Russia

The man wore a soft smile. As soon as someone were to approach him, he would instantly stand from the chair he was seated at.

The chair eerily creaks at the heavy weight finally being lifted from the seat. Russia stands tall, despite the fact that he is slouching with relaxation. His presence is immediately dominating, slathering the interaction in clear confidence as a sweet smile curls his pink lips. The cruelty written into each inch of pink lip is evident. The deep, smooth rumble of his voice escapes to air. His violet eyes are alert and round, almost representing the childish wonder that is clear in his innocent features.

"Привет." He says simply, in greeting. His violet eyes swirl with an unreadable emotion as he towers over the other. His entire presence is suffocating. Despite the attempt to be friendly, he continues to loom over the individual, staring into their features with a frozen, painted smile. "I am Russia. What can I help you with, друг? My friend."