Just to start and as a way to catch up
what sort of things are new around here?
Why, I am so glad you asked :D! A lot of things stayed the same, a lot of things changed! Here's a few I'm sure some of you would like to know:
Yooper is old (er)! From the 80s when the Yooper identity was distinguished!
Personifications materialize from the dirt of their land!
New Jersey's a woman, returning to my very, very old original HC! No other changes for NJ otherwise.
They also age differently now, based more on the state of what they're personifying than time! (For example, a personification like Utah grew up faster than most of his siblings due to the conflicts surrounding the creation of Deseret.)
I'm sure others will reveal themselves with asks relevant to them, but those above are good to... state.
I came back with shiny new updated HCs and my sincerest apologies of how absent Iâve been. Dusted the ask box off, soâ if you feel so inclinedâ ask away!
âIâm only a shell of a man since theyâve robbed me of my beloved,â Delaware sighed, staring longingly out the window, âBut I appreciate the sentiment.â
Figured out a more simplistic style to draw the basic designs of all of the American states over on @usa-manor in! What better test guinea pig than the country himself?
My floating stars HC for him is really fun until I have to draw all 50 of them. đ„Čđ
Whoopsie, my finger slipped and I accidentally posted a shameless plug for my friendâs new swanky art commissionsâ đïžđïž
But really, even if youâre not interested in commissioning, Lonely makes some incredibly cool art for the fandom and you should definitely check it out.
America, how did you react when west Virginia asked for and then obtained the funds to repair a damaged bridge from the Soviet union?
Whoopsie daisy, my hand slipped and I wrote a 3000+ word short story for this ancient ask. Well. Itâs old, I just got around to proofreading it now, butâ
Psst! You can also read it on Wattpad.
West Virginia Robs His Father Blind and Almost Starts a Nuclear Armageddon
"What'd they say?"
For a long moment, the only answer she received was the sound of nature moving around her. The songs of bugs humming, the trees rustling with a warm breeze, and the pitter-patter of critters racing about the tree branches. Get rekt, nature. Unfortunately, Vulcan wasn't talking to you.
Vulcan's company took his sweet time processing her words before offering a very lazy: "...Hn?"
Exasperated, the town flicked a beetle off of her sleeve. Sometimes she wished the stories she heard of the states being somewhat snobby yet professional were true, "...West. What'd they say?"
West Virginia paused, staring into the drink in his hand as he leaned against the wooden fence. Not the most comfortable position in the world, given the chipped paint scratching into him. He knew for sure he'd be picking the pieces out of his shirt for the next couple of days, but he supposed it was better than the alternative tree. He preferred chipped paint to splinters, it was easier to spot. Plus, less free acupuncture, thank you very much.
Of course, not that he minds leaning against a tree every so often, especially on a summer evening as nice as this. Besides, trees didn't always give you splinters. But the last time he did, he got this one splinter in his arm that he couldn't see so it was stuck with him for at least a week before he had to complain about it to Tennessee and-
Wait. What were they talking about?
"Who?" He asked, giving Vulcan 2.37/4 of his totally undivided attention.
Vulcan stifled a sigh. She dully wondered how frustrated she could get with him before it caused some sort of an issue. He was technically her boss. Well, boss's boss. Couldn't forget her county, Mingo. Especially after Mingo went through all the trouble of cornering the state and getting him in contact with her.
"Your folks in the government?"
West Virginia looked up, giving her a bit of a squint as he tried to recall, "...No more spite dying?"
"Ye- What? No," Vulcan blinked. She chose not to question that little tidbit of information and went on, "The money."
"Ah..." West nodded slowly, as if he completely understood, "...What for?"
"Cat fur, to make kitten britches- The bridge, West. I want to know about my bridge," Vulcan huffed, "The railroad company's been plastering anti-trespassing signs on their path now, we can't use it much longer! We need to get our access to Kentucky back."
"Ew, you actually want to go to Kentucky? Your life, I guess..." WV sighed, "Right. That bridge..."
That darn broken bridge. The same topic he's been dancing around for one and a half hours. Not his record time of three decades, but he supposed he should get to the point.
Truthfully, West Virginia was overjoyed when she came to him for help. Sure, a certain unnamed older sister of his to the east insists that he's a no-good hillbilly- which may or may not be true, depending on who you ask- but he likes helping people. He likes being useful. Ish.
I mean, not that he feels like he does nothing now, with the mines and other main economic ventures of his rapidly becoming a thing of the past. Nope. No way. He's not a flameout trying to scrap his life together, he's just a helpful fella. The glory days aren't over. He knows that.
For sure.
"Yeah. Yeah," West Virginia waved his hand, "They said no."
Vulcan gave him a squint. A very judgy one. WV dully noted it and ranked it far below Rhode Island's, but certainly above Iowa's. Peppy little cornfield frolicker.
"What?" She prodded, hoping there was more to it. There had to be, right? The government of her own state wouldn't overlook an issue as easy to solve as this.
