Double-Fisted Coincidence[Germany & Israel]

[mommaisrael]

1:00 PM 1/5/1993
Central Business District
East Jerusalem

Eh. Business was such a pain to the young nation. Most of it was just pointless and it really made her wonder why she even bothered. Free state! No money! Everything was free! But, unfortunately, since she had fought so hard to stay alive and a nation, Zivah had no choice in the matter. The President poked at her for most of the day about their economic standings and, to be honest, it was actually on the good side of news. At least she had that to smile about. With the support from her allies, Zivah was comfortable and bountiful with opportunities. Especially with the money she obtained with tourism.. It was a beautiful thing.

A look was made from her bank book towards the man that arrived at her office door. "Yes? May I help you with something?" The younger male shifted slightly and gave a quick nod before telling his entire life story. Zivah's dark eyes just stared without a break in her gaze; unless, it was for a blink. The man told of his poor family that sells chicken eggs in the market. Recently, the market managers, being Arab, had been telling his daughters that they had to pay a much bigger tax on the profit because they didn't own a booth. The booth, first of all, would be too expensive and the family only had eggs.. It didn't require much space.

Zivah gave a 'hmmph' noise as she thought of some solutions. Her lips pursed as her pen tapped on the lower one in silence. "Well.. I guess there is going to have to be a little conference, hmm?" The man lit up with excitement. It was always hard to get in to talk about problems one-on-one since the young nation was always so busy. The chicken farmer nodded as fast as he could with the biggest grin on his face.

¹".תודה! אתה כל כך נחמד"

²".כל הזמן"

The man left quickly to go tell his family of the good news and maybe go back to work so they could have proper food for the Sabbath. The market wasn't that very far off and it wouldn't hurt to go scope out what the market managers were doing to the poor family. Her brows scrunched as Zivah's delicate fingers closed the bank book calmly then moved to stand. Thin arms reached high in the air in a very exhausted sounding stretch and yawn. She needed a massage but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Various things were placed in their proper places and her shoes were placed back on since her desk hid her feet from anybody who looked directly at it. A small beret was placed on her head and off she was. Three inched heels quickly trotted out of office, her key sliding into the lock so no one could get in and get information.

Once outside, the warm winter weather made the young nation smile to herself. Various businessmen trotted around her, not really caring since they were busy working so they couldn't have anything piling up for Sunday. No one in the Jewish District worked on Friday nor Saturday nights, so it was best to get as much work done as possible that way Sunday isn't a pain. The buildings seemed to get smaller as Zivah entered the market district, booths were scattered here and there, obviously the welcoming committee for the rest of the shops. Merchants yelled and barginned with already interested potential customers. All of it brought more of a warm smile to the young woman.

A merchant yelled about how amazing his fish were, another held up jewelry and claimed that they were worn by Rachel₁ herself. A small wave of thanks was made to the men as Zivah walked by. Both merchants lifted their Kippas₂ and thanked the nation for her glance and consideration. Just a normal day in a busy market.. There was nothing like it.

____________________________________________________

Translations:
1 - Thank you! You're so kind!
2 - Anytime.
(These are the superscripts.)

Meanings:
1 - Rachel: The favorite wife of Jacob, one of the three Biblical Patriarchs. (Old Testament)
2 - Kippa: The traditional circular hat that is worn by men (sometimes women) at all times.
(These are the subscripts.)

[Germany]

Ludwig never had cared much for business conferences. As a nation-spirit he couldn’t get out of attending at least a few — sometimes his bosses forced him to go, other times he needed no prodding because he realized how detrimental his absence would be to both his people and him personally — but unless the topic was foreign policy, arms, and/or the armed forces, he just could not get that excited over the prospect of sitting in a room for an hour or more trying to talk sense into a bunch of other nations who refused to listen to it. It wouldn’t be so bad if so many of them weren’t in denial about their faults, quick to aim blame at others, allergic to intelligence, and easily distracted.

God, how he hated it when the topic got derailed. He’d already lost count of all the times he’d had to loudly remind everyone as to the purpose and objectives of the meeting, because they’d start out talking about problems with their respective economies or whatever and somehow end up talking about who had the best fast-food, or the best-looking women, or something equally as inconsequential and unrelated to the issue at hand. America and Italy were especially good at that, but they weren’t the only culprits; there were certain subjects one could never bring up around certain countries, or they would go on, and on, and on for ages about them, long past the point where everyone had stopped caring. Not to mention all the nationalism, ridiculous proposals ( What was America’s obsession with building robots and giant machines to solve all the world’s problems? ), and more-often-than-not failure to accomplish anything worthwhile by the day’s end that typically characterized these interactions. It was all such a headache.

