A Cultural Clash [Exchange Event]

[chicksdigscars]

There always seemed to be a slight internal jarring when stepping onto foreign soil. Prussia could not decide if this was caused from not being attached to this mass of earth beneath his boots or merely a side effect of being too long at sea. Even as he heard the dull clunk of his heels clapping on the wooden boards of the pier echoing up to his ears, his feet still felt detached from him and made the sensation that much more vivid. Gilbert paused, coat hanging heavily on his body – as thick as it was to prevent the chill of the sea air from afflicting him -- to glance over a shoulder towards the impressive passenger ship that had just carried him here.

The Prussian felt disappointed to have been left out of the naval military parade that some of his own people had participated in over in New York. Not only would Gilbert have much preferred to come sailing into America on some intimidating warship rather than some ridiculously fashioned passenger vessel – he also had held out just a little hope that there might be some way to glimpse the recent American ‘wonder’. When the idea of him attending this Cultural Exchange had first been proposed (much to his delight and Germany’s distress), Prussia had imagined himself sailing past the towering figure of America’s Liberty Statue, to see for himself what all the fuss was that France had talked his ear off about.

Gilbert had spent most of the voyage nagging at his delegates about how badly they were spoiling his enjoyment of the trip. And right now those same appointed officials were lagging behind just off the ramp to deal with American representatives asking for such unimportant things as ‘papers’. Prussia had not bothered to respond to their questions, did not allow them to keep him blocked from disembarking as they tried to keep everything orderly; he’d dismissed these foreign men just as readily as he had ignored the persistent statements of concern from his own German entourage.

Would have been better just to leave them. The Prussian thought to himself as he squinted his eyes with the first signs of irritation for their delays. Instead of them squawking around me like a flock of crows.

Of course Gilbert had argued against being bogged down by such an assembly. He was more than capable of managing his own itinerary, handling his own luggage, booking his own lodgings and representing the whole of the Germanic nations without their advisement. It was only after the insistence of Germany, the insistence of Germany’s boss, the insistence of Austria, and the insistence of his own boss that Prussia finally relented.

Why were they all so afraid to leave him to his own devices as a representative on their behalf? The Prussian had been mulling that thought over for a few days now, to no avail. No one understood Germanic culture better than Prussia!

Finally, whatever business his delegation needed to complete was done. They began to hurry to catch up and this in turn cued Prussia to increase his own pace to retain that gap of distance from them. He slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket, deliberately ignoring when they called out to him, as Gilbert became focused on the scene in front of him, the expanse of the fair opening itself up with each step up the pier.

He was tantalized by the potential of the structures already being built here in preparation of the Exposition opening. Skeletal guts of buildings stood out against a stark, cloudy sky, as construction workers moved over them like swarms of ants from this far off view. Despite his initial decision to treat this excursion as some major inconvenience (not that he had anything else going on at the moment, thanks to Germany managing most of their affairs these days), Gilbert found himself admiring the engineering that these structures reflected already even in a stage of basic construction. One of his delegates had mentioned the fact that a German Village would be built here, some series of buildings to offer a symbolic representation of what the country stood for.

Gilbert’s attention was snared as a man came to stand at the edge of the pier who waving broadly to him as if he were somehow familiar. The Prussian slowed to a stop in front of the fellow, upturning a pale eyebrow in response to the brimming smile. He cocked his head slowly aside as the man started to cheerfully speak. “Guten Tag, Herr Beilschmidt! Wie geht es Ihnen?”

“Nicht schlecht.” Prussia clipped out with some hesitation, not having expected such a welcome. It wasn’t so unlikely that there would be someone of German lineage around to assist him and his delegation. He just hadn’t expected America to be thoughtful enough to send one. “…Und Ihnen?”

“Es geht mir sehr gut. Danke.” With that unwavering smile in place, the man looked beyond Prussia to where the other delegates were just now catching up to him. Gilbert ignored the dirty looks of his officials, blinking as the man switched over to English to address the others, voice still thick with that German accent. “My name is Heinrich Schulte. I am your appointed translator while you are here for the Exposition. If you would all kindly follow me, I will escort you to your designated meeting point. Herr Beilschmidt is expected.”

