This is only the intro of this two-shot. The next chapter will be only about the finals and what happens afterwards.
Read at own risk. Please make sure not to fall asleep.
~o~o~
Tuesday, May 6th 2014, Copenhagen, Denmark.
"So what do you think?" Denmark asked. He turned around at his good friend Netherlands to see his reaction. The Dutchman nodded. They were in the skybox meant for the countries, far above the stage and where the audience was to be that same evening. It was well hidden from the people and cameras, and yet they had a perfect view on the stage from behind the window.
Yes, it was that time of year again: The Eurovision Song Contest. After winning last year, it was Denmark's turn to organise it, and he hadn't held back.
Netherlands looked down at the stage through the glass, which was actually a big one-way mirror. That was where it would happen tonight. The first one of two semi-finals for the Contest. There was no one to be seen yet, except for a few guys setting up the cameras and doing sound- and lighting checks. There were still many hours to go before the actual event after all.
The stage itself was to be called subtly glamorous and quite futuristic. Nothing ridiculously pompous, but still very outstanding with lighting of all sorts to spare. The green room was, instead of what you'd expect of a green room, actually a stage itself.
"I like it." He nodded again.
"Cool, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is. Nervous, old friend?"
"No, I'm never nervous! Haha! What are you taking me for, Abel?"
Netherlands chuckled. "Calm your man-tits, Mat. Your guy's got a good chance in the finals. He's cool, and the song's pretty damn funny."
"I guess. I've heard Sve complain about it getting stuck in his head."
"I wish I could say that about my song." Netherlands said miserably.
"It's so sensitive." Denmark teased, sniggering right after.
"It's fucking boring."
"Still better than the fairground organ."
Netherlands moaned with all misery he had. "Don't even start. The lyrics were right, though. That fucking song will be stuck in your head forever. Yuch."
"Or the woman with a thousand chickens on her head."
"Stop it."
"What about old guys in glittery suits?"
"One more of those reminders, and I'm gonna projectile-vomit all over the place." Netherlands deadpanned.
"Don't!" Denmark shrieked. "I can't put entire Europe in this room tonight if there's puke everywhere!"
Netherlands chuckled at his friend's panic. "It's as usual again: The good and weird songs will make the finals and my song is a chanceless pile of wank. So I guess this will be the first of another nine years of me not making the finals."
"Wanna put a bet on that?" Denmark asked, following their tradition of making bets about the contest. Just to make it more interesting. And much to the dismay of many other European countries.
"What about we do two? My song not making the final this year for one, and the eight years after that as the second one."
"What's your call for the winner?"
"Hungary or you."
"Nah. I'm putting my money on Ukraine or Isreal."
"We're not even betting for money. We never do."
"Because you're a cheapskate. Fine. My decency then."
"Deal. And the loser...What does the loser do?"
"Erm...we've done streaking." Denmark recalled from the previous year.
"And snogging." Netherlands shivered at the memory of that same year.
"And drinking with Arthur, Francis, Gilbert, Kiku, Romano and Antonio." Denmark was still surprised he didn't get raped that night.
"And eating Arthur's food."
"And waxing your legs."
"And your balls!" Netherlands retorted.
"And-I think it's time to stop now."
"Whut?"
Denmark now looked a bit uneasy and nudged. Netherlands looked back over his shoulder, right into the most lovely pair of lavender eyes. A pair of slightly mentally scarred looking eyes. "Oh, hi Matty. How long have you been standing there?"
"Too long." Canada replied, still looking just as mentally scarred. "You're quite good at leaving doors open."
Netherlands chuckled a bit uneasy. "I thought you were only going to be here for the finals?"
"I got here a little earlier because I wanted to see you." Canada said as though he didn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "But I'm starting to believe that was a bit of a mistake."
"No, it wasn't." Netherlands said very quickly and bear-hugged his boyfriend around the shoulders immediately. He rested his chin on top of his head, just because he could.
Denmark snorted at the sight of it. "You two look like a totem pole."
"Shuddup, Mat. So, about the bet." Netherlands went back to their conversation from seconds ago.
"We've got ourselves a good one this time."
"The one about the nine years is on too?"
"Yup."
"Good. And the loser?"
"I've got something." Denmark flashed a big fat grin and mouthed three words in Danish. Something that wasn't hard to understand for someone speaking a somewhat similar language, but leaving the Canadian none the wiser.
Netherlands laughed. "Deal." He said. The two spiky-haired friends both spat on their palm and shook hands. The bets for this year were on.
Much to Canada's dismay. What had those two idiots gotten themselves into this time? This was only the second time he was to attend the Contest as a guest, but since he had heard the stories and seen the snogging and streaking last year, he was terribly worried about the outcome of this.
And he had all reason to be.
~o~o~
Muhahaha! Someone will get a massive trauma. Who? I don't know yet. ;) Probably half the Danish population. And everyone who read this. Sorry!
