The Netherlands (and the UK) lost a lot of money when the banks in Iceland collapsed.
The other Nordics notice something odd - when England harasses Iceland about the money, they'll usually just end up bitching at one another until someone storms off/hangs up - but when the Netherlands does it, Iceland is utterly petrified, avoids him as much as possible, won't talk to him without other people around, etc., and gets increasingly upset/clingy/paranoid as it continues. This baffling behavior sparks off a Great Nordic Investigation, which eventually succeeds in making him talk.
The explanation is much worse than they could have imagined. As a child, Iceland was so androgynous that he was frequently mistaken for a little girl, and the Netherlands - who has a thing for little girls - molested him before actually realizing he was a boy.
Bonus: Part of the reason Iceland doesn't want to tell anyone what happened is because he's afraid he'll be accused of making it up to get out of paying his debt and/or told it wasn't a big deal because he hadn't actually been raped.
And Such Are The Consequences 1/?
anonymous
October 24 2010, 18:22:12 UTC
Iceland has a beautiful vision in his head. It involves an English monastery, a longship full of angry Vikings, and quite a number of very sharp spears.
That vision is the only thing stopping him from launching himself across the table to where England is standing red-faced and haughty, and tearing out those stupid eyebrows hair by hair.
Well, that and the fact that his entire body hurts so much he can barely move. Which means launching is rather out of the question.
And of course there’s the presence of Norway, who keeps shooting Iceland concerned sideways glances when he’s not watching England rant with a blank transfixion. Denmark, Finland, and Sweden are in the room too. Iceland would never lose control of himself like that in front of them. Not when he’s already smoldering with shame as England’s words deal blow after blow to his shattered pride.
This scathing tirade is nothing more than the latest development in the constant mortification that’s been Iceland’s life for the past couple weeks. Ever since his banks crashed, it’s been nothing short of hell. He’s acutely aware that the rest of the world has been watching him struggle with varying degrees of sympathy and dark humor. Applying to the IMF was embarrassing. Going delirious with fever was even more so. But it was being forced to accept so much help from other countries that had really done it for him. At this point, he almost couldn’t bring himself to care.
Almost.
It’s frustrating. He feels so helpless. He really has screwed up, and there’s nothing he can do about it. All he has to defend is empty pride. And so he’s obliged to listen to England lecture him as though he were a stupid, ignorant child. Even though he’s definitely not the only country to have screwed up economically in recent months. Even though he’s not the underlying cause of this recession as a whole. None of it matters, because the entire world is already feverish and grumpy and now they’re having to pay to save him.
The shame, the frustration, and the vulnerability-not to mention the illness-are crushing Iceland’s heart to dust. But he is determined to sit there, calm and stoic, with the same bored, mildly defiant expression as insult after insult is thrown his way. He is, by nature, proud, even when he has nothing left to be proud of.
He’s a half-frozen volcanic island. He’s used to life being tough. He can handle anything.
“…can’t let this slide!” England is shouting. He bangs his fist on the desk for effect, his flushed face clashing almost comically with his green tie. “Do you realize how many countries are having to suffer for your stupidity? Just look around you at the-”
He breaks off mid-sentence as the door opens, his big stupid eyebrows flying up and then down like convulsing caterpillars. He opens his mouth, shuts it, adjusts his tie, and then says cordially, “Good, I had been wondering when you would show up.”
The other Nordics have turned to look at the new arrival. Norway doesn’t look surprised, but then again he never looks much of anything. Sweden looks absolutely murderous-nothing new. Finland is sighing and shaking his head. Denmark, who had been busily taking apart a pen, suddenly brightens.
Iceland stares at the doorway and suddenly England and banks and crises and loans don’t matter. There’s a ball of ice in his throat and everybody seems too close, much too close.
And Such Are The Consequences 1b/?
anonymous
October 24 2010, 18:24:25 UTC
“How did those damned Vikings come across such a precious little thing like you?”
This was close, much too close. “Are you sure… are you sure this is something that all big countries do?”
An impatient wave of the hand. “Of course. Better trading ties, and all that.”
It didn’t make much sense-he had never seen Norway or Denmark do something like this, and they were great at trading. Had he not been paying attention?
