Once upon a time, in a land all around you, there lived a cute little boy with fluffy brown hair and olive coloured eyes: his hair had the strangest kink to it, as if he never remembered to brush it down properly when he got out of bed in the morning, and his eyes always observed even the smallest of things. A mean little bugger he was, and he’s probably still a mean little bugger today. But that’s beside the point. His story takes place in the recent centuries, on a hot summer afternoon, when the sky was endless & blue, and he enjoyed his siesta with a disappointing dream.
Our young protagonist was sleeping undisturbed…until the shadow of a tall man darkened out the sun. He was really tall, with a white mask that had black-out covering over the eyes, so you couldn’t even take a guess as to who he was. His red velvet robes seemed quite misplaced, seeing as how it was nearly sweltering in the direct sunlight as our protagonist slept. But, regardless, he was wearing red & white robes, a puffy turban-hat-thing, and gloves…and that creepy white mask made of nightmares.
This man, I’ll have you know, is the Ottoman Empire…present day Turkey, if you will; and he was on a mission. He wanted this piece of land that Spain had tried to keep from him, and he knew that this piece of land, South Italy, was a good-for-nothing bag of tomatoes. As he calculated, our protagonist would take a nap at precisely siesta time, and not wake until 10 minutes after siesta-time was over. This was all the time the Ottoman Empire needed.
With wiggling, excited fingers, the Ottoman Empire snatched South Italy up by the collar and slung him over the shoulder. It was now that our protagonist opened his eyes and began to mutter profanities, assuming it was Spain the Boss bothering him yet again. “Are you stupid? Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?”
Beneath the mask, the Ottoman Empire spread a grin across his face and let out a girlish giggle, but he said nothing as he began to walk away with the kid; being ignored only made South Italy infuriated, like so many other things.
“HEY, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! I SAID I’M TRYING TO SLEEP—Wait…EEEK YOU’RE NOT SPAIN!! OH HELL, NOT AGAIN!! I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU’D LEAVE ME ALONE!!”
“Quit your damn screaming,” Otto hissed sharply. “You’ll get me caught!”
“Yeah, that’s kinda the point, jack a—I’m sorry! Please don’t hurt me!!”
Otto let out another girlish giggle before skipping through the grassy field; on the hillside, Spain wouldn’t notice his lands being carted away. Otto had set up a diversion that was sure to take up all of the Boss’ attention...
“I’m pretty sure I ordered three-hundred tomatoes, and not four. Maybe you should check that list-thingy.”
“Yeah, no. You ordered four tomatoes,” said the tomato delivery man. He shoved the small basket of four round tomatoes to the Boss with a sassy puff of irritation.
“But I paid for three-hundred!! How am I supposed to make salsa with only four tomatoes?” Spain took the basket reluctantly, his to-die-for emerald eyes glaring holes into the tomato delivery man.
With a lot of sass, the man stuck out his left hip and put his hands on his hips, tilting his head to the right as his bushy brown moustache blew in the breeze. “Do the British know how to cook?”
Spain frowned deeply, unsure if the question had any relevance to this miscount of tomatoes: the more important matter at hand. “No?” he asked cautiously.
“Qué pena*, eh?” the man took his leave, walking with his Spanish arse swaying right and left. Spain turned away with the four tomatoes, staring at the ground in woe.
“Romano won’t be happy about this…”
I, the narrator, have no idea why they spoke to each other in English, and not in Spanish, seeing how they are in Spain, but just roll with the punches.
Romano heaved a deep and miserable sigh: Otto continued to skip, now through the woods where his get-away vehicle (a mule and wooden cart) awaited. Otto felt so happy he probably could’ve decided to steal France next, or maybe even the Boss himself if there was time…Otto is no fool: he knows he has to reach base before Spain tags him. He’s close, but not there yet. Sensing this mounting apprehension, our young protagonist groans loudly and makes a small attempt to free himself; caught by surprise during his fan-boy session, Otto accidentally drops South Italy. The poor bugger lands face first on the twig-infested forest floor.
Otto frowned and turned to look at this pathetic sight. South Italy pulls his adorable Tsundere face from the dirt as he spits out a rainbow of insects. Today sucks for him! And to think he was actually going to attempt cleaning for that good-for-nothing boss!! Where the hell is he now? When South Italy actually needed him the most, the tomato-loving Spaniard was nowhere to be found.