"In an... alarming turn of events," West Virginia scratched the back of his neck, letting out an awkward chuckle, "They won't pawn it over, and I... am dirt broke. In state terms, anywho. We uh. We need those funds for other things. Apparently."
Admittedly, West Virginia's financial situation wasn't as... boisterous as it once was considered. Whoopsies.
"How are you even out of money? What have you been getting?" Vulcan was absolutely flabbergasted, "I've seen potholes deep enough to bury my gran in them! You don't even spend that much on yourself! You've been wearing that same brown belt for the past two decades!"
"It's two-in-one, actually," West Virginia pointed out. After a long pause, he flipped it over a bit, "It's reversible. It has a black side."
"...Only for you to always keep it on the brown side-?"
"Only for me to always keep it on the brown side."
"Are belts that expensive these days?"
"$1.54. Inflation, amiright? Anywho," West Virginia gently plopped his empty cup onto a tree stump, "That's the sitch. The situation. The sitchy-wation. It's bad, I know. Sorry."
Vulcan turned away from WV, but not to find something to chuck at him like he thought she would. She paced for a good couple of moments, back and forth as the leaves crunched beneath her feet. She stopped and looked back to West Virginia, "...And what about your dad?"
"I tried my best," West Virginia sighed, "I presented my case with as much grace as I possibly could."
"That doesn't seem like much."
"Hey, it's harder than it looks! He's been overwhelmed lately," West Virginia shrugged, "Not by us states, which is shocking. Someone's trying to steal our title as the highest blood pressure raisers."
Their longest streak of maintaining it lasted roughly a century. It's awarded yearly and decided by seeing how close the land o' the free gets to blacking out.
"Then what unholy creature irritates him most?" Vulcan pressed, "We can always ask 'em to bully him into it."
"Irritates him most?" West Virginia blinked, "We already asked my dad?"
"Oh. No, not- Other than him."
"England's busy."
"I wasn't serious, but- What about-?"
"Assume most of our extended family is busy."
"Aw. Is-?"
"I literally have no idea where the Department of Treasury would be right now, and I think he's still not going anywhere near Dad due to the 'we can't fund dogs in bathrobes' tiff. That got... That got heated."
"Dammit. H-"
"The IRS can't be summoned by our mere mortal forms."
"...Do we have any form that isn't our 'mere mortal' ones?"
"Kentucky has Colonel Sanders."
A distant Kentuckian 'whoop' sounded faintly across the gaping trench, on the other side of the close state border. Far too close for comfort. He's lurking.
Vulcan tugged at her hair, "...Nobody else?"
"Someone who ticks off the USA? Who has a looming and- dare I say- cold presence? Causing disturbance that can alter the world? In the 1970s?" West Virginia shrugged and shook his head, "Nope, not that I can think of. Bye, Vulcan! See you around. Nice chat."
"Ah, bummer. Bye."
CAST
Vulcan - Vulcan
Kentucky's Voice - Kentucky
America - America
West Virginia - Mountain Mama
Kevin - Steve Carell
Pennsylvania - Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson in a Wig with 99.999% of our Budgetâ
"HOLY SHIT,"Â West Virginia screeched, busting down Vulcan's bedroom door three days later as the clock read a bright and early 11:52PM, "THE USSR!"
"So," West Virginia bounced in his office chair excitedly, "I did a thing. I found an in. I planned a plot! We're getting you that bridge!"
Vulcan patted the desk, observing the environment of West Virginia's 'workplace.' It was a simple office, nearly a clone of the governor's, but smaller. It had a distinct smell of 'I don't actually know how to use cleaning chemicals but my janitor's on maternity leave so I'm just going to use every bottle I find and let nature take its course' clinging to it, but Vulcan would take that over the stench of cigarette smoke any day.
West Virginia was shuffling a stack of papers. They really didn't need to be shuffled, but he figured it added some level of importance to them. How to Look Professional When You're Actually Doing Nothing: a set of skills passed down to him by a random assortment of politicians he didn't care for very much. I'm not saying names, it's open to your interpretation. However, regardless of your political standing, we both know you just thought of at least. Three current politicians. How dare you! This is the 70s, be historically accurate while reading my story about personified countries with whimsical flag faces and overdramatized emotions inserted into world events that impact billions of lives.
"I wrote to the USSR! It took a couple drafts to get what I wanted to say right," He waved dismissively to the crumpled papers on his desk and floor. Vulcan spotted one that just said 'PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE-', but what works works, she supposed, "And he's willing to take a crack at the bridge issue!"
"You wrote the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and he just... responded? How'd you go and get him to agree?"
"I'm a very skilled diplomat."
"..."
...
"...Of course, the condition of where we would discuss the issue did come up, but-"
North Carolina rubbed his face tiredly as the coffee machine finished its job, caught off-guard by America's sudden tone change.Â
"Dad, you can't keep disrespecting your own postal service, it's-" North Carolina glanced over his should stopped short, "Oh. That skank."
America stood inches away from the glass- mildly fogging it up with his breath- and looking at the country as if the visitor were a hissing, rabid naked mole-rat foaming at the mouth with rabies.
