“Right,” Switzerland says, getting to his feet. “Now that all required nations are in attendance, this meeting can commence. To the first order of business…”
Ready to take notes, England pulls out a pen. It’s his turn to take minutes, according to the official minutes rota that Germany insisted on setting up. He doesn’t like doing admin work, but it’s only ever his turn once a decade, so he supposes there’s little point in arguing - especially with a migraine.
“Wait!” Finland cries, silencing Switzerland mid-speech. “Where’s Sweden? We can‘t start without him, either.”
Hm. England thinks back to earlier in the day. He encountered Sweden in the corridors, he distinctly remembers it; when he asked the Nordic where he was going, Sweden replied that he had too full a schedule to attend the meeting. Or at least, that’s what England thinks Sweden said; it’s hard to tell when faced with such severe bluntness.
Turning his attention to Finland, England utters, “Sweden was busy, so he couldn’t stop - I’ll give him the minutes to read from the top.”
America’s usual grin melts into a frown. “Alright, bro, it was funny before, but you can stop now.”
Giving America a quick glance over his shoulder, England frowns right back. He hadn’t intended to form another couplet, but the look of mild irritation that’s settled across America’s face is somewhat soothing to witness, lessening the intensity of his headache. Schadenfreude, as Germany would say.
Maybe he should keep this up for a while.
Finland doesn’t seem to notice anything odd about England’s last comment and says, “But you’re writing in English, yes? Sweden doesn’t like reading in English when he can avoid it.”
England takes a moment to think about the problem at hand - and to formulate sentences that rhyme, simply so America‘s frown will intensify. He smiles weakly at Finland and says, “Some of the facts may be lost in translation, but I’ll give it a read-through without hesitation. My Swedish is poor, yes that I’ll admit, but Scotland can help as he knows quite a bit.”
Content, Finland says, “Thank you!”
The meeting restarts, Switzerland talking at a faster pace than usual to advance the discussion. England scribbles down the parts he thinks will be important for those wanting a transcript later, and barely notices France shooting him confused looks from across the board table.
“And now, I believe Hungary has an issue to raise?” Switzerland says, once he’s finished droning on and on about the state of European dishwashers.
“Change of plan!” Hungary says, with a bright smile. “I’m swapping my turn with France; is that okay?”
“I don’t see why not,” Switzerland replies, his words accompanied by a shrug. “England, would you please mark that down for reference?”
“That’s not a problem, I’ll do it with haste,” England says, “but swapping with Francis is surely a waste.”
“Hey,” America says, tugging on England’s sleeve. “Did Shakespeare possess you again or something? ‘Cause you’re still all lyrical and shit.”
While his perfectly-manicured nails tapping a rhythm on the table, France joins in with a declaration of, “It’s annoying, is it not? England, please end your campaign to make everything rhyme.”
A few miscellaneous nations look England’s way, expecting a reply or an excuse for his sudden tendency to speak in verse. Internally, England is in hysterics, but he’s too tired to laugh out loud. And he wouldn’t want to, because that would give the game away. It’s far too much fun playing innocent, and he really has nothing else to do for entertainment at this meeting so by God, he’s going to keep up this charade for as long as he still finds it amusing.
“Nevertheless,” France says, getting to his feet, practically oozing élan, “the show must go on, and I have a few points of order to contribute…”
When France says ‘few’, he usually means ‘few hundred’. England sneers and asks, “How many points, if I may be so bold? I’d rather escape here before I get old. If you’re going to stand there and ramble all day, write your own minutes or just go away.”
Silence descends over the room and reigns, until Denmark bursts out laughing and Japan tries to hide chuckles behind his hand. England has the urge to join them, just from the look of sheer infuriation on France’s face, but he manages to stay composed.
“Uh, Arthur?” Canada says, his tone softer than usual. “Are… are you drunk?”
England narrows his eyes. “I battled to get here through cold morning mist, and now you accuse me of turning up pissed? You have awful manners and I blame your brother, or maybe the Frenchman you treat as your mother! For your information I’m perfectly fine; Northern Ireland, my dear, could you tell me the time?”
The nation in question hesitantly raises her head from the book she’s reading and quickly checks her watch, cringing with humiliation at her brother’s sudden poetic mood. “It’s… it’s half-past-twelve.”
