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Chapter Text

The scraping sound of metal on metal bounces off the walls of Germany’s house as he works rigorously to block an attack.

Netherlands, his opponent, is an aggressive duelist, apt with the sword and showing very little restraint. At this point in the fight, they’ve both begun to break out into a bit of a sweat, but the exertion or stress of the challenge hardly shows on the Dutchman’s face. He takes every one of Germany’s attacks with practiced grace, choreographing his movements.

Germany prides himself on his dedication to learning various forms of combat. He’s familiarized himself with the tradition of chivalric dueling under strict guidance from his brother… Yet here he is, in the lawn of his own house, getting a true sense of how woefully unskilled he is at the sport compared to his northern neighbor. Up to this point he’s done a good job fending for himself, but he fears it may be an impossible task to gain the upperhand when he always seems to be half a second behind Netherlands.

It’s not like he’s a particularly prideful individual either, but the jeering from the little audience the two have amassed has him gritting his teeth and choking up on the hilt of the sword with a painful grip. Even if he’s outmatched, there’s no way he’ll show it now. There’s too much on the line.

“Go Germany, go!” Italy cheers from the sideline, oblivious to Germany’s plight and an unwelcomed, stark contrast to the ruthless teasing from the rest. He’s overly cheerful, definitely on his way to tipsy, holding a generously filled glass of wine.

“Why are you seriously sucking at this? Wow, embarrassing,” his brother calls out, his arms crossed in front of his chest. It’s genuinely anyone’s guess why Germany continues to house, feed and look after that guy.

“Can you guys wrap this up already?” Austria complains, his voice pitchy and grating as always.

The stuffy pianist gets his wish, much to Germany’s chagrin, as Netherlands goes for the finishing blow. Had this duel taken place even a century ago, it may have ended with Germany terribly injured with a not so pretty but courageous scar as a souvenir, however, in this instance, it ends with his sword dramatically flying out of his hands, along with all hope of winning and saving his dignity.

From the sidelines, Belgium and Luxembourg explode with feverish excitement, jumping up from their seats like they hit a parlay. Prussia spouts off in angry German, mostly to himself. In his buzzed state, Italy yells words of comfort to Germany that the man ignores. Austria stands up and folds his chair, muttering something like, “Great, it’s over,” as he puts it back and heads into the house.

Luxembourg claps his hands together, and with barely contained glee turns to Germany and says, “You know what that means!”

There’s a sinister glint in his eye that Germany knows he’ll never forget, but before he can open his mouth to humbly accept this defeat, he’s whisked away into his house by both him and Belgium.

“This is perfect, because Netherlands is too tall to fit this dress anyway!”

“Oh totally.”

They make quick work of him, and he’s dragged out of his room like a feisty cat, clawing and clinging to his bedsheets, the curtains, anything he can get his hands on just to delay the embarrassment further.

As a young nation coming into his own, Germany always imagined what the future would hold for him. Prosperity, a powerful army, and neighbors who both respected and feared him. Germany wonders if he ever imagined a future where he loses a bet and as punishment, is made to don an uncomfortably tight German beer maid Halloween costume that barely reaches his knees. His neighbors stand at attention, but not out of fear or respect.

“West, you look like a stupid little girl. This is what happens when you are a loser.”

“Wow, look big brother, I’m surprised it fit him so well!”

“Listen to me Liechtenstein, never make friends as foolish as these and you’ll never find yourself in this predicament.”

Austria, previously disengaged, mysteriously rematerializes in the fray, his eyebrow raised in perverse delight.

“Don’t even start that thought.” Germany hisses through gritted teeth.

“Germany!” Italy sidled up besides him, placing one delicate hand on his upper arm, the other still cupping his glass. “Don’t feel down. You tried your best! And the dress isn’t so bad. I mean, you look really scary in it, nothing like the pretty, cute, sweet milkmaids I imagine would wear this, but still. Not bad!”

“Italy, you are not making me feel better.”