Fingers stroked through his hair, sending uncomfortable shivers racing down his spine. “Your hair is beautiful. You should grow it long. Then it would be even more beautiful,” the voice whispered in his ear. The hot breath fluttering against cheek made him feel sick.
Re: And Such Are The Consequences 1c/?
anonymous
October 24 2010, 18:27:26 UTC
Iceland feels sick. He swallows and manages to nod evenly at the man now sitting next to England and directly across the table from him.
Netherlands acknowledges the nod with a slight inclination of his head. Then he quickly averts his eyes.
Iceland can’t bring himself to avert his own.
England takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand across his face. His cheeks are still a grotesque shade of burgundy, though now that he’s stopped shouting the color has begun to fade. “I’m glad you’re here, Netherlands. I’ve been trying to talk some sense into Iceland for the past half hour. Maybe you’ll get through to him.”
Netherlands nods slowly. He glares a spot on the table and says “You have to pay me back. I need the money.”
Iceland tries to speak. He knows exactly what he wants to say: ‘I know, but I don’t have the money. It’s not possible. I’m sorry.' But he can’t. The words stir in his throat, and then come apart, crumbling like sugar before they can properly form.
Norway speaks for him. “He can’t. Both of you know he can’t.”
England snorts derisively. “Well, he’s going to have to arrange something so that he can.”
Denmark is rolling the ink barrel of his pen between his fingers. “Why don’t you lighten up, England? You know what it’s like to be in deep shit. Lay off.” He turns to look at Netherlands. “And I thought you were cooler than this, man. What do you think you’re doing, picking on my little bro?”
Netherlands shrugs, frowning. “I need the money back.”
Iceland doesn’t think he’s supposed to be able to hear his blood rushing in his ears.
“What you seem to fail to understand,” England is saying, “is that Iceland is the one at fault here. He got himself into this situation, and now he needs to take responsibility for it. I suppose that you Nordics may be used to babying him, but I’m sorry to say the rest of the world isn’t going to stand for that.”
The irritating voice begins to blur together, and Iceland lets it go.
Why does he have to be involved in this? Why him, of all countries? I would take another two hours of England ranting over this. I would take another two hours of England ranting and a plateful of burned scones over this.
Netherlands is still staring at the tabletop with his cold, shifty eyes, and his hands-those hard, horrible hands-are resting in front of him. Iceland swallows again, trying not to remember Netherlands’ hands. He thinks he’s had nightmares about them. They seem to glow with an evil, red-tinged aura.
Though now that he thinks about it, spots of colored light are flashing all over Netherlands’ body, and on England, and on the wall behind them….
Suddenly, he’s on the floor. A ring of concerned faces sharpens and then falls of out focus above him. He lets out a choked cry of fear when he sees Netherlands’ among them. “B-Back off!” he slurs, his tongue heavy. “Get… away from me.”
“Ice. It’s okay. Big brother’s here.” Norway’s fingers curl around his, but Iceland wrenches his hand away. He can’t stand the contact, not with him so close.
Strong but gentle arms scoop him up, and he breathes in the scent of saltwater and pine trees that he knows to be Sweden’s.
Norway’s speaking. “I think we’ve made some progress today. At least, we’re all very aware of your sentiments on this matter,” he says dryly. “I don’t think there’s anything left to discuss.”
As Sweden begins to carry him out of the room, Iceland can’t help but look back.
Netherlands is still staring at him.
Iceland squeezes his eyes shut, but he can’t stop the hot ashamed tears from soaking into his eyelashes.
---
MELODRAMA, whoo! Sorry, I’m hoping that this will get less angsty… unless you guys like melodrama, in which case, I CAN DO THAT. 8D
and I am totally not opposed to melodrama, if you're inclined to go in that direction. But if you want less angst, I am just fine with that, too!
