A Better Birthday Than The Last
Gilbert stared at the calendar hanging on the wall of his dimly lit room AKA the basement.
January 18th, 2014
Huh. It was his birthday today. Gilbert traced long pale fingers along the unmarked, blank date. It has been years since he last marked the little box with a circle, fanciful drawings, or even a Awesome's Birthday! Why should he? No one celebrated it. No one remembered, or maybe they didn't care? Was it sad that Gilbert didn't care that others did not? The last time he heard a Happy Birthday directed at him was little over a decade ago, and as for gifts, even longer.
Gilbert found himself not caring anymore.
Don't get him wrong or anything, it had hurt at first, all those years ago. It had upset him. It did feel as if someone had punched him in the gut. When they looked blankly at him if he mentioned the date being important. When he tried to give small, subtle hints. After a few years, he had taken to acting out even more than usual a week before his birthday, trying to get people to just notice.
After all, his birthday was the only thing that helped him feel as if he wasn't dead. No birthday meant no birth. No birth meant that he had been erased from this world.
But yeah. Those first few years had been the most painful, but Gilbert refused to show how he felt. All he had to do was smirk, do his weird laugh, and do something to aggravate the others. It was actually quite easy. He has been doing it for as long as he could remember.
How many times did he pretend to be OK? How many times had he been deeply betrayed, but not shown it? How many times did he take a beating from either a fellow nation, or one of his kings, with sass and a smirk? How long has it been since he laughed? That Kesese~ thing was something Gilbert used because he couldn't laugh. Everything about him was a lie.
He was serious. He was cynical. He was untrusting. His sarcasm and sass could rival England's... actually, only England knew about this hidden side of Gilbert's. The reason they got along better than most was because of their similar dark outlook on life. They got to know each other pretty well when they fought side-by-side during the Seven Year War.
Ah, the Seven Year War. How many times was he betrayed or forced to betray? Oh well. They were still some of the best years of his life. Old Fritz... he was the only one that Gilbert actively honestly tried to impress, to make proud. He was the only one to treat him warmly without there being any ulterior motive...
But even Old Fritz had betrayed him at one point. Granted, it had been when he was a Prince, but it had still hurt when he tried to run away to England. He had felt abandoned, hurt that even his own future royal would leave him. Of course, Gilbert had long ago forgiven him for that. But it still did not change the fact that even when Gilbert thought of Friedrich as some sort of father figure, they had also butted heads every so often. Friedrich liked the French. He liked the refined, sophisticated, cultured and philosophical life. Something Gilbert clearly was not. He was a warrior, a soldier, a knight, a hunter, a survivor, a tactical genius, a war expert... he was everything Fritz practically despised. Old Fritz had tried to change Prussia... and that had hurt. And when the time came to use what Gilbert was for the good of his lands, he was eager to please. He ignored the fact that he was going to hurt one of his best friends, France, and a person he regarded with respect, his cousin Austria (not that he'll ever know). Instead, to minimize the pain, he did what most Nations do. He remembered how France had killed Holy Rome, all the wars between him and Austria, everything bad that they had done to each other. Old Fritz had never suspected his country's feelings at warring with them, nor the glee of conquering those who had hurt him in the past.
So even the ones he held the most dear to him hurt him in some way or other. It sucks.
Gilbert remembered his childhood. He sometimes wished he couldn't.
He has always been the freak of nature. He was albino, he didn't look like the citizens he represented, he was born out of fear, and whatever he represented always ended no matter how strong he became or how hard he fought. He was a freak as a human as much as a Nation. The only reason he wasn't dead many times over was because of his pure willpower and 'Eff You' personality he kind of developed along the way.
His older sister, Baltic Old Prussia, tried to kill him because he represented the coming of the Germanic Barbarians or whatever his appearance prophesied. Gilbert was born into this world out of the Old Prussian people's hopes and fears. Accidental and unwanted. His sister, who looked a lot like Lithuania, had told him once that he represented the thousands of Prussian slaves taken by the invading Germans.
He has been tied to a pyre and burned alive so many times for being albino, it sort of became very old. Every time that it happened, he just gave his captors a bored look that said 'just get over with it and done I have better things to do' and sighed, waiting patiently for it to happen and get it done with it.
When Germania first found him... well, it didn't go well. He was a demon child in his father's emotionless blue eyes. Gilbert got kidnapped by the man anyways. It was fun pranking him until he got kicked out... well, he got kicked out because of an argument, but whatever. He had thought at the time that getting kicked out and regaining his freedom would make him happy... but it only made his heart hurt that not even his so called 'father' wasn't capable of loving him like one should do. After that, Gilbert sulked around his sister's lands for a while. His small 'annoying-carefree-demon-brat' spree had ended, and was back to his regular unemotional self.