Today had been no different. Today he and a handful of other countries had met up — in Israel, of all places — primarily to discuss the economic impact of sustainable environmental policies, both ones that were already in effect and ones that were proposed for the future. The goal had been to identify potential problems and come up with solutions that maximized sustainability as much as possible while also minimizing loss of jobs and trade as much as possible. This had proven to be no easy task, especially when nobody could agree on what the biggest problems even were in the first place. First arguing had ensued, then a discussion about desserts followed by everyone’s valuable on-the-record statements of which they liked best, and then more arguing once Germany had gotten everyone back on track. In the end, as usual, the meeting had gone nowhere and accomplished nothing. The only thing everyone had been able to agree on was that melted ice-cream was nasty.

The sun was high in the sky when Ludwig stepped out of the building. He blinked a few times, casting his eyes down and letting them adjust slowly to the brilliant sunlight before moving down the spacious concrete stairs.

His fellow nations spilled out around him, barely paying him heed, each caught up in his or her own little world. The conference was over and everyone had their own agenda.

Now to head home and do something enjoyable the rest of the evening. The meeting was all he’d had on his schedule for today, which was nice. He’d bake some cookies when he got home, or perhaps take a refreshing run through the obstacle course he’d set up in his back yard.

Yes. That obstacle course sounded good about now. Peacetime was no excuse to let the body go to pot. Besides, he loved the challenge: the raw, hot burn he got in his muscles from all the jumping, running, climbing, ducking, rolling, pulling, twisting, and hitting; the exhilaration of narrowly escaping one of his own potentially-lethal weapons-rigged booby-traps; the intoxicating rush of adrenaline that surged within him every time he started across the field of landmines.

There was a reason he didn’t let his dogs run in his backyard, why he’d had to fence it off with a ten-foot-tall fence topped with barbed wire. The place wasn’t safe for man or beast. Even better, fresh snow had fallen recently over the landmines, making it all but impossible for him to remember where he had put them. Just thinking about it made his muscles twitch with anticipation: he couldn’t wait to get home and put himself to the test!

All he had to do now was find that little black rental car.

Making his way around the building, he walked out into the east parking lot, his eyes carefully scanning the vehicles present.

It was much warmer than he was accustomed to for the dead of winter; the sun felt good on his back and shoulders. Everywhere around him people were milling about all over, dressed in their sometimes odd fashion of clothing, speaking in their own languages, hustling about their day-to-day.

Germany did no more than acknowledge the space they were taking up in his world. Even within his own borders he was not terribly social, and when he had no reason to pay attention to people, he didn’t.

The car wasn’t where he had left it.

Cursing silently to himself, the German began searching the nearby rows of cars, his pace quickening, the expression on his face growing less and less friendly by the minute as each and every one turned out not to be the one he was looking for.

Damn, where is it?

This was getting ridiculous. He was Germany, he never forgot where he parked. His navigational skills were legendary, as was his memory. It was one of the biggest reasons why he was so good at strategizing battles: he never forgot one detail of the environment. Ever.

He was certain he’d parked in the east lot…he made another round.

And another.

Some people were starting to notice now. As he came up to hover around what he could have sworn was his parking place for the fourth time, a young man approached and asked what sounded like a question. Probably if he needed help or something to that effect — Ludwig wasn’t sure. He didn’t speak the local languages, which was one of the reasons he was in such a hurry to get back home.

Rather than reply, Ludwig all but glared at the man briefly before turning his back on him and walking away. It wasn’t that he was angry or upset with him — he knew ( or at least hoped ) that this stranger was just trying to help — but odds were nil to none that a random Israeli would speak any of the languages he did, and he didn’t want to waste time awkwardly trying to make conversation, attracting a crowd of curious looky-loos in the process with his strikingly different appearance and loud voice.

The man shouted something at him.

Ludwig ignored him. Let him think what he wanted; all that mattered right now was finding that car and getting out of here.

Walking at an incredibly brisk pace, he covered the distance to the west lot in little time and began hunting around there. He was certain — damn certain — that he hadn’t parked out here, but he needed time to gather his thoughts and plan his next course of action.

