A/N: I'm sorry, I'm a terrible person, going off and writing more Maturing With Music un-related stuff…

A cute little oneshot… I think.

Key: (NOTE: This key doesn't hold true to all my stories, just this one)

"Tomato" – Spanish (Well what else would they be speaking? But I wrote everything out in English because I don't know Spanish. But they're technically talking in Spanish.)

"Tomato" Until the statement "Who are you?" it emphasizes words. But after "Who are you?" It symbolizes a universal language used by the nations that I like to believe is used.

If you didn't know, Mexica is what the Aztecs referred to their nation as. They didn't call themselves the Aztecs, the internet told me! No, it was from some .edu thing and my teachers have told us they're reliable.

Just found the Nordics' character song. :3

I just found out that on September 26th (next week!) two new songs will be released. One for the Bad Touch Trio, the other for the Baltics.

I'm so happy~!


Spain took in a deep whiff of the wind, the crisp air dampened by the white seawater spray, sweetened and tart with blooms of plants unknown and salt dancing lightly but noticeably on the highlights of the odd but refreshing mixture of scents.

He exhaled strongly, a gentle, soft smile upon his baby pink lips seeming to have arisen to his face naturally. "Romano, aren't you excited? This is the New World, full of wonder and joy and-" However, his speech was soon interrupted by a distasteful, repulsive retching noise from his left.

"Romano! Are you puking on my boat?!"


Giddy with overwhelming excitement, the Spanish nation practically skipped off the boat much like a child who's just eaten sweets does. And what reason was there not to be excited? These new lands, just by a quick look, promised to bring endless wealth, additional territory, and all sorts of new products for his country- skins, produce, jewelry: you name it, the New World was full of promises and bountiful fortune.

Even Romano with his usually sour attitude seemed to contain the same anticipation his friend had, his petite body holding a similar air of a more nervous wonder. His hands came every so often to meet in front of him, wringing his wrists for a few unsettled moments before a swell of pride hit him and he quickly jerked them back to his sides. His ochre eyes darted this way and that with no air of grace but rather with the gleam of distrust.

"Romano, this'll be wonderful! Look! Look! Rainforest! Let's go in!" The Spaniard squeaked in utter ecstasy, flipping his head from the entrance to the rainforest from the rocky coast where his men were unloading horses and the necessary supplies. He called across the shore to them, barking orders to hurry it up.

The Italian nodded warily. "'Sure, whatever," he snapped, irritated. "Tomato bastard." He added sharply. He, too, was eager to see what the New World could offer down south. However, unlike his guardian whose sight was slighted by exuberant, joyous excitement, Romano was quick to acknowledge other factors as well in his pessimistic little mind- dangerous, unknown creatures, the risk of hunger or dehydration, and even the threat of possible indigenous people, quick to slay or capture newcomers.

Soon enough, their exploration party was ready to go. Spain happily led them, sometimes having to be called back because he ventured too far from the group. Sometimes he rushed back with some new flower or other plant or creature. Romano would usually shoot back Spain's exclamations of "Look! Isn't so amazing?" with "Don't get poisoned, bullfighting dumbass!"

"Damn it Spain, I'm tired and hungry and we've been walking for fifteen hours already!" Romano, whining and screeching in fury at the same time, threw up his arms in utter frustration. "Haven't you found enough? Let's just set up camp already!"

"Roma, you've been riding on my pinta for the past five hours." Spain cheerfully commented.

"They obviously haven't." Romano deadpanned, gesturing an arm towards the other men on their expedition. One was swaying from side to side, his eyes in a dazed state, the other tripping over his own two feet every few seconds, with another one panting heavily but still managing to unsteadily remain on his feet- no, wait, he just fell on the rainforest's damp floors. Spain cocked his head to the side in a confused state. "Weren't we traveling with four workers?"

Romano shook his head. "No, he passed out a while back."


After insistence for ten more minutes on a break, Spain finally gave up his end of the argument. "Fine, we'll stop for now." He grumbled, put out by the halt in his fun.

"Finally, damn stupid tomato basta-" Spain shoved his calloused hand roughly over Romano's mouth immediately. He shook his head silently at his Italian companion before jerking his head towards the distance. Romano struggled to see anything flawed but couldn't- just green trees, brown bark and soil and overflowing greenery. An unnatural disturbance of the leaves stiffened his body instinctively. A flash of tanned skin stood out against a large, vermillion green leaf. Spain began to reach for his glistening rapier.

An unsettling silence draped over the atmosphere heavily, the other men already sunken deep into slumber. Emerald eyes darted from every corner, every nook and cranny of the surrounding area.

