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Emil had been sleeping peacefully, it had been almost an hour since he had collapsed on his couch. He blinked open violet colored eyes as the light of the lamp seemed to have disoriented his sight. Rubbing his eyes, he sat himself up from his awkward position. He hadn't had a dream in so long, even now that didn't change. He glanced down at the floor, there were pieces of licorice and bits of fish scatter on the ground. Mr. Puffin must have gone through his stash, damn.
"So annoying.", he grumbled. The silver haired male stood up and begin picking up the trash, later disposing them into a trash bag. His eyes lazily scanned for anymore debris. Deciding that it was clean enough, Emil headed off to the bathroom for a warm shower. He felt disgusting at the moment. Coated in what seemed like a layer of sugar, probably Mr. Puffin trying to be funny. Emil came up the stairs and went on his merry way to his shower when he caught sight of a figure in the guest room. The door had been cracked open earlier, it seemed. The silver haired nation peeked in and immediately scowled. It was Fort again, how did he get inside the window anyways? And what was up with Lukas' copy of his sailor suit? He was about to step in when he saw the gun in his small hand.
"...", how on Earth had he gotten a hold of such a thing? He had thought Fort would not be able to do such a thing. Emil quietly stepped inside, hovered over the others' distracted form. Violet eyes watched as he packed each of his things and finally gingerly putting his stuffed animal on top of the cabinet. The bear was old, battered, and yet well-taken cared of. The Icelandic teen shook his head and crossed his arms. This was no time for being overly observant of the little guy. He was just that, an intruder, and nothing else.
"What should I do now?"
"How about leaving.", he said in a calm tone. The small blond froze instantly at the sound of his voice. Turning his head to face him, Fort wore a look of shock. He got a better look at his features now. Slightly bushy eyebrows, deep oceanic blue eyes, and a little baby fat still gracing his pale face. His pink lips seemed to be turning blue from what was obvious evidence of being buried in the snow from what he could see. His knees were scrapped rather painfully, turning pinking. A sign of infection. Fort could only be physically around ten to eleven-years-old but he knew better than to believe his apparent age.
"H-He-Hello, si-sir. Ni-Nice to Mee-meet you!", Peter's voice quivered. He couldn't tell if it was from fright or the fact that he was freezing right before Iceland. His height was intimidating and not helping the situation. His expression seemed blank and eyes as cold as ice, just like in his countries' name. The Selandic child held out a hand, just like what any gentleman would do to any stranger. But there was no response to his gesture.
"Hm...", he didn't return the others' gesture. Who would with an intruder standing before you at the scene of the crime.
"Hey brat! Hurry up and make me food! I'm hungry, feed me! Oh yeah, and bring brat number two, will ya? You anti-social freak!", the puffin screeched from downstairs. It took a minute for the animal to make it to the top and another to the doorway of the room. Mr. Puffin flew over in between the two personifications.
"Didn't you hear me, brat!? I said, make me food and bring brat number two over! It isn't polite to live a guest hanging like that, didn't the adorable and cool me, Mr. Puffin, show you manners! Tch!", the bird said. Emil glared at his companion while Peter marveled. He still couldn't wrap his head around the idea of a talking puffin. Maybe he should introduce him to his pet, seagull and possibly his goat too.
"I didn't invite anyone.", Emil deadpanned. Fort winced at this, which caused the silvered haired teen to frown at. Mr. Puffin snorted.
"Well I did, brat. Don't forget, this is my house to and so when I say we have a guest, we have a guest! Now come one, brat number two, you're getting my carpet wet and I'm sure that...lovely bear wouldn't mind me company.", the puffin chuckled. The Nordic country felt disturbed with the way things were going. That and the fact that his best friend had even implied such a thing. He wasn't sure he could see that bear the same way again with the mental images that had gone through his head.
"Uh...A-Are yo-you su-sure?", Peter rubbed his hands against his forearms for warmth. Oh, how he wished for some kind of warmth. The small blond stood up and cringed when a couple droplets dripped to the soggy floor. He glanced up at the silverette and bowed his head in apology when he caught glimpse of anger in his violet eyes. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen. He really hadn't, he had just wanted to reconnect with Iceland, even if it meant going as far as to following him home.
"Hmph, fine. Just...don't get in my way, alright?", 'Iceland' sighed in defeat. He just wanted to relax, might as while let puffin drive the kid away with his annoying voice. The only voice he could stand.