Cars don’t just vanish, he reflected hotly, his irritation growing, and I know I didn’t forget where I parked. Someone stole it. The thought was enraging. A few obscenities flashed through his mind, some of them making their way past his lips.

He heard a small, almost strangled noise behind him and turned his head sharply. His no-nonsense expression sent a teenaged girl racing for cover. Ludwig watched her go, one corner of his mouth twitching upward slightly in agitation.

Someone had stolen his rental car. Now what was he going to do? The airport was clear on the other side of the city. And since there were millions of people around, he couldn’t very well run down the streets and footpaths at country speed to get there, even though he easily had the endurance.

What did that leave?

The other nations?

Scratch that. Asking for help would make him appear weak and incompetent, and he hated appearing weak and incompetent. Plus he knew, even if they weren’t saying it, that most of them probably still held a grudge towards him on account of the wars.

Not that I can blame them… Forty-eight years had passed, but the wounds from World War Two had not yet entirely healed. The scars he bore were mental as well as physical. Even though he had reached the point now where he could work with them, he was still deeply upset with the Allies in general and Russia in particular over what had happened.

He understood why they had fought him so savagely. He didn’t begrudge them for wanting to defend their lands or stop the horrors of the Holocaust. Had situations been reversed, he would have done the same.

What he could never forgive was their actions towards him and his people after the war had ended. His whole heart still hurt sometimes from having been cut in half; every once in a while he still suffered from the mood swings, anxiety, profound depression, and identity crises he’d had as both East and West Germany. And that was only scratching the surface of the misery he’d been forced to suffer through.

Yes, he may have done things that some would label as “evil”, but the “good guys” hadn’t exactly been saints themselves.

Nothing they did or said would ever bring Prussia back.

I’ll just walk to the airport. Time-consuming, but I’ll get there before my plane leaves.

The decision made, he began walking, his expression changing subtly as his mind visited the past. Walking down these streets, seeing all these people — most of them Jews who had no reason to hide it within the relative safety of their own country — it was hard not to think of the past, of all the shocking horrors and unimaginable suffering that the parents and grandparents of these very people had endured at the hands of his kinsmen, at the…

NO! I am NOT going to start thinking about that again. he commanded himself, his already hurried walk quickening all the more, as if walking faster could somehow chase the memories away. He had to swerve sharply to avoid crashing into a few people who were a bit too slow on the draw. Eyebrows raised. Mouths opened. Incomprehensible words were harshly spoken.

Burn in Hell, Hitler. You were the worst thing that ever happened to me, you crazy sonuvabitch.

He forced his mind to focus solely on reaching the airport, to shut out everything else.

It worked.

To an extent.

After a few minutes his walk slowed to a stride.

Genocide. It was the one thing he’d hated about being a Nazi. Everything else had sat well enough with him: the power, the respect, the discipline, the intimidating effect he’d had on his foes, the glorious ideals and harsh-but-effective laws that did not tolerate slackers and rule-breakers.

Turning a corner, he headed down the road of a busy marketplace. Everywhere he looked men and women were engrossed with buying and selling things. Sellers were holding up their products and calling out to people who already looked interested, a special glean in their eyes as they threw their sales-pitch. Interested customers asked questions. Some people held the merchandise in their hands as the seller eagerly and rapidly spoke to them in a happy-sounding tone. The scent of freshly-baked bread and sweets floated on the air.

Ludwig slowed his pace a bit when he came upon a woman selling jewelry — not because he was interested, but because he had somehow lost track of which way to go.

Hmmm.

Inquisitive blue eyes surveyed the scene, taking in more detail.

Perhaps he could find someone selling maps. Even written in Hebrew, a good map would be incredibly useful right now. He noticed that people parted before him as he walked, their expressions and body-language betraying suspicion and, in some cases, a bit of fear.

Ludwig had a feeling he knew why. He wasn’t a Nazi anymore, but he still walked like one; still had that fierce, uncompromising, predatory aura about him. And…these people had yet to experience it, but when he spoke, he still talked like one — not so much in what he said as how he said it. In the privacy of his own home, or whenever he was sure he was alone, he even still dressed like one. He loved his old SS uniforms and his SS ring. Sadly, he rarely got the chance to wear them these days, because of the law and public outcry. At the moment he was wearing a dark blue business suite.

