He had tossed and turned while trying to get to sleep, screwing his eyes shut and opening them again. It was not so much the cold or the sunlight drifting in through the barred window that had kept him awake but rather the atmosphere, the emptiness. Norway had always said he should trust his instincts; here, the way that the air settled made him edgy, so there was no use in even trying. Honestly, he was sure he needed no rest - once he'd gotten over the initial shock, it just seemed as if there was nothing better to do. As he lay staring at the icy ceiling, he picked up noises from the frigid corridor outside, the packed snow only dampening the sounds. There were the sweet tones of a girl's voice and the familiar rough n' cheerful mumbling of ... No, it couldn't be...
He opened the door and looked out into the white corridor, finding Denmark crouched at the far end. He had a pencil in hand and he looked vaguely neurotic, digging at the snow on the walls with a young girl - Liechtenstein, was it? - watching him curiously from behind.
It was just his luck that the first person - besides the nurse - he would see in this godforsaken place was the mad, self-proclaimed King of Scandinavia himself.
He was now faced with a choice: should he close the door and go back to his sulking? Or confront the madman and find out just what on earth was going on? He decided on the former; he had no desire to talk to Denmark again, but as he withdrew into his room, he hit his arm against the doorway and started to swear loudly --
"Hello, Denmark," she replied. Well, he was...digging. She could see that, Maybe what she should have asked was 'why are you digging', but it was also obvious. Maybe they could tunnel their way out, except Liechtenstein had a feeling the staff probably also considered this and had taken measures to ensure escaping that way wouldn't be plausible.
But it was a hope, of sorts.
"I'm exploring," she said. "You wouldn't have happened to have seen any sewing needles, would you--?"
And then she heard a loud voice coming somewhere down the hall way. A bit of concern, mostly curiosity, she asked, "Are you all right?"
Denmark smiled a little at the small nation; he had often wondered how she stayed so sweet surrounded by neighbors such as Switzerland and Austria.
"I'm sorry but no. Hard enough finding these pencils. . ." He looked at the pencil in his hand, then at at the wall, his shoulders sagging slightly as he sighed. This was ludicrous. He really needed to get a hold of himself.
He also looks over at the sound of the voice, giving a few choice curses. Unlike Liech, he recognized it immediately, smiling to himself. Well, that was certainly Island. He also had a pretty good idea of why he seemed so unhappy.
With another sigh, shoulders feeling even more heavy, he went back to digging. He did want to speak to the other nation, badly, wanted to give him a hug and cheer him up. . . but he knew he was the last person Island wanted to see.
Iceland continued cursing in his head for a moment, nursing his tingling elbow. "... I.. I'm fine, thanks." He called out into the hallway. "Just hit my arm against the doorframe..."
He sighed inwardly. Having revealed himself, a slight tinge of fear and irritation had washed over him as he half expected Denmark to say something or do something, or at least call out to him sporting that familiar overly-cheerful smile -- but the way his shoulders sagged, the way his face seemed at once oddly troubled and serious instead of dismissive, proud or smug disturbed Iceland. Denmark didn't try to come over and ruffle his hair, didn't try to cross the space between them and crush him; instead he had hunched over with that pathetic little stub of a pencil in his hand, resuming the futile task.
He's completely addled now, Iceland thought, suddenly, feeling almost cruel. He knew he didn't really feel sorry for the nation that had abandoned him, but it was just -- such a strange sight. He was sure the war had perhaps changed Denmark more than he knew, sure that they'd all been hurt - some worse than others and the satisfaction he thought he would feel when seeing Denmark in such a pathetic state - it just felt all wrong...
He lingered in the doorway a little more, watching Denmark converse with Liechtenstein. He barely knew her, but he thought she looked sort of sweet with her pink cheeks flushed by the cold. It was odd - so very odd to find not only Denmark, but other nations in this godforsaken, strange place.
The nurse had said he had a "condition". Had they brought absolutely everyone here on suspicion of it, then?