"And where are you going, brat? I did say you were cooking for me, didn't I? SO that means you'll be hanging around with us for the day and there ain't shit that you can do about it.", Maybe having Mr. Puffin and Gilbird meet had been the worst idea he had ever head. He regretted ever making that decision with Prussia.
"Hmph..."
"Damn kid, you're such a pushover! Hey, why haven't you said anything, brat number two?!" Peter fiddled with his sleeves nervously as the taller nation glared down at him. The puffin sighed, he couldn't let the brat unwind when he was doing that to the little one. God, he really need to get therapy or something. The silver haired teen couldn't make friends without intimidating the living shit out of them to save his life. He wondered how he had met this idiot and the Nordics but that thought was left for another time.
"So-sorry, just not so used to...well, this kind of...", the blond was speechless of his awesomeness! He could see childish amusement dancing in his sea of blue eyes. Peter couldn't utter a word, to terrified with this different Iceland. He had always known the cool, calm one but this was a mean and scary one. He stood up and all but scurried out of the room with Iceland's companion in tow.
Emil stayed behind and glared at the still open window, closing it and breathing in a deep sigh.
"I should really get locks on these, or better yet- stop being a pushover."
"Hey! Make me food, Icy! We don't have all day!"
He really need to stop being a pushover, now.
Peter sat at the kitchen table. The edge reaching to about his chest and his legs not even close to reaching the ground. He was miffed at the odd size of the furniture, everything looked big for some reason. He glanced back at the Icelandic nation, watching him prepare a dish. Mr. Puffin sat across from him, staring him down. Studying his features, the way he moved, and how he fiddled with the backpack in his hands. His teddy bear tucked inside from harms way.
" So...been a while, huh?", he said. He felt awkward with the pregnant silence that had descended upon them since entering the room. He hated the silence. No, he loathed it.
"...I suppose...", Emil replied. The nation had felt equally awkward, not used to having others over to his home besides the Nordics. He breathed in the sweet aroma of his traditional dish and let out a smile of approval. This was good enough, maybe once he was done. Then he would leave him in peace.
"What are ya making, Icy?" The animal wanted to add his two cents in. Turning his beady eyes onto his best friend then back to the new boy. He hadn't lied about inviting the other in. He had allowed him inside, with his permission so technically the sailor suit kid was his guest. But Mr. Puffin was, well, a puffin. He couldn't cook nor do much without hands, so this was where Emil came in. Because this nation was such a good friend, decided that he would be the one to do it. Emil had gone with it, no problems or complaints brought up.
"I'm making...", he placed the remaining ingredient into the concoction. The Sealandic boy raised an eyebrow waiting for an answer to the question. Obviously curious.
"Hrísgrjónagrautur"
"A what?"
"It's rice pudding." It also used to be a former prime minister's favorite food apparently, he added in mentally. The blond only nodded and faced the table when his violet eyed gaze returned to him. He blinked in confusion.
Mr. Puffin could only shake his head. Such an idiot.
The silver haired nation set down the plates and utensils, making sure to grab some milk for the three of them. He gazed back at the other, watching him taking a bite out of his food. He secretly wanted to know what he thought of it. Usually people would find his food very strange. He deflated when a thought came to mind, this was England's friend, so he probably didn't have an taste buds left to savor it. Probably devour it like Australia and America would, the poor men.
" This is so delicious, this is way better than Mama Tino or Papa Berwald!", 'Fort' proclaimed.
"..." He didn't how to respond other than.
"Thank you, Fort." He heard the other drop his fork in shock and gaze up at him.
"Um...uh, my name isn't 'Fort'..."
Just a very short chapter, sorry for the wait. Well, looks like someone's done.
Hrísgrjónagrautur- 1 /2 litre water 200 gr. rice (do not use quick-cook or instant) 1 1/2 litre whole milk 1 tsp. salt
Cook the rice in the water until it's almost completely absorbed. Add the milk and lower the heat to simmer. Continue cooking until the rice is tender (the whole process takes about an hour). Add salt and serve with cinnamon sugar.
- cook a handful of raisins with the rice for a few minutes before serving, for an authentic, old-fashioned "rúsínugrautur" (raisin' pudding).
- The pudding is usually eaten with milk or "saft" - a sweet drink made with berry syrup (raspberry, red currant or crowberry tastes best). Some people serve the pudding cold with hot caramel sauce at Christmas.
Instructions from a website, just look up traditional Icelandic dishes, a lot of yummy surprises. I'm thinking of my this one this weekend.
See you guys next time.
