Canada was finally hosting a world meeting for the first time in many years. He was excited, since the last time he had hosted was in 1988 when the Winter Olympics were in Alberta, Calgary. Since then, he'd gained a new Territory which meant a new kid, Nunavut. None of the other nations knew about his Provinces and Territories having personifications but it simply never really came up in conversation. He'd been wanting to tell the others, so when the next world meeting was to be held on his land, Canada arranged for all 13 of his kids to join him.
Alberta/Austin Williams
America had made a mistake. He was under the impression that the next world meeting was being held on his brother's land, and he remembered Canada mentioning that he'd reserve a meeting hall for them at his capital's government building. He was planning on surprising Canada by arriving a week early, but he had made a mistake. Instead of landing in the Canadian Capital of Ontario, Ottawa, he ended up in Alberta, Calgary. He assumed since the olympics were in Calgary at one point meant it was the Capital, but clearly he was wrong.
With no where else to go, America began wondering around the large airport, but he just couldn't navigate the massive building. Every once in a while he would pass a sign saying 'Welcome to Cow Town' or 'This is the Stampede City', and it was starting to get repetitive. He had no idea how to get out of the airport. He'd been able to find the Baggage Claim relatively easy, he just had to follow the crowd, but he couldn't figure out how to leave.
He needed help, because sometimes even the hero needs saving. As he looked around for someone who looked friendly who would help him, his eyes landed on a young teen, perhaps 16, sitting on his own, watching the planes taking off and landing. The teen quickly glanced away from watching the planes to lock eyes with America, and America felt a weird pull to the kid. He dug around in his mind, trying to find an American citizen that matched the teen that would explain the strange familiarity he felt, but he found no such kid. As he was lost in his mind, The teen had stood up and approached America. He lightly tapped America on the shoulder, snapping him back to reality,
"Sir, are ye doin' a'right? Ye were starin' at me," He spoke with an accent that America could only describe as being 'vaguely southern'. America shook his head,
"Nah, dude, I'm fine! I just spaced out, y'know?" He paused to quickly eye the kid once again. There was something so strange and different about him, "actually, d'you mind if you show me the exit to this damned place? I keep going in circles," He added. The kid Smiled,
"Sure, my plane's not leavin' for another three hours, I'll lead you down there...hold on," the kid dashed back to where his seat was and picked up an empty Iced tea bottle and tossed it in the recycling then grabbed his suitcase that he'd left by his seat. He came back up to Alfred and held out his hand for a handshake, "M'name's Austin, By the way, may I get yer name, sir?" He asked. America took his hand and shook, smiling,
"Nice to meet you Austin, my name's Alfred!" Austin returned America's smile and pointed just through a hallway lined with cafés and restaurants,
"Jus' righ' down there, a few turns then your gonna wanna take the airport Shuttle to the other si'e where the Taxis an' Limos Wait," America nodded, then attempted to try to get more out about Austin,
"So, tell me Austin, where are you from?" Austin looked to America, his long, sandy brown hair lightly brushing his large, vaguely purple eyes, and smiled,
"Why, I'm from Edmonton, another big City here in good ol' Alberta!" He paused for a moment to check something on his phone, "and where might yer home be?" America hesitated as he thought briefly of what to say,
"Uh, Washington D.C, In America," Austin smiled at that, and pushed a lock of hair behind his ear,
"An American, huh? Firs' time in Canada?" America shook his head,
"No, Actually, I have a Twin brother who lives here, so I've been here before," Austin raised an Eyebrow at that,
"Really?" He almost sounded sceptical, as if he didn't believe what he was told, "where in Alberta does he live?" America let out a sigh of disappointment,
"I-I... He told me he lived in the Capital City of Canada, and I thought the Capital was here, in Calgary, so I'm gonna need to get a hotel room and book another plane to the real capital," He quieted down, slightly embarrassed at his mess up. Austin merely chuckled,
"Yous really thought that Calgary was the Capital of Canada? Oh, To be an Idiot American,"
"Hey! I'm not an Idiot!" Austin laughed,
"Yeah yeah, whatever. There's the Shuttle waiting platform. You're gonna want to get into the one on ye left side when it comes, and get off on the third stop. When yous get off you'll be facing the door back to ou'side," Austin instructed, leaving behind America and walking back to where he was previously waiting for his plane. America was still confused about that Austin. There was something so, so different and unique about him and Yet America couldn't quite put his finger on What.
British Columbia/Bill Kirkland-Williams
China always made a habit to arrive to the country of the world meeting early in case he wanted to tour around beforehand. He often had fun learning about the other country's people. Of course there was always the second reason he arrived early, and that was to check out the Chinatowns.
He had arrived a week early and decided to take a break from flying and spend some days In British Columbia, where his plane had landed. After quickly registering at the front desk of the Hotel he was staying at and placing his belongings in his room, he set out to explore the great city of Vancouver. Almost immediately after stepping out, he saw an Asian family passing by, conversing with each other in Mandarin. China understood perfectly what they were saying, but he didn't want to pry so he simply gave them a friendly nod as they passed and left it at that.
