Chapter 4: Grand Theft Auto


That night, a storm blew in from the south, cold air, heavy rains, and gusts of wind in tow. Rain pulsed the windows lightning seared across the sky.

In contrast to the wild weather, the five Nordics lounged in Norway's living room, watching some low-budget Norwegian soap opera—"watching" being too loose a term. Sweden sat in a comfortable armchair, eyes glazed over, soon to be asleep, despite the racket the storm made. Speaking of racket…

Denmark, sprawled out on the couch, incessantly spewed comments about spewed about the cliché plot: "Wait, so she is pregnant with her boss' baby but her husband and her other boyfriend think it's theirs? This is stupid" followed by "Oh, she's actually cute" or "Ha, douche." These comments, inane though they were, communicated the gist of the soap to Finland and Iceland, who didn't understand a word of the program. Finland peacefully sat on the floor, watching the weather outside, which proved to be much more entertaining than the stupid soap opera. Iceland, who had the loveseat to himself, was at least comfortable while he tried to watch this dumb soap opera. The women weren't particularly pretty, either, and the acting was abysmal. Then again, soap operas like that existed in his homeland. Luckily, their entertainment was cut short as they were plunged into sudden darkness by an unpredictable and unforeseen power outage brought on by the violent storm.

"Power's out." Iceland announced.

"Duh." Denmark said with a dramatic eye roll. He turned to the calm, deadpan host and asked, "Now what?"

"Denmark, I just thought—do you know how to drive?" Finland asked brightly. An awkward, markedly tense silence ensued Finland's innocuous question. Denmark gave him an indecipherable, slightly tense look before running a hand through his hair as he constructed an answer.

"Technically. I mean, I almost invented driving."

"'Techinc'lly?'" Sweden repeated, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"I thought it was cycling that you invented." Norway pointed out in a mocking tone. Denmark winked at him for no apparent reason. Norway, accustomed to these antics, ignored him.

"That too. Anyway, yeah, I know how to drive. It's a cinch." Denmark gave a hoot of condescending laughter and waved a hand in the air. "But I don't have my license. I don't need it. I've got bikes and buses to take me everywhere I need to go. Plus, driving is boring."

"How'd y' know th't?" Sweden prompted, gazing at Denmark blankly.

"Driving has the effect of a narcotic." Denmark said flatly. "I would know. I'm friends with Netherlands."

"How'd y' know if y've never driven?" Sweden repeated, this time with more force.

"I have!" Denmark said defensively. "As I said, I invented driving."

"'F you invented it, then why don't you 'ave a license?" Sweden pressed. Denmark was beginning to crack, but he returned Sweden's gaze with a glower.

"Because I live in Copenhagen." Denmark snapped. "That license would be as useful as…a broken condom."

Norway scoffed and waved a hand repeatedly, but in a graceful, restrained manner that dismissed Denmark. Finland groaned at the comparison and Sweden didn't react. It was too adolescent to be funny or worth acknowledging. Therefore, Sweden let the comparison pass right over him.

"Terrible comparison— and I disagree. A driver's license is a basic necessity." Norway said impassively. "I'd say that you have absolutely no idea how to drive. Am I right?"

Denmark's bulbous, balloon-like ego had been popped by Norway's astute observation. Following the ego deflation was the physical deflation, marked by Denmark slumping against the cushions of the couch and letting his face fall into a pitiful pout. Regardless, he gave the four of them a loathing, intimidating lower. Norway was correct. Denmark had never even been in the driver's seat before. His hand hadn't touched a steering wheel. Denmark remained unconvinced that a driver's license was necessary because he had public transportation at his disposal and possessed a natural pair of hardy, muscular legs to carry him everywhere he needed to go. Plus, he enjoyed the exercise and the feeling of accomplishment that welled up inside him when he completed a walk to the other side of the city. It was such a grand feeling that he often rewarded himself with a drink or twenty, usually the latter.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Denmark said begrudgingly.

