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
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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