China was about to begin walking when he heard a quiet grunt from behind him and someone swear in Mandarin. As he turned his head, he saw a young man, probably 17, Dragging a large suitcase behind him while a small blue bird,with what appeared to be a Mohawk, sat on his shoulder. The bird gave a quiet chirp then pecked the man in the ear which earned yet another Swear in Mandarin. China watched as the young man huffed and dropped his suitcase to the ground,
"Ah, Xūyào bāngzhù ma?" China finally spoke up. The young man looked up and locked eyes with China, which sent a strange chill down his spine. He smiled and shook his head, lightly petting the bird on his shoulder,
"Bù, hái hǎo... Do you speak Eng'ish? I prefer Eng'ish, if it's an option," China nodded,
"Shì, I speak fluent English, aru," The young Man let out a sigh of relief,
"Awesome. I ac'ually think I do need your help, could you please he'p me?" China nodded,
"Of course. My name is Yao Wang,"
"Oh, righ', I'm Bill Kirkland-Williams, nice to mee' you Yao," Bill smiled, "and this little dude, is named Stella! He can be a bastar' at times, but I still love 'im!" He said, petting the bird. It gave a chirp, ruffled its feathers then leaned into Bill's touch.
Wait. Kirkland-Williams? China knew Kirkland was England's human last name, and he was pretty confident that Williams was Canada's human last name. He watched as Bill attempted to get Stella out of his hair while the bird tried to make some sort of nest out of Bill's Thick, Black hair being held in a short, loose ponytail. China let them have their little squabble and he continued to think of how this kid could have both England and Canada's last name. There wasn't another Nation that he didn't know about, was there? He looked back to Bill who was now holding Stella in his hands and lecturing the small bird and he felt a pang of familiarity. He searched his Mind for every one of his citizens, trying to see if that was why he felt familiar, but he couldn't find any that Matched Bill. He thought back to the name. That god damned name. Kirkland-Williams. England-Canada. He wanted to ask the young man about it, but when he turned around to question Bill, he was gone. All that was left of him was a feather from Stella and a piece of a tag that had ripped off his bag. The tag read 'rnment of BC'.
New Brunswick/Marc Williams
Upon hearing that the next world meeting would be in Canada, Denmark immediately got to packing and headed out on a plane to Canada. While he didn't know very much about Canada as a person nor as a country, he was excited. It was a new place, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been to Canada so he decided he'd visit early to get a feel for his surroundings. He knew the Meeting was going to be in Canada's Parliament building at his Capital, but Denmark wanted to check out the other Provinces and Territories. Unfortunately, by the time he had booked a plane ticket and flew down to Canada, he only had time to tour one Province. That one province was the second most Eastern of Canada's Provinces and Territories, New Brunswick. The province was also the second smallest Province/Territory Canada had, which Denmark found a bit amusing. He spent his first few days driving around the small province and he was doing just that, catching occasional glances to the grassy wild lands to the side of the road when he approached a sign. In Danish. It read 'Velkommen til New Denmark'. Alright, now he was confused. New Denmark?? He didn't remember anything about a New Him. Wanting to find answers and quick, he pulled into the first Gas station there was, where another person was filling up their car. He had long, Wavy Blond hair that Reminded Denmark of France and when he caught a quick glimpse at his face, he saw pale Blue eyes that resembled France's own. Then he felt a wave of familiarity wash over him. Denmark didn't know what to think. Quickly checking his inner-catalogue of his own people, he found nothing that would explain his sudden fondness towards the man,
"Salut? Ton char é ti en pretty good shape?" He was snapped back to the real world by someone questioning him in a mixture of French and English. It was the guy who was filing up his car,
"Uuuhh, Je ne sais pas parle Françias?" He attempted, trying his best to remember how to tell the guy he didn't speak French. After a second of processing, the apparent Frenchman spoke again,
"Right, Sorreh 'bout dat." He stopped to sneeze and mumbled some French under his breath, "Sorreh again. You were starin' at me, for what reason were you doin' dat?" He asked, speaking in a strange accent that sounded like all the UK accents in one,
"I didn't realize I was staring at you, Undskyld," the blonde nodded,
"Very well. are you just passin' by, den?" Still confused with the feeling he got when he initially met eyes with the other, Denmark simply shook his head. The other man raised an eyebrow,
"Realleh?" Denmark nodded,
"I was planning on just passing through, but as De- as a Denmark Citizen, I'm interested in this 'New Denmark'," He explained. The man nodded then put his hand out,
"Name's Marc,"
"Mikkel," Denmark gave, Shaking Marc's hand. Marc gave him a smile then held up a finger and quickly ran inside the gas station to presumably pay for the gas. A minute passed and Marc came back out with a bag of chips and a packet of Swedish fish,
"Tak for at vente," he grinned to Denmark, which sent another wave of strange warmth over Denmark that left him standing there, distracting him from Marc's incorrect Danish,
"I-It's no problem, Ja?" Marc gave a nod,
"Ja, now, as I was wantin' to say," he paused to open the door to his car and tossed in the chips and Swedish fish, "If you're lookin' to learn more 'bout New Denmark, dere's a map just' down de road at de entrance to de town itself. I'm pretteh sure dere's a Moo-zeem somewhere in town," Denmark nodded in understanding, ignoring the mispronunciation of Museum. Marc opened his car door once again and waved to Denmark before telling him he had a plane to catch. Denmark smiled and waved as the Blonde man got into his car and drove away, Exiting New Denmark. What a strange man.
