Feb. 27th, 2010

ex_finnish_604: (You kick up the leaves and)
[Even before he opened his eyes, it was apparent that something was wrong.

It wasn’t particularly unusual that he woke up alone. That is, to say, that he wasn’t being tightly clung to by a certain Sweden. However, if he awoke in the middle of the night, he’d often find himself unable to move after being caught in the arms (“choked by” may be a more appropriate term, though this was clearly not the other’s intention) of the aforementioned Swede and forced himself to sleep again. Not that he’d care to see Sweden’s scary half-asleep expression in the middle of the night anyway. He thankfully missed it in the morning, in any case, considering that Sweden tended to wake up and make breakfast before Finland could so much as roll over. It wasn’t exactly startling that Sweden wasn’t beside him.

Upon shuffling his feet, however, the absence of a puppy near them caused a bit more confusion. Hana-Tamago usually stayed asleep until Finland did, if not longer. Maybe Sweden decided to walk her earlier than usual. And Sealand? The absence of screaming meant that he was still asleep. He had stayed up late watching cartoons again, hadn’t he? That had to be it, right?

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come up with reasons why he was unable to pick up the familiar scent of cinnamon and lingonberry that always wafted around the house during the early morning hours. Why the quilt Sweden had made was absent, why the sun seemed brighter than usual even behind closed eyelids, why it seemed abnormally warm in this room, why the bed creaked when he rolled over. And no matter how hard he tried to go back to sleep, how much he wanted to wake up back in his own bed, he eventually gave in and slowly opened his eyes.

This wasn’t his house, Sweden’s house. This definitely wasn’t Denmark’s house or Russia’s house. Not even Norway’s or Iceland’s houses came anything close to this. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t some kind of cruel trick or joke, right? Even his clothes were different, and the voices from downstairs were strikingly unfamiliar. If that was the case, this could only mean…. Oh dear Odin, there’s no way. He rushes over to the phone on the nearby nightstand, dialing a number and fumbling to pick up the receiver.

1. No dialtone.
2. Finn drops said phone, leaving it hanging from the nightstand by its cord.
3. ….Cover your ears, everyone.]


OHYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

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The Republic of Finland ❆ Tino Väinämöinen

December 2011

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