Hetalia - The Rains of Castamere

[Chicogal]

She could never understand why Germany was always so uptight. He didn't have to be like this all the time. Denmark tittered softly and reached out to take a gentle grip of his elbow, giving it a squeeze. "You worry too much. He will be alright. Leave him be," she suggested, raising her dark eyebrows. She didn't mind what his brother said about them being an item. Well... okay, maybe she did mind and blush a bit lot when Prussia had said that, but she really did care for her only neighbour. Alright, he was quite attractive too. That didn't mean that they were instantly a couple, did it? No. Letting go of him, the Dane interlinked her fingers in front of her and rocked on her heels. "Otherwise I will maybe have to make you dance, ja?" She bit down on her bottom lip to stop the little burst of laughter threatening to escape. He was so shy with that sort of stuff...

Edited July 30, 2014 by Chicogal

[Neutual Demon]

Spain hadn't realized Russia had even spoken until after the short woman was staring up at the taller country, her neck starting to ache, though she ignored it. "To answer your first question, I've come to the conclusion that you're a country magnet. Like they see you standing like the North Pole and they're drawn like moths to a light." It really was the only explanation Spain had for the sudden influx of people near the door. Unless they all just followed the other in like lost sheep, with Russia being the tree they were all huddling under that could be stuck by lightning and explode at any second, but Spain wasn't going to mention that to the tall Russian.

 

"As for the second, I really don't care. If Vatican gives you any hassle, just hassle him right back." Though Spain highly doubted Vatican would ever give Russia a hassle- or anyone for that matter. "In any case, we better get started. I should probably feed him before North shows up." With a shrug, the Spaniard opened the first door on her side and began her search.

 

--

 

I should've brought a book, the charcoal gray haired man thought as he wrapped his arms around his knees. After being let loose by Spain, Vatican had immediately ran to the furthest room and hid in the back corner of the closet in a quiet flurry of panic. Just seeing all those people there- people he didn't know- had sent his heart pounding against his chest. He couldn't deal with new people, especially that many. He didn't know them, and he didn't want to step on any of their toes or upset them in some way.

 

Vatican's head hurt as he rested his chin on his knees, gazing into the darkness of the closet. He hadn't wanted to go, but both North Italy and Spain agreed that he had to go. So he had been dragged halfway across the world to a party that he hadn't been invited to surrounded by people he didn't know because Vatican couldn't stand up for himself and say no. But now that he had time to calm down in the dark, Vatican suddenly realized how rude it was for him to hide in a closet of a home he didn't know, ignoring the host in favor of hiding- despite the fact he hadn't been invited anyway- and how ungrateful he must look to just run off from Spain who had spent the extra money to get him here. And he hadn't thanked her for that either...

 

Vatican suppressed a small sigh, closing his eyes in hopes to dull the pain knocking against his skull. People were complicated- that was why he remained secluded. He couldn't offend people if they never met him, right? Even from here he could hear the dull roar of voices, muffled by the walls and doors in the way, voices of countries that he'd rather not bother with his presence. He was glad Spain had gotten to the party earlier so he could hide before the main crowd came, but the guilt of leaving Spain alone in favor of hiding chewed at him.

 

But Spain did force me onto an airplane...

 

If there was one thing he felt that was the same way as his opinion of crowds, it was flying: they were both terrifying. Spain knew this, but dragged him along anway, so he shouldn't feel as guilty for leaving her. Vatican shook the thought from his mind. Just because she did something to upset him doesn't make it right for him to do something and feel justified for his actions.

 

But despite his guilt, Vatican wasn't going to move from the little comfort he found in the solitude of the dark closet. Even if he was a little bored, hence the reason why he should've brought a book. Instead he recited Macbeth in his head, in Latin, pausing every once in awhile to give him time to think of the correct word to translate it to. He heard voices and footsteps enter the hallway that the room he was hiding in was, but he ignored it in favor of translating Shakespearean plays. It was rather calming, reciting a story that he had only read twice in his head by translating it over from English to Latin in the darkness of the closet, secluded from society. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts...

 

---

 

He was late. Very late. Even though he was late, North Italy took his time to arrive at the party. South Korea should understand that he had to go on a last minute paper run for his boss, and then he had lost a hair band to tie his shoulder length auburn hair back. And put on something nice! It was a party after all!

 

And so North Italy approached the house, wearing a suit and tie combo that would be more appropriate for a rich wedding or for a human visiting the president than for a party, but the Italian never wore anything less than fashion perfection anyway.

 

"Ciao! Looks like everyone's here already!" Italy exclaimed as he stepped into the entry, just spotting everyone gathered there. "Where's South Korea? I brought biscotti!" He held up the white box tied together with red ribbon, his honey colored eyes gazing about the room. It looked like a good turnout! With no fighting at the moment! Italy's smile widened. It made him happy to see the others get along without trying to kill each other. Happiness made the world go 'round, or at least Italy thought.