Satisfied, England nods. “That’s just terrific, I did have a hunch; if we don’t get a move on I’ll have to miss lunch. I was forced to skip breakfast and that’s not much fun; can we please finish up before a quarter-to-one? Time will keep ticking for every nation, and lateness is surely a cause of frustration.”
“But of course,” France says, raising an eyebrow. “I will try to complete my allocution quickly just for you, dear Angleterre.”
“Don’t bend to his whim,” Bulgaria grumbles. “Poetry is fucking annoying.”
“I’m sorry my speech isn’t pleasing to you,” England says with a cheery, completely-fake grin. “What in the world am I going to do? Bulgaria, please, let us sort out our issues. I’ll come ‘round tonight, bringing chocolate and tissues. I’m sure we’ll be friends if you give me a chance; rhyme isn’t so hard, it’s like learning to dance.”
Bulgaria reddens and visibly sinks in his chair, deciding not to dignify England with an answer. Oh, this is fun; this is the most fun England’s had at one of these summits for as long as he can remember.
“England!” Germany barks. “You are aware of how irritating you sound, aren’t you?”
This is too easy, England thinks, as he whirls in his chair to stare at Germany, who is seated next to Austria at the other end of the table. “Surely you know what I’m trying to do? Out of everyone here, I’d expect it of you: knowing the game that I’m trying to play, joining right in to expand what I say. Your land is the birthplace of playwrights galore, so surely you’ve tried writing poems before?”
Germany shoots a nervous look at an oblivious Italy before he turns back to England and replies, curtly, “I can’t say I have.”
Taking on a histrionic approach, England sighs far too loudly and flings up his hands. “That’s really a shame, you should give it a try. What’s the worse that could happen, who’d spit in your eye? As you can see, it is something sublime, not to mention a great means for passing the time.”
America’s teeth grind together. “Stop. It.”
England gives America another fake grin. They’re so noticeably forced that they just look like grimaces. “I’m disappointed in you, and the way that you shun; you used to find poetry ever so fun. You made me read them to you once a night, in the days of warm fires and soft candlelight. I really did hope that you’d take up the hobby, but now it appears that you’ve just become snobby.”
“Me?” America says, indignant. “Me, snobby? That‘s fuckin’ rich, coming from you, England."
“Let’s try not to argue, I don’t want a brawl. I wonder now, lad, why I bothered at all.” England sniffs before continuing, “Why don’t you try it? Just make up a verse! Compared to Romano, you couldn’t do worse.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” Romano says, outraged. “I don’t write poetry-”
“I’m not a liar, I’ve looked through your notes,” England says. “You often write poems and sometimes leave quotes. The problem with yours is, you start them just fine, but as for the ending, you struggle each time. Roses are red, you say, violets are blue, but you never complete them with Spain, I love you.”
Romano splutters indignantly as Spain gives him an uneasy glare. “I never complete them with… with that, because I don’t want to!”
“But once you did write it, then scribbled it out,” England insists. “I advise you confess, boy, you don’t need to pout. Love isn’t shameful so you needn’t fret; by the way, you’d succeed writing limericks, I bet.”
When England turns his head, he is confronted with a sharp, small point directed at his face - the tip of a sword. It’s France, proclaiming, “This needs to stop!”
“Put down your weapon, this isn’t the time,” England snaps. “The meeting is young and it’s not hit its prime. We don’t need to duel yet and surely that’s clear; we’ll voice our complaints when the finish is near.”
France does sheath his sword, deciding that perhaps drawing it in the first place was sort of an overreaction, but he stays standing up. “How do you expect us to finish anything when you are distracting us by talking like Charles Baudelaire?”
England is offended, replying, “Don’t compare me to that damn Franco-poet, my rhyme’s more advanced and you bloody well know it!”
Groaning from exasperation, France flicks his wrists. “You are insufferable, more so than usual - not only annoying, but also delusional!”
Seizing his chance, England grins and says, triumphant, “Ha, now who’s rhyming? I believe that it’s you! Hypocritical fool, telling me what to do!”
“This isn’t my fault, and you know it‘s a chore,” France replies, shocked at himself. “Whenever you do something, I must do more! You posed me a challenge so I’m taking the time, to blast down your efforts, outdistance your rhyme.”
Clearly feeling left out, America stands up, slamming his hands against the table. “This is just stupid, quit while you’re ahead. Poetry’s lame - yeah, you heard what I said! Stop making them up before they start to spread. You just sound like losers wherever you tread.”
