Handling a Gun
Holy Roman Empire curiously looked at the black contraption before him. It looked so… strange. And what does that thing at the bottom do?
Next to him was Germany, who was polishing a bigger, uglier version of it. At this time Holy Rome wondered where they kept the swords, he was really itching for a fight right now.
Germany noticed that his small companion was growing restless. "Is there something wrong?"
Since he really needed to relieve his battle stress, Holy Rome decided to ask. "Where do you keep the swords?"
The taller nation had to stifle a laugh when he heard that. "Holy Roman Empire, we don't use swords anymore. You do realize that we're living in the 20th century?"
Holy Rome huffed and crossed his arms. "Well excuse me for being DEAD since the Third Coalition back in 1806…" he grumbled. Smirking, Germany held up his hands in mock surrender.
"Alright, alright," And one more, the blonde nation directed his attention to polishing the gun in his hands. Holy Rome still wanted a battle though.
"If you don't mind me asking, may I ask what that is?" Holy Rome said, pointing at the gun.
"This? It's a machine gun."
"Machine…gun?"
"Aren't you low tech…"
"Hey-"
"Before you break into a rant about how France killed you early, I'm just going to say I'm sorry."
"Good."
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…Could you perhaps show me how to use it?"
Germany did a double-take. Holy Roman Empire? Handling guns? He really didn't think that was a good idea, but if that was what he wanted then…
"So I just pull this thing here?"
"Ja, but be careful where you point- DON'T POINT IT AT ME!" BANG "GAH!"
"So that's what it does…"
"If it won't shoot anymore, just replace what's inside with this."
"What is that thing?"
"It's called a magazine. You place the bullets inside, and once it's inside the gun, it does the rest while you pull the trigger."
"But I thought a magazine was a kind of book the has these naked wo-"
"THAT'S PORN YOU DUMPKOFF!"
"That's what it was?"
"HOW THE HELL DID YOU EVEN KNOW ABOUT THAT?!"
"I found some under your bed…"
"Mein Gott…"
"Gott, your aim is terrible…"
"You ever see me train with bows and arrows? Not a pretty sight I tell you…"
"I guess that sort of explains it,"
"Germany~ Are you home? I need you to test these cars I made since fratello's at America's place," Italy wandered about the place in search of his blonde friend, YET AGAIN intruding his house. The auburn-haired nation looked around the corner and…
… Saw Holy Roman Empire and Germany in a one-on-one gun standoff?
Well… he certainly wasn't expecting this…
"Verdamnt, Holy Roman, is your aim really that bad?!" Germany yelled at the smaller nation.
"Um, I don't know, ae you really just that slow that you can't dodge in time?!" Holy Rome yelled back as he waved the gun dangerously over his head.
"Don't do that!"
"Don't do what?!"
"You could kill someone with that!"
"Shame it isn't strong enough to kill you with it!"
"Fick dich!" Great, Germany's so frustrated he's swearing…
"Vaffanculo!" Holy Rome cursed him in Italian.
Italy, who had been there the whole time, rolled his eyes. Then, he grabbed his pistol and shot upwards, startling the two.
"Was soll das?!" yelled the Germans.
"Did you forget Germany? Mio fratello runs the Mafioso, and I'm his assistant," Italy closed his eyes again, and pocked his pistol. May God bless the poor soul struck by the stray bullet…
"Now then, what's going on here?" Italy asked the two.
"I tried to ..teach this dumpkoff how to use a gun," Germany narrowed his eyes at Holy Roman Empire. Holy Rome shrugged.
"You didn't have any swords, what did you expect me to do?"
"Sit still and dream about this 'Feli' person you keep dreaming about!"
Italy rolled his eyes again. "I AM Feli, Germany,"
And our story ends with Holy Roman Empire sitting still and dreaming about his little Feli.
~Meanwhile, in a mansion somewhere in Virginia~
"ACHOO!" Romano rubbed his nose as he set aside the cutlery he'd been using. Something was up…
"Hey dude, this lasagna of yours is awesome! Do you think you could- hey, are you alright man?" America stopped his rambling as soon as he saw his temporary charge rub off grime on his apron.
"I'm fine, it's nothing." Romano reassured him as he shook his head. "Mio fratello probably showed his Mafioso side somewhere… I sure hope it's with potato bastard."
THE REAL END
Author's Note: WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID I JUST WRITE?
CRACK THAT'S WHAT!
I know I've said (did I?) that I believe that Holy Rome and Germany are the same person, but for the sole purpose of this fic, they're not.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. It belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya-san.