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Post by Sweden on Aug 25, 2011 19:30:43 GMT -5
Keeping the urge to facepalm in check as Mathias mentioned him burning the bar, Berwald was even more hard pressed to resist the gesture when the Dane asked if he was easy. Leave it to his brother really, to find a way to relate every little thing to his ego. Berwald settled for rubbing at his jaw and muttering under his breath, something about the Dane not even having to try most times to find girls to bed. Not that the Swede had trouble with finding willing partners of the fairer sex. He just wasn't interested.
Therein lied the issue. About to remind his brother of that fact, Berwald was too late and was left at the table to watch Mathias waltz up to the bar for more beer. The blond had thought he'd made that clear five years ago. He guessed his loud southern neighbor just hadn't taken him seriously. Even if it was Mathias and Norge's open mindedness that had prompted him to come out of the closet. Officially anyway, considering he'd known for certain where his preferences lay at least a century or more ago. He simply hadn't told or confirmed it to anyone until he'd made same-sex partnerships legal, after his old raiding companions had legalized first.
Trust Mathias to let that kind of thing fly right over his head, thought Berwald with an amused and exasperated shake of his head. The shake was at himself as well, since his libido seemed to be tied to the matters of his heart. He wasn't sure why he was still holding onto his one sided affections.
Gaze drifting back to the bar, the Swede watched his brother interact with the barmaid. He was wondering what was going on, hoping Mathias wasn't going to try and set him up with the poor woman. Or rope him into some kind of obligation, that would raise false hopes.
When Berwald noticed his brother was coming back to the their table, he raised his eyebrows in question. He really was curious as to what the barmaid had said.
“All she wanted to talk about was how she wants to be a Swedish lady and how men from Copenhagen care too much about their hair.”
Eyebrows raising further upwards at that statement, the blond took his beer. "Y'do spend lotta time on y'air," calmly pointed out Berwald, pointing to Denny's head. "N' y'always go on n' on 'bout it," he added, knowing how much Mathias liked to brag about the messy mop.
“She's all yours, bror. Have fun.”
Now Berwald did facepalm, his hand connecting to his brow with a resounding smack. It connected with his glasses too, which smudged the top of the lenses, making the Swede remove them to rub them clean with the lapel of his shirt that he pulled out of his pants. He'd left his little special rag at home with the case, so his shirt would have to do for now.
"Danmark," Berwald started slowly, checking the cleanliness of his lenses, finding them to be bearably clean and tucking the spectacles back onto his face. "Not int'rested in 'er. Not tha' way," he added, staring at his brother and hoping Mathias would get a clue. Although he was feeling a bit nervous, covering it up by drinking from his beer.
"Y'should go after 'er, if y'like 'er," he finished, finding the Dane's grin a bit contagious and breaking out into a small one himself. "I'd only dis'point 'er."
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Post by Denmark on Aug 31, 2011 1:32:41 GMT -5
Sometimes, Berwald did the strangest thing. Now, he slapped his forehead, managing to catch his glasses which necessitated the Swede removing them to clean away the fingerprints with a swathe of his shirt. Mathias watched the movement with curiousity, taking a gulp of his fresh pint. Sve was really very unusual at times. Most normal people didn't hit themselves in the face, particularly not in public events or for no reason. Maybe those beers were already going to Sve's head, Mathias thought, deciding that his old friend actually had lost his alcohol tolerance after all. Pity. The Swede was good competition when he was on form.
“Denmark.”
“Mhmm?”
There was a pause in which the taller man checked his glasses for any remaining dirt. Evidentally finding the lenses satisfactory, he repositioned them before continuing. “Not int'rested in 'er. Not tha' way.”
Berwald was giving him a strangely intense look and intermittently sipping at his beer, obviously trying to communicate a nonverbal message using signals that went right over the Dane's head. “What other ways are there?” He took another thoughtful swallow. “I guess there are girls you're interested in spending a night with, and girls that you're interested in for a bit longer, but aren't you jumping ahead a bit? Besides, she just wants to take you dancing, didn't say anything about taking you home to meet her parents.”
