"Russia" America growls at the child-like country through his teeth, "Get the hell out of here, this has nothing to do with your commie ass" I try to slowly shuffle away from the frustrated American, only to be grabbed, rather hard mind you, by the arm and pulled back to him. Letting out an exasperated sigh I start struggling again.
A childish smile spreads over the Russian nation's face, "I am the Soviet Union, Da?" Then, stepping towards us, he pulls America's arms from around me, as easy as opening cupboard doors, and gently takes me out of the Yank's reach, standing me behind him. I stare shocked at the tall beige haired man.
"Why don't you go back to the meeting, milaya Anglii, while America and I... have a little talk, da?" He looks at me, his eyes unusually soft similar to how he used to look before he became the Soviet Union – maybe there still a small part of the more or less sane Russian we all knew -, and then stares intently at America, who looks ready to be