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Iceland's been having a weird dream. He's shivering from cold and yet the bed sheets feel like lava. This wouldn't be so bad if he was near his beloved volcanoes, but something tells him this isn't the case. He hears indistinct voices, murmurs in flat tones, and none of them in Icelandic.
He wakes up in a jolt, agitated. Looking around, he isn't in his bedroom anymore but in a dark place full of fire, blood and screams of anguish.
"I'm in hell???"
In that moment he realizes he is sitting on a boulder with the '666' mark. Great, now his butt is also marked 666. But onto more important matters...
"HELLO?" He shouts at the crowd of damned souls walking aimlessly. "WHY AM I IN HERE?!"
No one answers; they seem to be in a trance. Iceland's panic increases, especially upon noticing that his sparkles are gone. He tries to remember any bad stuff he's done prior to landing in Hell and... That's it! Last night he had dinner with Norway and they made Hawaiian pizza...
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Iceland screams, grabbing his face and falling onto his knees.
A woman passes him by and pats his shoulder as she says some kind words. But the only reason Iceland knows they've been kind words is her smile, otherwise, he hasn't understood a single thing. The murmurs from the beginning of his 'dream' increase until they sound like a big, monotonous bee hive.
"Excuse me!" Iceland raises his voice again. "Anyone here speaks Icelandic??... Or English???"
The voices go lower, but still no one answers. Then, a condemned soul finally turns and points at him:
"En islandsk person!"
Iceland is able to recognize this phrase from his few trips to Denmark, it's the only thing in Danish he can understand, in fact... Wait a minute, so the legends were true! Everyone in Hell does speak Danish!
"Get me out of here!" Iceland yells as he looks for a ladder or rope or some way of climbing up, as nonsensical as that sounds. When he finds none, he tries to jump into the walls like Spider-man. "HELP!!! HELP ME!!!"
All the Danes around start pointing and laughing at him in that creepy monotone; while Iceland swears, in tears, to never put pineapple on pizza again.
They're getting closer. Iceland is whimpering in a corner as the crowd says stuff to him in Danish.
"STOP! PLEASE, STOP! I CAN'T UNDERSTAND ANY OF YOU!!"
They don't seem to hear him, or more likely, can't understand Icelandic either. Those lazy bastards.
"GET AWAY, GET AWAY FROM ME!!" He tries to scream in English, but with the nerves of the moment what comes out is something like Englandic language.
With his eyes shut and shaking his head, he keeps screaming and screaming...
... Until he feels a hand nudging his shoulder.
"I don't understand, please...!"
"Iceland! Iceland, it's me!"
Iceland opens his eyes. He's back on his bed and Norway is looking from above.
"Looks like you were having a nightmare", he comments. "Are you okay, do you need some water?"
"Y-yeah, water would be nice... It feels like a sauna in here".
Norway frowns before heading to the kitchen, from where he shouts:
"We're hitting minus 15 degrees at the moment! You sure you're okay, buddy?"
"Why do you ask? I'm perfect!" Iceland chuckles nervously. "Let's just never eat pizza with pineapple toppings again, okay?"
Norway is back with a glass of water. He smiles, curious.
"Why? Because you almost made it a capital offense here?"
"Yeah, precisely that. You know I'm nothing if a law-abiding citizen".
Iceland smiles tilting his head, and his sparkles return. He starts drinking the water.
"Cool. Hey, do you feel like watching Borgen?" Norway offers, almost making Iceland choke and spit out liquid.
"NO!... I mean, The Office would be better".