At the very least, he thought, that ruled out Denmark having anything to do with it.
He listened as Island made an excuse for his outburst, laughing to himself. The kid was intelligent, had been ever since he was a tiny thing. Anybody else would have been fooled, but when you spend time raising a young thing like Island for a time, you learned a few things about him. He was a nation now -- but the Dane still had a hard time thinking of him as anything but that little fellow tagging along with Norge. And he knew how the other felt about him. He wasn't sure which was greater: Glee or sadness, but it was something interesting he felt to have drawn such a reaction from the kid when he hadn't even looked at him or said a word.
He stabbed at the wall with a vengeance, carving out medium-sized sections that he pulled away with his hands, ignoring the pain and cold on his fingers.
Iceland didn't really know what to do. He didn't want to slam the door shut, but he didn't want to initiate contact, either, knowing that there was always some measure of method to Denmark's madness. He shuffled down the hallway quietly towards the two of them. It wasn't like being raised by Denmark - no - it was more like growing up with him, considering the amount of care he had put into his upbringing, hadn't taught him anything about Denmark's character, either. It's just that it was hard to predict, at times. Sometimes he thought he had it all figured out, but then the idiot'd just throw him out on a loop and do something completely unexpected --
"Danmörk..." The name slipped out involuntarily. Iceland had only wanted to observe him further, crouched over like that. He'd wondered for a moment just how raw his fingers were getting, and he'd opened his mouth. Cursing himself inwardly, he steeled himself for the moment - Denmark would turn around, and the concern he stupidly felt would give way to irritation once again once he saw that stupid, smiling face.
Denmark turns around at the sound of Island, so close to him even. He doesn't even try to hide the mild shock on his face at the kid-- the other nation. He noticed that Island didn't look too bad; he knew the other had his own trials during the war, but he was glad the he was, on the surface, okay.
He gives Island a genuine smile, and can't resisit ruffling the other's hair a bit before tactfully (so he thinks) smoothing it back down.
"Huh. Sounds like you know more about this than I do," Iceland says grudgingly. He winces at the hair-ruffle. "Don't do that--"
He waves his arm about as if to bat Denmark's hand away and runs it through his hair again. He doesn't say anything any more - just stands there awkwardly, looking up at Denmark with a little grudging pout, observing him. He certainly seemed... different. He couldn't place it.
It had been a while since they'd seen each other, and so much had happened, but even after all that, Iceland found himself wondering how Denmark could still smile...
"All this" he gestured accusingly at the snow-covered walls around him, though he knew - from his state - that it had nothing to do with him "Did you have any hand in it?"
As quickly as his shock had been replaced by a smile to Island was as quickly as it returned, his eyes slightly wide as he stared at the young nation. Just before his blood began to boil.
But this was Island; it wasn't as though he could scream at the kid. He couldn't berate, insult, or jab at him as he would with Sweden. The confusion and surprise was replaced, and he shut his mouth (gaping like a fish - he winced inside) with a swallow. The look he returned to Island was blank, dead serious, with the barest hint of a threatening glare. He didn't know if he'd ever been so angry at him; this easily rivaled the moment when the other's people had voted their independence. Patience, his mind practically begged, patience . . .
"Well, sure, Island. That explains why I'm digging in the snow with a pencil." He sounded so calm, and was quite pleased. "I have the key to the front door under my gods be damned pillow."
He'd sworn, but he hadn't yelled. It hurt; it wasn't as though he were personally responsible for every bad thing that ever happened. He turned and stabbed viciously at the wall of snow and ice with the pencil, belieing his anger.
There. The smile was gone. Denmark was angry, and he knew it, and he understood that far better than -- well, he didn't really know what it was Denmark had going on just now, but it was unsettling. Iceland certainly bore him a grudge, but did he really feel better making Denmark angry? In a complex kind of way, he didn't want to have to feel sorry for him, didn't want to have to be nice or kind because he didn't want to, and if Denmark was angry, then -- he wouldn't have to be.