"My day has been irrevocably ruined."
"Is there anything happening for him to need to...be here?"
"There's nothing that can happen for him to need to be anywhere. At anytime," America mourned as he stared out of the window for another silent moment, "...We need to burn the front yard."
"We don't need to burn the front yard."
"I don't care about my landscaping that much," He took his coffee mug from NC, "I'm going to throw this at him."
"Don't- don't. Don't...?"
"Are the children safe?"
"Uhm... Yes?"
"What about the international children?"
"International children?"
"West Germany, South Korea-"
"You mean the grown adults? The grown adults running their grown countries with grown politicians?"
"I don't like your tone."
"Sure. Sure, Dad. I'm sure they're fine-"
"Dammit, he's knocking on my door," America exasperatedly rubbed his eyes, "We need to burn that, too. Shame. I liked that one."
"We don't need to burn- It's fine, it's locked," The state assured, "It's locked, we can pretend we didn't hear him, play dead, and I know damn well none of the others are going to-"
North Carolina paused as West Virginia politely welcome USSR in with a firm handshake. America's eye twitched. Shocked. Betrayed. Possibly gobsmacked.
"Well. Well then..." NC started to make another pot of coffee. He's sure it'll be needed it, "I hope you know it's unethical to burn him...?"
America sulked back over to his seat. He rested his head on the table. The lifted it. Then rested it again. Then- Oh. No. He's just banging his head on his desk while being mindful of his health insurance.
It was surprisingly easy for West Virginia to get the entire personification of the Soviet Union into the house. He just walked right in.
It's not like they were discreet, either. Virginia was reading on the couch in one of the sitting rooms when the strange duo passed by. She barely even moved. She glanced up once, squinted at them, then looked back to her novel. She was off the clock.
They passed Secret Service in the hallway, too. All he accomplished was borderline tackling DC and dragging him into a nearby dark room. That didn't help anyone. Especially not the capitol's spine.
When they finally got to the door of USA's study, West Virginia's knock was greeted by a muffled groan of pure agony for thirty seconds. Somehow, less discreet than their entrance. It got louder and more pained as it dragged on. Soviet didn't seem remotely fazed. It eventually subsided, replaced by a shuffling WV could only assume was shoving everything his father wouldn't want who he considered the #1 threat to life on earth to see into his desk drawers. The Mountain State vaguely wondered if that included the gag gift dartboard with the face of a certain union to the left of him on it from Australia a good couple of Christmases ago.
A couple of unintelligable whispers later, America open the door. He had a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. Looking past him, Gin concluded that he did not, in fact, hide the dartboard. Or cover the crude phrases written on it. It was moved to a more central location.
"Good afternoon, Sovyetskikh!" USA grabbed the guest's hand a shook it firmly. Maybe a little too firmly. He was white knuckling the handshake, "I wasn't aware you were stopping by today! What an unwel- unexpected surprise! And West Virginia...! You're. Also here."
West Virginia waved enthusiastically. America gave him a tight smile only a parent who wants to act nice in front of company but will raise hell once they're gone could give.
"Hello," USSR tilted his head to look a little further into the room, still stuck in the lengthy handshake, "Hello, Texas."
It was a miracle that North Carolina didn't jump out of the window right then and there.
"Well, come on in! I certainly hope you're not here to tell us any bad news," America laughed. He didn't seem to be breaking the handshake anytime soon, so Soviet maintained it while the two awkwardly shuffled into the study together. WV was quick to follow.
"I have one like that," The Euroasian absentmindedly nodded to the dartboard, "From Australia during the 1964 Olympics."
"Ah. I'm sorry to hear that."
"My face is not on mine."
"We got ours in 1964, too," West Virginia recalled, "Aussie must've had a discount somewhere."
America's second betrayal of the day. Third, counting the time he went 'pspsps' to his cat Laundry this morning resulting in her staring at him then walking away. Somehow, that wounded him more than the other two.
"To answer your question: no bad news." Soviet paused to think, "...Yes, no bad news. For you. Today."
America nodded. NC put down the baseball bat he was holding behind his back and nudged it behind a nearby chair. USSR ignored it for the most part, trying to prompt the dissolution of the handshake. It wasn't working.
"I expected a sawed-off shotgun," He mused.
"Soviet. I believe that the usage of those kinds of national stereotypes are very harmful to society as a whole," America remarked, "Now then. If you're here for diplomacy, do you. Do you want some vodka, or...?"
"He's not here for diplomacy," WV cut in.
North Carolina started to reach back behind the chair.Â
"We need to borrow your study,"!West Virginia continued, "My office has water damage."
North Carolina's hand slowly retreated.
"Oh! Yes, of course, and-" America squinted, "...Why?"
"Well, the pipes burst on the floor above me. Leaked down through the ceiling," The West Virginian rattled on, talking with his hands, "Not ideal, but the damage should be fixed within two weeks or so. I blame Weirton. We were talking about the weird sounds from the walls before, and I said we should contact a plumber, but he was all like 'no, maybe it's rodents,' but I knew it wasn't the rodents and-"
"That's not- No," America's smile faltered for moment, "No. Not that."
