Amorphous blotches of red liquid that escaped the gloved hands of England stained the table. Trickling out from the edge of his strained lips, the crimson set the the room into a national crisis.
"Iggy!" the boy now man that he raised rushed to him in concern, calling him by that bloody obnoxious nickname.
"America, don't call me that! You're the King of Spade!" The nation managed to utter through clenched teeth before succumbing into another coughing fit.
"Dude, what the f*cking hell is wrong with you?" America interrogated his queen. "This obviously can't be solved with a hamburger to the head."
"Aiya! America, how many times do I have to tell you that hamburgers are NOT the solution to everything!"
Inured to the other's idiocy, the sickly nation decided to dismiss the last part. "It's the world. Ever since the Victorian era, the time when our Second Players sealed us all into this world, ours citizens have been conjecturing wild ideas of our existence."
"Damn, if only we weren't stuck in this stupid book!" America complained "Where is the book we are trapped in anyway."
"Buried sixteen feet underground by the bloody cupcake lover."
"As immature as everyone is, I missed everyone who isn't with us, aru."
"We all do China."
"Yeah, dude."
CHAPTER: I
I hate reality. Live in it. Resent it.
"Hey, you have to watch this!" a girl persists as she presents the site on the screen of her phone.
"What the bloody hell, you donkey-head hat! I am NOT into that stuff!" Honestly, her Celebrity Worship Syndrome (or is it Obsessive Fangirl Disorder?) is what keeps us a one-sided friendship like a plague.
"Donkey-what?" she halts in confusion.
"Donkey-head hat," I repeat and went on in explanation before she asked what I meant by that, "Rather than saying A-double S, I decided to allude to Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream..." Her expression, well, expressed nothing but pure confusion.
"You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" It wasn't a question.
"Uh, no. I never even heard of the book."
"We read this in Pre-AP English," I stressed to contradict her statement, "We even had to all acted it out in class."
"Pfft. Who care's about Shakespeare anyway?" Oh. Come. On. have some appreciation for the past.
"'Sides, it's all in the past."
"So it doesn't interest you if I told you that Lewis Carroll most likely had a thing for seven-year-old Alice?" I probably should have watched my timing 'cause she then spluttered out her cappuccino.
"Whoa!" Eh, at least I got her attention... no to mention that her expression was amusing.
"She was real?!"
"Uh, yes?" I thought this was common knowledge. Guess not.
"Oh, okay, wait..." she cut herself off, finally comprehending what I told her, "Ew."
"Yep. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland was published on her seventh birthday, Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There was on her seventh-and-a-half birthday, and Lewis Carroll's diary hinted it. Not to mention that Lorina, Alice's older sister who was only three years older than her, was crushing on him as well."
"What the hell? How old was he?"
"His early twenties," I confirmed.
"What. The. Hell."
"Exactly... So," I spoke after a long triple dots of silence, not able to contain the small smile on my face, "about your lack of interest in history?"
"Oh, shut it. You're not British."
"Yeah," a masculine voice chimed in from behind. I recognized him as a classmate while she passed us. Guess our conversation caught his interest. "But I like how she's multicultural."
"Well then, before this becomes an l'esprit de l'escalier when we go our separate ways, merci." I'd say his name along with my thanks, but I just can't seem to remember names of those who I bear no interest in for the life of me.
"You're welcome, but what do you mean by 'staircase wit'?" he literally translated in confusion. I was would have been surprised if I didn't overhear that he took French.
"'The predicament of thinking of the perfect reply too late,'" I quoted from Wikipedia.
He nodded, "See ya tomorrow."
"Y'too," I cringe as I wave. Ah, there's an accent.
"Well," the co-student who considered us friends called my attention back, "If you didn't like what I showed you earlier, then do you like this...?"
...
"This is ineffably cool!"
"Right? Wait, was that your substitute for f*ck?"
"Yes. Why?"
"... If you weren't into horror games, the psychological genre, and kawaii noir, I would have called you 'such a precious child.'"
"Oi, that just hurt mein kokoro," was what I said, but the words were empty. "Well, I'm goin' off campus. Arrivederci." As I waltz out of the gravity of school, I could've sworn that I heard her utter something along the lines of, "What is she, the world?"
If you cross the roads, there's a new bakery, which is where I went.
Ding-ding!
"Hello, poppet," Whip my head to face to a woman whose reddish shaded hair was tied up with two black bows. Blue eyes complimented her pink short sleeved dress, actually she herself complemented the entire store. Her apron's patches and the ribbon on her dress were mint green and on the left pocket, there was a heart. It also bears several more patches on the skirt, two white hearts and another, simpler checker pattern. Are those white and sky blue tights? "Is there anything you would like?"
"I'm thinking about it." She smiled.
"Well, if you need any help, just let me know."
"Thank you," I politely responded in common courtesy.
Personally, I found the interior decorum, much too sickeningly sweet. Meh, people have their own preferences... But the way how acrid the place smelt was like there was something to hide. Nah, that just the horror games getting to me. Brushing all thoughts of paranoia aside, I browsed through what the place had to offer. So much sugar.
"Do you have anything bite sized?"
"Yes we do, they are right over here," she gestured to the section of miniaturized sweets behind the glass.
"Danke," I thanked in German and headed to the area, not noticing the surprised looked she gave at my language change. Realizing I was for something of the like, I decided to go with half a dozens pistachio cheesecakes with salted caramel. Half of that half for today and half of the other half for tomorrow's breakfast.
Ding-ding!
"Oh, Oliver, Welcome back. How was the meeting?"
"The usual." I turned my head curious as to her acquaintance and had to do a double take. The man had strawberry blonde hair. Seriously, the strawberry looked as though it could pull off as pastel pink and he surprisingly looked good in his official looking outfit that was out of fashion, like imperialism. But the face. The face. I looked back a forth in question when I finally asked,
"Are you two fraternal twins?" They gave each other a look. It wasn't just one that questioned what they should say, but it was also one of... What was the word, y'know the one that meant 'a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other will offer something that they both desire but are unwilling to suggest or offer themselves'? Ah, that's right. It was 'mamihlapinatapai.' What could it be that the two offer. Could it be a lie?
"You could say that," the man spoke.
"Hmm," I hummed in credulously, yet smiled in dismissal, "Okay. By the way, may I have half a dozens pistachio cheesecakes with salted caramel, please?"
"Why yes."
Distracting myself from waiting in awkward silence, I asked... "It's 'Oliver,' right?"
"Oh, forgive me, poppet. I didn't introduce myself, did I? My name is Oliver Kirkland. It's nice to meet you."
"You too. So you're military for the UK?" At least I think that's the correct nationality for that kind of uniform.
"Yes."
"What was the meeting about? Wait, never mind. Confidentiality." The two sibling shared another knowing look.
"That will be $3.40, ma'am." I fished my wallet and exchanged the money with the cheesecake.
"Grazie." I missed more surprised looks as I turned my back. "Have a nice day."
"You too." It was only until I got home too binge watch anime that I developed a l'esprit de l'escalier that would change my life.
We're those two cosplaying as 2P!England?