Then his eyes widen and his jaw falls slack when he realises what he’s just uttered. His cheeks turn a delicious red and England stares at America’s countenance, taking great amusement from the embarrassment he sees etched there.
“I fear that my penchant for verse is infectious,” England says, smug. “Your eyes are quite magnified there behind Texas. Really, my dear I think you have a gift…”
He trails off, wondering how to complete his sentence. It’s then that he’s aware all eyes are on him, enthralled nations waiting to see what he says next, captivated by the strangeness of the meeting. Switzerland has closed down the presentation window, the meeting clearly adjourned due to mass distraction, and England wonders how he’s going to get home because Northern Ireland, his designated driver, conveniently decided to leave before her brother embarrassed her any further.
So England clears his throat, tilts his head, and addresses the room with, “But I am slightly drunk; could I ask for a lift?”…
OP is delighted in this anon! You did such a great job and I love how much of an ass England was through it all. XD Thank you so much for filling this out~ :D You did a fantastic job with the rhyming and I love that America and France ended up doing it as well.
Anon this was very funny! I don't find rhyme annoying, I find them amusing so I had a great time with this fill. Also the 'duel' between France and England was hilarious, and they have so many great poets in their history, it was a very IC moment for them :) As for myself, I couldn't rhyme to save my life, so I envy your talent ;D
Oh man, I need to see this as a musical in the style of Gilbert and Sullivan. This was a perfect interpretation of the prompt.
My review is quite lacking, there isn't enough time To praise your fine writing and awe-striking rhymes. But if you permit me to ramble a bit, I'll say what I can, though my rhyme is all sh- Um.
An author who spins golden wit with just words Is as fresh as a vale filled with sweet-singing birds. I'm getting sentimental, and my prose is quite purple, So I'll just end this sentence with a real word called curple.
(Look it up. Curple is a real word.)
But seriously. I adored this fic immensely. Your England is now my headcanon.
I found your comment sly, apt and expressive; Your knowledge of odd Highland slang is impressive. Hetalia: The Musical's surely a winner, If only we could find a suitable singer. I'm glad my portrayal of a bastardy Brit, Fixated with verse and the allure of wit, Fueled by the things that he may well have said, Has taken its place in your canon of head.
Odd as it may sound, there IS one musical With our favorite characters - yes, it's quite unusual - Based off a number from out of Broadway Though one could argue it's really a play With a few notes thrown in... forgive me, I'm rambling The point is: Hetalia: Ragtime is gamboling Through my mind - I'll re-watch right away! You're welcome to join me (this is where I'll say This is a sure-time hit! Your fic hit it all - The rhyme and the characters; I had a ball!) You've heard what I said, and you heard what I think And before I forget, please enjoy this link!
That's just fantastic, I'll watch it with glee The stretch of this fandom's amazing to me I do adore musicals; that much is clear Especially those with a cast I hold dear Thanks again for your praise and the time that you took To show me the link so I could have a look x)
Anonymous author I must tell you how this yarn did thrill! You made me glad I abandoned my own endeavor to fill. I considered a moment to tackle this tricky request, But realized my skills were inadequate at best.
Your turns of phrasing were quite witty and bright, And your characterizations were delightfully right. The nations all bristling at England's facetious teasing, I found to be exceedingly rapturous and pleasing.
When America himself spat out rhymes of his own I nearly laughed 'til my sides hurt to the bone. You captured rogue England's rhyme savvy with fluidity; Your approach all 'round held skillful word artistry.
And now, before I keep rhyming through dawn I shall this comment stop before I can yawn. I did so enjoy this fill; it was fun and outrageous! But, oh no! it's true, rhyming is quite contagious.
Cheer up, anon, for your poetry's fine! And I will respond with a bit more of mine This dabble in verse was a great lot of fun These poetic responses are second to none I'm glad you enjoyed it; thank you for the musing I'll leave you in peace now to finish your snoozing x)
Had I more time and more skill with rhyme, I would congratulate you more for writing such lore. (Though I'm sure all that rhyming was a bit of a chore...)
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unacknowledged legislators of the world [2/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-10 08:08 pm (UTC)(link)Ready to take notes, England pulls out a pen. It’s his turn to take minutes, according to the official minutes rota that Germany insisted on setting up. He doesn’t like doing admin work, but it’s only ever his turn once a decade, so he supposes there’s little point in arguing - especially with a migraine.
