Author's note: Rainy days and I lost my glasses in the ravine that's full of fallen leaves on the bank of the creek. Right now I'm wearing my reading glasses, so no driving for me, sad face. It also doesn't give me a lot to say in this post because I have to get my 2 o'clock coffee before I head off to class. But the point of all of this is to bring you this next installment of THE CHRONICLES OF THE AFTERMATH! Yeah, but I don't own APH anyway, so... yeah...
The Chronicles of the Aftermath
Chapter 12: Meetings
Italy couldn't be happier for all the rain that tattooed against the window, turning the outside world into a wibbily-wobbily blur. The human bosses had approved an idea that was sure to make the world a happier place. They agreed that, once a month, all the Nations should gather together so they can talk with everyone and solve problems. It was just what he wanted! And better yet, the first meeting was at England's house!
He wanted to make everyone feel welcome, because that would make things easier for England, and it was an excuse to make all the cannoli he could. England left him to his task, taking over the housecleaning himself and booking a conference room. Since England was host, he agreed to let some stay at the house. That even included Germany! And that meant that Italy was going to make his best pasta for him.
"You're taking Hannelore with you?" France asked as Germany scooped up the restless ball of fur. As it turned out, France knew the woman that Germany had met on the lane, and her dog was going to have puppies. When it came time to find homes for them, she knew that Germany would be a loving owner. Germany was, naturally, more than honored to adopt one. When he went to pick one out, it was this little lady that had tottered over and chosen him, settling comfortably into his lap and nuzzling against his hand.
"Do you expect me just to leave a puppy home alone for days? Nein, they need constant watch so that they don't get into or gnaw anything." He carried with him a stack of newspaper, just in case. "It is imperative that I make sure that there is a bond established between she and I." The mottled black and blue furred pup wriggled itself upright to give her master an affectionate lick. Germany gave her a scratch behind her ear. It was truly therapeutic to have something to take care of again. He set Hannelore down for one last widdle on the lawn before they hit the road and helped France pack their luggage.
"Germany! Germany!" The all too familiar greeting rang down the hall, and before Germany could turn around to see him, Italy barreled into him, hugging with all his might.
Germany worked his arms free and wrapped Italy in an embrace that spoke volumes of what he often found so hard to articulate. He missed the little klutz. "How have you been doing these days?" He asked as his love relaxed his grip but still held fast.
"Things are getting better and better! Oh, and guess what, Fratello and me solved our roads' problem! It's the happiest I've seen him in a long time!" There was a scrabbling at their toes, and Italy glanced down to exclaimed: "Puppy! Who are you?" He immediately kneeled down to pet the spaniel.
"Her name is Hannelore; it means 'gracious.'" Germany commented. "As a matter of fact, she'll need to take a walk since she's had no where to play since this morning. Would like to come along?"
"SI! I'd love it! You have a puppy; it's so cute! Let's go!" Italy dashed to the front door, swung it open, and found England, France and America exchanging greetings. "Hi, everybody! Ve~ is Romano here?" Germany came to the door with Hannelore sniffing the ground around her, to see Italy skipping around the group.
"Yeah, but the dude's still sleeping from the flight," America said nodding to the truck parked just behind France's car, his hands shoved casually in his pockets. Italy nodded an 'okay', then spun and clung onto Germany's free arm.
"Ve~ then I'm going to walk Germany's puppy with him! Caio!" He dragged Germany away, who barely managed to utter any 'hello's' to the others.
The ground was still damp with rain, so the cuffs of their pants were wicking up the dew as the two walked, hand in hand, in silence. Hannelore was going to need a bath at the end of the end of this. But for the moment, the three of them took in the solace of each other's company.
"I'm sorry," Italy was the first to break the silence. "I heard about they did to Prussia. None of us liked it." Italy's voice cracked at the end.
"Ja, danke." Germany couldn't say anything more. He remembered turning as still and cold as a stone when he heard the news himself. At the time he couldn't hear the condolences France was offering.
To the Nations, getting your country dissolved was like a mind losing its body, but it still remembers all the sensations of the world and it knows that it will never experience those things again. They were forced to live with their whole purpose of being stripped away. Germany's fists clenched as his mind wandered to the thought that his brother might...
"Germany," Italy pulled him into an embrace, then reached up to draw Germany down to him, and pressed his lips against Germany's for the longest moments he could remember. Italy broke it off and started another, draping his arms around Germany's shoulders as Germany kissed back. "Everything will be all right." Italy said finally. "We're all here to make things better. Prussia is strong like you, Germany, and you always said that his loyalty was his best point. He'll come home. We'll make sure of it."