About a year later, when he joined a group of Christian renegades just because, they tried to kill him via burning pyre. Again. Gilbert always found a way to come back to this group, just to scare the living daylights out of them sorely out of spite. After the renegades gave up trying to kill him using ineffective methods, he just sort of tagged along with them. It took a few years, but they got used to him. They traveled here and there, being good Christians, helping people out. Gilbert just sort of lingered in the background, watching at a distance. No one wanted him around, the renegades ignored him, and the victims of whatever disaster or ill fortune demanded that they 'control the demon.' Until one day, an injured man stumbled in with an injury far too great for anyone to fix. Well, except Gilbert. He knew how to heal the man; people had done worse to him, after all. Cutting the explanation short, he healed the man. And much to the poor boy's confusion, he got thanked profusely for his service. That had never happened before, he had never been shown gratitude in the hundreds of years that he had been alive. The man's name was Gilbert. Yep, his namesake. And the first time that he actually smiled.
After that episode, the man joined the group. They spent time building hospitals, healing, and aiding others in their pilgrimage to the Holy Land of Jerusalem. It would be a few years later that the albino would notice that if something particular happened, he would sense it. It would be many years later, that Gilbert would wake up one day, and find himself being the Order of St Mary. It was completely by accident, but something happened to Gilbert that day. He wasn't an aimless Personification who's prophetic appearance was yet to be clear anymore. He had a purpose now.
Years passed by, and before Gilbert knew it, he became the Teutonic Knights. He was known as the Terror of Europe, his cruelty against the Old Prussians becoming somewhat legendary. He was power-hungry, wanted to be strong so that the traumatic events of his childhood wouldn't be repeated. Everyone passed him as just that; power-hungry, cruel, bloodthirsty... but what they didn't know was that Gilbert had only been repaying the favor. Centuries of torture at the hands of Old Prussia suddenly leashed out, with a dangerous thirst for revenge. He also repaid the Huns for yet another traumatic childhood experience, and enjoyed every second of it. Who would've known that the weak, quiet, soot-covered demon kid would actually amount to anything? He got pushed, and shoved them right back with twice the force.
That's his true story.
That's how Gilbert came to be. No one knew this story... his story.
Maybe because he was so different from the others, it was more difficult to kill him? There has been a time when Gilbert had no lands, no citizens, no pride, no anything. He was born out of fighting, war, fear, and hope. And it is hard to kill something who's will to survive is instinctual.
Gilbert shook his head, and looked at the time. 8:00 am. His little brother, Germany, Ludwig, West, has probably already left for work. Ah, Luddy. He loved the kid so much... maybe the only thing Gilbert learned to truly love. He raised him, after all.
He stretched a little. He sighed in a very Ludwig-like way (where did ya think he got it from?) and took a shower. After, he slid on a black T-shirt, jeans, red hoodie, his precious Iron Cross necklace, and wrapped a grey scarf around his neck. He ignored his laptop computer, already knowing that there wouldn't be any Facebook messages, e-mails, or anything of the sort.
Before leaving the basement and the house in general, Gilbert looked sullenly at the empty small bowl on the night table next to his bed. Gilbird's food bowl. He missed the little guy... Gilbird died about two years ago, leaving Gilbert friendless once and for all. He didn't tell West. No one asked, either.
Gilbert sighed, and left. He climbed the stairs, crossed the pristine clean kitchen, and went out the side door.
OooOooOooOooOooO
The cool chilly air greeted his face, making him grateful for the scarf. He sighed again. Puffs of hot breath formed like smoke.
No.
Not today.
Gilbert looked on determinately. Today was his birthday, dammit! He was going to have fun! Who knew how many birthdays he had left? Nations had a way to keep ONE thing immortal, like a pet that they had emotionally bonded with. Gilbird died. That meant something; Gilbert could feel it in his gut.
His time was running out. He's been feeling sick for years. Headaches. Sore muscles. What about the blood vomiting, coughing, and chest pains? What about Analisse? Ugh, Analisse. She was annoying. And was a Grimm Reaper. It's a long story. No, you do not want to know.
But, yeah, Gilbert should've died some time ago, but he. Simply. Just. Refused. Not as long as he felt the thin and nearly broken ties of his old citizens... the citizens dying of old age. And there was something else... other ties. The Teutonic Order located in Austria, (oh, the irony!) what was left over from East Germany, the potatoes sitting on Old Fritz's grave in Kaliningrad, (Cough-Königsberg-Cough) and the strongest tie of all, New Prussia, which was in Canada.
Gilbert felt as if he claimed one of these ties, maybe he would live. But, that's the thing. He didn't want to.
He was going have a good time today, even if it killed him. It was his birthday, maybe the last, so damn it all, he was going to enjoy it no matter what!
Gilbert pasted a happy smirk on his face.
No. No more lies.
The happy smirk melted into a Germania-worthy facial expression.
Oh yes, much more like it!
Gilbert shoved his cold hands into his hoodie pockets, and just... went for a walk. He looked at the half-dead and half-green grass. Contemplated the buildings and houses of (his former capital) Berlin, and compared them with what he remembered from the Berlin of a century or so ago. He walked around the city, taking his sweet time. He saw some kids playing around (it was Saturday, wasn't it?) and enjoyed the warm smell of freshly-made bread wafting up his nose.
His stomach grumbled, displeased on the fact that he skipped breakfast. Gilbert came to a sudden stop, right in front of the bakery. Heh. Why not? It was his birthday. He had the right to treat himself to something, right? Gilbert entered the small building, hearing a ding signaling his entrance. It was nice and warm, the smell of freshly baked goodies making him hungrier by the moment.
