I have to take Germany's marble… Are infomercials the new classic literature?

"Heaven's a beef with Kansas and it's growing all the time. Italian imps in Kansas got the place all sludge and grime. The story's got no beginning or end, the sandy wizard's got no dirt on his hands. O, Heaven's a beef with Kansas and it's screwing with my mind~!"

One time, when I was arguing with the toga guy whether I could at least pop into the cosmic truck stop to see Fritz and get a pop or something before I shot back to my cold, dead body, I got to listen in on a choir practice — the one Aristotle directs. The songs have all stuck with me for some reason, and fortunately they're safe for singing in my own world. Mornings like these take a ditty or two to get going, especially when Germany's dead-set on staying in bed.

My precious brother's not a guy to talk about his feelings. But sometimes, he really doesn't want to talk about his feelings. Like… he doesn't want to talk at all. It's not that he can't talk. It's that his feelings are so overloaded in his brain that all he can do is shut down and hide. He's told me sometimes he's "just mad," or "doesn't like the noise." I don't know what noise he could mean when those dogs are somehow worse alarm clocks than Friar Francis, who came around sometimes to poke me with sticks and dye my hair with his potions.

Emo Crusade is my band name. Don't you dare steal it.

"Heaven's a beef with Kansas and the purple one's alone! The fun one's gone all rainbow and his friendship's with your bro! Come on, Lud. We have to get up and go to the office this morning! Austria's going to be there, and Hungary. We might even meet some vampires!"

"Let's just go, then" he whines from under the covers. A thick hand slithers up over one of the pillows, and I see it's already covered by an ironed shirtsleeve.

"You're dressed already? Couldn't you sleep?"

"No."

"I slept like Schrippen. Hey! I can say Schrippen again! Must be the Berlin brand of EP bubbling up under my feet. This is your birthplace! Are you feeling it?"

Germany gives another silence, which means he assumes I'm insinuating that I want us to move here, opposes the idea, but has learned to be submissive to my judgments and fears condemnation if he says anything out of line, but at the same time would like me to know I am duly spited by his apathy…

I suppose I have learned to read his mind over the years.

I return to the bathroom and finish up the silver mascara — applied manually this time. I woke up feeling like a deflated air mattress, and parts of my body need their dexterity back. Even a full rendering left the three middle fingers on each hand inside out.

In go the neon blue contacts. My world brightens, and I'm the pink-eyed Prussia of the twenty-first century. Wait… gotta be 90s today, right?"

I trail my stubby inverted fingers along my outfit, and it begins to shimmer. The sleeves thin and loosen, shirt changing from business casual to street smart, buttons all opened and collar flipped up. Underneath, I manifest a band tee. Korn! Ja! No… not quite right. How about X-Perience!? A little sexy, a little magical action, a whole lotta synthy-soonth! Seeing my feathery companion, I reach my hand out and bathe him in a little pink cloud of sparkle dust. He comes out with a necklace chain wrapped around his tail feathers.

Little explosions tear the knees of my jeans apart. The belt grows longer than the loops can take. The shoes squeal and stretch and flatten on the bottoms. I click my tongue, and a couple of leather wristlets and chains snake around my arms. This is starting to feel familiar now. How about a choker? Mm, skip that. But I'll take a piercing. Just gotta flick my wrist, and…

"Don't do a piercing. The oversized clothes are art-schoolish enough," Germany grumbles. He's fully-dressed, man-satchel in hand and slunching by the door, one hand jiggling the handle to test its various tensions.

"My hair's not long enough for a decent middle part. Should I straighten it?"

"You didn't care about straightening it in the 90s."

"What did I do in the 90s?"

"You can't remember?"

"I know I had these jeans."

"You wore jeans and a hoodie every day. You weren't crawling in your skin. You were surfin' on the internet."

"I was edgy at some point."

"Edgy maybe. Grunge no."

"How do you know I wasn't grunge?"

"In the 80s, we had something called MTV. It taught me how to identify styles of different eras. When grunge came, you weren't grunge."

"I wore beanies!"

"Everyone wore beanies. I wore beanies."

"Okay. Then we're wearing beanies today," I tell him, snapping my inside-out fingers. My hair floofs out under a burgundy one, and the gel in his hair evaporates, leaving him with a mess of soft gold waves under a black one. My birdie thing sports his own tiny green beanie as he cuddles in the crook of my neck.

"Can we go now?" Germany asks timidly. My little bro does not whine, but sometimes he wants to know what it feels like.

"Yes, we can go. And you have to drive because my fingers are being Space Bags today. Too much glitter, not enough space."

"Are you going to fix them before we get to the office?"

"I don't know. Hey, speaking of space bags, you remember when cake pops weren't a thing yet, and there was that infomercial for a thing to make bake pops, and you made a bunch that looked like meatballs for Italy's birthday?"

Germany doesn't respond. This time it's because he's faded into his own world and my sudden remembrance of the Perfect Brownie Pan and the Big Top Cupcake don't give him any room for thoughtful comments.

We wave to Austria and Hungary down in the parking lot. Well, I wave to them. Germany's not one for existing around anyone other than me today. Through still-darkened streets we weave through the venerable streets of Berlin. A tingly warmth balls up inside my chest. This place is me, somewhat. The Me that still exists in EP form. I may have lost Königsberg to that pufferfish Russia, but Berlin burns bright into the future! A mix of old industry, remembrance, and the beauty of nature. Parks, museums, factories, the modernest of shopping centers~! And of course, bakeries and bakeries of Schrippen!