Holy crap, I love this. I love you. I didn't think anyone was going to fill this but I thought I'd throw it out there anyway. &hearts creepy!Netherlands was appropriately creepy and poor Iceland freaking out was just awesome and there's probably something wrong with me for thinking that. xD
Re: And Such Are The Consequences 1c/?
anonymous
October 25 2010, 05:50:53 UTC
This is wonderful! The characters are written very well - especially Denmark and Norway, which is impressive considering they've got like two lines each so far - and the description is just lovely. I especially liked that detail about the words crumbling like sugar, it's just so pretty and I don't think I've read anything like that metaphor before. It's a really great start all around, I can't wait to read more! 'specially since i've got a hunch who you are, aha
And Such Are The Consequences 2a/?
anonymous
October 28 2010, 06:39:16 UTC
Wow, thank you so much for all the kind compliments! You guys are awesome. 8D Even you, slightly creepy basement-locking anon. xD
---
“And so then, then-you gotta hear what he says, man, it’s priceless, so then he says-ah, shit.” Denmark grabs the edge of the counter, steadying himself. Laughter and alcohol are a dangerous combination.
Netherlands is looking at him with that stupid expression of his-one part exasperation, one part amusement, and one part disbelief. “I think you’ve had enough, man. You’re gonna fall and kill yourself.”
Denmark snorts. “Shut up. I was downing mjød when you were still wetting yourself.” He rakes a hand through his hair, shoving it back out of his eyes. “And anyway,” he continues, pointing an accusing finger, “you don’t have any right to call me out. You’ve barely drunk anything.”
“Maybe ‘cause I don’t want to look like a bumbling dumbass like you, wise guy.” Netherlands shoves his half-finished beer over to Denmark. “Go ahead and have the rest. If I’m lucky, it’ll make you do something stupid and entertain me.”
Denmark takes the beer, confused. He would never, ever admit it, but out of the two of them, Netherlands had always been just a little bit better at holding his alcohol. Usually, when they went out drinking like this, Netherlands never lost a chance to one-up him and then rub it in his face. But apparently not tonight.
“Hey, you’re okay, right?” he asks without thinking.
Netherlands raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah. Why?”
“I dunno. You’re just being weird. I mean, you gave me your beer, what’s up with that?”
Netherlands shrugs. He pulls a package of cigarettes from of his pocket and tugs one out. “Not in the mood to be drunk. That a problem?”
“No, ‘course not. Just wondering.” Denmark points at the cigarette. “That’s not really legal to have in here, y’know.”
“Does it look like anyone cares?” Netherlands jerks his head towards the rest of the crowd. At least five other people are smoking away.
“Okay, fair point.” Denmark considers making Netherlands share, but then remembers that he’s already given him half a drink free and decides that that’s good enough.
“You’re not mad at me, are ya?” asks Netherlands. It’s a very casual question, but even rather inebriated, Denmark finds it weird.
“Uh, no. Did I do something that made you think I was?”
“No, no. I was just thinking-y’know, that meeting with your little bro earlier today didn’t end too well, and you weren’t happy with me pestering him in the first place.” Netherlands blows a cloud of smoke across the table.
“Ah yeah, that.” Denmark frowns. “Poor Ice. He’s been pretty broken up about the whole thing. But I’m not mad at you, man. S’not your fault your government wants the money back. Honestly, I think England’s the one stressing Ice out.” His hand curls into a fist just thinking about it “I wanted to staple his face shut earlier.”
Netherlands snorts and takes a long drag on his cigarette. “Yeah.”
Denmark downs the rest of Netherland’s beer in a few sips. He’ll probably regret it tomorrow, but what the hell. He closes his eyes and smiles. A thousand years have passed, and he’s still the kind of guy who never wants to live anywhere but the present.
The thought makes him feel really sappy and stupid. “Netherlands, man, I’m so glad we’re bros.”
“Hmph, you’re drunk,” says Netherlands. His tone is derisive, but when Denmark opens his eyes, he sees an amused, but nevertheless genuine half-smile.
The world seems to have gone a bit shiny, Denmark notes. The dim bar looks several shades brighter than he remembers, and he can basically see his reflection in Netherlands’ eyes. Then Denmark nearly pitches off his seat trying to give his buddy a manly slap on the back-and between that and the shininess, he knows it’s time to declare he’s had enough and thunk his head down on the counter.
Re: And Such Are The Consequences 2b/?
anonymous
October 28 2010, 06:43:20 UTC
“Aren’t you a pretty little one.”
Iceland started with fear and surprise, accidentally dropping the piece of wood he’d been whittling. It slipped over the side of the boat and fell into the shallow ocean with a splash.
