Tea time with a commie - Countryhumans SovBrit

Chapter 4 • Meet the family

No one's POV:

It was quite bitter in the Russian territory. Birds huddled closely together in trees to gather warmth. There was snow littered about in the areas people didn't wander near. And a white fog made seeing rather difficult.
Britain had managed to enter this country without his son (or anyone part of NATO for that matter) finding out. He had only told four people: England, Scotland, Wales and Northen Ireland. They weren't likely to tell anyone else anyways. On top of very few people knowing he's come here, he also hasn't being shot on sight! But the moment he stepped foot on the Russian territory, he was whisked away by some personnel. Or would it be better to call them agents? Or spies even? Whoever they were, they clearly worked directly for Soviet. They immediately put Britain into a car, along with his luggage, and began to drive. He knew none of the language, thus the ride was eerily silent. He was already shaking. Several thoughts rumaged through his head: 'am I being kidnapped?' 'Am I about to be killed?' 'Where am I being taken to?'
All of these questions were very reasonable. Maybe the more reasonable thoughts the small man has had in a while. He took a gaze out the window, being very attentive to his surroundings. He could've counted every single brick within his sight, that's how attentive he was.
While his own mind entertained him, the car came to a halt. It parked up at a large home, like a mansion or manor of sorts. It had that old, renaissance type architecture to it. At first sight, it was beautiful. Or at least to Britain it was. His door was opened for him and he was ordered to get out the car. Or so he assumed. He still didn't speak Russian. The iced winds knived his body. He wrapped his coat (or blazer as better described) tighter around his torso. Thankfully, he was led to the front door of the home and whoever had driven him knocked the door for him, too. Though, they didn't stick around for long, leaving Britain to deal with whoever would answer the door.

It was quick to open. A small boy, maybe 10 years of age, peaked his head out and immediately greeted Britain in Russian. Britain blinked twice at the sight.
"Uhm, good morning...?" Was it even morning? It was. Did the boy even understand him?
Regardless, the boy turned around and called out "Папа!" Once. Twice. Then thrice.
By the third call, the boy quickly scurried away and Britain looked up at none other than Soviet. There was a tense moment of silence. He trembled back, unsure if he wanted to enter the warmth of the home and speak to Soviet, or stay outside in the bitter tempertarure and freeze to death.
"Britian! Привет! Great to see you! How was the travel here?" Soviet sounded so cheerful, opening the door wider to let the other inside.
Britian stepped forward, "it was fine," he stuttered.
"Are you hungry? I have plenty of food here."

British man's POV:

I'm not very hungry. But it'd be rude to deny the offer. I nod,
"A bit, yes."
As my eyes adjust to the light, I notice a few, small figures creeping at the end of the corridor. Are those children? Soviet has kids? I should've figured when I saw that boy answer the door. When I stared the few at the end of the corridor, they scurried off.
"Those are my kids, I hope you don't mind. They're all shy."
"I didn't know you had any."
They're all shy? Is that why I've never seen them before? Maybe he doesn't like talking about his kids – how many are there? I saw about three down there and one answered the door...
"I don't talk about it. Come." Soviet began to lead me through the home.
It was easy to get lost in here. There's too many twists and turns. Eventually, we end up at a dinning hall. I say hall because there's too many chairs for a family. There's at least 20. And there's servants setting plates too. It's just us two eating, right?
"Sit there," he points to a chair next to end of table. I assume he'll sit at the head of the table.
I stare at the food being set: bread, toast, other various breakfast items. And all of it was on delicate cutlery: the kind that would break if set too harshly on the table. For a moment, it felt like I was about to be eating with my own family for a special event. I could nearly remember – feel as if – my own four children were readying to sit next to me. Me and my... Wife.
Then the realisation hits. And now I'm questioning my own surroundings. Why is Soviet treating me like this? It's really polite of him. Really polite of him. What is he planning? Actually, no. It's rude to think this. Maybe he's genuine. If I didn't come here, I'd of been lonely. It's really good of him to invite me. I'm gonna embrace this moment—

"ДЕТИ! ЗАВТРАК! (Kids! Breakfast!)"
I jumped, knocking my back against the chair.
Soviet had made his way to the otherside of the room and called out to the endless hallways. His voice was like that of a drill sargent's. Does he do that everyday? He then sat at the head of the table, next to me, while the sounds of hurried footsteps come closer to the room.
First, I see about three children, including the one who answered the door earlier, enter. Then another two. Then four. Then three. Then another two. Then one more. That's... THAT'S FIFTEEN CHILDREN!? No wonder the dinning room is more like a dinning hall! They all stopped running as soon as they entered the room and sat at the table. Some hesitated to enter when they first saw me, but soon went in regardless. They were all silent, not taking any food yet either. They all stared at Soviet – who I assume is the father to all of them – and I. The younger ones specifically eyed me more.
Soviet stands up, pointing at me with his hand but looking at the children. He says something in Russian and the children all stand up and say, in sync, to me:
"Привет, Британия." Then they all sat down once more
"They say 'hello' to you," Soviet translates for me as he sits down too.
I awkwardly wave back. How does one man have fifteen kids? I mean, I had a lot of colonies, but they're not all related to me by blood. Only Ame, Nada, Aussie and Kiwi.
"Ты можешь есть (you can eat)," Soviet says to his children and they all start to take food from the middle of the table to eat.
I guess that's my cue to eat as well.

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((Guys, I regret to inform you that I have been inspried by tales such as 'Macbeth', and perhaps 'Romeo and Juliet' and 'white fang' and 'Alice in Wonderland', and also definitely 'Jeckyll and Hyde' (though that be for the plot of The Parasite, not this) :)))