"I agree," Soviet nodded solemnly, "Rodents sound much different than plumbing issues."
"You would know how rodents sound you little ra-" United States interrupted himself and looked back to his lazily named son, "Why do you need an office to talk to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics?"
"Because the diner was too loud."
"Gin. Do you like being in my will?"
Now's the right time to spring it, West Virginia supposed. From the twitching in America's stars, he could tell he might make the poor man have an aneurysm. Goodness, he doesn't want to kill his dad! He just wants to extort an exuberant amount of money from him with questionable ethics!
"He's going to help me fund a bridge for the town of Vulcan. You know? The one I asked you about? The one I asked my own father to help me with? In my time of need?" West Virginia feigned innocence, "That one? The one you refused to help me with getting? It's alright though, Soviet Union wants to help. He'll hear me out on funding bridges for the troubled folks in my state."
"I will be more than happy to help him," Sovyetskikh assured, "Seeing as a simple bridge is... inopportune for you."
America vaguely wondered what his life would be like if he never had children. Not that he doesn't love them, but he imagined his blood pressure would be much healthier.
Speaking of blood pressure, North Carolina was helpfully making note that the award of Highest Blood Pressure Raiser must go to West Virginia this year. The trophy's finally back in the hands of the states! This year might even be a contender for breaking the record, if America manages to get into cardiac arrest.
Quite frankly, America has no idea what the hell West Virginia was talking about. He had already forgotton about the request. He vaguely remembered some sort of rambling from him a good while ago, but he's not the best listener when he's practically alive by the grace of an IV of caffeine.
Still. Fake it 'til you make it.
Too bad he was a terrible actor.
"The bridge?" America gasped loudly, "Wh- Oh! The Vulcan bridge? What do you mean? You're getting three hundred thou-"
West Virginia shot him a look of unfathomable sadness.
"...Three hundred thousand and one million dollars for it," USA swiftly finished, "It was. It was in the works since you've asked me. These things just take a bit of time."
The swindler's smile grew. North Carolina, upon realizing there were going to be no heart attacks today, shook his head at how easily his dad caved under embarassment and giddily slipped out of the room to inform Florida that his score had been beaten this year.
"Oh, right, of course," WV nodded, "I should've guessed you were up to something like that! Your notice was probably ruined with the water damage before I could read it!"
"Ehm- Yeah! Probably! Those- Those darn water pipes, amiright?"
"Looks like I don't need you anymore, Soviet," West Virginia turned and waved, "Welp! Thanks, you two! Off to tell Vulcan. Try not to start a nuclear armaggedon. It'd ruin my new carpet. And bridge."
With that, he was gone in a flash. His cheering for his successful scam could be heard in the distance. Then tripping over a lump in the carpet in the distance. Then silence.
He.
He's probably fine.
It was quiet for a long time afterwards.
"Well, looks like that settles everything..." America reasoned.
The long silence restarted as soon as it was broken.
"...You should," America began, "You probably have. Work. To do. People to see. So..."
The two unions stood in an uncomfortable silence for a couple of minutes.
"...Oh, to hell with it,"Â America patted USSR on the shoulder, finally breaking the handshake, "You disgust me on a professional, personal, and spiritual level so I want you to leave."
NO WAY IS THIS BLOG STILL ACTIVE??? i thought i was like. dead for like at least two years or something and i just kept seeing it in the statehumans tag cuz all the posts there are old but NO THE LAST POST IS FROM LIKE LAST MONTH huge win. hallooo.
(Hello!! Donât worry, weâre still alive!! Iâve just been a little too swamped with school (and a lot of colds, for some reason) to do the research I need to answer some of the asks, I donât want to misinform any HCs or anything. I also donât tag #statehumans myself as often these days because I donât want to clog it (I usually post in waves and Iâve noticed Iâve accidentally drowned out really cool posts of other smaller accountsâ a couple times when I did) so you might find more old than new posts on it, you can find a lot more recent ones on the blog itself. But I certainly plan on continuing the blog!! Iâm almost done with a long ask answer. đ
Thank you very much, Iâm glad you like my posts!! đ)
Massachusetts, is Britain atill upset with you for all the tea you dumped into your harbor?
âDonât worry, I make it my full time job to have him still be upset with me,â Massachusetts assured, âIâll be irritating him for the next dozen millennia or so. He will not know peace in my presence.â
Has anyone else noticed how Iowa basically makes everything, or it least grows the corn for it. Seriously, what doesn't contain corn?
âNothing doesnât contain corn!â Iowa smiled, sitting in the comfort of his own houâ Heyyy, can we even do that? This is ask-the-usa-manor, isnât it against the rules to leave said manor?
[Various sounds of page turning.]
âŠOkay, so the rule book is actually an Olive Garden menu. Thought I wouldâve noticed that sooner, but here we are. Weâve busted Tennessee out of prison before though, among other things. This should be fine.
