Chapter 4:
"Alright dude let's get you settled in." America said grabbing Sealand's bag "I'll show you your room" and with that he led out of the entry hall. Peter remained uncharacteristically silent as he followed through the apartment. He found himself observing the decor, it was modern and chic. The exact opposite of England's house; there everything seemed like an antique, here everything seems clean and factory new. It was a little jarring, America himself was so warm and welcoming but his apartment was so sterile and cold. It was perplexing to say the least and did little to calm Sealand's nerves.
However, Sealand did not dwell on it for too long because at that moment he realized that he was extremely hungry. Which made sense, he had not eaten anything substantial since breakfast. He figured he should ask about dinner but found himself unable to ask the simple question. What was he afraid of? Mr. America was nothing but warm to him, surely, he wouldn't bite his head off for asking a simple question. Of course, he was being crazy, then again America was known for Drone Striking people. This deliberation went on for a little before he worked up the nerve to ask the question.
"Excuse me Mr. America, but I'm kinda hungry. And I was wondering what's for dinner?" he said, trying his best to sound polite. At first, he was worried he had offended the superpower since he stopped in his tracks and turned around, with a look of confusion on his face. He's going to kill me.
"Did you just call me Mr. America?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes… I mean it is your name isn't it?" Peter squeaked out, he felt small and nervous under the other's gaze. However, he was not met with a scolding or any negative reaction from the American, in fact it was quite the opposite, America exploded with laughter. Which only confused Sealand further, he found himself continuously puzzled by this nation and he had only known him for a few minutes. When America did finally calm down, he returned his attention to the micronation.
"Let me guess, Arthur told you to call me that? Don't call me Mr. America, it's just America or Alfred. China likes to call me 'hey where's my money?' so ya know I'm cool with just about anything, except Mr. America it makes me feel old or like a stiff."
"I'll just call you America" Sealand responded with a small smile.
"Going for the classic, works for me. Now about dinner, since I thought you were coming tomorrow, I didn't get a chance to go shopping so we can order in tonight. Sound good?" America gave a thumbs up, to which Sealand reciprocated with one of his own.
"That sounds good" he said his temporary shyness upon meeting a stranger was now beginning to dissipate.
"Awesome! I have a bunch of takeout menus in the kitchen by the phone. Take a look at em and let me know what you want. I'm going to finish setting up the guest room for you." As America said this, he placed Sealand's bag in a bedroom and began rummaging through a linen closet.
Sealand, following the elder's orders walked into the kitchen. He found, unsurprisingly, that the kitchen was as modern as the rest of the apartment, it was rather large and was full of appliances and cabinets. Here he found another difference from England's house: this kitchen was positively spotless. There was not a single stain or scuff to be seen, nor was there anything on the counters that would imply that anyone used them. There was a toaster, coffee machine and a mixer but beyond those and the phone, the counters were completely barren. The sight of the kitchen put two thoughts into Sealand's mind, the first being: I wonder if he even cooks at all? The second was: if he does cook, America might be a neat freak. So why does England complain about him being a slob all the time? He thought about it for a few minutes, he eventually settled the matter swiftly as he usually does by declaring that England is probably just being a big jerk face.
With that matter settled Sealand began examining the takeout menus and was immediately overwhelmed at the sheer number and diversity of food. He wasn't even sure what most of it was, some of this stuff didn't even sound like food; like what's a shawarma? After he overcame the initial shock, he was then put into the difficult position of having to decide what he wanted to eat. The trouble being he had too much choice; he had quite literally the entire culinary world at his beck and call and was absolutely paralyzed. Who knew when he would have an opportunity like this again? Peter was tempted to try something new but was scared he wouldn't like it and squander this once in a lifetime chance, at the same time there were so many things he liked he really couldn't pick one. And so it was that he stood there for 10 minutes deliberating with himself on what to have for dinner.
"Hey dude are you alright?" The genuine concern in America's voice broke Sealand out of his mental debate. He turned around feeling sick with himself for not being able to complete such a simple task and was worried America would be mad. So, he decided to explain the situation, however he was so worked up that his explanation poured out like a torrent, he barely paused to breathe. After Sealand was finished babbling, America just furrowed his brow and frowned before saying: "ok first of all dude, you gotta chillax, it's just dinner. Second, just order what you feel like having right now, and if you don't like it or want something else after I'll just order again it's no biggie. The stakes aren't that high." Sealand was flabbergasted, he was really expecting a dressing down, he was starting to really like America so far; maybe this trip won't be so bad.