"Huh. I wouldn't expect you to know, anyway." He replied coldly; no, of course Denmark wouldn't be digging like this. Of course not "You've always been eccentric." But he'd just keep right on being annoying -- he'd be more cutting too, if it didn't look like the other party might snap at any moment --
But he couldn't really face Denmark, saying such stupid foot-in-mouth words. His eyes were fixed on Liechtenstein's ribbon, just past Denmark's head. Poor girl, she was listening in on a conversation she likely didn't understand the mechanics behind. Yet still, he just wanted to say and think the worst of him and he didn't much care what happened otherwise.
Ah. Tension. Liechtenstein wasn't sure what was going on, or the whole reason behind this, but she was very good at detecting tension. It was one of the reasons how she managed to avoid getting involved in a lot of fighting. f course, it was none of her business to be poking into theirs, but unfortunately she was there listening to a conversation she didn't fully understand, and it was awkward.
There was a harsh crunching krrsh-krrsh in the the hall outside Finland's room, the unmistakable sound of someone violently disturbing packing snow. He knew immediately that someone was digging, having done so himself not too long ago to hide some nicked medical supplies. He heard voices too, two men and possibly a young woman, but he couldn't make out any words through the frozen walls. Curiosity overcame him and he carefully pushed open his door into the hall. Denmark! And Iceland, and a much smaller nation whose deeper golden-blonde hair marked her clearly as a much more southern state. Wasn't it Liechtenstein, he thought, vaguely remembering having encountered her in the kitchen.
He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him, then froze, suddenly unsure. Should he really be bothering them? They were talking to each other, Denmark and Iceland, and while he hadn't gotten to have much contact with his neighbours he knew they weren't on the best of terms at the moment. But little Liechtenstein looked so uncomfortable, it would be terrible to leave her in the middle of an argument (particularly one that involved Denmark in any way.)
"M-moi!" he said politely as he made his way over. Ah, there's what he was hearing, a small hole in the wall of the hallway, and snow piled at Denmark's feet. Digging his way out, he supposed.
"Oh yeah? Then why'd you even ask? Hmm?" He snapped at Island; sheesh, he never snapped at Island. This entire place was bringing out the absolute worst in him. He glanced from Island to Liech, the gave each a pat on the shoulder.
"I'm sorry." Skies, he hated that, hated the sound of his voice all tired and stressed out. It was so weak-sounding.
He was just about to turn back to the wall when he heard another familiar voice, yet another he would recognize anywhere.
"F-Finland?" He was amazed to see Finland; he'd heard of the other's troubles with Russia, but soon after his territory had been occupied and he'd stopped paying attention for a time. Still though; he had wished to hear all about it.
"Ah..." He was right, it sounded like he'd walked into something between Denmark and Iceland he had no right to be part of. "I'm sorry, Danmark, I didn't mean to interrupt," he said, still polite, still awkward, using the others own name for himself. How unfortunate that he was here, he thought; how long had it been since he'd gotten Germany out of his land? It couldn't have been that long, considering how exhausted and unhappy he looked. None of them would be pleased to be here, but if Denmark's home had been occupied until only recently, being trapped again could be little less than nightmarish.
And Iceland...for Denmark to speak so harshly to him, it was unheard of. Maybe coming out here wasn't the best idea. Finland took the place next to Liechtenstein nonetheless, offering her a bright smile. It wasn't her fault she was stuck in this, after all.
Iceland sighed, hand clutching the shoulder Denmark had patted - half trying to brush the feeling off, half trying to preserve the touch. Even trying to make Denmark angry was hopeless; if he did manage to get a rise out of him, his personality would flip just as suddenly and he'd go back to being sad and resigned and Iceland would feel a grudging sort of sympathy...
"Hn." he grunted noncommittally, staying silent and glaring daggers. It had been a surprise that Finland had come out and interrupted; they hadn't seen each other for a long time. So many familiar faces were popping up, he half expected Norge to come round the corner to top it all off. Then again, perhaps they were being a little too loud.