[pudding]

Show off. Not that he wouldn't do that too if he could but at the moment, he doubted his ability to do much of anything now. He was strong, still super-humanly so, but compared to other nations... No. It just wasn't the same and that made him feel so empty. He rarely ate any more and mostly just drank alcohol. He deliberately dabbled in other addictions but hasn't really progressed much with that. He did some busy work like cleaning and cooking but it didn't help to fill the void he had. He tried to hide it but that didn't help either and laughter was more forced than ever.

 

"I suppose," he replied. But why did she care? It just felt like idle chatter. There had to be some kind of motive. But what could anyone want from him? He wasn't so good at anything that would be applicable now. His fighting strategies, while good, were somewhat dated. "So?" He asked, moving closer to the fence and placing his hands on it again. "What did you come here to talk about? I mean, you seemed to be having a good talk with France before. What do you want?"

 

((Bah, short post is short.))

[HomeForFlowers]

A country magnet? Now that was a nice term for the peculiar presence that seemed to bring all of those countries towards Russia. Curious it was to see so many people who would claim to not care for Russia's company to gather around her when they acquired the chance. Though Spain's description of said country magnet could of been better put, not that Russia was complaining, it seemed to be oddly true. Russia was not a well liked country, this she knew. Very few cared for her well-being and those that did often ended up feeling the back of Russia's hand sooner or later. It was true that most countries followed the strict two options of keeping twenty meters away from Russia or using every possible moment they could to degrade her. If that was so, then why did everyone suddenly mass around her as though she was a lantern and they were flies? It did not take too long for Russia to conclude her pondering and put aside the inquiry. It did not matter why she had become a magnet. This wasn't the first time so many different countries decided to gather around Russia nor would it be the last. Perhaps despite what they said, the other countries craved a conflict with Russia or simply desired to interact with her for reasons they were not conscious of. Maybe it was just a coincidence that everyone went to the entrance of the house the same time Russia arrived. Who knew? Either way, Russia cared little for the subsequent event she had taken part of. For now, her attention was turned to Spain and helping her locate Vatican.

"If that is vhat you vish," the Russian said solemnly as the conversation was concluded. Just as Spain opened the first door on the left, Russia proceeded to open the one closest to her.

 

(I'm afraid my posts for the next couple days are most likely going to be the same size as this one. A few long posts may find their way through, but it is only a possibility I'm afraid.)

[shadow_claw]

It didn't take much to make America defensive. Instantly, the barriers she had retracted earlier slammed shut again. Her thin lips turned downwards in a frown shortly after. What an ass! Couldn't he see that everyone was concerned about him? I'm here because I thought you needed a friend. People don't do everything for profit, you know. An edge of irritation cut her words into a sharp response. She wasn't going to pull an England and mother on Prussia, but she wanted to help him. He was falling apart before all the other nations. Pushing hair out of her face much more violently this time, the nation hopped back onto the grass bordering the pool's concrete exterior. Look, Prussia. There's not a way to say this nicely. You're killing yourself and everyone else knows it. We're all worried. So, go ahead and shake it off like the prick you are. I thought you needed to hear it from someone other than your brother. Not even bothering to see if Prussia had bolted or not, she began to walk back towards the party. If he wanted to be an ass, so be it.

 

---

 

Leave him be? God knew what happened when Prussia was left to his devices. Germany glanced sideways at the back exit as his thoughts drifted to his brother. How was anyone to care for a dead man walking? No country was supposed to live after dissolving. Their parental figure, Germania hadn't. Once Germany, Prussia, and the other Germanics grew strong enough, he just vanished. One day he was there, the next he wasn't. The same should've happened to Prussia decades ago. At least then, the pale nation would've been in peace. Now...Prussia was more like a sick dog. He wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, and wouldn't let anyone in close enough to help.

 

Germany was finally wrenched from his thoughts as Denmark spoke again. His carefully blank face was instantly contorted into a mix of confusion and alarm. Dance? I-I...um...suppose. I mean...if you vould like to dance, zen I vill dance vith you... he stammered. He and Denmark...it was hard to describe their relationship. He always got so flustered around her. Unlike with others, Germany didn't want to be curt and polite with her. On the other hand, he wasn't really sure how to act around her. It was confusing.