Nova Scotia/Charlie Williams
Outside of the horror stories Germany and America occasionally told about Canada during war times, Japan knew next to nothing about the younger nation. He understood Canada was the second largest country, second only to Russia. He also knew that Canada was connected to three different seas, which Japan could only assume meant good seafood and Sushi, what with the large variety of fish available to him and his people.
It was for that reason that Japan was choosing to stay in Halifax, Nova Scotia for a few days before the world meeting in Ottawa. Halifax wasn't just a city, it was also a port where fishing boats often parked to unload their catches of the day or week and so there was hardly ever a shortage of fresh fish.
It was his second day in Halifax when he had a run in with an unusual Young lady. She had medium length, Ginger hair that had a brown tint to it. Her green-blue eyes stood out from the rest of her outfit which consisted of dull and well-worn fishing gear. Japan had spotted her bringing in a Haul from one of the larger boats with the help of three much larger and much older men.
Wanting to ask her some questions, Japan walked up to her as the rest of the fish was dropped off in a container on the dock. He walked up her and spoke up,
"Um, Excuse me, Misu, I'm a tourist, and I wasn't hoping I could ask you a few questions?" The lady turned around and she and Japan locked eyes. The second their gazes met, Japan couldn't help but feel like he should know this woman, that maybe he'd seen her before. Doing a quick run through of his own people, he confirmed that she wasn't one of his, which just made him more confused. He guessed he spaced out, because next thing he knew he felt a cold hand press against his exposed neck and he leapt back, caught off guard by the lady's freezing hand. He looked over to see that she was giggling to herself and he let out a huff of relief,
"Sorrah Mistah, Ya asked meh a question then immediately began ta fall inta nevah-land. I had ta snap ya outta it somehow, since ya weren't respondin' to ma words," she shrugged. Japan nodded slowly and studied the woman, only for his thoughts to be interrupted by her speaking up again, "ma name's Charlotte, but I prefer Charlieh," Japan nearly bowed but stopped himself as he remembered that wasn't a custom in Canada,
"My name is Honda Kiku- er, that is, Kiku Honda," he corrected himself, once again having to remind himself that the Western nations did names backwards. Charlie giggled again,
"Vereh well T'an, I'm sorrah ta say that I can't answer ya's questions. I have a plane ta catch in a few hours, I need ta get home now, Sorrah," She waved goodbye to Japan and skipped off, humming a tune to herself that Japan didn't recognize. Something was up about that girl, but he didn't know what. He kept an eye out for Charlie wherever he went in case he would happen to see her again, but all he had was that one encounter, and the leftover bubbly-ness she had briefly imparted to Japan. He tried remembering every detail about her and when he began thinking of her face and what it looked like, he came to a realization. Charlie had Burn marks on her neck. Pretty serious ones too. They were hardly visible,but with his photographic memory, Japan was able to look back and notice that small detail he missed the first time. The scar, while hardly being visible, bore a remarkable similarity to what Japan himself had on his arm from when he was Bombed during the Second World War. He shivered at that thought as he remembered the World Wars and the terrible, painful memories that came with them. Not wanting his mind to linger there, he approached one of the other fishermen that Charlie had been with,
"Um, Sumimasen, Who exactly is Charlie?" He asked. The fisherman turned from where he was checking the fish and laughed,
"Hah! That's a good question, kid!" The fisherman slapped another fish around the container, "She's kinda always been 'ere, y'know? None of us know much 'bout 'er, but she's brilliant beyond her years!" The man laughed to himself, "She's quite excitable and bubbly, but a lot of us think it's some sorta Façade," Japan raised an eyebrow. If he wasn't confused before, he was past the point of Confusion and was now completely lost,
"And why do people think it's a Façade? She seems quite young, aren't most young people like that?" Japan questioned. The Fisherman continued working and talking, never taking his eyes off the fish,
"Shes got this massive burn scar that stretches up her neck, and she says it goes all the way down to where her heart is... of course, no one has actually seen if the scar goes to her heart, but it's hard denying the scar when it's visible on parts of her neck," Japan nodded,
"Well, Arigatō, I'd better be off now, have a good day, sir," the man waved to Japan as he walked away, and searched for somewhere to eat. All Japan could think about was who Charlie was and what she could be hiding, and why he felt the way he did in her presence.
The Territories/WematinWillowNukilik
Russia hated the cold. He hated everything that came with winter time, and yet there he was, walking around Whitehorse in Canada's Territory known as Yukon. As much as he despised the cold, he had to admit it made the warmth feel so much better when summer came around.