Without warning, the relatively tranquil atmosphere of the market was was broken. Jewelry Lady was holding up a necklace when a man — Arab by the looks of him — snuck up on her stand and tried to discreetly grab some of the jewelry. He was quickly noticed by several people, who were very vocal in voicing their outrage. The woman began shouting at him. A few men started moving in, probably to grab and restrain him for the authorities.

The man, however, had other plans. In a flash he had a knife at the woman’s throat. He began shouting angrily, the blade hovering dangerously close to his victim’s jugular.

Well, this is a bit of excitement!

Rather than back away like everyone else, the blond nation charged forward in a burst of speed, too quick to give the thief time to think.

The man lashed out at him with the knife, just as Ludwig knew he would. Fully prepared, he avoided the blade and grabbed the wrist holding it with enough force to crush tendons and pop veins, his waist scraping painfully against the corner the stand as he did so.

The man cried out, but still somehow managed to keep his grip on the handle.

Ludwig gave his wrist a vicious twist.

[mommaisrael]

There was a small thought of regret as Zivah walked down the dirt roads in heels. Her feet were already killing her and the dirt she was probably going to find later was just going to be amazingly gross. Oh well, at least she had a reason for going off to the marketplace. For some brilliant idea, the market manager decided to jack-up the price on a poor family-- that definitely wasn't going to fly too well with the very fair nation.

The young country padded along with her fingers slowly sliding over the various fabrics that were laid out on display. The merchant grinned excitedly at Zivah and scrambled from his little stool to grab other things that were even nicer than the stuff underneath the short girl's finger pads. More and more were laid out even though Zivah kept waving off the man to stop since she had forgotten her money back at the office. The man kept encouraging her to make a purchase something for cheap but the young lady kept refusing the merchant's extensive offers. They were good deals though..

.לא תודה. באמת, אין לי כסף לתת לך עבור בדים מדהים שלך¹

[/right][/color]Zivah simply said over the loud shouts of the other merchants around. The man kept making advances on his sales and it seemed like it impossible to even get the man to listen.

בבקשה! זה כמו שהם עשו לך! אתה תהיה העריץ אלו בדים אבי מתמחה אלה. זה יהיה כבוד גדול אם לבשו אותם.²

The older man was suddenly interrupted by the look on Zivah's face. It was a distinct look of 'Please. Shut up. Or a death will fall upon you.' Suddenly, the merchant just sucked in his lips subtly and nodded to the dark-haired woman and her potential intentions of harm if the man wouldn't shut his mouth within a certain time frame. A big smile was quickly on Israel's face as the other started to put away the good fabrics so they were saved for later.

אנא, אל תתייאש. אני אחזור ביום אחר, ואני מצפה לראות את כל" הבדים האלה כדי להיות מוכן בשבילי.³

Within an instant, the merchant was the happiest man in the market. There were plenty of thumbs-ups and smiles to the nation as she turned to leave the booth with one final wave to show that she was still thinking about it. Money for the poor was always a good thing. They were never really anything wasteful in Israel and the poor were treated rather nicely but it also depended on who it was. I.E - Arabs.

It seemed to be a nice day out at first. The sun was shining and the merchants were yelling obnoxiously loud but that was a natural thing to do. Everything was smiling until there an unusual loud roar started up out of no-where. Zivah's brown eyes looked over to the gathering crowd quickly. The wall of people were approached in confusion by the small nation and the sound of panic was made. Zivah moved faster through the crowd, eventually taking off both of her heels as if they were going to be her weapon. The merchant woman was in shock of the foreign blonde man holding onto the Arab's wrist. Zivah didn't waste anytime and didn't realize that the yell of agony was from the captured male.

Two three-inch heels were chucked at the Arab's head at full force, the first one hitting while the second just barely missed the blonde nation. Her eyes narrowed and big exhausted pants were made that even caused her shoulders to rise and fall visibly.

The woman ran over to Zivah and whispered everything that had happened to the nation's ear, making her completely silent. A look was made to Ludwig for a moment then back at the woman, who simply nodded in awe. Bare-footed, Zivah stepped forward and poked at the shocked and highly injured Arab's forehead.

