Hungary

"Ah-Fuck!" Elizabeta cursed as her cup of coffee slipped straight through her fingers.

She was not normally one for clumsiness- at least she hadn't been before. After the flag, now that she was a nation, suddenly she felt tense, paranoid. Objects jumped from her hands and her feet sometimes felt like lead. It was not good for someone of her position.

Muttering profanities under her breath, Elizabeta stooped down to start gathering up the broken pieces of crockery. It would probably surprise her citizens to see her perform such a menial task. The thought made her want to scoff. Did they think there had been a silver spoon in her mouth before the flag? She had had a life before riches and power. She knew how to clean better than most. Yet she also knew how to fight better than most. It was an odd collection of skills.

There was no need to call a servant for something so minor. Not when to call a servant could be to call death to her doorstep. They have pledged their loyalty, have they? No, they pledged their loyalty to the previous Hungary. What Elizabeta held over them was the power as their nation- that wonderful, bitter link between citizen and personification- to manipulate the lives of her domain as she pleased, but only to an extent. Fortunately most had not garnered this particular shred of knowledge. It would be the downfall of her and many other nations if such information became publicized.

"Are you a new maid here or something?" Elizabeta jumped, head hurtling forwards into a wall as she attempted to spring to defence. She staggered slightly, ignoring the new throbbing sensation on her forehead, and turned to the voice. With fisted hands and bent knees she appraised him. Tall, fairly skinny, but muscled- for sure- there was power behind his loose fitting, scruffy clothes. Long legs, good for kicking. Broad shoulders, good for packing a punch. His lankiness would not serve him well though. It made for awkward movements.

"What happened to that other woman- the pretty blonde one?" He asked and Elizabeta blinked in surprise. He had asked her if she was a new maid... There had been a pretty blonde one? She was confused. Was he oblivious her threatening stance or was he ignoring it? He was here for the flag, right? He wasn't a member of staff. That she knew.

How had he past her fortresses defences?

She looked at his features now, not his build. Pale. He was very pale. Not his eyes though. They were not pale; they were a striking red. Chalky skin and a pearly smile, then there was the white hair. His face was of youth though, not of age. There were no wrinkles. His lips curled and face his contorted into something roguish. She had always been unsure about the roguish type. They were hard to trust.

He cackled, a laugh that came for a joke that had yet to be said. Elizabeta felt out of comfort. The mirth in his eyes was too genuine. "Oh well, at least you've got a nicer ass than her."

She flushed indignantly. How dare he flounce into her bedroom and start making such disrespectful comments. She marched towards him in a fury. "What do you think-"

"Hey," He interrupted, indifferent to her anger, "Do you know where my sister is?"

Her anger died down to be replaced with plain confusion. Was this man touched in the head? "Your sister?"

"Yeah. You know..." When she didn't come to any kind of realization he continued, "The personification of Hungary."

"But I'm-" I'm the personification of Hungary, she was going to say, but then she realized something. Those eyes, those blood red eyes- she had seen them before.

"Jeez, you must be really new to not know who I am yet. Nobody told you about the awesome me? No one at all?" He stared at her, eyebrows raised in sceptical amusement. She didn't like it. As has been said before, his mirth was far too genuine.

Elizabeta could only shake her head in shock.

"Ah... Incompetent, they are!" He exclaimed with a grin, "I am the one and only Prussia, sister to the lovely Hungary. I haven't seen her in a while so I thought I would drop by and surprise her. Now where is that old hag?"

Prussia began to look around the room, almost as if his sister would pop out from behind the drapes. Elizabeta looked down at her left hand, still clenched tightly, and was surprised to see scarlet seeping from her fist. She uncurled her fingers. Broken china was cupped in her hand, wet and red. She dropped it and a panicked moan escaped her lips. It was not right for guilt to kick in now.

