1950-1953

"Who thought we'd be involved in a war again so soon," A soldier comments idly to the nation next to him as he cleans off his blackened blade. China looks towards him and keeps his hands in his pockets. Korea was in winter now, and it was bitter like the warfare that had just taken place hours ago.

Frozen bodies litter the ground, and threaten to be buried early in the snowfall. Yao can't turn a blind eye to his fellow men, and perhaps that is why he was here in the first place. To bear witness.

"War is savage, but conflict is necessary to clear room for improvement," He responds to him calmly. The soldier looks at him curiously for a moment before grinning. China was improving, at least it seemed that way. The fallen dragon was finally regrowing the scales that used to be desired by the western hemisphere, and it was rising. At least that is what Mao had told him.

'A Five Year Plan' he had proposed not too long ago. A plan to make China great again was already in action, and living up to it's purpose so far.

"So what do you think then? People will die, but it's for the good of the Republic yes?" Yao pauses for a moment to look at him and raises a frosted brow at his question.

"You ask these things as if you have no faith in your nation's morals and ambitions," He responds to the soldier in a slightly warning tone. There's a small sense of doubt in his head that is forced away. Doubt of any kind couldn't be allowed. Not when they were coming this far…..But what if the death of his fellow men only soiled the earth they aimed to make valuable again?

"Am I not allowed to question what my brothers are dying for?" The soldier responds sharply. There's an unrelenting silence.

"It would be wise for you to voice these concerns inside your head only, and not to me aru," China responds finally. There's a passive response from the soldier before he picks up his boots and trudges away. This leaves him to his own conflicting thoughts, and the winter wind smacking at his face.

Overhead a plane flies over, an unfamiliar one, and his stomach drops at the sight of it. Planes were starting to become more and more infamous with him. The small metallic birds left anything but small reminders of their presence by the time they were through. They were like geese of death.

Russia stares at the golden petaled flower that protruded from the somewhat ugly, but strong green stem he was rolling between his gloved fingers. This is what he would normally spend any free time doing when not involved with politics of the USSR. As a nation you could never take a vacation, there was no time to simply exist and leave it that, or at least now a days it seemed that way.

He finds himself taking vacations in the petals. Small citrine vacations with thoughts of concentrated sunlight, cream, and warm sand that often found itself in the most unpractical places. A small smile tugs at his thin pale lips and grows to something a bit wider than that.

In this house he is gorgeously secluded from the unreality of the reality that stands at the door to the greenhouse. Here, is the paradise that grew from the soil of his private labors. His eye of the storm. The storm varied from time to time, ranging from rioting, to corruption, from scandals, to strange men in the palace halls with promises of miracles. All instances warranted a vacation like this one. The damp yellow petals left soft spots of darkness on his felt gloves and to the nation it was almost as if the flower was crying. He'd comfort it of course by stroking it's petals and wiping the tears away with his large awkward fingers.

Slowly the doors of the hideaway open and hollow footsteps fill the glass room. Ivan remains silent in hopes that whoever it was would go away if they couldn't find him in this garden of Eden. Even his affection towards the flowers stop when someone else enters as if he the slightest rub would give him away. It doesn't seem to matter how quiet he remained, he was still found within a few minutes. His sister always seemed to have a knack at locating him whether he wanted her to or not.

Belarus he has always considered to be an odd girl. She was, in his eyes, the giggle at a funeral. Silently she stands before the man she has come to call her brother before taking a seat beside him as to not disturb him while he was like this. It's very well known to her that Ivan took these moments to be alone, but he'd just have to accept that he'd have to be all by himself, with her right beside him. Ivan looks towards her silently with a childish annoyance in his eyes, but it subsides quickly when the tension dissipates to nothingness once more.

"How are you?" He asks in an effort to make conversation. She was already here, so he might as well. She turns her small head towards him, her feminine features stoic and void of expression as always. He struggles to remember a time when a smile used to be on those wintery lips of hers.

"Better now," she answers monotonously while she stares up at him behind her straw colored lashes. From the corner of his eyes he looks at her. It can be said that she is comparable to a flower much like the ones that grow here in his abode and under his care. Like the plants rooted in the pots around them she flourished near him.

Like himself her hair was trapped sunlight that must have been captured on a chilly winter morning, but her eyes were vivid in color although they were often shielded by a bush of eyelashes when she blinked. All around she was pretty, but seemed to only come with one expression which bored him.

Ivan then returns his attention back to his ideal flower then. The sunflower smiles at him.

"There are talks of his death all around Brother," The young woman whispers. At her words Ivan immediately frowns. With those words she had brought the insects of the outside world he was trying to avoid by coming in here. Ivan looks at her expectantly.

"As there would be for any war Belarus," he says to both address and dismiss. The Korean war had escalated more than he honestly thought it would due to the meddling Americans and their policies to spread their capitalist values to those conforming to the Unions ways. Ivan taps a heavy finger against the stem as he thinks before groaning. He had come in here to escape thoughts of America and the Korean brothers for now. Ivan turns his head to her and sighs.

"Natashka. A war in Korea is not the end of the Union, nor is it the end of us living together," He promises. If it still troubles you here is another thing to keep in mind. China has entered the war as well. Ambushed the Пиндос when they least expected it." From what he was told the Americans were enjoying something they called Thanksgiving. Now it seemed that the only ones who could be giving the thanks were the ones that survived the retreat from attacking Chinese soldiers.

"They aim to contain our beliefs whereas we aim to spread them, and if you ask me puppeting a civil war is much easier than to go to war again with our own countries at risk so soon. The last thing the world needs is an angry boy with a weapon." Belarus looks at her brother and remains silent for now. Her questions have been answered with the prideful explanations only her brother could create for her.

He seemed to have much else to say about the matter and she notices this because of the way he lost interest in the flower he was holding and gave it to the empty space in front of them instead. She can't tell who he is thinking about, but it seems like his worries were reserved for someone else and not herself which causes her lips to perse.

"I hear….You will travel to the war zone, and then to China," she says. Before she can get an answer however a knock against the glass puts a pin in their idle conversation and the two are summoned for political matters. The two share expressions of disappointment, and Ivan is the first to stand and give his sister a dismissive glance as he walks to go open the door.