As he walked around Whitehorse, he noticed what appeared to be a young boy, probably 14, with lightly tanned skin and long, wavy, black hair. The moment he laid eyes on the boy, he felt a familiar warmth wash over him, and something told him to approach the boy, however before he could do that the Boy approached him and tapped his arm, gaining his attention,
"Kakî- Wîcihin cî?" the boy spoke in a language Russia didn't recognize, which threw him off. Did Canada have his own secret Language that only his people knew? No, that couldn't be possible, They'd know by now if that was the case, so just what was this oddly familiar boy saying? Before Russia could question it, the boy spoke up again, "Sorry, I meant can you help me? I lost my brothers, they wandered off and now I can't find them," The boy corrected himself in English. Russia considered declining the boy's plea for help, but then he felt the strange pull to the kid again and he couldn't help himself when he spat out,
"Da, I'll help," the boy's faced lit up and he smiled wide, grabbing Russia's hand and shaking it,
"Thanks! My name is Enkoodabaoo, Kiwêhowin?" Russia stared at the child. Sure, Russian names were sometimes long, but Enkoodabaoo? He was under the impression that Canada was influenced by England and France, and he knew for a fact that that name was neither English nor French, "sorry, it's a bit of a hard name for foreigners, so you can call me Willow," Russia slowly nodded,
"I'm Ivan," Willow nodded and smiled,
"Poor îyapîw is probably worried sick," Russia heard the boy say to himself,
"Is... Eya-pwe one of your brothers?" He attempted to pronounce the word Willow had just said. Willow gave a small chuckle and shook his head,
"Namôya, my brother's' names are Wematin and Nukilik! Wematin is my older brother, and Nukilik is younger. I'm the middle brother, of us three!" Willow smiled, presumably at the thought of his brothers. Then Russia smiled. Why did he smile? He wasn't even sure himself, but there was something about this kid and his smile that was so contagious,
"Tak, what do your brothers look like?" Russia was now dead-set in finding Willow's missing brothers. He wanted to help this child, and he was about to swear to himself when his thoughts were interrupted by another wave of warmth washing over him. He felt the presence of someone nearby, like how he felt Willow when they first met. He looked around, trying to catch the eye of someone who resembled Willow, Russia having completely forgotten that Willow had described his brothers while he was stuck in his mind,
"They don't know the city very well since they live in the other Territories, and oh gods, îyapîw is gonna kill me if little Nîpî gets hurt," Russia looked to the kid, slightly concerned then remembered that it was a figure of speech. Russia looked to Willow, then scanned people that he could see in the city, searching for someone with similar features. What he failed to do however, was look behind him because before he knew it, Someone came running at Willow, crying in the other language. Russia quickly jumped aside, to see that the kid who had tackled Willow, and nearly threw him to the ground, was a very young boy, probably 10 years in age,
"Pôyô! Pôyô! I'm fine, Little Nîpî, I'm fine! This kind man was helping me look for you and Wematin," Russia assumed that the kid was Willow's younger brother, Nukilik. When Nukilik turned around to look at Russia, He felt yet another strange sense of familiarity from the young boy,
"Nitôtêm!" Nukilik tan up to Russia and squeezed his legs in a surprisingly tight hug,
"Nukilik, 'Mwâc! Leave the poor man alone!" Russia chuckled, and looked to Willow,
"One more to find, Da?" Willow nodded,
"Âha," Russia didn't understand but assumed it meant 'Yes'. They walked around Whitehorse for a few more minutes, Nukilik and Willow were conversing with each other in their own language and Russia kept his eye out for an older teen. He looked to Nukilik, and took note of how he also had lightly tanned skin, and long black hair, though it was up in a bun.
Then he heard it. Loud shouting in that language he didn't know. Going off Willow's and Nukilik's faces, he decided it was safe to assume they were swear words. The person yelling was on the other side of the street but was making his way across, carelessly running to Russia's side of the road. Nukilik yelled some words Russia didn't know and ran into the man's arm. He too had long, black hair, though it was more on the brown side, and his skin tone was lighter compared to the other two,
"Where did you go?! One minute you're right next to me, the next you're across the god damn city!" The older teen yelled, clearly very angry. Willow quickly uttered what Russia assumed to be an apology and the other quieted down, "you're lucky Nukilik stayed with you, had you Lost him I'd have cut your throat here and now," Russia smiled. He loved a good old fashioned threat, no matter the circumstance. He quickly made the connection that this was Wematin, and he smiled when Willow supposedly introduced him. Wematin nodded and held out his hand, "thank you for helping find my brothers," he said in a calm voice. Russia shook his hand and he felt yet another strange feeling of familiarity. There was definitely something about these brothers, but he couldn't figure out just what it was.
After Wematin had shook his hand and thanked him, Nukilik hugged his legs once again and Willow simply gave a smile and a wave as they headed off to somewhere else together.
Saskatchewan/Beck Williams
Germany wasn't sure how he felt about the world meeting taking place in Canada. He and Canada hardly ever talked, if at all, and the few times Germany had took notice of Canada was during the World Wars when Canada and his troops took out his own troops. He still had trouble wrapping his head around Canada as a person. He was shy, quiet and nervous, yet to face him on the battlefield was a terrifying thought as he was ruthless and straight to the point. His people were also cunning little shits during the First World War, and they became even more terrifying when they adopted 'No Mercy' to their skill set. He got shivers just thinking of them.
