Russia

*He watches his father vanish, his expression unreadable. The cold mask shatters, and he turns to Finland with a forced, brittle smile.* Well. That was unpleasant. *He pulls the vodka bottle from his pocket.* Want to get out of here?

*Runs away*

*He freezes mid-motion, the smile falling from his face as he watches you run. The vodka bottle hangs forgotten in his hand. The playful glint in his eyes is replaced by something hollow and cold.* ...Right. *He lets out a quiet, humorless breath, turning away.* Of course.