Tales of the Wild West
Chapter One:
Pacifica, the Wild West
...
America wandered westward through the vast wilderness on the western slops of the Appalachian Mountains, riding atop a stately pinto with brown hair and white spots. The year was 1755, and America had found himself growing taller by the day. The last time he saw England, he was barely half the height he was now, and had even less strength.
….
"Well, I'll be going back home now," said England to a much smaller America. He made his way to the front door of America's house as he said this, and America stopped playing with his toys and turned his head to England.
"What? Already?" he asked sadly, running up to England and grabbing his jacket. "No, I'm not gonna let you leave!" he cried, "I'm scared to be alone in such a big house! I'll be lonely!" England sighed and bent over to be on eye-level with him.
"Sorry, kiddo," he began apologetically, "I've felt lonely plenty of times, too, so I know exactly how you feel." America began sniffling, and England put his hand on his head. "You need to grow up and become strong, okay?" said England.
"Yeah," replied America, nodding once.
….
America had worked hard since then, establishing trade routs with Canada and some of Spain's colonies, cementing and stabilizing a little internal economy of his own (something that proved to be very hard for him, and he hoped it would get easier from then on), and both fighting and establishing friendships with the Indian tribes.
America smiled, thinking about the reaction England would have the next time they meet, seeing him taller, stronger and more resourceful than before. He knew that England would be surprised, but he hoped that he would be happy, and proud of him. If England would be proud him, than he could finally be proud of himself. Sure, he was still barely a teenager, and wasn't as big or strong as England or the other Europeans, but to grow and increase his strength as much as he did, and as quickly as he did, was sure to impress England. And he was glad that it would.
As his pinto trotted along the uncultivated ground, the wilderness gradually gave way to far more fertile land, and America ordered his horse to stop so he could get a good look. The ground was still uncultivated, but he could already tell that it was better than most of the land east of the Appalachians. He looked up at the trees around him, and the sun shone it's grand rays through the branches and leaves above; a particularly brilliant one landing directly on America and his horse. At that moment, he felt something was different.
He could smell it in the air. A strange, semi-arid quality permeated it as he smelled it's fragrance. He had never known anything like it before. He commanded his horse to gallop forward, and he raced through the increasingly-thinning trees. As the trees dispersed, the weather became dryer and warmer. A strange new feeling flushed over him, and he felt like there were butterflies in his stomach. And he knew why.
He was entering into a strange new land, full of danger and adventure. The lands that England spoke vaguely about, but knew vary little of. Lands that were not tamed or explored. Images of him and England setting out into this frontier, exploring and facing dangers together rushed through his mind.
Gradually, the trees completely dissipated and his pinto slowed to a stop, as if it too felt the same way he did. America looked onto vast stretches of hills and prairies, and far in the distance, he saw a great river flowing southward. The air was dry and warm, and the sun shown hotly down onto his face, more so then it did east of Appalachians.
After a few moments, a hot wind blew over him and on his face and neck, almost burning him. But instead of retreating back into the woods and escaping the hot sun and winds, he stood his ground. He didn't know why, as England always warned him about hot environments (which explained why he was so pale), and he had always done exactly what England had told him to do. But this was different, somehow. The wind, the sun, and land had all awoken something within himself, and he wasn't about to run away from it.
As if knowing that America would not retreat back to the east, the hot wind subsided, and degenerated into a warm, pleasing breeze. As it did so, America heard the voice of a girl speaking to him from behind.
"Who are you?" asked the strange young girl. America turned around to see who was speaking. He saw a young lady standing barefoot before him, who looked to be about the same age as he. She was wearing a well-worn pair of brown pants and a light, ragged white tunic without any sleeves, stained with dirt and mud. She had clear, moderately tanned skin, and bright sky-blue eyes, which complimented her long and curly, sandy-blonde hair, similar in tone to America's own sort of sandy-blond hair, not as light or flaxen as England or France's. Her hair was still a little lighter than his own, though, and it shined vividly in the sunlight, as did her eyes.
America was immediately taken back by her beauty, even though she had smudges of dirt on her face and appendages, and dressed similar to a savage. In fact, she was even holding a spear in her right hand, with a stone-end, and a stone axe was tied to the left side of her waste by a thick cord. America cleared his throat and regained his composure after looking at her for several moments, not saying anything. She took a step forward.