After a quick breakfast sandwich stop, we pass the Reichstag and follow the Spree until we arrive at PAMNAC HQ, under the guise of Tütter, Varter, Trinkenschuh & Associates. Who these venerable men are who decided to lend their names to our cause, I'll never know. I'll also never know whether they were real people named Tütter, Varter & Trinkenschuh. The toga guy didn't let me check the records.

"Eight to eight! We're almost late, Lud! Better get in there before they take your mom away!"

"I don't know what that means."

"You got your man-bag? Your snacks? Your monocle?"

"What would I need a monocle for?"

"So you can look pretentious around the vampires!"

"Can you just tell me what you're going to say in there?"

"Luddy…" I unbuckle the seatbelt and run around the front of the car so I can open his door and give him a hug. "You're marble-painting in your head again, right? You think you can paint the future, but that marble is just rolling around and around, getting paint everywhere and making a big mess. Worrying won't make you feel better. All you can do is watch and wait. I'm sure you've already planned word-for-word what you're going to say about yourself in there."

"But what if it's different than what you say—"

"Ap, ap, nope. Look what I found in your ear." I reach up and pop a steel marble out of my sleeve, showing him. No magic there. I just always have it with me for times like these. "I'll keep it safe for you."

Germany gives the tiniest nod. I've been doing the marble trick since he was a little kid. Shuts him right up. Back then he marble-painted about the scariness of muttonchops and Austria's cryptic "life advice."

"Can I have my hair up?" He asks.

I glance around the parking lot, then grin. One pale hand tears off the beanie and dissolves it into sparkles while the other combs through Germany's wavy hair and makes it stick in place behind his ears. That little curl at the front sticks up like always. The one quirk he can't hide behind a mask of steel.

"Okay, okay, okay! Time to go! PAMNAC registration for the Venerable Deutschland and the Immortal Preußen can't wait another minute!"

Weaving through the suits and ties go a grungy twenty-something and his way-too-muscly college kid of a brother. We jump in the elevator when no one's looking and press the button for the eleventh floor. Germany slunches in the corner. I link elbows with him and wait for the jarring feeling of rising.

"Physics," both of us whisper together. It's a habit he started when we were in New York one time.

The elevator door opens, and we're here! The bright signs are stuck on the wall: PAMNAC REGISTRATION.

What? Did you think we'd be going to the basement? To the secret portal behind a door only a magical being can see and open? Remember, this also has to be accessible to the humans assessing us. Humans can access the eleventh floor of an accounting firm very well.

Eleventh floor… hehehe.

"Are you here for registration?" The college intern at the front desk asks. Germany takes a few Riegels from the glass dish and stuffs them in his pocket. I take a few more, then take another one to eat right away. Ach, such quick energy is good for the soul! I hardly notice when my fingers start to re-inflate themselves right before the college kid's eyes.

"Rendering issue," I tell her with a smirk.

"So you're a…"

"A human Space Bag."

The girl laughs and directs the both of us over to the big plastic chairs where Germany's wrapping his fingers around the metal legs and squeezing. Austria and Hungary are already there, dressed better than we are. At least, they think so. I happen to think my and my bird's matching beanies are most supreme.

Not drawing any attention to Lud's discomfort, I sit between him and Hungary and cross my legs.

"So, you ladies ready for this?"

Hungary reaches a hand up and strokes my bird on the beanie. "This is so cute. Did you knit it yourself?"

"I do more than just eat candy and defy gravity. Unlike Schnozzy von Schnozzball who only plays piano and patches pants."

"I'm not going to indulge you today," Austria says, his schnozz in the air.

"Good. 'Cause I won't indulge you in any ice cream later. You're so doughy I can't even recognize you. What the hell happened since last Christmas? Eliza, this can't be your fault, right?"

"You're the one who jokes that we're married," she shrugs.

"And I'm glad of it," Austria jabs.

Suddenly, an older man in a lab coat emerges from the nearest row of cubicles and almost trips over the potted aloe. He raises his clipboard and adjusts his glasses before taking us in.

"Ludwig. Good to see you again. You can come back with me, okay?"

I smile at my little bro. "I got the marble. Just worry about yourself. It's not gonna be scary. We can get lunch afterwards."

"Where?"

"You think about it."

He looks alarmed, but rises and goes forth with the agent.

"He seems very stressed this morning. I thought he thrived on bureaucracy," Austria says.

I rock side to side, noticing the heaviness of the wristlets. "Eh, it's nothing. He thinks he wrote something wrong on his health form that contradicts the Pam stuff."

"That would upset him," Hungary says with a nod.

"Are you dying?" Austria asks.

"As far as I know, I'm at the office where Magical Non-Aging Citizens claim they exist. So no, I don't think I'm dying. On the other hand, you seem to have a serious case of the sniffles today."

The girl at the desk just bursts out laughing.

"I'll be here all week," I tell her. "And all year. And probably all century, as long as infomercials can still entertain me. Thinking of watching some right now while I wait!"

Hungary laughs, but I'm not kidding. Two minutes later and all three of us are yearning for those Slushy Magic cubes.

~N~

Based on my own quirks. I don't listen to steam engines to fall asleep, though. ^^ The eight to eight thing is from a YTP. And Germs has wavy hair. My friend's handsome drawings prove it!

Updated by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net September 30th, 2020. Clean your room! Human Space Bags are dubious beings and will not help you! Don't repost.