Okay you guys, I swear, I am working on the next chapter. I'm like actually almost done (ish...not really. shhhh.) but here is some writing to tide you guys over.
CUT SCENES
A lot of times when writing a chapter I just get rid of scenes that I write and then don't like. From now on, I'll just compile them here. Here I'll put the context of the scene, why it was cut, and then the scene. Let me know what you think. Do you really love them? Should they have been included or do you see why they were cute? Is updating this as I write new chapters a fair way to stall updating for you guys (lol probably not)? Here we go…
CONTEXT: Originally part of chapter 13 where Prussia comes home from Russia to Berlin. This was before he returned home and Germany was preparing.
WHY CUT IT?: I felt this scene didn't portray Germany's emotions well enough. It just seemed to ramble on for literal pages about furniture, as if anyone cares, and then gets itself quickly cut off because I was wanting to include some past characters in this chapter so badly.
CUT SCENE 1: November 8th 1989 – 4:07p.m.
Once upon a time, Beilschmidt Manor had a large lawn stretching back into the vivid, freshly cut, green grass. There were bushes here, flowers there, and rocks between them all adding to the beauty of the scenery. It was a grace that seeped into the house's interior too. The Manor used to be kept completely spotless, showing no signs of having actually been lived in save several framed photos with the common factor of a grey haired, yet young man, and another blond and bulky looking one.
There was crown molding on every wall, a fresh coat of polish on every marbled floor, and not a strand of hair on any of the furniture. Furniture that all cost a fortune, and certainly looked like it did as well. The home's décor was arranged and perfected with dedication and love, and somehow in all the glamor, the place still found a way to seem homely.
However, now upon the times, the grass had turned to weeds that stretched up to the windows, and the furniture was gone. The floors were dull, the stairs were dusty, and the carpets were messy. Beilschmidt Manor was too glorious a place to actually be repurchased, thus now it stood slightly dilapidated and hiding in the shadow of its lost dignity.
However, some of its squandered grandeur now attempted to shine into an unnamed basement right near Berlin.
It wasn't succeeding.
135 meters of measly space wasn't a large enough containment field for such glory, at least according to the thoughts hiding in the corner of Germany's brain.
It sounded pitiful in theory; a man who's fallen so far he now had to live in his little brother's basement, but it was the only viable option. It was all Germany had to offer. The wood floors and carpet had been swept, mopped, polished, and vacuumed, and the window sills were vigorously dusted every day, but there were still specks on the windows. There was still that one spot where the paint had turned grey that Germany couldn't cover. There was still that one outlet that was slanted, and the light bulb that wasn't bright enough.
As he had told himself, "perfect" was a word he had to stop using. His original dreams of giving his sibling something "perfect" died years ago when his boss cuts his funding, and payments on Beilschmidt Manor had to end. If he couldn't get the space perfect, he hoped he could at least get it good, but he was struggling as it was to make it look acceptable.
The first issue was the bookshelves. The Manor contained in it two complete libraries. One of the two containing various books from various authors with various spine sizes and colors. These books were amongst other lost furniture in a storage shed. The other library contained what could have been hundreds to thousands of identical, Prussian blue books lined from shelf to shelf. Twelve bookshelves had to find their way into the basement.
They barely fit, and had to be lined up one by one on every single wall in that basement to make the cut. Prussia would have to read whatever was in these identical books in his bathroom, and bedroom, and TV space, and on his way up the stairs.
Speaking of stairs, when he comes down them, what if he tries to go left to the bathroom? He'll run right into his dresser! No. That thing has to be moved back to under the window. That meant the bed under the window should be moved back into the left room, and the couches back out here. But that brings back the problem of how to arrange the couches and the TV about the window so there's no glare. Maybe I shouldn't…
No! It makes sense. The couches should be the first thing his guests see. But what if his guests used the back door? They'd be led right into the bedroom, and what if Prussia was doing something private in there?
Germany began to wish his brother believed in feng shui, so at least then he would have a layout he could trust. The couch had been moved eight times, the bed tried three different locations, and he'd lost track of how many times he moved the wardobe.
I should take the sign down from the bathroom; it was silly.
Prussia wouldn't want up that poster anyways, he'd want this one.
Is that dust on top of the fan? No. Stop everything.
Repeatedly, everything was stopped. It was too small, and too dark, and these blue books did not make good wallpapering. He was beginning to feel it would never look right, but maybe a quick clean would brighten the place up.
"If you grab that broom again, I will shoot you," an irritated voice claimed from the corner.
"Bruder."
"I'm very serious."
Switzerland and Liechtenstein sat together at the bottom step. Initially Switzerland was helping move furniture; first exotic cars from the garage to a rented space across town, then exercise equipment from the basement to the emptied garage, and then the furniture from the storage space that was rented when the Manor was emptied to the basement. Liechtenstein was providing snacks, and simply not willing to leave her brother's side.
However, after about three days of on and off furniture shuffling, the older of the duo grabbed a beer, the younger a water, and they decided to sit it out and wait. They both underestimated the man before them's determination to waste his own time and tire himself out, and now as the sun was setting after a day of manual labor, and one of the three of them was losing his patience.