---

There was some certain grandeur to the hall that he had been escorted into. Gilbert was amused that he appeared to be the first one to set foot in the place. While Schulte had informed him that some of the other ‘delegates’ had already arrived, none of them were present when he’d walked inside. This gave him some time to familiarize himself with the unfamiliar environment. Prussia could see the gray clouds rolling by in the sky through the broad windows overhead, light spilling into the conference room and across the large wooden table that dominated much of the central area.

He already had his own stacks of documents prepared. They sat abandoned on the tabletop while Gilbert prowled the circumference of the meeting room, glancing at the patriotic American paintings framed on the walls -- colorful tributes in an otherwise bland space. When this lost his interest, Prussia returned to the table so he could investigate it more. There were small markers in front of every empty chair with the flags of those nations who would be in attendance. Gilbert was fairly certain that whoever had organized this exchange to take place must have put time, thought and heavy consideration over who should be seated where.

His own seat appeared to be far down the table. It simply wouldn’t do. With a dawning smirk, Prussia began to rearrange the placards to his whim. Most importantly, he put himself at the seat at the head of the table. Being the first to arrive, it was really his right to have first selection. If anything, it would teach the others to be more punctual. Satisfied that this meeting was already promising to be off to a great start, Prussia sank down into the chair at the head of the table. He shifted it back, settling into a lounged position within the arms of the seat, and proceeded to angle booted feet up onto the table in the perfect image of relaxation.

The Prussian was still smirking when the door clicked open, fingers laced together behind the back of his skull as he called out with drawling sarcasm. “Wilkommen.”

---

Translations:
(Basic German Greetings)

• Guten Tag, Herr Beilschmidt! Wie geht es Ihnen?” (Hello, Mister Beilschmidt. How are you?)
  
• “Nicht schlecht . . . Und Ihnen?" (Not bad. And you?)
  
• “Es geht mir sehr gut. Danke.” (I am very well. Thank you.)
  
• "Wilkommen." (Welcome.)
  

[Finland]

He wasn’t a country – at least not nominally as far as political boundaries were concerned. He was barely a nation at that. Sure, he had people living amongst the hills and valleys and between the latitudes and longitudes that mapped out his land, but he had never before been a unified, independent nation. As it was, he was a strip of islanded land containing a mish-mash of Swedish, Russian, and native Saami culture. He’d been settled by immigrant reindeer farmers coming from the south, and then made a productive farming nation by the Protestant Scandinavians to the west, and then harshly transformed into an industrialized mining nation by the Eastern Orthodox Russians. He’d been handed off between monarchies with little warning. He barely had his own language; Finnish was something only uncultured peasants spoke while Swedish continued to be the language of scholars and aristocrats. And then there was russification. That looming taboo of a word whispered in a hushed voice amongst his people. The outlook of one day becoming his own state was bleak, to say the least.

So why, then, was he disembarking from a ship in America in search of a culture – an identity of his own? Because Russia’s boss had told him to.

“You remain to be much too close to Shvetsiya, little Finlyandiya” his emperor, Alexander III, had told him several weeks prior. Tino had been invited in for a private meeting with the man, and so of course he was obligated to attend. “Though I suppose you cannot be blamed for this. After all, you’ve never lived without him, have you? Therefore, I’m ordering that you go to the upcoming Expo in the United States – I’m sure you’ve heard of it – and educate yourself on different cultures. Perhaps you will forget about that western neighbor of yours once and for all, hm?”

Ever the phlegmatic one, Tino had thought even as he was replying with a courteous “Da, Emperor.”

“Excellent,” his monarch had replied. “The arrangements have been made. I’m sure you won’t disappoint me.” With that, Tino had been ushered out of the room and sent to prepare for his voyage.

Getting ready had not been a challenging task. There were forms to fill out – documents allowing him passage through international waters and the like. He was assigned a tutor to teach him basic English phrases, though knowing the man would also be coming with him as a translator made him less motivated to pick up the language. Much to his discontent, he discovered that he would not be allowed to travel aboard the Norwegian Viking, a replica of the Gokstad longboat being sent to the fair. He should have probably guessed his Norwegian brother to be much too similar to the Swede his Russian rulers wanted so badly to rid him of, but wishful thinking persisted. Instead, he had been given a room on a Russian passenger ship. His was a fairly luxurious room, one obviously reserved for an important political figure. It must have seemed strange to the others onboard for a young man not yet eighteen, and a Finn at that, to be treated to such class.

