The name was foreign, new and belwidering, just like everything else in the New World. And the ancient, forgotten tongue of the nations could not translate it.
The Italies (and France) were enraptured by the ‘pretty, pretty, shiny, shiny’ light. And Spain was awed by the child himself. Never mind the “shiny light.” But Prussia and England were yet to be impressed. The conquistadors, who were still very much in the vicinity thank you very much!, were baffled but shared the same sentiments. Psh, it made light. Big deal.
“So? What does it do?” England bluntly asked.
And the boy’s expression completely changed. A haunting smirk darkening his expression.
He chuckled darkly. “Wouldn’t you like to find out? Maybe by cutting off a limb or-!”
“Yöëtsate!”
The child nation yelped, swinging the lightsaber over his head. The weapon cutting straight through the trunk of the tree. The tree creaking loudly before falling backwards with an earth-shattering crash.
It was safe to say Prussia and England were impressed. The conquistadors along with them.
Yöëtsate, as the boy was now dubbed, leaped forwards in an attempt to escape but was caught by the collar of strange shirt. And none to gently hauled back.
“What have I told you about playing with the lightsabers? Look! You just killed a tree!” An elder man, also a nation, loudly reprimanded. Wresting the weapon from the young one’s grip.
(The conquistadors were hurriedly ushered by their self-appointed tour guides in that “nothing to see here” manner. The nations were thankfully left alone.)
Yöëtsate struggled fiercely. Almost animalistic in his behavior before the elder nation whacked him upside the head.
The European nations were rather shocked. Perhaps they were savages after all. A beluef reaffirmed by the child seeming to fall limp.
“Hey! Don’t hit him like that!” Spain snapped. Ready to separate the child and the man
The man shot him a puzzled glance as the boy slowly revived. Sniffling quietly, his small frame trembling.
And then he began to wail. As in wail. “I sowwy. I sowwy!”
His language regressed, his very behavior regressed. So, so very different from the persona just a few seconds ago. Instead of the excitable/mischievious boy. There stood a frightened, bunny-rabbit of a child. Hiding behind the elder nation the moment he was set back on the ground.
“I apologize for him.” The elder nation cleared his throat. “His people are still getting used to the whole unity thing. He’s still pretty unstable.”
He patted the boy’s head, ruffling that shock of coarse, raven-black hair.
“My name is Cuba. This country here is me. We’ve been waiting for you.” The man grinned.
“Wait, you’ve been what?!” Prussia screeched.
“Well, duh!” Yöëtsate chimed in. His personality chaning once more. “I meanm ya took long enough. We saw you coming for months now! Were you on a cruise or something?”
“Brat!” Cuba barked. “Why don’t you get outta here? The festivities are starting anyway.”
“It’s more fun here!” Yöëtsate whined.
“Leave or I tell Tony about the time you hi-jacked his flying saucer for a joy ride.
Yöëtsate squeaked, timid once more, and ran off in the direction of the music.
[2 or 3/?] I thought it would be a good idea at the time [2 or 3 depends on who's asking/?]
The Italies (and France) were enraptured by the ‘pretty, pretty, shiny, shiny’ light. And Spain was awed by the child himself. Never mind the “shiny light.” But Prussia and England were yet to be impressed. The conquistadors, who were still very much in the vicinity thank you very much!, were baffled but shared the same sentiments. Psh, it made light. Big deal.
“So? What does it do?” England bluntly asked.
And the boy’s expression completely changed. A haunting smirk darkening his expression.
He chuckled darkly. “Wouldn’t you like to find out? Maybe by cutting off a limb or-!”
“Yöëtsate!”
The child nation yelped, swinging the lightsaber over his head. The weapon cutting straight through the trunk of the tree. The tree creaking loudly before falling backwards with an earth-shattering crash.
It was safe to say Prussia and England were impressed. The conquistadors along with them.
Yöëtsate, as the boy was now dubbed, leaped forwards in an attempt to escape but was caught by the collar of strange shirt. And none to gently hauled back.
“What have I told you about playing with the lightsabers? Look! You just killed a tree!” An elder man, also a nation, loudly reprimanded. Wresting the weapon from the young one’s grip.
(The conquistadors were hurriedly ushered by their self-appointed tour guides in that “nothing to see here” manner. The nations were thankfully left alone.)
Yöëtsate struggled fiercely. Almost animalistic in his behavior before the elder nation whacked him upside the head.
The European nations were rather shocked. Perhaps they were savages after all. A beluef reaffirmed by the child seeming to fall limp.
“Hey! Don’t hit him like that!” Spain snapped. Ready to separate the child and the man
The man shot him a puzzled glance as the boy slowly revived. Sniffling quietly, his small frame trembling.
And then he began to wail. As in wail. “I sowwy. I sowwy!”
His language regressed, his very behavior regressed. So, so very different from the persona just a few seconds ago. Instead of the excitable/mischievious boy. There stood a frightened, bunny-rabbit of a child. Hiding behind the elder nation the moment he was set back on the ground.
“I apologize for him.” The elder nation cleared his throat. “His people are still getting used to the whole unity thing. He’s still pretty unstable.”
He patted the boy’s head, ruffling that shock of coarse, raven-black hair.
“My name is Cuba. This country here is me. We’ve been waiting for you.” The man grinned.
“Wait, you’ve been what?!” Prussia screeched.
“Well, duh!” Yöëtsate chimed in. His personality chaning once more. “I meanm ya took long enough. We saw you coming for months now! Were you on a cruise or something?”
“Brat!” Cuba barked. “Why don’t you get outta here? The festivities are starting anyway.”
“It’s more fun here!” Yöëtsate whined.
“Leave or I tell Tony about the time you hi-jacked his flying saucer for a joy ride.
Yöëtsate squeaked, timid once more, and ran off in the direction of the music.