My body is smoking hot! … Is corned beef the same as pastrami?
It's raining today!
Rain can be a deciding factor in determining one's coolness factor. I once rode through a stormy night in all my woolen underwear and got back to the castle soaked to the bone and weighing as much as the horse. Not fashionable, but I'm not France! Prussians didn't look at my soaked uniform and hair sticking in my face like dirty white moss! They looked at how I was still standing up in all that bloated felt! How I could still talk animatedly and gesture with my awesome hands! They watched as I stayed in that wet uniform for another four hours entertaining the guests… who were French…
Well, a Frenchman wearing a heavier uniform in direct sunlight is also a test of courage, so I suppose we're equals in once sense!
Soaked polyester isn't the same as soaked wool. I've been standing in the backyard for a good ten minutes, getting absolutely drenched, and my hoodie is all pilly and flappy against my skin instead of the damp, fuzzy felted feel I used to know. Iceland knits with wool, right? I should have him make me another wool sweater just so I can felt it into a shrunken scratchy human flesh tube cover thing. And then get it wet, too!
I don't have a reason for standing out in the rain, other than Germany's not going to yell at me for it. He's preoccupied with installing the new basement bathtub downstairs. Apparently England can make a lot of money in a short amount of time just by playing Mario and being obnoxious to a webcam, so Germany used the same tactic to raise enough money for a new tub. Anyway, give Germany something to do with his hands (that isn't knitting because his fingers are too sausagey,) and his brain will completely shut down to the outside world. I could eat a submarine or practice Geophonion or run through the halls of the local high school screaming at the top of my lungs, and as long as Germany's still appraising the texture of the underside of a toilet, his neurons won't fire for my condemnation.
I lift my face to the sky and feel how the rain plip-plips down on my forehead to trickle down my face. It's so cold. My neck hairs are all tingly, and my nose is twitchy and red. When it actually snows, I sometimes lie out in the snow to feel the coldness pressing into my shoulders and cupping my back. Rain is like snow, but stronger. All the wetness hits right away without having to melt first. It stings my scalp where it hits the hardest and flows down in a gentle rivulet until it collects on the veins of my hands and pools in my palms like a pretty little winter lake.
Standing out in the rain makes life feel more real, especially in this age of modernity. Even with my powers, I can't burn the image of some edgy singer's buttcheeks off my braincells once screenshots get shared online, but I can feel the cool water streaming down through the neck of my shirt and over my chest, reminding me I'm alive and invincible. My stomach clenches. My knees quiver. My toes squelch and squeak in my shoes. I bring my hands up and comb my hair with my fingers, releasing a cascade of gray droplets that spray down onto the concrete and splish back up onto the sopping white waves of leg hair.
I smile and hum in my throat. It's easy to lose sight when a baton is lodged in your ribs or when ink on a document is causing you physical pain. Being a nation is not just about the human experience. It's also about the earthly experience. Knowing nature. Feeling the rain and the snow and the mud and how it all moves and grows. It's about being a hunk of rock and experiencing human emotions, just to know what they're like. Because they're so weird to watch otherwise.
Of course, now I'm a hunk of 3-D flesh experiencing a quantum particle's emotions, and I think they're weird even knowing what they're like.
Satisfied with my shower, I smish-smoosh-sweedge-swoodge my way back through the patio door into the living room, where I shake off like an ugly little schnauzer and slap my wet hoodie on the back of the couch. I scrape off my shoes and peel off my socks to reveal a pair of wrinkly feet imprinted with rows and rows of knitting. Instantly, my eyes are sleepy in the warm air of the house. The lights are dim, and the gray-filtered sky of outside makes the kitchen so gloomy.
Gilbird flutters up onto my head and berates me for catching a cold out there.
"Birds never invented houses. You don't have anything to complain about," I tell him, squeezing his feathers in my moist hand and placing him on the kitchen table. He annoyedly chirps and fluffs himself.
"Hmm, I already picked up the Schrippen and gave Aster a bath. What else is there to do on a rainy Saturday? See how fast I can grow a banana tree in the living room and then sell banana fiber yarn on the black market for stupid low prices?"
Gilbird cocks his head at this.
"Mmm, yeah. Hemp yarn's a lot more profitable right now. I seriously gotta stop hanging around Austria so I stop learning about fiber art. The online knitting mob is gonna come for my head sooner or later. Oh… what if I grew an extra head!?"
He chirps. That's a definite no on two rasping Prussias arguing about what Toilet Bowl Cleaners song is the best.
"Well, I'll figure out something to do. Maybe Germany needs help installing the tub downstairs… or maybe not. I can't interrupt his zen! Ehh, maybe I'll try a non-antic-related activity. Something normal. I'll go online shopping! For shower curtains! Germany should let me order a new ducky-patterned curtain for my new bathtub, right!?
With a wave of my hand, my laptop sails up from the basement and comes down with a not-so-graceful crash on the kitchen table. Arching my eyebrows in their sharpest Prussian arch, I march over to the chair and sit down… only for my pants to give an unceremonious schlorble-squort as they squish into the seat. The cascade from my wet butt splashes all over the floor, and I suddenly realize how much my soaked t-shirt wants to stick to my nipples.
"I think I should dry off," I tell Gilbird.
He turns around and lifts his tail to show me his birdy butthole. I am a dunce.
