fic: Diplomacy, Greece, Turkey
Hi guys, a sort of part III to the other two fics I've already brought you! It may (or may not) finish up the little series I had going on. I hope you enjoy!
Title: Diplomacy
Author: me
Pairing: none, really, but there's always implicit Greece/Turkey
Rating: PG
Characters: Greece, Turkey, England, US, and S. Italy
Summary: At 7:30 in the morning, they could be sure of one thing; one person in the fighting pair across from them was going to die.
It was nearing 7:30 in the morning in Berlin, and the nations that were assembled that early in the morning were only certain of one thing: That within at least the next two hours, one of the two currently warring members in the fight that was taking place across from them was going to die. They even had a small pool going on, England, America, France, and Southern Italy, as they watched in somewhat rapt horror as the two men wildly gesticulated, seeming to circle each other like two fighting dogs.
Greece gestured violently with one hand, reminiscent of someone threatening to slap the other party across the face, and Greek spilled forth from his lips like a vein had been opened. He was only half-dressed, his shirt hanging from the curves of his shoulders, and his pants unbuttoned. His hair had been yet untamed from waking, and fell about his face as if he had been newly wakened. It wasn’t badly received by any means, as Greece was hot to any gender under the sun, but it made the scene look uncomfortably more a lover’s quarrel perhaps than it already was.
Turkey gestured with one hand, fingers pinching the air and drawing it down, and both America and Southern Italy winced at the gesture, both familiar with the gesture from the 1920s from the former of the parties, and his own personal experiences from the latter. At this point, it was looking like Greece was more apt to die. Though otherwise perfectly in control of himself despite this aggressive gesture, Turkey was beginning to look a little frayed, as he often did when dealing with Greece after long periods of time. He was in a slightly similar state of undress, feet stuffed into old boots, and his slacks from the previous night, but only his coat on over his bare chest.
The two, in combination, looked as though a domestic despite was about to unravel all over Germany’s nicely planned world conference summit and ruin the breakfast, but as of yet was still keeping itself neatly contained. Turkey gripped Greece’s arms as he seemed to plead something from the younger man, who stiffened violently, and struggled with his palms against the older man’s chest, hips bucking.
Greece spoke rapid-fire Greek, and Turkey spoke a never-ending line of Turkish, almost above Greece at times, and yet they still seemed to understand one another, as if they were, indeed, speaking the same language. They fell silent after an instant where their voices rose simultaneously, and Turkey paced away from the younger man, rubbing his lower jaw in an attempt to calm himself down, while Greece looked away at the ground. Then, making the same, threatening gesture as before, Turkey gripped Greece’s arm and led him to the breakfast tables, speaking in a low tone. Greece listened with a serious expression, almost mutinous, and allowed himself to be seated, voicing invectives softly.
Eyeing his companions slightly wryly, England thought it was perhaps best for the atmosphere to speak up at that moment, before blood could really be shed. “Whatever in the world has come over you two so early in the morning? You two are fighting like cats and dogs.”
“Huh?” Turkey looked up from bending slightly over Greece where he was seating the man, and seemed to blink in puzzlement despite the mask. Greece quirked his head and leveled a calmly inquisitive gaze at them.
“What… do you mean?” Asked Greece, glancing up at Turkey, as if in an attempt to find some meaning there, the two for once united in their common confusion. “We were just trying to figure out whose shirt I was wearing… since one of ours… was taken to the wash… early this morning… and we can’t figure out whose.”
A small silence stretched over the rest of the table, in which Turkey laughed huskily and made the same hand gesture he had to Greece earlier. “Calmly, my friend, calmly. The brat’n I aren’t always at each other’s throats.” With still another chortle, he slapped Greece’s bicep bracingly and walked around to the other side of the table, so he could sit facing Greece, and began pouring them coffee.
The small betting group was hastily disbanded as they realized the three of them combined didn’t know nearly enough about Middle Eastern diplomacy as they needed to.
Notes:
It’s been noted that both Turks and Greeks have a habit of talking loudly and excitedly to one another, to the point where you’re afraid they’re going to get into a fight with each other, before you’re told they were only talking about the weather.
There’s a particular gesture in the Middle East which, while it looks like the person is threatening your life, actually means “calm” or “patience”, and looks remarkably like the Italian smack in the face gesture.
