Nations in space 2/?
anonymous
April 18 2009, 21:19:18 UTC
The pizza had been splendid, both Germany and everyone else the came to the improvised party, agreed.
Since they had both started over as very small nations and everyone had lived in everyone elses pocket on the eleven-year long trip to star 452-K Beta or, sigh, the Holy Roman System, there hadn’t really been a way or reason to keep their identities secret. According to the oldest nations, no one used to do that until the populations exploded and the rate of communications grew too fast for comfort anyway.
As such, neither Ludwig nor Feliciano was very worried when someone called for the countries to come over to the communications station.
“What is it?”
“Someone is hailing the border station,” their host (and local baker, thus he had the oven most suited for Italy’s pizza experiment), “but, uh, they can’t understand who it is. So they ask to patch it over to you, Germany.”
Ludwig felt a slight shiver. Hopefully that didn’t mean... “Are they talking a language you don’t know?” he said hopefully.
“Well, the accent is a bit strange, but no. Mostly he seems, uhm, drunk I think. And he uses some weirdly old-fashioned words.
Ludwig groaned.
“Maybe it’s just Ru- Ivan?” Italy suggested with a tense smile. “Er, though on the other hand I think even your brother would be better than him...”
That was such obviously true that Germany didn’t feel a need to answer. Instead, he took the comm-set. “Hello, this is Neu-Deutschland speaking.”
“Ey, bruderchen!” a familiar, obnoxious voice answered, “long time no see!”
“Hello Gilbert,” Ludwig said. Just his luck, why couldn’t it be one of the kids, or even Roderich? Of course, they wouldn’t hail his space station while drunk.
Italy’s warm hand seeking his gave him some comfort, but he still had to steel himself for the questions that must be asked. Not that he had much against his brother in person, but every time he turned up, he turned their beautiful, steadily developing planets upside down. And he always seduced away at least a dozen youngsters and then guess who’d be left to try and comfort the grieving parents? That’s right.
“Why have you decided to come here this time?”
Gilbert hiccoughed, and managed to sound both drunk and wounded. “What, can’t a nation decide that he wants to see his little brother without being accused of all kinds of things?”
“Every time you show up, you want something! If you’re at war with the RFU again, I’m not hiding you again!” Oops, that wasn’t what he had meant to say.
“Du mieser kleiner wichser! I raise you up, I save your ass from the tentacly things, and that’s all the thanks I get?”
“No, Gilbert,” Italy interjected hurriedly, “Germany doesn’t mean it like that! He’s just worried about you!”
I am? Ludwig mouthed silently, but at Italy’s stern look, he decided to shut up.
Since they had both started over as very small nations and everyone had lived in everyone elses pocket on the eleven-year long trip to star 452-K Beta or, sigh, the Holy Roman System, there hadn’t really been a way or reason to keep their identities secret. According to the oldest nations, no one used to do that until the populations exploded and the rate of communications grew too fast for comfort anyway.
As such, neither Ludwig nor Feliciano was very worried when someone called for the countries to come over to the communications station.
“What is it?”
“Someone is hailing the border station,” their host (and local baker, thus he had the oven most suited for Italy’s pizza experiment), “but, uh, they can’t understand who it is. So they ask to patch it over to you, Germany.”
Ludwig felt a slight shiver. Hopefully that didn’t mean... “Are they talking a language you don’t know?” he said hopefully.
“Well, the accent is a bit strange, but no. Mostly he seems, uhm, drunk I think. And he uses some weirdly old-fashioned words.
Ludwig groaned.
“Maybe it’s just Ru- Ivan?” Italy suggested with a tense smile. “Er, though on the other hand I think even your brother would be better than him...”
That was such obviously true that Germany didn’t feel a need to answer. Instead, he took the comm-set. “Hello, this is Neu-Deutschland speaking.”
“Ey, bruderchen!” a familiar, obnoxious voice answered, “long time no see!”
“Hello Gilbert,” Ludwig said. Just his luck, why couldn’t it be one of the kids, or even Roderich? Of course, they wouldn’t hail his space station while drunk.
Italy’s warm hand seeking his gave him some comfort, but he still had to steel himself for the questions that must be asked. Not that he had much against his brother in person, but every time he turned up, he turned their beautiful, steadily developing planets upside down. And he always seduced away at least a dozen youngsters and then guess who’d be left to try and comfort the grieving parents? That’s right.
“Why have you decided to come here this time?”
Gilbert hiccoughed, and managed to sound both drunk and wounded. “What, can’t a nation decide that he wants to see his little brother without being accused of all kinds of things?”
“Every time you show up, you want something! If you’re at war with the RFU again, I’m not hiding you again!” Oops, that wasn’t what he had meant to say.
“Du mieser kleiner wichser! I raise you up, I save your ass from the tentacly things, and that’s all the thanks I get?”
“No, Gilbert,” Italy interjected hurriedly, “Germany doesn’t mean it like that! He’s just worried about you!”
I am? Ludwig mouthed silently, but at Italy’s stern look, he decided to shut up.
“He is?”
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