The Happiest Place On Earth // Why Would There Be Aphro On A Children's Ride?

[savoureux]

Of all the things that you could have decided to do, you ended up picking one of the gaudiest attractions at EuroDisney to engage in. It wasn't really your choice; maybe the lines were too long for the other rides, maybe you just needed a break from walking, or maybe your friends dragged you onto this ride. Anyway you want to look at it, you

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i just, i can't, i just, so much ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

[savoureux]

He was sure that Spain had been with them at some point. If the group had not gotten split up, this might have been a pleasant ride. There might have been laughter, there might have been an extra pair of hands to prevent Francis' idiot friend from making a spectacle of himself in the middle of a stopped ride. All that he could do was watch Prussia, entranced (or maybe horrified) by his actions. A hand shot out to grip the side of the boat, half-afraid that it would tip, but it seemed like a secondary anxiety to the Prussian stammering before him.

When he felt fingers gripping at his face, Francis just stared back at Gilbert, eyes wide, confused beyond all reason. What in the name of Descartes was he going on about? He blinked, then pulled away from his friend, reaching up to grab Prussia by the shoulders. "The only child on this ride right now is you, Prusse. How much did you have to drink? I only saw you drink one beer!" whined Francis, incredulous. It started to occur to him that his friend might have taken something, some little blue stars on blue paper, something right out of the seventies with what he was talking about now. A hand reached up to run through his hair, gently allowing his grip to loosen and eventually fall away from his white-haired friend.

Which was a big mistake.

"Oh nonononon, non, non! PRUSSE!" shouted Francis. Something in him manages to reason that if he is to move over to the side of the boat, the whole thing might capsize and provide for an even more unpleasant afternoon. So instead, he just watches in a combination of horror and sheer amusement as his friend faceplates on the landing next to them. At least he was still dry at this point, so Francis wouldn't have to hear him whine for hours after the ride started up again about how wet and cold and miserable Prussia was--

--yup, spoke too soon. Francis drew his brows together, mouth falling open as his friend fell overboard and flailed about in the water. It took a few seconds for him to comprehend what had just happened, let alone respond, and when he finally did, France found himself unable to do much more for the time being than just shake his head.

"Why am I friends with you?" asked Francis. Luckily, Gilbert had only fallen next to the boat, into water that's actually not even deep enough to come up to Prussia's waist. He finally moved over to the other side of the boat, reaching over to grab his friend by the back of his collar and to drag him up, at least enough so that he wasn't underwater. He really didn't want to get out of the boat, that could provide for more hassle than it was worth, but it didn't seem like he had a choice at this point. Standing to his feet, Francis was able to hop from the tiny ride to the platform adjacent to them, then to pile the rest of his strength into pulling his friend up onto the platform, before collapsing back against it. "I would like to make something clear right now. When we leave this ride, we are not on speaking terms until I get a glass of wine. Good wine."

you have to deal with this mess now :U

[progloria]

Even on dry land he was a heaving, flailing, wet wreck, his long limbs were surprisingly quick for one who's had too much to drink and his elbow catches France in the knee as he tried to pull himself up by rolling, very much like a turtle stuck on its back and rocking side ways to get on its feet, but even turtles have more grace and coherency than Prussia at this point. He looked more like an mentally challenged fish.

After a moment of this, he finally remembered that he has got arms and pushed himself up, his chest propelled first then his head rolls along. He crawled over to Francis, dripping in wet clothes and hair. "It- It was a TRAP," he whined, his hands grabbing at France's shirt, just as his head finds the support of his neck useless and his face falls forward into France's chest. "Never trust children, they're devil spawns, lot of them!" sobbed Prussia, still buried in France's now soaked chest. He paid no attention what so ever to what France said and muttered nonsense in German, because it wasn't enough that he was drunk and talking, he also had to be talking in German. It's times like these that fully explained why he is banned from at least one bar in every country.

He stayed quiet for a moment, stilled and clinging on to the French nation. And if that wasn't a sign for trouble to come, then the ocean should be dry. Prussia dragged his head up to France's eye level slowly, and France would see narrow eyes, a scowl and smell the stink of beer on his breath. It's clear that he has had more than just one beer, and just where he got the mysterious supply of this questionable beer will remain a mystery for now because he was not going to let France have a chance to ask. "I bet. I fucking bet it was Sweden," he slurred, growling out the northern nation's name.

With his cheek pressed against France's, he shifted his drunken glare at the cheery figures on the Small World and before his eyes, they transform into enemies, jeering at him with absurd chants. "They've been brainwashed! The. The. The fucking. they've been brainwashed! Stockholm syn-syndom," he whispered against a cheek, afraid to let the figures know that he's on to them. His hands were still on France, and they shake the blond roughly along with his words. Then suddenly, he was up and gone. He's half running and half stumbling over to the figures and he swings a leg out to kick it, the obvious thing one should do in the face of cheery spinning cartoon figures.

And again if he were sober, Prussia would be wondering why God hates him so much. Because his leg, this time his left one, missed the figure by a remarkable inch - remarkable in the sense that it's only an inch that he missed by - and the momentum of his run, the forward motion of his kick led him to slamming into the waist height figure of a little girl. The figure keeps its sweet smile and cheery song, undeterred from its rotation, and Prussia, the former nation of a fierce militant history and might, was left on the ground with an audible thud. Look on the bright side, he thought, I'm sure I'm awesome enough to function with only on testicle left.

With that thought, he stubbornly got up again, refusing to stay down until he successfully knocked one of these bastards over. And he does it this time; finally fortune smiles on him and he can throw his arms in the air for a cheer and laugh manically down at the broken figure of a little girl. Somehow, he remains proud of his accomplishments.