43. The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Date Written: March 29, 2019

Date Posted: February 22, 2020

Characters: America, Canada, Japan, Romano

Summary: America and the gang are a bookstore. Tensions simmer gently under the surface when Romano and Japan get into an argument over Veneziano's preference concerning pens.

Notes:

America was all for visiting stores and malls after a stressful day of stifling boredom and listening to a lot of annoying presentations about… stuff, but this—this!—was just too much.

He had been hanging out with Japan and Canada when they had come across Italy, but without his younger brother. Apparently, poor Veneziano had come down with a fever that could only be solved by staying in one's own territory until the sickness passed—freaking Nation status lore that America didn't really care about. It was nothing too bad, Romano had said, but Veneziano was too ill to take the flight. After he had ended his account, Romanoa scowled and muttered something that sounded like 'stronzo'!

Italy had the idea to enter some sort of book store that also sold an assortment of art supplies and stationary. He had been complaining that his little jerk of a brother would be pissed if he didn't bring back a souvenir. Like always, Japan and Canada had decided to lend their services (such was the way of the well mannered folk) while America had come just to observe. That, and he happened to see a new edition for the Art of War on the shelves. Like, who would pass up the opportunity?

So, after a brief bit of browsing, America had tucked the Art of War under one arm and some new manga series that had recently come out. He had come across his friends who were arguing, of all things, about pens. To be fair, Canada was the mediator. Italy and Japan were arguing about the pens.

"I believe that Veneziano would favor pens with thin, fine points and bold colors. Rollerball pens don't deliver the same professional tone as regular ballpens."

Romano clenched his jaw. "Listen, Japan, I'm here to bring my brother pens for his personal enjoyment. If he wants something professional that is worth more than the sole of my shoe, then he can go to the supply store where they sell the exact same thing for a fraction of the price."

Japan, undaunted, continued to point to a display where all the aforementioned ballpens stood at attention. "I beg your pardon, but—"

"Get on your knees, suck my—"

Having a feeling that what Romano was going to say was going to be too graphic for his sensitive ears, America turned to his brother and in his quietest whisper, asked, "Are they okay? Are they speaking in code?"

Canada shrugged. "They've been going at it like rutting moose for the past ten minutes."

America blinked. And then he stared. And he blinked some more.

That was imagery that he would rather not have in his head. Really? Going at it like moose? He had the misfortune of going on a hunting trip a few decades back when the North American brothers happened to catch a couple of moose during mating season. It was not pretty.

Such a sight must have caused America's face to look horrified or something to that effect because Canada politely put a stop to his brother's growing pitfall into existentialism and phallic imagery by elbowing him in the stomach.

Upon impact, the older American coughed, but braved through the pain.

"Have you tried peacekeeping?"

"Have you tried calling North Korea to put his toys away?"

"Touche."

"And I thought that you didn't know French."

"I don't. I just know American, Canadian, and Mexican."

As Canada tried his utmost to stifle his laughter (much to America's pride, a chuckle still escaped), the American turned back to face the other two members of their party. Italy had taken to waving a ballpen in front of Japan's face in what appeared to be a bout of psychological warfare while Japan stared lifelessly at the Italian. If the Nations weren't careful, their argument could escalate to a full out brawl. And…

Was it just him, or was Japan eyeing a broom that just so happened to be positioned quite close to his sword wielding hand?

"—but you wouldn't know that, would you? He likes using—"

"—I've visited him many times over the past few decades, but I fear that I never heard—"

The more they argued, the more America wanted to get straight into the line for the cashier. He liked attention and the noise of conversation, but this was getting too out of hand. Already, there was a group of civilians who were surreptitiously muttering amongst themselves. Finally, when America caught wind of one person subtly exiting to fetch an employee, he had enough.

"What's up my dudes!" Air horns were quieter than his powerful, obnoxiously annoying voice. Immediately, both the Japanese and Italian men tensed and glared at him. Meanwhile, the bystanders looked on in shock. Well, you gotta do what you gotta do. Besides, all the attention was on him and that's where America thrived the most."Why you gotta be so bent out of shape? They're just a bunch of pens!"

Romano exploded. "Right? It's not the quality of the pen that matters, it's what you do with it!"

"Yes, I do agree," Japan started. "However, appearances are everything nowadays. How would you feel if you happened to see a signature penned in garish and unacceptable colors?"

"I'd be fucking happy that my paperwork was signed."

"Dude, same."

Japan turned to the silent observer of the group, a silent plea in the dark pools of his eyes.

And, like the pushover Canada was, he said, "Why not get both sets? Veneziano likes to doodle, but can work when pushed. Give him a variety and he might be more motivated."

All three stared at the Canadian, who, after his admission looked exceedingly pale under the store's artificial lighting.

"You little shit," Romano seethed, "do you think I'm made out of money?"

"You don't have to listen to my suggestions!" Canada waved his arms in what was supposed to be a placating manner. "Just… pick a pen so that we can eat!"

Japan added his own piece. "Why are all Americans obsessed with food?"

"I'm Canada!"

And just when the international relations among them threatened to take a turn for the worse, something happened.

America had an idea.

"Why not just message him, 'Mano? He's sick, but not dying, right?"

"Because!" With a scowl and a rapidly reddening complexion, Romano hid himself away under the comfort of a social media app. It only took a few heavy taps, a few muttered curses, and a snort before he tucked his phone back into his pocket (with another colorful curse). "Dio, how could I forget?"

"Well?" Japan prodded. "Does Veneziano prefer ballpens or rollerballs?"

Romano brushed past all three of them and straight out of the display for the pens.

"Paints. My stupid, lazy asshole of a brother wants paints."