Germany's half-lidded eyes looked into the promise held in Italy's. Hannelore sat at their feet, whining her concern. "Ja. He will. Thank you for reminding me, you are right."
The walk to the kitchen left Prussia out of breath. He leaned his entire weight into the wall, gulping air for the next three meters to the nearest chair as Gilbird fluttered over him, chirping his encouragements. Prussia managed a weak smile for his pet, his scarlet eyes flashing as they always had. 'Down but not out,' he thought to himself, 'take that, bastards.' It was then that he heard the sound of heavy rattling from he kitchen. 'Not again,' he took one last deep breath and shoved himself in the direction of the sound.
Sure enough, Russia had fallen; eyes wide open, shaking from yet another nuclear test. Prussia sighed. He was still reeling from having his land split up, and didn't yet have the strength to help his psychotic captor. Leaning on the threshold, Prussia gathered up the breath to holler "Seizure! Kitchen!" down the hall. A couple of seconds passed before he could hear the pounding of feet answering the call. That was enough to give Prussia a reason to take a seat and let the others see to Russia. He slumped into the chair at the head of the table and Gilbird settled on his shoulder.
Soon the three Baltics tumbled into the room and tried to hold the quaking Nation still. "Make sure to hold his jaw shut, Latvia," Prussia coached. "Who knows what he'd do if we let him bite his tongue off." Latvia seemed to be shaking as much as Russia. 'Probably wasn't the best way of putting it,' he thought upon refection. There was little else they could do but wait it out.
When Russia regained consciousness- albeit severely disoriented and incoherent- he was hauled to his feet, and between Estonia and Lithuania, walked to the nearest parlor. In their absence, Latvia's trembles barely calmed, but he took a seat by Prussia, and twiddled his thumbs.
"Why does Russia's boss keep doing this? Doesn't he know he's hurting Russia?" Latvia stared straight across the table, afraid to make eye contact with Prussia.
Prussia tipped his head to the side, thinking. "I don't think Russia's told him," he said at last, earning him an exasperated "Huh?" from the small Nation.
"Well, if I had Stalin for a boss, there'd be no way in Hell I'd let him on my weaknesses, even if I was his-" Prussia paused, rolling the words around in his mouth to find the correct ones. "A Nation can't trust a leader who mass slaughters his own people to- not take advantage of the Nation's link to their children- if the leader suspects the Nation of disloyalty. Russia may have a screw loose, but if there's one thing he knows, it's not to trust anyone that reminds him of himself."
"So what do we do?"
"Nothing. We just keep him still during the seizures and let Russia decide how he wants to handle his boss. We don't have any clout anyway." On his shoulder, Gilbird rustled his feathers and rubbed his head against Prussia's cheek.
The low sun of England's summer still lingered in the sky as Romano started a little head run so he could leap onto the bed of the pick-up. THIS was it. THIS was his sole motivation for taking on the responsibility.
It wasn't large, nor did it have much torque compared to other vehicles of its size, but it was easy to handle, simple to use and maintain, and perfectly convenient for the everyday needs of the average person. The test run proved that, like all new things, there were some kinks to work out, but by and large Romano loved it.
With America's help, they unloaded the makeshift- but sturdy- ramp: setting one angled end against the end of the truck bed. Then Romano dashed back and righted the small vehicle, mounted, and waited for the other Nations' attention. When there was a lull in the conversation, Romano sparked the ignition, making the less alert give a jump. He took off down the ramp and sped circles around the others, all the while bearing a toothy grin. It was sleek machine, bearing a windbreak on the front, with a single, wide footboard joining the front to the back, and shell enclosing the motor. The wheels were small and didn't call attention to themselves, which lent the rest of the unit an impression of hovering.
"Hey, idiots! Thought we couldn't help ourselves? Well guess what! This is the Vespa! The wasp! So watch out!" Romano laughed, watching as the land-locked (at least that's what it felt like) twisted and turned to keep up. The group stared, broad smiles with 'ohh's and 'ahh's and laughs of joy at seeing the small, surly Nation light up. Above the motor's loud tattoo, there were a few claps, followed by a few more joining in, pouring into a full chorus of encouragement. There were a few fists pumping the air. The wind streamed through his hair. It both dried and made his eyes water at once. The world turned to streaks of color as he flew past. Italy ran around the crowd, waving his arms and trying to keep up, his alto giggle carrying the loudest of everyone. And Romano soaked up every inch of their applause and cheers. Hell, he might even let the Potato Bastard try it out.