"Oh, then we have to teach you how." Finland said brightly. From his pocket, he withdrew a stiff, rectangular piece of plastic and thrust it into Denmark's hands. It was Finland's driver's license, featuring an elated, smiling Finland and more info that Denmark didn't care about or already knew. He flung it back at Finland, hitting Finland squarely in the chest. Finland fumbled for the card and caught it between his fingers.

"Don't you want a nice picture of yourself on it?" Finland said, appealing to Denmark's narcissism. He flashed his EU driver's license once again before pocketing it, and it caught the light from the lightning that flickered outside. A gleam erupted on the license for a quarter second.

"If I want to see pics of myself being awesome, I go to my Facebook." Denmark said pointedly. He gave a contemptuous snort. With over three thousand tagged pictures, he could always have something to look at if he felt like being narcissistic.

"Well, having a driver's license increases awesomeness by about twenty five point seven percent." Finland said enthusiastically. "Plus, driving is fun!"

"So is cycling." Denmark snapped. For many, many years, Denmark had fostered an overwhelming, ardent, borderline unhealthy love for biking.

"Mmm," Finland narrowed his eyes and looked at Denmark askance, thinking of a way to phrase his loathe of bikes in a tactful, inoffensive manner. Denmark already had a gloomy stormcloud lingering above his head, and Finland wanted to avoid stirring up a tornado. So, he gave a fairly 'neutral' response: "I beg to differ."

"As I've said before, you hate biking because you suck at it. A guy without legs could ride a bike better than you."

Finland bit his tongue to keep a snarky remark from lashing out, but gave up. Two insults from the same person simply incensed Finland. He was a generally happy person, but that didn't mean he had to take other people's crap. He'd done that with Russia too many times.

"At least I can drive." Finland said stonily, taking on a Norway-like tone. "Not only that, I am not drunk ninety percent of the time and in Helsinki we're civilized enough to not have to rely on cheap bikes."

Iceland noticed Sweden's eyebrows flicker upward, a sign that he was satisfied—and agreed—with Finland's observation.

Denmark's vivid azure eyes went wide. "You take that back, or I will beat you with…" Denmark seized the TV remote and held it high over his head. "This TV remote can be shoved right into your eye socket if you'd like. I mean, I can definitely make it work. I've piled people up on my axe like a shish kebab before."

That comment actually coaxed dry laugh from Iceland, who genuinely found his comment funny, even though he was aware that his chuckled only added to the tension congealing in the space between Finland and Denmark, both on the verge of hitting incensement.

"You never insult my homeland." Denmark spat.

Finland stood up, and Denmark immediately followed suit. Finland squared his shoulders as Denmark towered over him, brandishing that TV remote dangerously overhead in slow, haunting circles. Then, Denmark took a half step back, as if he had calmed down. Finland relaxed, only to hear an earsplitting smack with complementary pain that radiated in his upper arm.

Before Denmark could sit back down, and before Finland could lift his sleeve to inspect the damage, Sweden lunged forward, without getting out of his chair, and punched Denmark in the leg, bringing him to the floor.

"Dead legged," Finland smirked. And then, he nodded at Sweden, who nodded back.

Finland hid his horror as a purple bruise bloomed on his upper arm, clearly visible under the white skin, pale with the impact from the remote.

"Calm down, both you." Norway scowled had presented itself on his pale countenance. If they continued to act this way he'd force all of them out in the pouring rain.

"Denmark's learning t' drive t'morrow." Sweden's verdict was final, and even Denmark was smart enough to keep his opinions and insults to himself. Because, unlike Finland, Sweden would counter with twofold force if Denmark dared to even lay a finger on him. He was that type of the person, the kind of person that had many surprising personality traits sheathed by a layer of thick skin.

"I hate all of you." Denmark muttered. He caught Iceland's uneasy glance and added, "Except you, Iceland. You're a good kid. Nothing like your brother."

