A small nation enters the tavern door with a large crate. The cook welcomes him. "Thanks for bringing the supplies, big brother" she says taking the heavy box into the kitchen before emerging back. Montenegro, has already grabbed a place at the bar. He looked sombrely straight, as if through the wall. Deep in thought as his little feet dangled from the high bar stool.
"Something troubling you?" Serbia asks attentively.
He sighs. "You know... I went through a lot recently" he starts out in a slow quiet voice. "From breaking up with my toxic long-term boss, balancing what my people want and what is good for statehood as a whole. I tried my best, but... Life, just doesn't seem to get any easier. If anything, it just gets harder and harder."
His sister listens without uttering a sound. As he finishes, he watches him with an emotionless expression, before going: "Oh boo hooo!"
He gasps astounded as one of his cheeks is being pinched. "Little big bwo, is having an existwential cwisis, isn't he?" she uwus as if talking to a child.
"Quit it!" he yells frustrated.
"Aw these poopy wesponsibilities getting us down? Yes they are. Yes they are!" she continues spread across the bar with a big smile on her face as Montenegro waves his hands around frustrated. "I'm being serious!" he yells all red, with his mouth becoming bigger than his head. "Can't you see how I'm suffering?!"
Meanwhile, Srpska watches all of this intrigued.
"Oh calm down, edge lord. Your mascara will run," we hear her voice as the frame focuses on the bartended. "So this is what sibling spats look like from the outside? From your own body" he utters as they still tease each other. With his hands crossed, Republica Srpska lets out a sad sigh and lowers his head.