantly, being impossible to litter in the town that did not exist.
"Yes… I was actually just wondering that," he admitted cheerfully. His hands were in the pockets of his long black coat- he was still cold, but then again, it was raining. He looked over at Abigail, the front of her hair wet while the water falling off her shoulders was sleek, and smiled. She grimaced, an attempt to be friendly, yet he had a feeling it wasn't because of him.
In fact, Abigail actually didn't mind being around Ivan at the moment. She was thinking about Alfred, knowing he completely loved Allison and was just a stubborn idiot that wouldn't admit it. Of course, Arthur did have something going for him, but nothing she could really take keen interest to. Arthur was more like her older brother, and Alfred had frequently claimed the same about Allison- which confused her the most. Who would ever want to fall in love with their sister? "Do you think incest is gross?" Abigail aimlessly threw out into the awkward silence that held between them, looking up at him.
"Yes," Ivan said sincerely, his eyes wide. Then he relaxed again, wiping his wet hair across his forehead. "I have a sister who wants to marry me, if that counts."
"Ew," Abigail said, a sneer on her lip. She remembered Belarus, a creepy, vampire-like girl that always clung to the back of Ivan's coat whenever they were together. What you didn't want was to catch Belarus alone, which was a recipe for disaster if you loved your life like every other person in the world. But Natalya was definitely pretty, which made up for some of the disaster of the scenario- and Alfred wasn't lacking in the same category either, so wasn't like Allison wouldn't have nothing to look at. Abigail blew out a sigh.
"That's a funny question. Why do you ask?" Ivan said, tilting his head to one side. "Do you have a sister after you as well?"
"Um, one," Abigail's voice was a little irritated now. "I'm not a lesbian, so adding the fact to a sister trying to marry me would be extremely wrong and weird on all different disgust-levels that I think I'd puke every time I thought about that."
Ivan bristled, shaking off her ignorant tone and trying to keep calm between them. "Right," he agreed quietly.
"And two," Abigail continued, blowing out a sigh that made the few annoying strands of hair in front of her face blow up. "I asked because I think Alfred is in love with Allison. Not me. Don't tell him I told you that."
"I won't," Ivan promised lightly. "Because I think if I ever saw his face I'd want to punch it in, not spread rumors around about it." He gazed back up at the clock again. "Who is Allison again? I can't remember who that is right now."
"She's Arthur's counterpart," Abigail explained quickly. "But…I guess since we aren't one nation anymore, it doesn't really count, right? I mean, like, it was kind of like disowning us…right?"
"I guess…"
"Sorry," Abigail shook her shoulders, making droplets of water fall to the ground around them. She slumped forward a bit, her lower lip pulling out as she made a very loud "bleh" noise that Ivan chuckled at. "I'm trying not to think of it as some gross Medieval TV show. Do you get it?"
Ivan switched the subject, his mind floating back to the clock tower as he blinked out the rain staring up at it. "What do you think is up there?" The question was obvious in every way, like he was asking the question with his face when he turned it toward her, meeting her eyes. "It's bothering me. Not knowing what makes the windows foggy."
"Foggy?" Abigail put a hand over her eyes to keep out the splatter and went to stand beside Ivan for a better view, in case she was missing something from where she was standing. The clock tower's face was white glass all right, but it and the windows, like Ivan claimed, seemed to be blotchy and white, like they should be clear glass, but not quite. The hands of the second's arm ticked in a full circle before she nodded to his claim. "I don't know," she said. It never really occurred to her, but then again, Ivan wasn't exactly the most normal person in the world-it didn't surprise her that his mind wandered that far. She looked over at him, a grin stretching on her face. "I'm going to check it out," she claimed.
"The door is locked," Ivan said, but her followed her anyway.
"That's nothing brute force can't handle," Abigail said excitedly, cracking her knuckles and approaching the door with a determined look.
Ivan actually found it kind of funny, the way she struggled. Abigail huffed and pushed on the huge door on the outside of the clock tower, but the door didn't even shake a little. Once she spotted Ivan's inconspicuous smile hooded by his eyes, she blew a raspberry as his and kicked the door with the back of her foot, slamming it with her back. She was strong, there was no doubt about it, and for her size, even more so. Yet no matter how many times she'd wrestled with Alfred who could spin buffalo around at a very small age, this door would not budge to save her life. The gilded gold against the back of her raincoat dug into her ribs as she shoved and heaved, then finally as she slanted to try and open it once more, her boots misguided and she went rear-first into a puddle, knocking her head against the door in the process painfully.
