*Yawn*

"Mmmphh…"

A figure wiggled beneath the covers; trapped underneath the sheets. The struggling suddenly stopped, before a head the color of dirty snow popped into view.

Now, there's something you must know about this, poor, poor man. He lived alone (for the most part; he was the only human in the house) in a two-story house, and enjoyed his quiet life in his homeland. Well, actually, quite often, things weren't quiet. And when they weren't, they usually involved his friends. Specifically, a girl's name that starts with a "Sey" and ends with a "Chelles." Not that he was pointing any fingers.

She was not THAT clumsy. She was only clumsy when she was cleaning, gardening, eating, playing, running, walking, moving at all, standing still, and…

"Is something burning?"

Cooking.

Iceland ripped off the sheets, almost crashing to the floor in his rush. This woke Mr. Puffin, who squawked angrily at his friend.

Yes. He squawked. Unless you want to hear a filthy steam of puffin obscenities, deal with it. Seriously though, Mr. Puffin kisses his momma with that mouth, too.

Anyway, Iceland is running downstairs. And he, put bluntly, is terrified. Finally reaching his destination, he gazed upon the crime scene he had once called his kitchen.

The stove was black. It was black before, but somehow, it was impossibly more black. And on fire, but that's besides the point. The pans were blown up. There were holes in them. Or rather, there was one hole, in each of them, with a total of four pans. That didn't seem so bad, disregarding the fact that the "hole" was the pan in its entirety, and the "pan" was the handle. Now, the batter.

Now, you must be thinking, "Where was the batter? Was it in Seychelles' hair? Was it on the ceiling, somehow?" Well, here's a better question. Where wasn't the batter.

Ceiling? Check. Walls? Check. Stove? Check… Did she draw a smiley face in burnt batter? Is… is that even batter?

And standing smack-dab in the middle of hell, was Seychelles, complete with a shit eating grin and a plate of perfect, golden brown pancakes. Somehow, she was totally free of pancake batter and other… ahem, substances.

Right behind her, was Norway. While Seychelles was the epitome of clean at the moment, the same could not be said for Norway. Caked from head to toe in pancake batter, the man's face screamed, 'HELP ME. HELP ME, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY.'

The things Norway seen that day were completely erased from his head. It was there, it would always be there. But if anyone went mind-walking in Norway's head, there would be an area in the very back. You know, the cliché spot where all the bad memories are? As you got closer, you would encounter a giant wall of mental barriers. It was almost as if… The person believed it didn't happen. Somehow, let's say, you got past it, what might await?

Screams of terror and a mantra of "NOPE, NOPE, NOPE, NOPE, NO. BAD. STAY AWAY." Nothing. The memories were completely gone from his mind. He had literally wiped his mind of what had transpired.

As far as he knew the day after, He wasn't even at Iceland's house. Slowly, Norway stood, and left, babbling to himself.

"Did that happen? No. What just happened back there? Nothing. Yes, that's right, nothing. Where was I? Home, nice and cozy home. Yes, yes…"

Fortunately, Norway was ignored on his way out, leaving him to his forgetting.

However, Iceland was dealing with the equivalent of WWIII in his kitchen, along with the she-devil who caused it all.

"Sey— What? Pancakes… Mess— Norway? What?" Iceland said, in a daze.

Said she devil pouted, afraid he didn't want the pancakes.

"What? I made you pancakes; I thought you would be happy?"

Giving himself a smack to the face, Iceland righted his thoughts.

"Look Sey, thanks for the pancakes, I mean it. They look delicious, but the kitchen is…"

Iceland groaned. "Can you at least help me with the clean-up?"

Seychelles brightened. "Does that mean you'll eat the pancakes? If you eat them, I'll help!"

Iceland eyed the pancakes warily. They looked edible enough. Perfect, actually.

"Sure, I'll eat the pancakes. Where's the butter and syrup?"

As Seychelles got the condiments, Iceland got utensils and placemats for the both of them.

"No, no, silly," Seychelles said, putting her stuff away. "I'm not eating, you are."

Iceland froze where he was. Running the situation over in his head, his thoughts taking yet another turn for the worse.

'This is just like one of those bad TV shows America has! The woman cooks the food but doesn't eat it, and they guy nearly dies from food poisoning! Of course, that's a TV show, but…'

Taking another glance at the perfect pancakes, Iceland decided he was being a little paranoid. Sure, she destroyed his kitchen in an attempt to make these pancakes. How dare he question her food, despite not knowing how the hell she got into his house! She was a friend, and she worked really hard for these pancakes. Plus, he couldn't let Norway's sacrifice be in vain, right? The pancakes were probably made by him anyway!

Cracking his knuckles, Iceland sat down, and started down his opponent… To realize he was missing his fork. Standing up to go get it, Iceland recalled setting down his portion of table settings, and Sey moving hers. So why…

Frowning, he turned around to check for the fork again.

Just in time to see the pancake move, gobble down his knife and napkin, until settling back on his plate.

Iceland fainted.

'Stupid fucking American TV shows.'

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

That's a wrap! Hope you enjoyed. It's not like I was coerced into doing this or anything. And yes, my other story is late, but I'm bored with it. Sorry not sorry. :P