March 8, 2012. 3:30 PM.
America stands in Seychelle's bathroom, an empty bottle of red hair dye, green contacts, and spray tan on the counter next to him. He carefully slips the contacts on his eyes, and puts his glasses on; he doesn't care if he doesn't need them anymore, he likes them. They're all he has left of himself now. He looks at the man in the mirror and sighs. This man is nothing like him. He has to make up a new personality, a new name.
He decides he'll be smart. A scholar, perhaps. His name will be Andrew. Andrew Foster Jones. Yes, he's keeping the middle and last name. He can't loose himself completley. But you're probably wondering why he's doing all this, aren't you? Simple. America had overheard Seychelles on the phone with someone, and she had told him he was there. Now, he was disgusing himsel, and hopping on the next train to somewhere far away!
He stuffs his things inside his worn out, leather suitcase and bolts out the door before Seychelles can come chasing after him. Soon, he reaches the train station. He sits down. He's decided to go to Russia. It's going to take a very, very long time. He pulls his hood up and looks out the window, not wanting to be seen.
Eventually, someone slips into the seat next to him. He doesn't turn to look at the stranger beside him. Eventually, the person taps his shoulder.
"Excuse me," A voice asks, a very farmiliar and a very British one asks, "Do you have the time?" America turns as calmly as he can, and stares into those green eyes.
"Um.. Yeah. It's about 5:30."
England stares at him in shock. Crap! America didn't disguise his voice! Would England recognize him?
"Alfred?" The Brit asks.
"Huh?"
"Nothing, sorry. You just sound a lot like someone I miss very much."
"Ah. Sorry, but you don't look farmiliar.." America says with a small smile.
"What's your name?"
"Me? I'm Andrew. Andrew Jones. You?"
"Arthur Kirkland. Wait, did you say your last name was Jones?"
"Yes...?"
"Middle name?"
"Huh? Why?"
"Why not?"
America shrugs, as a name suddenly pops into his head. "Andrew Jeremy Jones."
"Ah. A nice name."
"Thanks?"
"So, what do you like to do?" This man seems very farmiliar to England for some reasn, and he wants to know more about him.
"I like a lot of things."
"Like what?"
"Well, I like Poetry and Art. Umm... I like to read, and listen to music. Oh! And baseball... and um... Hamburgers!" He blurts.
"Hamburgers and Baseball?"
"And Literature!"
"And literature. Interesting. Where you from, Andrew?" England is becoming growingly suspicious.
"I'm from New York."
"Nice."
"Well, I have to go to the bathroom..." America stands up and walks out before he can see anymore of the British man he misses so much. He looks in the mirror once he gets in there. He feels like England can see right through his disguise, to the person undeerneath. He splashes water on his face, trying to refresh himself.
