We Make Our Dreams Come Truuuuueeee [Part 1/3]
anonymous
April 20 2009, 19:53:39 UTC
England knew that the spell had gone wrong immediately. There was always a certain feeling one got when a spell had succeeded, and then there was the other feeling, as if your whole body has just been put through a wrangler inside-out and then petted by someone in heavy gloves, that indicated without a doubt that a spell had gone wrong.
There was also the fact that he was now several feet shorter than usual.
He knew that he shouldn't have tried casting a spell when he was that emotional, much less a Britannia Angel spell, but he had just been so fucking annoyed with America, so sure that things were so much easier when America was a child, and then he'd had his wand in hand and the spell on his tongue and -
And he was several feet shorter than usual.
"... Angleterre," France said slowly, "what 'ave you done?"
"Um," replied England eloquently.
He didn't really want to turn around, to actually catch sight of what he'd done, but knew that he had to, in the same way he knew that King Arthur had to die (not that this knowledge ever stopped him crying when viewing/reading any adaptation of the legends). He picked France as the target, as at least that way he'd get to laugh a little bit.
France was also several feet shorter than usual, and so was, as usual, about the same height as England - if annoyingly a little bit taller. The French boy's arms were crossed and he did not look amused.
England scoffed, "You really used to dress like that?"
France's frown deepened and he poked England in the shoulder sharply. "It's better than you, Mon chère. What are you, a child pretending to be Robin 'ood?"
England rolled his eyes. "Robin Hood was not the only Englishman to ever wear a cloak and hold a bow and arrow, you know."
"Robin Hood's cool," piped up a third voice from below England's shoulder. "His movies are awesome!"
England glared down at the tiny American. "Your Hollywood has completely bastardised my hero. And I hope you know that this is your fault entirely."
America looked absolutely affronted. "What? How? You're the one with the weird spells!"
"You were being so stupid!" England shouted, and France decided to back away slowly just in case this came to blows - England's Britannia Angel wand had been replaced by a far pointier object, and France had been the victim of England's sword far too often over the centuries. "This is a World Meeting, America, not a Let's See How Daft America's Plans Can Get Before His Stupidity Causes Him To Forget How To Breathe!"
"Well duh, of course it's not that, that name's way too long!"
"Bloodyfuckinhell."
"And anyway, why's that mean you turned us all into kids?"
"I was only trying to turn you into a child," England fumed. "You used to listen to me when you were small!"
Fortunately, before the argument could escalate into a fistfight, the door opened to reveal a young boy with short brown hair in chain mail armour. "Excuse me," said the child politely, "but could someone explain what's happened? Austria, the Italy brothers, and I were sitting together, and suddenly we were children again. I have talked to some others, and it seems we're all in a similar situation. Austria suggested that England would know what's going on, and so I came to find you."
"Ah. Yes." England turned away from America, sheathed his sword, and smoothed down his tunic - trying to look presentable, for it did not do for him to be seen in such a state. "I'm afraid a spell of mine... malfunctioned, somewhat. I do deeply apologise, Lithuania."
The child blinked. "I'm not Lithuania," she answered, looping her hair behind her ear. "It's me, Hungary."
Three pairs of eyes boggled at the child standing in the doorway. "But," said America.
"Forgive me, Mon ami!" cried France, who tended to be a bit better at dealing with this kind of thing than the other two boys in the room. "I am sorry for ever mistaking you! I saw your clothes and 'air, and assumed you were Lithuania. Pray answer, though: 'ungary, did you spend all your child'ood in male clothing?"
There was also the fact that he was now several feet shorter than usual.
He knew that he shouldn't have tried casting a spell when he was that emotional, much less a Britannia Angel spell, but he had just been so fucking annoyed with America, so sure that things were so much easier when America was a child, and then he'd had his wand in hand and the spell on his tongue and -
And he was several feet shorter than usual.
"... Angleterre," France said slowly, "what 'ave you done?"
"Um," replied England eloquently.
He didn't really want to turn around, to actually catch sight of what he'd done, but knew that he had to, in the same way he knew that King Arthur had to die (not that this knowledge ever stopped him crying when viewing/reading any adaptation of the legends). He picked France as the target, as at least that way he'd get to laugh a little bit.
France was also several feet shorter than usual, and so was, as usual, about the same height as England - if annoyingly a little bit taller. The French boy's arms were crossed and he did not look amused.
England scoffed, "You really used to dress like that?"
France's frown deepened and he poked England in the shoulder sharply. "It's better than you, Mon chère. What are you, a child pretending to be Robin 'ood?"
England rolled his eyes. "Robin Hood was not the only Englishman to ever wear a cloak and hold a bow and arrow, you know."
"Robin Hood's cool," piped up a third voice from below England's shoulder. "His movies are awesome!"
England glared down at the tiny American. "Your Hollywood has completely bastardised my hero. And I hope you know that this is your fault entirely."
America looked absolutely affronted. "What? How? You're the one with the weird spells!"
"You were being so stupid!" England shouted, and France decided to back away slowly just in case this came to blows - England's Britannia Angel wand had been replaced by a far pointier object, and France had been the victim of England's sword far too often over the centuries. "This is a World Meeting, America, not a Let's See How Daft America's Plans Can Get Before His Stupidity Causes Him To Forget How To Breathe!"
"Well duh, of course it's not that, that name's way too long!"
"Bloodyfuckinhell."
"And anyway, why's that mean you turned us all into kids?"
"I was only trying to turn you into a child," England fumed. "You used to listen to me when you were small!"
Fortunately, before the argument could escalate into a fistfight, the door opened to reveal a young boy with short brown hair in chain mail armour. "Excuse me," said the child politely, "but could someone explain what's happened? Austria, the Italy brothers, and I were sitting together, and suddenly we were children again. I have talked to some others, and it seems we're all in a similar situation. Austria suggested that England would know what's going on, and so I came to find you."
"Ah. Yes." England turned away from America, sheathed his sword, and smoothed down his tunic - trying to look presentable, for it did not do for him to be seen in such a state. "I'm afraid a spell of mine... malfunctioned, somewhat. I do deeply apologise, Lithuania."
The child blinked. "I'm not Lithuania," she answered, looping her hair behind her ear. "It's me, Hungary."
Three pairs of eyes boggled at the child standing in the doorway. "But," said America.
"Forgive me, Mon ami!" cried France, who tended to be a bit better at dealing with this kind of thing than the other two boys in the room. "I am sorry for ever mistaking you! I saw your clothes and 'air, and assumed you were Lithuania. Pray answer, though: 'ungary, did you spend all your child'ood in male clothing?"
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