Yamato Damashii 3/6
anonymous
April 10 2009, 08:33:46 UTC
He couldn't really call them meetings, because they didn't include neckties or uncomfortable chairs or cold coffee, but he wasn't entirely sure what they were.
It was strange to see England in anything that wasn't starched and pressed, but he had a tendency to show up at odd hours, in casual clothes with his hair messed up. America's colour was starting to come back, yet he hadn't started eating fast food again, and spent a surprising portion of these times sipping at his drink, just listening to the others chattering. They all comforted China after his Fighter accidentally broke a 2000-year-old statuette in a bo practise mishap, and they made an admirable effort to explain the magical girl genre to a very befuddled-looking Sweden on one memorable occasion. (America had somehow gotten entirely the wrong idea about that, and resolutely refused to be convinced otherwise.)
"Is it not good?" Hong Kong asked suddenly. Japan glanced up, confused. "Your baozi."
Ah, the nikuman Hong Kong had prepared as a teatime snack. Japan had been idly picking at his while daydreaming; Hong Kong was nothing if not an attentive host.
"No, the taste is excellent," said Japan, "it's just that my appetite today is, well-"
"You got a stomachache or somethin'?" asked America, leaning over the table to listen.
"No, no, I am fine. I suppose I've just been stressed lately. My Gundam Fighter...well, he and I are somewhat mismatched, you see."
"Can't be worse than Sweden and the tentacle girl," America said, making an indicative hand gesture. All the other guests groaned in unison.
"I told you- ah, it's nothing. The problem is that even though he was born in my place, my Fighter was practically raised by Hong Kong's, so..." This earned a tag-team dirty look from China and Hong Kong, but Japan pressed on. "...Well, he's always spouting things in Cantonese, calling things by the wrong words, and asking all the wrong questions. It's as if he just doesn't care."
"You say that, but isn't that kind of good?"
There was a very long silence.
"Good...how?" Japan asked, honestly flabbergasted.
"Well, I guess it's not really great if he's ignoring you, but...like, burgers. They were invented by a guy from Germany's place, right? But hey, I'll eat them no matter who made 'em. I mean, it's not like they're less awesome just 'cuz they didn't come from me."
"Oh."
"My Fighter is a totally heroic guy, but man, he's not exactly the best guy around when it comes to multicultural stuff, you know? The other day, I caught him just yelling all these racial slurs like nobody's business. If you ask me, it'd be great to have a Fighter who could get along with all of you like I do."
It was strange to see England in anything that wasn't starched and pressed, but he had a tendency to show up at odd hours, in casual clothes with his hair messed up. America's colour was starting to come back, yet he hadn't started eating fast food again, and spent a surprising portion of these times sipping at his drink, just listening to the others chattering. They all comforted China after his Fighter accidentally broke a 2000-year-old statuette in a bo practise mishap, and they made an admirable effort to explain the magical girl genre to a very befuddled-looking Sweden on one memorable occasion. (America had somehow gotten entirely the wrong idea about that, and resolutely refused to be convinced otherwise.)
"Is it not good?" Hong Kong asked suddenly. Japan glanced up, confused. "Your baozi."
Ah, the nikuman Hong Kong had prepared as a teatime snack. Japan had been idly picking at his while daydreaming; Hong Kong was nothing if not an attentive host.
"No, the taste is excellent," said Japan, "it's just that my appetite today is, well-"
"You got a stomachache or somethin'?" asked America, leaning over the table to listen.
"No, no, I am fine. I suppose I've just been stressed lately. My Gundam Fighter...well, he and I are somewhat mismatched, you see."
"Can't be worse than Sweden and the tentacle girl," America said, making an indicative hand gesture. All the other guests groaned in unison.
"I told you- ah, it's nothing. The problem is that even though he was born in my place, my Fighter was practically raised by Hong Kong's, so..." This earned a tag-team dirty look from China and Hong Kong, but Japan pressed on. "...Well, he's always spouting things in Cantonese, calling things by the wrong words, and asking all the wrong questions. It's as if he just doesn't care."
"You say that, but isn't that kind of good?"
There was a very long silence.
"Good...how?" Japan asked, honestly flabbergasted.
"Well, I guess it's not really great if he's ignoring you, but...like, burgers. They were invented by a guy from Germany's place, right? But hey, I'll eat them no matter who made 'em. I mean, it's not like they're less awesome just 'cuz they didn't come from me."
"Oh."
"My Fighter is a totally heroic guy, but man, he's not exactly the best guy around when it comes to multicultural stuff, you know? The other day, I caught him just yelling all these racial slurs like nobody's business. If you ask me, it'd be great to have a Fighter who could get along with all of you like I do."
And America sat down his teacup.
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