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"Pirates or ninjas?" England slurred, propping himself up against Denmark's chest. "You've gotta choose."
"For plunderin' me booty or for sneaking into my bed?" Denmark said, sitting him back on his barstool.
"Just which is better," England said. "S'obviously pirates. Pirates wear lace an' an' swash buckles, an' plunder the Spanish Main!" he yelled over at Spain, who flipped him off and went back to trying to dance with Romano. "Pirates have better legs too," England said, and rolled up his trouser leg. "Lookit that! Ever seen a leg like that?"
"Not for a while," Denmark said truthfully.
"Much better'n ninjas!"
"In defence of ninjas," Japan said politely, "I should point out that they are not known for making such an embarrassing spectacle while publicly inebriated."
"Vik'ngs are bett'r n'both of 'em," Sweden said, watching Denmark try to stop England going for Japan with a broken bottle.
"Hah!" England yelled. "Horned fucking helmets! Oooh, so scary!"
"We never wore horned helmets," Denmark said. "And we scared you plenty."
"I was lyin', to spare your feelin's," England said. "You an' your saunas an' your herrings an' your axes and your bork-bork-bork. S'not scary at all."
Denmark looked at Sweden. He had the murderous expression he always wore whenever someone brought up the Muppet Show. It was actually his amused expression, but Denmark didn't see why he should bother explaining that.
"We'll prove Vikings are better," Denmark said. "Right, Sweden?"
Sweden nodded.
"You're on," England said, swaying back and forth. "Japan, go and put on a mask and run round on top of the roof. I'll steal the Mary Rose. And you two can put on some horned herrings. First one to sack Spain's colonies in the new world wins."
Japan politely raised his hand. "I shall bagsie California, if that is amenable to everyone. It is more convenient for me. I shall silently infiltrate and gather information on the rumoured fourth Jurassic Park movie."
"Suit yourself," England said. "I'm going for the gold, me." He staggered off, muttering about drunken sailors.
"Are we doing this?" Denmark said. Sweden nodded. "Dragon ship?" Sweden nodded. "Right, let's go. I've got several of them stashed in Copenhagen." He shrugged as Sweden looked murderously quizzical. "You never know when they might come in handy," he said.
"Well, we're screwed," Denmark said, a short time later. He untangled himself from a hawser and glared at the mast. "I'm sure this used to be easier."
"Take th' helm't off," Sweden suggested. "Y'can't see."
"We need to do this dressed as Vikings," Denmark said reasonably. "Take off your glasses, we didn't have glasses back then."
"S'why I 'nded up in C'nst'nt'nople," Sweden muttered. "T'rned m'ship th'wrong way." He grabbed Denmark back to safety as he teetered dangerously near the water. "Get th's'pplies," he said. "I'll fix th'boat."
Denmark went off to get beer and herrings, hearing behind him an awful lot of hammering and sawing. By the time he came back Sweden was lounging on a securely installed IKEA sofa, looking murderously smug.
"Fuck me," Denmark said. "What have you done to my ship?"
"Sw'dish 'ngineerin'," Sweden said.
"One ugly sofa does not count as engineering!"
Sweden gave the starter cord in his hand a strong even tug, and an engine roared into life. "Volvo," he said.
Denmark grinned and flung himself down on the sofa. "Let's go viking to America," he said, and they left Copenhagen, making very good time indeed.