Needing to take his mind off the painful memories, he decided to take a walk around the city he was staying in. He'd ended up in a place in Saskatchewan called MooseJaw, which he found a humorous name. As he walked around the city he scanned the crowds. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but when he saw a young man yelling at another older man, he felt that was it. Why did it feel that this man was who he was looking for when even he didn't know what he was doing? The young man finished yelling at the other scruffy man and when he turned around to leave his eyes caught Germany's. With a scowl, the angry man approached Germany,
"Oi, watchu starin' at, Blonde boy?" Germany scoffed, watching as the man flicked his floppy Brown hair out of his red-brown eyes,
"Es tut uns leid," The man's eyes widened as he scanned Germany up and down,
"That's a pretty heavy accent you got there, whatchu doing here in good ol' MooseJaw?" Germany's feeling of familiarity Rose as the man stepped closer to inspect him. He stepped back and nodded, "Name ist Beck Williams. Wie heißt Du?" Germany, slightly surprised at the sudden German that was spoken to him, took a second to reply,
"Ludwig B- vait, Williams?" That was Canada's hman last name. Beck nodded,
"Oui, je m'appelle Beck Williams," Beck switched to French, confusing Germany even more. Why was he suddenly speaking French? No, he had to stay focused on the Williams part of this man,
"Vould you perhaps happen to-to know someone named... um... I zink his name is... uh... I zink it's Matthias," Beck scoffed,
"You don't even know his name? That's Pathetic, German boy,"
"Can you not call me German boy vhen I'm clearly older then you are?" Germany was beginning to get annoyed, but at the same time was having trouble staying angry at the boy. Yes, Beck was being rude, but he couldn't bring himself to hate the shorter boy. Did Canada split himself and create a new nation? No, that didn't explain why Germany was having trouble disliking him. He searched his mind for all of his Citizens, hoping that Beck was a German citizen and that was why he felt familiar to him. Unfortunately, he found nothing,
"Hey German boy, did ya hear me? I said I'm older then I look so watch your mouth, ye-
Well I'm long gone to Saskatchewan
Long gone to Saskatchewan
Where the gettin's good if you're getting gone
I'm gonna put my boots and my hat back on
Well it's a hell of a battle to try to raise Cattle
In the prettiest place on the hoof
Oil refiners and lot sub-dividers
Got land prices thro-
Fuck, Which pocket is my phone in? Shit!" Germany heard a country song singing out, and looked to Beck, who was fumbling his phone as he pulled it out, "Yes, what'd you want, Mattster?... No, I don't have a plane already booked... Wha- No!..." there was a long pause where Beck listened to the speaker on the phone, "Yeah yeah, Just shut up, will ya? I'll get on a plane tomorrow to meet ya and the others, though it'll be your fault if Bill's god forsaken bird dies cuz it tried to peck out my eyes again... oh fuck off, I was kidding, Mattster, you know I wouldn't actually kill Bill's bird right? If I were to kill anyone's pet it'd be one of Austin's cows, those things are annoying as all shit... Okay, Okay! Jeez, no need to get angry, I won't kill anyone's pets... yeah, okay, bye, see ya, Mattster!" He hung up and looked to Germany, "Uh, did you hear that?" Germany nodded, confused about thoe phone call, "Welp, I gotta go, See ya, German Boy!" Beck slapped him on the back, with an unusual amount of force for someone his age, and ran. He nearly hurt Germany, But there was no way a simple human could hurt a Nation. He began to think about the last name. The whole reason Nations had human names was to blend in, and one way some nations did that was pick generic or common names. Perhaps Williams was just a common Last name in Canada? Yeah, He Figured that's it, and continued his walk around MooseJaw.
Manitoba/Logan Williams
Iceland was bored. It was that simple. He was fed up with waiting for the next meeting so he left early. He arrived in Manitoba, at the Winnipeg James Armstrong Richardson International Airport and prepared for a long drive out to New Iceland. His original plan was to simply drive around Manitoba just as Denmark was doing in New Brunswick, when he received a text from Denmark remarking about a settlement he found in New Brunswick called New Denmark. Curious, Iceland looked up New Denmark, and through that found out about New Iceland. Perfect, New Iceland was even in Manitoba, the Province he was planning on Visiting.
So, when he landed, he rented a car, which took nearly two hours, and drove out to New Iceland. While the drive was only just over an hour long, he had touched down late so by the time he was on the road it was getting late. He decided to pull into an outside plaza and entered the first restaurant he saw. 'Swiss Chalet'. He went in expecting Swiss food, but when he opened the doors, he caught a huge and sudden waft of Barbeque, Steak and Seafood. Not what he expected, but that'd be fine. He went up to the lady at the register and asked for a table, only to find that the restaurant was full. Apparently Swiss Chalet was big in Canada. The lady estimated an hour until another table be cleared and he decided that he could wait. A few minutes later, a short, blond young man entered and also asked for a table, only to be told the same thing. He nodded, saying he would wait and sat down on the bench across from Iceland. He pulled out his phone and Iceland assumed he started texting someone.