"I just need to-"
"Germany, no."
"But if I just-"
A rifle clicked.
"Bruder," Liechtenstein desperately interjected, "let's get some food for all of us. Germany, you make any changes you need to, but once the food is here, you join us, okay?" She stood and made her way up the stairs, fully expecting her brother to follow. Once he heard the front door open, he ran to do so.
Germany figured they'd gone out for fast food which gave him twenty minutes at the least.
That's twenty minutes to get this place from crap to perfe- ...no, to good. To okay. To close enough.
For starters, he figured if he hurried, he had time to reconstruct the entire doorway.
CONTEXT: Another from Chapter 13 before Prussia comes home.
WHY: I felt I could better describe Romano's feelings through another character. Written kind of in his perspective like this forces him to admit he's in-denial, which isn't something I think his character consciously does. Plus, if I wrote it from Liechtenstein's perspective, we could explore her and her brothers' feelings too.
SCENE 2: "So, what time do you think we should get there?" Veneziano asked in his usual, annoying voice that was shifted two octaves too high for his age. He rolled about the couch in his living room having found unstoppable excitement in a blue square of paper he kept his golden eyes glued to.
"Well," Romano replied with peak irritation present in his voice, "the invitation says 2p.m., so I'd say it's safe to say… 2p.m."
"Should we bring pasta?"
"No one would eat it but us."
"Okay…but should we bring it?"
"Why would we-" A loud bang cut off Romano's train of thought.
"Ah," said Spain, entering the room and rubbing his head, "lo siento mis amigos, what are we talking about?"
"Tuesday!" Veneziano chimed, raising the blue square over his head in joy.
"Tuesday… si… it's stressful. I still don't know what I should say."
Why did this have to happen on Tuesday? This meant that from today until Tuesday, his brother, and Spain, and France, and any and everyone else would rope him into the same stupid conversation. What to bring, what to say, when to leave, what to wear – just endless stupid questions he didn't have answers to!
Romano didn't know what he was going to wear on Tuesday, but did he cry about it? No. He simply shuffled through his clothes each time he was at his closet and tried to pick an outfit. Even if he still didn't know if jeans were too casual or his uniform too reminiscent of old pain, come Tuesday he would have no choice but to put something on and go.
He assumed, furthermore, that he need not bring drinks or food. Knowing Germany he'd stock his fridge with every kind of beer and soda, and supply a meal native to every nation invited. Therefore, he shouldn't have to bring anything.
With that being said, he could bring a plate. It would look nice and spruce up the crappy quality German food he'd otherwise receive… so should he?
Goddammit this was so stupid! If Prussia was coming home Sunday night, why for the love of all things was his welcoming party on Tuesday?! When he'd asked, the giant, yellow bastard fed him some crap about Prussia needing time to rest. It was completely idiotic! He didn't want to have to keep hearing the same stupid questions while waiting for Tuesday.
"OYE, ROMANO!"
"Si…ah, yes? Don't yell at me asshole!" If it could just hurry up and be Tuesday.
"Sorry," Spain resumed, "you just weren't listening. Italy asked you if you were excited?"
"Si, fratello, are you ready for the party?"
"Yes I'm ready." Good God was he ready. He wanted more than anything right then for the stupid date and time on that stupid blue paper to hurry its ass up and arrive.
"I can't wait," Romano continued, "to get out of this house, and stop hearing these stupid questions, and get this dumb party over with and never have to worry about this again."
"I'm ready to see Prussia and Germany again," Italy cooed, bouncing happily on the sofa. Since no one was looking, Romano let the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly at the sentiment. He spun around so his back faced the others.
"Yea, whatever. Maybe if we see potato bastard 2 again, all you other bastards will get back to leaving me alone." Everyone would just look at that silver hair and flock to it, and maybe after a while Romano would join the flock too.
Maybe someday after Tuesday Prussia might want to get together again, and give Romano even more of a chance to escape these fools he was surrounded by. Maybe they would watch a show and eat chips and salsa again, and no one would die this time. Maybe things would just go back to being moderately happy if the bastard finally came back.
He had wished it an unquantifiable amount of times, from the moment he got those two invites in the mail, till now, but he figured he'd wish it again anyways. Please let Tuesday come quickly.
CONTEXT: The reason Chapter 13 took so long was because I deleted like all of it to re-write. This was originally in on Germany's half of crossing the wall. Right after where it ended "and he had someone waiting on him" it just continued like this.
WHY: Again, I feel I didn't portray the emotions carefully enough. Germany's anger seems kind of silly to me, and I think we can get the idea well enough that Germany waited all night without wavering from simply the fact that it took Prussia 5ever to get back. This was bad and unnecessary.
SCENE 3: 2:13a.m.
"Have you seen him?" he asked again, "about this tall," he held his hand at his cheekbone, "red eyes, grey hair, muscular, loud, very hard to miss."
"No, I'm sorry."
"Oh, okay, thank you." He turned to find someone else to ask.
2:24a.m.
There were still quite a few people out there. It was fine. One of these people would be named Gilbert. Germany took several calming breaths and stood on his toes to scan the crowd. Somewhere there had to be a bobbing head of silver. He looked left, right, behind him, left again, and saw mostly yellow.