May I help... you? Gilbert looked up at the young lady behind the giant L-like glass showcases filled with pastries. She was maybe eighteen, had blond hair tied up in a messy bun, and warm chocolate brown eyes now filled with uncertainty. Probably because of his looks. Meh.
"Ja..." Gilbert looked through the glass, bending over to get a better look. What should he get? He never was a big fan of sweets, but ate them anyway. Both Ludwig and Roderich liked sweets, and he wasn't going to say 'no' to something his little brother baked. Gilbert looked up at the lady. "Do you have berry chocolate schnitte cake?" he asked, thinking about his brother. Damn. He wasn't good at this 'get what I want' stuff. Oh well. A birthday without a cake isn't a birthday at all~!
The lady's eyes lit up for a second. "Oh! Yes! We do!" she said brightly. "Would you like a slice, or a whole cake?"
Gilbert thought it through. Hmm. Luddy did love this type of cake...
"Please, I'd like a whole cake, Frau."
The lady blinked, surprised. Well, she wouldn't be the only one. Gilbert wasn't exactly known for being polite.
"Yes! Uh... Right away!" The lady ducked behind an open doorway – all the while hiding a blush – probably entering the kitchen. Gilbert looked around the display; there were all sorts of cookies, cakes, pastries – was that a croissant? – and many types of bread with many different shapes. It was also so nice and cozy in here. A few moments later, the lady came back out, this time holding a large, square, chocolate-covered cake with chocolate sprinkles and blackberries, a tuft of whip cream at the center with a large strawberry on top.
Wow. That actually looked pretty impressive. Gilbert blinked at the cake. That was a hell of a lot of sugar...
"Anything else, er, sir?"
Oh? So now he was a 'sir'? Amusing.
"No, Frau." The lady smiled shyly at him, and started boxing the cake. Wait, actually... "Wait, actually, is there a store around here that sells candles?"
The lady looked thoughtful for a moment. "Uh, yes. There's one right down the street..." She blinked. "Any reason in particular?" she asked. Her eyes darted from him, to the cake, and back at him. Her whole demeanor changed, turning considerably brighter and more excited. "Oh! Is it someone's birthday?" she jumped around the heels of her feet, grinning like crazy.
Gilbert looked at her blankly. "Uh, yes...?" what else could he say?
"Ooooh! Whose?" She leaned closer, elbows on the glass showcase.
"Uh, mine."
She beamed at him, "Happy birthday, then!" she smiled widely at him. Gilbert only continued to stare blankly at her, feeling rather uncomfortable. He looked at her weirdly.
"Hmm? Something wrong?" her smile did not falter at all.
"Oh, uh, it's just... it's been years since someone wished me that..."
She gasped. "No-uh!" she said in disbelief. Gilbert fidgeted. Couldn't he have his cake yet?
"Can I have my cake now?" Gilbert deadpanned, not liking being the center of unwanted attention.
The lady blinked. "Uh, wait!" ...aaaaaand she was gone. She ran to the kitchen. She came back almost instantly, though, with something bright and colorful clutched in her fist. She reached over the glasscase, fist raised.
"Here!" she chirped. Gilbert approached with raised eyebrows, extending his hand palm up. Something was dropped onto it, something long and waxy. "Happy birthday! This is my gift to you!" Gilbert looked at the object; one, long, glowy rainbow candle. Perplexed, Gilbert looked at the lady. Her smile was so wide, it looked ready to split her face right in half.
"D-danke," he mumbled, blushing a little. His heart gave a small, painful yet happy throb. He couldn't believe that the first person in over a decade to wish him a happy birthday was a half Swiss, half his brother's citizen. Gilbert smiled at the stranger. The girl seemed to almost melt at that, for some strange reason.
"No problem!" she grinned. "I just loooove birthdays!" Huh, no kidding! "And everyone deserves to be wished a happy birthday now and then..." Except Gilbert, of course. He didn't deserve it. Prussia ceased to exist for a pretty long time now. "I'm Anna, by the way!" Oh, her name was Anna- "You wouldn't happen to be single, would you now?"
Gilbert looked at the newly introduced Anna with something akin to horror. Did she just!?
"How about it, handsome?" she winked.
Oh boy. West was going to KILL him...
OooOooOooOooOooO
Gilbert walked, white paper bag with the boxed cake inside being cradled closely to his body.
Now what? He had cake, a candle, a paper with a phone number that had been discreetly shoved in his jean pocket, and one frozen butt. It was only ten o'clock, too.
There wasn't much he could do. Gilbert looked at the cake. Better get this stored or something...
So he decided to return to where he lived to leave the cake somewhere, maybe in the refrigerator or something. Gilbert walked back to his little brother's house – he may have been staying there, but it was still West's house – taking about fifteen minutes. Gilbert fished out the keys out of his pocket with some difficulty, unlocked the door, and entered the dark house. Gilbert turned on the lights using his hip, as his hands were full of cake.
Kitchen refrigerator or basement refrigerator?
Hmm. Basement.
