--- Anon keeps messing up on the title...urgh --- Canada smells like roses today. Like dying, decaying roses, thick and cloying. When America twitches his nose to catch the scent, all he can do is gag.
“What is that smell?”
Canada stutters, “I’m trying a new shampoo,” and leaves it at that.
America spends the entire day standing as far away from him as possible.
Canada looks calmer but a little upset as well.
They don’t really talk. -- Finally, America goes to England. Canada still smells like the unnatural scent of roses and America chokes every time he stands near him. It makes Canada curl in on himself even more self-consciously than he usually does.
“I can’t get Canada out of my head,” he says matter-of-factly.
It makes England sputter. The tea he was drinking dribbles out of the side of his mouth, which has gone slack-jawed. “What?” He asks hoarsely.
“Dude, gross,” America says, but takes a seat in the chair across from England. “And I said I can’t get Canada out of my head.”
England turns a bright shade of red. “W-What you and your brother do is up to you, America. But I do not need nor do I want to hear about it!”
America sighs and leans his head against his hand. His head hurts. “He just—he smells really good. Like crazy good. It makes me want to eat pancakes,” and because he’s America, he adds, “and possibly also him. You think he tastes as good as he smells?”
If possible, England turns an even brighter shade of red.
And ow, tea pots really hurt when thrown against your head. --
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There's Something In The Air (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-10-16 01:20 am (UTC)(link)Anon keeps messing up on the title...urgh
---
Canada smells like roses today. Like dying, decaying roses, thick and cloying. When America twitches his nose to catch the scent, all he can do is gag.
“What is that smell?”
Canada stutters, “I’m trying a new shampoo,” and leaves it at that.
America spends the entire day standing as far away from him as possible.
Canada looks calmer but a little upset as well.
They don’t really talk.
--
Finally, America goes to England. Canada still smells like the unnatural scent of roses and America chokes every time he stands near him. It makes Canada curl in on himself even more self-consciously than he usually does.
“I can’t get Canada out of my head,” he says matter-of-factly.
It makes England sputter. The tea he was drinking dribbles out of the side of his mouth, which has gone slack-jawed. “What?” He asks hoarsely.
“Dude, gross,” America says, but takes a seat in the chair across from England. “And I said I can’t get Canada out of my head.”
England turns a bright shade of red. “W-What you and your brother do is up to you, America. But I do not need nor do I want to hear about it!”
America sighs and leans his head against his hand. His head hurts. “He just—he smells really good. Like crazy good. It makes me want to eat pancakes,” and because he’s America, he adds, “and possibly also him. You think he tastes as good as he smells?”
If possible, England turns an even brighter shade of red.
And ow, tea pots really hurt when thrown against your head.
--