Nonetheless, despite the superior treatment and near pampering he received, he could not rid himself of the nagging feeling of loneliness he experienced through the duration of his crossing. These were not his people around him. Their strange fashions and their harsh Slavic language with the weird Cyrillic letters were not what he was accustomed to. What was worse, there were no other nations here with him, only ambassadors and bureaucrats. He spent much time leaning against the metal railing of the ocean liner, wistfully longing to be in the company of his Scandinavian brothers.

I’m not, though, Tino often reminded himself. In complete honesty, he had been excited about the trip. It had been quite some time since he had been to the New World. After his colonies there had been taken over by the Netherlands, he’d never made it a priority to return. This World’s Fair promised to be entertaining, what with all the nations showcasing their cultures and talents. I should make the best of this, I suppose, he decided at last. It would be nice to finally decide exactly who I am as a nation.

For the rest of the passage, this became somewhat of a mantra for the young man, even as his vessel creaked to a gently rocking halt at port. It seemed right away that he would not have a moment to himself upon his arrival. Before even having a chance to look around, he was swept away by both Russian and American officials so that his paperwork could be processed, and then hurried to finalize his accommodations. He nearly exhausted himself greeting delegates of various nationalities. Information flow seemed to be very limited and he was having a hard time keeping up with the language switches, even with his translator in tow. Even the threatening clouds rolling in overhead seemed to fit the hectic atmosphere.

“You’re wanted in the conference hall, Mister Väinämöinen,” his translator explained at last as the young nation was once again being corralled towards another building. He welcomed the quietness as the crowds here thinned out. His entourage having been instructed to wait outside, Tino hesitated just a moment before opening the door to the main conference room. He was nervous about having to leave his translator and he still wasn’t sure what he was to be meeting on. With a little sigh, he pushed open the door.

At first, he took the room to be empty. He was just poking his head in, scanning the room and getting his bearings as he heard a very familiar “Wilkommen.” Twitching nervously, his eyes widened at the sight of the albino sprawled comfortably in his seat.

“Preussi?” he gasped in a hushed whisper, hurrying to slip into the room and close the door behind him before his delegates could hear his non-Russian conversation. “Gilbert, I didn’t know you would be here.” After his small greeting, he found his seat at the table.
________________________________________
[[A/N: During this time period, Tino was the Grand Duchy of Finland, a protectorate of Russia. The Russian empire wanted the Finns to separate themselves from Swedes culturally. At first, they promoted the idea of Finland having its own culture, but eventually the idea of russification (becoming more Russian) took hold. The World’s Fair would have taken place just a few years before this russification period. Nation-spirit-wise, I decided Tino would be in his mid to late teenage years.]]

[juni]

Berwald felt sick when he stepped off the boat in New York. Okay, so maybe “sick” wasn’t an entirely accurate term as he had no fever and no real sickness; his economy was doing extremely well, after all, and had been for the past several decades. Nevertheless, he felt a little lightheaded, detached from himself and his surroundings. He had this feeling off and on for roughly the past decade and he had learned to hide it from others well enough, but the constant rocking of the ocean liner as it rode the rough Atlantic waves exaggerated the feeling.

On more than one occasion, a member of his delegation jokingly mocked him for seeming seasick. The Swede simply affirmed the observations of sickness and, with a thin smile upon his face, replied in like manner that they were to “be quiet” about it unless they were volunteering their hats as impromptu vomit bowls.

Berwald didn’t get seasick, however, and talk of such was an outright lie, if only a small one. He wasn’t a fan of lies, but it was much more convenient than telling the unbelievable truth to these humans: that he was the personified spirit of the Swedish nation, and that his not feeling his best was a direct consequence of The far-reaching land, government, military, and social reforms that were being and had been passed through the Riksdag in the past decade. He actually liked the reforms, though, and wouldn’t have complained even if he was the kind of person to do so. It’s just that such far-ranging restructuring could be…straining on a nation’s body.