Gilbert went to his 'room,' turned on the lights the same way as before, spotted the fridge, opened it with his butt, and shoved the bag inside. OK. Cake stored. Now what?
You could go to church. You haven't been there in a long time.
Church. Heh, what the heck. Why not?
OooOooOooOooOooO
Gilbert sat at a wooden bench in the dimly lit stone room, pale face illuminated by the red light coming from the fires and candles. He sat the very back row of a bunch of long benches. The benches were hard and very... woodsy. Just like the good old days. Gilbert looked around, noticing how little this church has changed over the centuries.
He found that he liked it. He felt more at ease.
"Guten morgen, my friend."
Someone sat next to him. Gilbert tensed up. It was a priest.
Huh. Gilbert honestly did not know how to react. He used to be very very VERY religious, and consorted with many priests in his lifetime. Heck, he was even a priest himself one point in history! ...But they also liked to set him on fire.
Looking at the man's friendly blue eyes, Gilbert felt himself relax. He made himself more comfortable on the wooden bench.
"Guten morgen, sir."
A kind smile. "Can I do anything to appease your troubled soul?"
Gilbert cocked his head. The man chuckled sadly.
"There is... an aura of sadness and determination around you, young one."
Young? He was born sometime in the ninth century!
"Your face is a mask of no emotion, yet your eyes shine with something I quite cannot grasp..."
Lived for about a thousand years. War. Famine. Pestilence. Injustice. Fire Pyres. More war. Betrayal. Dissolution. Live in a basement...?
"As the Lord's servant, it is my duty to help the helpless... I am all ears, young one."
One. Thousand. And. Two. Centuries. Not exactly young here!
Gilbert raised an eyebrow. The man got up, and motioned for him to come. He also got up. Hey, he had time to kill. The priest lead him to the confession box. Great. With a sigh, Gilbert entered. Oh well, he had been planning in doing this anyways. Confessing his sins and worries before he died. Meh. The guy said that he was all ears... Lets just hope he wasn't going to be sent to a mental hospital after this.
Gilbert decided to tell the man his whole life story.
Much to Gilbert's surprise, the man listened. And he even made a few comments here and there, gave a question or two. Gilbert answered them before continuing onto whatever part of his life he was explaining. He had never told the whole story to anyone before, except to his diary. It was... strangely lifting. Gilbert talked to the priest for hours, the clock striking the two o'clock bell.
"This... Germania. How do you feel about him?" The voice wafted through the blackened veil-like window on the wall. Gilbert had finally stopped recounting his tale, and now he felt as if he was visiting a psychologist, therapist, or whatever it was that they were called.
"I don't know," Gilbert said after a pause. He felt comfortable with the priest. Besides, who was he gonna tell? "He wasn't the father that he was supposed to be. He was never there for me growing up, and when he discovered me, the first thing he did was call me a demon." Gilbert touched his cheek; why was there water? It tasted salty. He heard the priest shift on the other side.
"Yes," the priest said. "But by the description you gave me, he wasn't an open man – much like yourself. You mentioned something about seeing his face one day before loosing consciousness... I feel strongly about that. Can you remember more clearly about what happened?"
Gilbert found it ironic that a priest had 'strong spiritual senses,' as he called it. The guy even wore a crystal necklace for protection, for crying out loud! A mix of religious wiz and witchcraft. It was especially funny since Kurt the priest seemed unaware of it. Because that was what natural witchcraft was all about. The significance of crystals and properties of herbs and flowers. Harmony with nature. The seasons and altars with figurines. Witchcraft was not to be confused with magic and sorcery, of course. Witchcraft was something normal people could do. Magic, on the other hand, can-t be used by a muggle!
"Teuton?" Kurt's voice came again. He had taken to calling Gilbert Teuton, because he believed that he still represented the Order, which was very much alive today. "Are you Ok?"
"Uh, ja."
"Please try to remember. Just concentrate."
Gilbert closed his eyes. He tried to remember that day...
Flashback coming throuuuuugh!
April 5th, 1242
At the frozen Lake Peipus
"Not a good idea, da?"
Teuton smirked, looking at the small violet-eyed Russian in the eye. "I've got you now, Novgorod Republic!" he shouted. The Novgorod Republic smiled; it sent chills down Teuton's back. For some reason, this Personification gave him the willies. Teuton narrowed his bright crimson eyes. There was something seriously wrong with this guy... Oh well. He raised his sword over his head, cloak billowing dramatically in the wind, hot breath coming out in wifts of smoke. He cut the air down vertically, shouting "ATTACK!"
They charged across the empty space between them and the enemy, disturbing the pure white coat of unstepped snow.
He saw a dark look cross the Novgorod Republic's face.
A crack.
Scrunching noises.
Teuton kept charging, not noticing that they were running across a frozen lake, the cracking sounds getting louder-
With a loud CRACK and many surprised yelps, the icy surface broke. Teuton stumbled, tripped, and got his foot stuck deep through the ice. The ice gave into his weight, and suddenly became blind with white and blue, skin feeling as if being stabbed by multiple small knives. He tried screaming, but found himself choking in liquid, precious air escaping with a big bursting bubble. He grasped blindly all around him, movement constricted by freezing water, hand hitting ice hard, pain shooting up his right arm. Just as his vision darkened around the edges, becoming spotted, he felt a small hand lifting him up by his tunic.