At first the feeling was just Faint. He'd barely noticed it, but the more he was around the blond, the more he felt at home. He felt strangely like his own land felt, so he searched his head for an Icelandic citizen that would be this young man, and yet he found nothing and By the time an hour passed, His sense of home was clear as day.
The lady at the register looked up from her Tablet, smiling,
"Excuse me, Sirs," Iceland turned to look at her, while the other young man did as well. That was when Iceland saw his face properly for the first time. Violet eyes hidden behind small, subtle glasses, short, blond hair and a lightly freckled face, "We have one free two-person table. I understand you two do not know each other, but I ask that if you two wish to eat, you eat together," She spoke, holding her tablet to her chest. Iceland look to the other man and nodded, confirming that he was okay with it. The other nodded back and looked to the lady,
"That'll work out, Miss, take us to the table," She smiled and began walking, taking the two apparent young men to their table. She handed them the Menus and left them to read about the food.
"Uh, excuse me, this is in French, are you able to translate this for me?" Iceland looked up to the man across from him. The other blond let out a brief laugh then pointed to the menu,
"Flip it over. You're looking at the French side," he commented. Sure enough, When Iceland flipped the menu over, it was in English. Now he felt stupid, "Logan, by the way," he smiled. Iceland nodded,
"Emil... Nice to meet you, Logan," a few minutes passed, and a young man approached their table,
"Good evening, Sirs, I'll be your waiter for the night. Are you ready to order?" Iceland and Logan both nodded and proceed to list off their order. They mostly ate in peace and stayed silent, hardly ever conversing with each other. They soon enough finished eating and waved goodbye as they parted ways, going the opposite direction as the wandered to their own cars in the parking lot.
Prince Edward Island/Edward Williams
"Sir, are ye okah?" His head hurt. What did he even do last night? Probably drink. That was always a safe conclusion if he happened to forget the previous night, "Sir?"
"Fa-wha? Who? Where? Huh?" He opened his eyes to be face to face with a young boy. He had curly, Ginger hair and his face was littered with freckles. He had bright green eyes that reminded him of his damned younger brother and his eyebrows even looked the part, though no one could match England's own eyebrows,
"Sir? Who's yer Mudder and Fadder?" Scotland looked at the boy, "Did ya hear me, sir? Who's yer Mudder and Fadder? Dere's talk o' dirt comin'!" Confused, Scotland continued staring at the young boy. He couldn't have been any older then 15, and yet the boy spoke like a concerned elderly man, "Sir?" Scotland grumbled, and slowly sat up, waving the kid away,
"Lea'e me aloyn! Yer spootin' Feckin' nonsense!" The kid stood up and pouted,
"Well Feck you too, den! Aye'm jus' Trynna help ya get back hoame!" Scotland scoffed as he stood up, finally now realizing he was in what appeared to be a small wooden house. Everything had a rustic touch to it that made it feel homey in a way. Actually, now that he thought about it, the kid reminded him of one of his own citizens. Hell, he was even getting the strange, visceral feeling that came with meeting one of his own outside of his land, "will ye let me help ya, or are ye jus' gonna keep feckin' yellin' at me?" Scotland grumbled and looked around, trying to figure out where he was,
"Ye waur askin' whaur mah mom an' dad waur! T'at has naethin' tae do wi' gettin' me hoame!" The boy huffed,
"It's a figure o' speech! When Aye ask where your Mudder and Fadder are, Aye'm askin' where you come from!" Scotland began bickering with the kid,
"How was aye supposed tae kno t'at! Aye've ne'er heard t'at sayin' before!"
"E'eryone 'ere Says T'at! Where've ye been livin?!"
"Whaur ha'e aye been livin'?! whaur ha'e ye been livin'?! that's ne'er been a sayin'!"
"Yes it 'as! We're ye's at de construction of de Purple House or Somet'ing?"
"Feckin' Purple house? Whaur da Feck do ye t'ink we are?!"
"Aye don't know where ye t'ink ye are, but Aye found ye passed out on de side o' de road in Charlottetown!"
"An' whaur de Feck is Charlottetown?! Aye'm not in Scotland, T'at's fer sure, so whaur am Aye?!" The boy hesitated, giving Scotland a weird look,
"PEI... as in Prince Edward Island... as in the Canadian Province... as in Canada..." he stated as if it was obvious. With a sigh, Scotland pushed the kid aside and attempted to find the kitchen. He went through the small and narrow hallway and entered the first room which happened to be the Kitchen.