Suddenly a glorious idea hit him, and he ran at the wall, then scuffed his feet up it till his hand touched the top. He pulled himself up with the remaining strength from his late dinner that night and sat atop it. This way he could see both sides from a better angle.
Blond, blond, blond, brunette, blond, black, blond, blond, GREY! He nearly jumped from his spot till he got a second look. This was the grey of long hair pulled into a ponytail on an old woman's head. He went back to scanning.
2:56a.m.
The field was beginning to clear out on both sides. He considered going home; what if Prussia was waiting for him there? But what if he was out here? He'd wait a little longer, but stay on the wall and keep scanning. He pretended his heart was full.
2:59a.m.
Where is Prussia? Does Russia think this is funny? Is this some kind of game? Germany's head had spiked several degrees and was now hot with rage. He could have counted the number of people still toddling around near the wall and none of them had short, grey hair. None of them had red eyes. Not a one of them was his brother.
They promised. America promised and France cosigned that promise and Russia begrudgingly nodded along. They swore Prussia would come back to him tonight. Swore it. So where in this cold night's Hell was he?
3:08a.m.
He noticed he had lost feeling in his toes.
It's Sunday, November 9th, in Berlin, after midnight. I came to find Prussia, and he was supposed to be here to find me. Russia said he told him to wait here for me, not to try to go home. This is Berlin, isn't it? That man found his wife. That girl found that woman. Those people hugged that group. So why am I sitting alone on this cold ass wall?
The man stood on the wall and started to walk down it. Maybe if he was a moving target, Prussia could spot him more easily.
3:37a.m.
A tall, blond, burlesque man jumped down from his spot atop a rather tall divide in the capital city of his country. He landed on the eastern side and looked around. No grey. No red.
Germany began his disheartened walk home.
CONTEXT: Originally part of chapter 15 where we have Prussia's party. Germany has left the house and now Prussia is alone.
WHY CUT IT?: I came up with what I think is a better way to describe Prussia's distress. Don't want to say too much here because this could become a spoiler to the chapter I have yet to post.
CUT SCENE 4: The house wasn't empty. He just had to keep reminding himself that the house wasn't empty. Gilbird was there and he'd perched himself on an island chair. Furthermore, there were three dogs taking naps in the hall upstairs. And Germany would be back in sixteen minutes. So, the house wasn't empty.
Bruder would be back in sixteen minutes, but what if he didn't come back? Prussia picked up his phone to glance at it again; no new messages. Was this good? Did it mean Germany was alright? Or did it mean he didn't want to talk to Prussia? Did it mean he had been kidnapped and couldn't talk to Prussia? Did it mean Russia hadn't really given up and that he was storming through the country demanding his hostage back?
Prussia set the phone down and taped his toes on the wood floor beneath him. They made a cute sound, like the sticky pitter patter he imagined frogs heard from themselves when they walked.
The house wasn't empty.
But he could feel his heartbeat. He could hear it in his ears and for some reason his heart pulsated in his arms. He felt. And he listened.
Bum. Bum bum. Bum. Bum bum…Bu-
Oh God why was that one slower? He was dying! The man clutched his chest and bent forward at the table, prepared for the striking pain of a breaking heart. It beat fast, as if it were the tempo of the tambourine swinging along.
That is until it slowed.
Bum. Bum bum. Bum.
The house wasn't empty.
With a breath, he pulled his hand away from his chest and stood. A man should never have to hear his own possibly wavering vitality.
He grabbed his phone from off the table and attempted to walk back to his room before glancing at it again, but after three steps he paused to study the device.
"Hows it going? Sent. 10:13 a.m. "
He looked at the time on his phone. 10:16. It was 10:16. It had been three minutes and his brother hadn't even read the message. He couldn't come home in fourteen minutes if he was dead.
"Bruder, wya? Sent. 10:16 a.m."
He waited.
He really tried to wait.
"Are u alright? Sent. 10:17 a.m."
The house wasn't empty. He wasn't going to be left alone again in another empty place. His hand met his chest again and his heart still beat in there.
"Did u get the clothes? Ur supposed to be back in 13 mins. u didn't get them yet did u? Sent. 10:18 a.m."
"I shoudlve gone with u Sent. 10:18 a.m."
All motion stopped as three bubbles appeared on screen. His eyes widened as he pulled the phone closer to his face.
"Im driving back Received. 10:18 a.m."
"DO NOT TEXT AND DRIVE ULL DIE! Read 10:19 a.m."
"Im immortal. -_- Received. 10:19 a.m."
…
"Are u still staring at the phone? Received. 10:21 a.m."
"Hallo?" Prussia said quietly into the receiver. Shortly after getting the "read" popup on his screen, Germany had decided to go ahead and call his brother.
"I'm on my way home," Germany responded, with a cool even tone to his voice.
"Okay."
Neither one of them said bye. Neither one of them hung up. Germany had found both a trigger and a solution.
"Bruder?" Prussia questioned.
"Yes?"
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
"What was that?"
"A car. They tend to be on the road."
"Oh. Okay."
The call lasted another twelve minutes.