Maybe that was why he was mildly surprised when King Oscar assigned him the duty of representing his entire united kingdom at the “pre World’s Fair” meeting among nations in Chicago. Berwald felt more like staying home to rest and help with carrying-out the reforms, letting his Norwegian brother attend on his behalf. But, his King insisted, and he relented. King Oscar had a point, after all; it might not be the wisest idea to have the critical and disinterested brother represent the union at a meeting meant to create interest, acceptance and understanding.

And so the Swede wandered the New York docks until the rest of the delegation had finished with the formal business of their trip. Customs papers…immigration papers…meetings with other envoys…Berwald much preferred the old days when nations and people alike could more or less move freely between borders, or at least with less hassle and certainly less paperwork. Procedure was procedure, though, and he wasn’t one to contravene it.

He was just happy when all business was finished in New York and the delegation boarded its train for Chicago. Berwald wasn’t expecting the ride to take especially long, but it did. A few days long, in fact. The last time he had even bothered to set foot in the Americas was a couple centuries prior, when he and Finland had attempted to build themselves a vacation home, and even then they didn’t bother going very far inland. To say he completely underestimated the scope of America’s size would be a bit much, but he had forgotten how far those lands stretched in his many years away.

The trip did pass rather uneventfully though, as he spent most of his time either sleeping or staring-out across the vast expanses of farmland and wilderness. Various thoughts occupied his mind. He wondered what nations would be attending. He wondered what the other nations’ expositions would be. Most of all, he wondered what would happen at this meeting, as it was very rate for the nations to come together in such a relatively apolitical way.

When the train entered the station at the fairgrounds, the Swede departed company from the rest of those with whom he traveled. He left them to their own devices, talking with fair organizers and other nations’ delegations. He, meanwhile, slipped away and sent himself on a leisurely solo walking tour of the expo grounds. He did have several hours to kill before the scheduled start of the meeting, anyway.

Most of the pavilions were still in the early stages of their construction, but he still inwardly marveled at what these skeletons would become. Some contents of a few of the other nations’ expositions had arrived early and were already on display, and Berwald took his time appreciating each one. The lightheadedness returned somewhat by the time he came to what would be his own pavilion, so he sat upon a nearby bench and simply watched. In spite of the similarities between the languages, the Swede only had a basic grasp of English, so he couldn’t understand a good portion of what the workers were shouting to each other. He didn’t care, though; he was content just to sit and listen to the sounds of the language and rhythmic pounding of various tools upon material as the building slowly took shape…

“…är glad att jag hittade dig, Berwald.”

“Mm?”

Berwald snapped his head up and blinked his eyes open. He didn’t remember ever feeling drowsy. He must have just started to nap, because he knew himself to be a relatively sound sleeper, so the rather unobtrusive voice of his translator surely wouldn’t have been enough to wake him if he was really asleep.

“Mötet börjar snart…” He glanced up to the man as he was spoken to, then took his pocketwatch in hand and checked the time. “Ah.” Technically they still had plenty of time to spare, but it was better to be early and make a good impression. He made a small stretch, then nodded his affirmation to the translator, stood, and together they made their way to the hall.

Having assured his translator that he would be fine on his own, he opened the door to the conference room, but immediately stopped in the doorway upon seeing Finland seated at the table. Even though he simply stared, he had to admit, he was incredibly surprised. Pleasantly surprised, yet surprised nonetheless. He didn’t think he’d see Tino here at least not as anything more than an accessory to Ivan.

The Swede closed the door behind him and spoke, nodding to and acknowledging the two other occupants in turn. “Angenämt Tino, Preussen.” He made his way to his assigned seat, but his brow furrowed slightly when he noticed the odd and almost random arrangement of names. He gave a mental shrug and took his seat; he wouldn’t make anything of it unless someone else did.

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(A/N)
~ "[Jag] är glad..." = "I'm glad I found you." Glad is the same in either language.
~ "Mötet börjar snart." = "The meeting will start soon."
~ "Angenämt" is one of several ways of saying "pleased to meet you."
I don't know how correct/formal it is, though.