“Y'should go after 'er, if y'like 'er.” Finally, that intense gaze seemed to be lessening and Berwald graced him with a rare, small smile. “I'd only dis'point 'er.”
“Your beer certainly would,” said Mathias, nodding in agreement, “Given that she's a Danish bar-maid. And despite what she might think at the moment, Swedish is really no where near as fun to speak as Danish. Also,” he leaned back so he could give his brother an appraising up-and-down look, “she probably thinks you're some kind of gangster with that suit and your crazy intense stare, so it'll be a bit of letdown to find out you're just weird.”
He gave his pint some more attention, ignoring how quickly they were getting through the rounds, and looked over to where the bartender was doing her best to pretend to be sympathetic toward a customer's rendition of what a terrible day he'd been having. “Besides, I'm not going to go after a girl who prefers my brother. She must be blind.” Another large swallow of beer. “Or maybe crazy. And you'd never let me live it down, anyway. No, if I want to take a girl home tonight I'll have to find one that isn't suckered in by your smooth Swedish wiles.”
He sighed and cast a quick glance over to the bar, thinking of the way she'd grabbed his arm and suggested they go to a bar later. It was a shame - she was very good-looking – but investing in some pride was probably the prudent reponse one this occasion. How funny that Danish women seemed to have a weakness for Swedish men. Mathias wondered if that said something about the deeper workings of his subconscious – were his mind and his people's attitudes that closely intertwined? He guessed he'd had a love-hate relationship with his tall neighbour for centuries, maybe really ever since they first met. Berwald had always been so calm and logical and usually right that Mathias had always had to work really hard to beat him at anything. Sve was pretty strong, too. Probably stronger than Denmark at the moment. Hmm. Mathias made a mental note not to challenge his brother to any physical competitions tonight – unless it involved drinking.
“Anyway,” he said, asking another of the questions he'd been holding in at the ceremony, “How's Tino and Peter? I haven't seen them in ages.”
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Post by Sweden on Sept 13, 2011 9:11:32 GMT -5
Rolling his eyes as Mathias started to find all his imaginary faults, Berwald listened with veiled amusement. Although he wasn't surprised his brother didn't understand what he'd meant about not being interested in the barmaid. Now though, the seed of a devious idea was taking root inside his mind. Drinking from his pint as he continued to listen, Berwald determined he wasn't drunk enough yet to pull that kind of stunt off. He wasn't sure how well Mathias would react to it either, anyway. It'd probably be best to wait until both of them were properly smashed before doing anything surprising.
Although the Swede didn't think the woman liked him just because he was Swedish. That could be part of it, but Berwald had a feeling it was because he'd shown absolutely no interest in her. Possibly because it was so easy to get him to blush as well and he cursed that particular aspect of himself. He remembered asking Tino about it once, and apparently the only answer they could come up with was that it was 'cute'.
“Anyway,” Mathias said. “How's Tino and Peter? I haven't seen them in ages.”
Perking up at the question, Berwald rested his elbows on the table and leaned on them comfortably. He always liked talk about Peter and he'd spoken to Tino on the phone last week. They'd made plans to try and meet up for lunch next week, when they'd both have a lull in their schedules.
“They're doin' good,” answered the Swede, smiling a little. “P'ter's away fer now. Visitin' Arthur,” he added, thinking about how quiet the house was. He'd fixed a few things so far though, like the last hole Peter put in the wall by accident, when he'd tripped on the stairs. Which reminded Berwald that he had to take off that carpet that was on them, before the boy nation got back. Too many people had taken tumbles or nearly taken them, since he'd put the carpet down on them.
“T'no's doin' good too,” Berwald continued on, taking a moment to finish his glass of beer. “Things aren't so tense 'nymore b'tween us. Think ev'ryone's calmin' down from ev'rythin', finally,” he finished, thinking about conflicts. Not that everything was as hunky dory as before himself and the Finn, but at least now they didn't tip toe around each other as much. The relationship was still complicated, but that comfort with each other was returning and Berwald was glad for that.
