When Russia saw that skinny boy with blond hair, his interest was piqued. He was such a small thing, only a few inches taller than Latvia, and thinner than the models in France's magazines; he doesn't know his "human age", but he would like him to be over seventeen, just in case fantasising turns into something more.
He absently wonders what having sex with someone that tiny – in all senses – would be like, but almost grimaces at how paedophilic that sounds. Again, he hopes he's over seventeen for his own selfish reasons.
The expression in the blond's eyes is partially doe-eyed, and partially bored. It's almost as if it's purposeful, however, and he can't quite explain it; like the curve of the boy's lips that seems kind but feels off, like his own constant smile. He feels like there's a story behind it, something similar to his own damage, but knows he'd have to get close to him to ask something so personal.
"Nice to meet you all," The boy greets, sugar and honey in his voice but nothing that's sanguine, "My name is Cy… Wales. My name is Wales. I hope we'll work well together."
He notices the stumble, as he's sure everyone else does as it wasn't subtle, and wonders what he would have said; it was probably just his name in his own language, if he has one, but he doesn't know. The smile on Wales' lips is crooked, and it would be very endearing if he were completely sure it was real – which he isn't. He's not saying the man he's just met – not even met, really – is a liar, but nothing feels completely real and genuine.
America says something idiotic, but he blocks it out as he does with everything America says, but he sees Wales' eyes – which remind him of sunny country fields that he sees in photographs – switch from soft and sweet to sharp and analytical, which honestly feels more genuine than the "sweet" mask he managed to paste on his face, and even his eyes. The boy mumbles something, but he can't quite catch it, and it passes in the blink of an eye; the sweetness is back and he suggests they move on with the meeting, promptly evading questioning looks from nations sat closer to him.
Russia thinks that he'd only evade once, play the game safely, and indulge the other nations who have only just met him; despite it being 1999 and unusual to add anyone this late in their lives. However, Wales converses with people like he's making his words dance, focusing most of his attention on stroking the others' ego and getting away with giving very little of his own opinions and statistics. It's very impressive and he can almost see the dancer that is Wales' speech twirl and pirouette throughout the room like a star, while lingering very little around himself and moving their arms with the gracefulness of a swan to distract from whatever it is he wants to distract from.
Russia, despite sensing something from the small nation, has no idea what that could be, however. It could be anything, even the entirety of Wales himself; he's seen Lithuania employ the same tactics around himself.
After the meeting, the others sing praises of what a sweet and polite boy Wales is; not to mention pretty, even if he is waif to the point that it's almost terrifying to look at.
All he can see is a boy – maybe a man, if he could judge by that sharp gaze – who has something to hide, and the thought excites him more than a lot of things have in the past few decades. Wales was going to be interesting.
A/N: Ddawnsio - Dance