Iceland didn't really smile. Instead, he gave Denmark a questioning look. Iceland's kiss-ass detector was screaming in his head.

"Such a good kid, yes." Denmark said, smiling graciously. "Why don't you go get me a beer?"

"No." Iceland said, frowning. "That's your problem."

The smile fell from Denmark's face like a lead weight. With a melodramatic sigh, he rolled over on his side to face the cushion and slammed Norway off the couch with his leg. Actually, Norway leaped off the couch as soon as Denmark touched him, and took his place next to Iceland, leaving a space of about two feet between them. He stifled a yawn and moved his sleeve up, revealing a watch on his wrist. The time read eleven-oh-two.

The return of electricity put that stupid program back on, which nearly bored them to sleep.

"I'm going to bed." Norway said, rising from his place on the loveseat. "Rooms are upstairs."

"G'night." Sweden responded.

Denmark rolled over onto his back and muttered something under his breath is what was presumably Danish. For a moment, Iceland noticed a mischief materialize on Norway's face once he noticed Denmark was asleep, but continued out of the room and headed up the stairs. Finland followed soon after, and Sweden was eventually unconscious in the armchair and showed no signs of waking up.

As for Iceland, who possessed a wacky circadian rhythm due to adolescence, decided to wander around the house. The storm smoldered outside, and the power was still out. The temperature remained stable and cool throughout the house. An eerie, still silence deafened Iceland. His footsteps sounded like whispers against the stairs, and brought a sensation of being watched every time he passed by a doorway. Now that it was nighttime, Norway's house was genuinely creepy.

The following morning, Denmark dumped himself in the front seat of Norway's navy blue sedan, eyes moving over the dials and meters on the dashboard with a vaguely scornful glint to his eye. He scoffed and folded his arms over his chest in an act of puerile indignation.

"First things first—seatbelt." Norway said from the back seat. He was strapped comfortably between Finland and Iceland and would give all directions from the back while Sweden manned the front seat, prepared to deal with any unnecessary situations that may arise. Sweden plunked the keys in Denmark's open hand and vaguely gestured toward the ignition.

Denmark mumbled something and threw a mutinous look his way before jamming the key in and jerking the ignition violent to turn the car on. Finally, Denmark put his seatbelt on. Denmark clawed at it exaggeratedly but said nothing. Norway calmly pointed to the odd stick protruding from the base of the steering wheel.

"Flick that stick up to signal left and down for right. It is compulsory to signal when turning or changing lanes." Norway instructed coolly. "You know which pedal is acceleration and brake, I presume?"

"Yeah. The one on the left is brake, the one on the right gas." He muttered. He pointed to a stick to his right and said, "This is for changing the gears."

"Right." Sweden said. "T' change the gear, put a foot firmly on th' brake and then switch 't."

"If you don't hold the brake, you'll break the transmission." Finland piped up. Finland was going to point the play on words in his previous sentence, but refrained from doing so. "Now put the car in drive. It's in park right now."

"I'm not stupid." Denmark snapped. He did as told and glanced at Sweden and Norway, eyebrows raised expectantly, awaiting more directions. He drummed his fingers on the steering while impatiently. And simply because they hadn't died yet, this was a success. It dawned on Iceland that allowing Denmark to drive for the first time with four other people in the car was a suicidal act. For a moment, panicked wracked Iceland—he still had time to escape. Oddly enough, everyone else appeared to be calm and treated this as a commonplace occurrence. It was not only illegal in several ways—they could all land in prison—the situation was also suicidal.

"Put pressure on the accelerator with your right foot—" Norway said.

"Be quiet, I know what I'm doing." Denmark huffed. Bossy and demanding by nature, he disregarded orders from others. But in this case, he didn't have much of a choice, since Norway and Sweden were in the car and both were steadfast and just as unyielding to orders as Denmark. Norway and Sweden exchanged indecipherable glances. Iceland wondered how they managed to get any points, feelings, or thoughts across with those glances. Their expressions were cadaverously mask-like and still. Not a twitch of an eyebrow or quirk of a lip was seen to allow any deductions of thoughts of feelings. Iceland's thoughts were broken by a spurt of anxiety once he noticed the car was moving.

