...
It was such a seemingly simple, harmless accident. No one ever thought the outcome would be so...unhinging. Yet it was and it was disturbing the peace amongst everyone, one in particluar.
The whole thing started out innocently enough; Italy being Italy and all. Sometimes clueless, the damn fool would have an accident once or twice a day. Unfortunate Japan would get caught up in his mishaps as well, the ever tough-as-nails Germany yelling himself hoarse at the pair. As usual, he was trying to make them better soliders in combat, or at least do something right. Never did they flourish; Japan would amaze in the darkest of moments when Germany would think of having a final beer and pulling out his Luger and ending it all. At least there were differences in the two, at least he'd made a difference. That was enough to help him sleep at night.
Today, things were as normal as they should be. Then Germany made Italy run a few laps. Well actually...Germany was chasing and screaming at him. He'd been on edge since the night before when the pasta-loving fruitcake came running into his room crying about a horrifying nightmare. The poor little lad only had to mention pasta just once before the blonde man's nerves finally snapped and was after his blood. Half-scared by the German already, the younger man was quick to dash away from his violent swipes. Japan could do nothing but stand and watch, all the while trying to make friendly conversation with a nervous Russia. When asked about his odd behavior, Russia had replied that his twisted younger sister, Belarus, was stalking him again. This was an ongoing problem for the taller man, and Japan couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
"That's unfortunate, Russia," he replied.
"Indeed. I just hope she doesn't find me here in your area..." the Russian nodded with a nervous sweep of his eyes.
As for Italy, he was so frantic he wasn't paying attention to where he was running. Germany was a fast runner, and he was only feet away from a particularly hurtful tackle. All the while running he was cursing at Italy in his native language.
"I'm sorry, Germany!" the smaller man wailed. "I'm sorry, I'll be-"
WHAM!
Italy had ran head-on into something solid. For a second, he saw a bright, glowing door before Germany's angry face came into view. He felt Germany's iron grip around his shirt collar, and began to be scolded. Russia and Japan were in view as they came over a hill. America, England, and France were soon on the spot as well.
"I don't know what you're saying!" Italy cried at his mentor whom was still scolding him in German.
"Look at vat you did, Italy!" Germany switched fluidly to English. "You crashed right into fraulein Belarus!"
Russia took cover behind France as America and England helped a dazed Belarus up from the ground.
"Vat do you say?" Germany barked at Italy.
Belarus's eyes were still focusing as Italy apologized numerous times at her. As they went uncrossed and cleared up, her eyes fell upon Germany. Blonde, blue-eyed, and powerful; he was the definition of beauty. Even as he was yelling at someone, he was still quite a piece of eye candy with those glaring pools of ocean blue. And his Wehrmacht uniform didn't help matters. She had to quickly wipe away the bit of saliva leaking from her mouth.
"I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Italy cried at her.
"Enough of seh crying! You look pasetic!" Germany ordered then, "My apologies as vell, fraulein."
With that, Germany left with Japan and a still sniffling Italy. The Allies, who'd been snickering madly to themselves throughout the whole ordeal, fell silent as the intimidating blonde came passed them.
"Wow, another impressive display of the German temper, gents!" America announced when the Axis men were gone.
"I'll say..." France muttered.
Belarus, who'd been rooted to the spot and staring after Germany, said, "He's wonderful isn't he?"
There was a collective cry from the Allies of "WHAT?"
"Wonderful?" England exclaimed. "He's big-"
"And macho-" Russia blurted.
"And bossy-" cut in America.
"And scary!" France finished.
Belarus only sighed with infatuation, forgetting all about Russia. The hit on her head had definately left some damage. All she could think -or fantasize- about was Germany. She had to have him.
"S-sister, are you o-okay?" he stammered, walking over to her.
"Go away, you," she waved her hand at Russia. "I want Germany!"
As if in a trance, Belarus tramped away, heading for Germany's house.
America, England, and France all gasped. Belarus had quit obsessing over her big brother and had gone on to the more intimidating Germany. Russia was at a loss for words; he didn't know whether to be happy or worried about his sister's new obsession. Knowing how Germany was, this could not be good.