Looking over at his brother, Berwald wondered how much contact Mathias had with everyone else in their group. He'd last spoken to Norge during the last nation conference. Iceland was supposed to have been there, but he'd been too ill to travel and had had to skip.
“Y'talked wit' Norge n' Island r'cently?” the taller blond asked. “S'arder t'get in touch wit' 'em.”
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Post by Denmark on Sept 18, 2011 0:33:05 GMT -5
Berwald responded to the question about his old friend and adopted son with rather more gusto than the teasing over the bartender had elicited. He even leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, as if settling in for the long haul. Mathias observed this warily as he made short work of his pint, wondering if he'd just opened the night up to long conversation about 'Peter-did-this' and 'Peter did that' with the proud adoptive father. If Sve was expecting him to share any enthusiasm over testscores, or childhood sportsmatch results then he was going to be disappointed. Mathias liked his sailor-suited new nephew well enough, but his interest did not stretch to include the trivialities of the boy's daily life. He'd been bored at length with tales of the securityguards' children on the drive to the bridge today, already.
Fortunately, the Swede was not given to verbosity, even after a few beers and on his favourite subject. “They're doing good,” he answered with a small smile. “Peter's away fer now. Visitin' Arthur.”
“Good that you get a break” Mathias said while his brother drained his beer. He wanted to ask 'how long for' – because, without fatherly responsibilities to attend to, Berwald would be much more fun should the Dane chose to utilise the bridge and show up unexpected in Stockholm – but the conversation was already shifting.
“T'no's doin' good too. Things aren't so tense 'nymore b'tween us. Think ev'ryone's calmin' down ev'rythin', finally.”
Mathias just nodded. It was mystery of a thing that the little Finnish nation and Berwald had managed to get into a personal conflict seeing as they'd always been so close, but they had all fallen upon hard times over the years. Tino probably had few options and was forced to make the hard choices, but it was perpetually bewildering for Mathias that while they had been choking Denmark's streets, harrassing Norway and attempting to starve Sweden, Tino had greeted the goose-stepping Nazis as his heroes. Whatever he'd personally been feeling must have been amplified tenfold for Berwald. It was amazing, really, that two had been able to reconcile in such a short timeframe. Mathias knew that he wouldn't have been able to share that good grace if he'd taken his taller brother's place.
But all that went without saying, so instead he gave a warm smile. “That's good. It's hard to imagine you two on the outs for long.”
“Y'talked wit' Norge n' Island r'cently? S'arder t'get in touch wit' 'em.”
“Ah, well, you know Nor.” He toyed with his pint glass for a bit before pushing it into the middle of the table. “Apart from being too cool to join the EU, he's been pretty busy. Mediating between Sri Lanka and the Tamil separatists. Strange, huh? But keeping busy.”
“And Icy...” It had only been slightly over a half a century since the Icelanders had voted with overwhelming numbers choosing to cut all ties with Denmark - the sheer number still made Mathias smart a bit, to be honest - and Iceland himself was putting much of himself into maintaining his independence by expanding his banks. It seemed to working well for him at the moment, despite putting all his efforts into that area alone. “He's embracing his independence. For now. Guess Nor probably hears more from him than I do, these days. They're okay. We should all catch up sometime, go have dinner or something.”
He said it hopefully, knowing that the others didn't share his longing for the old days. They tended to have excuses not to visit or other engagements that took precedence over catching up with the brother they viewed as a former tyrant. He directed a tentative grin toward Berwald, wondering if at least one other would think a reunion would be a good idea.
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Post by Sweden on Sept 28, 2011 21:45:57 GMT -5
Berwald wouldn't exactly call Peter's stays away from home, 'breaks'. It was more or less Arthur getting huffy about Peter never visiting him and the Swede talking his adopted son into going for just a few days. Although he did tend to go visit his friends more often than the British nation.
