"Ne, ne! Where are we going Germany?" nagged the boy with squinting eyes and auburn hair as they walked along a countryside road towards the east.
"How many times must I tell you?" came the deep voiced response. "We're headed to England's house so I can take care of some business. And there's no way I'd leave you at my place without supervision, who knows what kind of trouble you'll get into." The man's thoughts churned at all the embarrassing things Italy could uncover in his absence, like those magazines and tapes... Germany cleared his throat as his cheeks flushed.
"Uwahhh! England's house? Why didn't you tell me sooner? I don't want to go there, England will charge me with tanks and rifles!" The blue-suited Italian tried to make a run for it, but didn't even make it three feet before Germany grabbed him roughly from behind by the collar of his blue suit.
"That is precisely why I didn't tell you sooner, otherwise I never would have gotten you out of the door," Germany replied sternly, his brows pointed in a harsh downward 'V'. "Besides," the blonde continued, his cheeks colored with the slightest shade of red, "no one will lay a finger on you as long as I'm here..."
Italy stopped struggling at the consolatory words and looked over his shoulder at the man. "...davvero?" he asked weakly.
"Ja, ja," Germany replied with exasperation. "Now let's get a move on, we're almost there."
Before long the tall blue eyed German and small maple eyed Italian were ascending the steps of a quaint European home, greeted by a doormat with the image of two unicorns on it flying around the word "WELCOME". The sight of it made Italy slightly less uneasy, but did not cure his overall anxiety. The sound of a bell penetrated his wandering mind as Italy realized Germany had pulled the tassel of the bell hanging next to the door. He dared a nervous glance sideways at the German, who took no notice, and gave an unsteady gulp.
"...because Uni doesn't like sprinkles on his, so you'll have to do with it, the scones will be fine without." came a nasally muffled voice in a British accent from behind the large door, just before it opened to reveal a short man with messy blond hair and thick eyebrows, sporting a suit with a light pink apron over it. "Ah yes, Germany, do come in..." he said, obviously less than thrilled at the newcomer's presence.
"Ja, nice to see you too," Germany mumbled sarcastically, towering over the Englishman as he stepped inside. Italy tiptoed after him, doing his best not to be seen.
"Oh, I see you brought the pasta-lover as well..." England noted indifferently as he closed the door. A horrible chill shot up the Italian's back at the acknowledgment as he halted with a small, fearful utterance.
"By all means, there are fresh scones in the parlor." England yawned, pulling the feminine apron over his head, hanging it on the coat rack just inside.
"O-oh, that's okay," Italy said, feeling a bit calmer at the offer, "but English food usually tastes like the stuff they use to fill litterboxes with..." Italy realized his mistake when he saw England's back turn rigid.
"On hon hon, he has a point you know." came a suave, relaxed voice from the parlor. "Your food really does taste, how do you say, like crap."
"Shut it, you cape wearing freak!" England screeched, glaring at France through the archway between the entry room and the parlor. "Why are you even here?"
"Because that potato smasher owes me money," France said nonchalantly, gesturing towards Germany. Though part of the reason was that he wanted to see his younger sibling, Italy, though he would never admit it, even to himself.
"Go suck on a frog!" England retorted angrily as he sat harshly on the couch opposite France, the coffee table adorned with a silver tray full of scones between them.
"Ahem!" Germany cleared his throat loudly. "Can we get this over with already? I do have other things I'd rather be doing." he said menacingly.
"Yes, yes, alright." England agreed in agitation, sending a cursing sideways glance at France.
Germany plopped down on the second couch, across from England, right next to France, which sent uneasy chills down the man's back.
Italy noted that the only other spot among the two couches was right next to England, a place that he absolutely refused to sit in. He took a nervous glance around the room and spotted one last seat, a rickety old wooden chair full of splinters, cracks, and seemed to be held together with mere tape. He took a few apprehensive steps towards it when he heard a sharp "Uht!" from the couch behind. The blue clad boy halted with a nervous glance back towards the sudden voice, which belonged to England.
"Er, not...there...That's Busby's chair."
"Who is-?" Italy began, but was cut off by France.
"So Italy!" yipped the suave haired man. "Why don't we go take a walk, eh?" France's voice was awkward and shaky, it was clear that he wanted to leave the room, more particular, he wanted to get away from the mean and scary looking German.
"O...kay..." Italy replied, preferring France's company to England's any day.
"Come along, now, come along, we must hurry or we'll be late for tea...!" France went on shakily, shoving the Italian out of the parlor, mumbling on about incoherent nonsense, leaving the two remaining men with an awkward, shaky French laugh.
"What was that all about...?" Germany stared after them as they disappeared from view.