"Stay at ten kilom'ters," Sweden said flatly. "Hold the wheel straight."

Iceland was relieved to see a focused, assiduous Denmark gazing intently at the remainder of Norway's driveway. He even adjusted the rearview mirror, and Iceland caught him glance at it several times. His eyes shone in the brilliant morning light. All was silent except for the gentle rumble of the engine. Sweden lifted an arm to correct Denmark's steering, but quickly set it back in his lap, as Denmark corrected himself without a word. Now the real challenge was approaching. He was about to turn onto an actual road that wound all the way down the hill to the outskirts of Oslo. Denmark had the blinker on and looked at Sweden for further instruction.

"R'ght." He said, gesturing with his head. Denmark scowled slightly and appeared to be making some measurements before he checked to make sure no one was coming from either direction. Denmark made a relatively smooth turn into the right lane; however, Norway did notice he encroached into the opposite lane a little. That was a minor problem that they'd tend to later.

"Speed up to forty kilom'ters." Sweden said. "Slow t' 'bout twenty on turns."

Denmark didn't seem to mind the change in speed and remained calm. He had a firm grip of the wheel and genuine braveness for once, as opposed to the usual daring recklessness he strutted around with. A curve was approaching, and, miraculously, he heeded Sweden's advice and slowed down, making a smooth turn. Iceland let out a sigh of relief.

"Not bad." Finland said, enthusiastically nodding.

"I invented driving, therefore, it is impossible for me to be bad at it." Denmark said with a smirk. Norway ignored this—Denmark was convinced he invented a lot of things, and some were more credible than others. Norway thought the idea that he invented the famous Danish pastry feasible, while he highly doubted that Denmark invented the internet.

They passed towering trees and flowering foliage as the road meandered gently down the hill, and Denmark remained remarkably relaxed, even when cars came from the opposite direction. Deeming the situation sage, Iceland allowed his mind to drift.

It was a magnificently beautiful day in Oslo, with a warm bright sun and not a cloud in the deep blue sky. The ride was smooth and unhurried, and Iceland was comfortable between Norway and the car door. Iceland basked in the warm light that cascaded through the window, and the dull hum of the engine lulled him into a tranquil state of mind. Conversations flowed in and out of his ears, cadences of each contributor clear and distinct as Iceland pondered his puffin, lunch, sailboats, and other inane pleasures. Norway gave directions, Sweden gave instructions, and neither argued. Denmark was silent, which indicated he was focused on the road and attentive to his actions.

And before either of them knew, they were back in Norway's house. The scenic drive had lasted about an hour. All five of them felt calmed and content. Iceland decided to rest on the soft, sweet grass that grew on the hill that Norway's house was perched on, and Sweden watched the ocean with Norway, making deep and thought-provoking conversation while Iceland tuned in every so often.

"Did you like it?" Finland asked Denmark, who was eating straight from Norway's refrigerator. Denmark looked up from the apple in his hand and met Finland's cheerful eyes. He shrugged and took a massive bite out of the shiny, red apple before murmuring, "Eh. It was okay. Boring."

"Boring?" Finland echoed. "You did really well today, by the way."

Denmark had surprised them numerous times by displaying intelligence: He was fast, capable learner, and was quite innovative at times. Finland didn't expect Denmark to have such a natural affinity for driving. His driving was not as smooth as Norway's, Finland's, and Sweden's, but for a first time driver he did well. Denmark had a trained eye when it came spatial measurements.

"Biking is more fun." Denmark said, smirking. He slung an arm around Finland's neck in an overly-familiar gesture that felt threatening to Finland, who gave a twitchy, uncertain smile back. "Next time, I'll have to teach you how to ride a bike."


Gotta go fast