Air.
He felt himself being dragged out. He hacked and coughed, lungs filling up with cold air. He suddenly found himself face-to-face with the Novgorod Republic, holding him by his collar.
"Told you it wasn't a good idea, da?"
Then the b###rd tried to choke him, squeezing his neck, cutting the air supply.
He passed out.
When he finally regained consciousness, he was freezing. He was cold beyond belief. So... cold. He promptly passed out again.
The second time he came back around, it felt different. He was still cold, he felt tired and weak, but there was something heavy on him. There was a heat source, too. It smelled of spices, stew, and the forest. With blurry vision, he looked up.
Long blond hair slicked back. Piercing, cold, emotionless blue eyes.
Strong arms pressed him back to the man's chest, and repositioned his black fur cape over his small shoulders. Warmth.
"Sleep."
A command.
Teuton, not having any energy at all, fell asleep, unconsciously snuggling closer to the heat source. He had never been hugged before by anyone, and it felt warm and safe.
OooOooOooOooOooO
Gilbert lounged on the bench in front of the park. He felt emotionally drained.
Had his father, his Vater, actually cared?
Gilbert rubbed his cheeks. They were sticky.
As embarrassing as it is, Gilbert had broken down crying after his session with Kurt the spiritual priest. He cried for a whole hour, using the middle-aged man's shoulder as a hanky. One whole hour of Gilbert bawling his eyes out, Kurt patting his back saying "There there~, it's alright," as the albino cried centuries worth of pent up tears.
After that, he had felt exhausted.
Which now leads him here, sitting down on yet another bench, only this time, it was outside and near the park. Gilbert read the time. 3:30 pm. About an hour left until the World Meeting was supposed to end.
World Meetings. Craziest shiz of the planet. Survive a World Meeting Summit, you can probably survive anything, The Apocalypse included. And Gilbert liked disrupting them, inviting himself in if he ever found out where it was being held. Fortunately for Gilbert, but unfortunately for the World, he always found out. The others were always baffled. Gilbert couldn't figure out why... he was a tactical genius built for war, after all. They all probably thought that he was stupid or something. All fight, no brains. Illiterate.
Oh, if they only took the time to actually get to know him! Gilbert read a lot. They were mostly war books, but he also liked the classics. He and England both liked reading books in other languages to learn their way of speaking, their style and slang, and read foreign books so they could have an idea of how a specific city looked like. Gilbert learned this from Arthur, England. Hey, there's a reason why the guy is famous for being a good spy and having so many made up detectives.
But, anyways, that was not the point. The point was, should he barge in a World Meeting?
Hmm... they were very amusing...
But he was tired.
They had food!
He didn't feel like dealing with so many people today.
Beer~
World Meetings are like war zones.
Aaaaaand the problem with that iiiiiis?
No lies. No smiling unless feeling like it. No laughing unless it's genuine.
One hour or two of lying. One hour of two of fun. Pleeeeaaaaaaseeee?
Ugh, alright! Now shut your pie hole.
Yaaaay~!
…
Did he just lose against himself?
…
Yepp. He did. Now that was VERY sad.
OooOooOooOooOooO
"Helloooooo?" Gilbert's head popped out from behind the door, peering at the meeting.
No one noticed him. Mostly because of the chaos going on inside.
Holy shiz, it's World Brawl 33! Maybe he should sit this one out... Gilbert's lip twitched as an awesome idea came to him.
He took out his phone, and started filming. Lets see... Oh my. He zoomed in on the scene.
France was completely naked, Ohohohon~ing as England chased him around the room wielding a chair shouting profanities too dire to repeat, Scotland cheering the Frenchman on.
Belgium and the Netherlands were caught up in a glaring competition, Luxembourg running around the two in circles looking on the verge of a panic attack.
Spain and Denmark were having an Axe Throwing Competition, using England and France as potential targets for moving target practice.
By the gigantic size of the hole on the brick wall, America and Russia were at it again. Gilbert thought he heard "I'm the f##ing hero Commie Ba###rd!" and a bunch of "Vodkaaaaaa~!" and "Capitalist Pig, become one with Mother Russia, da?" coming from all throughout the city. Gilbert stared at the hole; the clear blue sky and landscape full of skyscrapers could be seen through it. Wait, weren't they on the tenth floor?
Lithuania was trying to get Poland to stop throwing spitballs using a pink glittery straw, at Germany, who kept repeatedly banging his head on the table. North Italy was clinging onto the blond, shouting "Veee~! Protect me Germany!" and "I have relatives living in every single country don't hurt meeeeee! Ve ve veee!" Poor little brother~
Poland's pony (wait, what?) was running rampant, being ridden by North Korea, who was chasing down South Korea, who was shouting "Ponies are made in Korea DA-ZEEEEEE!"
South Italy's voice could barely be heard over the commotion.
