Title: Chat

Yes, this will be a series. It's gonna be about the little known facts in Hetalia, because I personally love learning these things, and some of them are downright hysterical.

Rating: K+ due to mild language, however the story is rated a T because some stories later on will have more sensitive topics.

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters and themes in this story; they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya.

Talking: I started this at 11:51 PM with no real plot in mind when I figured out that Norway's cross barrette isn't actually a barrette... IT'S A GODDAMN MOBILE PHONE. HIMA. THIS IS TOO MUCH. (Check Hetalia Archives if you don't believe me). Also, it is totally normal to read the Hetalia Archives at midnight-ish (I am officially addicted please help). It evolved into... Something. I think the Viking Trio. I like it. I FINISHED AT 12:42 AM ENJOY.

I apologize in advance for any mistakes using the metric system. I am an American and I think it went okay (for me using the Imperial system my whole life cause America is the land of the free and stubborn, and also it is 12:38 AM as I type this do not blame me for... Actually, blame me a lot for my lack of good sleep habits), but please point out any mistakes in the reviews!

Small Fact(s):

-Norway's cross is actually a mobile phone.

-Norway and Iceland argue about mackerel a lot.

Chat:

For now, Denmark lies still and quiet (for once) on the ground beneath the indigo sky, speckled with stars. His two... Companions (brothers? Not biologically, but that didn't keep them from pretty much raising each other when they were little, did it?) lay on either side of him, eyes shut. His Viking instincts tell him "that's no good, we have to be on watch, always," but as usual, he manages to squash those to the back of his mind.

Camping reminds him of his Viking days a little too much, he thinks.

Then a ding goes off somewhere, and he hastily pretends to be asleep so he doesn't have to get out of his warm sleeping bag to answer it. It might be his phone, he's not sure. He wants to answer Sweden's texts even less (he's never seen Norway with a cellphone, but he knows the younger nation isn't cyberphobic because he does a great job of hogging the television).

When Norway groggily sits up, reaches for his barrette, and clicks a button, he stares in astonishment. By some miracle, Norway hasn't noticed him yet.

A voice mumbles something.

"Yes, yes, 140 kilograms," he yawns, holding the cross up. He glances up at the stars. "Why now?"

There's a short pause, and the voice mumbles something else.

Norway sighs. "Right, time zones. Sorry. Tired. Thanks for managing everything back home."

Another pause. More mumbles. Denmark is starting to be really annoyed he can't hear everything that's going on.

"140 kilograms of mackerel is not too much," he says. Then he goes ghost white. "Oh, I said kilograms, didn't I?"

A small noise of affirmation, Denmark could hear that much.

"I meant 140 grams. Why I am thinking in grams right now, I have no idea. Christ, did you actually think I would buy 140 kilograms of mackerel?" Silence. "Thank you for being such a supportive younger brother." Denmark could practically see the sarcasm as it left Norway's lips. Iceland, as he had now identified the other voice as, said something quietly. He caught a few words, straining his hearing. "Mackerel," "money," and "too much." He wasn't sure what Iceland thought his elder had too much of.

Norway immediately hung up.