"Don't be silly, Mr. Austria. I've never been happier. Leaving Mr. Russia was the best decision I ever made."

"I'm not saying it wasn't. I simply asked –"

"- If I was happy. That's like saying you think I want to be back with Mr. Russia."

"Not necessarily. You could be unhappy for other reasons."

"Like what?"

"Well, your economy and cultural heritage both took a severe beating" [Flinches at term "beating"] "under Soviet rule. Rebuilding must be difficult."

"Not too difficult. It's nothing I can't handle."

"I see. You've been spending a lot of time with Finland and the other Nordics lately. Are they doing anything to help out?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't they? They're my brothers, after all."

"What about the other Baltics? Are they your brothers as well?" [Visibly tenses at mention of other Baltics. Strong association w/ Soviet annexation probable.] The pause had only lasted a couple of seconds, but given how relaxed and confident he'd been at the beginning of the session, it seemed far longer.

"… Sure. I mean, they're a little different. A lot different. I'm further north than either of them, so I'm much closer to the other Nordics."

"Even though you're not generally considered one of them?"

He rolled his eyes. "Come on. Don't tell me you buy that. All you have to do is come to my house to see that I'm a Nordic."

"But you're also a Baltic, correct?"

"Yeah. That's why Russia was able to make me come work for him so – so, ah…" He snapped his fingers thoughtfully. "… quickly. Man, if he'd had to cross the water to get at me, he'd have never managed it! We gave him a real fight, though. It sure wasn't easy for him."

"Even though it was 'quick?'"

"He took us by surprise is all. It happens to everybody once in awhile. You know that, right?"

"Of course."

"Has it happened to you?"

"Well, I was annexed by Germany in WWII, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah, but you were fine with that." ["You were fine with that."] "When else?"

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "None that I can remember off the top of my head. Mostly, I've spent my history losing territory to form other independent countries. Hungary, for instance."

"Th-that's not the same!" He began to gesticulate wildly, growing increasingly agitated as he went on. "Mr. Russia annexed me. He spent most of his time trying to make me act more like him, b-by encouraging immigration and, um…"

"Deportations?"

He sagged back into his chair, massaging his forehead. "It started small enough, but it got worse fast. Every night with Mr. Russia, he'd do worse, take more. I still have the scars. I can prove it. See?" He rolled up his right sleeve to reveal a set of neat, mechanically spaced red marks. "What do they look like to you?" When Austria didn't answer, he got impatient. "Well, what do they look like?!"

"I'm not sure."

"Tally marks! Numbers. Counters. I'm not sure about the exact scale, but I think that each one counts for about 200 p-people." He dug his nails into his palms. Noticing the direction of Austria's gaze, he pulled his sleeve back. "Guess how many there are."

"I really don't –"

"Guess." [Hostile. Projecting as aggression.]

"One hundred."

"Higher."

"Two hundred."

"Higher."

"Three –"

"Higher." He paused, furiously rubbing his right arm, as if trying to force warmth into it after freezing. [Shaking causes (possible): touch memory of cold, anger, fear] "You're not going to get it, so I'll tell you. There're 375 of them. I counted myself. They're all in those neat little rows. He'd make a new one every so often.

Of course, that isn't all that Mr. Russia did. I've got others, from raids and demonstration repression. They're just… uglier. H-he beat me, too. That didn't leave scars… at least, not any that'll last. It just hurts. I always wanted to leave. I wasn't that scared of Mr. Russia, and I knew that I'd be better off without him, on my own for once." He got up and started to pace. "It's really a waste of time for me to be here, you know. Working in Mr. Russia's house didn't change anything about the way I think or act. This won't change anything."

"Are you sure?"

"Don't you think I'd know if there was something wrong?"

"Not necessarily." Austria smiled confidentially. "You know, I've seen you looking at my notebook. Do you want to see what I've been doing?" Estonia stared at him incredulously for a moment, then nodded. Austria ripped out a page and handed it to him.

"So what's this, then? It's just more marks."

"Guess."

"Oh, c'mon. You're not really going to make me –"

"You made me. Go on. Guess."

"Um… When I gave you the number of people each mark meant, you tried to break down one mark into two hundred little ones. One for each person."

"Interesting guess, but no."

He studied it. "There's two columns. Are you comparing me with someone else?"

"Sorry, no."

After a couple more minutes of looking, he shrugged. "I give up. What are they?"

"The left-hand column is the number of times you've referred to Russia in the past hour. Just 'Russia.'"

He looked. There were four parallel marks, crossed neatly with a fifth. (He wondered if writing sheet music had improved Austria's penmanship.)

"And the other one?"

"The big one is the number of times you've called him 'Mr. Russia.' You also called him 'sir' once or twice, but I figured that including that would be cheating."

He looked. Then he looked again. He started counting, marking each neat bundle with a number. Finally, he looked up at Austria. "There's no way," he said flatly. "I couldn't possibly have said it that many times. I'd've noticed."

"Would you? It seems to me that when you did just say 'Russia,' you were making a conscious effort to do so. When you aren't paying attention, you go back to using the honorific." He stared at the sheet in horror, then gestured mutely towards the clock. "Yes, you're right. Our time is up. Shall I see you next week?"

He nodded and backed out of the room, clutching the sheet of tally marks to his chest.