|
Post by England on Oct 8, 2012 7:28:50 GMT -5
((Oh... Can I claim S.Italy? ^-^))
|
|
|
Post by Hipster Cuba on Oct 8, 2012 8:47:59 GMT -5
((Oye, may I play as the Awesome Prussia for esta academia? ^_^ I promise to be AWESOME and vill not try to attack your vital regions! ~.^))
|
|
|
Post by Thor Odinson on Oct 8, 2012 9:49:44 GMT -5
The morning was too warm, bright, and clear to waste away in some stuffy classroom. Spain could instead be found sprawled out in a quiet corner of the Academy gardens, one arm beneath his mess of hair and the other resting across his stomach. His eyes were closed and his breathing slow with sleep, despite how early in the day it was. It was never too early or too late for a siesta! And siestas beneath the warmth and light of the sun were always the best.
He stirred slightly as voices drifted through the gardens and washed over him. France, Britain, America and...was that Monaco? It seemed he was not the only one who decided to skip class today. Slowly he opened his eyes, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he stretched out leisurely on the lush green lawn and finally rose to his feet, slinging his bag heavily over one shoulder.
Spain followed the chorus of voices until he came upon the group of nations. Hola, amigos! He greeted them with a cheerful smile, plopping down in the grass beside the bench, stretching his legs out in front of him. It es never too early to start drinking! I think this plan es maravilloso! It was better to spend the day in (mostly) good company and drinks than sitting in class and listening to the relentless drone of their professors. More often than not the Spanish nation found himself drifting off and waking to the sharp jab of a pencil or the crisp slap of a ruler against his desk.
He was more interested in the Fall Festival; his booth, he was sure, would be a huge hit, though he was troubled by the prospect of the ball. Finding a date for the ball could not be that hard, could it? His heart was heavy with the burden of this task. It was not one to be taken lightly! Especially for the country of passion.
Ah, but his passionate heart yearned for one who had only rejected him harshly time and again. The Southern Italian had become too good at warding off his advances and shutting him down, so much so that Spain had given up for quite some time. He was not sure he had it in him to bear the pain of yet another rejection.
No, he would have to look elsewhere. Romano would surely just break his heart all over again.
|
|
|
Post by England on Oct 8, 2012 11:42:19 GMT -5
It was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining bright, birds were chattering around everywhere and every now and then a cheerfully coloured butterfly would pass by. And the southern part of Italy was bored as hell. He had been sitting here, in the corner of the wide field of green grass, for quite a while now. Well, for like, the whole morning; in the first hour of school he should've attended World History class but he had kind of forgotten to prepare today's presentation - which he was supposed to hold today - so he just skipped the class. And the second hours class was English, and that was just damn boring so he hadn't even bothered to think about going there.
Romano sighed, and took a look at his watch. His next class would start in about 13 minutes. He wondered if he should go there. He really didn't feel like it. Probably because he would sit all alone again; Sure, it wasn't a real difference with sitting on a field, since he was also alone here, but at least he could nod away without being noticed.
And he didn't have too much trouble with being alone, really. At least... that was what he pretended. That was what he had been saying to himself for the past few weeks.
A while ago, Spain had been stalking him everywhere he went. He sat down next to him in every class, and every break he would join him and chatter about silly stuff. And every time Romano would ignore him, or just make a short, annoyed response, which always contained the same context: "Fuck off."
He had enjoyed the Spaniards company. He really had. He just didn't know how to handle himself when he was around him. So the day that Spain actually followed his advice came as a shock to him. And he hadn't talked to him since.
Sometimes he thought he was looking at him, but as soon he tried to catch his gaze, he was already doing something else. Talking to the French or German bastards or whoever. So now Romano was alone again, feeling as miserable as miserable could be. If only he had the guts to go back to the Spaniard and-
His thoughts were cut off by some voices, echoing over the field. He recognized the most of them. America, France, Britain; he sighed annoyed. He really didn't need those right now. He tried to sink back into his thoughts again, trying to be as invisible as possible.