A stony-faced teenager was leaning against the ship’s wooden prow, knee-deep in seawater. “Hello,” he said. “You might recognize me as the one of the nations your brothers have been tormenting these past two centuries.”
Iceland said nothing, but his fingers tightened around the handle of his knife. How in Thor’s name had he let this guy sneak up on him like that? Norway and Denmark would be so disappointed with him.
“Are you Iceland? You must be Iceland. Why else would such a young thing be sitting in a barbarian ship like this?”
Suddenly, the other nation was pulling himself over the side of the boat. Iceland was frozen with fear, wondering if he was about to be beaten up for what he was, in fact, at that very moment waiting for Norway and Denmark to return from doing.
Iceland raised his knife as the other nation brushed himself off and sat down on the bench next to his, but all he got for his efforts was a dry chuckle. “Put that thing down, little one, you’ll hurt yourself. Look, I’m unarmed.” Two empty hands were held up to prove it. “My name is Netherlands, in case you didn’t know. Let’s talk awhile.”
Iceland slipped his knife back into its scabbard, but said nothing. Maybe, he thought, Netherlands was like Denmark. Maybe if you ignored him, he would go away.
“Now, that’s no way to behave. At the very least, you could say hello. It’s only polite.” Netherlands’ voice took on a sweet, persuasive edge. “Just say hello.”
“…Hello.” Suddenly, Iceland felt very, very shy.
“There you go, little one. I knew it was in you. I’ve given up all hope when it comes to your brothers, but you… you’re far too precious to grow up to be raiding delinquents like them.”
Precious. That was a strange word. Iceland had heard it before, yes, but never in reference to a person. Always to things. ‘Eat all your porridge, Iceland. Food is precious.’ ‘You won’t believe what we found on that last raid, Nor. Look at it, it’s precious!’ ‘When you’re older, Ice, I’ll teach you how to trade. It’s a precious skill.’
Netherlands slid quietly onto the bench next to him. “Isn’t Norway lucky to have found such a precious little thing?” he murmured.
***
Iceland wakes up trembling.
---
Sorry for the rather short update, I've been busy. Just so you guys know, I'm gonna try to update at least once a week, maybe twice if I can manage it. Thanks for reading! ^^
I love it when I stay up until three a.m. and awesome things like this happen.
Oh, Iceland... *hugs* Poor kid.
In a weird, twisted kind of way, I almost feel a little bad for Netherlands - he knows damn well he fucked up and he's going to DIE when the others find out... of course, he deserves it, so... xD okay, I need to go to bed now.
Re: And Such Are The Consequences 2b/?
anonymous
October 28 2010, 19:02:42 UTC
Ooooh some sympathetic vibes for Netherlands?? Does this mean this is going to be a fucked-up trainwreck where we get to feel bad for everyone involved, even our supposed "bad guy"? Because I dearly, dearly hope so!
The Netherlands (and the UK) lost a lot of money when the banks in Iceland collapsed.
The other Nordics notice something odd - when England harasses Iceland about the money, they'll usually just end up bitching at one another until someone storms off/hangs up - but when the Netherlands does it, Iceland is utterly petrified, avoids him as much as possible, won't talk to him without other people around, etc., and gets increasingly upset/clingy/paranoid as it continues. This baffling behavior sparks off a Great Nordic Investigation, which eventually succeeds in making him talk.
The explanation is much worse than they could have imagined. As a child, Iceland was so androgynous that he was frequently mistaken for a little girl, and the Netherlands - who has a thing for little girls - molested him before actually realizing he was a boy.
Bonus: Part of the reason Iceland doesn't want to tell anyone what happened is because he's afraid he'll be accused of making it up to get out of paying his debt and/or told it wasn't a big deal because he hadn't actually been raped.
*purchases some prime real estate in Hell*
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That vision is the only thing stopping him from launching himself across the table to where England is standing red-faced and haughty, and tearing out those stupid eyebrows hair by hair.
Well, that and the fact that his entire body hurts so much he can barely move. Which means launching is rather out of the question.
And of course there’s the presence of Norway, who keeps shooting Iceland concerned sideways glances when he’s not watching England rant with a blank transfixion. Denmark, Finland, and Sweden are in the room too. Iceland would never lose control of himself like that in front of them. Not when he’s already smoldering with shame as England’s words deal blow after blow to his shattered pride.
