" You've changed."
The one observation hangs in the air, an invisible barrier between the two men. For a moment there is silence. The shorter one of the duo stares up at the other with a neutral expression, expressing neither anger, nor happiness at seeing him.
The tallest glances back down at him, amethyst eyes clashing with amber ones.
" That is the funny thing about time Comrade. It does that."
Chapter 1.
Maps are glorious things, at least that is what this young man thought. When alone he would find himself getting lost in the geographical drawings that seemed to never run scarce in the small room. This map happened clearly depicted the 'Middle Kingdom' highlighting its rivers in bright gold,depicting them as golden threads on the green fabric that was China.
A slender finger runs across the Yangtze, tracing its bends with admiration. It can be said that he has a certain fixation with maps, especially this one of his homeland.
When his fingers ghost over the Himalayas a small call of his name scatters all thoughts.
" ….Your tea," a young voice chirps through the thin wooden door. The small slivers of a smile make themselves present on the mans face as he slowly rises and makes his way over to the door, the promise of the hot drink lures him over with purpose.
The young woman,who held the platter in her small hands,looks up at him with tired black eyes and a countenance that seemed to be the only noticeable feature on her otherwise softly rounded face. Her neatly tied back hair displays the slight signs of distress from a day of work, for a few stray hairs broke free from the tightly wound prison of her bun.
China the personification-takes mental note of her appearance. War,it seemed, could erode the youth from anyone. The surrender of Japan in the summer of '45 signaled the end of the second world war, and a ragged sigh of relief was collectively shared around the world. This collective expression wasn't shared equally with all the nations however. War still continued within the lands of the Chinese people.
To fight against the Japanese and then turn around to fight their own people proved not only to be very taxing on the soldiers, and the civilians, but also their personification who stood before this young attendant, a tired and emotionally worn man.
A small please and thank you are exchanged between the two in their native tongue and he takes small pride in the fact that common courtesy was still a thing in times like these.
When the woman leaves him to his lonesome he allows the tea to rest for a moment to stare into the honey colored liquid and the tea leaves that laid underneath the hot surface. At least there was still tea as well. The personification considers these miniscule things to be little lights of accomplishments.
"At least there is still tea," he says aloud with a timid smile that felt way too forced.
He starts to sway slightly in his seat before lifting the handleless cup to his lips and tasting the sweet liquid this years harvest had to offer. The tea proves itself to be as delicious as it was fragrant. Heat forces him to sip slowly,and his slender golden eyes drift back to the map. China seemed so much better flattened down to drawings that preserved its natural beauty. Its past glory.
The Eastern Asian nation stands once more, bringing his tea with him while he heads to the door.
A walk after sitting here idly for so long seems to be much deserved at this point. Upon sliding the door open it reveals another body standing proudly behind it.
" How did you know I was here Yao?" The grinning man asks in his usual cheery tone. Yao yells in surprise, threatening to spill the beloved tea from his spasmodic movements. The other laughs at this, obviously amused, before inviting himself inside the small study.
" My apologies then. I seemed to have surprised you," he muses.
Yao takes a few more seconds to recover from the initial shock of this mans sudden appearance and slowly tilts his chin upwards to display a soft frown.
"And don't you always have a knack for doing that Russia," Yao responds pointedly. The day his neighbouring nation announces that he is visiting beforehand is the day Yao understands westerners.
" Why are you here?Business?" Yao inquires warily as he watches Russia take immediate interest in his books and maps scattered messily about his study. He observes how the other runs his gloved hands over the globe almost possessively.
" Why so formal? Call me Ivan like I call you Yao," Ivan responds, not answering the question,nor giving any hint that he would answer what he was asked either.
Ivan has always been a strange man Yao has grown increasingly wary of over the decades. Fear wasn't the appropriate word, although the other nations would agree that Ivan did have an ominous or even intimidating air about him, but Yao could only see him as just strange and sometimes hard to understand.
The two seemed to be opposites in a lot of things as well, this fact adding onto the mysteries they both found in each other. Ivan posses airy platinum blonde hair that wasn't too carefully styled but still neat in a way, and struggled to pass his reddened ears. Yao dons ink black hair that fell like the silk his country used to pride itself on around his shoulders. Ivan had eyes like blooming violets, they were gentle like the smile that seemed to be painted onto his face. Everything else about him however was as if his creator enlarged him to add fine details(such as his dimples) and forgot to return him to a comprehensible size. He towers over the older nation and is widely built, not fat, yet thick in structure.
In contrast Yao was of a smaller build, not as tall, and possessed various amounts of androgyneity throughout his features. His eyes were a somber golden color, and the most unusual part about him, but also the most interesting.
"Alright...Ivan. What brings you to China?" Yao tries again, a bit slower. His accent always threatened to make Ivan's name unrecognizable, so he takes care to try to say it as consciously as possible, but the van always came out as wahn.
