Mi Amor [1/3]
anonymous
June 20 2009, 15:08:06 UTC
Spain was quite aware that he was possibly mad as he strummed his guitar in front of England's house. Any minute, he could be ambushed by English soldiers or, God bless his soul, pirates that the English hired; the latter was a trauma Spain thought he could never ever get out of his mind no matter how many decades had passed.
When he opened his mouth, it was not to shout or to scream, rather, it was to sing. Sing a love song. His voice was nicely loud and wonderfully pleasant to the ears. It wasn't the best, but it certainly wasn't the worst either. What his voice lacked, he made it up with his guitar. His fingers deftly danced through and on the strings with a passion known only to Spain.
The night was young, he thought.
By the time he'd gotten to the chorus, he felt Romano beside him. He turned to smile at Romano only to receive a whack on the head.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Romano asked.
"Wooing," Spain supplied, helpful as ever to his own plight.
"France, you idiot? You don't need to woo him! If he hears this, he'll be flying through the window and-and I won't be able to go to sleep!" Romano was sporting a rather healthy-looking tomato-red flush.
"But this is England's house."
"No! Look closer! It's France's!" He pointed at the house.
"I wouldn't mind being wooed though!" France said from the balcony.
"Ah, I must've took a wrong turn," Spain said. He looked at Romano. "Want to join me woo England?"
"What?! No!" Romano exclaimed.
"I want to--" France said.
"No, thank you," Spain said with a smile on his face.
"... This is heartbreaking."
Spain looked at the house with much determination. After being shoved a map in his face by Romano, he was sure that he'd gotten it right. He was also sure that someone was in the house because the lights were open.
The night was still young, as he'd thought before. Younger than before, in fact, as England tended to be behind France by an hour.
He sang his heart out.
The door opened and out popped an irate-looking redhead who had eyebrows as thick as England.
"Who the hell are you?" the redhead asked.
"... Whose house is this?" Spain asked.
"Oh. Oh, it's you. Why the hell are you here?"
"Um, this isn't England's--"
"I'm Scotland! Now get off my property before I decide to come out here."
Needless to say, Spain had vanished into the horizon before anyone could scream bloody murder.
Well, at least England's house was next door. That was the only consolation that popped out of Spain's head. The other thought, not much of a consolation but more of a warning, was that he wouldn't trust Romano with directions or maps anymore.
When he opened his mouth, it was not to shout or to scream, rather, it was to sing. Sing a love song. His voice was nicely loud and wonderfully pleasant to the ears. It wasn't the best, but it certainly wasn't the worst either. What his voice lacked, he made it up with his guitar. His fingers deftly danced through and on the strings with a passion known only to Spain.
The night was young, he thought.
By the time he'd gotten to the chorus, he felt Romano beside him. He turned to smile at Romano only to receive a whack on the head.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Romano asked.
"Wooing," Spain supplied, helpful as ever to his own plight.
"France, you idiot? You don't need to woo him! If he hears this, he'll be flying through the window and-and I won't be able to go to sleep!" Romano was sporting a rather healthy-looking tomato-red flush.
"But this is England's house."
"No! Look closer! It's France's!" He pointed at the house.
"I wouldn't mind being wooed though!" France said from the balcony.
"Ah, I must've took a wrong turn," Spain said. He looked at Romano. "Want to join me woo England?"
"What?! No!" Romano exclaimed.
"I want to--" France said.
"No, thank you," Spain said with a smile on his face.
"... This is heartbreaking."
Spain looked at the house with much determination. After being shoved a map in his face by Romano, he was sure that he'd gotten it right. He was also sure that someone was in the house because the lights were open.
The night was still young, as he'd thought before. Younger than before, in fact, as England tended to be behind France by an hour.
He sang his heart out.
The door opened and out popped an irate-looking redhead who had eyebrows as thick as England.
"Who the hell are you?" the redhead asked.
"... Whose house is this?" Spain asked.
"Oh. Oh, it's you. Why the hell are you here?"
"Um, this isn't England's--"
"I'm Scotland! Now get off my property before I decide to come out here."
Needless to say, Spain had vanished into the horizon before anyone could scream bloody murder.
Well, at least England's house was next door. That was the only consolation that popped out of Spain's head. The other thought, not much of a consolation but more of a warning, was that he wouldn't trust Romano with directions or maps anymore.
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