âHave you seen those hyperrealistic cake videos?â Iowa continued, âIâve been doing those. With corn. Only in my own home, of course. Mostly. Nothing too big.â
In the background, Nebraska went to the fridge for a drink. The second he pulled the door, the handle came off and reduced itself to a pile of corn kernels.
Nebraska looked down at the pile of corn on the floor for a long, long moment. Eventually, he made direct eye contact with the Anon.
(Your sarcastic ask isn't winning today. /lh)
"Chicken parmâ?" Vermont blinked, "Do we look like Google to y-"
"Set a wire rack inside a rimmed baking sheet!" New York started, shoving everything off the counter and slamming said materials down, "Line another rimmed baking sheet with foil! Cut two 12-inch sheets of plastic wrap!!!"
Vermont stood, staring at New York blankly.
NY slowly turned back to him, "...Did you hear me?"
"Yes, but-"
Vermont was cut off by an apron smacking him in the face.
"Cut two chicken breasts in half lengthwise, making four roughly equal pieces," New Jersey continued, popping out of seemingly nowhere with a chef getup already on as he sliced the meat, "Place one sheet of plastic on a clean cutting board. Put a chicken piece in the center of the plastic and top with the other sheet of plastic."
Jersey stopped to stare at Vermont, knife in hand. After a second of hesitance, Vermont decided he'd choose his battles today and followed the instructions under the very judgmental eyes of his brothers.
Once done, Rhode Island popped out of heaven knows where and started to beat the ever-loving heck out of the chicken with the flat side of a meat mallet.
"You just gotta-" Rhode Island was putting his heart and soul into beating up the poultry, "You just gotta pretend it's your least favorite sibling."
Vermont cringed every time the mallet met the chicken, "...Am I your least favorite sibling?"
Rhode Island didn't answer. He just kept beating the poultry piece by piece until all the pieces were 1/4-inch thick before carelessly tossing the mallet into the sink. He threw a good amount of pepper and salt on them before walking away.
"Put 3/4 a cup of all-purpose flour in a pie plate and dredge each piece in it one at a time!" New Hampshire went on, scaring Vermont. He didn't hear her get here. Or get her ingredients out. What the-?
New Hampshire turned the chicken to coat and packed the flour into the crevices. She shook of the excess before placing each piece back on the rack.
New York pointed to a kitchen cabinet, "Get a medium bowl."
Vermont grabbed a bowl and paused. Since when did he listen to any of these people???
New Jersey dumped a cup of breadcrumbs, a 1/4 cup of Parmesan, a 1/2 teaspoon of salt, and a 1/4 teaspoon of pepper into Vermont's bowl. New York joined in by cracking an egg and dumping a 1/2 cup of milk. Vermont whisked for his life.
New Hampshire dunked the chicken in the mix, allowing any excess to drip off. She then packed seasoned breadcrumbs onto the chicken. VERY gently.
The rest of the excess was shaken off, and the chicken was returned to the rack. It was then sent off to be refrigerated from 30 minutes to 12 hours; no more, no less.
Vermont was shaken. This cooking felt aggressive, "...Are we done?"
New Jersey raised his eyebrows, "Can you magically summon sauce into existence?"
"Well-"
"HEAT 1/3 CUP OF OLIVE OIL in a large pot over medium-high heat," New York interrupted, the stove roaring to life, "3 cloves of garlic. FINELY GRATED. 1 teaspoon dried oregano! 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes! FASTER, MONTY, FASTER! This can only be on for a minute!"
As Vermont scrambled around the kitchen, New Jersey wasn't helping.
"Two 28-ounce cans of diced tomatoes," NJ listed, leaning against the counter, "3 sprigs basil, 1 teaspoon salt."
After the ingredients were added, the pot was brought to a boil then promptly reduced to a simmer. It cooked on the stove, uncovered, for about 30 minutes. Vermont tried to creep away the whole time, but he simply wasn't allowed. The tomatoes were smashed with a potato masher until smooth. A little extra salt was tossed in.
Meanwhile, New Hampshire poured a 1/2 cup of olive oil into a large skillet on medium-high heat. She cooked the chicken from the fridge for one minute on each side (not cooked through) before placing them on the foil-lined baking sheet, about 3 inches apart.
New York arranged an oven rack to be directly underneath the broiler before preheating it to high. New Jersey and Vermont topped each piece of chicken with a 2/3 cup of the sauce and spread it evenly to coat. New Hampshire sprinkled 1 tablespoon of Parmesan and a 1/2 cup of mozzarella on each one. It was then broiled until the cheese melted and browned in some spots, about 2 to 3 minutes.
12 ounces of spaghetti were cooked until al dente. It was drained and stirred into the remaining sauce, before getting placed into a serving dish and topped with the chicken.
Vermont, after being voluntold, finished the meal by sprinkling more Parmesan and torn basil on top.
Staring at their creation, he looked to the others.
"...What now?
"Then have Italy take all the credit for your own recipe," America shrugged, taking a dish, "Not that we're bitter. Or anything."