"Hey, I asked you who you were!" she exclaimed, and America couldn't tell if she was scared or angry.
"I... am Alfred F. Jones," he began, using his human name instead of his real name, as he thought that she was just a normal human, "and I'm a colonist!"
The girl looked at him funnily, and America returned her look. Something was very strange about this girl, he thought. Sure, he knew that there were other Indians and such in the western frontier, but this girl didn't look like one of them. She was... well, white, like he and the Europeans were. She even had blonde hair, like him and most of the European countries that he had met. Was she from some sort of white tribe? Were all of the native tribes west of the Appalachians white? It would be very strange if that was indeed the case, and even stranger if it wasn't, now that she had shown up. He decided to start asking her some questions, but before he could, she starting ask him.
"You're a... colonist?" she asked inquisitively, "What's a 'colonist?'"
America blinked once at her, still confused as to who she was. He tried to explain.
"Well, a colonist is someone from a colony, which is a like a community of people, almost like a province, and a group of them together almost makes a country" he explained, thinking in the back of his head how he wished to one day be a full-fledged country of his own, once England granted him independence, of-course. The girl blinked once at him, in the same way America did at her and with the same odd look he gave.
"Oh... a colony is like a province?" the girl began asking, "I see... well, I don't know what a province is, but... well, where is this colony?"
America grinned proudly at the thought of his thirteen colonies, and proceeded to answer.
"You can't see it from this far away, but there is a mountain range to the east of us," he began, pointing in the direction of the east, "and on the other side lay thirteen colonies, from one of which I come from."
"Oh!" exclaimed the girl, "That sounds weird, but I never knew that such things existed!" she finished, her eyes sparkling with what America guessed was wonderment. He was still confused as to who she was, and proceeded to find out.
"So, what's your name?" asked America, trying to sound casual and cool, in the same way that England did when he was speaking with other countries. Or at least, that's how he spoke to them in America's presence.
The girl looked confounded. "My name?" she asked uneasily, "Well, I... uh... it's kind of a weird name..." she said sheepishly, and blushed. As she blushed, the warm breeze around them became stronger and warmer, and picked up some dust. America coughed as the dust blew into his face, but the girl seemed just fine in all of it, barely even noticing it, and still blushing. The breeze continued to pick up, and America finished coughing and cleared his throat again.
"It's alright if your name is kind of weird," America began, trying to ease her apparent embarrassment,
"A lot of other countr- I mean people, think I'm a bit strange, but it doesn't bother me too much. Besides, someone as pretty as you shouldn't be- uh... I mean... uh..." America stuttered, not meaning to say that last part. The girl's eyes widened slightly at him, and she smiled a little, blushing even more now. America blushed deeply as well, trying to explain himself, but found himself tongue-tied. As she giggled at his odd antics, he realized something.
"Would she have been able to approach me like she did..." America thought to himself, "... if she wasn't like me?"
America tried remembering his own discovery, thinking back to the time England, France, and Finland approached him...
….
"Hey Finland, is that the kid?" asked France excitedly as the three of them walked up to a tiny America, who was exploring the area around a small bush.
"Y-Yes, that's him," confirmed a nervous Finland. England couldn't contain his excitement any longer.
"I knew it!", declared England, "I get the feeling he's one of us!"
….
"Hey, are you okay?" asked the girl curiously, snapping America out of his remembrance.
"Uh, yea, I'm... fine," he answered clumsily, "Say, have you ever met any other people out here before?" he asked finally. The girl blinked at him again.
"People? Well, yes, I've seen them before. But none of them really talked to me, and I was always confused as to why," she answered, thinking about it as she did. America almost gasped, but controlled himself, trying to keep an air of coolness.
"Wait, so you mean, that I'm the first person to ever talk to you?" he asked impatiently, excited. The girl shook her head.
"Actually, there have been two other people that have talked to me besides you," she explained, "And they were both kind of odd." America perked up.
"Odd? How so?" he asked.
"Well, the first one told me that his name was Francis Bonnefoy, but then when he found out my name, he said that his real name was... uh, France, or something..." explained the girl. America's eyes lit up, realizing that he must have just met another country! And one that lived so close to him, not far away like England and France and the others did. The girl continued on to tell of the second person she met.
"And then, the next person I met was pretty weird too. He did the same thing that France did: telling me that his name was one thing, learning what my name was, and then revealing that he had a different name," she finished.