"TEA B#### AND PERVY B#### STOP BEING- FRATELLINO! STAY AWAY FROM THE POTATO B####! SPANISH B#### AND ANNOYING-AS-H$$ B#### CAREFUL WHERE YOU THROW THAT STUPID AXE YOU ALMOST HIT ME YOU B####S! GHA! PONY B#### CONTROL YOUR FREAKING SAUSAGE WITH LEGS! OI WHERE-S VODKA B#### AND HERO B####? WHICH F%% B#### STOLE MY BOX OF TOMATOES!"
Gilbert spotted Turkey, Egypt, India, N. Ireland, Ireland, Greenland, and Greece throwing tomatoes and other objects at one another from one side of the room to the other, using the knocked over tables as a barricade of sorts.
Belarus was busy masturbating in a corner, muttering "MarryMeMarryMeMarryMeMarryMe" in a creepy mantra.
Someone had the audacity to superglue Sealand to the ceiling. Unfortunately, they forgot to tape his mouth shut. "SEALAND IS A NATION! RECOGNIZE ME RECOGNIZE MEEEEEE!"
China was silently sipping tea with Japan, who were playing Monopoly. Oh Gods above... that ain't gonna end well.
Hong Kong was busy wiring the building, probably to set it on fire. With fireworks, gasoline, and an unidentifiable object, if he was correct.
Oh look. The Baltics minus Lithuania were taped to the wall. Upside down.
Every member of South America were playing football/soccer with Australia's ill-tempered koala acting as the ball. The koala was trying to bite, maul, amputate, defile, and desecrate any incoming limbs, heads, or private parts.
"AHHHHHHHHH!" Gilbert winced as the koala hit Argentina's head. Wow. Those are really pointy claws...
Wales and New Zealand were arguing about sheep and goats. Seems like all of the UK were here... did they crash in?
Cuba was just standing there, acting as a protective barrier for Canada, who was reassuring his bear Kumajiro. Cuba also had a tomato dripping off his face. He looked pretty ticked off. Oh, must be because Mexico had an armful of tomatoes, and she was also laughing her arse off.
Hungary was attempting to beat (murder) Romania and Bulgaria up with her arsenal of frying pans and skillets. Romania and Bulgaria were fighting her off with paintball guns. They were hitting everyone point blank.
Austria was playing Chopin on his magically portable piano.
Portugal, well, as for Portugal, she was just pointing and laughing at everyone.
Pakistan and Bangladesh were brawling. India, seeing this, tackle-dived Pakistan from behind.
Catalunya was munching on a piece of bread with squeezed tomato, salt, olive oil, and a slice of cheese on top. Prussia raised an eyebrow; did she also crash in? Spain was going to be maaaaad.
Norway had his wand out. Iceland, who was hugging Mr. Puffin, was pleading with Norway not to use it.
Finland and Sweden were making out. In the middle of the room. Smack-dabb in the middle of the Tomato War crossfire. Was that a spotlight and angel-like music choir he was hearing?
Spain, Denmark, and Belarus were now playing target practice with everyone being the target. Spain was officially half way into Conquistador mode.
Switzerland was yelling in three different languages at anyone within range and shooting at anything that moved. BANG! BANG! BABANG! Wait, where did he get the machine gun- TRAKATRAKATRAKATRAKA!
Gilbert closed the door shut, leaning backwards heavily on it. It muffled the sound somewhat... the machine gun was still in usage, though. Gilbert wondered what model it was, and how many bullets it carried. Oh well. He had enough fun just watching... he was also too exhausted to join in. Gilbert was about to turn off the video option of his still filming phone-
He heard a few crashes, and some breaking glass followed closely by-
"Aiya~!"
"I'm the HeRo~!"
"Vodka?"
"B####!"
"Bloody WANKER!"
"RECOGNIZE MEEEEEEEEEE!"
"SHUT YER MOUTH YE STINKIN EEJIT OF A GIT!"
"Pirates were invented in Korea, DA-ZE!"
"Iggy, calm down! Cuz I'm the HeRo~!"
"DON'T CALL ME IGGY! SCOTTLAND, STOP YOUR SNIGGERING!"
"Oh. He's back."
"Ohonhonhon~"
"BLOODY FROG! I WILL SKIN YE ALIVE AN HANG YE FROM DA CEILING BY DA THUMBS AN SLOWLY CASTRATE YE AS YE LOOK ON, AYE!"
"...Nevermin'd. An'yone got an'y whiskey? Strong alcohol? Anythin'?"
"Kolkolkolkolkolkol"
CRASH!
"Maple~"
OooOooOooOooOooO
Gilbert sniggered, watching with amusement on the small screen of his phone as France pranced around the room naked with a rose in his mouth, using ballet to dodge, duck, and spin out of the way of flying objects, tomatoes, Axes, Belarus' knives, a chair, three tables, an incoming pony, more tomatoes, and an angry Brit.
It. Was. Hilarious.
Gilbert's sides hurt from trying hard not to truly laugh for the first time since... well, a long time.
But he didn't. Because he was in a government building. Right outside the Chancellor's door. Who was in a meeting with other World leaders.
Oh. Mein Gott.
Gilbert clamped a rough hand on his mouth, face turning red, when Sealand fell from the ceiling face-first into the largest pile of pony manure he has ever seen.
