Book 1 - Puppets

X - Where to Start

Russia lays back and stares at the ceiling. His head throbs, but he can't bring himself to care. He waits for the sun to rise. When sunlight leeches through the half-open blinds, Russia sits up and gets ready for the long journey ahead.

He opens the door and almost trips on a neatly stacked pile of folded clothes.

He leans over and picks it up, carrying it all back into the room. He tosses the stack onto the bed, and a backpack pokes out from the bottom of the pile. He pulls out the bag and examines it.

It looks like a recolored military pack. The fabric is black and several straps would help keep it compact.

Russia opens it and packs the essentials, such as extra clothes and other hygiene items. He straps the crowbar to the side and tightens the straps.

He throws the bag over his shoulder and walks down to the dining room. It smells like baked goods and a little smoke.

'Did they burn something?'

Russia drops the bag by the front door and wanders into the kitchen. He takes one of the muffins from a platter on the kitchen counter and sits at one of the dining tables, between Texas and Canada.

He looks around, taking a bite. It's sweet, and the top crumbles in his mouth.

'Not bad...'

"Hi," says a voice from behind him.

Russia turns to see the thin, paper-white state.

"I'm Massachusetts," the state says, holding out a hand, "I figure we haven't chatted much. Nice to meet you. Well, that's a lie. But either way, hi."

Russia takes his hand. It's boney in his grip.

Massachusetts stands in front of him, a large, old-looking book under his arm. He's wearing a dark blue sweatshirt with green letters across it: M I T. His arms are thin and look almost long on his body. His face is sharp, and his blue and gold flag stands out behind his light gold eyes. His white hair is combed forward, styled into something Russia can only compare to a goose tail.

"And I'm Louisiana, but most of them call me Lulu," says the other more unfamiliar state from beside Texas.

Louisiana is dark blue with a white bird in the center of her face. Her hair is very tightly coiled, puffing up where it can. It's hampered by a yellow hairband, and it stands in a halo around her head. She wears a knee-length yellow dress, matching her hairband. Her legs are marred with countless scars, but she doesn't seem bothered by them. She is very short, even compared to America. Her smile is bright, reminding Russia of America.

"Howdy," Texas mumbles, "I'm Texas."

Texas is the tallest of the three. He has very wide shoulders, and his head is adorned with a very old-looking cowboy hat. He wears a button-up and his face is decorated with a strong jaw-line. His hair is thick and wild under his hat. His face and hair are split down the middle, blue on one side and the other is split once more. Russia also notes the stars on the backs of his heterochromatic hands.

Glancing down, Russia notices that Texas is staring down at the table, with no food under his gaze.

Russia hums.

'He shouldn't be leaving with us without eating.'

Russia gets up and grabs another plate from the kitchen. He brings back some bacon and a muffin and puts the plate under Texas' face.

Texas looks up and shoots him a confused look. Russia sighed.

"You need to eat."

Texas shrugs and nibbles on a piece of bacon.