[The Opium Lady]

Greece was starting to feel a little left out, no one really seemed to be interested in him, though he couldn't tell if that was legitimate disinterest or if he was just being anxious again. Greece sat by himself, tightening his coat and looking at the party goers. He let out a sigh and nibbled on some food he aquired. Should I just go? I doubt anyone will notice if I slip out. he thought to himself. Getting up to leave, Greece was caught short when he saw Italy. A smile came to his face, "Italy!" he said cheerfully, before running up to hug his old friend. If there was anyone in the world Greece felt happiest around, it was the Italians. He was better acquainted with the South, but North was just as much a friend. "It took you quite a while to get here, fílos." he teased, still smiling. "I was beginning to think i wouldn't see any friendly faces"

[pudding]

No profit? But all actions were fueled by profit. Especially considering this was America. What about all those wars she got involved with purely for her own reasons? Maybe the only ones who didn't have a motive were the ones who were forced into doing things. Total pushovers like Iceland who just tried to do everything he could to please everyone all at once. The only motive was trying not to get punched in the eye. So for a moment, while he was struck with the fact America was somehow pissed, he simply stared as she stormed off. Then, his barriers flew up. "Yeah?" he called back, lifting up his hands and flashing both of his middle fingers to her. Rebellion was usually his response to comments like that. He would shake it off because he was a prick. He raised his hands above his head as he slowly began to retreat, climbing over the fence. "Pretty big words coming from all the wars you've been involved in since World War II! Pretty sure you were looking for profit in those!" He managed to get himself up onto the fence but instead of jumping down off the side, his balance failed him and he tumbled down to the ground on the other side. Flustered but only a bit more banged up than he was before, he slowly pulled himself to his feet. Screw America. Screw all of them, save Spain and France. He didn't need their pity party. They weren't worried, they were just waiting for him to die. If he just vanished for a bit and pretended to be dead, he doubted any of them would even care. Anger bubbled up inside of him, quickly filling the void with rage. This had happened a couple of times and while it only helped momentarily to ease him, those moments did feel great. He almost felt back to normal, ready to take on everyone in a massive fist fight. " you, America!" He called back, moving through the neighboring backyard before cutting to the street and hurrying down the sidewalk.

 

 

"America," England said softly, making her way to the door so that she could talk to America before she went back inside. Everyone largely seemed to be inside save her, as she had been standing in the corner with her flask in hand. She'd seen many things in her lifetime and while what was going with Prussia was unusual, the end would turn out the same. Of course, she did feel some guilt. Prussia was dissolved very much so at her demands as she felt he had been responsible for Germany's unruly behavior. Prussia had lived a long time and was starting to be too barbaric for the modern world. But, more importantly, it had meant to be a warning for Germany and his future bosses. As if to say, 'you'll be next'. She had meant for him to just disappear and vanish like Germania or Rome or places like that and deliver a harsh blow to Germany. But instead, he stuck. Like some kind of tick. And while initially, she had felt no remorse for demanding his death, the years dragging on were more and more like beating a dead horse. "Do you remember your lessons on the Roman Empire?"

[shadow_claw]

A pause as Prussia's jeers sank in. Her fingers twitched at the pistol at her hip. Finally, at the Prussia's last comment, she spun around in perfectly trained movements and unclipped one of the two guns at her waist. One warning shot in the air. Then another. She didn't plan on actually shooting Prussia, as she wouldn't be able to deal with the guilt afterwards. As the empty shells rattled to the concrete and rolled, America was alerted by heels on pavement. Quickly holstering her weapons as England began to speak, she sighed. England. Of course. She had been listening the whole time. The younger nation resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her older sister's speech.

 

America's originally irritated look soon faded as the severity of England's words sank in. What was she getting on about? The brunette wrinkled both her nose and eyebrows in confusion. Finally too curious, she turned to face her older sister. Yeah, you've only told it to me every few decades. The nation scoffed. Why bring it up now? If it's about how I'm getting to be as big as an empire, I know the drill. I'm gonna die a horrible, bloody death and vanish just like Rome had. I get it. But...on the topic...Why didn't Prussia? I mean, from what I've heard all these years, countries just...vanish. Prussia's acting more like China after the Opium Wars.

 

((AP World and my interest in history FINALLY is useful! ))

[pudding]

"That's not what I mean," England replied immediately, raising a hand to rub the bridge of her nose. Honestly… America could be so stupid. Of course she used Rome as a warning not to get too cocky but she had brought it up in a different light here. For once, they weren't talking about her arrogant exploits around the world. After a moment, she sighed and let her hand fall back down to the ground. "I meant to talk about Prussia. In the past, it was assumed that nations simply vanished when they were dissolved or disbanded. After all, we don't see historical nations running amok but news did not spread so fast back then so we honestly do not know the situations circling around many nations no longer among us." The weapons discharge was uncalled for but not exactly unusual behavior for America. They'd probably draw some serious attention to the party, though. That would be irritating. "What I am trying to say is nobody knows why Prussia has not die yet. But like Rome, his days are drawing to a close. We cannot say when he will die but we know that it will happen. My advise to you is to not associate with him at all and just wait for him to vanish. He knows his death is coming and, speaking from experience, he'll want to pretend everything is fine until the end. That kind of attitude hurts people and you don't want to be one of the ones who is harmed by it, understand?"