As he entered, he noticed two out of place things. Two flags. The first he recognized as the Canadian flag. Right, the kid had told him he was in a Canadian province. The second, however, he didn't recognize as any nation's flag. For the most part, him and the other nations were able to recognize each other's flags almost like it was instinct, but he couldn't place what flag the second one was. It was white, with checkered Red borders on the Left and bottom of the flag. The top of the flag had a thick Red border that had a stretched out Lion on top. In the centre, a patch of land was depicted with three thin trees to the left, and a large, thick tree to the right on the land,
"Aye take it ye Scottish, den?" Scotland nearly jumped at the kid's voice and turned around to look at him,
"YES! Aye'm Scottish! What's yer name, kid? Whaur yer parents?" The boy giggled, and walked into the pantry connected to the kitchen,
"M'name's Edward, an' I don't 'ave parents," Scotland sputtered as Edward exited the pantry with a box of jammed-filled cookies,
"W-w-wha- huh? N-n-no, wha-what? Ev-everyone has parents!" Edward shrugged, biting into a cookie,
"Not me,"
"So ye mean yer an orphan, den?" Scotland asked. Edward smiled and silently offered Scotland a cookie which he declined,
"Nope! Aye literally don't 'ave a Mudder or Fadder... well, I guess aye 'ave a Fadder, in some way, doe aye don't T'ink o' him as my Fadder," confused, Scotland spoke up again,
"Wha-"
"Aye'm not talkin' 'bout it, yer all better, out ye go," Edward shooed Scotland to the door and pushed him away, smiling as he waved and shut the door. Surprised at the kids sudden change in demeanour and looked around, trying to find somewhere else to go, only to see that the closest house was a good 1000 feet and the entire rest of the land was fields. Oh dear god, it's like Wales' or the Ireland's' countrysides all over again.
Newfoundland and Labrador/Jackson O'Connor
Ireland was visiting the Newfoundland part of Newfoundland and Labrador. He'd touched down just an hour ago, and now he was searching for his tour guide. He'd printed out the paper that had the young man's name and house address along with his phone number. He was texting with him and agreed to meet at some Café in the airport call Tim Hortons. He looked at the paper again, and read his name. Jackson O'Connor. Same last name as his own human last name. As far as he knew, O'Connor was a common Irish last name, so that didn't surprise him. The whole reason he was even here in Newfoundland was to check up on the descendants of his own people that had migrated to the very province centuries ago, so it was just perfect he ended up with someone who was so clearly of Irish descent if the last name was anything to go off of.
He soon found the Tim Hortons in question and took a seat while he waited for Jackson. In less then a minute a man came dashing to his table and hung his bag on the chair across from him,
"Stay where you're to!" He quickly dashed off again leaving Ireland to question what had happened. Soon enough, after about three minutes, he returned and Ireland recognized him as Jackson. He also recognized him as something else. He wasn't sure what else he was, but there was something about the guy that simply didn't sit right,
"So, Jackson, right? Nice to see ya in person," Ireland said, as Jackson made himself comfortable in his seat. Jackson nodded and looked up to Ireland,
"Eh, b'y, It's nice ta see ya in person, too! How's you gettin' by, Cocky?" He asked,
"Uh, pretty well Aye guess, bit jet lagged, but y'know, t'at comes wit' t'e experience," Ireland nodded, looking to the counter where doughnuts were being displayed, "aye'm gonna pick out a doughnut and drink, would ya like any?" Ireland asked. Jackson nodded,
"Eh, b'y, Aye'll 'ave a small box o' Timbits an' a double-double," Ireland nodded, not knowing what either of those two things were, but figured the cashier would. He ordered the timbits and double-double for Jackson and got himself a Cappuccino with an Original Glazed doughnut. While he was waiting for his order to be done, he finally decided to check all his own citizens if he did infact have a Jackson O'Connor. He had plenty of Jackson's and plenty of O'Connor's and even a few Jackson O'Connor's, but none of them matched this young man. He picked up his order as it was called and brought it back to Jackson, who muttered a quiet thanks as he grabbed his box of Timbits from his hand,
"By T'e wae, call me Rocky, It's what me ol' cocks call me, and aye can tell we're gonna be good friends!" Ireland nodded, slightly confused,
"An' How'd ye get Rocky from Jackson?" Jackson shrugged,
"Aye Dunno, how d'ye get Iggy from Art'ur?... shite, I've outed meself, 'aven't aye?" It took Ireland a moment to process what he heard. Iggy from Arthur. That was what he and his brother's called England, and Arthur was England's human name,
"You know my brother?" Jackson shrugged,
"Ne'er meet the fecker, but me Fadder of sorts knows 'im. Didn't know ye two were brudders, ye got two different last names," Ireland nodded, trying to work out who this kid's father was if England knew him. Even more concerning, Jackson had heard his father calling England 'Iggy' which meant that the father in question was aware of who England was. Then there was the fact Jackson referred to England as a Fecker, implying that what he heard from his father weren't good things... not that he necessarily disagreed with the notion that England was a bad person. Still, he had to press for more answers,
"How's yer Fat'er know Art'ur, t'en?" Jackson took a sip of his coffee then spoke,
"Uh, he works fer T'e Canadian government...Luh, Aye'm not in t'e mood fer t'is, can we just lea-
I'se the b'y that builds the boat and
I'se the b'y that sails her and
I'se the b'y that catches the fi-
Fecking hell!" He was interrupted by a phone call, the ringtone resembling a sea shanty, "What're ye callin' me fer, b'y?...you're Feckin' kidding me, I though ye were jokin' 'bout T'at... yer right angry, eh, b'y?... A'right, I'll get a plane an' see ye soon," He hung up the phone and looked to Ireland, "S'rry, Aye'm gonna have ta call in someone else ta take me place, aye'm needed somewhere else, S'rry, b'y," Jackson pulled out a pen from his jacket pocket and motioned for Ireland to pull out his paper. Ireland did so and watched as Jackson wrote down a new name and address and quickly got up and left, waving goodbye. Ireland looked to what he wrote and got up, walking down to the taxi and limo drop off so he could be driven to the new address he was given.