[usa]

     Suddenly, he felt incredibly important. To be the one to host the World's Fair was something that he'd never thought of prior before the information was revealed to him. It was quite a shocker to him at first, but the idea of him hosting this swept him off his feet. Finally, another chance to show what he's worth to the world. This idea became more important than the fact that he was currently in some form of depression that was sweeping the young nation. There was a lot he was contending with during the century, and as it drew to a close he felt like it was finally catching up to him. 1812, Mexico, Civil War, and Spain: these conflicts were taking their toll and everyone hoped it didn't drag on into the new century. President Cleveland, he hoped, would not allow for the Panic to get worse.

     There was so much to be spent and build, of course, depression or not. He had to ready himself and throw as much money at this project as he could to get it working and looking properly and appealing. The layout for it all was just enough to get the job done, and workers have been hard at work developing buildings and attractions to appeal to all the types of people that were expected to attend. So much work, so little time. America did his share of work too, especially through the labor of helping construct the buildings and filling out all sorts of paperwork, documents, and whatnot. It wasn't something the youth wanted to really to do with his time since he was such an active spirit, but his bosses insisted that he'd get the paperwork done and actually be useful. America never said he was pretty much sore to hell since he felt as if his boss was going to take it as a poor excuse. War veterans that ended up presidents seemed to share this little trait.

     Today was an important day of course. Representatives of other nations should be arriving soon and therefore he should be on his way to the meeting. For a good few hours he had been looking over the Statue of the Republic thinking things over, particularly over how the day would pass. The young man's optimism was saying that it was to be a fine, grand gathering, although he didn't know exactly who was coming. He had a rough idea, but alas he didn't know. He may have been given a list. but if he had he disregarded it in favor of being surprised. He could hardly wait. Sighing he adjusted his coachman's hat and trench coat and made his way to the building in which the conference room was in. The grounds were silent now, but soon, he felt, that things were going to be bustling.

     His heels and waking stick clicked against the ground as he made his way, looking over everything with a grand smile on his face, quite pleased with how things were turning out. Things still needed to be built, but they would eventually get done and would be finished for the world to marvel at. To be so was one of America's finer dreams. Of course, he definitely new he was going to be one day. He always felt like a million bucks. Despite his soreness from the failing economy, despite the fact a burn he had on the left side of his face from the Civil War was still trying to completely heal yet was barely noticable now, he strutted like a king who was free from all the world's pain. This was his time to shine. It was his time to give what he had, and he wanted to have this go as smooth as possible. Through his stroll he caught glimpses of people making their way to and through the grounds as things were going to commence soon. Right on time then? Maybe, he wasn't sure. Alfred hadn't bothered to check his pocket watch, nor did he really feel like taking it out. Simply he adjusted his coat and proceeded to open the door, only to see the faces of three nations, one of which kind of ruined the set up he had going on. Aw man.

"Well hello~" He chimed as he shut the door behind him. "Nice to see your wonderful faces here." And for some reason he felt like someone was going to kick his ass. "Been a while since I've seen some of them..." He thought about the notion quickly by looking at the faces of Finland and Sweden before moving along.

     Smiling he took his seat and laid his documents in front of him, looking through them very quickly before he noticed something odd. Wouldn't it make more sense if Alfred was at the head of the table? He was the host of this, and besides, the order just seemed too... out of place for it to be purposely done like that. He noticed the relax look Prussia had and sighed a bit. Ohhhh boy.

"Wonder who's gone and ruined the order..." His voice was half amused, half not as he directed it to Prussia. He kicked his feet up on the table as well, as if trying to mock him somehow, tilting his head at Prussia and grinning in the process. "Come on, don't it make more sense if I were the one at the head?"

     Sighing, he figured he wasn't going to get his way in the end. Well, he could try, of course. Looking over the empty seats then to who was here, he thought for a moment before wondering when everyone else would arrive. In the mean time, he felt like an informal conversation was in order. Then again, a conversation was always in order with him.

"So how do you like the grounds so far?" He chirped, "Neat, huh?"