And suddenly there he was; the subject of his thoughts. The overly well-known voice sounded loud and clear through the air. Romano felt like he was paralyzed for a moment. Then he closed his eyes and cursed softly. "Fuck. My. Goddamn. Life." He hoped the shadow of tree under which he had been sitting would cover him from the eyes of the way too happy Spaniard.
|
|
|
Post by Hipster Cuba on Oct 8, 2012 13:16:36 GMT -5
Leaning back against a tall shade tree in the quad area, he pulls out his journal, a pencil and begins to write.
I'm so cool zat I zon't think I, the AWESOME Prussia, needs to go to class, nicht! He closes the journal and stretches his arms over his head and takes a deep breath. Looking around his surroundings and surveying the area, he ponders how he can conquer all of this places vital regions.
Ah but there is this festival, of course Prussia's booth vill be the most AWESOME, but zis date thing, he ponders, and hears voices off in the distance and recognizes that loser France and shakes his head, dummkopf, probably trying to seduce another country as usual. Begins to feel drowsy and tilts his head up to peer at the lazy clouds trailing in the autumn sky.
|
|
|
Post by Hipster Switzerland on Oct 8, 2012 15:03:46 GMT -5
Britain looked over at Antonio, whom was as cheery as always. "Hello Antonio." Arthur called, a little loyder than usual due to his headphones. "How are you there sir? Seeing the cheeriness of all, he sighed. Maybe I should have a better attitude... The Brit concluded. He turned his head to the side, pushing away his Calculus notes. Trying to make small talk to all, he asked, clearning his throat, "So uh... Y-you guys going to the... Fall Festival?"
|
|
|
Post by Loki Laufeyson on Oct 8, 2012 16:40:12 GMT -5
There was no escaping him. Truly. There was no escaping the man who haunted France even in his dreams. He could not turn one way or the other without Britain proverbially at his back, sending jolts of painful energy down his spine and crushing his heart into a bloodied vice. Why was this? The man's very essence had dug deeply into France's blood like a chronic debilitating disease. Even now, as Britain drew closer, France felt dizzily feverish; his heart thrummed is chest and his every limb felt weak. Mon Dieu, why did he still have this effect on him? After all these centuries?
He couldn't bring himself to raise his eyes to meet England's. He kept his fingers dipped in Monaco's fresh gold locks, twisting a few strands round and round his thumb and tugging affectionately on her thick yellow braid. He had nearly conquered himself when England spoke again, this time about the Fall Festival. France felt a thrill of panic. Who would Britain choose? Would he ask America right here and now in front of everyone? Why not? After all, was that not the fastest, most painful way to metaphorically slice France into pieces?
Francis nonchalantly flipped his shining gold hair over one shoulder. He smiled with all the charm he could muster--which was a grand amount indeed.
"Honhon! But of course! I am only trying to choose 'oo to go weeth. Clearly, I am ze most eligible bachelor at ze school, so I must choose wisely, non?" He gripped Monaco's shoulder to steady himself, finally forcing his eyes upward to meet Britain's cool, green gaze. Immediately, France felt as if his head had been thrust into the guillotine. In Britain's presence, France died endless beautiful deaths. "Why? Let me guess. You find yourself alone again? HONHON? Typical, Britaaaaaain. We were all about to find a pub nearby, but don't feel pressured to come, mon ami. We all know you can't 'old your liquor. HON."
He was doing it again, picking violent battles with Britain. Admittedly, there was a certain pleasure in watching the man's thick eyebrows knit together and his body stiffen with rage. He was spared momentarily from his own tempestuous feelings by Spain's sunny entrance.
Ah! What a delightful face the man had! All France's disagreeable sentiments dissipated. It was impossible to be upset around the handsomely swarthy nation; he waved his arm wildly in greeting.
"Bonjour! Bonjour, mon ami! 'Ere es a man weeth some sense! Drinking es good for ze soul, mes amis! I suggest we do so immediately! Honhon! I am too gorgeous to be en zat stuffy school today!"
Right. Right. There was no reason to choose a date today. He would think about who to bring tomorrow. Yes. Tomorrow was much better because tomorrow was not today.
|
|
Canada
New Member
I'm not air!
