Oooh, I got reviews! That's always a happy thing. Though school started this week, I succeeded in finding time to continue leisurely writing this bizarre little idea of mine.

An anonymous reviewer HappyChappyWeirdo told me that spelling 'Braginski' with an 'i' would make it Polish rather than Russian. This confused me a bit, and I ended up double-checking an official reference to make sure I've been spelling his last name properly. As it turns out, yes, it's spelled with an 'i' instead of a 'y' or 'iy.' When I read that, I suddenly got the uncanny idea that Ivan and Feliks might be lost cousins or something equally ridiculous. I swear, I laughed so hard my mom asked if I had a temperature.

…Ahh, I'm digressing. Shoot. Anyway, in this chapter, we get to see what happens after the fact and get a peek at what China's up to. Enjoy~!

Uncertainty

It took a good thirty seconds before Ivan could register what he had just done. The whole room had gone silent with his sudden action, and instantly he wished it didn't happen. But there it was—a shaky, hastily-written signature in the Cyrillic alphabet that anyone could identify meant 'Russia.' Next to Ivan himself, America was completely shocked.

"…Sign," he finished hesitantly, giving Russia a weird look. After a moment's pause, he voiced the thoughts of virtually everyone in the room. "Russia, what the fuck?"

…Well, this is embarrassing.

Thinking quickly, Russia put on an innocent smile and softened his eyes. Though he was blushing out of his own humiliation, Ivan managed to cheerfully lie, "I apologize, Amerika. I was much too excited to wait! Talent shows are exciting, da? Therefore, I am excited."

Alfred obviously took the bashful look on Ivan's face the wrong way, because he gave him an appalled expression and swiftly backed away from the much taller country. Up against the wall and gulping painfully, America stuttered, "R-really now?"

Russia suppressed a relieved sigh. At least he did not call me out for the use of circular logic. He gave a nod. "Da."

Silently stepping forward, Canada took the pen from Russia's hand and signed his own name on the sheet. "I didn't know you liked talent shows!" he shouted in his whisper of a voice. "Is there anything you're planning on doing up there?"

"I—."

"Yeah," America laughed, shaking off his discomfort, "I mean, what the hell CAN you do? Crush a puppy beneath your boots? Bite the head off a cow? Pronounce your nasty-ass language?"

Ivan gave him a cold smile. He didn't want anyone to know that on the inside he was shivering and scared and hateful that ink was impossible to erase without whiteout. In all honesty, he didn't want to perform anything on a stage ever. Though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, he was never comfortable in front of a crowd—especially not a crowd of people he knew. Absentmindedly, he reached for the pipe that hung docilely at his side.

Ignoring America, Russia grinned darkly in Canada's direction and responded, "Of course, comrade Matvey. I would not dare sign this if I did not know what I was doing."

Lies.

Matthew shivered at the eye-contact with Russia. Ivan truly hoped it was out of a "shared" excitement for the talent show instead of the ominous evil aura that emanated off of him whenever he was upset, but by the flushed expression on Canada's face, he sadly realized it had to be the latter. Was he really intimidating enough to have people who marginally like him suddenly fear him when he was not in a good mood? Interestingly, what saddened him the most about that is that this blow felt like just another stab to his heart. He had certainly been hit there before.

In order to break up the awkwardness of the present situation, Ivan cleared his throat and nonchalantly sighed, taking a look at the clock, "My, my, it seems I should get going. If I am not home soon, my boss will surely be upset with me. Good day."

Of course, that was a lie as well. If he had wanted, Russia could have stayed for several weeks without any worries with the exception of doing something one might find unseemly in America's country (as the G8 meeting was held there). But Ivan was so ashamed at his impulsive behavior and concerned over what to do that he wouldn't have stayed even if he was paid eighty billion rubles.

As he left, he could hear the conversation resume, complete with Italy blathering on how much fun it would be to do stuff with Germany and France going on a soliloquy on how ravishing he will look underneath stage lights. Passing by England (and consequently terrifying him), Russia could only dejectedly sigh. At least things can't get any worse.

At that moment, his cell phone rang. When he stepped out the front door, he checked the caller ID. Figuring it could be important, he opened it. "Privet, Latvia. What's going on?"

In his static voice over the phone, Latvia spluttered, "G-greetings Russia, sir. L-L-Lithuania said that I should t-t-tell you that Belarus dropped by for a surprise v-v-visit. She's here right now!"

There was an awkward silence.

"…Sir?"

"Ah, дерьмо."

