Spain doesn't hang around HQ lately. It's a lot of work being a soverign nation still there's a place he likes to go to remind him that it's all worth while. It's a room he found quite a while back in the middle of a hallway. Inside it's ordinary looking, like a common sitting room. There's a rug and a coffee table with a number of nice looking
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"...make it stop..." He curls forward, eyes widened, though his pupils have narrowed to barely more than pinpricks. It's far too much, two hundred centuries of things he knows nothing about, beating on his mind like that. Especially feeling the undercurrent for a noticeable portion of it of, if not outright hatred, a cultural urge to just lump him in with everything else shameful and undesirable about the past, which hurts on a very visceral level. "...make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop." Though the volume steadily increases, his tone never quite leaves the odd mélange of wounded, scared child and utterly flat it has taken on ( ... )
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That question makes him blink, sorting fuzzily through all the new memories along with the old. "To the 1190s, why?" Not that he remembers back then particularly well, unless he has his diaries to jog his memory, but he does remember some of those days. "Not like I'd know anything before then; I hadn't been born yet."
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"You never did tell me how you found Alemania."
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"...And that's none of your business."
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"Why? I cared about Holy Roman Empire as much as you did."
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Here Spain cracked a smile, "I also noticed that you raised him Protestant as well."
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He sighs, shoulders dropping. "Whether he is in the hands of God or myself, I assure you that whatever the other me said is true. And of course I intend to raise him Protestant! It'd be a bit odd for the personification of a primarily Lutheran nation to be attending Mass, wouldn't it?"
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