أقترح عليك الرحيل. في الوقت الراهن. ليس من المفترض أن يكون هناك ألم في مثل هذا المكان .سعيدة⁴

The man simply whimpered in Ludwig's arms, making Zivah look up slowly and seriously, "Please let him go. He'll have to live with the humiliation of these several eyes." The young nation had a feeling that the two had a strong connection somehow and maybe even he understand her strong words. "And maybe help me find my shoes.." A light sigh was made before turning around to ushering the crowd away from the accident but some where staying to see the beaten man.

A strong hand reached up and grabbed onto Ludwig's coat, yanking him down as far as he could. Fast Arabic words escaped from his lips then a slight grin but it was quickly erased by a nice slap to the face. Zivah looked offended by those words, literally hating the quickly spreading hate in the world. The man saw stars and leaned his bloody forehead against Ludwig's coat with the small laughter that stung Zivah's heart. "I apologize for such behavior."

___________________________________________________

Translations:
1 - No thank you. Really, I have no money to give you for your amazing fabrics.
2 - Please! It's like they were made for you! You will be adored in these fabrics my father specializes in these. It'd be an honor if you wore them.
3 - Please, don't be discouraged. I will be back another day and I expect to see all of those fabrics to be ready for me.
4 - I suggest you leave. Right now. There isn't supposed to be pain in such a happy place.

(Note: Yes, she does speak Arabic but only a little. Hebrew, Arabic, the common Nation language, and English are her main languages.)

[Germany]

The shrill shriek of agony that tore out of the Arab’s throat when the bones in his wrist splintered under a sickening crack and his hand was twisted over much too far was deeply satisfying. Strong fingers grabbed the knife by the blade and pulled it easily from the mangled hand which no longer had the strength or discipline to grasp it. In a series of swift movements Ludwig tossed it up a few inches into the air, caught it by its handle, and dipped his hand while simultaneously loosening his grip so that the blade fell forward with its tip pointing at the ground.

The Arab struggled like a deer caught in a snare, trying desperately for a few moments to tear free with a series of erratic, pain-driven yanks and twists, but Ludwig’s grip was iron and he could not so much as budge. He gazed up at the German pleadingly, his dark eyes glistening with tears, his face scrunched up into the perfect cocktail of pain, shock, shame, and fear. He started to say something, his voice trembling and pathetic, then stopped dead.

They were staring straight into each other’s eyes now, and Ludwig knew his intense, glacial gaze was probably freeze-burning holes in the other man’s retinas.

You’re lucky, he thought, his mental tone wrought with disgust and a tinge of malice, if we were in a more private setting… His thoughts faded from the verbal, conscious realm, retreating into a dark place deep within. A place where visions of violence and others in pain danced with feelings of pleasure and amusement inside a black mist of self-superiority. True, the man hadn’t harmed anyone yet — that Ludwig knew of, anyway — but something even scarier than his gaze and far more playful whispered to his consciousness that it would be fun to watch him squirm as he laid his arms open, snapped his bones like kindling…

A woman’s black high-heel flew out of nowhere and struck the Arab in the side of the head.

What the…?! Still holding on to his captive tightly, Ludwig turned his face to the crowd.

A second high-heel grazed his nose.

An instant later and he spotted the source: a slender young woman dressed in a business-class skirt, blouse, and blazer stood barefoot in a small clearing that had opened at the front of the crowd, her eyes narrowed and her chest rising and falling at a rate that indicated she’d been running moments before.

Israel. Even though he only truly remembered encountering her once briefly at a meeting where they had not interacted one-on-one, Germany had vague memories of seeing the young nation a few times before somehow, somewhere, in the past — of signing papers acknowledging her nationhood — and he recognized her immediately.

Jewelry Lady bolted to her nation’s side and began whispering hurriedly in her ear. Whatever she said, it made Israel glance from Germany to Jewelry Lady and back again. Jewelry Lady nodded, and Israel came forward. She poked the Arab in the head and told him something in a language Ludwig did not understand.

Ludwig quirked an eyebrow. It was so frustrating not knowing what people were saying. I wonder how Israel handles those who attempt thievery and murder? All he knew about Israel was a dark chapter of her people’s history and that she was a very religious nation. Everything else…not so much. He’d never spoken directly to her, or even heard much about her.

The man whimpered like a kicked puppy.