"Nothing to interrupt." Augh, he sounded so serious. But he was really focused on digging through this snow! Eventually he abandoned the pen and pencil, digging and digging with his bare hands, ignoring how quickly they became cold and painful, nicking his hands on the jagged edges of the hard, frozen snow. He swore to himself, but continued, making the hole bigger and bigger so that he had to lean into it to keep clawing away.
"Unless," and his voice was muffled from inside his small tunnel, "unless you know who is running this place?" He scooped away a large clump of snow, but was dismayed to see a bright red streak starkly brushed against the white, the side of his hands being thoroughly cut and scraped.
He opened the door and looked out into the white corridor, finding Denmark crouched at the far end. He had a pencil in hand and he looked vaguely neurotic, digging at the snow on the walls with a young girl - Liechtenstein, was it? - watching him curiously from behind.
It was just his luck that the first person - besides the nurse - he would see in this godforsaken place was the mad, self-proclaimed King of Scandinavia himself.
He was now faced with a choice: should he close the door and go back to his sulking? Or confront the madman and find out just what on earth was going on? He decided on the former; he had no desire to talk to Denmark again, but as he withdrew into his room, he hit his arm against the doorway and started to swear loudly --
"HELVÍTIS-- Ah... ha..."
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But it was a hope, of sorts.
"I'm exploring," she said. "You wouldn't have happened to have seen any sewing needles, would you--?"
And then she heard a loud voice coming somewhere down the hall way. A bit of concern, mostly curiosity, she asked, "Are you all right?"
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"I'm sorry but no. Hard enough finding these pencils. . ." He looked at the pencil in his hand, then at at the wall, his shoulders sagging slightly as he sighed. This was ludicrous. He really needed to get a hold of himself.
He also looks over at the sound of the voice, giving a few choice curses. Unlike Liech, he recognized it immediately, smiling to himself. Well, that was certainly Island. He also had a pretty good idea of why he seemed so unhappy.
With another sigh, shoulders feeling even more heavy, he went back to digging. He did want to speak to the other nation, badly, wanted to give him a hug and cheer him up. . . but he knew he was the last person Island wanted to see.
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He sighed inwardly. Having revealed himself, a slight tinge of fear and irritation had washed over him as he half expected Denmark to say something or do something, or at least call out to him sporting that familiar overly-cheerful smile -- but the way his shoulders sagged, the way his face seemed at once oddly troubled and serious instead of dismissive, proud or smug disturbed Iceland. Denmark didn't try to come over and ruffle his hair, didn't try to cross the space between them and crush him; instead he had hunched over with that pathetic little stub of a pencil in his hand, resuming the futile task.
He's completely addled now, Iceland thought, suddenly, feeling almost cruel. He knew he didn't really feel sorry for the nation that had abandoned him, but it was just -- such a strange sight. He was sure the war had perhaps changed Denmark more than he knew, sure that they'd all been hurt - some worse than others and the satisfaction he thought he would feel when seeing Denmark in such a pathetic state - it just felt all wrong...
He lingered in the doorway a little more, watching Denmark converse with Liechtenstein. He barely knew her, but he thought she looked sort of sweet with her pink cheeks flushed by the cold. It was odd - so very odd to find not only Denmark, but other nations in this godforsaken, strange place.
The nurse had said he had a "condition". Had they brought absolutely everyone here on suspicion of it, then?
At the very least, he thought, that ruled out Denmark having anything to do with it.
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He stabbed at the wall with a vengeance, carving out medium-sized sections that he pulled away with his hands, ignoring the pain and cold on his fingers.
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"Danmörk..." The name slipped out involuntarily. Iceland had only wanted to observe him further, crouched over like that. He'd wondered for a moment just how raw his fingers were getting, and he'd opened his mouth. Cursing himself inwardly, he steeled himself for the moment - Denmark would turn around, and the concern he stupidly felt would give way to irritation once again once he saw that stupid, smiling face.