     Alfred himself was quite pleased with how things were coming along, biased thoughts aside. He hoped that this would be enough to satisfy the various people and nations that would be attending the Fair. Good money was being thrown into every little detail and of course he tried his best to be as impressive as possible. His nation was built off immigrants. First were the English, then came the the Scots, the Irish, the Germans, and all sorts of others. Perhaps he had at least a fair idea for what was to be done. Taking his hat off he leaned back and looked at the ceiling and tossed his hat by the rim in the air and caught it again, repeating the action a few times with a small smile playing along his face. Today could go down so many roads... hopefully it would be the good ones.

---

• Panic of 1893- A wave of economic depression in the US. The Fair just happened to take place around this time.
  
• I apologize for the late post. Won't happen again.
  

[albion]

A world fair they were saying, something needed for each nation to flaunt their achievements in the face of others. It was laughable really, at least to he who'd accomplished far more than any singular fool here. Yet here he was, once more in a land that no doubt wanted him gone from its shores as soon as possible. That was fine with him though in reality, more over since he had little desire to be here to begin with.

Rolling the half dollar between his fingers he gave a long sigh, shifting slightly on his feet as he looked to his chaperon. “Everything’s sorted within an adequate fashion, I hope?” The young man nodded and that was all he needed. “Good.” With a soft sigh he tucked the coin into his breast pocket along with the stamp. This was a farce but he was used to it he supposed, it was a pain that came with being an empire. With being a national avatar. It was fine though. The world was for once in a state of peace, and so even a warmonger such as himself could for once just relax. Even if he of course knew this was nothing more than a charade America was throwing to bring itself into the lime light.

It couldn’t compare to the crystal palace.

Added to this the journey here had been a pain in the arse though. The overall ride over the ocean had been dandy enough, though as a once pirate he’d always been fond of the odd jolly across it. It was the damn trek from New York to Chicago that had done him in. Though it had shown him more than he needed. America had become strong, it had blossomed terrifically into a fine rose. Yet like all such plants there were the thorns, those blasted things that would stop you getting to close at risk of drawing blood. A fitting analogy he supposed, a beautiful thing that could never be touched and in it all Alfred himself was most certainly nothing more than a thorn.

Straightening his Ditto-Suit he quickly ran fingers through his hair, cane tucked beneath his arm as he did so. It truly didn’t matter what others thought of him, and yet with the strengthened persona of the ideal ‘gentleman’ he’d taken on of late dictated that an effort would be made to impress. Perhaps it had always been there, Bess had perhaps installed such things, but this current Victorian period his people was in had only affirmed such in the once punk. One had to dress respectably to be respected of course… Though there was no doubt a blade to the neck could also be a strong motivational factor.

“Right then, lets not tarry any further. Lead the way and then have at what it is you need to busy yourself with. I’ve little notion of doubt the day’s set itself to be a bother.” With a snort he followed after the young bloke. “No need to delay it further one would think.” Of course there was the whole mental preparation to be done, but he’d had time enough to deal with the fools he was no doubt to be surrounded by for the duration of this matter. Still, he’d attempt to at least retain a sense of dignity about it all and keep his temper leashed… Of course he knew it would fail, but it was still worth an effort he supposed. It’d be a dull life if he only ever set himself to do as people thought possible from him.

It was a generally nice building as a whole. Well made. Pleasant design. Boring as fuck, oh well~ With a shrug he simply stopped outside the door the lad had lead him to, cocking his head slightly. “Well then. Do as you must and I shall see you once this is over, and do remember you’re representing Queen and Country here. Hm?”

With a click of the raised heel from his tight knee lengths he pushed the door open with no real hesitation. It was a sorry crowd to say the least. Two Nordics who kept to themselves, along with two fools who believed they were godsent gifts to the earth. Oh what a fine day, do pray it get no better than this for fear he was no longer able to deal with it... Sarcasm could be such a bitch.

"Hallo," came the simple word, accent straining the vowels out something rotten. Without much second thought he took the cane and tapped it roughly against the underside of the American nation's shoes. "A host is meant to set an example, not act like an under educated child." It was a firm reprimand issued before he sat himself down, one leg placed carefully over the other.