A pounding clang of stone against metal cried out into the forest air. A young, tan man scowling at Spain held his weapon, made of wood with sharp flint around the edges, against Spain's cold, gleaming rapier. He growled something out in an alien language before lashing out again. Spain deflected the weapon, and with his unnatural strength of the Spanish Empire, pinned the man against the nearest tree with a passionate fire in his eyes.

He stared down at the man before speaking in a low, controlled tone. "Who are you?"

The man jerked and struggled like an animal against his hold before settling down and glaring back with his dirt color eyes, grounding out a bitter reply.

"I am Mexica."


After an hour of inquiry and reluctant answers as well as three startled work hands, Spain seemed satisfied with what they had gotten out of the man.

He took Romano aside afterwards, cautioning the men before leaving the foreigner in their custody for the time being. "Romano, you have to listen to me. Don't go near that man. He is dangerous." The Italian, in turn, emitted a noise of disapproval. "Tch, he is only human. My side of the country isn't that weak, you know. He's probably just-"

"You listen to me!" Spain snapped angrily, a stern glare taking over his features. He gripped Romano's shoulders firmly as he forced his younger comrade to face him. "That man is not human. From what I've gathered, his name is Mexica and he is the nation of the most powerful empire that lives here. You be careful for now. We should meet his people too before deciding upon welcoming him with open arms or not."

"He's one of us?" the other brunette whispered in shock. "Yes, we should meet his people. He has agreed to let us come to Tenochtitlán, the capital."

"You're salivating. Again." Romano deadpanned bitterly.

"Huh? Oh, sorry," Spain laughed, his voice giving out a slightly embarrassed air. He couldn't help it, this city just screamed new riches. And the people didn't look very hard to conquer either, although some of their weaponry looked quite intriguing, it still didn't match up to Spanish armor, guns, and cannons.

Gazing about the place with a look of boredom, Romano sighed. I suppose it won't be long until this place becomes Spanish territory… I know that look in his eyes. Spotting something that piqued his interest, he tugged on the fellow brunette's shirt. "Hey dumb Spaniard, what's with the big crowd over there?"

"What?" Spain looked over to see that, yes, indeed, a considerably large crowd of the natives was gathering around a massive stone building, something reminiscent of a pyramid. There was a man ascending the extremely lengthy stairs to the top, dressed in a noble's clothing accompanied by a few other natives.

"Oh, I wonder what they're doing." Spain replied cheerfully. "Is this a public spectacle?" he inquired to Mexica, who had been acting as their begrudging guide through the streets of the capital. Strangely enough, he seemed to perk up at the scene. "Oh yes," he replied. "This is quite regular. We go through this just about every day."

Spain nodded with an exuberant grin on his face. "This is a very nice culture you have."

Raising his head up a bit higher, Mexica seemed to be quite pleased with this and replied with a proud "Thank you."

Romano tugged on Spain's muddy brown leather vest, holding out his arms once the Spaniard turned his head down to look at him. "There are too many damn people here, so pick me up already you bastard." Scooping up the child in his large, warm embrace, he then positioned Romano to sit on his shoulders, right behind his head. The Italian put his small hands gently on either side of his companion's forehead.

They both looked up, Spain with a sunny but soft smile on his visage while Romano, yet again, had the absence of a smile on his face. However, he did seem to have a quietly contented expression on his face. Romano leaned in a bit to rest his chin on the top of the Spaniard's head, seeming to be internally struggling before whispering out, "Thanks Spain."

"You're welcome Roma," Spain sang happily. They were quiet then, enjoying the moment, at peace and just content with each other; all thoughts of new colonies were gone.

This soon ended, however, when one of the men up top began to struggle very violently as the others held him down. "Wait- what are they doing?" Spain asked Mexica frantically. "What they do every day. Don't people in your land do this as well? It is to give the sun the strength to rise the next day." The indigenous man answered back.

The finely man dressed at the top – a priest, Mexica had pointed out before- raised a knife. "Wait-wait! What? What is this?" Spain cried out, panic rising in every syllable as he reverted to his own native tongue. Romano, realizing what they were about to do, began to root them on. "Yeah! Nail him right in the chest! And twist it once it's in there too!"

Spain paused from his current activity of whipping his head back and forth like a maniac to glare up at the young boy. "Roma!" he hissed up at him.

The boy just turned his head to the side. "Sorry," he mumbled sourly.

The priest plunged the knife in the man's lower torso, around his stomach area, and stuck his arm in and began to reach up inside the man's chest and it looked like up his ribcage.

"Oh dios mio," Spain muttered, shutting his eyes and turning his head down and covering Romano's eyes, eliciting a cry of complaint from the Italian.

Mexica was observing the event happily, watching the priest retract his arm with a red, beating heart. He turned his head to look at his two guests, confused. Doesn't everybody do this? Huh, I thought so…