Author's Note: I really despise songfics because of how poorly they're usually done, but me being a hypocrite, I decided to write one. Whoop-dee-doo. This is based off of Coldplay's Amsterdam, one of my personal favorites. I can say here and now that aside from the title, the song actually has little to do with it (i.e., no annoying paragraph breakers with "deep" quotes from the song in italics, no quotes embedded into the story itself, and so on). I do hope I carry this one on to the end. Note that while the events that take place in this story are fiction, they are all based on reality. Greece did call a vote to see if they would revert back to the drachma, somewhere in between March and June of 2012. Economic specialists projected that if they did, Spain, followed by Italy, would face extreme economic downfalls that would take decades to recover from (keeping in mind that at that time, Spain had a 25% unemployment rate). It also could have signaled the complete failure of the euro. This event was also projected to benefit the United Kingdom, though not by much. Another event based in reality that happens in this chapter is the splitting of Sudan. Half of the country voted to become their own independent nation (in early 2012, I believe, but I'd check that before quoting it), thus creating the nation of Southern Sudan. Whether or not the International Court of Justice played a role in deciding the new borders is something I'd be unable to tell you. It falls under their area of expertise, but I did not see any evidence that they did.
Chapter One
In all its years of functioning, the International Court of Justice had quite possibly never seen so many recesses in the span of one single case. The air in this elderly palace moved still and silent with June's atmosphere and was barren, which was quite odd for a lovely early summer's afternoon. The nation representatives of the court stood and wallowed through the thickness to the door; above them in the spectators' box, the rest of the world exited, all silently flooding across the hall and into a new room, where a news channel displayed itself on a television. These nations were not awaiting an outcome; rather, a repercussion. It was perhaps ironic that the court's case had nothing to do with it, as in fact, it was purely a matter of economics and not in fact South Sudan and Sudan's border delineation.
The rattling inhale of breath was unanimous. The oxygen rushed to each of their individual wet hearts and dried and tied them in knots. The newsreels swept over the crowds, in which the world could pick out Greece, immense exhaustion written along the lines of his brow. It was so; his people had chosen to default and replace the euro with the drachma. Terrified eyes searched the gathering of nations and whispers sliced into the silence. It was like this for a moment until finally, they were all answered.
"I really feel fine!" came the enthusiastic voice from near the center. Sure enough, the sun-brightened face with dark and dandy curls was easily identified by all; Spain was as content as ever. His boyfriend nearby kept his face neutral and gave a nod in his direction. In fact, the Netherlands appeared almost irritated by Spain's facade of cheer. This, however, went unnoticed, as the nations now looked to the Italian brothers. Feliciano, now that the tense silence had been broken, was happily chatting with his irate twin, Romano.
"Idiot! How can you be so distractible? Just because nothing happened to that Spaniard doesn't mean we're safe!" he cried. Although gruff, however, relief could be heard seeping through the cracks of his criticism. Small amounts of laughter ensued as the dark mood was lifted as winter's clouds were by June's sun. It seemed in fact that Spain and the Italies would be able to resist the tumultuous currency switch that Greece had proposed.
Soon thereafter, the brothers gathered their papers and, heartily chattering to an overwhelmed and rather angry Somalia, followed the fellow court members back to their seats at the lower part of the room. The rest of the nations, in small groups, soon returned to their assigned arrangement until all that remained was Antonio, the Netherlands, and a soft shuffling of papers. Sharp green eyes examined the Spaniard as he busied himself with gathering the case abstract papers. The smaller man coughed slightly and in turn felt newly narrowed eyes graze from his turned back to the nape of his neck, causing the hair there to rise on end. He grabbed the last of his papers and tenderly made his way over to his boyfriend. Soothingly, he murmured,
"Do not worry - it is only left over from the more recent bout of fever." He had taken Holland's hands into his own and given them squeeze, his eyes searching for lover's. Now louder and more jokingly so to instill a sense of normalcy in the Netherlands, he continued, "Ay! What a fiebre that was - thank goodness it's gone for good!" The pale man quickly released Spain's hands with an affirming nod before turning and leaving him alone in the room. Antonio chuckled, his heart itching with the contradictory affection he'd always thought Lars had possessed. And as his laughter sauntered across the room, it chose to settle itself, staring into the silence, awaiting a reply. Antonio was unable to offer what this lonesomeness wanted and so he stood, a dumb grin sliding quietly away to dance with the dust in the still summer window's heat. It had seemed for a moment that he was left with nothing save solitude until the door swung open, its breeze countering that of the summer's, biting away at the dust that now ran about in a confused mess. Spain blinked once, refocusing his eyes, and glanced to the source.
"'Scuse me," Sweden apologized as he hustled into the sunlight. He reached over to the table beside Antonio, the Spaniard forgetting to scramble out of the way until it was a bit too late, and took a left-behind copy of the case briefing. The brunette caught a glimpse of the date printed on the folder's tab and offered the exclamation,
"Oh! It is the sixth of June, vale?" Sweden gave a terse nod, eyeing him with consideration as he waited for him to continue. With a fond grin, he finished, "Feliz cumple, Suecia!" The Swede nodded his thanks, but Spain, who was naturally adept at reading happiness, observed the edges of his eyes as they wrinkled with the smallest of smiles. Glad of his good health and pleased that he'd been able to brighten a day amidst the messy affair of Sudanese border trial, Antonio collected his papers and strolled after Sweden, the abandonment that he'd momentarily felt now entirely forgotten.