At a slow hour in the tavern, Russia walks in. The bartender glances and yells out thrilled. "Welcome, buddy! What would it be?" he says doing some fancy moves before filling a glass with transparent liquid. Russia offers him a sad smile and sits down at the bar.

"Is it always this quiet or is it just when I'm around?" he utters.

"Even better, we won't be interrupted while we chat," Srpska declares. "Hey Serbia! Look whose here!"

The chef pops her head from the kitchen and is delighted. "Hey big guy. What brings you here?" she says standing next to here partner who also gives her a drink.

"Oh nothing, just felt like seeing what you guys are up to," he says. They talk and drink like that for what seems hours. The now tipsy cook starts giggling as Russia is in the middle of explaining something.

"Um, anything wrong?" he notices.

"I'm sorry," Serbia puts her hand over her mouth. "You just sound so cute when you speak Russian."

"Pardon?"

"You speak so softly. Almost like a baby?" she says now laughing. Srpska pats her to stop but she's in too good of a mood to stop.

"It's not that bad right?" Russia turns to Srpska.

"Oh, please. You'd he cutes big boy in the world, yes you are," she uwus, pinching his round cheeks, which honestly do look like a baby's when he pouts.

"Well, at least I don't sound like I have sandpaper down my throat!" he says annoyed.

At that moment, the tavern doors open. "Are you open?" Germany's head pops in, which makes the tipsy girl howl with laughter. Seeing this strange seen and the two males staring at him, he just closes the door and leaves.