Chapter 2: Damn-mark

"So, bike riding." Denmark set his fork down on his plate and gazed at the fellow Nordics with a miraculously straight countenance. He clasped his hands in front of him on the table before continuing, though he almost cracked a smile upon glancing at Sweden, who grimaced just three words into whatever Denmark was about to say.

That, or Sweden was just bothered by being in Denmark's house. Denmark's house—a large, old house in downtown Copenhagen— was relatively clean, and the clutter was not terrible. His house did look very lived in, however, with his usual coat slung over a chair on the foyer, and soccer cleats on the kitchen counter. If all had gone according to plan, they'd still be at Sweden's house on his invitation, but Denmark dragged them to Copenhagen because he wanted to ride a bike…and other stuff too. He promised it would only be for a day, and then they'd return to Sweden. Norway and Finland were surprised to see that Sweden did not resist Denmark's idiotic whim, and simply agreed, though Sweden regretted it.

"What is your opinion of bike riding? Let's start with you, Finland." Denmark winked at Finland.

"Bike riding?" Finland smiled curiously. "Well, it's a great way to save energy and good exercise. But personally, I don't like it much. I fell one time and broke my arm. Since then, I kind of stray away from bikes. Remember that, Sweden?"

"'Course." Sweden muttered. That was a most unfortunate occasion. Sweden nearly sawed his thumb off while making a table when he heard the screaming from outside, prompting the worst-case scenario of Finland being stabbed to death to take hold of his convictions. Upon running outside, Sweden saw no blood; instead, Finland's arm twisted grotesquely. Sweden was typically resistant to nausea-inducing phenomena, but the memory of that arm elicited mild queasiness within him.

"Well, you probably fell because you had no idea what you were doing." Denmark said flatly, dropping all pretense. "Biking is like the easiest thing ever, I mean come on. I practically invented cycling."

Finland appeared put off by the comment, but ever-polite, but said nothing more and exchanged a glance with Sweden, who inconspicuously rolled his eyes.

"Next—Norway." Denmark pointed to Norway.

"I am indifferent to cycling." Norway said blankly. Norway didn't really care. He never did. Norway wasn't lazy, but he wasn't inclined to do physical activity for the fun of it. In fact, there was nothing fun about exercise. The sweat, the pain, the feeling of one's own breath cutting the lungs up from the inside.

"Then you have problems." Denmark snapped. "What about you, Iceland?"

"It's fun to go down hills." Iceland said with a shrug. Denmark's eyes lit up and he now stared at Iceland expectantly, so Iceland decided to make up some stuff to appease Denmark. "And it's relaxing, I think. Also, it's a convenient way to get to places if you're too lazy to drive."

"Or, in your case, can't drive by law." Norway added.

"I agree, Iceland!" Denmark exclaimed, pounding a fist on the table. Sweden cleared his throat loudly in offense, but Denmark did not notice. "Biking is great. I love it, man. Sweden! Enlighten us with your opinion."

"'T's fine." Sweden grunted. He reflexively adjusted his glasses. "Fun 'n nice weather."

"Ah, define 'nice weather'." Denmark pressed, intrigued. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing very slightly.

"No precip'tation." Sweden said mechanically, as if it was obvious. It was. For emphasis, he pointed to the window. Past the glass was a warm, setting sun.

"Yes, yes." Denmark nodded spastically, and shoved a forkful of dinner in his mouth. He nearly choked; almost half of his plate was in his mouth right now. Nobody paid attention to his coughing.

While Denmark recovered from his near death experience, he added, "We're going out on the town tomorrow. So yeah, if you don't bike ride, you'll look like a loser. But that's not my problem, right? Anyway—you people better be outside at noon, ready to go, or else." Denmark then decided he had to go to a party at his friend's house, and left the other four Nordics in his house alone.

"I appreciate the invitation, but he's not exactly a great host." Finland observed, stifling a yawn. There were no Finnish channels on Danish television, and because Finnish is the language that is the most different of the other Nordic languages (it wasn't even considered a Norse language—Fenno-Urgic), mutual intelligibility was nonexistent. Finland sank deeper into the couch's plushy cushions, smiling cheerfully. At least Denmark had comfortable furniture.

"It's Denmark. Did you expect anything else?" Norway muttered mutinously, sitting between Sweden and Iceland on the couch. "Sweden, why did you let him drag us here?"

"P'ntless t' argue with 'im." Sweden replied.

"I hate Denmark." Norway muttered darkly.

"Land or man?" Finland asked with a bashful chuckle.

"Both." Norway said coolly.