“Hello, Israel.” Ludwig greeted in Shaykomay, knowing that no human here would understand, a bit of an awkward inflection to his normally too-serious tone. He couldn’t read her mind, of course, but he somehow doubted that the personified spirit of the Jewish nation wanted him to stick around. Not after what my people did…not after what I was and who I served. True, things had smoothed over substantially between his people and hers since then, but this felt…weird. Not wrong, necessarily, just awkward.

Israel looked up slowly and met his gaze. "Please let him go. He'll have to live with the humiliation of these several eyes."

Ludwig blinked, startled. “You mean you’re just going to let him get away with that?”

But Israel had already turned away while saying something about needing help finding her shoes. She began ushering the crowd away — or trying to, at least. A few people remained staring, as usual.

Well, Israel may need help finding those shoes of hers, but Ludwig was not ready to switch the topic. “This man is dangerous.” he said matter-of-factly, “I doubt a little humiliation is going to get between him and his next attempt at robbery. How can you-”

The Arab pulled down heavily on Ludwig’s coat and began speaking in rapid-fire Arabic.

The blonde glared at him with an annoyed frown. “Right.” he said, switching to German to further drive home the point he was about to make, “Do I look like an Arab to you?”

The man was blind if he thought he did. What Arab had blonde hair, blue eyes, and as light a skin-tone as he did?

Then again, he may have confused my Shaykomay with another language. That happened sometimes.

Israel clearly didn’t like whatever it was the Arab said, because she was there in a flash to slap him across the face. The man’s head bobbed forward and touched Ludwig’s thin overcoat, smearing the blue fabric with blood. In spite of this, he managed a small laugh.

A laugh that really irked Ludwig.

"I apologize for such behavior."

“There’s no need to apologize,” the German told her, switching back to the country common tongue. He let the knife drop and stepped onto it to keep anyone else from getting any crazy ideas about grabbing it. The man’s inane chuckles were strangled into silence as a powerful hand closed around his throat, crushing his windpipe. His eyes bulged. “You are incredibly lucky.” Ludwig growled, right before lifting the man off his feet like a ragdoll and throwing him forward. He was careful to measure his strength: to keep it within the believable realm for an exceptionally strong human.

The crowd of curious and frightened onlookers drew back. The Arab landed face-first in the dirt several feet away.

“GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE I BREAK YOUR DAMN NECK!” Ludwig yelled at him, his voice breaking like thunder over the vicinity. The man would not understand the words, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to give this little rat a good scare. And Israel obviously knew Arabic, so she could translate if need be.

A low murmur raced through the gathering. Multitudes of eyes shot between Israel, Germany, and the unfortunate Arab. A few in particular stared at Ludwig as though they weren’t quite sure what to think about him.

Ludwig glanced down at the front of his coat and shook his head. “Looks like I’m going to need to wash up before I reach the airport.” he sighed, reaching down and picking up the knife. He tossed it to Israel, avoiding direct eye-contact. “I don’t want to be detained and questioned on account of some idiot.” He paused, glancing towards a bread stand. “You erm…wouldn’t happen to know where I could do that, would you?” his voice grew just a tad quieter “And perhaps find a good map? I need to be at the airport within the next two hours.”

_________________________________________________

Author's Note: Germany does not know Israel's human name. If he ever heard it as East/West Germany, he forgot it.

[mommaisrael]

A small smile twitched a threat to reveal itself to Germany as the big blonde decided to finally join in on the fight. The smaller nation took a big step to the side and watched as the Arab landed beside her. Thinking with wiggly toes, Zivah slowly squatted down, legs closed and body hunched over to the Arabic man. A low murmur was made to his dirt covered ear and the man's head shot up to stare in disgust at Germany. Israel placed her elbow against her thigh, hand opening and support her head as it tilted to the side. The Arab pointed at Ludwig and said something back-- obviously a question-- making the brunette nod accordingly. Quickly, the Arab man scrambled to his feet, grabbing onto anybody and everything to help him up and just get the hell away from the blonde foreign man.

"You don't have to worry about him anymore. He thinks you're going to bring him a bad profit if he remains here. Most of the people here are merchants in some way or form." Slowly, Zivah stood up and dusted from dirt off that the Arab had coincidently got onto her skirt. "Bad luck brings nothing to the dinner table." Her thin hands patted each other as if she was testing for additional soil particles.

