Gizzard
With the kindly offer that Gilbert would call Italy and date him himself Germany practically threw him into the next world meeting.
"Stay vith me at all times."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Don't get lost."
"Can't do that if I'm with you, can I?"
"No smart-ass comments."
"Then no backtalk from you."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Fine!"
Hungary ground her teeth as she slipped her left hand into frying pan-space. If Gilbert dare thought he was going to lift her skirt again, she was going to make sure the offense was never repeated again. Austria hadn't noticed the coming of the dead German yet, despite his ex-wife's murder vibes, has he was focused on making gestures that pissed off Switzerland.
"FINE."
Meanwhile, the American brothers together had a hangover strong enough to make Ivan limp (as in his leg (the ones with feet on the end of them), don't get your minds in the gutter yet.). Both of them wore shades. Alfred with his mirrored aviators and Matthew with his simple wayfarers. Both stumbled in, America nearly falling over Japan as Canada slipped into his chair.
"FINE!"
"America, remove those now! And that is no proper way to enter this room!" England who drank as a common routine and was probably immune to the dark creature known as the hangover, did not seem to recognize America from 'goofing off' from 'urgh, pain'. All America saw was no sympathy.
"Just shut your face, man." He groaned as he hit his head on the table. Japan cautiously patted his back. "It's too bright in here." Canada gave a moan of agreement, but it was not heard. Mexico walked up to the front, giving a cough of attention, then a cough of a medical condition.
"Will everyone p-please be seated?" Her face held a small smile, her dark eyes held a small plead. "I wish to talk about t-the ash and-" cough "and other strange air particles t-that" cough "are now airborne." "Has anyone with the proper equipment collected samples?" Naturally, everyone looked in America's direction who at this point and time was dead. Japan, with a voice so calm only Mexico and those nearby could hear,
"No, sorry. We've haven't yet." She looked hurt by the response, but stepped down for the next country's turn. At this point in time Vash was starting to wish the no-weapons law was revoked long enough for him to go home, grab a sniper (like an SSG-3000) and pick Roderich off from a distance. Wait, the law didn't have to be revoked, because he wasn't going to bring the weapon inside! Vash then mentally entertained himself on various ways Roderich's head could explode. Not that a sniper rifle could do that, but he did recently watch an American movie.
It was sometime in the meeting where China started talking about trains that created energy on friction Gilbert found his ghost. It started out simple enough, he just had to find a chair that looked empty. Empty, but if he stared at it long enough a coloured shape would appear. The more he watched, the less transparent it became. He was not imagining things, there was a country there. If he was imagining things, it would be like entering a dream. Seeing dead people, talking to them without once questioning how they could still exist.
Brandenburg.
He felt himself fading, Brandenburg.
That was the main reason he didn't take the pills. If he was lucky, he could see her. See Brandenburg at her prime. Playful, teasing, a prankster just as he. How they would deface Wessie's buildings and shout insults at Austria from afar.
He slammed the door behind him, throwing water stained shield and sword aside he grabbed her by the shoulders. "He refused us! Saying such a move would deface the meaning of marriage!" He cried, but she didn't. She stood still so his tired frame had something to lean against.
"Be steady Prussia, Polska does not know love."
"Be steady? How dare he!" He slid down, his hands trailing her sides as he went. "Dammit, I am not so weak that I have to bow to that bastard!"
"We will show him," she whispered, stroking his drying hair, "we don't need papers telling us how we should feel."
Bright red hair like the screaming eagle that replaced her. A dancer, not a fighter... so fragile... so, so fragile. She hasn't been moving around recently, saying her joints hurt. Strange, she still looks so young. "Funny, I don't feel like getting up today." No, she doesn't look so young. Wrinkles that carve her body just appeared over night.
"Is there anything I can get you?" I said, holding her arthritic hand. "Just say the word."
"No, not today." She smiled. "I don't feel like talking much either..."
But she did so anyways, for his sake.
"But please remember this, I love you. Please take what is left of my strength, you are going to need it."
What?
She's gone. Not in battle, there was no blood. She neither shed it nor coughed it. This wall that is breaking- why is it that I'm so worn, but you are the one who faded? I remember dying, my limps ripped, stolen from me by greedy countries. Poland, despite barely able to stand himself, made sure to carve slowly the desired pieces.
"Equivalent exchange." He spat the access blood from his mouth. "Blitzkrieg... Who's the master race now?" Sorry, can't hear you. Having no ears tends to do that.
I could not walk when Russia calmly arrived, a smile so sweet I felt seduced by it. Seduced with the feeling of closure. He dragged my torso and my head with it. Do what you want, I don't care. Just finish me. I'm sick of feeling my brother screaming.
He says something as he holds me close. The vibrations from his chest is soothing. Yes, finish me now. I always wondered what it was like on the other side. I want to see where she is. High above or down below? We can still beat Poland, we can still be toge-
"East! East can you hear me? Stay with me! No, stay!"
But no, apparently death is too good for me. Or did I die? I'm not a country any more, am I? Why did you fade? Why am I still here? Are you in me? Could it be that when you find someone the perfect fit... is that what it means to become one? I'm not sure I like these vows of two flesh becoming one anymore.
Forget it, it never happened. Why did you fade? Why can't I touch you? No, stop-!
Gilbert was ripped from that train of thought as he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. Startled, he jumped. Germany no longer seeing his brother trembling, pulled his chair closer to him. "I'm right here." He whispered, now gripping Gilbert's hand instead. "There vill be a break soon, and we can go home. This island business has nothing to do vith us anyways." Gilbert's lungs deflated as he leaned against Ludwig.
"No, let me stay." He felt mentally drained, but he could still see the ghost across the table and many chairs away. That was why he is here, and he wasn't going to mess up this time. Germany still shook his head.
"I'll bring you next time, but only if I witness you taking your pills." Gilbert squeezed the hand that held it, but it did no good to reflect anger. No country, no military strength. Eyes half-lidded, he felt empty again. Empty and sleepy.
Who is the older bruder now?
Venezuela was sitting back down when Canada felt a feeling prickling at the back of his mind, and it wasn't the migraine. In fact, this feeling was something he hadn't had for over hundreds of years. So he couldn't recognize it, nor knew how to react to it. Taking his fingers behind his glasses so he may rub his eyes, he tried looking around at the possible cause before realizing it might be something at home.
"Sorry, I go to go, eh." He grabbed his coat and briefcase and left. No one noticed-
But Gilbert witness it. Stealing what little energy he had left, he slipped from his brother's side and followed after.
Sorry I went Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn on you. I did it because it felt appropriate for Gilbert's brain. Anyways, for people who don't know history- BAM. For those who know their history, do correct me asap if you see anything off. I don't want to continue this with inaccuracies concerning future events.
Frying pan-space is an obvious reference to hammer-space. That is what animators call the large invisible pocket near the character where they can suddenly pull out a large object from basically nowhere. Hammers are the most common thus it being called hammer-space, as suppose to vodka-space.
For my readers who don't know how to anger the Switz (other than invading personal space), here's an easy one to remember. You know the hand gesture 'off with his head?' In Swiss that means, "I'm finished with this bullshit, you're dead." Yay, now you're smarter! Now don't do it.