Nittende januar:
India:
Raj, India, had 23 regional languages, give or take, and he loved them all.
So, it wasn't that odd that he read a book in Kokborok while riding an elephant being led by a procession of dancers, snake charmers and fire breathers.
An hour before he'd to leave for his Meeting
International:
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"Tis some visitor", I murmured, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this and nothing more."
Such began the World Meeting, with England reading one of Edgar Allan Poe's famous poems. It was the condition that America had given for him not to come with any suggestions that he considered "Heroic", that everyone else, even Japan, considered "Stupid".
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted -nevermore!
-And with this, I declare the World Meeting open! America shouted five seconds after the last syllable.
South Italy:
Romano had during many, many World Meetings perfected the method of pretending to listen to what other was saying.
Lately, the past decade, he'd taken this one step further; listening to something else entirely. The trick was to not nod to the rhythm of whatever he was listening to, but to just nod as if he was listening to the speaker.
And he was brilliant at it. The only indication that he was listening to Il trovatore, was the gentle tapping of his feet.
Author's notes:
I don't own Hetalia