“Wait!” Finland cries, silencing Switzerland mid-speech. “Where’s Sweden? We can‘t start without him, either.”
Hm. England thinks back to earlier in the day. He encountered Sweden in the corridors, he distinctly remembers it; when he asked the Nordic where he was going, Sweden replied that he had too full a schedule to attend the meeting. Or at least, that’s what England thinks Sweden said; it’s hard to tell when faced with such severe bluntness.
Turning his attention to Finland, England utters, “Sweden was busy, so he couldn’t stop - I’ll give him the minutes to read from the top.”
America’s usual grin melts into a frown. “Alright, bro, it was funny before, but you can stop now.”
Giving America a quick glance over his shoulder, England frowns right back. He hadn’t intended to form another couplet, but the look of mild irritation that’s settled across America’s face is somewhat soothing to witness, lessening the intensity of his headache. Schadenfreude, as Germany would say.
Maybe he should keep this up for a while.
Finland doesn’t seem to notice anything odd about England’s last comment and says, “But you’re writing in English, yes? Sweden doesn’t like reading in English when he can avoid it.”
England takes a moment to think about the problem at hand - and to formulate sentences that rhyme, simply so America‘s frown will intensify. He smiles weakly at Finland and says, “Some of the facts may be lost in translation, but I’ll give it a read-through without hesitation. My Swedish is poor, yes that I’ll admit, but Scotland can help as he knows quite a bit.”
Content, Finland says, “Thank you!”
The meeting restarts, Switzerland talking at a faster pace than usual to advance the discussion. England scribbles down the parts he thinks will be important for those wanting a transcript later, and barely notices France shooting him confused looks from across the board table.
“And now, I believe Hungary has an issue to raise?” Switzerland says, once he’s finished droning on and on about the state of European dishwashers.
“Change of plan!” Hungary says, with a bright smile. “I’m swapping my turn with France; is that okay?”
“I don’t see why not,” Switzerland replies, his words accompanied by a shrug. “England, would you please mark that down for reference?”
“That’s not a problem, I’ll do it with haste,” England says, “but swapping with Francis is surely a waste.”
“Hey,” America says, tugging on England’s sleeve. “Did Shakespeare possess you again or something? ‘Cause you’re still all lyrical and shit.”
While his perfectly-manicured nails tapping a rhythm on the table, France joins in with a declaration of, “It’s annoying, is it not? England, please end your campaign to make everything rhyme.”
A few miscellaneous nations look England’s way, expecting a reply or an excuse for his sudden tendency to speak in verse. Internally, England is in hysterics, but he’s too tired to laugh out loud. And he wouldn’t want to, because that would give the game away. It’s far too much fun playing innocent, and he really has nothing else to do for entertainment at this meeting so by God, he’s going to keep up this charade for as long as he still finds it amusing.
“Nevertheless,” France says, getting to his feet, practically oozing élan, “the show must go on, and I have a few points of order to contribute…”
unacknowledged legislators of the world [3/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-10 08:09 pm (UTC)(link)Silence descends over the room and reigns, until Denmark bursts out laughing and Japan tries to hide chuckles behind his hand. England has the urge to join them, just from the look of sheer infuriation on France’s face, but he manages to stay composed.
“Uh, Arthur?” Canada says, his tone softer than usual. “Are… are you drunk?”
England narrows his eyes. “I battled to get here through cold morning mist, and now you accuse me of turning up pissed? You have awful manners and I blame your brother, or maybe the Frenchman you treat as your mother! For your information I’m perfectly fine; Northern Ireland, my dear, could you tell me the time?”
The nation in question hesitantly raises her head from the book she’s reading and quickly checks her watch, cringing with humiliation at her brother’s sudden poetic mood. “It’s… it’s half-past-twelve.”
Satisfied, England nods. “That’s just terrific, I did have a hunch; if we don’t get a move on I’ll have to miss lunch. I was forced to skip breakfast and that’s not much fun; can we please finish up before a quarter-to-one? Time will keep ticking for every nation, and lateness is surely a cause of frustration.”
“But of course,” France says, raising an eyebrow. “I will try to complete my allocution quickly just for you, dear Angleterre.”
“Don’t bend to his whim,” Bulgaria grumbles. “Poetry is fucking annoying.”
