Pulpo Paul is Dead
October 26, 2010
Romano found Spain rocking back and forth on his sofa, laptop lying abandoned on the floor. He crossed the threshold until he stood above the other Nation, who sported a vacant look. Since it was obvious Spain was not going to acknowledge his presence, Romano exhaled sharply and pushed Spain's head to the side, prompting Spain to fall sideways limply onto the sofa. Romano sat down beside him in a huff.
"Che cazzo!" he groaned. Spain blinked before loosening the arms around his knees and focusing on his visitor.
"Ah, Romanito," he said without his usual spunk. Romano felt a sudden urge to right whatever wrong Spain had been dealt in his stupidity.
"It was France, wasn't it!" Romano exclaimed furiously. Spain blinked mutely. Romano sprang from the sofa.
"France did something! That bastard!"
"He did? What did he do?"
"I have no fucking clue, but - wait. Wait, this isn't about France. Is it? Okay, well then why are you sniffling, you moron?"
Spain rather dramatically pointed to his laptop. Romano crouched down and read the Google News headline:
"Pulpo Paul is Dead"
It took Romano maybe ten seconds to register who exactly Paul was before it clicked. Paul was that octopus from back at the World Cup. The octopus who predicted Spain's win.
"... Spain," Romano finally commented flatly, "It's just a fucking octopus. Get the fuck over it."
"Romano, he was an octopus sent from God! Sent to prophesize my great victory!"
"Okay, maybe he was, but he was still an octopus."
This didn't seem to console Spain any. Romano tried another tactic.
"You wanna go out for pizza? I-I'll pay if you want."
Spain remained silent.
"Oh come on!" Romano burst out, "I just fucking offered to pay for your damn pizza, you could at least thank me!"
Spain shook his head. "No, Romanito. I'd like to stay in today and remember the good times we had, me and Paul."
"You never met him!"
"We were spiritual brothers, Romanito!"
Spain seemed to be taking this very seriously, to Romano's chagrin; getting all upset over a sea creature. This was just temporary, though, Spain's sadness was always temporary. Tomorrow Spain was going to be his usual self. He was, damnit.
"H-hey, Romano, what -?"
Romano had sunk back into the couch and leaned over Spain, his arms fitting around his waist.
"It's too fucking cold in here! You should turn the damn heat up in this place every once in a while. Idiot."
He felt Spain smile rather than saw it, glad that his fingers were being warmed by a larger palm fitting over them.
"Thanks, Romanito," he heard Spain chuckle.
Romano's face warmed, too. "Whatever."
(A/n: ... so I hope you all had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. xD)