All Together Now [14b/18, or "The Author Will Someday Learn To Type"]
anonymous
February 23 2011, 06:02:39 UTC
He opens the front door to find Sweden looming on the stoop.
They stare at each other for a bit. Sweden's hands are stuck in his pockets, and he has the vaugely terrified look he always gets when someone's health is involved. It's really more terrifying than terrified, but Estonia knows him well. "How is he?" Sweden says.
"Hungover." Estonia frowns. "Weren't you going to fix the woodshed?"
"I did." He half-shrugs, and gestures in that general direction with his elbow.
Estonia nods, and waves him inside. He might as well stay in; Sweden's better at dealing with Finland's temper, but he thinks all three of them should be around, if they're going to bring up damage control. His phone chirps, and he detours to the kitchen. The message is, he realizes with some surprise, from England. So fast? I would gloat but I'm in no position to, it starts. Is it true about Russia, or was Poland having us on? There follows a recipe for his hangover cure.
Estonia has to pull up a dictionary to work out widdershins, and the resulting concoction smells far too sulfurous for comfort, but what harm can it do?
Sweden and Finland are happily chatting when he returns - well, Finland's chatting, Sweden is listening intently, as he usually does, eyes not quite focused and hands laced around the empty coffee mug. He has big hands, a little callused even today. Estonia shuffles his feet as he comes in, a gentle announcement of his presence.
Finland doesn't seem to notice the smell of the remedy. He swallows it uncomplaining, and perks up almost at once. "Svi," he murmurs sweetly, "do you think you could make me some breakfast in a little bit? I think I feel well enough to eat it now. And I'm sure Eesti wants something."
"Already ate," Estonia tells him. While you were still lying in bed refusing to get up. "You know, England asked if it was true about Russia."
"Oh, it's true. You never knew that?" Finland frowns. "I would have thought you were pretty good at spotting them, you know, I don't know how you never spotted Poland."
"I spotted Albania."
"She never tried to hide it." Finland's gesture tries to suggest that the whole situation is irrelevant. "But, I mean, there's tells, hell, there were enough tells with me. I'm surpised everyone looked so surprised." He shakes his head sharply, and then winces as it apparently renews his headache. "What am I going to do? I'm not a woman, Eesti, if they start acting like I am I don't know what I'll do."
"Don't panic," Estonia says. "It's the twenty-first century. It shouldn't make much of a difference. If we all keep using the right pronouns, they'll forget about it eventually." He's not at all sure of that, but it's worth hoping for. "You know I don't really care. Or Denmark. Or Sweden. And the others who are hiding it - " He hesitates. He can't help but ask. "Who have you picked out that I missed?"
"Well, Poland. Really, you used to live with her, I don't know how you didn't notice. Spain. South Italy. Slovenia." He frowns in concentration. "Krygyzstan. Maybe China, it's hard to tell. I thought maybe England for a while, but now I don't, he just has a funny voice sometimes. And Germany's brother, of course."
The crash of Sweden's mug is very loud. They look at him. He looks panicked, at least by Sweden standards. "Sorry," he mumbles, "need the mop," and then he turns and flees the room.
Estonia blinks a few times. A few more. He tries to come up with the words. Finally he settles for, "What?"
"Oh, come on." Finland shrugs. "That one's obvious."
They stare at each other for a bit. Sweden's hands are stuck in his pockets, and he has the vaugely terrified look he always gets when someone's health is involved. It's really more terrifying than terrified, but Estonia knows him well. "How is he?" Sweden says.
"Hungover." Estonia frowns. "Weren't you going to fix the woodshed?"
"I did." He half-shrugs, and gestures in that general direction with his elbow.
Estonia nods, and waves him inside. He might as well stay in; Sweden's better at dealing with Finland's temper, but he thinks all three of them should be around, if they're going to bring up damage control. His phone chirps, and he detours to the kitchen. The message is, he realizes with some surprise, from England. So fast? I would gloat but I'm in no position to, it starts. Is it true about Russia, or was Poland having us on? There follows a recipe for his hangover cure.
Estonia has to pull up a dictionary to work out widdershins, and the resulting concoction smells far too sulfurous for comfort, but what harm can it do?
Sweden and Finland are happily chatting when he returns - well, Finland's chatting, Sweden is listening intently, as he usually does, eyes not quite focused and hands laced around the empty coffee mug. He has big hands, a little callused even today. Estonia shuffles his feet as he comes in, a gentle announcement of his presence.
Finland doesn't seem to notice the smell of the remedy. He swallows it uncomplaining, and perks up almost at once. "Svi," he murmurs sweetly, "do you think you could make me some breakfast in a little bit? I think I feel well enough to eat it now. And I'm sure Eesti wants something."
"Already ate," Estonia tells him. While you were still lying in bed refusing to get up. "You know, England asked if it was true about Russia."
"Oh, it's true. You never knew that?" Finland frowns. "I would have thought you were pretty good at spotting them, you know, I don't know how you never spotted Poland."
"I spotted Albania."
"She never tried to hide it." Finland's gesture tries to suggest that the whole situation is irrelevant. "But, I mean, there's tells, hell, there were enough tells with me. I'm surpised everyone looked so surprised." He shakes his head sharply, and then winces as it apparently renews his headache. "What am I going to do? I'm not a woman, Eesti, if they start acting like I am I don't know what I'll do."
"Don't panic," Estonia says. "It's the twenty-first century. It shouldn't make much of a difference. If we all keep using the right pronouns, they'll forget about it eventually." He's not at all sure of that, but it's worth hoping for. "You know I don't really care. Or Denmark. Or Sweden. And the others who are hiding it - " He hesitates. He can't help but ask. "Who have you picked out that I missed?"
"Well, Poland. Really, you used to live with her, I don't know how you didn't notice. Spain. South Italy. Slovenia." He frowns in concentration. "Krygyzstan. Maybe China, it's hard to tell. I thought maybe England for a while, but now I don't, he just has a funny voice sometimes. And Germany's brother, of course."
The crash of Sweden's mug is very loud. They look at him. He looks panicked, at least by Sweden standards. "Sorry," he mumbles, "need the mop," and then he turns and flees the room.
Estonia blinks a few times. A few more. He tries to come up with the words. Finally he settles for, "What?"
"Oh, come on." Finland shrugs. "That one's obvious."
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