He listened to the rest of what Mathias had to say with attention though, looking pensive. It would be a good idea to get everyone together. Berwald couldn't recall the last time they'd all gathered to do something as a family. It would certainly be interesting and he returned the Dane's smile and nodded.
"Would be good idea," said the Swede slowly, leaning backwards for a quick stretch of his back and shoulders. He looked like he was about to say something else, when the barmaid came buy and replaced their empty drinks with full ones.
Murmuring a soft 'Takk', Berwald was blushing a second later when she winked at him. He was wondering how he could let her down gently and was relieved when she went to go bus another table. He should really do that soon, before he got too loosened up by beer to make sure he didn't offend her with his words. This was a nice bar to hang out in after all and it would be a good thing to keep within the good graces of the owner and its employees. If they wanted to keep coming back, that is.
"Where should w'go? Can talk t'T'no n' Norge 'bout it," he offered. Then he could ask Norge to mention it to Island and that way the word would get around. They'd all have to agree on a location too. "Less y'want t'invite Norge y'self."
"M'by could 'ost it?" Berwald suggested, looking over at Mathias. His house was certainly big enough and it would be neutral ground for most of them. They could each bring something and make it like some sort of potluck dinner.
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Post by Denmark on Oct 7, 2011 13:59:36 GMT -5
'Would be a good idea."
As his brother smiled and nodded, Mathias exhaled a stream of breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and felt his own grin grow steadier.
He waited for the verbal reply Berwald seemed gearing up to deliver and was slightly confused when no such reply was forthcoming. At least, he was confused up until his brother's admirer leaned right over Mathias' shoulder to swap the empty glasses for fresh beers.
Mathias seized his with a grin of thanks, but his brother offered the proprietess murmured thanks and a blush. The Dane shook his head at the sight. He almost pointed out that if Sve kept blushing like that, the girl was just going to be encouraged, but Berwald was quicker to speak, finally saying what he'd intended to before the new beers had been delivered.
"Where should w'go? Can talk t'T'no n'Norge 'bout it. Less y'want t'invite Norge y'self. M'by could 'ost it?"
He shrugged and stretched out his legs. He wasn't concerned about who did the inviting as long as everyone came, and figured the first person to run into Finland, Norge or Island should let them know a get-together would be happening. He said as much to Berwald, and agreed that he could host it. His beer was by far the best, anyway - and the cheapest, unless he wanted to pay Germany a visit to stock up on the comparably less expensive bier.
"Everyone bring a plate," he suggested. After a gulp of beer, his face turned hard. "But no one bring that stupid surstromming stuff. And tell Eirik not to bring hakarl. You know I can't stand the smell of either of those things. I mean it. It's not funny."
The alcohol was having little effect, so Mathias quickly sculled the rest of his beer. It was easy, with so many years of practice, to tolerate drinking the fizzy beverage so quickly. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Mathias' gaze dropped to Berwald's glass.
"Better hurry up," he advised as he lifted a hand to signal the bartender for a fresh round. "You have until your biggest fan arrives to get that beer down you."
Around that point, time became disjointed. The beer must have finally caught up with him, but that didn't stop Mathias from continuing to down glass after glass. It seemed the barmaid had been visiting them frequently, though whether that was to refill their pints or to make repeated passes at the Swede was difficult to tell.
At some stage during the night, Mathias found himself outside in the bar's back courtyard with his brother by his side. The sun had long since set and the night's chill was in full force, it seemed, and the Dane found he was cursing himself for leaving his suit jacket behind with Margrethe's security detail.
"Danish people are th'bessst people in th'world," he was saying, alcohol slurring his speech into something approximating a louder version of his drinking companion's habitual enunciation. "They're th'prettiesht, okay, and they're th'sssmartesh', n'th'happiesh', n'they're mine!"
He saluted the sky with a half-full beer that he couldn't remember buying and turned to Berwald. "Your people are only Swedissh, bu' tha'ssokay, because we're neighboursso they're automatic'ly better than av'rage."