Ontario/Kyle Williams
France was grateful that Canada had allowed him to stay at his place a week before the meeting. The last time he has visited Canada was nearly a century ago, and even then he hadn't been there for long.
Canada was stuck at his house organizing the upcoming meeting so France decided to take a walk around the city. He lost track of where he was walking, as he let his legs take him wherever and he hardly payed attention to his surroundings. It was getting about lunchtime, and he didn't want to miss Canada's blessed home-cooking, which meant he had to figure out how to get back.
Not wanting to get even more lost then he already was, France approached a young, friendly-looking man who was presumably texting on his phone and leaning against the wall of a building,
"Excusez-moi monsieur, could you per'aps 'elp me get back t-"
"Fuck off, French bastard. I'm not in the fucking mood," France gasped, and stared at the young man. His blonde hair, while shorter then his, resembled the Frenchman's own locks. He had wavy, dirty blond hair that framed his face, and bright blue eyes with eyebrows that resembled England's own Thick eyebrows. Then France felt an overwhelmingly large sense of familiarity wash over him. It was like looking at one of his own citizens on foreign land. There was just something so familiar about the young man that looked like England. The young man was staring down France with an Angry glare, and France was about to speak up when the younger man spoke again, "Oh, and it's even THE fucking Frenchman himself, whoop-dee-fucking-doo," THE Frenchman himself? What was that supposed to mean,
"Pardon, but what iz zat supposed to mean?" France echoed his thoughts. The young man glared at France and huffed, pushing himself off the wall,
"Listen here, you fucking French Idiot-Bastard, You may not know me, but I sure as fucking hell know who you fucking are, so just Fuck off, will you?" France raised an eyebrow,
"You sure use that word a lot, iz it supposed to be some sort of code for your desires, mon ami?" He commented. The man laughed,
"Hah! You would fucking think that, wouldn't you, Fucking Grandpa," France was starting to get confused by this young man. He knew he didn't look old enough to be a grandpa, hell, his physical age was only a few years older then the young man in front of him, and yet he was called a grandpa. The man also had an all too apparent hatred for Frenchmen, or even specifically, him, "And I'm not Your fucking 'Ami', so don't even fucking think about fucking calling me that again," the young man turned to leave, "The name's Kyle Williams, you better fucking remember that fucking name, Frenchie," Kyle began walking away, to leave France in utter confusion. Williams. That name was familiar, he'd heard it before... CANADA! That was were he'd heard that name before! Williams was Canada's human Last name! Wait... Williams was Canada's human last name. Oh, now he was even more confused.
Québec/Jacques Bonnefoy-Williams
England had planned on taking a walk around Ottawa, were he was staying for the week. He was planning on speaking English during his stay, and he was planning on having a good time.
That was until he accidentally crossed a bridge and ended up in Gatineau, Québec... otherwise known to him as the froggy part of Canada. With a sigh, He scanned his surroundings and read the signs. Despite now being in Québec, the signs had English underneath the French which allowed England to navigate effectively. Still, he wasn't happy to be in Québec, but since he was there, he decided to take a look around.
He was walking through Gatineau when he noticed a young man, conversing in English on his phone. Curious, England decided to listen in to his conversation,
"I'm 'ardly two 'ours from the 'ill, why do you whant me at yours a week early?... Mathieu, I don't whant to formerly meet the fucking English Bastard... Pour Calisse, I need a Boucane... Mathieu, you know how much I despise Englishmen-" There England backed up and stopped listening in on the Québécois' conversation. He took the moment to finally feel the quickly rising feeling of familiarity. He scanned all of his citizens In not just England, but the other parts of the UK, but he came with no match with the young man. If this person wasn't one of his own, then why was he so familiar? He was snapped out of his thoughts by the young man's voice raising, "Hé, tu es l'Angleterre! pourquoi es-tu ici?" The young man tapped on England's shoulder and he turned to meet him. He was now off the phone and glaring daggers at him, and While not knowing French, England was able to recognize one word in the French. 'L'Angleterre' meant England in French.
"What do you know?" He asked suspiciously,
"What do I know?" The young man answered his question with another question in a mocking tone, "Ze question iz what do you know? Based on what Mathieu 'as told me, we're supposed to be some sort of big reveal at ze upcoming meeting, so I guess I can't tell you what I know," the younger man gave a quiet chuckle, "je m'appelle Jacques Bonnefoy-Williams, you'd do well to remember Zat," and the young man turned and dashed away, leaving England in even more confusion. Bonnefoy? Wasn't that the frog's last name. Hell, now that he thought about it, Jacques looked surprising a lot like France. Long, wavy blond hair and the slightest bit of stubble, as well as blue eyes, he was almost the spitting image of France if he had a younger body. Though there was something familiar about how Jacques had a short hair curl, but England couldn't quite place it... then there was the last name. Bonnefoy-Williams. This Jacques was just a bundle of mysteries.