"So, no pressure but have you decided what you want to get?" America broke the brief silence.
"Um… I still don't know, there's just so much stuff." Peter responded looking up from a Chinese takeout menu.
"Yeah, it is a lot, I don't even know what I want…" He paused for a brief moment, frowned at the menu he was holding, then slapped his forehead exclaiming "what am I thinking! This is the first time you've been here; you're the representative of another country and I'm going to order you take out for your first meal on American soil? A lot of presidents would be rolling in their graves." as he said this, he began putting on his bomber jacket and shoes. "Alright dude grab your coat, we are going to the Diner."
Does this guy ever shut up? Sealand was quickly getting overwhelmed with the older nation's constant chattering. The guy couldn't stick to one topic, jumping from idea to idea at seemingly random. Despite all this talking, Sealand didn't understand much of the conversation, he was only able to really comprehend a few key ideas from America's rambling. Beyond all of that he still didn't know what 'the diner' was. At the very least he knew it was some form of restaurant, however the kind of food it served was beyond him. As far as Peter understood American food was McDonalds and other fast-food chains.
"Um, America I have a question." Sealand barely pulled America from his rant about the Mets, if he hadn't given the taller man's jacket a light tug to get his attention, Peter was certain he wouldn't have stopped talking.'
"What's up dude? I know it's a bit of a walk but we're almost there."
"Well… what's a diner?"
"Eh? What's a diner? What do you mean, a diner is an…. uh…. Well you know it's a diner…no, no that makes no sense. It's just like a food place but it's a diner instead. Do you understand?"
"No not at all, actually." Sealand in fact felt more confused after having heard America's poor attempt to explain it.
"Well you'll see when we get there" America responded sharply after fumbling over himself some more in a vain attempt to describe the concept of a diner. It reminded Sealand of how England would also get flustered and frustrated when he failed to explain something, only America's version was missing an irritated: "confound it, just look it up!" that always wrapped the whole sputtering mess into a neat bow, those moments never failed to entertain Sealand.
The two fell back into silence so Sealand began looking around the street, the road was packed with traffic, and the sidewalk was equally as busy. There was construction across the street that was filling the late afternoon air with the high-pitched whine of power tools. It was all so surreal, it was similar to London in the way everything was written in English, but it was weirdly different, things weren't called the same, the buildings were built differently, and both cities were big but New York was so much more crowded. Suddenly a cold breeze blew through the bustling street, it caught Sealand off guard and much to his surprise found himself shivering. He never liked feeling cold, too many dark nights alone on the freezing rig he calls home, the swells of the North Sea battering the small platform much to the dismay of the micronation. Each wave creating more leaks, more icy water seeping in, giving Peter persistent chills that simply won't go away.
It was after a particularly bad storm one late November that England came to visit, it was of course under a pretense, he would never come just to visit. However, when the Briton took one look at the shivering, disheveled form of the young micronation and his disposition changed, he was no longer surly instead he became cold and calculated. England simply helped Peter to his feet, practically carried him to the private helicopter, all the while ignoring the protests of Peter's boss and without a single remark or reprimand directed at Sealand. After he was secured in the seat with a warm blanket, England finally acknowledged the self-proclaimed ruler, with a hard slap across the face that stunned the man into silence. He then spoke: "Understand this, I am willing to tolerate you madmen claiming sovereignty on this godforsaken structure. I am willing to let you call yourselves the smallest nation on earth, no one listens to you anyway. What I will not tolerate is the blatant mistreatment and neglect of one of my wards. From now on I will be keeping a much closer eye on Sealand. He will be placed under my personal care until the conditions on this glorified rock improve. Do I make myself clear?" The authority his voice commanded was astounding, for a brief moment he was not the crotchety old curmudgeon Sealand knew England to be, in that instance the old man was once again the British Empire.
Since then he had never seen England act like that, sure he was bossy and authoritative, but nothing would ever compare to that. It was also when he started living at England's house more than his own.
"Hey dude you ok? You're just staring off into space." America's voice cut through Sealand's daydream. In response his face flushed from embarrassment, America probably thought he was a scatter brain.
"Oh...yeah I'm fine just tired." You idiot now he probably thinks you're a scatter brain and a lazy bum.