Queen of California
The sun was just starting to dip below the peaks of the Appalachian Mountains to the west as a dark-skinned woman in a yellow battle outfit approached an isolated house in the snowy woods. Taking a deep breath, she knocked sharply three times on the door in front of her. A moment later, a blond bespectacled man opened the door. Upon seeing her, the man smiled.
"Oh, hey! California! Nice to see you! But what brings you here today? Do you want to come inside? It's awfully cold out today, isn't it?"
"Thank you, America," she replied, willfully ignoring his overly excitable attitude.
She let him lead her into his living room, where he offered her something to drink, but she just shook her head.
"No, I'm just here to talk about something. I expect you have a moment?"
"Of course I have time to talk to one of my newest states! Congrats again on your ten-year anniversary of your statehood, by the way!" He plopped down on a couch facing her. "So, what's up?"
"'California,'" she repeated, sighing. "You keep calling me that. Mexico called me that, too. And I guess I really am the anthropomorphism of the State of California, aren't I? But that's not what I feel like I am. Spain, the first one to find me, initially called me Califia—Queen Califia, the leader of a supposed tribe of African woman warriors. It took several years before he realized that I am in fact a national anthropomorphism and renamed me as California instead."
She paused here, and America took advantage of her momentary silence to say, "Are you wondering about how you were born and stuff? Because I've found that, as a national personification, thinking too hard about that just gives me a headache. Though that does give me an excuse to eat more ice cream…"
"Be serious for once!" California snapped. "It's a wonder that you think at all, let alone about the philosophy of your birth." America looked at her with eyebrows raised for a moment before she sighed again and said, "My apologies. I feel a little on edge, but I should not treat a superior as I just did. I'm sorry." She shook her head in frustration. "Anyway, how I was formed is certainly related, but what I mainly wanted to talk about is who I am.
"Well, first of all, do I represent the modern US state of California, or do I represent Spain's fanciful notion of an African queen from the Island of California? Because those are two very different things.
"I mean, interpreting myself as an African warrior queen doesn't really work. For one, the women warriors I'm supposed to lead don't exist. I may have been born from the fanciful imagination of Spain and other Europeans, but none of my supposed tribeswomen were. Besides, this 'Island of California' that I rule simply doesn't exist—and it's most certainly not in Africa, considering that I'm as American as you are and you are literally America.
"My appearance, however, clearly does not represent the modern Californian citizen. To get the obvious out of the way, I'm Black. Even though California is halfway around the world from Africa, since Spain thought that I'm African, that's what I look like. But almost every US citizen in California right now is White and of European descent, with no ties to Africa. And my gender—due to the Gold Rush, most Californians are men, yet I am a woman."
"Hold up there, California!" America said, interrupting her stream of words. "Like you yourself said, it doesn't matter how you formed in the past, it only matters what you are now. And you do represent the people of the state of California, whether you think you're meant for the job or not. Take me, for example—it doesn't matter how I originated; I now represent all people in the United States of America. White or Black, young or old, rich or poor, Northern or Southern… And humans come and go, so as the spirit of America changes over time, I represent that change, even if my appearance doesn't. You and any other national personification are the same way."
"Perhaps," California said, "but my appearance never really matched anything except people's imagination. It feels belittling—I am nothing more than an imaginary human who happened to be assigned to preside over a state—initially, the Mexican territory of Alta California, and then the independent Republic of California, and now your state. I mean, I suppose there is not much I can do about this at this point…" She sighed. "Honestly, I have just been wasting your time. My apologies. I hear there's unrest in some of the Southern states; sorry to unload my worries on you when you've got your own problems."
At that, America adopted his more familiar smile. "Hey, no problem! Sometimes, you just gotta rant to your friends! But with regards to everything that's happening in the South, I mean, a bunch of people are calling for the Southern slave states to secede from the Union, and especially with the election of the Northern Abraham Lincoln last November. Who knows what's going to happen once he's actually inaugurated next month!"
California raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound particularly concerned."
"Oh, I am, don't worry." America leaped to his fee. "But I'm a hero, and we heroes don't get down about ourselves! We just get ready to leap and take action! Besides, as I said, if things end up changing drastically with regards to how the Union is structured, I'll learn to adapt. It's what we do as national personifications. Still, I've already started discussing the matter with the new President-Elect. After all, he's the one who'll be getting all the power to stop any civil unrest." He paused a moment before jumping up. "I got the best idea ever! Why don't you go and meet him?"