"Who was this second man?" asked America.
"He said his real name was Spain," she began to answer, "but the first name he gave me, and I remember it well because it was so weird, was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Weird, huh?"
"Ah, so Spain and France have both met you, then..." said America thoughtfully, confusing the girl.
"You know them?" she asked.
"Yes, I do. Or rather, I know France fairly well, but I've only met Spain a couple of times," he explained.
"Oh," remarked the girl, not knowing what else to say. Her eyes wandered around a bit, before fixing back onto America, who was grinning oddly at her.
"What?" asked the girl, starting to blush slightly again.
"You must be a country, right?" asked America brightly, becoming excited. The girl looked at him strangely, looking him up and down.
"Well, you have the potential to be a country, anyway, like me," he thought aloud. The girl realized that America must be like the other two men she met... and her.
"So then, what is your name?" America asked, beaming, "It doesn't matter if it's weird like you said it was, I really want to know!"
The girl blushed slightly again, looking to the ground, but then, after thinking about it, she suddenly gained more confidence and looked straight at him.
"I'm the Wild West!" she exclaimed proudly, pointing her thumb at herself and smiling brightly, "But you can also call me Pacifica."
America blushed slightly at her glowing countenance, and smiled back.
"Awesome! I'm America!" he exclaimed energetically. He walked over to her and held his hand out for her to shake. She looked down at his outstretch hand quizzically.
"What is this?" she asked awkwardly.
"This is a handshake! You take your hand which is opposite of mine and we put them together, and then shake them up and down! Or any direction, if you want!" he explained to her, beaming the whole time, "It's what friends do when they meet each other!" he finished. Pacifica blushed and stuttered slightly.
"... Friends? We're friends now?" she asked weakly.
"Of-course!" America answered, now glowing the same way she did when she told him his name. She held out her right hand and put it slowly into America's right, and he gently began to shake their hands for her, showing her how to do it. She caught on quickly and the two shook hands for another several moments before stopping. Pacifica smiled sheepishly.
"Hey, that's pretty fun, in a weird way. So... now we're friends?" she asked.
"Yea! That's right!" America confirmed, "And I look forward to hanging out and getting into adventures and stuff with you!"
Pacifica blushed slightly, and America took her over to his horse, who was waiting patiently for his master to return.
"I probably won't be able to see you very much for a while," said America, "as my thirteen colonies back east still require my attention. But for now, I some free time! So let's ride on my horse together, and explore the land a little before I have to go!"
Pacifica, who had never seen a horse before, stood in awe at it's height and muscles, and America saddled himself back on top of it. He held out his hands toward her, and she let him pick her up under her shoulders and he lifted her on top of the horse, setting her behind himself.
"You'll need to hold on tight, Miss Pacifica," said America gentlemanly to his newfound friend. She nodded and wrapped her arms around his torso, making him blush a little before commanding his horse to gallop off to the hills and prairies of the west.
Author's Notes: Yay for childhood friends. :) I liked writing this chapter, so I hope you all enjoy reading it. Please let me know what you think! :)
He're a quick biography for Pacifica, aka the Wild West:
...
Name: Pacifica, or the Wild West
Human Name: Mary-Jane Cassidy (Not final yet, which is why I didn't put it in this chapter. If you have a name you like better, please suggest it, and I'll consider it! Make sure it's cowgirl-ish, but not too much so.)
Eye Color: Bright, vivid Blue
Hair Color and Type: Light sandy-blonde, and curly
Age: Unknown, but she has only matured enough to be a teenager so far, at least in this chapter.
Personality: As she gets older, Pacifica develops a sunny, energetic, and competitive personality, and is very sweet to those she cares about. She loves the outdoors and usually camps out under the stars. She is an ace with rifles and revolver handguns, and is a wily and formidable foe. She is adept at forest, desert, and mountain survival and can often be found fighting grizzly bears and stags with her bowie knife, which was made and given to her by America. She particularly good at tracking, and can skin a full-grown elk in less than ten minutes, to the amazement of all who know her.
When she gets angry or embarrassed, a warm, dry wind sometimes surrounds the immediate area, often times kicking up dust and dirt. She usually has a cheerful and sunny demeanor about her, even in the midst of extreme danger; a trait which has rubbed off on America, which explains why he is often the same way.