~ Two Halves of a Whole ~

Surrounded by mist, China shivered in the cold. With the blurred scenery obstructing his view of the world, he honestly had no clue as to where he was, how he got there, what his purpose for being here meant. Only that there was a voice, a deep, low, beautiful voice, that filled the air with an enchanting aura of magic and mystery. Where is it coming from? Yao thought. Where do I go?

He looked at the ground. Bitter weeds sporting thorns plagued the landscape, curling malevolently to the sky as if they had a mind of their own. At China's gaze, some of the weeds on the ground moved to reveal small, scattered spots where he could place his feet without harming himself. He shuddered. Creepy. This place seemed so cold. So eerie. So… familiar? That surprised Yao. This place is familiar. He hesitated before the sea of spines, unsure whether or not to take a chance and see where this path led. Placing a cautious foot forward, China instantly heard the voice grow louder to his ears. That sound. It compelled him, like a light would a moth, and before he could stop himself he began to walk towards the source.

The arrangement of the patches on ground made it so that Yao found himself turning his body and moving slowly in time to the rhythmic chant he was so drawn to, avoiding the overhangs of thorns as he did so. With a chill running down his spine, China found himself trying to remember. This song was as familiar as this landscape: he had been here before, he had heard this before, but what and where, he could not tell.

It was beginning to frustrate him.

Even, somehow, the way he moved seemed to be tickling a memory that lay hidden in his mind. He was rising and falling in his movements to avoid being pricked by the spikes. The weight of his body moved from his heel, to the front of his foot, and then lowering down into a normal stance. Left foot change. Right foot change. Box step. With a shudder, China suddenly recognized what he was doing.

I'm dancing the waltz?

The fog cleared up a little, and suddenly Yao found himself at the opening to a clearing. Snow was skating gracefully to the ground as it swirled up again, turning the thorn forest behind China into winter trees. The song had stopped at this time, and the country found someone holding out a hand to him. It was wrapped in a dark gray glove, worn and faded of color after many years of use. Immediately recognizing it, Yao turned towards the eyes of the man this hand belonged to.

Haunting violet, like he always remembered.

That feeling came to him again. Though China could never place what it meant, it would occur whenever he saw him. A fluttering warmth in his stomach that would quickly spread to his cheeks and soften his eyes and gently turn his neutral expression to a smile. With a cautious hand, Yao reached for him…

"WAKEY WAKEY YAO!"

Catapulting from bed, China hit his head hard on the banister over his mattress, making him grunt in pain. Two seconds awake, and already I have a headache. Fantastic. He glowered at the source of the sound, fully aware of who dared to wake him ludicrously early at… eight thirty in the morning? With a groan, Yao remembered that he had stayed up late the previous night for… personal reasons. Personal reasons he hoped neither of his brothers would ever find out.

From the end of the bed, his youngest brother, Korea, was bouncing up and down in his baggy blue and white robe, with his long hair curl bopping the same way. He wore a humongous smile on his face at seeing China awaken.

"Yay! Yao is up! Now let's go make some breakfast—Kiku came back from the G8 and is already eating downstairs."

"Im Yong Soo, do you realize how late I stood up last night? Make your own breakfast, aru. And don't call me Yao—it's disrespectful. You should address me as China from now on, and Kiku as Japan."

Korea pouted. "But—but you're my brother! And if you can call me 'Yong Soo', then why can't I call you 'Yao?' You're confusing me!"

"That's different, aru," China snarled. "I'm older than you."

"Hmph." Yong Soo pondered for a second, trying to come up with a retort. Without any luck, he decided to address the other issue. "Do you really think it's a good idea to have me cook? Remember what happened last time?"

Recalling the previous week's kitchen disaster that involved fire, soy sauce, and a raging panda, China immediately filed Korea as someone who should never set foot in the kitchen again. He sat up in bed, his long hair down from its usual ponytail and feeling his headache come back in full force. "Fine, aru, I'll cook your breakfast. Dear God."

"YES! Thanks, Yao! You're the best ever!" China was about to tell him not to call him that when Yong Soo ran out of the room, happily singing some bouncy Korean techno song that he didn't recognize. He made a mental note to tell him later. First, he definitely needed some tea to clear his mind.

Sluggishly ambling down the stairs, Yao blearily rubbed his eyes to get a better view of the morning household. Japan was in the kitchen washing his dishes, and Korea was tormenting said brother's little dog. Though they did not live with the eldest brother anymore, they would sometimes come to visit for a week or two in the early spring. Kiku looked up from his chores, taking off the hair net that did next to nothing because of how short his hair was.