[HomeForFlowers]

The search for Vatican was not a very interesting event to partake in. Though the hallway in which the two women had to explore was by no means small, the contents of the rooms that were concealed by the numberous doors made the exploration rather short. Most of the rooms held very few containers large enough for one to enshroud themselves in. A majority of the rooms were little more than guest rooms, entertainment palors (mostly containing games Russia could not recognize for her life) , possible storage rooms of some sort and other rooms to which Russia could not put an identity upon. Though Russia had mentally noted that Spain had mentioned Vatican hiding in a wardrobe or cupboard several times over, Russia made sure to take the extra mile and search any and all possible areas Vatican could of fled to. The search for the skittish man did not take long, but an extension was put upon the search time thanks to several of the things Russia investigated within South Korea's domain.

 

Normally, Russia would refrain from snooping in a host's adobe, especially if said host was not an ally. If said host was an ally, Russia probably would only sneak around thanks to said host doing the same in her house or from the prompting of another ally. South Korea was by no means an ally and, if anything, was an enemy of some sort. Had Spain not directed Russia to do so, she probably wouldn't even be thinking about raiding South Korea's home. However, Spain did call for Russia's aid and she would receive it. Most of the rooms Russia explored were quickly scavenged before being left in their previous state. The few rooms that had extravagant devices or colors too vivid for the atmosphere caused Russia to pause and examine the area. Considering just how extreme some of the furniture and wallpaper was coupled with the oddness of the party such as the icing floor and blaring k-pop, Russia could conclude that, while diverse with his own culture, South Korea was a less arrogant, violent, and rude America.

 

Though caught off guard by the Americanization that South Korea has caught as though a flu (yay for spreading democracy), Russia finally made rpher way to the finale room. The room itself was nothing special. The door crept open with a soft creak as the others did. It stayed ajar as Russia pulled herself through just as the others did. The room looked just like any of the other rooms Russia had been in. She would of called it generic had it not been for the strangeness of the entire situation. There was nothing different about this room. It was about time to head back. Just as Russia was about to leave in hopes that Spain would find the Italian, she noticed something. Perhaps it was the faint lingering scent of spices or maybe even the smallest tint if anxiety, possibly even fear. It could if been the sound of soft, but clear breathing emitting from within the room. Was it just her or did it feel as though there was another presence in the room? There was no guarantee that someone else in the room, but Russua was one to be wary of her surroundings. Even if there was no one else in the room, it wouldn't hurt to check. It could be her mind playing cruel tricks on her again or it could simply be her concious luring her into a state of self-awareness. Either way, Russia was not taking chances.

"Privet?" Russia called gentle into the once quiet room that now echoed with her voice. "Someone is here, no? It wouldn't happen to be, uh, Vatican, as you are called, ja?"

 

(Expect a lot of typos for the next two days.)

[Chicogal]

Denmark's eyebrows rose in surprise. What? He wasn't shying away from it? She had thought that he would, but obviously she was wrong. She chuckled after a moment and took his hands. "Well, then. Shall we?" Walking backwards, the brunette gently began leading him closer to the music. It was all rather pop-py and excitable, but one could still dance to it.

 

It was then that the gunshots fired. The Dane jumped, her grip tightening on his, smile gone and replaced by wide eyes. She shifted closer to Germany. Her military experience from years ago was telling her to take cover, but surely no-one would be so stupid as to actually shoot at a party? Then again, there was only one country she knew who would actually take guns to a party. And they could often be all entitled and stupid, even during times of peace. "M-Maybe we should check that out, ja...?"

Edited August 1, 2014 by Chicogal

[Neutual Demon]

Italy's smile couldn't get any wider as he was distracted from his search of South Korea in favor of drawing his attention to the on who called him. "Greece!" he exclaimed just as cheerfully, putting the box of biscotti in one hand so he could hug the fellow nation with the other. "Mi dispiace! I was waylayed by my boss! There was something I just had to finish before I could leave and he didn't tell me until I was on my way out the door! And I was looking forward to coming too." He frowned as yelling and gunshots reached his ears. "But... it seems they are trying to kill each other agian." He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. "Why can't we just get along?" He didn't like seeing them fighting- or hearing them fight. It was disheartening.

 

--

 

Vatican had been lulled into a semi-doze, the monolgue of Shakespeare in his head and the revatively peaceful atmosphere in the small dark room. He did not hear the scuffling of feet moving closer the room he hid in, the opening and closing of doors, nor did he hear someone enter the room of his hiding spot. It wasn't until someone spoke that Vatican was jolted out of his daze.

 

He was startled so badly he had immediately shot to his feet, only to slam the top of his head into a shelf or rack of some kind that he had forgotten about. Stars danced across his vision as he slapped his hands over the injured spot, sinking back down to his knees. "O Mater Dei..." That had hurt, and now his ears were ringing from the impact, rattling his headache back to life with increased ferocity. He waited a moment or two before daring to crack his eyes open again, his eyes turning to look at the door that someone spoke behind. Slowly, with one hand still rubbing at his head (he hoped he wasn't bleeding), the charcoal haired man inched towards the door and gingerly pushed it open a crack to peer into the other room.

