I move into America's fridge… Will somebody if I don't?
This isn't the first time Germany's kicked me out.
Back in the 90s, we'd get into these arguments. I'd get mad at my own lack of productivity and start blaming him for it. He'd get mad at his current position in the Eurosphere and start blaming me for it. We liked to fix these with a long, arduous day completely disassembling and reassembling whatever automobile or steam engine we could get our grimy hands on. It may not look like bonding, but when we're covered head to toe in oil and half-bruised from jamming our fingers into twisted bits of metal and screaming at each other to quit screwing around with the spark plugs, it's the closest we usually get to the coveted "Ich liebe dich."
Sometimes even that wouldn't resolve our grievances, though. So I can unproudly and unawesomely say I've been kicked out of Germany's house on occasion. I lived with Austria, and Hungary, and one time with Greece. I spent a glorious two days living with the Italy brothers before Veneziano was screaming and Romano was crying and Germany begged me to leave them alone. (All I did was bump the pasta dough with my greasy mechanic elbow!) I tried living in Spain, (too lazy,) the Netherlands (too crowded,) and Malta, (China's spying on him.) Sweden worked out for a while, until I realized he's basically a tall, coffee-obsessed Germany, and my strict routines are incompatible with his.
So this time around I'm in kind of a big conundrum! I'm not gonna go out and rent a place when it's so much easier to annoy somebody until Germany takes me back. But I also want to be comfortable! And also… I kind of feel guilty for exploding the kitchen and attracting a news crew to our house, which I suppose makes me decently human despite the ruthless legend inside me.
Well, first things first, I need to pack up my things while Germany stares at the back of my neck.
"You will not sleep one night in this house again until either one hundred years have passed, or you can fully understand and control your powers. Since you're neither alive nor dead, you don't have to worry about expiring before you meet the conditions."
"So what's to stop me from crashing in another world's version of this same house?" I ask, packing all ten bags of gummy bears into the treasure chest at the foot of my bed.
"You can 'crash' wherever you'd like. It just can't be this exact house in this exact world."
"Say it's not 'me' crashing in this house in this world. Say I get the knack for shapeshifting down and I come to sleep here as something else. Being a half-seal was so fun that night! I wanna perfect that transformation and become a real wereseal!"
"I think your first priority would be to stop floating, melting, and using magic to change your clothes in public."
"It's not melting. It's schlorping. Melting is slowly losing control of my body and turning to liquid. Schlorping is instantly becoming half-liquid so I can maneuver through tight places and become solid again. If you paid any attention at all to my diary, you'd know that schlorping, glorping, blorping, and mlurp-glurping are all very different shapeshifting techniques."
"I tried to read that part, but I couldn't get past how obsessed you were with describing your 'gurgling buttcheeks.'"
"Getting them gurgled regularly is so good for your health!" I cackle. "Well, the room's all tidy! Time to pack it up and go where the wind takes me!"
I shoo Germany out of my room, then stand just outside the door. Narrowing my gaze, I place both hands on the doorframe and slowly push. The grid of space-time flashes in my vision for a moment, and the world bends at my command. The doorway dips inward, suddenly sinking into the center of the room. My bed mushrooms before shrinking down. My desk crackles and creaks as it sizes down toward the middle. Gilbird's cage snaps and bends, swirling and spaghettifying into miniature. I press and press until the doorframe's small enough for me to reach around the whole room and crush it down further. Now the square space is spherical, and I squeeze it between my hands until it's tiny enough to fit in my butt pocket.
I've scraped my room right out of the existent universe! What's left behind is a raw, bleeding veil of anticanon that belches out a few imaginary frogs before healing over with a massive pop! Bending reality a bit more, I seize the wall of my bathroom and pull it until the drywall stretches, covering up the space where my room used to be. Now it's twice as large, with two more toilets mushrooming up from the expanded tile floor and an extra showerhead blooming from the ceiling.
"You make up whatever excuse you want for my room disappearing and the bathroom growing bigger," I tell Germany, flicking his nose. "It's all coming with me if I'm going to live somewhere else. If I get my own space, I won't bother anyone. Unless my awesomeness inevitably outshines my future housemate."
"Don't start, Prussia."
"Admit it, mon capitaine. You'll take me back as soon as you get a complaint that I'm annoying. I doubt it'll take a week for you to get embarrassed."
"No, I really don't care this time. You can take your room and live in a toilet for all I care."
I can't even protest. Germany scrunches his brows and proceeds to shoo me up the stairs to the front door. The dogs all come to give me farewell butt sniffs, and Gilbird takes his traveling position atop my snowy head.
"No parting gifts? Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye? Sayonara? Au revoir? Will you sing to me as I go? Something lilting? Tell me you'll always love me! Even though we're far apart, you'll hold me close within your heart!"
"Good luck, Prussia," Germany says before he shuts the door right on my beaky nose.
"AT LEAST DOLLY PARTON WILL ALWAYS LOVE ME! AND JESUS! AND JOHN DE LANCIE!"
"HE'S AN ATHEIST!" comes the muffled roar.
"HA! THEN YOU ADMIT I'M A GOD!"
There's no answer. Sheesh. I have an uncanny need to disassemble a tank engine right now. At least satisfied that I got a rise out of the man, I turn on my heel and jump backwards off the front steps, landing on nothingness and floating up away from the place I've called home for so many years. Gilbird jumps off my head and flutters beside me.
"Finally I can fly next to you, cool little bird-thing! It feels wonderful!"
