A/N: I hope you all had a lovely St. Patrick's Day (and didn't forget to wear your greens and perhaps left out a saucer of milk and cream on the windowsill for the faeries to enjoy!), and even if you don't celebrate it, that you had a lovely time anyway. I know I did, my mother makes a fantastic corned beef and roasted vegetable meal, and we even had my grandmother over as a sort of early-birthday celebration.
Now, for your (irregularly) scheduled entertainment/feature presentation! Part 2 is coming up ahead, so feel free to tune in again when you can!
The search was, as most searches tend to go, rather eventful.
Spain took to his new role in helping locate the little lost bambino with enthusiasm, earnestly calling for Amato as he ducked under bushes, peered over the fence, and crawled along on his stomach to peer under the tomato plants. Hungary, using her frying pan to help push aside low-hanging vines and plants, kept up a steady stream of encouragement.
Romano brushed an errant lock of hair back as he peered into yet another clump of tomato plants, cursing the sweat coursing down his face as the sun beat down.
He's going to be in so much trouble when I get my hands on him!
But the garden was searched top to bottom, and there was still no sign of the little lost creature. To make matters worse, Spain had discovered that Little Lovi was no longer in his pocket, and was sniffling inconsolably as he searched, this time for two missing little ones. Romano, after hearing the name Spain had gifted his "pocket-pal" with, had promptly delivered a sharp slap to the back of the older nation's head, before gruffly reminding him to get on with the search...and to include the "...Little...Lo-oh, forget it, just call him that stupid Lovinito nickname" in the search.
The trio of nations approached the kissing-gate, feeling morose in their failure, when Romano spotted a tiny shiver of movement by the clusters of cherry tomatoes. Golden eyes widened with surprise, then relief, then finally settled on protective anger.
"AMATO VARGAS, YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MEANWHILE, WITH PRUSSIA, GERMANY, FELICIANO, AND AUSTRIA~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Prussia was not in full on Italian-style retreat from his angry brother. He had not run in circles around the house, dragging Germany along for a chase, ducking behind furniture, pulling rugs out from under his feet, shoving him into nearby curtains when passing by windows, doubling back around corners and doorways, and generally trying to shake off the living, breathing, angry mountain of muscle that would be all too likely to give him the lecture of the century.
He was simply taking a break from the company of those that were not on the same level of "awesomeness"...even if taking said break meant he was quietly keeping himself company in Romano's supply closet.
How his brother had somehow missed that he had ended up hiding in such a small, easily seen space was beyond him, but Prussia wasn't one to look a proverbial gift horse in the mouth. If this was one of the times that hiding in plain sight worked, he was willing to take the risk, rather than leave the potential sanctuary and get caught in the middle of the hallway, right near the kitchen he'd performed demolition duty on.
When he'd first shoved himself into the tiny closet, he'd planned on staying only long enough for Germany to pass by, and then take off and escape the house, thus avoiding a completely unawesome demise.
But problems had arisen. Germany, with Feliciano in tow close behind (France and Austria had chosen to stay behind, France to raid Romano's wine supply, Austria (out of a sense of common courtesy) to clean up the mess in the kitchen), stood just outside the door to Prussia's hiding place, trying to convince a worried Feliciano that his twin was not in any sort of danger and would not be trying to kill them for destroying so much of his house.
There wasn't much room in the closet when factoring in a fully grown man to the equation, and Prussia wasn't in the mood for spending the rest of the day in such a confining space while listening to his brother spout awkward attempts at comfort to an on-the-verge-of-tears Northern Italian.
The ex-nation pondered his rather unpleasant options: stay, and be assured to experience crippling amounts of boredom and the risk of limbs "falling asleep" in the cramped space, or go, and become a new target for the gun he was sure was stashed somewhere in the numerous pockets Germany had on his clothes.
So now, the personification of the Kingdom of Prussia, the Man who Conquered a Hundred Thousand Vital Regions, was trapped in the broom closet of the former henchman of one of his best friends, squashed between several brooms, a mop, and...
What zhe hell's underneath all zhese sheets? And for zhat matter, what does he even need all zhese sheets for? Zhere's only one bed being used!
There was something hard and curved underneath the mass of fabric, and, driven by the curiosity that only immense boredom can produce, Prussia began digging beneath the thick pile of materials, shoving aside the extra pillowcases to find a small wooden chest.
Opening it up was rather easy, given his lock-picking skills. Pulling back the lid, Prussia carelessly rifled through the contents, finding nothing of interest...until his fingers brushed against a thick bundle of old cloth.
Pulling it free, ruby eyes stared at the long bolt of faded pink cloth, his mind rapidly connecting the dots of the mental picture. Prussia was many things, but concerning potential blackmail or otherwise embarrassing information, the ex-nation was delighted to find his memory was still at prime photographic standards. Romano, stiff, standoffish, grumpy Romano, keeping mementos of his days as a cross-dressing housekeeper was definitely qualified to be in the "keep in your memory" category.
"Kesesesese...!"