This scathing tirade is nothing more than the latest development in the constant mortification that’s been Iceland’s life for the past couple weeks. Ever since his banks crashed, it’s been nothing short of hell. He’s acutely aware that the rest of the world has been watching him struggle with varying degrees of sympathy and dark humor. Applying to the IMF was embarrassing. Going delirious with fever was even more so. But it was being forced to accept so much help from other countries that had really done it for him. At this point, he almost couldn’t bring himself to care.
Almost.
It’s frustrating. He feels so helpless. He really has screwed up, and there’s nothing he can do about it. All he has to defend is empty pride. And so he’s obliged to listen to England lecture him as though he were a stupid, ignorant child. Even though he’s definitely not the only country to have screwed up economically in recent months. Even though he’s not the underlying cause of this recession as a whole. None of it matters, because the entire world is already feverish and grumpy and now they’re having to pay to save him.
The shame, the frustration, and the vulnerability-not to mention the illness-are crushing Iceland’s heart to dust. But he is determined to sit there, calm and stoic, with the same bored, mildly defiant expression as insult after insult is thrown his way. He is, by nature, proud, even when he has nothing left to be proud of.
He’s a half-frozen volcanic island. He’s used to life being tough. He can handle anything.
“…can’t let this slide!” England is shouting. He bangs his fist on the desk for effect, his flushed face clashing almost comically with his green tie. “Do you realize how many countries are having to suffer for your stupidity? Just look around you at the-”
He breaks off mid-sentence as the door opens, his big stupid eyebrows flying up and then down like convulsing caterpillars. He opens his mouth, shuts it, adjusts his tie, and then says cordially, “Good, I had been wondering when you would show up.”
The other Nordics have turned to look at the new arrival. Norway doesn’t look surprised, but then again he never looks much of anything. Sweden looks absolutely murderous-nothing new. Finland is sighing and shaking his head. Denmark, who had been busily taking apart a pen, suddenly brightens.
Iceland stares at the doorway and suddenly England and banks and crises and loans don’t matter. There’s a ball of ice in his throat and everybody seems too close, much too close.
Iceland can handle anything. Except this.
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This was close, much too close. “Are you sure… are you sure this is something that all big countries do?”
An impatient wave of the hand. “Of course. Better trading ties, and all that.”
It didn’t make much sense-he had never seen Norway or Denmark do something like this, and they were great at trading. Had he not been paying attention?
Fingers stroked through his hair, sending uncomfortable shivers racing down his spine. “Your hair is beautiful. You should grow it long. Then it would be even more beautiful,” the voice whispered in his ear. The hot breath fluttering against cheek made him feel sick.
“You’re so pretty, my precious. So pretty.”
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Netherlands acknowledges the nod with a slight inclination of his head. Then he quickly averts his eyes.
Iceland can’t bring himself to avert his own.
England takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand across his face. His cheeks are still a grotesque shade of burgundy, though now that he’s stopped shouting the color has begun to fade. “I’m glad you’re here, Netherlands. I’ve been trying to talk some sense into Iceland for the past half hour. Maybe you’ll get through to him.”
Netherlands nods slowly. He glares a spot on the table and says “You have to pay me back. I need the money.”
Iceland tries to speak. He knows exactly what he wants to say: ‘I know, but I don’t have the money. It’s not possible. I’m sorry.' But he can’t. The words stir in his throat, and then come apart, crumbling like sugar before they can properly form.
Norway speaks for him. “He can’t. Both of you know he can’t.”
England snorts derisively. “Well, he’s going to have to arrange something so that he can.”
Denmark is rolling the ink barrel of his pen between his fingers. “Why don’t you lighten up, England? You know what it’s like to be in deep shit. Lay off.” He turns to look at Netherlands. “And I thought you were cooler than this, man. What do you think you’re doing, picking on my little bro?”
Netherlands shrugs, frowning. “I need the money back.”
Iceland doesn’t think he’s supposed to be able to hear his blood rushing in his ears.
