Oh, the wonderful ideas that pop into my had at two in the morning. I was semi-inspired by the movie Freaky Friday. Anyway, please do enjoy! Rated T for language and the immaturity of our beloved nations. This chapter is quite short in comparison to the futures, as it is an intro.
Stood in the middle of a lone room, Norway was chanting an ancient spell that he had most recently discovered hidden in his large book. The empty space was lit only by a few dim candles, and one of the Norwegian's small teddy bear, which he was using to practice upon, sat in the centre of the room. Norway held his hand out in front of him as he continued on with his magic, his eyes closed and mind focused. According to the information underneath the chant, there was a clear warning that full concentration was required, and interruptions could cause a back fire of the spell. What could possible go wrong? He was alone after all, right?
Wrong. Because at that moment, Denmark had - uninvited - burst into the home of Norway. This was a habit of his, but he usually waited until late evening for his unwelcomed visits. However, he had been in the neighbourhood (because obviously, he just happened to be wandering in the country above him, by the house of Norway himself.) and thought that his friend wouldn't mind him coming by now. Of course, no matter what time he showed up, Norway would not be happy with his arrival.
"Hey, Norge!" Denmark called out, surprised that the Norwegian wasn't in his front room like usual. "Norge? Where are ya, bud?" He repeated, looking through the rooms of the first floor to the seemingly empty house. As he passed the door to the basement, he couldn't help but overhear chanting. "What's he doing downstairs?" The Dane asked himself, and for once in his life, he quietly opened the door and snuck downstairs.
There he saw Norway practicing his spell, a blue circle that was interwined with mystical and wonderful patterns began to appear around a helpless stuffed animal. Denmark grinned, taking advantage of the fact that Norway had no idea he was there, and slowly made his way over to the smaller nation. Once he was close enough, he reached out his arms slightly, crouching for a moment, before pouncing onto the unsuspecting Norwegian. "Norgie!"
The victim of Denmark's surprising glomp let out a yell, collapsing under the other's weight, and had dropped all focus onto his spell. He opened his mouth to scold him and clenched his fists ready to punch the daft idiot, but he was interrupted by sounds that resembled sizzling and sparking. The two Nordics didn't have enough time to even react when they both felt a painful zap, and a split second later, they hurtled backwards, both hitting the walls of the opposite side of the basement.
Norway groaned, wincing in pain as he pushed himself off the cold, stone floor. A shooting pain surged through him, but he managed to ignore it as he got dizzily to his feet. His vision was blurred and wobbly, as if he was in desperate need of glasses during an earthquake. Unsteadily stepping forwards, his eyes darted around the room in search for Denmark. He had opened his mouth to speak, but he saw a figure slowly approach him. Assuming that this was the Dane, he walked towards him, his vision and balance beginning to return to normal.
How strange, the figure seemed a little bit smaller than Denmark. And as the two continued to approach each other, Norway couldn't help but noticed the lack of crazy blonde hair that was always stuck up in every direction possible. Odd. Very odd.
"Denmark?" Norway intended to ask, but it was the Dane's voice calling out his own name. Oh God, had the backfire caused them to trade voices? Listening to that idiot's voice once a day was hard enough, let alone having to hear it every time he spoke! Norway shuddered at the very thought.
The figure had become much more clearer now, and the Norwegian's vision had recovered completely. Once his eyes had absorbed the appearance of who stood before him, he let out a cry of surprise and jumped backwards, immensely startled and quite frankly, horrified. Who stood before him was someone who he could only see in reflections. Light blonde hair, dull yet mysterious blue eyes, pale skin and a barrette in the fashion of the Nordic cross pinning away one side of his hair.
Norway was looking at himself.
"Whoa, what the hell?" His body cried, pointing at Norway. Too shocked for words, Norway just stared blankly at himself, before looking down. His eyes showed him that he was wearing a familiar black coat with huge red cuffs. He then gingerly lifted up his hand, running his hand through his own hair whilst his "reflection" simply stared, mouth open as if he was going to say something. Instead of messing up his pin-neat hair, he found his hands in a tangle of wild hair. +Oh God, they hadn't just switched voices, they had just switched bodies.
Norway was Denmark.
Denmark was Norway.
...
Shit.