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He gives Island a genuine smile, and can't resisit ruffling the other's hair a bit before tactfully (so he thinks) smoothing it back down.
"So they got you too, eh?"
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He waves his arm about as if to bat Denmark's hand away and runs it through his hair again. He doesn't say anything any more - just stands there awkwardly, looking up at Denmark with a little grudging pout, observing him. He certainly seemed... different. He couldn't place it.
It had been a while since they'd seen each other, and so much had happened, but even after all that, Iceland found himself wondering how Denmark could still smile...
"All this" he gestured accusingly at the snow-covered walls around him, though he knew - from his state - that it had nothing to do with him "Did you have any hand in it?"
He just couldn't think of anything else to say.
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But this was Island; it wasn't as though he could scream at the kid. He couldn't berate, insult, or jab at him as he would with Sweden. The confusion and surprise was replaced, and he shut his mouth (gaping like a fish - he winced inside) with a swallow. The look he returned to Island was blank, dead serious, with the barest hint of a threatening glare. He didn't know if he'd ever been so angry at him; this easily rivaled the moment when the other's people had voted their independence. Patience, his mind practically begged, patience . . .
"Well, sure, Island. That explains why I'm digging in the snow with a pencil." He sounded so calm, and was quite pleased. "I have the key to the front door under my gods be damned pillow."
He'd sworn, but he hadn't yelled. It hurt; it wasn't as though he were personally responsible for every bad thing that ever happened. He turned and stabbed viciously at the wall of snow and ice with the pencil, belieing his anger.
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"Huh. I wouldn't expect you to know, anyway." He replied coldly; no, of course Denmark wouldn't be digging like this. Of course not "You've always been eccentric." But he'd just keep right on being annoying -- he'd be more cutting too, if it didn't look like the other party might snap at any moment --
But he couldn't really face Denmark, saying such stupid foot-in-mouth words. His eyes were fixed on Liechtenstein's ribbon, just past Denmark's head. Poor girl, she was listening in on a conversation she likely didn't understand the mechanics behind. Yet still, he just wanted to say and think the worst of him and he didn't much care what happened otherwise.
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"...Urm...
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He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him, then froze, suddenly unsure. Should he really be bothering them? They were talking to each other, Denmark and Iceland, and while he hadn't gotten to have much contact with his neighbours he knew they weren't on the best of terms at the moment. But little Liechtenstein looked so uncomfortable, it would be terrible to leave her in the middle of an argument (particularly one that involved Denmark in any way.)
"M-moi!" he said politely as he made his way over. Ah, there's what he was hearing, a small hole in the wall of the hallway, and snow piled at Denmark's feet. Digging his way out, he supposed.
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"I'm sorry." Skies, he hated that, hated the sound of his voice all tired and stressed out. It was so weak-sounding.
He was just about to turn back to the wall when he heard another familiar voice, yet another he would recognize anywhere.
"F-Finland?" He was amazed to see Finland; he'd heard of the other's troubles with Russia, but soon after his territory had been occupied and he'd stopped paying attention for a time. Still though; he had wished to hear all about it.
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And Iceland...for Denmark to speak so harshly to him, it was unheard of. Maybe coming out here wasn't the best idea. Finland took the place next to Liechtenstein nonetheless, offering her a bright smile. It wasn't her fault she was stuck in this, after all.
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"Hn." he grunted noncommittally, staying silent and glaring daggers. It had been a surprise that Finland had come out and interrupted; they hadn't seen each other for a long time. So many familiar faces were popping up, he half expected Norge to come round the corner to top it all off. Then again, perhaps they were being a little too loud.
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"Unless," and his voice was muffled from inside his small tunnel, "unless you know who is running this place?" He scooped away a large clump of snow, but was dismayed to see a bright red streak starkly brushed against the white, the side of his hands being thoroughly cut and scraped.
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