"Do you need anything?" came a female voice. Gilbert looked up, crimson eye filled with mirth, and found himself looking right at the Chancellor's face. Ooops.
Gilbert straightened up, back stiff, shoulders squared, hands respectfully behind his back – and discreetly pausing the video on his phone. He used to be Prussia, damn it. Militaristic. That was his core as a nation.
The Chancellor of Germany looked at him weirdly. It was only then that Gilbert remembered that he was wearing something casual, dressed more like a teenager. He relaxed his posture, slouching a little. No need to alarm Lutz's Boss. Gilbert gave the Chancellor an award-winning smile, which only made her look at the albino all the more suspicious.
"What are you doing here? You have five minutes to tell me why you are inside a high-level security area before I call security!" The short woman in her late forties glared at him, eyes narrowing.
Gilbert thought hard and fast; now what!? He was only here because he just felt like infiltrating the high-level security building for fun! Think fast, Gil, think veeeeery fast!
Oh. Wait. He got it!
Time for some revenge~
"Saaay Frau Chancellor, are you and the rest of the world leaders interested in watching a video?"
The Chancellor looked warily at Gilbert's cheshire cat grin.
OooOooOooOooOooO
Watching the chaos that was the World Meeting was ten times more hilarious on a big screen.
It. was. AWESOME.
Aaaand you know what was even more awesome? The Boss' reactions!
Slack-jaws, blank-faces, gaping, eyes round as saucers, a few winces, ohmygods and holycraps... even a loud exclamation of "Is that an AXE!? WHERE DID THEY PULL IT OUT FROM!?"
Golden. Just golden. And you know what the best part of it all was? To these modern leaders, the Personifications of the Nations were only young adults who acted childish and immature. That they were picked by some higher being to hold the title, or some other such crap to help them deal with it logically. They weren't immortal. They weren't thousands of years old. They have never seen war, or been in the middle of a scandal. They have no experience in politics. No responsibility. They were innocent children and innocent - yet eccentric - young adults.
And this video helped them prove all that wrong.
Except the childish immature part, but that was beside the point.
Gilbert wanted to humiliate the countries in front of their Bosses, but what Gilbert didn't realize, was that bits and pieces of conversations and comments were also picked up by the camera-phone. And now the World Leaders were rewinding and replaying bits and pieces, trying to make sense of their Nation. For the first time in their careers, they were trying to understand them.
Aiyaaa! Careful! I'm 4000 years old aru!
Veeee! Germany help me! I don't wanna be separated from fratello for centuries agaiiiin!
Am I Catholic or Protestant?
BRITAIN YOU DESTROYED MI POOR ARMADA!
Oh crap DUCK!
AYE! CAME FER MORE YE SPANISH FILTH!?
America? Where's America? WE NEED YOUR STRENGTH NOW!
Switzerland don't- BANG! BANG! ...shoot Pirate England and Conquistador Spain...
GIMME BACK TEXAAAAS!
THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE SHALL RULE THE EARTH!
I'M THE BLOODY UNITED KINGDOM DAMMIT!
FRENCH EMPIRE!
CHINESE EMPIRE!
SPANISH EMPIRE!
MONGOL EMPIRE!
AUSTRIA-HUNGARY, BIATCHES!
British empire.
…
Oh Maple.
Da? Become one with Mother Russia? USSR USSR USSR USSR
Well, fudge. EVERYONE RUN FOR THEIR LIIIIIVES!
By this point, Gilbert was practically rolling on the floor laughing his lungs out. Oh Gott, this was golden! He laughed like never before, loud and sonorous, coming from the depths of his stomach. No Kesese crap, or smirking. Wait, was that Greece Turkey just pushed out through the gaping America-and-Russia shaped hole in the wall? Another wave of hilarity hit Gilbert as Hungary's flying frying pan hit Turkey in the head, causing him to stumble forwards, and follow right behind Greece off the building.
The leaders just stared at him. Oh, right. They weren't there for most of these events like he was. Plus, being a Nation meant that you weren't exactly sane, specially after all of the shiz you get put through.
So yeah, Gilbert found it rather hilarious. Screw the Bosses. He was gonna laugh his arse off if he wanted to.
Plus, the countries were gonna get one big, huge, scolding! Or not. Maybe the Bosses were going to have to rethink that, specially after what they saw. Should Gilbert tell them that it was against a Nation's nature to go against his or her boss, unless during anarchy or a revolution?
...
Nah.
OooOooOooOooOooO
Gilbert whistled happily, walking the streets of Berlin again.
Today was turning out to be the best birthday ever!
He felt like a large weight was lifted from his shoulders after he talked with Kurt the priest.
He felt something undescribable after he remembered what happened after the battle at the frozen lake.
He cried one thousand years worth of tears, and had a nonjudgemental shoulder comforting him all the way.
He was wished happy birthday for the first time in a long time by the lovely Anna.
He got a cake, too!
He got excellent live entertainment, and got to watch it again on the big screen!
He laughed. He actually, truly, genuinely laughed!