*drops 1790 America, basically a preteen America, in the room* mind looking after him for a moment? I gotta go get dru- I mean do some chores. Alright bye! *Runs off*
America barely glanced over, blank smile not wavering.
âI literally wouldnâtâve noticed an extra child if you didnât announce him,â America continued reading the paper, most likely because heâs old. He waved his hand away in a vague direction, âJust put him with the rest of âem.â
âHeya, Pops,â New York greeted, walking up beside America, âQuietly screaming at your past life choices again? Yeah. Yeah, me too.â
âItâs not that,â America promised, âFor once. Look at this mailbox! Itâs stuffed to the brim! Thereâs gotta be almost a hundred letters in here⊠From months agoâ!â
âAnswer what you can, and feed Florida the outdated,â New York shrugged, âItâs a win-win scenario. Florida gets the dinner, we get the show.â
âYork,â Virginia chastised, âThatâs unethical, andââ
âEat this,â America pawned off a couple papers to Florida, who did so without hesitation.
Hey y'all, I asked the AI!America for some relationship advice, was that a good idea?
~ Monty (Bitch, Vermont Jr, whatever y'all call me atp)
âHellllll no. The man himself canât keep a good relationship with his postman,â The man himself looked incredulous, and kind of judgy, âWhat under the sun, moon, and stars made you think AI me would be better?â
"Pout, pout, pout," Rhode Island mused, retrieving the discarded pillow off of the room's green carpet-decorated floor, "...That seems to be all you want to do today, eh?"
The victim of Rhode Island's comments continued toâ you'll never guess whatâ pout, face buried behind his hair and in his pillows.
Rhode fluffed the cushion thoughtfully, taking a seat on the edge of the sulky boy's bed. He glanced down at his younger brother, wondering how on earth he was saddled with the responsibility of comforting him on this brisk afternoon. It was December for crying out loud. Shouldn't the kid be frolicking in a winter wonderland? Eating ice off the ground? Chucking snow at everything, inanimate or not? Contracting hypothermia? Whatever it was, he knew damn well that there were better candidates than him for the job of convincing the boy.
Alas, it would be admitting defeat if he left to find one right now. Especially if the only other soul he could discover was New York. Ew. Disgusting. Repulsive. If Rhode had a thesaurus on hand, he'd keep going for the rest of the chapter's word count. I can't allow that. I'm not that desperate yet. Besides, it's 1816. The first official thesaurus wouldn't be published for another 36 years.
"...Michigan, you shan't be carrying on like this at the old age of eleven if I can help it," Rhode Island joked light-heartedly, "Look at you. Lying here like a sack of flour. You should have a wife and children by now, if you had a shred of respect for yourself."
Curiously, the territory peered up from his bedding, "...Where are yours, then?"
"I gambled away my dignity years ago in a game ofâ" Rhode Island paused, having a small flashback sequence to a series of Virginia's threats regarding stories she saw unfit to tell the younger siblings. Traumatizing, "...None of your business. Now. That does it. Get off of the damned bed."
Michigan plopped his head right back into the pillow cave he made for himself, "...No."
Shoot. That was a convincing argument.
Rhode Island started to drag the child off the bed. Unfortunately, little Michigan had a grip of steel to the frame. Which was very disheartening yet impressive for Rhode Island, who (like many of his siblings) couldn't help but notice Michigan's serious lack of right arm since the War of 1812. He had to give the kid credit, losing a limb didn't make him any weaker. Or less stubborn.
What the fresh hell had Georgia been feeding this kid...? He'll never know. It might be crack. Actually, he's met Kentucky. It's definitely crack.
Rhode Island stood, grumbling a few not-so-Virginia-approved words to himself before huffing and turning back to Michigan, "You're being an addle-plot."
A very muffled voice responded with a little; "Your mother's an addle-plot."
"And your father's a whore."
"We have the same father."
"Well, you see, that's funny becauseâ" Rhode Island raced over to the room's door and poked his head out, "OHIO!"
Listen, listen, listen. Calling someone in to take over the second he recognized their footsteps in the hallway wasn't quitting. No. He wasn't bested by a tween. It was calling in reinforcements. That's nothing to be ashamed of. He lasted about one minute and thirty-two seconds longer than he usually did, and he didn't think about smacking a child. He's a warrior. He's a leader. He'sâ
"Are you beefing with the 11-year-old again?"
He's moving out. He needs his own place. He doesn't need to get disrespected like this. How could they do this to him. It's not like he helped raise them or anything. It's not like he was the one to teach them certain rude hand gestures at the age of six. He knows he already has a spot in his state he could go to. It's a humble little mansion. He can move there permanently instead of using it exclusively for business. He can throw parties and not invite any of his siblings. He canâ
Ohio whooshed past Rhode Island as the older continued plotting his escape to freedom. Taking Rhode Island's former seat on the edge of the bed, Ohio patted Michigan's back. Michigan responded by kicking his legs into the mattress.
"...You know you can't talk to him like that," The Buckeye State sighed, "He's little."
With that comment as a sharp slap of reality Rhode Island swerved around and squawked indignantly, "Iâ!"