Posts: 27
|
Post by Canada on Oct 8, 2012 17:15:58 GMT -5
Canada almost jumped out of his seat. He was to absorbed in the book he was reading to notice the other country sit next to him. "O-Oh! Hi Russia." All of the other countries thought that Russia was scary and Matt somewhat agreed with them. But for some reason Russia was one of the only other ones to notice him.
|
|
|
Post by Vietnam on Oct 8, 2012 19:21:52 GMT -5
Vietnam just sat there. Waiting for the other Asians to come, but, assuming they were going to be late, she laid her head down for a nap. After working in hot fields at home all day, all anyone would want is a nap in an air-conditioned room, which was exactly what she did.
|
|
|
Post by Hipster Switzerland on Oct 8, 2012 19:59:37 GMT -5
"Youre joking? Me? Arthur Kirkland? Not being able to hold his liquor? What kind of wine have you been sipping?" Arthur howled, suprised at the comment. Was this teasing and allural? A way to get him under a trap? A spell? No. Simply not. He stepped up to the Frenchmen, and with a steady pointer finger on his chest and an intemse glare, he called "Youre on." Arthur's bravery felt... Powerful. He wanted more. More from him. "A-and If I lose... You pick my date to the Fall Festival. Maybe... By some chance... He'd pick himself... Oh Kirkland get a grip! That frog? Simply not!
|
|
|
Post by Hipster America on Oct 8, 2012 20:41:59 GMT -5
Clearing his throat, the Red-White-And-Blue supporting nation scowled a bit. No-one was even paying attention to him! What rotten luck. A hero should be always the star of the show, not these silly side-kicks.
Yes, he called them sidekicks.
"Yo, dudes, if you're done with your annoying and pointless fight, maybe we should get going, eh? It's pretty useless for this fight to even start!" Munching once more on his candy, the man stood and tried to wedge himself between the French and British nations, narrowing his eyes at how annoying they both sounded. "God, you two are like World War two all over again! In fact, I bet you'll cause World War three!"
Shaking his head, he set down the finished, empty bag, obviously annoyed by the sudden disappearance of food. God... What the hell is up with these two? They're worse than ever! And geez, I really don't want to get into the middle of it... It just seems useless, but I'm the hero, and as a hero, I'm supposed to be awesome and save even these two dumbasses from harm... "Come ON, dudes!" He demanded once more, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes as he backed away from the two fighting countries. "Enough with these fights and bets, if you guys want to go drinking, I suggest we get going." Without another word, turning away from the group, the hero started off in a grande march, grumbling a bit to himself about how annoying the two were.
Blood soaked his slender, young face as he stalked through the swarms of his troops. No-one even noticed that he was even there - none of his people ever did. He was just another troop in the army. They never needed to know. Rifle at his side, he charged the rank, knocking a soldier aside and hearing him curse in German. World War Two. They had invaded the region of Paris, and he was the one to get that 'frog' out of his rut and back on his feet. They couldn't lose another one. "Yo, dude!" He demanded loudly, ducking past another group of Nazi soldiers, spraying mud as he slid down into a crouch, the maroon-hue of the dirt soaked him, painted him in the blood that had intermingled with it. He had to find France. Even if it 'killed him', though he knew that was impossible, the phrase seemed heroic and awesome to him.
Charging forward once more, he continued to fight his way through swarms of German soldiers. A sudden break in the gunfire and cries of both English and German caused the young American to raise his head in cautious interest. The bloodbath of a battle was obvious. The loss of soldiers on both sides was heavy. Yet another battle. But where in the hell was France?