“What you seem to fail to understand,” England is saying, “is that Iceland is the one at fault here. He got himself into this situation, and now he needs to take responsibility for it. I suppose that you Nordics may be used to babying him, but I’m sorry to say the rest of the world isn’t going to stand for that.”
The irritating voice begins to blur together, and Iceland lets it go.
Why does he have to be involved in this? Why him, of all countries? I would take another two hours of England ranting over this. I would take another two hours of England ranting and a plateful of burned scones over this.
Netherlands is still staring at the tabletop with his cold, shifty eyes, and his hands-those hard, horrible hands-are resting in front of him. Iceland swallows again, trying not to remember Netherlands’ hands. He thinks he’s had nightmares about them. They seem to glow with an evil, red-tinged aura.
Though now that he thinks about it, spots of colored light are flashing all over Netherlands’ body, and on England, and on the wall behind them….
Suddenly, he’s on the floor. A ring of concerned faces sharpens and then falls of out focus above him. He lets out a choked cry of fear when he sees Netherlands’ among them. “B-Back off!” he slurs, his tongue heavy. “Get… away from me.”
“Ice. It’s okay. Big brother’s here.” Norway’s fingers curl around his, but Iceland wrenches his hand away. He can’t stand the contact, not with him so close.
Strong but gentle arms scoop him up, and he breathes in the scent of saltwater and pine trees that he knows to be Sweden’s.
Norway’s speaking. “I think we’ve made some progress today. At least, we’re all very aware of your sentiments on this matter,” he says dryly. “I don’t think there’s anything left to discuss.”
As Sweden begins to carry him out of the room, Iceland can’t help but look back.
Netherlands is still staring at him.
Iceland squeezes his eyes shut, but he can’t stop the hot ashamed tears from soaking into his eyelashes.
---
MELODRAMA, whoo!
Sorry, I’m hoping that this will get less angsty… unless you guys like melodrama, in which case, I CAN DO THAT. 8D
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Holy crap, I love this. I love you. I didn't think anyone was going to fill this but I thought I'd throw it out there anyway. &hearts creepy!Netherlands was appropriately creepy and poor Iceland freaking out was just awesome and there's probably something wrong with me for thinking that. xD
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Overprotective Nordics are pure love, and your inner Iceland voice is absolutely perfect.
And I vote for melodrama!
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*puppy eye* >3
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Loved it, anon c: please update sooooon!
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---
“And so then, then-you gotta hear what he says, man, it’s priceless, so then he says-ah, shit.” Denmark grabs the edge of the counter, steadying himself. Laughter and alcohol are a dangerous combination.
Netherlands is looking at him with that stupid expression of his-one part exasperation, one part amusement, and one part disbelief. “I think you’ve had enough, man. You’re gonna fall and kill yourself.”
Denmark snorts. “Shut up. I was downing mjød when you were still wetting yourself.” He rakes a hand through his hair, shoving it back out of his eyes. “And anyway,” he continues, pointing an accusing finger, “you don’t have any right to call me out. You’ve barely drunk anything.”
“Maybe ‘cause I don’t want to look like a bumbling dumbass like you, wise guy.” Netherlands shoves his half-finished beer over to Denmark. “Go ahead and have the rest. If I’m lucky, it’ll make you do something stupid and entertain me.”
Denmark takes the beer, confused. He would never, ever admit it, but out of the two of them, Netherlands had always been just a little bit better at holding his alcohol. Usually, when they went out drinking like this, Netherlands never lost a chance to one-up him and then rub it in his face. But apparently not tonight.
“Hey, you’re okay, right?” he asks without thinking.
Netherlands raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah. Why?”
“I dunno. You’re just being weird. I mean, you gave me your beer, what’s up with that?”
Netherlands shrugs. He pulls a package of cigarettes from of his pocket and tugs one out. “Not in the mood to be drunk. That a problem?”
“No, ‘course not. Just wondering.” Denmark points at the cigarette. “That’s not really legal to have in here, y’know.”
“Does it look like anyone cares?” Netherlands jerks his head towards the rest of the crowd. At least five other people are smoking away.
“Okay, fair point.” Denmark considers making Netherlands share, but then remembers that he’s already given him half a drink free and decides that that’s good enough.
“You’re not mad at me, are ya?” asks Netherlands. It’s a very casual question, but even rather inebriated, Denmark finds it weird.