 

There was a very tall lady there. Very tall, much taller than Spain or anyone Vatican knew. He supposed her dress was nice, but he didn't have much experience or taste when it came to women's clothing, so it would be rude to say it looked bad. He just... didn't really know. The woman was unfamiliar to the man, but she had called him by name... didn't she? Maybe Spain was looking for him, or Italy? His guilt of leaving Spain in favor of hiding began chewing at his gut again as he swallowed thickly. "Um... s-salve?"

 

(( Mi dispiace is Italian for "I'm sorry", while the two phrases Vatican says are Latin: O Mater Dei meaing "dear mother of god" and Salve is "hello". ))

 

[shadow_claw]

As expected, it was one of England's many tedious speeches. As a child, America would nod her head and reply as if she was listening. Now, it wasn't that easy. She was an adult now, and expected to be treated as one. England clearly didn't see this. To England, America would always be some savage little native that didn't know what she was doing. Her blue eyes narrowed at the older woman. Look, just 'cause you can't handle the fact that this is your fault doesn't mean you should go fussing over me about it. He's just an *** because he's on his last legs. I get it. Whatever. England didn't want her hurt? Psh. England was one to talk. Although they were on good terms, she and several other Imperialist nations hadn't exactly treated her kindly in the past. Imagine England's disgust and surprise to see a young America alongside Native America. He had been powerful, wise, and patient. Not a day went by where America didn't miss him. She still remembered it clearly. Waking up one day without her father, with a small collection of European nations standing before her. The thought made her shudder. Save it. You didn't have the heart to seal the deal, and now you're stuck with watching others suffer because of it.

[pudding]

"America, I am trying to tell you not to get involved," England replied coldly, her eyes narrowing. What a stubborn child America was. Out of all of her children, America was probably the worst behaved. All England had tried to do was raise the little girl with care and now she was repaid with this horrendous attitude. But fine, fine. No more lost tears and words. She raised a hand in mock surrender and turned away from America, deciding to head back inside. If America wouldn't listen to her, she would have to learn the lesson by herself. After all, England was old. Old as balls, as Prussia might say. But either way, the lessons from her long childhood stuck and she tried to give as much of that knowledge to her children as she could. She wouldn't bother with America anymore, though. She'd have to learn those lessons herself since that appeared to be the only way to drive it into her thick skull. "But proceed as you wish," she replied over her shoulder. "My advice will stop here since that seems to be what you want me to do so badly. Good day." She tipped a figurative hat to add just a tiny bit of sarcasm to the farewell before moving back inside the building and slowly making her way to where Iceland was standing. He didn't seem to be so much of a party person and was quiet enough around her so it was good company, in her opinion.

[HomeForFlowers]

Almost immediately after Russia had spoken a loud bang sounded from within the room. The sound itself startled the Russian to some degree as she rapidly turned her body towards the source of the noise with one hand going to her hip subconsciously. A curse from her native tongue slipped out of Russia's mouth as she realized she did not have a firearm by her side. If she wasn't wearing the damned scarlet dress then maybe she could of latched a belt around her waist and snuck a pistol or some other handgun with her, but no. The boss just had to put her in the only dress in Russia where there was no room to hide some guns. Hell, if she had some boots she could of least carried a knife! Nope, she had to wear accursed high heels that clicked against the floor, leaving an echo wherever it went. It was as though the president wanted Russia to be defenseless. If that was his goal, then he had done a great job achieving his goal.

 

It wasn't soon after the banging did Russia hear a hushed whisper followed by a strained silence. Russia cocked her head to the side as she listened intently to the muted sounds coming from within the nearby closet. There was a faint shuffling followed by a low and almost inaudible breathing. After a moment or so the door to the closet creaked open only by the slightest. A small crack was all that allowed Russia to examine whoever was in the closet, and even then all she saw was darkness.

Clever. Vhoever is in the closet opened it only enough for them to see vho was outside. I can't see vithin the closet, but they can see outside. This could be unintentional, but vhat are the chances of that?

Only a second or two after the door opened, a small voice, meek and uncertain spoke out. Russia had no idea what language the stranger was speaking in, but guessing upon the voice itself, she concluded that the speaker was a man and most likely Vatican as he had responded to Russia's call. If Spain had not informed Russia of Vatican's occupation within one of the rooms, then she probably would of swung the closet door open, shoved Vatican upon his knees, and demanded to know who he was and what hr was doing. Luckily for Vatican, Russia was not ignorant and as such would at least try to be diplomatic before reverting to brute force.