“I’m sorry my speech isn’t pleasing to you,” England says with a cheery, completely-fake grin. “What in the world am I going to do? Bulgaria, please, let us sort out our issues. I’ll come ‘round tonight, bringing chocolate and tissues. I’m sure we’ll be friends if you give me a chance; rhyme isn’t so hard, it’s like learning to dance.”
Bulgaria reddens and visibly sinks in his chair, deciding not to dignify England with an answer. Oh, this is fun; this is the most fun England’s had at one of these summits for as long as he can remember.
“England!” Germany barks. “You are aware of how irritating you sound, aren’t you?”
This is too easy, England thinks, as he whirls in his chair to stare at Germany, who is seated next to Austria at the other end of the table. “Surely you know what I’m trying to do? Out of everyone here, I’d expect it of you: knowing the game that I’m trying to play, joining right in to expand what I say. Your land is the birthplace of playwrights galore, so surely you’ve tried writing poems before?”
Germany shoots a nervous look at an oblivious Italy before he turns back to England and replies, curtly, “I can’t say I have.”
Taking on a histrionic approach, England sighs far too loudly and flings up his hands. “That’s really a shame, you should give it a try. What’s the worse that could happen, who’d spit in your eye? As you can see, it is something sublime, not to mention a great means for passing the time.”
America’s teeth grind together. “Stop. It.”
England gives America another fake grin. They’re so noticeably forced that they just look like grimaces. “I’m disappointed in you, and the way that you shun; you used to find poetry ever so fun. You made me read them to you once a night, in the days of warm fires and soft candlelight. I really did hope that you’d take up the hobby, but now it appears that you’ve just become snobby.”
“Me?” America says, indignant. “Me, snobby? That‘s fuckin’ rich, coming from you, England."
unacknowledged legislators of the world [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-10 08:10 pm (UTC)(link)“What the fuck did you just say?” Romano says, outraged. “I don’t write poetry-”
“I’m not a liar, I’ve looked through your notes,” England says. “You often write poems and sometimes leave quotes. The problem with yours is, you start them just fine, but as for the ending, you struggle each time. Roses are red, you say, violets are blue, but you never complete them with Spain, I love you.”
Romano splutters indignantly as Spain gives him an uneasy glare. “I never complete them with… with that, because I don’t want to!”
“But once you did write it, then scribbled it out,” England insists. “I advise you confess, boy, you don’t need to pout. Love isn’t shameful so you needn’t fret; by the way, you’d succeed writing limericks, I bet.”
When England turns his head, he is confronted with a sharp, small point directed at his face - the tip of a sword. It’s France, proclaiming, “This needs to stop!”
“Put down your weapon, this isn’t the time,” England snaps. “The meeting is young and it’s not hit its prime. We don’t need to duel yet and surely that’s clear; we’ll voice our complaints when the finish is near.”
France does sheath his sword, deciding that perhaps drawing it in the first place was sort of an overreaction, but he stays standing up. “How do you expect us to finish anything when you are distracting us by talking like Charles Baudelaire?”
England is offended, replying, “Don’t compare me to that damn Franco-poet, my rhyme’s more advanced and you bloody well know it!”
Groaning from exasperation, France flicks his wrists. “You are insufferable, more so than usual - not only annoying, but also delusional!”
Seizing his chance, England grins and says, triumphant, “Ha, now who’s rhyming? I believe that it’s you! Hypocritical fool, telling me what to do!”
“This isn’t my fault, and you know it‘s a chore,” France replies, shocked at himself. “Whenever you do something, I must do more! You posed me a challenge so I’m taking the time, to blast down your efforts, outdistance your rhyme.”
Clearly feeling left out, America stands up, slamming his hands against the table. “This is just stupid, quit while you’re ahead. Poetry’s lame - yeah, you heard what I said! Stop making them up before they start to spread. You just sound like losers wherever you tread.”
Then his eyes widen and his jaw falls slack when he realises what he’s just uttered. His cheeks turn a delicious red and England stares at America’s countenance, taking great amusement from the embarrassment he sees etched there.
“I fear that my penchant for verse is infectious,” England says, smug. “Your eyes are quite magnified there behind Texas. Really, my dear I think you have a gift…”
He trails off, wondering how to complete his sentence. It’s then that he’s aware all eyes are on him, enthralled nations waiting to see what he says next, captivated by the strangeness of the meeting. Switzerland has closed down the presentation window, the meeting clearly adjourned due to mass distraction, and England wonders how he’s going to get home because Northern Ireland, his designated driver, conveniently decided to leave before her brother embarrassed her any further.