He had to fight on. For the Frenchie.[/i][/color]
Shaking away the thought of D-Day, America shuddered and glanced around, hoping nobody saw him spacing off. D-Day; so many soldiers had been killed. All because they charged. But... They had conquered the attacks, turned back the tide, and saved France.
|
|
|
Post by Hipster Switzerland on Oct 8, 2012 21:52:21 GMT -5
Arthur rolled his green eyes. "You know youre a shitty refferee..." He took a deep breath and walked behind him, a slouched posture and hands in his jacket pockets. While his brother wasnt looking, Arthur turned to Francis. With a straight pointer finger and a stiff serious brow, he said, "My bet still stands, frog. Dont you forget it." The man smirked. Yes now, great fucking work Kirkland. Everyone knows a Brit can hold his liquor. Francis wont have a single glass finished before Im on top! He wont even have enough time to think of who to take! Yeah... Not even... No no NO Arthur, stop that... Heh... He still looks like he used to... His stride was slow, for his thought yielded him a bit. The other nations were still sitting as they were. Hmph. Odd.
|
|
|
Post by Hipster Cuba on Oct 9, 2012 10:08:05 GMT -5
Opens his eyes at the sounds of footsteps and glances lazily in the direction they were coming from and spots the American who seems off in some dreamland of his own. I vonder vhat he's vorked up about? Vell ze Awesome that is me has no time to vorry about such matters.
Getting up and stretching out his back he looks around and wonders where the gym is at this facility. The Awesome Prussia must keep up his strength, I must get stronger, there is no time to waste lazying around. Who would want to take a weakling to zis ball? hmph they can take the AWESOME PRUSSIA! Why would anyone want to take anyone other zan me?
Watches as America nervously looks around and he laughs to himself. Yes I see you, you dummkopf and zis vill go in my journal, da. Whips out his journal and a pencil and jots down... I am so cool, I saw America today acting like a bumbling idiot in a cloud, probably dreaming about how many hamburgers he could eat in one sitting while calling everyone zis Dude he calls dem, Was für ein Trottel (what a fool)! Puts his journal and pencil away and realizes, you know if the Awesome that is me, doesn't mingle soon, I won't have a date for this ball, sighs and shrugs.
Starts to walk off in the direction of the Academy's gym.
|
|
Romano
Junior Member
Tch.. idiotas..
Posts: 65
|
Post by Romano on Oct 9, 2012 10:42:11 GMT -5
((owo Can I enroll as Italy, possibly? Y'know, North Italy.. ;p ))
|
|
|
Post by Monaco on Oct 9, 2012 11:01:13 GMT -5
It hurt. The strained twitching of France’s hurt. Though he endeavored twisting her hair gently like he used to do, the awareness of England bespeaks him of the Fall Festival made him ending up dragging her braid nervously. „Outch…“ , she mumbled barely even noticeable and bite her lip in order to avoid any further disturbing words. More interesting was the observation of her beloved France standing up and starting to provoke the one that obviously managed to make him lose his mind. She could witness this. Her hair could as well.
With a deep sigh she laid her hair over her shoulder and stroked it gently with her fingertips, still following the quarrel. It was such a pain to watch this scene quietly, though nothing she could say would make it better. Generally, it was enough to drive one to despair. France did an incredible amount of noble things to ensure Monaco’s safety. And all she was able to accomplish was sacrificing her hair in order to make him playing out his trepidation.
As he gripped her shoulder, she slightly tumbles to the side, until she got back in her steady, proper position, raising her flimsy head to focuss France. “ You can be such a clumsy fool, Monsieur France. Just ask 'im and stop playing these games.“ She let her gaze wander to America, who seemed not amused by the situation as well. If he had even heard of the rumours, which include him and Britian, going around? To be honest, she couldn’t psych him. Sure, he acted like the person being the easiest to psych, but she knew it better. Florence could never be sure of what he is truely thinking and that worried her. Preferably she would just asked America for a date for this ridiculous Festival Fall, to release France of the pain going along with unknowingness. But firstly, she was sure of a rejection, although she was convinced America was in possession of a big heart, after all and asking him in front of so many people would make it more complicated to say no. However, secoundly she considered it to be just unfair. Just because Monaco couldn’t comprehend all this fuss over the Fall Festival, didn’t mean it wasn’t important for all of them.
All the better was it when Spain joined up with her little group. "Hol-“ , she began, coughed and launched into answering again, „I mean; Bonjour, Monsieur Spain!“ Except of that, she refused from deepen the conversation with him and just accepted his presence, though Monaco was slightly relieved, and jealous somehow as well, that he could make France feel better.
As the American started leaving, she stood up as well and followed the small group still preoccupied.
|
|