Ivan laughed one small laugh in a small version of his own triumph, and approached the door. He wasn't intentionally trying to show off, but Abigail couldn't help herself when all it took for him to move it was a push with both hands, and with a crack, the door groaned, fell from it's hinges and slammed to the ground inside of the clock tower, a layer of dust escaping beneath it like scared kittens. Ivan carefully wiped his hands on his jacket, and then bent down to help Abigail to her feet, but she was already there, hitting rain off her clothes with a jealous look on her face as she pushed past him, mumbling an almost-incoherent 'thanks' that Ivan was almost sure he hadn't heard, but the only other noise inside it except for the loud cranking of the gears above them.
Abigail craned her neck upward as Ivan propped the door, leaning on the wall that had once been the doorframe. Spreading above them was an elevator with blue windows that looked extremely old, however, it was only suspended by steel poles and wires like that of the old elevators. There were no stairs, why anyone would ever want to walk the entire way up was beyond her, and the only light coming in was from the broken door now and the windows and clock face above them. Ivan was right- it was steam, and it was very hot in there. Abigail didn't narrate what she was doing because it was painfully obvious, and Ivan unbuttoned his long coat to let it flap open as she hit the elevator's button and the doors opened, then they both stepped inside, facing each other from opposite walls. The doors closed, and Ivan hit the only button from the side door that obviously lead all the way up. For a few minutes, Ivan and Abigail stood in the four-by-four box suspended in the air, meeting both of their direct gaze like two strangers holding a staring contest from across a street. Abigail could smell Ivan- like fire and ice at the same time, the two most opposite things mixed as one. Of course, he must have to be around a fire a lot, she figured, living in that cold wasteland that made up his country, and yet, the smell was a mix of his character, almost. His mood swings were such a confusing roller coaster that Abigail gave up trying to keep up with him. Of course, Ivisse hadn't been level-headed either, but she seemed a little more…sinister. Maybe it was because he was a man- to her, girls always seemed like they could be more…evil? Was that even the right word? She didn't know Ivan that much, but Ivisse had stuck around long enough to give an impression- to her face, at least, with that stupid shovel of hers. Ivan…? She had always thought Alfred had got it off easier than her in the eighties, well, at least Ivan would smile as he shot you.
Then there was a cheerful ding and the elevator doors opened. It wasn't really a competition for who could get out the fastest, just who would go first. Abigail supposed he was at least a gentlemen and would let her go first, but that was not the case. Ivan thought that Abigail might want him to go before in case something dangerous sprung out at them, but apparently Abigail was just as arrogant as Alfred. Well, they were American, he thought, and Abigail pushed herself out before him, and stepped onto a metal platform hanging by chains, almost a hundred and fifty feet from the ground.
"Know what's weird?" Abigail whispered, but she spoke loud enough Ivan behind her could hear over the gears cranking together.
"What is weird?" Ivan answered, stepping beside her, not wanted to feel like the lead-ed. Abigail's legs were shorter, so even though she stepped up her pace a little, he could keep in step easily.
"I've got a clock just like this one, but smaller. On my nightstand, in my room. It usually wakes me up in the morning because it chimes really loudly at seven," she said matter-of-factly, taking the time to step around a huge box of wooden-something planted by the side of the rail. There were lamps, chandeliers, boxes and trunks everywhere, so they were constantly widening and squeezing in their path, but never touching. They didn't know why the mist was clinging to the windows, but they had a feeling they'd find out soon.
"That is weird," Ivan admitted, smiling plainly. "I have a grandfather clock in my living room like this as well."
Abigail blinked conspicuously. She paused looking up at him, then her brow furrowed, and she bit her lip. "I've seen a grandfather clock like this as well in Arthur's house, sitting in the front door hallway. I thought it was just a funny coincidence-"
"Maybe it is," Ivan interrupted, not wanting to think that something strange was behind it all, but Abigail nagged him again.
"Haven't you seen it anywhere else?" They now had the same vision in their heads- the clock, a brick tower, Ivan recalling it sitting on Toris's mantel in his home, and even Natalya had one as well, in the same form that Abigail had described. He pushed his lips together. Abigail recalled Kiku having one in his apartment as well, and she'd noticed it only because it had been so out of place among the Japanese items around the home.
"Perhaps it is a tradition," he suggested. "Like maybe the town wants us to have this clock to remember that it's there."