The boorish Russian didn't seem to mind this much because his smile remained unaltered. Perhaps this is from amusement at Yao's shortcoming. This thought both annoys, and humiliates Yao to no end.
Ivan hums thoughtfully, almost as if the reason for his being here was truly forgotten. As he hums Yao carefully watches as the others fingers press into the outline of his own country and push forwards through Mongolia and into his home. Gold eyes shift upwards and stare at him unrelentingly.
" Im here to bear witness," Ivan claims finally. At this Yao's brow raises. What interest would Ivan have in his nations affairs? At Yao's confusion Ivan smiles wider and he glares at the other with a childlike naughtiness.
" Surely you know,Da? Mao is finally the Chairman of your country now. You will be like me, like the Soviets." Like him? Was this a welcome visit? A congratulations?
" What makes you so sure that my people will be like yours? That I will be like you?" Yao asks him carefully. It isn't that being Ivan would be such a horrible thing, but Yao would very much prefer to remain the way he was now, himself, and the same.
The russian nation falters at the lack of enthusiasm. His hand leaves the globe quickly, causing it to spin softly. His boots still damp from snow, walks over to Yao. Yao feels as if his shoulders have gotten heavier from the weight of this stare on him. His pride of course gets the better of him, his chin tilting up in response to this defiantly. Russia observes this before smirking. If you asked him what truly made Yao so interesting to him, he would say it was the masks he wore.
" Tell me Comrade. Where do you stand in this new political spectrum? Did you place your loyalties with your nationalists? Are you not satiated with their defeat, and Mao's victory?" These questions fly like bullets out of Ivan's mouth, but they bounce off of Yao's hardened exterior when he raises a hand to signal a cease fire.
" I stand where my people stand," He answers calmly. This was almost always his stand when it came to politics within his lands, and to him it seemed to be an understandable answer. Ivan could take that whichever he wanted, and perhaps spare Yao of this.
" And where do your people stand?" Ivan presses. Yao pauses.
" Hopefully...Together. Soon." Yao takes a seat and motions for the other to do the same. At the invitation Ivan balks and stares at the other nation while trying to comprehend what he could have meant by that. Nevertheless he grins.
" Such a trivial answer as always," The soviet comments before sitting across from him. Yao sighs in relief momentarily.
" That is what I like about you Yao."
" Oh?"
" Yes. You are unreadable, Always unreadable, I hope to learn how one day," Ivan smirks, hinting at a slightly darker meaning behind his words. China looks at him and then back at the tea again. He would offer the other tea,but Ivan didn't care much for it anyways and tea left to turn cold disturbed the eastern Asian far more than it should.
" How to read me?" Yao asks with what he considers to be just hesitance.
"Fluently," Ivan elaborates. At these words Yao sips his tea and chooses not to press the matter any further. It was too unsettling.
" How have you been doing since the war….I heard that Stalin is a very strict man, that he rules like a man of steel." Would Mao be the same? Did the people of Russia like this ruler? Would his people tolerate Mao's rule?
" He does what is best I think. He keeps everyone in line."
" Is working for him good for you as well Ivan?" Yao presses, expressing his genuine concern. Ivan nods surely and his expression softens. He leans closer eagerly, enjoying the questions like a child does attention.
" Everything is getting better. All will be perfect in due time. I know this."
" When did you get so opportunistic?"China muses. Ivan merely chuckles loudly and grips the table with his gloved hands. That was the only answer he would provide, a sound of merriment to a silly question.
" How long have you been sitting here Comrade? Let's go do something else, Let us go eat. I'm wasting away," Russia whines. Yao nods, dinner would do them both well.
" Even if you were to start wasting away you wouldn't finish until the 90's," Yao comments smugly. Ivan pouts at the joke, but gets up to follow the other anyways.
"I want you to cook for me Yao, not your workers." Yao nearly scoffs. Who exactly did Ivan think he was? To show up and question him like he did and then have the audacity to demand food from him.
Yao opens his mouth to chastise the other but is interrupted when Ivan places a hand on his shoulder.
" I only ask this because you cook the best of course!" The older nations face changes to one of annoyance to one of slight appreciation at this, leaving his scolding to be repressed. Yao grins finally.
" Then I shall cook you something delicious. Something to lighten even the lowest of spirits!" The self proclaimed chef exclaims; The thought of good food emboldened him to put a slight skip in his step as he walks past the other. Ivan nods and follows the ancient home.
It's not very clear why sugared cakes, hot soups, and slices of duck seemed to alleviate any sadness Yao had for even the smallest bit of time. As he shares this meal he forgets to pity both himself, and the others taken away by the carriage of death war coached. Instead he focuses on the delightful tastes of his homeland. At least this one thing would remain comfortably the same.
