Quite more often then he would like to admit, Austria would get lost in the large hallways of Germany's home. He would tell himself that no, he did have a sense of direction; it was just still... premature. But then when he got lost yet AGAIN, he would question his mindset. Each time was the same: he would get lost and Germany would find him wandering mindlessly through the hallways of his large home. Each time, though, was annoying for the Austrian man, as it meant Germany had to stop his work to find the nation.
But this... this was even worse.
This abomination.
This atrocity.
This...
This pickle jar.
It stood in front of him then as if mocking him – telling him he was too weak to open it.
He stared at it.
And stared and stared and stared.
Finally, with a sigh, he reached over and held it in his hands, wondering how to open it. He shook it carefully, peering closely at the lid and held the jar in his palm. With a sound grunt, he pulled at the lid, hoping it to come off.
And as luck went, it didn't.
He struggled and pulled, to no avail, until he felt a pair of eyes on him. Glancing up, he saw Germany was standing at the door of the kitchen; Austria could almost see the vein pulsing in his neck. The taller German sighed and briskly walked over to Austria, firmly taking the jar away.
"This is how you do it," With a strong twist, he opened the jar with a pop. "See?"
Austria nodded slowly. "I didn't know I was supposed to twist it..." He narrowed his eyes. "But I see now."
Germany could only sigh.
… WHAT IS THIS? I DON'T EVEN-
Well.
I knew how to start it, but not how to end it.
This is for my kah-wai-ey Ericha-chahhhhn~ Dey-soo-kehh~
… -shot for sounding like a weeaboo – no offense...-
-K Z A E N-