Chapter 2


"All right, we're here," says Arthur, and you look up. You've all stopped in front of a huge mansion-like house, which would be rather grand-looking if it were spiced up a bit but now just looks dreary and old and gloomy and gray with damp snow bunched up all over it in places. You decide not to mention it, though, as Alfred is doing quite enough of that already. A whap to the head, courtesy of Arthur, does the trick.

"Is this where the world conference is going to be held, too?" you ask. It doesn't seem much like it.

"Of course not," Arthur says in irritation, although he's lowered his voice, and goes to open the door, which looks old and creaky and dangerous. "It's just a secret little headquarters I made here, just in case we ever have to run from Russia or some other such eventuality."

Eventuality!?

"Don't worry, it won't happen, _ ," says Alfred, slipping an arm around your shoulders comfortingly. "Plus, I hear the place is just chock-full of magical creatures — they won't hurt you, supposedly, although I've never seen any of them. Arthur usually sees things, you know —"

"Hey! I heard that!" Arthur yells indignantly from within the house. "Says the one who believes in aliens and UFOs!"

"They're real, you uninformed idiot!" Alfred shouts. "I'm going to prove to you otherwise, one day!"

"Likewise," Arthur calls back.

Alfred huffs and turns to you. "Shall we go in then, _ ?"

"Uh, sure," you say, after a moment's hesitation. "But why are we here exactly?"

"Well, we can't exactly go to the world conference covered in snow, can we?" Alfred says. "Although I always look awesome no matter what — don't you agree?"

You laugh and walk inside, with Alfred following.

"Was that a yes or a no?" he persists. "Tell me!"

You laugh harder, unable to stop yourself, and Alfred looks slightly affronted. "Don't laugh at me — I was telling the truth!"

"Oh God," you manage to gasp out. "Your humor is just off the charts!"

"R-really?" Alfred looks a bit mollified, and you take the opportunity to run for it before he thinks otherwise. "HEY! Where are you going?"

As Alfred gives chase, you dodge into a dark hallway, the floorboards creaking beneath your...bare feet. You don't have any shoes on. How very interesting.

You spot a light at the end of the hall from an open doorway and you run into what turns out to be a guest room. Arthur is inside, digging through the contents of an old mahogany closet.

"You two are both babies," Arthur informs you sternly as you race past to hide behind his back, just in time before Alfred bursts into the room. "No wars allowed in the house," Arthur deadpans, successfully holding him at bay with a thin wire hanger.

"Okay, okay, I give up," Alfred says, and flops onto the fluffy-looking, very girly bed in the corner. Arthur sees him and screeches.

"Get up off of there, right now!"

"But why...?" Alfred protests, his face buried in a very pink pillow.

"I said, get up! And get your filthy face out of that pillow this instant! I spent a full three days embroidering that, I'll have you know!"

"You embroider?" you ask incredulously, and Arthur gives you yet another irritated look.

"Yes — is there a problem?"

"No," you amend hastily.

"Good," says Arthur before resuming his rummaging.

"By all means judge," Alfred calls out, backflipping off the bed and landing perfectly onto the floor while you watch in wonder. "(Did you like my stunts, _ ?) Anyway, I never heard of a gentleman who embroiders —" Arthur's ears, or what you can see of them, have turned slightly red, and you decide that isn't a good sign.

"I wish I knew how," you interject quickly, and both countries turn to look at you in surprise.

"I expected as much," says Arthur after a moment, not placated at all, while Alfred mouths "Kiss-up" from behind his back. You try to give Alfred an I-probably-just-saved-you-from-an-untimely-death-you-should-be-thankful-right? look, but he doesn't seem to get it.

"Oh, and here." Arthur shoves a small bundle of clothing into your hands, and you look at it and then up at him. "To change into," he says rather brusquely, causing any gratefulness you might have to melt into thin air. "I frankly don't care, but if you wanted to show up at the conference looking less bedraggled and beggarly, here's your ticket."

You really can't quite stand him.

Alfred is looking from you to Arthur in apparent openmouthed shock, and looks as though he might just speak up on your behalf, but you don't really feel like hearing it at the moment.

"Thanks," you say rather sarcastically to Arthur, and make for the doorway without another word.

"Toilet's at the other end of the hall, too, if you ever want to use it," Arthur shouts after you. "And hurry up!"

How very kind of him, you think bitterly to yourself as you look both ways, uncertain of which direction to walk in. In the end you just pick the right side of the hall because it's the farthest from where Arthur is (for a change). He seems to find you an unbearable nuisance anyway, so it would probably be best to keep as far from him as humanly possible. (Even though you're not really human, but that's beside the point.)

As you walk you think wryly that even countries aren't exempt from the flaws that plague regular humankind. But then, to be fair, you aren't exactly in a position to judge either one.

Thankfully you're able to find the right way (no thanks to Arthur) and let yourself into the small restroom. There's a long mirror at one end, and you pause for a moment to look at your reflection in the glass.

A pair of (e/c) eyes stare back at you from the mirror's depths, and you step closer, seeing your own face at last for the first time in — probably a long time. Your face is rather pale, but that's probably because you spent too much time in the cold — it might get better later. And you can see your (h/c) hair at last, just slightly messy and tangled and damp from snow, but nothing a little drying and cleaning couldn't cure.

At the moment, however, you don't much care about that — you're only rather (actually very) curious just what country you might be. But you aren't even sure how you feel about that possibility...you have your doubts, and you begin to think, amassing what little clues you know or remember about yourself in your head. It's a rather humbling little experience, realizing you're second to all these other countries who know where they belong and have a home to return to and a cause to be proud of. To them you would simply be an orphan of sorts. And that sucks. To put it mildly.

You think anyway.

There are several things you know already, might as well start on those.

First, there was the fact that you could speak English just as well as Arthur and Alfred (which was a relief). That meant your possible country was, language-wise, very well versed in English. That was something to start with — though not much, to tell the truth. There were probably hundreds of countries out there speaking the same near-universal language.

And then, second, you were found here — in Russia. Did that mean you were Russian? And (horror of horrors) might you possibly be related to that most dangerous of all countries, according to Arthur? You try to reassure yourself that it isn't likely. For one, you don't know any Russian — or at least, you don't think you do. Maybe, then, you were from someplace close to Russia! ...Hopefully that doesn't make you anyone's rival, or archenemy, or foe, either.

Third — Arthur had mentioned you might be from somewhere cold, judging by your ability to weather the...weather (no pun intended) here in Russia. You must've been out in the snow for quite a while then, before they found you — and you weren't dead, or weak, or anything (though maybe close to it at some point). So...that was a hint. Not a very helpful one at the moment, but a hint nevertheless...at least you won't have to be stationed in any tropical country anytime soon. The thought of being in endless heat does give you a queasy little feeling in your stomach. Or maybe you're just hungry.

"Hurry up!" Banging sounds on the door and, naturally, it's Arthur on the other side. "You've been in there for almost five minutes now — I expect you out here in less than a minute, cleaned up and ready to go!"

Yup. You still can't quite shake off the feeling that they've once been military commanders — Arthur in particular.