"Feh, he probably swallowed a bad snail." England replied nonchalantly. "Now then..." It was time to talk business.
The voices of the parlor faded away as Italy was shoved along by France. Once they were far away from the parlor they stopped and the Frenchman took a deep breath, exhaling in relief. "Man, I really don't know how you can live with that scary guy..."
"Eh? Germany?" Italy inquired. "I guess he can be scary, especially during training, but he's really a nice guy..."
"Yes, of course, and I'm tacky-clad school girl with a flat chest and trick knee..." the blonde gibed. "Man, England's house sure is boring when I'm not messing with him..." he pondered aloud. "There is that one place, though."
"That one place?" Italy repeated inquisitively.
"Yeah, it's supposed to be something of a secret, but England should have known I wouldn't keep it when he told me about it. Come on, this way," France pulled Italy towards a door that didn't quite match all the others in the house. This one was in a darker area, and full of dings and nicks. As he jiggled the loose, rusting handle he said "It's full of all kinds of strange junk."
"Eh? What is it, a storage room?" Italy inquired, somewhat interested.
"Sort of, just see for yourself." France pulled the door wide, but not much could be seen in the dark room below, save for a set of rickety stairs. Italy could hear the click from a cord that France pulled on just inside, instantly lighting up a small area. It wasn't much light, just enough to see down the rotting staircase.
Italy stepped forward, trying to peer inside.
"You first!" France said cheerily, giving the auburn haired boy a nudge. Though the Frenchman should have realized that an Italian's balance was as bad as his driving. Italy only had time to utter a short "Hyaa!" before he tumbled down the decaying steps into the darkness below.
"Oh crap..." France murmured, staring down the now empty stairs before him. "He'll be fine," he reassured himself.
Italy gave a weak cough as he lay sprawled on the dusty floor below. He was surprised, it wasn't wood, unfortunately for him it was cobblestone. "Ngh..." he uttered as he pulled himself off the ground, patting his hands against his blue suit for any dust. His eyes were wide, trying to adjust to the darkness, but it was no use, it was pitch black. Italy slowly tiptoed in a random direction, his hands out in front of him, until they touched up against a wall. A few more minutes passed before he finally found a light switch and flipped it. The Italian sighed with relief, his forehead leaning hopelessly against the wall before him. He took a moment to clear his head before turning around, but when he did he had to shield his eyes against the new light illuminating the room.
Italy slowly took his arm away from his eyes as he squinted out at the room before him. It was blurry as his eyes continued to adjust, but once they'd cleared he couldn't help but let out a small breath of astonishment. Before him was what seemed like a majestic antique shop, fulled from floor to ceiling with all sorts of fascinating items.
There were a few signs hanging about the many shelves and cabinets, a few of which were labeled 'spellbooks,' 'cursed objects,' 'potions,' and 'curious artifacts.' Italy apprehensively walked toward the menagerie of trinkets, to the area labeled 'spellbooks.' He squinted at various large books, many of which seemed to be centuries old. He glanced through some of the titles, including Hardy Spells Tried and Tested Through Time, Malicious Comebacks, Rare and Ancient Spells, Spells to Aid the Horrible Chef, but one of them stuck out in particular, it sat slightly askew from the others, as if it had been handled somewhat recently. It was a moderately sized one with gold leafing, and a distinct deep red color, reading Cures for the Unrequited Warlock. The curious Italian picked up the ancient looking book, noticing a limp satin bookmark hanging out of it, and turned to the page it was holding. He squinted at the small script on the parchment. 'How to Gain the Attention of Your Oblivious Love...' he slowly read the spell title aloud. "I wonder what Germany would think of such things..." he said to himself, noticing a small doodle on the page of a confident looking face with slick hair and glasses. It was quite a familiar face really. "Oh well..." Italy set the book back down where he took it from and continued walking.
The amber eyed boy continued walking around the curious room for the next hour, keeping sure to steer clear of the area labeled 'cursed objects'. As he was nosing around the 'curious artifacts' section the Italian came across a peculiar set of keys, large rusty ones attached to a metal loop that looked as if they belonged to a castle. He sat down on the dusty cobblestone floor, a solemn expression occupying his delicate features. As interesting as the place was, he was beginning to grow tired and bored. Was Germany still doing business with England? Would he notice Italy was gone once he was finished? He gave a sigh as he held the keys up level with his face. He gasped with a twitch of surprise when he saw a set of large blue eyes staring back at him past his dangling keys. His hand went limp and the keys fell in his lap. "G-Germany...?" he stuttered nervously, but as his amber eyes focused ahead of him, he realized there was no one there, just a large dusty mirror sitting against the wall, gleaming back at him.