 

"Ah, so I assume you are Vatican, ja?" the tall woman called gently as she soften her voice ever so slightly. "Might I ask why you hide yourself in the closet of a strange man's house?" Having to convince children out of hiding many times beforehand taught Russia had to act in situations in which someone was concealing themselves from the world. Russia succeeded most of the times she had to deal with children, but was not so lucky when it came to adults. It was a lot easier to explain why stealing someone's toy was wrong than explaining why you couldn't bail on the army and turn against your country was wrong. It wouldn't hurt to try and soothe Vatican out in the case he was too scared to do so, but the chances or Russia succeeding such a fear without assistance was... slim. Trying to make herself look more appealing and less imposing, Russia seated herself in the nearest chair, making sure to slouch some to make herself appear even shorter than she was. The thought of calling in Spain occurred to Russia, but she briefly dismissed the thought. Spain would realize Russia was in one of the rooms and not the hallway sooner or later and she'd maybe try and locate her. Of course, she could always not and try to look for Russia and simply walk off. It wasn't as though that hadn't happened before, much to Russia's dismay. Whatever Spain decided to do, Russia would probably still be sitting, and waiting for Vatican to make his move with her fingers twitching to grapple something and her mind telling her to wait and watch.

[Neutual Demon]

The woman spoke again, her voice not had loud as before that startled him into hitting his head. So she knew him, or at least his name, but Vatican didn't know her at all. Her voice was unfamiliar, and her appearance didn't draw any lines to Spain's or Italy's idle chatter about the other countries. She had a European accent, though, of which he could narrow it down to somewhere East European, but past that he had no idea.

 

Vatican gave a tiny nod that, yes, he was Vatican, but then realized that the woman would not have seen the motion."E-etiam..." he whispered softly, the Latin slipping out of his mouth without him realizing that she may not even understand what he said. He licked his lips nervously, shifting uncomfortably as the woman settled down in a chair, still within sight of the closet. The move had relaxed Vatican somewhat, knowing that the woman wasn't about to get closer, or at least for the moment. She was not as tall while sitting, and she had her shoulders slumped over slightly, making her even smaller. At least she didn't immediately storm over and try to physically wrench him out of his little shelter like Spain would've done.

 

The next question made Vatican shift once more, guilt clawing up his insides once more. "I... I don't like parties..." he barely whispered out, removing his hand from his head and settled them in his lap. "Crowds..." Terrified him. "They make me nervous. Paenitet, it was rude of me to do so... but I couldn't stay... not...not with the others around." He shifted closer to the door, brushing a hand against it to make the gap just a tad bit wider, light reflecting off his charcoal colored hair as he peeked one eye out at the woman. "Paenitet enim me mihi rudem, but... w-who are you?"

 

(( Translations, whoo! All in Latin:

Etiam- Yes

Paenitet- I'm sorry

Paenitet enim me mihi rudem- I apologize for my rudeness ))

[HomeForFlowers]

Ah, Vatican was afraid of crowds, now was he? Ochlophobia was quite common among children and there was no reason to believe the treatment for such a fear varied upon age. Russia visibly relaxed as Vatican explained his reasoning for hiding. Yes, this was something she could deal with. A fear of crowds was something that could be overcome in less than a day. It was easy to treat as the phobia itself was irrational and could be "cured" through logical reasoning. As long as Vatican's fear wasn't severe or caused by a traumatic event, Russia could try and curb his phobia just by talking him down, however, considering her nature and the sheer nosiness of the other countries, the probability of someone walking into the room in the middle of a conversation which would lead up to Russia getting snappy thanks to he dislike of interruptions was high.

 

Deciding the answer Vatican's last question and go from there, Russia began to process a list of questions for her to ask Vatican in an effort to remove his fear of crowds.

"I am Russia or Mother Russia if you feel the urge to formally address me," the Russian said pleasantly, twitching her fingers absentmindedly. "I reckon you know little about the vorld around you. There is no error in that, but it is quite curious to see another nation vho seems to knov so little." If Vatican did not show some sign of recognition at Russia's name then there was something very wrong. Whoever was taking care of him (it was obvious he was not the type to raise a country on his own) was leaving out some very major lessons. Not being able to tell who Russia was by appearance was more than okay. After all, some of the other countries hadn't seen her for a few decades. Not knowing who she was after she named herself was pretty bad. If Vatican didn't know people like America, Russia, England, Germany, and etc., then he would be ill prepared for the world. Someone could easily take advantage of him and gain control over his domain in a snap of a finger. Russia herself was beginning to feel tempted to see just how far Vatican's callowness was. The thought of manipulating the man for her own benefit occurred to her and, frankly, didn't seem like a bad idea, however, Russia's attention was not on controlling Vatican and was instead on helping him like Spain had directed her to do. Low blows for shallow reasonings could be done later.

 

"Afraid of crovds you say?" Russia asked as she clasped her hands together. "Dobrota, I understand vhy you shut yourself in a closet. Crovds aren't very pleasant to valk through and this crovd in particular? Pffth, it'd be more relaxing to put a thread in a needle." Though Russia was attempting to appeal to Vatican's fear, her words rang true. The mob of countries that the party had accumulated held more stress than any friendliness. The tension was palpable, as though a knife could slice right through it. South Korea might of tried to make the party fun, but everyone was a bit too on edge to relax and have fun.

"At least seven countries got vithin a meter or so of my person vhen I valked in," Russia admitted as she recalled the less than comforting memory. "Nearly got squished betveen everyone. Thankfully, your comrade, Spain, managed to get me out of there before I got smushed into a pancake. It vas not a fond moment to be in."

