They liked to sit around and talk about many things. Viku remembered trying to listen in once and mimic what was being discussed in his own playtime with Fane, but it was not necessarily a fun activity. Sure, it got the boy talking and practicing the words he struggled to formulate with the chubby cheeks and tongue refusing to cooperate to sound out certain noises upon his speech, but regardless, it was never an activity Viktor enjoyed spending more than 5 minutes on. The boy was often seen getting bored of the concept of held meetings in his free plays, and much rather had practiced his lack of motor skills or scribble with colorful crayons onto the papers his brother held dear (unknown to the child they were papers his brother would happen to have to use in these meetings, but that is not important). So when Fane dragged the toddler to yet another long and tedious meeting, Viktor found himself bored in his seat, his tiny pudgy legs swinging back and forth under the surface of the table. He played with his fingers, with his hair, and even with his brother's pen when he could reach over and grab at it.
Meetings were slow and long and just all out a snorefest. Sure one may argue it wasn't something a child as himself would be expected to enjoy in the beginning, but when forced to go to them on a weekly basis, the little Romanian territory was growing irritated. It was only when he was told he could go play instead while Fane spoke to Ludwig about some matters did he finally feel the bliss of freedom, and he tumbled out the chair he was forced to sit 'quietly' in for what seemed like an eternity. It didn't matter that in reality it was only half an hour long; it was boring, and boredom made the duration feel much longer than they actually were.
The brunet child was about to explore his surroundings, when he spotted however, what seemed like another child. Way older than he was, definitely, but not old like his big brother or big meanie Ludwig who would glare at him if he acted up during the speeches. No, this person still held that awkward innocence that Viktor felt a connection to and could feel he could relate, and without hesitation the boy approached the elder one. He tugged hard on the boy's shirt and tilted his head slightly to the side when he seemed to catch the other's attention.
"Why aren't chu old wike the other people?"
Best question to start with, truly. The tot was a master of introductions.
As a general rule, Astrit didn't mind meetings, but there were certain subjects that he really couldn't convince himself to care about, and they had just arrived on one of them. Yes, he was sure it was very important that Ludvih and Shtefan (or however you were supposed to spell their names--Astrit mentally rendered everything in Albanian these days, but he was pretty sure they had other spellings) and the others in the room should hash out whatever it was they were talking about, but he just couldn't make himself believe that the conversation had any relevance to him or anything that mattered to him.
Part of it, of course, was that he was wound up like a tight spring with worrying about his own fate, which had not yet been settled. That tended to make everything else a little bit less of a priority, so he found himself deeply distracted from the discussions that were going on. He tried to focus on what they were saying anyway, hoping to give his mind a bit of a rest from the tension, but it wasn't helping at all...
And then there was a tug on his shirt, and he looked down to see a very small boy, apparently much younger than himself, looking at him quizzically. It was a little difficult to tell for certain, maybe because the boy was so young, or maybe because there were other Nations in the room and one in particular was so extraordinarily powerful as to overwhelm others' auras, but Astrit had a vague feeling that this was another one of his own kind. Certainly it would be strange if he weren't; who would ever consider bringing a three-year-old who wasn't a Nation to this kind of a meeting? Human children would normally be in the care of mothers or grandmothers or nannies, or whoever was home, at times like this; if a human father were important enough to be here, surely he would also have the power to ensure that there was someone at home to take care of his children.
"Why aren't you old like the other people?" the younger boy wanted to know. At least, that was what Astrit thought he said; it was hard to be completely sure, because the toddler was still clearly working on learning how to pronounce certain sounds.
Astrit covered his mouth to stifle the laugh that tried to escape him in response to the unexpected question. It wouldn't do to interrupt the meeting, after all. The surprise and distraction eased the tension he was feeling a little, and he smiled down at the other little boy, trying to figure out how to answer that.
"I haven't really had a chance to grow up yet, I guess," was what he finally settled on. "I don't know. Everybody grows a little differently, and I grow very slowly for whatever reason." He shrugged, pretending it didn't bother him as much as it did. Growing up was one of those things that couldn't really be rushed, even by one whose mind was fairly mature and who longed to become more independent. Although he was a Nation, and accordingly the forces that made him up could be affected in a thousand different ways by decisions that he and others made, he himself had no control at all over his aging. Other Nations could choose to push him in one direction or another, could encourage him to grow or limit his scope by any of quite a few means, but his own choices seemed to have little to nothing to do with how that went.
"What's your name, by the way?" Astrit asked the younger child. "You can call me Astrit." He didn't give his Nation name just yet; while he was pretty sure he was dealing with another of his own kind, he preferred to wait until he was absolutely certain of that, just in case. A three-year-old was probably not going to be a problem either way, it was true, but Astrit still remembered enough of what he himself had been like at that age to be very careful with his words. You never knew, with a child that young, how much of what you said to them was going to be repeated at a potentially awkward time.
A questioning gleam shone in the toddler's eyes when the older boy covered his mouth to stifle a laugh that threatened to escape him. He simply asked a question that was one he thought to be quite normal, though he himself didn't consider himself to the question when he did so. Of course, such logic slipped from the small child's mind, that even question the thought process, to begin with, would be an endless chase of questions, to begin with. The small Romanian territory just wanted his question answered in the simplest way that'll make sense for him. And sure enough, he received it from the older boy.