The clock read 5:30 pm. It was getting dark, too. The sun was starting to set, engulfing the winter sky in light pink, blue, and a ball of orange hanging low over the city. It was a beautiful view, specially with all those clouds swirling around, soaking in the colors.
He heard music playing. It sounded like... a flute. Curious, Gilbert followed the sound, and ended up at the park once again. There, sitting on a bench, was a thirty-something-year-old homeless man playing the flute, his jeans and clothes ripped, and wearing about four layers of jackets. There was a frayed hat that looked as if its seen better days laying on the ground, two coins in it.
Gilbert listened him play; he was flat on some notes, and he was definitely no Fritz, but he wasn't that bad either. It sort of reminded him of the time he tried to learn to play the flute. Flat notes, ear-splitting shrieks, getting stabbed more than once in the gut, dropping it on his foot... Ah, good times, good times.
Too bad the flute seemed to hate him with a passion and was secretly plotting for his demise. Old Fritz forbid him from touching a flute ever again, both for his own safety, and the safety of others' hearing. Gilbert completely gave up on music... until the day he picked up a violin, that is. Old Fritz said that he was a natural, very talented. Him, Gilbert Beilschmidt, talented with an instrument. The thought is almost laughable. Which is why Gilbert never told anyone, not even his brother.
He missed his violin. Old Fritz had given him one for his birthday, and he treasured it, but was unfortunately destroyed in a bombing during World War II.
Gilbert listened to the song the man was playing, until the very end. Feeling generous, Gilbert dug inside his pockets for some money, and tipped the man 30 euros. He looked as if he needed them, anyways.
The man gasped. "Gott bless you!" he said happily, grateful. Gilbert shrugged.
"No problem. The song reminded me of something." And he left, hands dug in deeply in his hoodie pockets, whistling some song he heard on the radio last week.
OooOooOooOooOooO
It was six o'clock pm.
With a sudden burst of inspiration, Gilbert went home. He hadn't eaten anything at all, all day long, and he was starving. It was a good thing that he remembered that there was a cake waiting for him at home. So, when Gilbert arrived at his brother's empty house, the first thing he did was take out the cake from the fridge, bring it upstairs, and leave it on the table.
Gilbert stared at the now unboxed cake, sitting there in all its sugary and chocolatey glory.
He became very aware of how silent the house was. All that was heard was the distant ticking of the grandfather clock Ludwig had in the living room. It was eerie and... depressing. Gilbert fingered his Iron Cross, sitting at the empty table in silence. It was fun being alone, he kept repeating himself for years like a mantra. Yes. It was fun being alone... hasn't he proved that today?
The slow ticking of the grandfather clock was starting to rub Gilbert the wrong way.
"Happy Birthday to me..." he sung weakly, unsure. "Happy Birthday to me... Happy Birthday dear, uh, me-ee, Happy Birthday... to... me..." Oh, this was just pathetic. It made the silence even more awkward.
...Maybe he could go to Austria's house? He could call West, and Hungary was bound to be there too! Or maybe he could invite Spain and France! They could all go for a drink with England and Denmark!
Gilbert honestly wouldn't mind sharing his cake. He could show up at Prissy Austria's house, say something about poison-testing and him being the perfect guinea pig, get bashed in the head by a flying frying pan, drag West along, and they could all have cake!
That'd be nice...
Gilbert groaned, messing up his silver-white hair. After another moment of silence, he decided to check his cell phone for messages. Nothing. No Ludwig, no Elizabeta, no Francis, no Antonio, no Roderich (though he didn't expect anything from him), no Mattie (but he had a pass, unlike the others. Mattie only celebrated his family's birthday) no Italies, no UK, no Nordics, no Europe, no Africa, no Mars, no no one.
Maybe he could go out and buy himself something, a birthday gift for him by him.
He did miss the violin...
His phone vibrated, indicating that he had a new message. Gilbert opened it immediately, maybe, hoping, that maybe...
Bruder, I'll be coming home late today.
I'll be staying at Roderich's place for supper
to discuss work. Please don't disturb me, or
anyone else, as it is important.
Don't you dare blow up the house.
Ludwig
Gilbert stared at the text. He burst out in loud, uncontrollable laughter.
"Oh West, that was totally not on purpose," he gasped, sniggering. "Besides, I only blew up the kitchen - not the house - and it only happened once!" Gilbert chuckled weakly. His throat felt dry, and his eyes itched. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, his heart gave a small, painful throb, and his lip trembled. He closed his eyes, his chuckling gradually turning into a sniffle, which turned into quiet sobbing.
He desperately rubbed his eyes, trying to stop crying, to stop feeling like this.
Because Gilbert Beilschmidt didn't cry, ever.
Because Gilbert Beilschmidt couldn't feel.
Gilbert cried himself to sleep that night, at the kitchen table. It would be many hours later that Ludwig would enter the house, and see his older brother sleeping, face flushed, trembling slightly, and using his arms as a make-shift pillow. Ludwig would sigh, disappear somewhere in the house for a moment, and return with a thick, black, furry blanket.
It would be then, as he draped the albino's shoulders under the blanket, that he would notice one single slice of uneaten chocolate cake, an unlit rainbow candle sticking out of a plump blackberry.