|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
078. Drink"Tino, I don't need anything, really." Norway pleaded, raising a hand of defiance. "Really."
"N-No, it's fine, Norway! I'll get you something to drink. You're my guest after all!"
"No re-" interrupted by the furious working noises in the kitchen. Norway had come to hang with Finland just for the day, as Denmark was busy doing only God knows what, and Sweden was working on a new set of end-tables that he had begun crafting.
"What would you like? I have juice, scotch-wait no scratch that one." Tino hid the scotch beneath the kitchen sink sneakily yet in plain view. Norway could only imagine who's alcohol it was. Sure, Sweden didn't drink much, and he rarely saw Finland ever touch the stuff, but he wouldn't be surprised if they hid a stash for future company (he did often see Denmark come to his place with a bottle of scotch, though. For all he knew, the Dane could be picking the other two clean of their liquor. It was probably best of Tino to hide it in that case).
"Water's fine, really.
077. TestIsland had never been able to do anything other than swing a hoe and help his oxen pull the Arðr. He was not yet a fighter.
"Pick up the sword, Island." I mumbled, crossing my arms, keeping my shoulders back. The wind swept through the field, and the tall grasses of his pasture swayed back and forth under the high sun. The glare bounced off of the hard helmet that I had made him wear; it was too large on him and it took patience to watch him constantly push it back onto his tiny head.
"N-Noregur, I-It's heavy!" he was so small; I, not much larger. I beckoned him further, pleading.
"Pick it up." he did, though his arms shook under the weight of the steel. His hands could barely cover the hilt, they were so small.
"I-I don't know about this, N-Noregur." he cried, lifting the sword up so that it was leaning up against his shoulder. His knees buckled under the weight and shook just as his arms had.
"This is a test, Island. You must be able to protect yourself. You mu
076. Broken PiecesA rain of tears streamed from South Korea's face; hailing down in sparkling rays onto the marbled floor of his gallery. The lights, dimmed and florescent-turquoise, replicated what would seem to be a night's atmosphere. As the small drips of water bounced off of the floor, they shone; reflecting the broken pieces of porcelain that lined the floor that were covered in small layers of his blood.
"Silla." he shakily reached up to a small wooden shelf that hung on the gallery wall. Slowly, he slid his hand along it's base, collecting splinters in his palm; sprouting more blood droplets that trailed behind in smeared streaks. His hand reached a pasty rose colored clay vase that was almost powdery to the touch. He ran a slender finger over its side. "Gangseong Daeguk." he knocked it off of the shelf, letting it shatter with a crash.
The double doors of the gallery opened behind him and an intruder peered in.
Yong-Soo moved with a limp towards the next shelf. He held
74. Are you Challenging Me?"Are you challenging me?" a snickering voice said. The figure from which the voice came was shrouded in a dark purple hood and had deep red glowing eyes. The voice was scratchy; raw.
"Yes. I challenge you to a game of wits. A game of intensity that shall decide our fates." on the opposite end of the table was Germany, who sat back in his chair and kept a strict face. Between him and the figure was a crystal ball that was flooded with some kind of clouded fluid.
"I foresee your downfall, We-...Sir." the figure ran his thin white fingers over the crystal ball, and pressed a lever beneath the table with his foot, creating a swirling effect within the glass. "What kind of game do you wish to partake in to decide your fate?"
"Arm wr-...What?" the voice tipped upwards in surprise.
"I said, arm wrestling. Bruder [Brother], you know you can't beat me in arm wrestling."
The figure threw his hood off of his head and frowned, "Come on, West!"
"No rejections. We have a game to pla
072. Mischief ManagedDrunks are fun to watch. I'm sorry, but they are. Too bad I'm not old enough to drink.
The mischief I've managed during their drunken stumbles though...they make me laugh even now! They say I'm not a nation, well, let's see what they say when their pants are around their ankles and their faces are full of whip cream!
Sweden. I got him the morning after he and Finland drunk themselves to sleep. I grabbed some of the fish dinner they'd eaten that night and held it in front of him as he slept. Must've smelled like Finland; well, at least it made out like him!
Denmark. Well, I didn't have to do anything. He embarrasses himself when he's drunk. Norway, on the other hand...he was a tricky one. Norway won't drink very much around me, let alone around Denmark...someone has to be sober around him other than me...
Anyway! He does drink while he's alone though. As a micronation, nobody notices if I slink under the bed and wait there. Drunken Norway equals, "lets bounce under the bed and make s
071. Obsession"A world wide obsession. One fueled only by the finding of the next channel; strait; passage." The furious winds of the arctic whipped at Arthur's face and clothing. His eyebrows began to slowly crystallize into ice shards, and his hands shook under the intense pressure of the sheer cold.
"Many have died looking for the Northwest passage. Most of them were of my nation. I sent them out like an idiot, expecting results. Expecting to be able to find a way into Asia through forty feet of solid ice." the sky was enlightened harshly and the glare of the sun bounced off the ice into England's eyes.
"I've lost one of my most famous men; Sir John Franklin. He took 128 other men with him, and for many years, he's been missing. I would have given up on this long ago, if it weren't for his wife, Jane. God, she's a hardy one...she just won't give up. She continues to persist that her husband is alive. I know that can't be true...but I must appease her." The rush of the steamboat that he stood upon
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More