Ohio blinked and glanced over his shoulder, "I don't believe I was talking to you."
A small, muffled giggle escaped from the pillows. This was just bleak. He was 0-4 right now.Â
"I don't need this," The oldest grumbled, retrieving a book of his off of Michigan's small desk, "I have people to spite. Grudges to carry."
"Shelves to not reach?" Michigan's muffled voice suggested.
One day.
One. Day.
May the good Lord give him an abundance of patience, because if He gave him strength there would be lawsuits.
With Rhode Island gone, Michigan flopped from his stomach to his back and offered Ohio a nod, "Morning."
Michigan lifted his head up ever so slightly, "Can't a territory around here act overdramatic and on the cusp of a devastation for fun...?"
Silence. The answer was definitely 'yes'â it's been done many times before by territories, states, and the country himself alikeâ but saying that wouldn't improve the situation at hand.
Michigan's head flopped back down, "I'm short."
"Devastating," Ohio deadpanned, wondering how he'd break it to his little brother that he was, in fact, a child, "What else?"
"No," Michigan rolled his eyes, "I'm shorter."
Ohio blinked, blank expression on his face. As of right now, Michigan was shorter than a lot of things. Not quite as short as South Carolina's attention span, but still, a lot of things. "...Than who?"
"Than ME."
"You're you. Who's this 'me'?"
"You're Ohio."
"Then who's you?"
"Me? I'm Michigan," Michigan offered a handshake, "Your favorite sibling. Nice to make your acquaintanceâ"
"That's notâ No. Who's shorter?"
"I'm shorter."
"Than who?"
"Than me!"
"Who's taller?"
"Me!"
"You're you!"
"Right!"
Ohio took a deep breath, trying to channel his inner Virginia, "Territory of Michigan, I swear on the grave of New Jersey's hopes and dreamsâ"
Michigan wailed, quickly getting up to his feet. He grabbed Ohio by the left shoulder and shook him to the best of his ability, "Look at me! Just look at me!"
"Beforeâ before you give me whiplash," Ohio managed to get out, somewhat playing along with Michigan as he pretended to be incapable of pushing back the shakes, "What- What am I looking at?"
"Brace yourself," Michigan released him and looked at him gravely, "Are you ready?"
Ohio nodded, attempting to smooth the wrinkles the territory's grip had left in his shirt, "As I'll ever be."
"I," Michigan solemnly confessed, "Have lost a whole ten miles."
Ohio paused. He glanced around on the room. He looked left. Right. Up. Down. And, if I may be so bold; all around.
"...Where'd you put them, then?" He joked lightly, pretending to check under one of the many pillows.
Michigan threw his left hand up, nearly hysterical, "This is a grave matter, Oheeo!"
"Gesundheit."
"I woke up shorter! I am a VICTIM of ROBBERY!" The younger declared, slapping his thigh for emphasis on each over-pronounced word.
Ohio raised his eyebrows incredulously. Michigan looked perfectly healthy, with his room in perfect order. Nothing seemed out of place, except... "The only thing you're a victim of is that haircut."
Don't judge him. It was his brotherly duty to bully the child. He was doing his job as an upstanding American citizen. All in a day's work.
Michigan guffawed indignantly, trying not to be obvious as he glanced in the mirror beside Ohio. Smoothing down his unkempt mess of waves and curls nonchalantly, the territory resumed his sulking, "Don't you realize what this means for me?"
"You need to hire a new barber?"
"YoU nEeD tO hIrE a NeW bArbEr?" Michigan mocked, scrunching his nose, "Shove over a couple of steps, I need to fling myself dramatically onto my bed again."
Ohio obliged, letting Michigan partake in his moment. A mere handful of seconds passed before Michigan scrambled off of the bed in a hasty movement.
"I didn't like that one," The younger one said quite decidedly, storming past Ohio, "Let me try that again!"
Ohio shrugged, remaining in his spot as Michigan backed up to the door of his room to get a running start this time. Bolting with the grace and agility of a diseased yet well-meaning gazelle, Michigan flopped back onto his bed. Ohio made a mental note to ask where his father got the set of furniture for this room over dinner. Obviously, it was high-quality and sturdy if it survived the little Mitten this long.
Michigan, after surveying how many pillows the force of his landing knocked off, deemed the fall acceptable. He knew his theatrics well, given his familial connections. I cannot conjure up a single name in this family who isn't some variation of a theatric mess. That could be the curse of personifications. Or humans. Or any of the subjects of my writing, for that matter.
Oh no.
I may be the problem.
"O.H.," The child continued, ignoring whichever sister echoed 'I.O.' in the hallway as she passed, "You don't seem a quarter as invested in this as I imagined you'd be."
Ohio shrugged, "You seem far more invested than I imagined you'd be. Weren't you in the room when everyone was talking about this?"
"So we are in another war?"
The state stared at the wide-eyed, disheveled territory. He'll take that as a 'no.' To the misfortune of Michigan's vocal cords, Ohio wasn't able to correct him before the kid screamed into his mattress with the force of a thousand dying seals.