He plopped himself down one of the outside benches and peered at Berwald through the dull illumination provided by one ancient-looking outside lamp and the light coming through the bar's open door, wondering in passing if the Swede was drunk as he was. Usually Berwald's people took to the Danish beer with gusto, putting even Mathias himself to shame, but it had been a long time since he'd seen that side of his brother.
"You wan'nother drink?"
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Post by Sweden on Oct 10, 2011 10:34:52 GMT -5
Berwald was having doubts that the barmaid actually was his biggest fan, but didn't fight Mathias over it. The Swede kept up gamely with his brother's drinking pace. The plan to get all the Nordic brothers together soon took a back seat, the more and more alcohol they consumed. He was feeling more relaxed too and all the little things were becoming more and more amusing. Berwald was vaguely aware of being less shy after having knocked back so much beer. Not that his intoxication showed on his face.
Which was the reason why he and Mathias found themselves outside, later in the night. He must have said something to the bartender when she'd come to refill their pints next. His cheek stung a bit, he thought intoxicatedly, barely paying any attention to Mathias' slurred words.
Wobbling a bit where he stood, the taller blond regarded the other, as the Dane plopped onto a bench. He hiccuped and stared for a long time, eyeing the bottle in Mathias' hand, before dropping heavily down on the bench beside his brother.
"You wan'nother drink?"
Berwald thought long and hard about that question, letting his head loll backwards to stare up at the sky. He looked sleepy and yet strangely alert.
"Ja," he finally answered with a long exaggerated nod. He hiccuped again and turned his head to look at Mathias. "T'drunk," he mumbled after. "Th'law... th'law won' lettus. Hmmm... let'uce," rambled Berwald, repeating the last he'd said a few times, before laughing.
Once the giggles had faded away, he straightened and looked over at Mathias, before bursting into more laughter. Then he suddenly looked immensely serious and fixed the Dane with his stare.
"Y'ead..." he started slowly, interrupted by a hiccup. "Y'ead... looks like let'uce," he stated very seriously, before stealing the beer from Mathias' hand and taking a drink from it.
His mind wandered back to getting more alcohol, causing Berwald to look around. There was the bar. A few little stores were around too and there was a fast food joint that will open too. The Swede's stomach suddenly growled loudly, making him snort a bit with suppressed giggles.
"M'ungry," he stated, handing the bottle of beer back to Mathias and getting up unsteadily. Staring at the food joint, the wheels inside Berwald's head turned sluggishly from within the haze of beer induced slowness. "S'get food, then m'beer," he mumbled, already walking ahead and not waiting for his brother to catch up.
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Post by Denmark on Oct 15, 2011 14:40:34 GMT -5
Berwald took so long to answer that Mathias had nearly forgot which question he'd asked. His Swedish brother was contemplating the stars as if seeking their advice on this very serious matter, his neck curiously lax and plumes of warm breath turning to mist in the cold night air. He looked like he could fall asleep if he wasn't disturbed for the next thirty seconds or, conversely, leap into action if anyone so much as belched within a ten meter radius. Mathias cocked his head to the side, studying he other's profile with half-lidded eyes, and took another pull on his beer.
Evidently the stars spoke slowly. Berwald eventually gave a slow, drunken loll of his head and issued a "Ja." that was quickly followed by a hiccough. Mathias grinned. It seemed Berwald had overtaken him in the drinking race if he was hiccuping already - either that, or lost some tolerance.
"Let'sh go, then."
"T'drunk. Th'law... th'law won' lettus."
The Dane puffed himself up, ready to declare war on what seemed in the heat of the moment to be an incredibly stupid law designed solely to stop people having fun, when Berwald repeated his last two syllables -"Let'uce." - and inexplicably began to giggle. Perplexed, Mathias gave his brother a look and glanced around the dim courtyard, searching for the source of the hilarity. As far as he could tell, there was nothing to explain the chuckles. An awkward grin bloomed slowly over his own face as he waited, wanting to join in the with the laughter that was shaking the bench they were both seated on, for Berwald to gain enough composure to share the joke. It looked like the taller blonde had almost got it back together, but a glance at Mathias was enough to make him promptly lose his composure again.
The laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving a silent stillness. Mathias blinked at the serious expression that had replaced Berwald's mirth, his own smile faltering uncertainly.
Berwald explained with an air of solemnity which was slightly undone by intruding hiccoughs. "Y'ead... Y'ead... looks like let'uce."
"Wha'?"
The bottle of beer was lifted unnoticed from his left hand as Mathias raised his right to touch his hair. A few gentle pats assured him that his hair was probably fine. He pulled the most grotesque face he could muster at the Swede. "Oh yeah? Well... your head lookssh like a... like a..."
As he waited for the insult, Berwald brought the bottle to his lips, causing Mathias to finally notice his left hand was now empty. "...looksslike itsh drinkin' my beer! Hey, gimme that!"
He was about to grab at the dark glass bottle when a low growl emanated from Sweden's stomach and rumbled through the night air. This time, both Nordics began to snicker.
"M'ungry. Berwald offered the bottle back and staggered to his feet. The bench lilted forward now that it was freed from some of the load's weight, almost pitching Mathias face-first onto the cobblestones. "S'get food, then m'beer."
"Mmkay," Mathias said agreeably. He drained the last of the beer and dropped the empty bottle off the side of the bench. It hit the cobbles of the courtyard with a clang and rolled for a few seconds before coming to rest a few meters away. Denmark watched its progress vacantly before realising Sweden had already taken off in search of food. He levered himself off the bench as quickly as his reduced balance would allow, and took after him.
He caught up with Berwald on the street and slung an around the taller man's shoulders. Feeling a little warm after his dash to catch up, Mathias noticed his red tie was still in place and fixed it with a scowl. He pulled at it to try to take it off, succeeding only in mangling the knot in a way that prevented him from loosening the noose further. He pulled at it, getting it caught on one ear, and gave up.
"Wha' you wanna eat? He hung off Berwald's shoulder as he waited for an answer, the red tie doing its best impersonation of a lopsided headband. "There's all the new sstuffff, or there's pølsevogn iff you wanna have ssomthing you haven' ha' n a while."
Mathias rested more of his weight on Berwald. If the Swede was any taller it would have been awkward to have his arm around his shoulders like this, but he was making a good leaning-post as they made there way down the street. "You should gi'me a piggyback ride," Mathias offered, "Seein' asss y'making me walk all thiss way juss' cos you have a loud sstomach."
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Post by Sweden on Nov 11, 2011 21:22:15 GMT -5
"There's all the new sstuffff, or there's pølsevogn iff you wanna have ssomthing you haven' ha' n a while."
Berwald's mind slowly worked through those options, as he felt the weight of the drunk Dane settle on him. He leaned back against his brother, finding a shared equilibrium between the two of them. Although now, if one of them pitched over, they were both likely to go down.
Pølsevogn was sounding good though, to his beer addled mind. Trying to remember where the nearest one was though, was a harder task. Berwald simply opted for ambling along. They'd find one eventually. With the bar slowly disappearing behind them, the Swede was sure one of the stands would be slapping them in the face with the delicious aroma of sausages anytime now.
Anytime now...
"You should gi'me a piggyback ride," Mathias offered, "Seein' asss y'making me walk all thiss way juss' cos you have a loud sstomach."
“Not s'ber 'nough t'carry ya,” was the only reply given at that.
Just as he was about to reply to Mathias' remark, that's when the odour of sausages slapped Berwald in the face. He teetered a bit, trying to stop in turn in the direction of the smell. It was hard to do with his brother hanging off of him. He managed though. How they stayed on their feet was some incomprehensible affair, that later when they'd both sobered up, neither of them would be able to recreate.
Following his nose, Berwald lead the both of them to the pølsevogn. Getting in line, his stomach rumbled. “M'sure y'ungry too,” he slurred, trying to fix Mathias' head tie, much to the amusement of the people in front of them. That's when he realized their next issue. Or his next issue, depending on if Mathias planned on getting any of that delicious smelling sausage. Berwald only had kronor on him, cash wise.
