Italics= thoughts
Romania landed yet another crumpled up piece of paper in the waste basket across the room, as his swivel chair completed yet another rotation.
He had hit a roadblock in his search. He had tried calling America, (annoying as he was.) he knew England well enough to guess where he might hide something, but he hadn't answered. Romania wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or to let out a sigh of relief. Sometime later he had tried calling Norway. The phone was answered, there was five whole seconds of silence, and the phone was hung-up. Romania knew from experience that this meant Norway had fully acknowledged his call, and did not want to talk to him now, or any time in the near future.
Romania propelled the swivel chair around a few more times, and threw another balled up piece of note paper. It bounced into a lampshade instead of the intended destination. Then there was odd Silence. Come to think of it, Romania wasn't really sure why he thought crumpling up pieces of paper and throwing them away would help him think. He wasn't even writing anything on them...
Undaunted by this method's lack of success, he ripped another page out of the spiral note book in his hand. He spun the chair again, and threw another wad of paper. It actually flew out the window behind him because of the chair's momentum, but he decided not to take much notice as of now.
"Alright, here's a thought," Romania's chair completed another revolution. "How do I find things that I lose?"
Romania threw the yellow notebook onto the back on the old recliner across the room. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure where that recliner came from- because it certainly wasn't in his house yesterday.
In typical fashion, he decided not to care until it might actually matter.
"Alright, if I was a hidden spell book where would I be..." Romania paused "No, scratch that- where would I hide something if I was Englan-"
Romania grimaced. Him as England. Not a pretty thought.
"...Not to mention the whole 'eyebrow' prob-" He mentally smacked himself "Alright If I was England-" he shuddered "-where would I put something I didn't want anyone to find...?"
Romania was sure he had heard England say that it wasn't in his house. At the time he had assumed he meant his 'house' house... but maybe?
Romania probably would've thought more on the subject had not the word 'house' set off a peculiar mental alarm.
It was at that moment that Romania realized he didn't recognize the wallpaper in this room. It was also at that moment he remembered he didn't own a swivel chair. Nor, for that matter have a private office, a painting of a swan, a waffle maker,(Which was for whatever reason stapled to the wall,) and especially not a small Jack-Russell Terrier that was becoming rather annoyed at the man tossing crumpled up notebook paper into his water bowl.
Oh that's right, he wasn't in his house.
Long distance apparition really could be more of a hassle than it was worth. In any case he really had to be going…
…
… but he could grab a quick bite to eat first.
Sorry for another short chapter, but it just ended so well there that I couldn't resist.
Will we ever find out why Romania wants the book? Will we find out what's in it? Will I ever stop asking questions?!
...
I've heard Romania described as "carelessly eccentric", and I'm hoping this fits the bill.