"Well, yeah, but why is it here? I mean, even Big Ben has a purpose, besides being Arthur's-"
"Hello!" Ivan called out to the end of the platform, his face lighting up like a neon sign outside of a casino. He stretched his arm and waved to a shriveled little figure at the end of the metal platform. Abigail stopped, taking in the little figure.
It had to be an old man, she thought, as she looked at the figure and then her heart began to pound with fear, and she took a timid step back. Ivan, however, wasn't phased by the general uncomfortable situation. Maybe he was the clock man, maybe was the caretaker of the clock's gears or something, however, she couldn't help but wonder why he was there and there wasn't any workers in McDonald's. It was just simple logic- why was he here when no one was there to make her pay at a bookstore, or why was he there when she could walk into any home and it was empty? The little old man turned around, his face positively wrinkled like a paper bag, his arms turning inward, yet somehow, even though he looked older than two hundred, he got to his feet and slowly walked toward them. Abigail couldn't help herself- her eyes widened and she was struck with the same nagging thought in her conscience- run, run, but she blotted out the thought once Ivan was still as cheerful as ever to see the old man. Yet when he came close enough to them to look at them between two beady eyes, and then sniff his old nose, Abigail couldn't help but give a tiny, frightened whimper. Ivan finally noticed the fear in her eyes, and he stopped smiling, now fully aware that there was something to be afraid of, yet he didn't seem scared, just alert.
"Hello… Ivan Braginski…" said the old man in a whispery voice. He held absolutely no accent, his voice was flat, and the words were almost unloving. Like this thing was not living. He looked down at Abigail, who now felt as if she could melt into a puddle and filter between the cracks of the metal platform. "Hello Abigail Jones."
"H-hi," Abigail just wasn't going to let the guy go without a greeting. At least he deserved that- maybe he was a kind old man, and Abigail was being overly frightened. The entire room was scary- so many old things packed away that she never had any memory of since they were so old she hadn't even been around to see, everything collecting in dust. She wondered how he lived up here, in the dust and the fog.
"You got in my tower," he said, smiling a toothless old smile mainly with his lips. "Good job."
"It wasn't hard," Ivan said simply, and Abigail gritted her teeth against that, casting him a dirty look and choosing to cross her arms.
"Not for you, it probably wouldn't be," said the man, chuckling. "I remember you. I wouldn't have forgot all the things you've done since you were little. I'm not the only one keeping an eye on your madness."
"I've always had it," Ivan said, confused.
Abigail looked at the man, and forced a smile. "It was my idea to come up here," she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. "Ivan got me in. He didn't need to follow, I could handle it myself, but he did."
Well, that certainly left Ivan feeling unwanted. His eyebrows peaked together, offended.
"That's not a surprise," the man turned his back on them and hobbled over to an old chair, and sat, his legs folding up. "You and Alfred have always been the adventurous type. One of these days you're going to get in a pickle, I'm sure…"
Abigail paused, wondering if Ivan had the same question in his mind. Judging by the far-off expression he held as he stared at the clock tower's fogged face, probably not. She looked back at the old man. "Um, like, I don't want to sound stupid or anything when I ask this, but how do you know that? I've never seen you before in my life."
"Of course you haven't, the man said, still laughing a little at Abigail. He folded his hands on his knee and crossed his legs, smoothing back what little hair he had left that was almost pure silver. "But I've met you. Before Arthur went and found you on that ship hundreds of years ago."
"How?" Abigail said, her voice pitched a little too high than she wanted. Ivan made a little uncomfortable noise. "I mean…" Abigail fiddled with her fists. "Columbus came and found us. We only have natives on our land before that-"
"Exactly," the man said, tapping his knee. He signaled for them to sit down, and Ivan fell into a big leather chair while Abigail sat stiffly on a couch. The man smiled again. "Before that you were known to the natives as a different land, right? So, yes, to them you were someone else. I remember when they first found your land."
"How is that even possible?" Abigail demanded, sounding a little angry.
"Because," the old man said, spreading out his hands. "I remember Russia becoming a country, Ivan. I remember because I am old-older than you. I know everything about you, because I am Earth."
Please review- I am very excited about this fic. I don't know if this idea was ever out there before, but if it was, I did not mean to steal anything, because I think I remember something in another story I read online about a city that was empty like the one that does not exist- I don't know, but if I did take the idea, I don't own it. Thank you!