A petite hand reached out as if she was going to shake the blonde's hand but it reverted to his coat instead. Her thumb ran over the stained fabric and sighed. "This will hardly come out." The fact that the man in front of her had a very close connect didn't seem to phase her. Those kind brown eyes just stared up before gesturing with the same hand with her index finger, wanting the man to follow her. "We have maps, hotels, food, and taxi's. All of these could be arranged with just one phone-call. I was really out here for a reason but I think that can wait for another time. A lost German man is never a good thing." A quick wink was made as Zivah walked off towards her office without even another look towards Ludwig.

¹!חכה! גברתי! הנה הנעליים שלך שעזבת

Zivah quickly turned around, then looked down at her bare-feet, laughing heartily at how forgetful she could be sometimes. The woman from before trotted over with the two dirty and once-was black heels pinched at the heel of each shoe. A respectful nod and bow of her head was made as Israel took her shoes back.

².תודה רבה. אתה באמת לא צריך לעשות את זה

The woman smiled beautifully before nodding her head quickly in 'Thanks'. Zivah sighed as she turned around and holding up her heels to show Ludwig, "Shame. I really liked these ones too. Oh well. There are plenty where that came from." Trudging with no shoes on her feet, the tough little nation was quiet but was occasionally looking to her side to see the blonde nation. Yes, despite her smile, Israel felt a little awkward being beside the younger nation that had run her people into the dark corner of the universe. Although, it was actually a favor in various ways, so nothing really affected Zivah at the moment.

"So--.." Zivah turned a corner and slowly started to swing her arm in thought, "What brings you to my neighborhood? It's not a common thing to see you here. Only at UN meetings or other big conferences where we just happen to pass each other at the drink station during lunch." The small nation snickered at her own personal joke, not really caring if Ludwig got the humor in it or not. Her head turned and tilted lightly to get a good look at the European instead of just the corner of her eye. "I guess I'm lucky that you were here because the man wouldn't have gotten the message to leave the woman alone. Unfortunately, the feud is a common thing here. The fight between Arabs and Jews runs very deep. They believe we're taking what's theirs but in reality, they just think we're taking their profit even though they have more markets than we do."

Zivah never separated herself from her religion. It was either all or nothing and, therefore, counted herself in. Not many countries did that anymore but religion was such a hot topic that it has to be a big factor in the government. "Again.. Forgive me for the incident. I am, in fact, embarrassed for such behavior among the citizens." There was going to be a big Apology Letter in the mail that afternoon and it was a non-stop to Germany. "Here. This is my office, forgive me for the mess. Elections." Democracy at its finest.

The two arrived at a rather traditional building. Sand colored walls with windows that had paint peeling off of the shutters that pointed outwards. People were yelling on the inside before it all turned to laughter. "Give me a moment. The good phone is in my real office and no where else in the building." Israel stepped quickly up the stone steps before stopping to smile at Germany, "Well? Are you coming in?" No fear in her eyes indicated that she didn't really care about their past. Good things always came to those who waited for it.

_____________________________________________

1 - Wait! Ma'am! Here are your shoes you left!
2 - Thank you very much. You really don't have to do this.

[Germany]

Germany studied Israel curiously as she spoke of the Arab fearing his presence would hurt his business. His business? I broke his wrist and sent him painfully kissing the ground, and all he’s worried about is his business? I could have crippled him for life, or worse. He doesn’t know what kind of a man I am. And if his business is largely illegal he has more to worry about than me. Or he should have more to worry about than me. Unless Israelis are lax about upholding the law.

The thought made him inwardly wince. If there was anything in the world that drove him nuts ( besides Feliks £ukasiewicz, not being able to attack certain people/nations, and, occasionally, a certain Italian ), it was rules and laws not being enforced or upheld. He simply couldn’t stand it. He didn’t see how anyone could.

Surely thievery — even attempted and failed thievery — was just as big a crime in Israel as it was in all other nations. Perhaps the authorities were already on their way.

If not…he didn’t want to think about it. Broken wrist or not, it was so wrong that the man should get away without some kind of legal action. If he were in Germany he would have already been arrested for attempted theft and assault.

"Bad luck brings nothing to the dinner table." Israel dusted her skirt off before rubbing the clinging, stubborn particles from her hands.

I suppose that’s true. Ludwig agreed silently, Especially if your livelihood depends on being a successful thief. Or selling things.