;

;

It was sunny day in Copenhagen. Sweden quickly executed his premeditated separation from the group before they walked into the heart of the city. Last night, Sweden spent an hour devising an alibi for his absence if Denmark demanded an explanation as to why he deviated from the group. Sweden planned to pull the "I was distracted by a store" card—a viable excuse, given Sweden's window-shopping habits. Finland caught wind of the plan, and since he was a bit hurt by Denmark's rude comment about his lack of cycling skills, and tagged along with Sweden, leaving Norway and Iceland with Denmark…again.

Denmark, of course, forced Norway and Iceland to rent bikes—he even went so far as to pay for them. As expected, Norway politely declined, but he found himself gripping the handlebars of a bike within five minutes in hopes of appeasing Denmark, who was fired threats at him if he didn't cycle. Norway nearly ran into people a few times with the bike because he was lost in thought. Meanwhile, Iceland had no problem navigating the streets—the real challenge was keeping up with Denmark, whose erratic cycling posed dangers for pedestrians and bikers alike. He ignored traffic laws, wove through crowds, and ignored the pleas of his common sense, particularly when he spotted a group of pretty women across the street.

Denmark, ever the ladykiller, had to show off. After a few winks and sexy hair tousling he did to himself, he succeeded in catching their attention, and Denmark decided to dazzle the girls with his mad biking skills. Because he was Danish, he was a biking pro, especially after riding around Copenhagen for years. In that attempt of doing whatever he was doing with the bike (Norway mentioned to Iceland that it looked like Denmark was riding a rogue bull, which drew an amused snort from Iceland), something went wrong, and Denmark flipped over as the bike slipped out from under him. With a smack, he unceremoniously landed on his back. Iceland winced at the sheer shock on Denmark's face when he couldn't breathe, having had the air knocked out of him by an unfortunate fall on concrete.

Upon seeing Denmark's suffering, albeit temporary suffering, a loud "Ha!" escaped from Norway, who succumbed to quiet, yet uncontrollable laughter shortly after. Iceland eyed his older brother curiously. He had never seen Norway like this. Norway was about to fall on the street, weakened by mirth and the hilarity of the situation. Tears brimmed in his eyes, as he leaned back and forth clutching his stomach. His laugh had gone silent, as he was out of breath. He was attracting stares from bystanders. Iceland, feeling increasingly awkward, prodded his brother in the shoulder.

"Ah…Norway?" he said softly. "It's not that funny."

Denmark was now on hands and knees, coughing and gasping for breath at the same time. He groaned as he stood to full height, placing a hand on his back. He gingerly bent over and pulled the bike upright, leaning heavily on it.

"Really, Norway? Are you serious right now?" Denmark demanded, agitated. His eyes were wide and he was waving his arms around helplessly.

"I'd say he's anything but serious right now, Denmark." Iceland said, pointing at Norway, whose attempts to stop smiling were futile.

Norway was still grinning, and while his laughter had faded he now tried to catch his breath. Norway turned on his heel and began walking down the street with a spring in his step. Iceland tagged along and Denmark limped after them. Oh, he was going to get back at Norway—when his self-esteem stopped smarting and the pain in his chest went away.

"Where'd Sweden and Finland go?" Denmark asked hoarsely, limping in step with Iceland and Norway.

At the mere question, Norway put a hand over his mouth to hide an ill suppressed smirk. Iceland took note of this, and found himself a little unnerved— Norway had a childishly sadistic side to him. The look of pure glee on his face at observing Denmark's misery would forever remain in mind. Tears shimmering in cadet blue eyes, pallid cheeks lit up with cheerful flush, smile of straight, white teeth exposed to all in a jubilant smile. That was all gone. Norway was now straight faced, eyelids falling over his dull eyes, giving him a lackadaisical appearance. He was pale again. What a transformation. Iceland was relieved to have Denmark hobbling between them, unsteady on his shaking legs.

"Sweden and Finland should be around here somewhere," Iceland said thoughtfully. He spotted them standing by a lamppost. Sweden was rifled through the cash in his wallet, frowning, and Finland, probably humming a cheery song, watched the natives as he nibbles on salmiakki. Finland devoured salmiakki in nauseating amounts, and Iceland wondered how he and his body could handle taste of death. The taste on its way out was three times as vile—this a young Iceland learned the hard way, by eating too much salmiakki at once. The memory sent shudders down Iceland's spine.

"Ugh, Norway, I think I'm going to die." Denmark said with a tremulous laugh. He wiped sweat from his brow and took a shallow breath. Norway eyed Denmark curiously, scowling. He looked up as seagulls flew overhead against the markedly blue sky. Looking around at the buildings painted in bright colors, standing next to each other, Iceland was reminded of cakes and other flavorful pastries. Boats floated upon the smooth waters in the canals. He was reminded a little of Reykjavik, but the reminder was not strong enough to tug at his heartstrings to make him miss Iceland. He did miss the peace quiet of solitude, but all would be calm upon returning to Sweden.