“Hey, are you all right?” Otto crouched beside our humiliated protagonist while poking him with a rather irritably pointy stick: yes, everyone, this is Herr Shtick.
“Stop poking me, dammit,” South Italy mumbles meekly, his face spotted with dirt.
“Well here, let me wipe if off,”
“No! Stay away from me!!”
DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN
A tomato from some unseen source arcs though the sky like a shooting star and knocks the big & bad Ottoman Empire’s turban-hat-thing right off his head! Who is this unseen challenger, you ask?! Come on now, it’s Spain. I know you can do better than that. At least put some effort into enjoying the story. It will make me feel better.
“Get your filthy paws off my Italy!” the Boss shouted as he ran over to them with another tomato in throwing position.
Seeing his one true Boss, South Italy regained his former bravado. “Where the hell have you been?! And why are you wasting tomatoes!!!!???”
A grin came across the Boss’ rather attractive face. He opened his mouth wide to boast, but he was quickly interrupted by the Ottoman Empire. “Hey, what the heck did you do that for? I just bought this with the money I got from Ukraine!”
“So now you’re stealing money from women too?!” Spain rounds on the bad guy, like any super hero would do.
“No, she loaned it to me!”
“I don’t believe you!!” Spain chucked another tomato; with a screech, Otto ducked and jumped to a stand. He quickly grabs up our young protagonist and uses him like a human shield to guard the next tomato coming. Upon seeing this, Spain ceases fire, lowering the loaded hand.
“P—put Roma down!” he demands.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Otto now holds Herr Shtick to South Italy’s throat menacingly; the Boss is hopeless and unsure of what to do next! Our protagonist fidgets, his legs wobbling violently. Will he pee on himself?!
Fool! I told you to put more effort into this!!
Otto scowls. “Stop moving, kid! I’m holding a lethal weapon to your neck and you’re over here moving around a lot! What kind of logic is that?!”
“I’m not trying to move, damn bastard!”
“Don’t piss yourself, these robes are new…”
Spain the Boss understood what Roma’s trembling meant: he wasn’t scared, he wanted to dance! “Oh Romano, why didn’t you just tell us you wanted to dance?” With a jolly smile, Spain reached into the basket that held the tomatoes and pulled out a Spanish guitar. Otto glares at the Boss: what should he do?! He could easily beat up the Boss and take the weak-kneed, teenaged protagonist…
“Hey, you don’t have to use him for a shield anymore; we’ve got to help Romano dance!” Spain strums a chord: the sound resonates through the forest, bouncing through the leaves. As if hit by a wave, South Italy’s knees buckle and he falls over again; this is because he is trying to fight the power of music.
One does not simply fight the power of music.
The Ottoman Empire stares down at the kid: maybe he can just ditch the both of them and make it to the get-away cart; clearly they’re both crazy. Spain hummed in harmony with the chord and strummed a series of notes; it’s a fast and catchy tune, surely you couldn’t avoid dancing to it. South Italy comes to a stand again, his knees shaking more than ever. As he braced himself on Otto, his arms began to tremble with the rhythm.
“What the hell is going on?” Otto asked irritably as he scratched his head. “Are you two crazy?”
“No, Roma’s just got dancing fever. It hasn’t happened in a long time, so I’m actually surprised. Hey! Dance Roma! Don’t fight it: that makes it worse, remember?” The tempo swiftly increases and South Italy lets go of the Ottoman Empire. “There you go!”
“Uno, dos, tres,” Spain counts of with the strumming, “Uh, how do you say that in Italian, Romano?”
“I don’t know…?” South Italy whimpered as he watched his limbs dance.
“Isn’t it ‘uno, due, tre’…or something like that?” the Ottoman Empire suggested uncertainly.
Spain the Boss’ face lights up with excitement. “You’re right! Uno, due, TREEEEEEEE!!!!!!”
The trees began to sway back and forth with the beat; birds began to tweet along; the sky seemed to brighten and Spain’s beautiful voice could be heard throughout the forest. Why, you can even hear him now, if you tried…All right, I’m a liar. But you can imagine his majestic voice.
The Ottoman Empire looks around: someone will think he’s crazy if he’s seen with these two. He’d become the ridicule of the Middle East! At least if he went home, no one knew he was coming to capture South Italy…he could just say he went to have some coffee with Greece or something. Otto takes a large step away from the dancing countries uneasily.