"I haven't really had a chance to grow up yet, I guess, I don't know. Everybody grows a little differently, and I grow very slowly for whatever reason."
As Astrit shrugged, Viku copied the motion, figuring it was something the 'big people' did often. He saw Fane do so when he asked questions as well, surely it had to be a habit that people got when they got older. So to appear as old as possible in the scene, he quickly returned the gesture as if he was bowed to, a grin showing on his face as he did so. Such a big boy he was, being able to mingle and do what elder nations could! Fane surely would be proud of him no doubt! Unknowing of the possible discomfort he could've caused for the other boy, Viku was about to continue on bombarding him with inquiries when instead the boy spoke first and left him with a question he needed to answer of his own.
"What's your name, by the way? You can call me Astrit."
"Ish that chur land name?" The child asked, having no concern of sharing both names himself. "Because we have two names, ja? Ish Astrit chur land name, or ish it chur name name?" It was only then that he remembered he was asked the question himself and grinned, humming and rocking himself back and forth on his heels as if he was in deep thought before replying, "Viktor Albescu ish me name. That my name name, bwuder gimme that name. He call me Viku though, many many people do. But, my land name ish Bessarabia! It gonna be big one day, very very big!"
Astrit didn't necessarily understand the younger child's body language all the way, but what he did understand of the toddler's behavior was rather amusing to him, and the conversation helped take his mind off of his anxiety over the future for a little bit. Such a little child was unlikely to understand all the things that Astrit had to deal with, particularly because he himself was unusually young to be dealing with for all that had been loaded onto him...
The little boy confirmed for him that he was indeed the same kind of being as Astrit himself, wanting to know which of his names the elder had shared. "You got me. Astrit is my human name," the older boy admitted, a bit more easily now that he was sure that his guess was correct. "Astrit Zhupan, if you want the whole thing. My land name is Kosova." He put just a little bit more stress on the last syllable than he normally would, to emphasize that he wanted to think of himself as Albanian (since in other languages he had a slightly different name) and because he felt like stressing that he was the Kosova, not just any Kosovë. Clearly this child was neither Albanian nor Serbian, and it was therefore probable that he would have no idea of what Astrit was implying, but the circumstances were bleeding through and Astrit wanted to be very clear, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening, about who he thought he was.
The little boy, Viktor Albescu, introduced himself with a torrent of words, and Astrit grinned at the much younger child's enthusiasm. "It's nice to meet you, Viku," he replied politely. "You say you're Bessarabia?" The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Astrit couldn't quite place it. "What can you tell me about where Bessarabia is?"
Something didn't completely add up, Astrit mused to himself. Albescu was a distinctively Romanian name, with the ending practically screaming its Romanian origins, but he was pretty sure that "bruder" (presumably that was what Viku had meant to say; his speech was more or less comprehensible but he was definitely as mush-mouthed as children his age often were) was the German word for "brother." What was Viku, then? German? Romanian? Or did he come from a mixed heritage, like... Astrit was afraid to form the thought, even in the privacy of his own mind, but like himself?
He didn't want to follow that thought down the dark path it suggested. Viku looked so cheerful; whether or not Astrit's guess about where he came from was right, the child didn't appear to have come to too much harm. Hopefully he would get to stay cheerful...
The stress the slightly elder looking boy carried under his belt went right over the toddler territory's head. He just muttered small "ooh"s and "Ahh"s as Astrit explained his human name being as so, and land name being the strangely stressed unfamiliar mess in Viku's ears. He blinked and tilted his head to the side in an obviously questioning manner, his brows furrowing in confusion.
"Kochova?" He asked in the mush mouth speech due to his inflated cheeks getting in the way of his pronunciation. He tried to copy what was said, failing miserably but not seeming to give one sentiment of care of his mistakes. He instead just moved on to talking about himself, all too happy to be able to be someone who could educate others on knowledge he knew but other parties didn't. Usually, it was the opposite way around; his brother and other older nations were in the positions of teaching the young curious tot of new facts and ways of life. Introductions were done in such manner as well, that it was rare Viktor got to be able to speak to somebody who seemingly didn't know much about him. Like a child during a classic show and tell lesson, he grinned proudly and went on to explaining his heritage and location, as much as his vocabulary would allow.
"Kochova, Bessarabia ish with Womanya! It a big stwong magic wand, we do many magic stuff! And tell stowies, too! Many stowies!" He listed off, trying to appeal his limited knowledge on his own land and situation given the facts his brother would tell him and schedule into his routines. To the boy, that was life, so that must be all that was to know about Bessarabia, right?
There couldn't be any other explanation!
"But, there's mister Ivan. Chu know mister Ivan? He big scawy man. He haf Wussicha. Wussicha is big, und it think Bessarabia ish Wussicha's. But it not. It Womanya's. Womanya ish big und stwong, and it nice and pwetty too! So, that where Bessarabia ish at! Und then, when Mister Ivan be mean, Gil-Gil help! Gil-Gil und Mister Ludwig keep Mister Ivan far far away, and no be mean."