"And how would that help me?" California asked.
America shrugged nonchalantly. "I dunno. I just thought it'd be good for you to interact with more real people, considering you're trying to juggle your identity as a national personification and your identity as a human, albeit an imaginary one. You've talked with me and a few of the other states, but I get the feeling you prefer to keep to yourself when it comes to your citizens."
California contemplated this proposition for a moment, but before she could come to a decision, America grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet. "Come on, let's go!" he said.
"Unhand me!" she said, wrenching herself out of his grasp, but she followed him as he threw on a coat and went outside.
It only took several minutes for them to get from America's house just outside Washington, D.C. to Abraham Lincoln's in Springfield, Illinois (though it would've taken any normal human the better part of a day to travel the same distance by a regular train). Arriving at a modest yellow house, California raised a hand to knock at the door, but America just barged into without any hesitation. California followed him in, slightly miffed, and the two of them found Abraham Lincoln at a desk in his study, writing a letter.
"Oh, America," the soon-to-be-president said, looking up, evidently already accustomed to America's unannounced invasions of his house. "Nice to see you again."
"Hey, Abe! So! You know how I'm the spirit of America? Well, I'd like you to meet California!" He gestured to the woman standing beside him.
Lincoln raised his eyebrows in surprise before standing and bowing to her. "It's an honor to meet you, California."
"So anyway! California's having a little identity crisis here—she was born from Spain's imagination not as a new nation-state, but as the queen of African warrior women from the Island of California—a people who don't exist. I thought it might help to have her talk to a real person."
"Nice to meet you," California said, extending her hand towards the president-elect, which he shook.
After an awkward moment of silence, America said, "Well, you're here with Mr. Lincoln now, California! I'll be headed out, then—but if either of you ever need a hero, you both know where to find me. Later, dudes!"
America wheeled around and sauntered out of the room. Lincoln turned towards Califia and said, "Well, is there anything I can do for you right this moment? I'd be happy just to chat about life, or…?"
"I mean, I didn't have anything in particular planned to talk about." She gestured towards the desk of the president. "And you seem to be busy, soon to be getting ready for your inauguration in next month. I could come back at a later time."
"I'm merely writing a letter, ma'am. It's not a problem if you'd like to talk right now…" Lincoln trailed off, an idea evidently forming in his head. "If you want to interact with more people, though, I could invite you to a lunch with several of my friends sometime."
California hesitated before nodding. "That is not a bad idea. In fact—introduce me as a human, and don't tell anyone that I am a state. As America told me, it would be good for me to explore my more human aspect. So let us begin introductions anew. Hello, Mr. Lincoln. I am Califia, Warrior Queen of the Island of California. I look forward to meeting your friends, as well."
Author's Note: This ended up being… quite different from how I initially conceptualized this, and I'm not sure if I completely am satisfied with this final version. Initially, I was just wondering what exactly it could mean for Califia in Code Name: S.T.E.A.M. to be the Queen of the Island of California. Somehow, I got the idea that maybe she was a Hetalia-style national personification of California, but she didn't want to reveal this to most people. That led to the question of why she didn't want to reveal that to others. And so, she became a mentally conflicted character, who ultimately winds up trying to talk with America, and later, Lincoln—the mental conflict being, of course, over her split personality as both the mythical queen and the Hetalian representation of a state. That said, looking back on this fic, this could be pretty much just classified as a Hetalia fic, since no direct references are made to Code Name: S.T.E.A.M. aside from Califia's appearance (and even her backstory as a warrior queen is something from Spanish stories of the conquistador era, not specific to Code Name: S.T.E.A.M.).
Also, race. Race is such a difficult subject to deal with. I didn't want it to be the main topic of this fanfic, but it kind of had to be addressed. I hope I was neither too ham-handed nor too irreverent with my treatment of it here. As a side note, a Black woman representing California is actually quite reasonable in the modern era. Even though the 1860s California was roughly 70% White and nearly three-quarters male, according to the 1860 census (at least, in terms of US citizens—I'm not sure if Native Americans were counted), in modern day, California has the highest proportion of "minorities" (as of 2015, non-Hispanic/Latino White don't even have a full majority, at only 38% of the population, so in a strict mathematical sense, everyone's a minority) and a fairly even gender split. (1860 figures in this paragraph are from "Historical Statistics of the United States, Colonial Times to 1970, Part 1," accessible on Google Books; modern statistics are more easily Googleable.)
Published November 7, 2016