It’s my private, pet theory that Greece and Turkey can speak each other’s languages flawlessly, and yet never bother to with each other.
Title: Diplomacy
Author: me
Pairing: none, really, but there's always implicit Greece/Turkey
Rating: PG
Characters: Greece, Turkey, England, US, and S. Italy
Summary: At 7:30 in the morning, they could be sure of one thing; one person in the fighting pair across from them was going to die.
It was nearing 7:30 in the morning in Berlin, and the nations that were assembled that early in the morning were only certain of one thing: That within at least the next two hours, one of the two currently warring members in the fight that was taking place across from them was going to die. They even had a small pool going on, England, America, France, and Southern Italy, as they watched in somewhat rapt horror as the two men wildly gesticulated, seeming to circle each other like two fighting dogs.
Greece gestured violently with one hand, reminiscent of someone threatening to slap the other party across the face, and Greek spilled forth from his lips like a vein had been opened. He was only half-dressed, his shirt hanging from the curves of his shoulders, and his pants unbuttoned. His hair had been yet untamed from waking, and fell about his face as if he had been newly wakened. It wasn’t badly received by any means, as Greece was hot to any gender under the sun, but it made the scene look uncomfortably more a lover’s quarrel perhaps than it already was.
Turkey gestured with one hand, fingers pinching the air and drawing it down, and both America and Southern Italy winced at the gesture, both familiar with the gesture from the 1920s from the former of the parties, and his own personal experiences from the latter. At this point, it was looking like Greece was more apt to die. Though otherwise perfectly in control of himself despite this aggressive gesture, Turkey was beginning to look a little frayed, as he often did when dealing with Greece after long periods of time. He was in a slightly similar state of undress, feet stuffed into old boots, and his slacks from the previous night, but only his coat on over his bare chest.
The two, in combination, looked as though a domestic despite was about to unravel all over Germany’s nicely planned world conference summit and ruin the breakfast, but as of yet was still keeping itself neatly contained. Turkey gripped Greece’s arms as he seemed to plead something from the younger man, who stiffened violently, and struggled with his palms against the older man’s chest, hips bucking.
Greece spoke rapid-fire Greek, and Turkey spoke a never-ending line of Turkish, almost above Greece at times, and yet they still seemed to understand one another, as if they were, indeed, speaking the same language. They fell silent after an instant where their voices rose simultaneously, and Turkey paced away from the younger man, rubbing his lower jaw in an attempt to calm himself down, while Greece looked away at the ground. Then, making the same, threatening gesture as before, Turkey gripped Greece’s arm and led him to the breakfast tables, speaking in a low tone. Greece listened with a serious expression, almost mutinous, and allowed himself to be seated, voicing invectives softly.
Eyeing his companions slightly wryly, England thought it was perhaps best for the atmosphere to speak up at that moment, before blood could really be shed. “Whatever in the world has come over you two so early in the morning? You two are fighting like cats and dogs.”
“Huh?” Turkey looked up from bending slightly over Greece where he was seating the man, and seemed to blink in puzzlement despite the mask. Greece quirked his head and leveled a calmly inquisitive gaze at them.
“What… do you mean?” Asked Greece, glancing up at Turkey, as if in an attempt to find some meaning there, the two for once united in their common confusion. “We were just trying to figure out whose shirt I was wearing… since one of ours… was taken to the wash… early this morning… and we can’t figure out whose.”
A small silence stretched over the rest of the table, in which Turkey laughed huskily and made the same hand gesture he had to Greece earlier. “Calmly, my friend, calmly. The brat’n I aren’t always at each other’s throats.” With still another chortle, he slapped Greece’s bicep bracingly and walked around to the other side of the table, so he could sit facing Greece, and began pouring them coffee.
The small betting group was hastily disbanded as they realized the three of them combined didn’t know nearly enough about Middle Eastern diplomacy as they needed to.
Notes:
It’s been noted that both Turks and Greeks have a habit of talking loudly and excitedly to one another, to the point where you’re afraid they’re going to get into a fight with each other, before you’re told they were only talking about the weather.
There’s a particular gesture in the Middle East which, while it looks like the person is threatening your life, actually means “calm” or “patience”, and looks remarkably like the Italian smack in the face gesture.
It’s my private, pet theory that Greece and Turkey can speak each other’s languages flawlessly, and yet never bother to with each other.