“This is really odd. Are you summoning the devil or something?”
“Nope, just letting Romano dance, that’s all,”
“A—are you sure? I’ve seen some creepy stuff in my day, but this probably tops all of that.”
As if a switch was flipped, the sky darkens & becomes cloudy; the birds stop tweeting; the trees stand still like normal; Spain stutters over the lyrics and plays wrong notes, eventually stopping to stare at Otto; our protagonist, however, continues to dance uncontrollably.
With an aloof gaze, Spain whispered “Get out.”
Otto made an “I ain’t even mad” face and turned on his heel to the direction of the get-away vehicle. “All right, I’ll see you guys later.”
“Don’t come back. If you do, you’ll regret it!!” South Italy shouted threateningly and then mumbled, “…This is so embarrassing…”
The Ottoman Empire began to walk away with a sort of swagger, as if he’s the Boss of Europe. But that’s not true; Spain’s the Boss of Europe. Spain loved Romano, and for him to be stolen made Spain the Boss very sad, but he decided that he would be brave.
So, Spain the Boss began to follow Otto; he walked through the forest, crossed the clearing of trees, strode up to Otto on his mule…
And shanked Otto’s tiny bitch ass with Herr Shtick.
Ain’t no one fucks with Spain the Boss.
Ain’t no one.
“OH MY GOD!” Otto exclaimed. “Owwwwww!!”
Spain licked the red liquid from his fingers with a Yondere sort of smile. “Chill bro, its just tomato sauce.”
“I know, but owwwwww! Why’d you stab me with that stupid stick?!” Otto snatched Herr Shtick away and snapped it in two. Spain watched in horror as the two pieces fell to the ground, cold & lifeless. The shock of such an abrupt death scared him to the core; but Spain the Boss decided that he would be brave. He inhaled really deeply, puffing out his attractive & manry chest, and shouted as loudly as he could.
“Oh flip this camel turd, I’m outta here.”
Spain the Boss could only watch as the Ottoman Empire rode away on his mule into the sunset, during which he clasped Herr Shtick’s broken body. Otto would pay…Otto will pay.
Ain’t no one fucks with the Boss.
Ain’t no one.
“And then they started this demon-summoning dance, and the music was getting really eerie…Screw Europe, they’re all crazy.”
“I agree: they can get pretty crazy,” Romania looked down at his hands, not sure if he should remind Otto that he was a country of Europe too.
“It’s always something crazy over there!! Screw them, I’ll just conquer everything to the east of it and call it in,” he said with a shudder. It was now that Romania looked over at this odd empire with his beautiful blood-red eyes clouded with uncertainty.
“That would probably be appreciated,”
“I don’t even care anymore!” Otto shuddered again. “Hey, don’t you do some freaky stuff like that too?”
“Not exactly,” Romania laughed nervously. “I don’t think it’s that extreme.”
“Are you sure? I think you did some crazy stuff like that too…But didn’t you eat something?”
“What do you mean?”
“Normally you eat red stuff, like apples and things like that. Is that why you’re so freaky-looking? I heard you’re a vampire, but that’s ridiculous.”
Romania pursed his lips and looked down at the wooden table; the guy sure knows how to make this uncomfortable for him. “At least I don’t walk around in a mask.”
“Yeah, but you have weird teeth, too! I don’t get it…!”
“There’s nothing to ‘get’. It’s just the way I am,” He shrugged.
“But it’s so odd…”
Romania reached across the table and pulled Otto over to his side by the collar. “They’re helpful for extracting blood and even souls, if I want them too.”
“Y—yeah right! God, you have a horrible sense of humour…” Otto snatched himself back and settled again. He reached for his cup and raised it to his lips, but then stopped dead.
“What’s wrong?” Romania asked with a mischievous grin.
“My drink is red…It wasn’t before…”
“Whoops, my mistake! That’s to help England resurrect some demon he’s been talking about…”
“You’re crazy!” Otto sets the cup down forcefully. Romania grabs the cup and stands.
“It’s a wonderful mixture, actually.” He walks around the table and swirls the liquid inside the cup. “Care for a taste?”
“Hell no! Get that away from me!!” Otto looked terrified, because he just doesn’t mess with supernatural shite.
“More for me,” he takes a drink and looks at Otto with one eye.
“I’m done! I’m going home. This is why I don’t even talk to you anymore!!”
“What? It’s just tomato juice.”