Norway, Denmark reflected, had always been a such cat kind of person. Silent to the point of incomprehensible, dangerously patient and surprisingly dangerous if he just put his mind to it; proud in that cunningly mute way that you never recognized until you realized that he never had listened to you in the first place. Whenever Norway for whatever reason had felt like being disagreeble, it had always been with that passive ignorance of orders. Denmark found it decidedly ironic that a cat of Norway's actually answered to its name.
Normally.
"You can't sit there all night," he said into the empty space of his garden, leaning against the railing of his balcony and staring forlornly at the field into which he was pretty certain that cat was hiding between waist-tall grasses and getting things stuck in his coat that would take an hour to comb out.
There was the sound of somebody trying to sniffle slowly enough to not be heard, but no other reply.
He tried again. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"
The answer from beneath his feet somewhere was utter silence, but Denmark was not discouraged by that. Denmark knew how kids worked; Denmark had dealt with Iceland, too, for some centuries, and Iceland had always looked up to his brother. Much as Norway tried to deny it today by insisting that the kids had been all his, there really was no way for him to accuse Denmark of skirting his part in raising them.
Not that Norway ever had asked him to take over their upbringing, and he thought that maybe that was just another thing that Norway had gone and been sore about for centuries afterwards, too... but regardless, the bottom line remained: Denmark knew how you dealt with kids.
"I'm calling Sweden."
"No!"
"You can't sit there all night," he started, satisfied with having established bilateral communication, "aren't they waiting for you at home?"
There was a mutter of something that sounded suspiciously like an distressed 'I don't have a home' from the raspberry bushes.
Now, Denmark was of the opinion that growing up with Sweden could have made any kid run away to escape the boredom; he could sympathize. But to that, he firmly believed that every man was on his own; he had lived for long enought to have learned that the world was a place where the dog eats the dog. And, more importantly, where the fox was known to take cats.
When Sweden had read the same page of personal ads in the newspaper four times, Finland had suggested that maybe he should take Hana-Tamago for a walk. By that point, they had already called England, who had sneered something cruder than usual about Sealand and the key he still had to England's house, Holland who asked why they were looking for Denmark's kid, Denmark who hadn't seen a thing, Latvia who had spent the day letting Estonia look through his budgets and Norway who wasn't at home. Having exhausted the most likely places where the boy could have gotten himself lost, there had been nothing to do but suffer the duty of any parent of the modern age: the waiting for offspring that had not called to announced its delay on the way home.
"His mobile probably ran out of power," Finland had assured himself. There had been some discussion about that mobile - first about whether it really was necessary to give one to a boy his age, then a considerably longer one about whether it should be a Nokia or a Sony-Ericsson which never really had been resolved as Korea had overheard one such debate and insisted on giving them his Samsung since he was getting a new one. So Sealand owned a model that was not yet available in the western markets, and he did so with the pride required of such. He would not have forgotten it anywhere, and Finland knew, for a fact, that the boy took great care to check if he should recharge it every night.
Normally.
"You can't sit there all night," he said into the empty space of his garden, leaning against the railing of his balcony and staring forlornly at the field into which he was pretty certain that cat was hiding between waist-tall grasses and getting things stuck in his coat that would take an hour to comb out.
There was the sound of somebody trying to sniffle slowly enough to not be heard, but no other reply.
He tried again. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"
The answer from beneath his feet somewhere was utter silence, but Denmark was not discouraged by that. Denmark knew how kids worked; Denmark had dealt with Iceland, too, for some centuries, and Iceland had always looked up to his brother. Much as Norway tried to deny it today by insisting that the kids had been all his, there really was no way for him to accuse Denmark of skirting his part in raising them.
Not that Norway ever had asked him to take over their upbringing, and he thought that maybe that was just another thing that Norway had gone and been sore about for centuries afterwards, too... but regardless, the bottom line remained: Denmark knew how you dealt with kids.
"I'm calling Sweden."
"No!"
"You can't sit there all night," he started, satisfied with having established bilateral communication, "aren't they waiting for you at home?"
There was a mutter of something that sounded suspiciously like an distressed 'I don't have a home' from the raspberry bushes.
Now, Denmark was of the opinion that growing up with Sweden could have made any kid run away to escape the boredom; he could sympathize. But to that, he firmly believed that every man was on his own; he had lived for long enought to have learned that the world was a place where the dog eats the dog. And, more importantly, where the fox was known to take cats.
When Sweden had read the same page of personal ads in the newspaper four times, Finland had suggested that maybe he should take Hana-Tamago for a walk. By that point, they had already called England, who had sneered something cruder than usual about Sealand and the key he still had to England's house, Holland who asked why they were looking for Denmark's kid, Denmark who hadn't seen a thing, Latvia who had spent the day letting Estonia look through his budgets and Norway who wasn't at home. Having exhausted the most likely places where the boy could have gotten himself lost, there had been nothing to do but suffer the duty of any parent of the modern age: the waiting for offspring that had not called to announced its delay on the way home.
"His mobile probably ran out of power," Finland had assured himself. There had been some discussion about that mobile - first about whether it really was necessary to give one to a boy his age, then a considerably longer one about whether it should be a Nokia or a Sony-Ericsson which never really had been resolved as Korea had overheard one such debate and insisted on giving them his Samsung since he was getting a new one. So Sealand owned a model that was not yet available in the western markets, and he did so with the pride required of such. He would not have forgotten it anywhere, and Finland knew, for a fact, that the boy took great care to check if he should recharge it every night.
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