“Anybody thirsty?” Belgium called out, a mischievous smile on her face and the keys to Germany’s car dangling in her hand. “I’m dying for a beer...”

Chapter Text

Having 25 days off for vacation, Norway decided to take advantage. A common misconception about him and those like him, is that they’d already seen the world and visited every country there was, but the not so fabulous reality was that despite their unusual status, they were still bound by human social constraints such as work and money.

And although his early seafaring activities meant he’d “discovered” the Americas roughly 500 years before his other European neighbors, Norway had yet to visit and enjoy the lovely nation of Seychelles. The romantic, tropical islands made for a perfect, tranquil vacation spot, and the temptation was hard to fight.

Without too much thought, he booked the hotel and flight, and here he was, sitting in a lovely restaurant after a relaxing afternoon reading, looking to keep the good vibes going…

…Only for the lightness in his chest to be crushed by the sight of a familiar, light-haired nation sitting at the table right across from him.

Norway noisily dropped the fork in his hand and leaned back in his seat. The source of his upset feigned obliviousness, tucking into his own food with enthusiasm.

“Russia…”

He looked up to the sound of his name. “Hm? Oh, Norway!” That disarmingly happy smile took its place on his lips, but Norway knew better than to fall for that childishly animated voice. In all the years he’d known the man, he’d always been a bit of a jolly guy, reddened cheeks curved upwards in his climate’s biting cold, but he knew it never quite reached his eyes.

“What a coincidence! Are you vacationing here, too?”

In the split second socially acceptable pause between Russia’s question and what should be Norway’s answer, Norway reeled himself in and racked his brain for an appropriate response. Deterrence and reassurance… no Russia, I don’t want to spend time with you during my Seychelles vacation, but yes Russia, I am so happy to see you here…

“Something like that. You are looking well.” It was admittedly unusual to see Russia wearing something so casual. He was simply wearing a loose fitting t-shirt and shorts, practically the exact same thing Norway had on at the moment, but the novelty of it felt wrong or gross, even. He tamped the feeling down, paralyzing the muscle in his lip that ached to grimace.

“Well, thank you! You too. Honestly, I’m surprised to see you here rather than somewhere like Santorini…” It felt underhanded to say such a thing, but Russia could be a confusing character in that regard.

“...But Seychelles is a warm, lovely place, and Seychelles herself is even warmer. You see, there were no troublesome visa requirements to enter. For vacationing, this was a concern of mine at first, but in the end, it did not prove to be an obstacle!”

Norway swallowed a lump in his throat. “Oh, yes, I can see how that could be… a problem—”

“Actually, do you want to know where I first thought of vacation?” He asked, with an innocent tilt of his head. In that instant, Norway swears he feels the room grow colder, colder than what should be possible for the tropical humid Seychellois climate.

Before Norway could finish pathetically croaking, “oh, where was that,” Russia interrupts him, meeting Norway’s eyes dead on and replying, “You!”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” A childish giggle escapes Russia’s lips. “Oh, I wanted to come see you, but it seems like you have restricted access.”

Norway’s mind flits back to the memory of that fateful meeting with the justice ministry. A cold sweat runs down the side of his temple.

“What a shame. You know, a year back I tried to enter Finland for vacation too, but hit the same wall!”

“Well, it’s Finland. What did you expect?”

At that, Russia laughs, like, actually laughs, throwing his head back, holding his stomach. The tension eases immediately and Norway breathes easily again, as though a weight had been lifted.

As he wipes tears from the corners of his eyes, he remarks, “Haha, that is true.”

It wasn’t even that funny a joke, but he felt let off the hook of Russia’s passive-aggressive line of questioning and pushes down more feelings of unease.

“Either way, I’m really enjoying myself here. And the food is amazing, if you haven’t already, try the octopus coconut curry!”

Norway was actually halfway through his delicious plate of octopus-zourit, but inexplicably found his appetite diminished…

Before the silence could sour, a waitress approached his table, giving him the perfect out.. “How are you enjoying the food?”

“Great. But, I am full now. Could I get this to go, please?”