All right, maybe I'm not as sappy about nature and life feeling "real" as I said I was earlier. Maybe I was standing out in the rain because after I filled Germany's bathtub with pineapple tidbits, I'm not allowed in his bathroom anymore, and so my only option is to redirect electromagnetic fields and wind patterns so I can have a free shower outside. But now that I've had my free shower, I can't go downstairs to get a towel and dry off until Germany's absolutely finished. I'll have to dry off some other way. Maybe scrub my hair off with a dry hoodie.
Or what about… heating myself up!?
A quick look online shows me that heat is caused by atoms and molecules running into each other. The more they run into each other, the more energy they have and the more heat is released! So if I wanted to heat myself up to dry off, I'd need to get my molecules all hyper! So… ach, that looks like a lot of math, and I don't want to sit through calculations with a wet butt and sticky nipples. I'm just going to take this theory of heat transfer and run with it.
The more molecules run into each other, the more energy they have. Also, the more surface area is exposed, the more molecules can run into the main molecules… Well, that sounds easy enough. I go to stand in the kitchen where I've got room. Then I close my eyes, suck in a deep breath, and let my physical body collapse into individual particles of carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and the like. It feels like when you get really sweaty, or, I guess, when you've been standing in the rain for a while, and you feel hundreds of little tingles as water slides around on your skin. Only it's your own skin, and the tissues and cells and molecules and atoms making up that skin, and they're all sloughing off at once with a whooshing noise until your vision goes black and your consciousness shatters and you feel like you should have toes but you don't and that's the most disturbing part out of the whole experience.
What's left of my consciousness immediately bloats into four dimensions, and I'm left trying to control all billion-schmillion atoms when they're already running into everything they touch like the little fighting-obsessed Prussians they are. It's not difficult. I've been practicing every morning when the process happens without my control. But now I've got to be strategic. The pan-dimensional nature of these atoms is starting to froth and swirl their 3-D reality. Some of them bloat into four dimensions. Others deflate and collapse into two, then one. I direct some to create a sort of shield around the whole globe of them so they stop tearing the fabreality apart.
Perfect. Now's the tricky part. Wheezing without a face to wheeze, I split my consciousness down until each atom has some. Now I can section them off and bloat them up in groups. Some will go to four dimensions, and some will go to five, and some to six, until they're all nice and warm and toasty. And… mein Gott that was a bad idea.
It all
Hurts.
My mind.
Shifting
What is this?
12:48 a.m.
Gazpacho
Moon drugs
7002
Why are the socks red?
But the batteries…
All very exciting
EJM-D
$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million$2million is a lot of money
In the state of the aardvark controversy, somewhat related to the disgusting raspberry stella denim top dehydrated whey product lava colors 17 is not 7 ——
When (O = Ɐ) = bUoNgIorNO (bAmbiNi) l'ARC EN CIEL prECEDES GRFT
Chapter 84 objective complete
A pile of freezing fluff erupts into my field of vision, and I'm suddenly on the floor of the kitchen in Germany's house in my home world of the 3rd dimension, flailing my arms and legs because I collected so much energy from the other dimensions that my body immediately burst into flame upon reconstruction.
Now, all of my earlier experiences are reversed. The flames sparkle on my hair and trickle down my pointy nose in little flickering petals of orange, red, and blue… and glackle, too. That's a color most humans can't normally see. My arms are all numb and screaming as the intense heat squeezes them into a twisting pile of useless, melty flab. Plasma pools in my palms like a hellish little summer lava plume erupting from the cracks beneath my fingernails. My toes poth and pooth as they puff off rings of boiling smoke and ash. No t-shirt sticking to my nipples now. It's a pile of smoldering cinders on the scorched tile flooring.
Wonderful.
"Prussia, you are living outside for the next hundred years! Germany screeches above, me, pointing the extinguisher hose and coughing from so much smoke and carbon dioxide wafting up in his face. His hair is all disheveled, and his hands look red. Did he try grabbing me before? I have some faint planck-second memory of him grabbing one blob of me and trying to force it onto another blob…
I keep flailing and screeching, shoving as much radiation still streaming off my body into a pocket dimensions as possible. My hair stands on end, then turns green, blue, purple, whatever rainbow streams from the butt of a GRFT because it's one heck of a sunrise, and… ugh… ach… so much foam in my mouth…
When the can is empty, Germany grunts as he rips my body from where it's frozen to the floor and carries me bridal style out to the backyard. Without even a sigh, he places my body in the garden and sits back on his haunches, waiting.
My cells know to automatically send electrical signals down into the dirt and the bedrock and the upper plastic of the mantle. The earth beneath me hums and vibrates. I feel it rumbling and churning and shifting and growing kilometers beneath me. Feeding me. Nourishing me. So much warmth streaming straight from the mantle.
"Wow, that feels really good," I mumble, lifting my hands to see they're bathed in the neon pink light of my nation aura. My head is all full of feathers, and my chest feels all fuzzy. A rush of euphoria zings through my entire being. I am one with the earth. I am the earth.
"Absorbing geothermal energy. Huh. I could've used that to warm me up. A lot safer than collecting radiation from several dimensions at once. I feel kinna chilly now, though. A good thing I took off the hoodie earlier. These clothes are toast! Hahahaha!"
Without saying a word, Germany grabs me by the hair and presses my face down into the mud.
So I guess there's a limit to what antics I can commit while he's in his happy place.
Dammit. Now I'll never get a cool shower curtain.
~N~ go text all your friends "12:48 am Gazpacho" without context.
All right. Who else is fully committing to this cult and getting a Hetalia tattoo next Thursday when the new anime comes out?
Published by Syntax-N on Fanfiction . net March 27th, 2021. Reposters are cursed to the void of relativity that is Prussia's consciousness.