"So, how is everyone?" Did he truly care? No, not at all. Yet it was good form to make idle pleasantries, and so whilst he himself found them far from pleasant he'd endeavour to make at least a vague effort for the time being.

He was most surely a wolf dressed in the fine wool of a lamb, yet for now the teeth were withheld in favour of a more pliant bleat.

[ireland]

Murph had been thrilled to learn that he had been invited to attend the World’s Fair in Chicago for two main reasons. The first of these two was that nearly a quarter of his people had immigrated there in the past few decades thanks to the Potato Famine. The huge failure in the staple crop had killed about one million of his people, and sent another one million out of the country in search of a better life across the sea. They left to escape the lack of food and because they felt England should have done something to help them survive. Murph had had a similar train of thought, and the fact that Arthur had continued treating his land and his people like second class citizens rather than trying to help had just about made him ready to snap. The immigrants had a rough life in the States, according to the letters from home that were often read in large gatherings, but as of late the people there were becoming more friendly and tolerant of the families who had come over. He figured it had something to do with the help they had given during the Civil War, since most of his people had fought for the Union. Hell hath no fury like an Irishman ready to fight. Murph had visited the young country a few times since the 1700s and missed the ‘I can do anything’ attitude Alfred possessed. It always gave him hope that he could follow in his footsteps and show Arthur that he didn’t need to stick his thumb in every pie and keep it there for eternity.

The second reason was that he had been invited at all. He wasn’t his own free country, and yet both he and Arthur would be here. That in itself was huge to him. He was recognized on his own! Scotland and Wales weren’t present at this Fair, after all. Murph honestly couldn’t wait to sit down at the meeting that would precede the official opening of the fair just to see what Arthur would do, seeing him among other nations. Probably just be the usual cloud over everyone’s parade as per usual.

The voyage by sea hadn’t been very eventful. You’ve sailed on one ship, you’ve sailed on them all. Coming into New York stirred his spirits, though, as the Statue of Liberty proudly welcomed his ship into the harbor. He watched the island and the statue perched atop it as they sailed past, smiling fondly. Every single one of his people had stepped on that tiny piece of land before making their new lives in this country. Even though it was small, that piece of the States held so much meaning to him it nearly brought a tear to his eye. Murph held it in, though, and turned to face the tall buildings that greeted them as they approached the shore.

The train ride was long, but Murph slept the entire way, not at all bothered by his excitement. He had learned through the long years to sleep before something big was about to happen so he could fully enjoy every moment. The officials traveling with him marveled at his ability to sleep through everything, even when they came to a screeching halt when a few cattle refused to get off the tracks. The train made it to Chicago without any further interruptions, and it was with a huge yawn that Murph greeted the young man who was apparently his guide for the time being.

Murph instantly lost the poor boy, though, as he took off into the fair grounds. Green eyes absorbed every building and food stand as he wandered through the maze of construction, laughing heartily as he saw he had his own damn village. Take that, Arthur! He poked around a bit, grinning to himself as he located Blarney Castle. Ah, these Americans…they really could do anything.

He finally had the presence of mind to go to the meeting. It would be starting soon, according to his pocket watch, and he really couldn’t afford to show up late. He had to make a good impression and all that. After wandering around for a bit he ended up locating the building that had been described to him, and with a jaunty hop to his step, he headed inside. Trial and error brought him to the proper room, and he opened the large doors without much ceremony. Surprise lit up his face as he spotted a few other countries seated at a large table, and he stepped into the room with a grin.

“Ah, finally found ye! Was beginnin’ ta wonder if I had some false information on where t’e meetin’ was,” Murph said with a laugh as he approached the table, taking in who else was here. Prussia was the first he spotted, the light filtering through the window nearby making his white hair nearly blinding. Across the table were Sweden and Finland, and on this side sat America and…England. Of course he beat him here. There were two chairs left, so he knew he wasn’t the last one to show up, thankfully.

“Mornin’, Alfred,” he said, ruffling the younger nation’s hair as he sat down next to him, taking the empty seat at the end of the table closest to the edge. “Lookit you, all shiny like a new penny. Mus’ be pleased as punch ta be hostin’ this fair.” He looked up and smiled across the table politely at the two Nordics, nodding in their direction, before grinning at Prussia.