 

(Translation: Dobrota = Goodness)

Edited August 2, 2014 by Doctortear

[Neutual Demon]

The woman visibly relaxed at his reason why he was hiding in a closet, although Vatican didn't quite understand why she did that. Was she worried he was laying in wait to jump someone? Or wait until everyone was gone and steal from the house? Vatican hadn't even begun to dream of doing such things; he didn't know anyone apart from North Italy and Spain, and he didn't find the humor of jumping out at anyone, knowing them or not. Stealing was wrong, even if it was under the context of borrowing it and forgetting to return it. Vatican didn't see himself doing any of those things, not in the slightest. Hopefully the woman's change in posture was because of a different, less malevolent reason.

 

The woman introduced herself, causing Vatican to blink and tilt his head slightly to the side. "Mater....Russia?" He wracked his still aching brain for any previous mentions of Russia outside of the history books he had read. He recalled Spain mentioning the name once before, but only the name and nothing else before she had splintered off onto another topic. Of course Spain had been shoulders deep in alcohol and her speech was incoherent, so perhaps Vatican misheard her. No, North Italy and Spain typically spoke of countries like Germany, Prussia, England, Greece, and sometimes America, mostly because of their ties (or quarrels) with those nations. But even then, the topic of countries rarely came up during the every once in awhile visits, leaving Vatican with very little to go off on. The topics tended to be on Vatican's poor diet, or his poor sleeping habits, or why did he feel like making five hundred cinnamon rolls at two in the morning.

 

Vatican shook his head, muttering an almost inaudible "no" in agreement to the newly dubbed Mater Russia's assessment at him not knowing much about the world. He wasn't important at all in comparison to the rest of the world, his domain so tiny it didn't show up at most maps at all. He let the Pope and the other people who lived in his area do their thing while he remained squirreled away. He did do some paperwork, but only during the times like a change in the Papacy or any other highly involved situation. Otherwise, his home was self sufficient, and he was for the most part unnecessary, leaving him to hide quietly and away from everyone else. He didn't mind the solitude, not in the least.

 

He felt a sting of sympathy for the woman as she spoke about the crowd that came swarming over to her. The guilt Vatican was feeling lessened at the fact that he was glad he managed to escape that chaos; but only sightly. One country was bad enough, yet seven? And there was probably even more out there! He curled his knees to his chest, shuddering quietly at the idea of more than seven people lurking about the house.

 

"Spain...?" he murmured softly as the Russian mentioned the country who dragged him here. "She's nice... sometimes..." Forcing him onto an airplane was not nice in the slightest. "She'll come looking for me... North told her to feed me while I'm here... but they both know I don't eat much..." He sighed, resting his chin on his knees. "I don't know why they bother trying..." He had been fine on his own, he didn't see the reason why they kept coming back and "checking up on him". The gesture was nice and all, and Vatican didn't have the heart to tell them no, but he felt it was a waste of their time. He wasn't worth it, not really.

 

He sat in silence for a moment, fidgeting with the hem on his sleeve. "Um... Miss Mater Russia... what's it's like? Your home, I mean." He mentally slapped himself after the words came out of his mouth. "Paenitet, I shouldn't have asked." It was too personal to ask someone he only just met! Even if he was slightly curious... he'd read it was cold and snowy, something Italy didn't exactly get too often. It would distract him from the thought of crowds, at least. Or the sound of someone loudly scuffling through the room across this one that he could hear even from inside the closet. Probably Spain- he doubted she even knew what quiet meant.

[Chicogal]

France had wandered outside, not really taking in his surroundings. Just idly sipping at a cup of punch with his full lips, listening to the sounds of his colleagues nattering. America was down in the garden, where Prussia was. Maybe they were having a chat. When gunshots rang out, he shrieked and dropped his punch. For a moment, he stared down at his ruined shoes. "Merde."

 

His favourite leather designer shoes.

 

"Whoever shot zhat gun is going to pay! AMERICA!" he growled, marching down the grass and further into the garden. He just came within sight of the fence and the (idiotique!) woman as Prussia disappeared into the night. "Cul!" the brunet shot at her as he ran. He didn't hesitate in jumping over the fence himself. His friend was more important than some stupid American who shot guns without need. She may be lovely and usually nice, but right now he was an angry Frenchman.

 

He followed Prussia's path, keeping a distance but also his figure in sight. France was strong, fit and a large nation. Prussia was weak and had no land. He would tire eventually. "Pruss!"

 

((Merde, Cul = Rude words))

 

[pudding]

The gunshots had spurred Prussia to travel much more quickly in case America became pissed enough to actually try shooting at him. He wasn't sure what she was aiming at but he didn't want to stick around to check. His side ached as he sprinted away, his feet loudly stomping the pavement. A part of him didn't want to run off like that but was rather enticed by the familiar sound of gunfire. It wanted him to turn and throw himself at America and continue the fight instead of bolting. But he couldn't be sure what would happen. If he got shot, what would become of him? He hadn't died since being dissolved and he didn't want to risk never returning. If he never died, maybe he wouldn't vanish. It was the only thing he could still hold onto.