Drawn by the outcry, Prussia approached her, the rascally expression turned flaccid. "You're bleeding? Oh, ah- crap- hang on a minute," He tore off to rummage through the dresser by the window, now filled with her possessions. Not his sister's. "I'm sure she had bandages somewhere around here. I mean, I did last come here over 50 years ago. She's bound to change things around sometimes..."

Mumbling in threats to the oak dresser, Prussia continued to look fervently through the draws, coming across some of her lacy lingerie at one point. "Didn't think the hag was into this kinky kind of shit. Gross."

He spent a good ten minutes tearing the contents of her bureau apart, spilling clothing and trinkets all over the floor, something anyone else would receive a smack for, but right now she was struggling to even breathe.

Forced to give up, Prussia left his findings scattered and joined Elizabeta again. She had taken up a position on the four-poster bed in the time he had spent searching, hunched over, breathing arduous. She watched his sneakers draw close to her side through the auburn brown curls she let fall over her face. The blood red eyes appeared again when he peaked under the curtain of hair.

"You don't look so awesome. You don't have that anaemia thing, do you? I mean, I haven't actually bled in more than like- what? Five years now? Something like that... Maybe six." At the lack of response from Elizabeta Prussia cringed. He clearly was not used to being in the position of carer. "Er-You should put pressure on that! Here, let the awesome me just-" Prussia reached out to grab her injured hand, but the very moment they touched things went horribly wrong. They both knew it.

Prussia withdrew. His face had become oddly stony, somewhere between shocked and grimly aware. Elizabeta raised her face to look at him. There was no hiding it now. He knew. She knew he knew. He could feel the change.

"Hungary..." He breathed out.

Her face was a white sheet. "I'm sorry."

"You're-" Prussia had not looked away from her, he had remained transfixed. It was disturbing- too genuine. He struggled speak, voice almost a rasping garble, "You-You killed her."

Her head shook frantically, her eyes panic-stricken. "N-No!"

"Where's the flag?"

"I-I don't-"

"Where's the flag?!" His voice became a roar, his hand flying for Elizabeta's throat. She yelped, hands scrabbling at his, blood smearing over his ashen skin. The grip was not tight enough to kill yet it would tighten soon, she knew. "Tell me where the flag is!"

"I can't!" She squeaked, efforts to prise his hands off futile. "You can't have two flags. It's dangerous to have two!"

"And I think it's dangerous for a murderer to have a flag," he growled, eyes flashing menacingly.

"I'm not a murderer! I'm not!" It was getting harder and harder to talk, her airways constricting under his ever tightening hold.

"You have her fla-!"

"It was suicide!" She screeched. "She took a gun to her head!"

Elizabeta could see the same shock she had felt when the previous Hungary killed herself reflected in Prussia's face. His breath caught and his grasp slackened. In his moment of trauma, Elizabeta moved. Her good hand lashed out, palm flying into his throat. He gagged reflexively, making it easy enough for Elizabeta to leap forwards to push against him, toppling him sideways, and allowing her to stagger off the bed towards the fireplace. She grabbed at the wall mount, fingers swiping at thin air a few times before wrapping around a cold metal handle.

She was dizzy from the lack of oxygen, head thumping painfully, and hand stinging in the most inconvenient way possible, yet she still managed to stumble towards Prussia, frying pan raised in defence. "Don't you dare touch me again or I swear I will smack you all the way to Austria."

And in that moment, Prussia did the most unexpected thing. His face, which just seconds ago, had been the epitome of rage, melted into a look so tender it almost made her drop her frying pan.

"You sound like her." Tears began to well in his eyes and he looked away, slumping to the ceramic covered floor. A hand covered his eyes and heavy silent sobs began to wrack through his body.

Elizabeta didn't know what to do. She was at a loss.

The hands holding aloft her strange weapon of choice fell limp. She stayed motionless and watched the dissolved nation weep.


Phew! Its been a while but a least I've updated, right? Right... It got pretty dramatic in this chapter. I think I need to go cool off somewhere.