A/N: Temperance is generally defined (according to Wikipedia at least) as control over excess. It has many other sub-categories, but I decided to go with this definition alone. Thanks again to all the reviewers and such. Enjoy the chapter~
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, just this story.
Twisted Angels:
Germany
Temperance
"I'm a liar." Germany thought, the words sounding as jumbled and incoherent in his mind as they would have if he had spoken them aloud.
The bottle in his hand was barely visible through his blurred vision, the only reason he knew it was still there was because of the seducing smell of beer drifting off the rim.
No. Liar wasn't enough. That was only one side.
"I'm a hypocrite." Yes. That was the whole picture.
.
.
.
"How come every time I come back here it looks like a dinner party gone horribly wrong?" Germany asked as he wiped the last smear of sauce off the kitchen counter. He frowned at his reflection in the now glittering black marble before looking up at Italy, the question still hanging in the air.
Italy smiled sheepishly, his hair curl bouncing as he tried his best to look innocent. "I get hungry when you leave." It was a ridiculous answer, but Germany had heard it so many times that he was starting to believe it.
"Can't you at least exert some self control when you eat? Peeling noodles off the kitchen floor every day isn't exactly something I enjoy doing."
Italy pouted. "Maybe if you weren't always so busy and didn't leave all the time…"
Germany sighed. It was always the same thing over and over; a never ending cycle of messiness. "I don't want to talk about this again. Not today. Let's go to bed."
.
.
.
"How do you stop someone from eating too much?"
Asking advice was not something Germany enjoyed doing, especially when the person he was asking was Austria. But it was him or Prussia and…
No. It had to be Austria.
"Instruct them in proper culinary etiquette." Austria said over the rim of his teacup.
Germany shook his head. "It's not that easy."
"Then this concerns Italy I assume?"
"Who else?"
"In that case, besides dead bolting your fridge, I have no other advice appropriate for this situation."
Germany scowled as Austria set down his teacup and headed for the kitchen. "Why do I even waste my time asking you for help?" He said.
"I don't know…would you like some cake?"
"You eat too much cake."
"Is that a no?"
"Yes."
.
.
.
So…it had come down to this.
Prussia laughed loudly, causing everyone within a 10 foot radius—particularly Germany—to wince.
"I knew you would eventually come running to me West!"
Humiliation and extreme regret. That was what Germany felt as he sat rigidly across from his brother.
"So here's my awesome plan—" Prussia began.
Germany quickly cut him off. "No. No plans."
"Then how about—"
"No weapons."
"What about—"
"No handcuffs."
Prussia exhaled noisily and crossed his arms. "Well if you don't want to go with any of my plans, then why are you even here? I'm very busy you know."
Germany narrowed his eyes. "What could you possibly be busy with?"
Ignoring the sting of the remark, Prussia only smirked. "Not with what, West. With who."
"…"
"…"
"You have too much sex."
.
.
.
Talking to his brother always gave him a headache and Germany barely thought twice as he reached into the fridge, the cool beer bottle the first thing his hand grasped.
He had returned once more to find the kitchen in ruins, the leftovers of Italy's "dinner" scattered across the counters and table top.
With a sigh, Germany pushed aside the plates of what might have once been linguine but was now an unidentifiable combination of red and white paste.
The cap of the bottle came off too easily. A simply twist and the only sound that filled the kitchen was the hiss of escaping air.
In the end, one bottle became eight and Germany fell asleep on the table, knowing nothing more until the morning when Italy's sing-song voice jolted him awake, the only thing he could recall being the two words from the past night, flashing in his head.
Liar, liar, liar.
…hypocrite.
A/N: As usual, feedback of all sorts is loved. Kindness is next. Guesses?
with love
-dancer