A/N: Angsty little thing, set in 1948, thus the war references. Yes, I support the whole Prussia was a Russian Satellite, after WW2 thing. It's kinda PruAus, also sorta SuFin and EstFin. And brotherly EstLat. Prompt 50: Spades
Looking from the inside out
Roderich Edelstein truly, honestly, didn't want to be here. In fact, the personification of Austria wanted to be pretty much anywhere but here. But it was a requirement. World meetings had to happen, except for during war time and as war was over, just a mere three years ago, a world meeting was necessary. The aristocrat glanced at to the nations sat either side of him. On his right, sat little Lili Zwingli, personification of Liechtenstein, looking as beautiful as ever but her brother looked exhausted and rugged, still recovering after the war. Austria glanced to his left. There sat Germany, straight-backed despite the obvious pain he was in. Ludwig Beilschmidt's eyes were unfocused and pained as he held his head high, unyielding. Eyes drifting around the table, Roderich caught sight of the five Nordics sat quietly together. Apart from looking a little worn out, the group of nations looked okay, albeit worried. Finland seemed to be clinging to Sweden, casting nervous little gazes to the door, obviously looking for one of the not-yet present nations. The pianist's gaze shifted to other end of the table where France, America, England and Canada sat. Gazing blankly ahead, Matthew Williams seemed completely cut off from the conversation, merely hugging his polar bear. Roderich sighed heavily at the state of his ex-husband, watching as the usually lively Francis rubbed his shoulder, listening to America's chatter but not speaking. Arthur was still shaky; his fingers twitched and his neck and hands were scarred with burns. It took the aristocrat seconds to place the wounds: the Bliztkrieg. Alfred continued to chatter but his voice wasn't as bright or as loud as usual and he gesticulated only with his left hand; his right was still wrapped in bandages after Pearl Harbour. Eyes dropping his own gloved hands, Roderich thought of the scars hidden below his shirt and gloves. War always tore them apart. Eyes flicking up again, his violet orbs met the broken gaze of Japan and a pang of sympathy shot through the Austrian. He knew that Kiku may never truly heal from the injuries inflicted upon him. Then there were footsteps and Russia practically bounced into the room. The pianist's jaw tightened at the sight as Poland, stumbling and weak, Hungary (so much thinner than Austria remembered) and Prussia followed him. At the sight of the albino ex-nation, Roderich had to choke back a sob. Head down, shoulders slumped, Gilbert Beilschmidt was broken, his eyes no longer gleamed red; his hair was an unattractive shade of white grey. But beside all that, Roderich could see the blood seeping through his thin shirt and the bruise on his face. Clear signs of abuse. A soft squeak and a whimper dragged him from his thoughts and he turned to see Tino bury his face into Berwald's shoulder as the was a shuffling of feet. The last of the nations, stumbling in after Ukraine and Belarus, were the Baltics. Lithuania first, hunched over himself, blood trickling down his cheek. But he wasn't what Tino had let out the pitiful noise over. Following Toris was Eduard, Estonia, carrying Latvia. The bespectacled nation's right arm was bleeding and likely broken by the angle but he held up little Raivis as he staggered in. The Latvian himself was weak and trembling in the Estonian's arms, much thinner than Roderich remembered and the Austrian found himself looking away, harsh emotions broiling under his skin.
Life is like a pack of cards, he mused. Sometimes, you are dealt the Ace of Spades and everything goes right. But more often than not, you receive the Nine of Diamonds and everything comes crashing down. In the terms of nations, you burn and nobody brings you water.