“Danmark, y'got 'ny cash on ya?” he asked, pulling them out of the line with a wobble. Just until they solved the currency issue. “Dun 'ave kroner. Gonna need tha' fer food.”
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Post by Denmark on Nov 18, 2011 16:20:30 GMT -5
"Not s'ber 'nough t'carry ya."
Mathias sighed, "Boooorrrriiiiiiiing," and transferred more of his weight onto Berwald's shoulder. The Swede sniffed the air and stopped suddenly, almost sending Mathias pitching forward, and turned quickly to follow the smell of cooking meat.
Allowing Berwald to take care of the navigating, Mathias amused himself by looking around. The streets were bustling despite the late hour, filled with the usual assortment of businessmen who'd gone overboard with their after-work drinks, young adults who were enjoying the bar scene, those girls with long hair that always wore too-short skirts no matter the weather...
He was eying one such beauty, who was clad in a dress short enough that even from the other side of the street he had a pretty shrewd idea as to the colour of her underwear, when Berwald directed them into a line in front of a pølsevogn stand with a rumbling stomach.
"M'sure y'ungry too." His hands were on Mathias' tie, turning the knot to face the front and freeing it from being hooked over his ear. Mathias frowned as Berwald worked at it, no doubt trying to get it to sit properly.
"True enou'."
Without warning, Berwald abandoned working on the tie to grab him and pulled him away from the line. Mathias followed, stumbling a little, and fixed his brother with a look of confusion.
"Danmark, y'got 'ny cash on ya? Dun 'ave kroner. Gonna need tha' fer food."
"Tha's conv'nient," Mathias observed with a lopsided grin. He reached into his trouser-pocket and had a moment of panic where he thought he might have left his wallet at the bar. It lasted until he transferred his hand to other pocket, fingers instantly touching the soft leather of his wallet. He dug it out and tossed it clumsily to Berwald, not trusting himself to be able to find the right change. "Pro'ly have 'nough in there." He couldn't quite remember if he'd been using his card or cash to pay for their drinks in the bar. Hopefully card. Otherwise they'd have to go for a drunken mission to find and ATM.
He took a few steps backward to get back into the line, neatly cutting in front of an older couple who gave him a scandalized look.
"How many sausages y'want?"
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Post by Sweden on Dec 15, 2011 22:08:03 GMT -5
"Pro'ly have 'nough in there."
The wallet now in his hands, Berwald looked through it. Then he eyed the menu board with the prices, before being pulled back into line by his brother. He gave the old couple behind them an apologetic look and a bill from Mathias' wallet, while the other wasn't paying attention. Then he went back to concentrating on the board.
"How many sausages y'want?"
“Jus' one,” rumbled the Swede with a slight slur. He wasn't quite sure what language he was speaking anymore.
It took a few minutes, but they finally got to the front of the line. Thinking it would go faster if he simply ordered for the both of them, Berwald asked for two sausages on buns and handed over the cash. Instead of handing Mathias back his wallet though, he dug his hand into his brother's pocket to deposit both it and the change. Or the change and the wallet... this didn't work out so great. What if he put the change in first, and then the wallet, ah! There.
Pleased with his solid return of his brother's finances, Berwald shuffled over to wait for the food and make room for the old couple. Who ordered and paid with the money given to them by the Swede.
“Should jus' g'back n' drink at y'ouse,” the taller blond stated, halted midway by a hiccup. He was sure Mathias was loaded with booze at his house. “Should go,” he added again, accepting their sausages and giving one to Mathias, before walking away from the food wagon. He was already biting into his food hungrily, before the Dane could reply. He wasn't as neat as he usually was, not even batting an eye when some grease fell on his shirt. Where had his suit jacket went...? Oh well, he was sure to find it.
...
Ow.