"Are you in that much pain?" Norway questioned.

"It feels more like my guts are writhing around inside me." Denmark explained. "Hella uncomfortable. Want to feel what it's like? I can throw you on the ground right now."

"No, thank you." Norway said coolly. The skin around his eyes tightened. Without another word, he rode ahead of Denmark, heading toward Sweden and Finland, but Iceland stayed behind, watching Denmark, who looked like he was about to keel over. He walking his bike, looking agonized. The smile he forced on his face wavered between a baring of teeth and an actual smile, tremulous as the legs he stood on.

"Um…are you alright?" Iceland asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Y-Yeah." Denmark forced a laugh and mounted his bicycle, speeding ahead of Iceland and crossing the street (he was nearly slammed by a car) to rendezvous with Finland, Sweden, and Norway. Iceland was more civil and followed traffic laws, and Norway was watching him the whole time as he crossed the street. This immediately brought Iceland an uneasy feeling.

"I hope Denmark serves as a lesson to you." Norway said with a nod. "That idiot was nearly killed. You saw it, right?"

"Well, I just saw him almost become roadkill. But also I saw the time he fell of his bike. Does that count, too?" Iceland took note of Norway's reaction. He pressed his lips tightly together to stop a smile, but he saw the corners of his mouth curve upward a bit.

"Yes." Norway agreed. He glanced at Denmark, leaning on Sweden for support. Sweden was still counting his money, and Finland was patting Denmark on the back, offering him salmiakki.

"Ew." Iceland murmured.

"Do you not like salmiakki?" Norway questioned. "I thought you did."

"I used to love it. Now I don't." Iceland said. A look of understanding passed over Norway's typically expressionless countenance.

"Hm— I remember that day." Norway said tersely.

"Don't remind me." Iceland said. The memory made him feel queasy.

They returned their bike to the rental racks and the five of them trekked back to Denmark's house. Denmark had made a recovery, though he still walked awkwardly and complained about a headache, which piqued Sweden and Finland's interests. So, Iceland gave them a fairly detailed description of Iceland's wipeout. Finland didn't laugh, but there was a glint of happiness in his pale eyes when Iceland described the incident to them. Sweden almost smiled, but his eyes narrowed in a most devious fashion upon hearing Iceland's account of Denmark's failure.

"Didja by any ch'nce get t' see the' ladies' reactions?" Sweden inquired. At this point, Denmark made a "Hmph!" noise and decided to obstinately look somewhere else.

"No." Iceland shook his head. However, that would've been an interesting thing to see. Especially after all that hair-tousling, winking, and other seductive actions done shamelessly on Denmark's part.

"I did." Norway put in. Sweden and Finland both turned to look at him, spark of intrigue lighting their eyes up.

"Is that why you were laughing so hard?" Iceland asked. He truly wondered what made Iceland laugh so uncontrollably. It was a reserved laughing frenzy—Norway was not physically able to reach the Denmark's level of hysteria Iceland had witnessed two days ago upon mentioning his interest in tattoos, with the hyena laughter and the rolling around on the ground like a dog, or a turtle flipped on its back.

"No, it was Denmark's fall." Norway said blankly. "But the girls had a similar reaction to me."

"Norway, your reaction was little uncalled for." Finland said with a baffled smile. "Nobody could've reacted that way except you…which is worrisome."

"Fine." Norway snorted. "Two of them gasped and appeared to foster worry for Denmark, and the other two lost interest and left."

"Norge's a bit sadistic, 't seems." Sweden remarked, flashing Norway one of his rare smiles. Finland nodded in agreement. Iceland gave a diffident little smile—he wasn't exactly thrilled to find out that his brother had a trait of sadism that was shared by Russia. As for Norway, he maintained a cool demeanor, not denying or verifying Sweden's observation with either a word or gesture. Denmark burned with humiliation, but kept his mouth shut for once—anything he said would be used against him.

Denmark's silence put Sweden in a noticeably better mood, to the point where Finland noticed a new energy to Sweden's strides. Finland himself was little pleased with Denmark's epic failure. After that comment Denmark made, he couldn't help but feel that Denmark wholly deserved it, even though Finland had inwardly forgiven him. Regardless, the five took the short flight back to Stockholm, and within three hours they were situated comfortably in Sweden's tranquil countryside cottage.

Despite the many salmiakki horror stories I've heard, I still want to try it.