“Uh, no. Did I do something that made you think I was?”
“No, no. I was just thinking-y’know, that meeting with your little bro earlier today didn’t end too well, and you weren’t happy with me pestering him in the first place.” Netherlands blows a cloud of smoke across the table.
“Ah yeah, that.” Denmark frowns. “Poor Ice. He’s been pretty broken up about the whole thing. But I’m not mad at you, man. S’not your fault your government wants the money back. Honestly, I think England’s the one stressing Ice out.” His hand curls into a fist just thinking about it “I wanted to staple his face shut earlier.”
Netherlands snorts and takes a long drag on his cigarette. “Yeah.”
Denmark downs the rest of Netherland’s beer in a few sips. He’ll probably regret it tomorrow, but what the hell. He closes his eyes and smiles. A thousand years have passed, and he’s still the kind of guy who never wants to live anywhere but the present.
The thought makes him feel really sappy and stupid. “Netherlands, man, I’m so glad we’re bros.”
“Hmph, you’re drunk,” says Netherlands. His tone is derisive, but when Denmark opens his eyes, he sees an amused, but nevertheless genuine half-smile.
The world seems to have gone a bit shiny, Denmark notes. The dim bar looks several shades brighter than he remembers, and he can basically see his reflection in Netherlands’ eyes. Then Denmark nearly pitches off his seat trying to give his buddy a manly slap on the back-and between that and the shininess, he knows it’s time to declare he’s had enough and thunk his head down on the counter.
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Iceland started with fear and surprise, accidentally dropping the piece of wood he’d been whittling. It slipped over the side of the boat and fell into the shallow ocean with a splash.
A stony-faced teenager was leaning against the ship’s wooden prow, knee-deep in seawater. “Hello,” he said. “You might recognize me as the one of the nations your brothers have been tormenting these past two centuries.”
Iceland said nothing, but his fingers tightened around the handle of his knife. How in Thor’s name had he let this guy sneak up on him like that? Norway and Denmark would be so disappointed with him.
“Are you Iceland? You must be Iceland. Why else would such a young thing be sitting in a barbarian ship like this?”
Suddenly, the other nation was pulling himself over the side of the boat. Iceland was frozen with fear, wondering if he was about to be beaten up for what he was, in fact, at that very moment waiting for Norway and Denmark to return from doing.
Iceland raised his knife as the other nation brushed himself off and sat down on the bench next to his, but all he got for his efforts was a dry chuckle. “Put that thing down, little one, you’ll hurt yourself. Look, I’m unarmed.” Two empty hands were held up to prove it. “My name is Netherlands, in case you didn’t know. Let’s talk awhile.”
Iceland slipped his knife back into its scabbard, but said nothing. Maybe, he thought, Netherlands was like Denmark. Maybe if you ignored him, he would go away.
“Now, that’s no way to behave. At the very least, you could say hello. It’s only polite.” Netherlands’ voice took on a sweet, persuasive edge. “Just say hello.”
“…Hello.” Suddenly, Iceland felt very, very shy.
“There you go, little one. I knew it was in you. I’ve given up all hope when it comes to your brothers, but you… you’re far too precious to grow up to be raiding delinquents like them.”
Precious. That was a strange word. Iceland had heard it before, yes, but never in reference to a person. Always to things. ‘Eat all your porridge, Iceland. Food is precious.’ ‘You won’t believe what we found on that last raid, Nor. Look at it, it’s precious!’ ‘When you’re older, Ice, I’ll teach you how to trade. It’s a precious skill.’
Netherlands slid quietly onto the bench next to him. “Isn’t Norway lucky to have found such a precious little thing?” he murmured.
***
Iceland wakes up trembling.
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Sorry for the rather short update, I've been busy. Just so you guys know, I'm gonna try to update at least once a week, maybe twice if I can manage it. Thanks for reading! ^^
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Oh, Iceland... *hugs* Poor kid.
In a weird, twisted kind of way, I almost feel a little bad for Netherlands - he knows damn well he fucked up and he's going to DIE when the others find out... of course, he deserves it, so... xD okay, I need to go to bed now.
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Three a.m. kink meme-ing is the best. 8D
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