The same nausea, he settles down for a bit, appreciating the aesthetic appeal of grass.
Its lighter here then Matthew's mindscape. But looks like it's going to rain.
Looking up from his huddled spot on the ground is a dream but it's too generic for him to obtain the identity of his new host.
He takes out the remote and fiddles with a few buttons until the display reads out dots. Europe is asleep, or about to be asleep.
He rubs his face, the remote on his lap. So far this was every bit the adventure he had been promised. He tries not to smile but it's so hard.
Thrills! Chills! Battles to the death! With his family even!
Everything a hero could want and more.
He takes a deep breath and looks around. Tall grass, the land is flat and lacks trees. Small, tiny houses litter the landscape. Pocketing the remote he walks around. Plenty of dots to skip around to if the heat gets too much, proverbially speaking.
The houses barely come up to his knees and some have little chimneys with smoke coming out of them. But there are no doors or windows. The roofs are covered in moss and would blend into the landscape if one was taller or on a ridge of some kind looking down. For what this landscape lacks in trees it has in rocks and more rocks.
To the North: Rocks and the sound of water breaking.
To the East and West: Rocks
South: Where he came from.
Well this was boring.
He tries not to pout. His brother spoiled him a little.
No adventure here. But he can't just leave without knowing who this is.
Simply will not do.
The only thing in abundance is grass but since he's been travelling through it without as much as a flash of light that can't be it. So he slaps a house. Pay dirt.
He touches the house making prolonged contact.
He's so cold, why was it so cold. Someone fetch him a snuggie.
This must be an infant nation memory because his arms are so chubby and tiny. Oh cool, he's a baby nation! Which one. The view moves around, he's on a boat. He can hear the creaking sounds of a boat in motion. Boots, they walk by,
Hey wait a second I SAID I WAS COLD
DON'T MAKE ME MAD YOU WON'T…notice if I'm mad. Damn it.
Well, I'm with the kid, just keep crying kid. Maybe someone will…
Hey there we go.
Warm hands on his face.
It's Norway; well…he thinks so...
Jesus was that a beard?
The hairier version of the personification of Norway is holding him, smiling.
The memory ends.
That narrows it down a lot. Not many people it could be then.
Looking around there isn't much, while it would be fun to run around in Iceland's head for a few hours it wouldn't be much to look at.
He's about to press the button when he feels the breath on his neck. He looks behind him.
Nothing.
At least that he can see.
However he can hear breathing, near him. On his neck.
He makes to brush it off, and feels fur.
And then giggling.
He's seen enough horror movies to know where this is going.
So he runs.
Like the heroines of horror movies, logic escapes him. Instead of skipping to the next mind he runs. Jumping the small houses and looking around.
A tall pile of rocks is ahead. Something is growing on top of it but he'll worry about that in a second.
Sprinting he reaches the top of it.
Looking around the base while trying to catch his breath there are things pushing the tall grass aside. The things are clearly physical enough to do things.
The rocks are moss and grass covered. Like everything else around here. The unique thing is a small cherry blossom tree, like one of Kiku's small bonsai trees. What truly makes this tree unique is that it's pulsating pink.
Well, he was nothing if not curious. He touches the tree bark.
It's so boring here; he's looking outside the window. It's somewhere mountainous. If he threw himself out of the window would it count as an international incident?
Switzerland tries to attack Iceland, Iceland throws self out window. The look on his brothers' faces would be hilarious, well…Denmark and Finland's. Until Denmark started to talk about something so asinine that-
Here he comes, he's looking at the door way, Norway, now looking more like Alfred is used to, is talking to Switzerland.
Grumpy faces all around, he'll fit right in.
That is until a dainty hand is held out in front of him. With short nails painted a pale peach. He can tell they're the hands of someone who doesn't regularly farm. Making him momentarily ashamed of his own cut up hands.
"I'm not sure we've properly met before, I'm the Principality of Liechtenstein."
Her eyes look like ocean water.
Which makes him laugh. She's doubly land locked.
She's confused but still smiling.
The next memory is cold, almost like the baby memory but he can tell that this time Iceland is wearing cloths. Liechtenstein is there nearer to the cliffs, looking down.
"There's so many!"
They can't get too close, but she wanted to see them, the puffins, just for a quick second.
"Come! Before they realize they are being watched!"
Alfred isn't sure he's ever heard Iceland yell before. Liechtenstein, bundled up and red faced from the cold comes to him, his heart speeds up.
The next one is laced with frustration.
He's staring at necklaces.
The shop helper is waiting patiently for him to pick.
He knows he won't be happy with anything he picks so why can't he just pick one.
"This one." He says. He wants nothing more than to know she'll like it.
But the next memory isn't of him giving her the necklace as Alfred expects it's of a dark room, raining outside, thunder.
A small prayer to a God Alfred doesn't know and a sharp pain in his foot as he stumbles over a box on the floor.
Some cursing.
Some shame.
The box was for her birthday but he never got the courage to send it to her. Mr. Puffin probably put it there.
The next memory is of how her lips taste like strawberries.
That is the point at which Alfred withdraws his hand.
His senses slowly return to the sound of laughter all around him.
It was officially too creepy to handle and he's gone.
The invisible creatures that guard Iceland's mind are a mixture of hidden-folk and cats. I almost forgot the Norway memory in this re-write! Can't have that. Bearded Viking Norway, totally recommend for any story 10/10.