 

He glanced back slightly as he heard a call from behind him but the recognizable figure was not one he wanted to see at the moment. He loved France and Spain to pieces and that was why he put on that everything was fine. He knew he couldn't shake France for long. But if he ran far enough, maybe he'd give up and go back. Keeping this in mind, Prussia turned sharply as he entered the main street and continued to run, his pace gradually slowing from a sprint to a run. He'd pretend he hadn't heard France and just keep going as long as he could.

 

He wasn't sure how far he had gone before the exhaustion set in. It was so embarrassing coming to a rest, having to lean against the side of a building just to catch his breath. "Fick," He muttered between gasps, digging his fingers into his sides. He'd have to exercise more. More running, more weight lifting. He couldn't afford to be weak like this. It was pitiful. His fingers dug into his opposite arm, trying to use the sharp pain from his nails digging into his skin to distract him from the throbbing in his chest. When that failed, he raised his arm to his mouth and bit down on the back of his wrist, breathing loudly out of his nose. Water. He needed water. He needed France to stop chasing him. He needed a break.

[Chicogal]

France ran on determinedly, making sure that Prussia wouldn't escape him. His bobbed hair swayed with each step, and he couldn't resist flicking it toward some lovely ladies while winking as he went. He soaked up their giggles as he continued on with his quest. Pity. He could have chatted them up. Eventually he rounded a corner onto the Main Street, and his eyebrows furrowed. Prussia seemed to have disappeared into thin air. He certainly wasn't ahead. What?

 

He turned about, confused, then spotting his friend's trademark white hair stark against a dark building. "You may as well give up, mon ami," he sighed. "You will only tire yourself and I will catch you eventually." France's breathing had only picked up a bit in rate, but Prussia seemed to be just about dying from exhaustion. This wasn't the usual wild dude careering about the bar. God, he was letting himself go... The state of his hair was abominable. It needed better styling than that. A pity that he didn't have scissors in his pocket.

 

((I just watched the episode where France cuts England's hair tonight. ))

[pudding]

"Scheiße," Prussia managed to say in response as he removed his wrist from his mouth. Of course it had only taken a second for France to appear, rounding the bend after him. And, as expected, he was scarcely even breathing compared to Prussia's loud snorts as he tried to fill his lungs as much as possible. His throat burned with the heat created by trying to push himself too much and carry on running. "Ja, fine," He replied as his back slid down the wall slightly and he placed a hand upon his knee. He looked up at France through his untidy white hair and inhaled sharply, as if about to add something. Instead, he dropped down into a squatting position, his hands holding onto his knees to try to keep himself upright.

 

"You win," He declared, pressing a hand to his forehead to try to keep his head from rolling forward. He just wanted to lay down somewhere and nap now. Running was just too tiring now. "Ich gene auf," He added with a slight wave of one of his hands that he managed to move away from his knee without completely collapsing. "I give, I give. Just give me time to rest, dammit. Not everyone is as spry as you, ya majestic ***."

[Chicogal]

France was relieved when Prussia didn't immediately run away. He looked like he might just crumple from such an effort. France looked down at him for a moment before joining him in a crouch. "Ah oui, us French are fit aux genéral," he commented. "And sometimes my boss makes me do some military training... so..." Shrugging, he let the words hang in the air. Of course, he hated getting all sweaty and stuff. But it was worth it when he could keep up like tonight. His dark eyes went from Prussia to just down the street. "Why don't we go to a restaurant and get some drinks?" he suggested. "I can... 'majestically' sip at sub-par wine and you can gulp down beer. Non?"

[pudding]

Prussia looked up at France slightly before hanging his head back down again. Breathing was starting to come a bit easier but he was still very, very thirsty. Still, that side, he wasn't so eager to go out drinking while injured and tired. But wouldn't that be weird in itself? He was Prussia, he drank everything! Surely France had to know and recognize that and would be a bit suspicious if he declined. More than anything, he just wanted his friends not to worry about him. "Yeah, sure," He replied. "It'll be better than that ****ty punch South Korea was serving. Just give me a second more to catch my breath. It's exhausting trying to run from you."

[Chicogal]

France smiled, and rose from his crouch. He offered a hand to Prussia, for wjen he was ready. What he said was true - punch wasn't quite as good as wine. It was still nice enough to sip at, though. A lady passed by, and he blew a kiss to her as she went. As usual, she giggled back. He had some sort of an effect on women. Most would find a flirtatious stranger in the dark intimidating. "I 'ave to keep myself good looking for zhe ladies. Fitness comes with it," he murmured, wiggling the fingers of his outstretched hand. "When was zhe last time you enjoyed zhe company of a lover? Too long, I zhink..."