Okay so first, I want to say sorry that it took me so long to post. And second I want to say sorry because I didn't edit this very much. I figured that I just needed to get myself in gear and crank it out because I was having a lot of trouble with this one for some reason. I'll go back and edit it more later but for now, here it is in all its messy glamour. :) Thanks to all the people that reviewed, it means a lot to me :)
England grumbled to herself, slipping in and out of the translucent water smoothly. France thought she was adjusting rather well to her new body, all things considered. But then again, the girl, France tried not to think of the terrible things England would do to him if she ever heard him refer to her as a "girl," had practically been born in the water. It had been her refuge from her brothers, he'd heard. From the humans as well.
In his section of the ocean, they flocked from all corners to enjoy his waves. Not hers. Her ocean was dark and unforgiving, farther out into the wilderness that people instinctively knew to fear, and full nasty surprises. But it was all she had and, as she'd proven again and again, she learned to love it. How could she not, when it was so different from all her other experiences with people, Nation and human alike?
The ocean never left her. It was reliable. And when she was driven out of her land by raging barbarians, the ocean was there to keep her safe, tucking her deep beneath swelling waters. True, there was no one else there but England had learned long ago that it was better that way. Easier to be alone.
When she began her steady rise, Nations had wanted to come. They had asked to spend time with her, in her steady, reliable, frigid waves. She had said no. England didn't want their help. She knew how to strike out alone and preferred it. Offering cheap help when she had so clearly risen above it all by herself was a slap in the face; and she made sure to return the favor when she denied their requests.
A small exclamation of surprise brought France back. England was looking down, eyes wide, mouth open. "What?" Spain asked testily. What on earth could be more surprising to her than being turned into a mermaid? Hadn't she used up her supply of surprise for the day? "Hold your tongue." She replied pleasantly, still staring into the water. A moment of utter stillness from the Nations as the light trees swayed in the gentle breeze. Then, England dove suddenly, flashing them the emerald lace of scales as she turned.
"¡Dios Mios!" Spain jumped, unnerved by her marine movements through the calm blue. She was so fast. Granted, she'd been fast before. It was one of the biggest things she had going for her. She was wiry and tough, exceptionally strong for someone of her size but so were the other countries. They wouldn't be major countries if they weren't all strong. And she was female. In pure brute strength, an adult female wasn't going to be stronger than an adult male. Nations or not, they are only so different from humans. Where her power really lay was her speed. If she could get in five punches in the time Spain or France got off two, and she could, they were pretty much even in the hurt department.
Before, her speed had been irritatingly quick and reminded Spain of a rabbit. Now, she reminded him more of the wind in a thunder strong raging so hard the droplets of rain sliced into your skin. Primal and deadly. She popped her head back up with the same startling quickness and smiled warmly at what seemed to be tiny brown rocks in her hand. Spain and France shared a look, eyebrows raised. They'd certainly never found rocks particularly interesting but—"They're oysters, you fools." She interjected, scowling at them.
Oh. Well, oysters were significantly more interesting than rocks, considering they hadn't eaten since before all three of them had legs. "We're right above a bed of them. It's old too, and I don't think anyone's found it before." France leaned over and glanced at the water, frowning. Yes, he believed that no one had found it before. He couldn't see the damn thing at all and he'd just been told where to look. He'd never experienced such deceptively clear ocean before.
Spain frowned as well, "This doesn't mean we've struck gold. How do we know these are edible?" England rolled her eyes, that were faintly glowing, Spain noticed slowly. It was subtle enough that you could almost miss it if you didn't look close. Mermaids were rumored to become more fantastical on the hunt. The more violent the situation the more they departed from reality to bathe in the darkness of the next world. A simple sign of that was the glowing of eyes, like an animal glanced in the dark.
Or so he'd heard. Rumors were simply that: rumors. And it wasn't like there were many who lived to tell the tale when they encountered a mermaid searching for food. This was hardly violent and could barely be counted as hunting. Oysters didn't run away, they weren't something you spilled blood over. They were something you harvested by plucking them out of the water. Did this mean England was sensitive? Or did it mean bloodlust corrupted her so thoroughly, she found taking another life, even as small as this, satisfying?
His thoughts were interrupted when France palmed him through his loose pants. Spain wasn't quite sure how to react to this new development and in the end, decided confused staring was best. "I'm searching for a knife." France explained sweetly, blue eyes twinkling happily. "To open the oysters, you see." "Oh," Spain said, "that makes sense. Continue on, then." France then very distinctly felt an oyster collide with his skull. "You idiots! Stop wasting my time!" England hissed.
"I am looking for a knife." France informed her, snootily. Another oyster went flying, "We don't need a knife." She growled. "If we don't use a knife what will—" France sneered, only to trail off when England took her clawed hands and savagely tore the animal open. "Jackass." She muttered to herself, eyes glowing just a bit brighter, and tossed the mass of live flesh into her jaws.
She chewed and swallowed quickly, making a face when it was finally down. Raw oysters. Ugh. She'd already spent far too much of her life swallowing these slimy bastards and something told her she wasn't going to get much else for awhile.
"What are you doing?" Spain asked shrilly, "We have no idea if those are safe!" "Well, we will soon enough, won't we? We are Nations. I promise you," she looked at him, an eyebrow raised just high enough to doubt everything about him from his clothing to his honor, "we won't die from inedible oysters."
"She's impossible." Spain grumbled as he tore down plants growing in his path. He and France were scouting the island, searching for anything they could use to create a boat. England may have sprouted a fin but they still needed a way to travel across the ocean.
Unfortunately, there were hardly any usable materials on this godforsaken spit of land, which meant they had to fall back on the kind of scavenging they hadn't relied on for centuries. It was strangely humbling, Spain thought as he picked through the thick growth to fins something, anything, they could use.
England, the one who probably would have been best at this, was confined to the ocean and couldn't even help them. Spain growled to himself, even he could figure out that this wasn't her fault but that didn't make him any happier trolling the land while she played in the water.
An exclamation of surprise and then he could hear France crashing through the plants. "Spain! Hurry!" he called before turning tail and crashing away. Half of his brain plainly told him that what France found was probably so vine or sturdy wood that, while helpful, wouldn't be running away and there was no need to hurry.
The other half of brain however, quickly supplied his mind with an image of a tree making a break for it and soon enough, he was sprinting through the island as well. When he finally caught up with France, he took a look around. They were in a small clearing with a line of trees in front of them, shielding them from view. France crouched on his heels and peered through the leaves to star at something, motioning with his hand for Spain to come quick. Spain had definitely seen this side of France before and he could guess what was on the other side of these trees. He should turn around right now and return to searching for items. It was only decent.
But what was one small look? He went to his knees and moved the leaves as quietly as he could until he could see her. England's top half sunned itself above the water while she combed through her hair. It was rather messy after all, and she had to soak it or it would dry in it's wind blown position. Of course, this meant that she had to shift and move around and in doing so, she confirmed a thought that had been lingering in the back of Spain's mind and parading loudly in the front of France's. Mermaids were not depicted as wearing clothing. It appeared England was no different.
Spain felt his mouth dry rapidly as she danced through the water, rinsing her shining hair again and again. She…she was very pale. And pink. Very pink. This was the last thought he had before his mind slowly sputtered to a stop and England turned her head and shrieked bloody murder.