"I knew it!" Michigan groaned, "Oh, Canada! It hasn't even been two years since the last one!"
"That's notâ"
"Pack your bags, we're going north," The child grumbled, trudging over to his wardrobe and throwing it open with gusto. He took random articles of clothing, piling them up on the floor, "We're going to kidnap him this time. Perhaps our hands will slip and he'll lose an arm. Maybe both. A leg, perchance. Who knows? I'm can be clumsyâ"
Choosing to ignore how concerning that thinly veiled threat was, Ohio grabbed the bunched up mess of clothes from Michigan's hands before he can put them in his growing pile, "We're not at war, Mitten."
"Don't call me that, it's undignified."
"Apologies, Mr. Mitten."
"Thank you. However, it's Mr. Dr. Rev. Mitten to you."
"Right, Mr. Dr. Rev.â Since when were you ordained?"
Michigan stared at him blankly.
"...No matter," Ohio decided to pick and choose his battles today, "As you know, Indiana became a state rather recently."
"Rather off topic, but good for her. I'm very proud," Michigan feigned a sniffle, "They grow up so fast... I hope she remembers to write me every couple of month..."
"...She was given a smidge of your land on her way outâ"
"I imagined I was getting KIDNAPPED!" Michigan screeched, slamming his hands on the table, "Again!"
Massachusetts patted the kid, who couldn't quite pinpoint if he was shaking from relief or the fear he finally processed from this morning, on the back. He had no idea what was going on, but, to put it bluntly; the small homeboy looked traumatized.
With a slight hint of sympathy, Indiana apologetically patted the territory on the head, "My sincerest apologies, Mr. Dr. Rev. Mitten."
Michigan shot a deadpan stare at Ohio for half a second. Ohio pretended to not notice it, staring off into the existential void. AKA the window that overlooked the backyard. AKA the joys of the great outdoors. AKA Floridaâ who was the only adult among the outside crowd and shouldn't technically be condoning that kind of behaviorâ dangling from a tree while 15-year-old Louisiana was preparing the hit him with a sizable branch as 7-year-old Illinois held 4-year-old Missouri's hand and watched. AKA another unavoidable doctor's bill to America, from his feral offspring, with love. Love, and a little spite. Deserved or undeserved, who knows?
"Ten miles isn't quite much," Indiana continued, ignoring the very loud *THWACK*Â followed by a Floridian with way too much confidence in the resilience of the human body insisting 'AGAIN!'Â from outside, "I wouldn't mind if you wanted to reclaimâ"
"The land? The land...?" The territory scoffed, "Are you kidding me? I'm happy it turned out to be you. Keep it. I don't care, I haven't the slightest need for it. Happy statehood. But Indie, I had so many revenge plans! Tomfooleries! Shenanigans! Now I can't execute them against the British! My justification is out to sea...!"
Michigan buried his face in his hands, entirely devastated. It was a bit of a shoddy excuseâ he will most definitely try to carry out his schemes anywayâ, yet he refused to be thought of as a coward. Especially in front of the older siblings. Ew. Yuck. Disgusting. Blegh.
Cowardliness is reserved for the weak. The weak, and when his father gets home from work. In which Michigan will be clinging to him like a stubborn koala and claiming he had something in his eyes. America wouldn't believe him, primarily after getting the day's synopsis from Ohio, but he would make a comment about allergy season and pretend he did nonetheless.
"Michigan," Massachusetts gently reassured, "Connecticut still exists. You still have people to torment. And for good cause."
Michigan sniffled, "...What cause?"
"He exists," The eldest brother tilted his head, "And that's very, very sad."
Michigan slowly took his face from his hands, meeting Massachusetts's genuine, earnest expression.
"...Very well," The territory sighed heavily, shoving his chair back, "I'm going to go bury his shoes in the snow out back. If I'm not back by sunset, assume I moved a single garden pebble and New Jersey is preserving my remains to fertilize the plants come spring."
Indiana's eyebrows climbed up, "Just like that?"
"Consider the matter forgiven," Michigan shrugged as he stood, doing his best to sound like an adult. A Virginia impression, to be exact. It was thoroughly believed among her younger siblingsâ for better or worseâ that she feared nothing on this piddly mortal plane of existence.
As if he were going off to work a regular nine to five, the child sauntered to the doorway of the almost vacant dining room. Looking back at the small assembly, his facade wavered as he poutedâ Er. Made an expression that conveyed a serious complaint. "Not forgotten, though. Next person to move my borders without telling me is experiencing bodily harm."
Amused, Ohio watched as his little buddy went off to cause havoc and turmoil.
The issue of Michigan's land was solved, and will never come up again.
...
Yep. No reason to continue following this novel. I told you it was short. That's it. Nothing else happens.Â
...
Click off of this story. Go read some of NewLostIslands's instead. Shoo, now, shoo.
...
You can go. The show's over. Thank you for your time andâ Why is this chapter titled 'Prologue'?
...
Oh, Heckerberry Finn. I have to commit now, don't I?