“Nice ta see ye again too, Gilbert. S’been a while since we last hit a pub together.” He turned after that to leer at Arthur around Alfred, a smug look on his face. He didn’t say anything to him, though, and leaned back to get comfortable in his seat after a few seconds of simply staring.

[seychelles]

If Océane had been a normal girl, she might have said that she was feeling ill. But she wasn’t a normal girl, and the Seychelles islands did not get any sort of ordinary sickness unless there was an epidemic among her people. There was no epidemic that she knew of. It didn’t feel like the result of physical harm to her land body, either, nothing like the storm that had caused so much damage on one of her smaller islands in 1862. This was a feeling that she had only experienced on the rare occasions when she had ventured off of her islands. It just didn’t feel right somehow, being away from her land and her people, and Seychelles was not taking it well.

Was it like this all the time for the others? The powerful nations who traveled all the time for diplomatic meetings and for wars? Did they always feel so empty when they left their own homes for foreign soil? Seychelles didn’t understand how they could stand it. But then again, they were stronger than her. Almost all of them were stronger than her, the powerful empires and even the ordinary nations. She was only a little archipelago off the east coast of Africa, just another territory of the British Empire – not even a proper Crown Colony, despite the efforts of her people to change that, only a part of the Mauritius colony – so maybe being away from her land body took more of a toll on her human body than it did for some of the others.

But she was determined to have a good time today. Despite the awful feeling of being on American soil instead of Seychellois soil, despite the infuriating knowledge that England would be there and would probably be just as much of a jerk today as he had always been. Despite all that, Seychelles felt honored to have been invited to this meeting as part of the British Empire, and she was determined to make the best of it.

The first thing that she had to do was lose her guide, she realized. She couldn’t bring an ordinary human, ignorant to what she and the others were, to the meeting. So as soon as he was distracted, she slipped away. She felt a pang of regret at leaving the company of one of her people, but that couldn’t be helped. So, without further ado, she made her way to the building where the meeting was supposed to be.

Seychelles hesitated outside the door for a moment. She was afraid to go in and meet a group of other nations and proto-nations. She mostly stayed on her islands and out of world affairs as much as she could, so she hadn’t met a lot of others, and she didn’t like most of the ones she had met. What if she didn’t like these nations? What if they were all big and powerful and pushed her around? Or worse, what if they overlooked her and treated her like the child that she still was? What if they looked at her and saw a simple little island girl in a blue dress with her hair in pigtails, a cute kid, but not worth paying attention to?

But she had to overcome her fears at some point, so she took a deep breath and turned the doorknob. She stepped into the room and looked around at the chaos inside. This is sure to be an interesting evening, she thought, shaking her head.

She looked around hesitantly, hoping to see at least few familiar faces. No luck. Maybe she really should get out more, meet more people. It kind of sucked to go to a meeting and hardly know anyone. She was a little disappointed that France wasn’t here – not that she wanted to spend the day being groped, but at least she knew him and didn’t entirely hate him. None of the other African colonies were there, either. She recognized Ireland, who was also part of the British Empire. And of course England was there. Her temper flared up when she saw him with his bushy eyebrows and pompous attitude.

“Hello, Eyebrows,” she said, glaring. Then she turned her back to him and smiled again. “Hello, Ireland. And I don’t know the rest of you, but I’m Seychelles. Or you can call me Océane Charbonneau. I’m part of the British colony Mauritius.” She glared at England over her shoulder to let him know that she would prefer not to have to introduce herself as some insignificant piece of land that wasn’t even important enough to be its own colony.

Seychelles walked over to the table to try to find her seat, only to see that the place cards were arranged very oddly. Whatever, she wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up. They probably already thought she was weird enough as it was.

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Seychelles became part of the British Empire in 1814, but it wasn't officially a colony until 1903. Until then, it was considered a territory of a nearby colony, Mauritius. The Seychellois were very opposed to being considered part of another colony, so during this thread's time period, they were going through a series of negotiations with the British to get Seychelles recognized as a seperate Crown Colony.