"Ahh—good morning, China-san!" He called, bowing respectfully at his elder brother. "I bring news from the G8 meeting, if you are interested."

Yao lethargically yawned and poured some of Kiku's preheated water from a kettle to a cup and pulled out a jasmine teabag. After stirring the tea around for a moment and giving a soft stretch, China mumbled, "Hmm? Uhh, yeah. Global energy, right? What's their consensus, aru?"

"America-san changed the topic of conversation on a whim, actually," Japan replied. "He has chosen, rather, to focus on increasing the morale of us countries, most likely to take our minds off of any current problems there might be in our lands."

Inhaling the steam deeply, China took a sip of the tea. With a clearer focus on the world around him, he processed Japan's words. Morale? He tilted his head. "Increasing morale, aru? That's unusual."

"I figured the same thing."

"What's his plan then?"

Japan paused awkwardly, as if he were searching for the right words.

Yong Soo added, "Yeah, America has some pretty damn weird ideas sometimes. Can you actually believe he thinks he has an alien for a friend?"

"Well…"

China ignored Korea and snapped, "Just tell us, aru. Don't beat around the bush."

Sighing, Japan replied, "A talent show."

Yao was so stunned that he nearly spit out his tea. "A what, aru?"

"TALENT SHOOOOOW!" Yong Soo whooped. "This'll be so awesome! You know, I invented talent shows, so I'll be the best. Man, I wonder what I should do? Burp the alphabet? Karaoke? Invent something in front of everyone to prove my awesome geniusness?"

Normally, Yao would have told Korea that 'geniusness' wasn't a word, but he was too busy trying to grasp the situation. Really? A talent show? He wasn't much for performing on stages, but it sounded like it could be fun.

"Is it exclusively for the G8, aru, or can other countries join?" China asked.

Japan shook his head. "Anyone can enter."

"Yeah… yeah!" Korea exclaimed. "You should totally enter, Yao! I bet you could build a Chinatown on the stage in, like, two seconds flat. Think of how impressed the judges will be!"

"Very funny, aru. I'm breathless in my laughter."

"It wasn't a joke."

"Thank God."

"If you do not mind, I have a suggestion," Japan interjected. He cleared his throat and gave China a small smile. "Perhaps you should give a demonstration of kung fu. Something that would make European countries gawk at your skill. You can break a rock with your fist, am I correct?"

This was true. Yao had used kung fu before in self-defense and once succeeded in breaking a rock that was thrown at him by a warring country.

"Oh, please," Korea snorted. "He looks so gay when he practices that. It's like the freaky illegitimate love child of karate and ballet or something equally girly."

On that note, Kiku and Yong Soo began to argue over why Yao should or shouldn't do kung fu, but China wasn't listening. At the mention of ballet, his thoughts shifted back to his previous dream. He would never tell anyone, but dancing with Russia helped inspire several of the moves in his set of martial arts.

"Can I see you again sometime? I would love to dance with you more, da!"

"That would be nice, aru."

Yao felt a twinge in his chest at the memory.

"—okay, China?"

"Hmm?" He jumped, pulled from his fantasy. His eyes locked on Korea, who wore an uncharacteristically sad expression.

"I asked, are you all right? You're crying, man."

The older country blinked his eyes. Sure enough, they were welling with tears, and one of them decided to travel down his face. China scowled mentally. Those memories hurt more than iron through his back. He should know. I've got to stop thinking about him. Forget Ivan—err, I mean Russia. Forget Russia! He is no longer your concern.

Right. Easier said than done. Aloud, he choked back a sob and sniffled, "R-right. I g-g-guess I a-am, ar-ru. G-give me a m-m-m-minute."

Yong Soo and Kiku respectfully stepped aside as Yao stepped towards the back door and headed out into the garden. He looped around to the gate and opened it, its rusty hinges creaking with age. Maybe a nice walk will clear my mind.

To be continued…

Good lord. I'm like, so horrible at writing China. Someone shoot me, augh. I need to read more strips involving him before I attempt this again.

More will come up as soon as possible. Any feedback is appreciated! Yes, I made more historical errors. That's just a given at this point. Feel free to highlight them out and laugh at my shame. Laugh, I say! It's good for the heart!

EDIT: Oh God, both England AND China reacted to the talent show by choking on their tea? Jesus Christ, tea must secretly be EVIL. That's the only logical explanation.