I spread my arms wide and breathe in the spring air, rising up and up and over the clouds, completely weightless. My clothes flutter and swell out with air around my skin, making the bubbliness in my blood even more ticklish. Zipping through the vapor, I emerge glorious in the heat of the sun against the blue, blue sky.
As a nation with ties to the earth's surface, I'm sick to my stomach. But I try my best to press that part down and focus on how freeing it feels to float over forests and fields, cities and silos. At one point, I kick off my shoes and swing around to catch them before shoving them in my butt pockets. With naked feet, I kick through open air. The breeze swirls through my toes so awesomely delightfully!
Soon we reach the North Sea. From way up here, it's nothing but a little puddle on the curving blue marble of the earth. I breathe in, feeling my chest swell out, then with a mighty huff, blow away the fog to reveal the distant islands of Great Britain and Ireland.
"Should we move in with England?" I ask my birdie thing. "We could pull so many pranks! And he's quiet. I'm sure my antics will annoy him so much, he'll call up Germany within the first hour! He'd probably never expect me to drop in and move in too!"
Gilbird gives a few chirps, then lands on my floaty shoulder. Feathery intuition that I have, I'm able to understand his every twitter and tail twitch.
"Hmm, yeah, you're right. England's suspicious. If I put my room in his guest room, and he sees it, he'll reason that I know the way to Wonderland or some shit. He won't understand my situation in real terms, like America does."
Chirp! Chirp!
"Move in with that kid America? Are you sure? I don't think he'd be annoyed that easily. Plus he annoys me with how many questions he asks about my powers."
Chirp piyo-chirp!
"True. He'd be a safe choice."
Chirpy-chirp!
"Ah! What a fantastic idea! I know exactly what to do now! Come on. Get in my hoodie pocket. Let's see how fast I can fly over to his place."
My cute bird burrows into my pocket, and bumping my fists together out in front of me, I angle my legs, pull space-time into a slingshot with my toes, and rocket mach-P over the ocean.
It's not a pleasant experience. At least when I flew in space, my face wasn't ripped to shreds by the friction of the atmosphere. I settle down on the balcony outside America's townhouse and spend a good ten minutes summoning my flesh from the ocean and schlorping it back onto my skull. Then I phase through the glass of the sliding door and into America's living room, adjacent to his kitchen. My lips upturn in their signature smirky smirk. This should be so easy!
Creeping over, I open the door to America's fridge. Then I fish out my room from my butt pocket and toss it inside. It expands, pushing at the walls of the poor appliance until I'm forced to hold them steady. When it seems the fridge will burst, I pop out one leg and kick the back and sides a bit, jiggling them, filling them with space that didn't exist before. I scoop out matter from the room and stuff it into the fridge until the inside is much bigger than the outside. Just like my nice little butt pockets!
I close the fridge door, then open it again. Inside is my room, room temperature! I whistle at the space, then step in and sit down at my laptop to continue working on that fan teleplay I started earlier this morning.
DATA
Captain, the ambassador of Poopicus Farticus means no insult. From the database of his species language customs, I have determined that he is trying to communicate a greeting.
THE AMBASSADOR makes more fart noises from his huge, BUTT-SHAPED HEAD. Geordi and Riker burst into laughter. Data quirks his head, not understanding.
PICARD
(fumingly,)
Mr. Ambassador, please forgive the callow behavior of my crew. They find some crude humor in your greeting.
THE AMBASSADOR
*farts*
DATA
What crude humor, Captain? Please explain.
I'm so engrossed in revealing the secrets of flatulence to the resident android that I don't even hear the footsteps outside my new door. There's the squish of rubber coming away from rubber, and suddenly I hear a screech!
"PRUBO? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY FRIDGE!?"
"Oh, hey there, America! I'm your roommate now! Germany kicked me out, so I brought my room here!"
He's thunderstruck, jaw dropping and arms waving wildly about like a frenzied Italian.
"Dude, you can't live in my fridge! How am I supposed to get a cheese stick at 3am!?"
"Your fridge is still here. You just schlorp around my room to get to the back of it. Unlike Germany, you know the definition of schlorping."
"Yeah, but unlike you, I can't schlorp. I'm calling Germany."
Me and Gilbird give a feathery high-five. Er, high-one finger and a little wing. Progress is being made!
"Germs! Tell your brother he can't live in my fridge! No, he didn't make himself tiny. I mean he actually made a pocket dimension in my fridge and he's in there… What do you mean he's 'my problem?' I don't want him here! You gotta take him back! W'll yeah, his powers do fascinate me. You mean… wow, really? All I have to do is… that's incredible!"
America hangs up. I watch with bated breath through the door of the fridge as he comes up to my brand new threshold.
"Germs says 'Nice try, but only Dolly loves you now. What's that about?"
I kick one leg up. "I'm not allowed back. What a tragedy."
America wiggles his elbows in that strange, excitable way. "I don't like you in the fridge, but If you're gonna live here, you can teach me so much about the universe now! And your powers!"
"I think I'll operate on my own agenda, petit capitaine, thanks much. Now, in the next act, Q is going to show up and start turning random crewmembers into toilets—"
"Germany told me I can control you with a butter knife."
Scheiß in die Wände. I should not listen to a bird.
~N~
"Genius takes time," they say.
*Comes back after months of online classes only to write more toilet humor and Q jokes*
I watched the Industrial Revolution episodes, and aWWWWWW WHAT CUTIES!
Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net May 10th, 2021. Reposters cursed. Reviewers get gurgled.