That was the only thing Berwald could think of, as he slowly woke up. Carefully opening an eye, he blearily looked around. Or looked at what his sight could make out. It seemed he'd lost his glasses. Opening his other eye and squinting, he stared at the familiar red sofa cushion fabric, his face was resting on.
He'd gone out to the bar with Mathias, after the ceremony. That much he remembered. He recalled leaving the bar and getting food, and then... They must have found somewhere else to keep drinking and crashed at the Dane's place. Groaning, Berwald slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position, rubbing at his face. There must have been a lot of drinking if he was as hungover as he felt.
“Danmark?” he called out, voice gravelly and quiet. Where was his brother?
(Haha, I timed skipped again, I hope you don't mind. I suppose you can decide the fate of Denny in your post. If he got drunk pranked by Sve or not XD)
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Post by Denmark on Jan 10, 2012 3:15:57 GMT -5
It was not a long wait to get to the front of the line. At least, not by his standards, though it would not be the first occasion his inebriation created a time-travel effect. Mathias amused himself by watching the people around him as Berwald attended to the finances. The girl from before, the one in the very short skirt, was standing nearby in a circle of friends. He watched as she flicked a glossy tress over her shoulder, but far from being lascivious his thoughts were gripped with curiousity. How uncomfortable was it to have that much leg exposed to the northern night air? Could butts get frostbite? He turned to ask his brother but Berwald was busy ordering for them.
Back to the girl. She and her friends were on the move, drawing nearer. He might be able to ask her himself! Mathias was so busy watching to see if she would come within talking-range that he did not notice Berwald handing his change and wallet to the man behind him.
"Should jus' g'back n' drink at y'ouse," Berwald suggested around a hiccup. Mathias tore his eyes away from the girls and the mystery of frost-bitten bottoms as his brother insisted, "Should go," and collected their sausages.
Once Mathias had the snack in hand there was little talking other than to acknowledge Berwald's suggestion with "'kay." They both scoffed them down with similar speed, although Mathias' method of cramming the whole thing into his mouth made for slightly tidier eating that Sve's, if less attractive.
"'ish way." He pointed in the direction he thought his house might be, dragging Bewald along with him.
Sometime in the morning, Mathias rolled over in his sleep. The movement dislodged the legs of a dining chair someone had placed over him, which in turn upset another chair and side table which had on top of it several pans from his kitchen and a potted geranium Margrethe had given him to "liven" his house up. The resulting cacophony coupled with the geranium landing on his stomach meant Mathias jerked awake while instinctively rolling to the side He fell off the edge of his bed, landing face first on his bedroom floor.
His confusion was accompanied by a strong headache that blazed all the more when he tried to look around to see what had happened. His stomach sloshed uncomfortably as the headache worsened and in the end he opted to just stay there, face against forearm and breathing deeply, an in attempt to dodge the symptoms of his very strong hangover. He lay there for some time. Mercifully, the throbbing in his temples subsided and his stomach settled.
"Danmark?"
Ah, so that was who he had to thank for his morning wake up call.
Mathias forced himself up and into the hallway, using the furniture and walls for support. He was still wearing his clothes from the ceremony, though his tie and belt were missing and his dark shirt hung open, stained in several places. He wondered if he smelled as bad as he looked and felt.
"I'm here," he called, voice hoarse from a night of heavy use, and finally made it to his living room.
Berwald was on one couch, rubbing his eyes. Mathias flopped on the other, noting that his brother seemed to be a similar condition. He was grateful for that, at least.
"Hard night," he commented, waiting for the movement-induced headache-nausea combo to fade. " 'least, I guess it was." His memory was fuzzy on the details. Maybe later he'd check his arms for bar stamps or his wallet for receipts but he didn't feel up to it right now. Yawing, he added, "I hope you feel as shit as me."
In a moment Mathias would stir himself to get them some cold water, aspirin and a cooked breakfast - the closest thing to a hangover cure that he knew of. For now, though, staying still in companionable agony seemed a good option.
He smiled at Berwald, content and happy despite his physical discomfort. "Glad you came, bror. Always good to see you."
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