Room 1D - Russia and Norway

Russia was a relatively light packer but, even so, lugging his trunk in one hand and cello in the other was admittedly more than a bit awkward, and he couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief when he arrived at the correct room. Bending to place the instrument case against the wall, he took a moment to listen at the door and absentmindedly shrug the developing crick out of his shoulder.

Faintly but distinctly, he could hear the sound of someone moving around inside, and a tiny flutter of reflexive uneasiness rippled through him. He had never been good at this. Part of him had rather hoped that he would be lucky enough to arrive first, but such was the way things went. After a second of consideration, he knocked lightly on the door, already preparing his most pleasant, unassuming smile. That seemed like a decent place to start.

“Hello? Is it alright to come in?”

That was permission enough for Russia. He opened the door partway, and peeked into the room to ensure that the speaker was not in range of the door’s swing before shouldering it fully open, dropping a muted though entirely amiable ‘hello’ as he guided his suitcase and cello inside.

“You must have just beaten me here,” he commented offhandedly, nudging the door closed behind him and idly noting the half-unpacked state of his roommate's things. His smile was still carefully measured, but he allowed himself to look curious as he hefted his trunk onto the remaining bed and turned to the person in question. Russia didn’t recognize him, and he briefly contemplated whether or not a handshake was too formal before realizing that he had no better idea. He put out his hand.

“Ivan, of Russia. Good to meet you.”

Russia’s smile curved marginally wider, though even that small change made him look very distinctly relieved. He couldn’t help but be inclined to like Royd a little already. He seemed—well, it was rather early to say exactly what he seemed like, but Russia was at least willing to breathe a bit easier than before.

“Norway,” he repeated with a genial nod, voice beginning to regain more of its usual, clear chime. “I’m looking forward to this year.” He let his hand fall away as he turned to his suitcase to begin unpacking. Standing at an angle to see both Royd and his own task -- it seemed rude to fully turn his back -- he very quickly noticed Royd’s fiddle, and made a soft ‘oh’ of approval in the back of his throat. He paused in his orderly stacking of clothing long enough to gesture indicatively at the instrument.

“You play?” It was less of a question and more of a prompt. Naturally, he was interested. His smile might even have become slightly warmer.

Russia gave a short laugh, obviously pleased. “Very nice. It’s good to have a passion,” he praised, inwardly grateful that they had this common interest. It came as no conversational surprise when Royd’s attention shifted to his cello.

“Yes,” he replied simply, glancing down at his cello case and bumping it fondly with his knee. “I don’t know if I was born to do this, but, still, I think I'd go mad without it.” That might have been closer to the truth than he wanted to admit, but Royd, at least, might understand the sentiment. Despite his unfaltering smile, Russia's expression became vaguely distant as he re-folded a slightly rumpled pair of jeans and placed them aside, though the look was far too fleeting for much to be taken from it.

“Please show me sometime, if you would be comfortable with that,” he continued seamlessly, beginning to organize his folded clothes into the chest of drawers at the end of his bed. He flashed a small, honest smile up through his hair. “I’d like to hear it.”

Fair enough. Russia gave an understanding nod. He could respect that. “Neither have I; not really,” he admitted with a shrug, carefully closing his drawers and straightening back up. “I too like to play alone, but perhaps we will hear each other eventually.” He trailed off as he returned to his trunk, which already was mostly unpacked. He hadn’t brought much with him aside from the essentials of school and daily life.

“What year are you, if I may ask?” He sounded slightly distracted as he began lifting books out and setting them in a temporary pile at his elbow, but he nonetheless spared a look in Royd’s direction, as though to show that he was still listening.

Russia hummed thoughtfully. He was somewhat surprised to hear that Royd wasn’t a freshman, since he hadn’t seen him around campus before, but it was little wonder. Russia was not exactly known for being sociable. Very likely, he simply hadn’t paid enough attention.

“Ah…well.” Russia hesitated, under the pretense of lifting his books off the bed and carrying them to his desk, to consider the question. He shrugged noncommittally as he set them down. “My sister, Belarus, although I’m not sure if that counts." He suppressed a shudder. "I guess—I know of people, but I don’t know them. So, not really.” That was probably the best way to sum it up, and Russia didn’t mind it that way, usually.

“What about you?”