So England clears his throat, tilts his head, and addresses the room with, “But I am slightly drunk; could I ask for a lift?”
…
…
Ignore the fail poetry, ignore it all!
Hope this was sort of what you wanted OP, orz
Re: unacknowledged legislators of the world [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-10 08:49 pm (UTC)(link)Re: unacknowledged legislators of the world [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-10 09:24 pm (UTC)(link)Re: unacknowledged legislators of the world [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-10 11:12 pm (UTC)(link)As for myself, I couldn't rhyme to save my life, so I envy your talent ;D
Re: unacknowledged legislators of the world [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-11 01:09 am (UTC)(link)My review is quite lacking, there isn't enough time
To praise your fine writing and awe-striking rhymes.
But if you permit me to ramble a bit,
I'll say what I can, though my rhyme is all sh- Um.
An author who spins golden wit with just words
Is as fresh as a vale filled with sweet-singing birds.
I'm getting sentimental, and my prose is quite purple,
So I'll just end this sentence with a real word called curple.
(Look it up. Curple is a real word.)
But seriously. I adored this fic immensely. Your England is now my headcanon.
a!a
(Anonymous) 2012-02-11 01:27 am (UTC)(link)Your knowledge of odd Highland slang is impressive.
Hetalia: The Musical's surely a winner,
If only we could find a suitable singer.
I'm glad my portrayal of a bastardy Brit,
Fixated with verse and the allure of wit,
Fueled by the things that he may well have said,
Has taken its place in your canon of head.
Reader!anon
(Anonymous) 2012-02-11 04:05 am (UTC)(link)With our favorite characters - yes, it's quite unusual -
Based off a number from out of Broadway
Though one could argue it's really a play
With a few notes thrown in... forgive me, I'm rambling
The point is: Hetalia: Ragtime is gamboling
Through my mind - I'll re-watch right away!
You're welcome to join me (this is where I'll say
This is a sure-time hit! Your fic hit it all -
The rhyme and the characters; I had a ball!)
You've heard what I said, and you heard what I think
And before I forget, please enjoy this link!
http://hetalia.livejournal.com/2613641.html
a!a
(Anonymous) 2012-02-11 12:13 pm (UTC)(link)The stretch of this fandom's amazing to me
I do adore musicals; that much is clear
Especially those with a cast I hold dear
Thanks again for your praise and the time that you took
To show me the link so I could have a look x)
Re: unacknowledged legislators of the world [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-11 03:20 am (UTC)(link)So I'll leave you a comment because I am dutiful.
a!a
(Anonymous) 2012-02-11 12:25 pm (UTC)(link)I'll treasure it always, your fabulous phrasing. x)
Re: unacknowledged legislators of the world [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-11 05:22 am (UTC)(link)You made me glad I abandoned my own endeavor to fill.
I considered a moment to tackle this tricky request,
But realized my skills were inadequate at best.
Your turns of phrasing were quite witty and bright,
And your characterizations were delightfully right.
The nations all bristling at England's facetious teasing,
I found to be exceedingly rapturous and pleasing.
When America himself spat out rhymes of his own
I nearly laughed 'til my sides hurt to the bone.
You captured rogue England's rhyme savvy with fluidity;
Your approach all 'round held skillful word artistry.
And now, before I keep rhyming through dawn
I shall this comment stop before I can yawn.
I did so enjoy this fill; it was fun and outrageous!
But, oh no! it's true, rhyming is quite contagious.
a!a
(Anonymous) 2012-02-11 12:22 pm (UTC)(link)And I will respond with a bit more of mine
This dabble in verse was a great lot of fun
These poetic responses are second to none
I'm glad you enjoyed it; thank you for the musing
I'll leave you in peace now to finish your snoozing x)
Re: unacknowledged legislators of the world [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-11 10:52 pm (UTC)(link)and more skill with rhyme,
I would congratulate you more
for writing such lore.
(Though I'm sure all that rhyming was a bit of a chore...)
(I must also say
all these reviews made my day ♥)
a!a
(Anonymous) 2012-02-12 02:45 am (UTC)(link)The problem you see,
Is all these anons
Are far better than me D:
(Thanks for the comment! :)
*that's debatable