"Ah, who can say now?" Russia shrugs to himself - literally, he supposes, which is sort of funny in and of itself - clasping his hands lightly behind his back as they walk shoulder to shoulder. He wonders if they look like brothers, the two of them, or if his people even see two individuals at all. They move in such strange orbits, creatures of their particular pedigree, and like heavenly bodies their observed motion does not always intuitively match their true paths.

"It is nice, seeing you," he admits after a moment, nodding slightly. "I am not even here on purpose. It would be only more troublesome if I displaced you on accident."