He couldn’t relate there: he was a war nation, and had been through most of his life. Even now in relatively peaceful times, he still found himself unable to resist the call of duty. He’d re-enlisted in the military just last year, actually. Had he been of sounder mind, he would have done so much sooner. It gave him purpose, allowed him to do what he loved and excelled in. Thankfully his boss had been willing to pull a few strings for him and had made a few photos and suspicious documents vanish, not that many people would have believed he was the same Ludwig Herrmann “war criminal” that had served in the SS anyway, since he had physically aged maybe one year at most in the forty-eight years since the war had ended.

A shame he’d had to lose his general rank. Because all of his previous experience had to be wiped off the record, he’d had to start all over again as a Jäger*. Which was frustrating, but something he’d seen coming. Had the war ended with his victory he still would have had to have abandoned his identity either fully or partially at some point down the line anyway. It was one of the drawbacks to not aging — he couldn’t stay in the same place and around the same people for more than a decade at most or people would start to talk.

Ludwig was a little surprised when the Israeli, having satisfactorily banished the dirt from her hands, reached out and touched his overcoat, running her thumb over the bloodstain. "This will hardly come out."

“Blood never does,” he muttered as he watched her hand, irritated by the inconvenience of having to deal with this little reality before he could be on his way again, “but I can at least get the worst of it up and dilute it to the point where I’m not drawing so much unwanted attention to myself.” Of course, being what he was, he couldn’t help drawing some unwanted attention as long as he remained in the Middle East. Foreigners always had that effect, even if they looked friendly, which he knew he didn’t.

Israel was happy enough to help. She made the classic motion with her finger that meant “follow me” before turning around and starting off, presumably towards a wash-room.

Ludwig followed, feeling the pressure of a hundred eyes on him. The would-be thief had fled and the marketplace crowd was starting to settle back down now, but he was still receiving quite a few curious, slightly-apprehensive looks. One mother folded her little girl into her protectively as they passed. An Arab scowled. One young man simply nodded and smiled, and Ludwig wasn’t sure whether he approved of his actions or was just trying to be polite.

As they walked, Israel spoke of maps, hotels, food, and taxis, all of which could apparently be arranged with a single phone-call.

She was being hospitable.

It was very nice of her, and Ludwig appreciated the thought, but he didn’t need to worry about food or lodging when he wouldn’t be staying long. He was about to tell her that a simple map would suffice — he didn’t have the right kind of money for a taxi and didn’t want the hassle of finding a place to get it exchanged — but the younger nation was not through talking.

“I was really out here for a reason but I think that can wait for another time. A lost German man is never a good thing.”

Ludwig blinked when she threw him a quick wink over her shoulder, his blue eyes lighting up with surprise. Israel’s hospitality knew no bounds, and he was extremely thankful for her help, but part of him couldn’t help but to wonder what exactly it was she had meant by ‘A lost German man is never a good thing’. Was a lost Israelite, or a lost German woman any better? Why the special emphasis on a German man?

He ran the possibilities over in his mind.

Either she was implying that German men had a tendency to cause trouble in these parts, she and her people thought they were likely to cause trouble in these parts, or she was genuinely trying to be helpful and was unaware of all the possible ways in which that statement could be taken.

Germany went with the latter possibility. Her general demeanor, friendliness, and the playful wink all indicated that she wasn’t in the least phased by his Germanness, and that she probably did not have a negative view of Germans as a whole. Well, modern Germans, anyway.

An excited voice calling out in Hebrew drew Ludwig’s attention to the woman he’d rescued from the thief. She jogged up to them merrily, Israel’s shoes in hand.

Oh. That’s right. Israel forgot to retrieve her shoes. He glanced down at the other nation’s dusty bare feet, wondering how she had managed to forget something like that. He certainly would’ve noticed immediately if he had forgotten to put his footwear back on. The ground had a far different feel than the inside of a shoe, especially when one wasn’t wearing socks. It was so dirty and usually uncomfortable.

Ludwig glanced around the marketplace curiously as the two women had an obviously light-hearted, giggly exchange in that mysterious language he sometimes mentally labeled ‘Jew’.

Almost everyone was carrying on with business as usual now, ergo a bit more vigilantly than before; sellers in particular were keeping their products and potential customers well within eyesight. A gentle breeze gusted over the streets, playfully tussling his blonde hair and tempting him again with the warm smell of freshly-baked bread, cakes, and other delicious foods. The sun had heated him up to the point where he was seriously considering taking his overcoat off, thin as it was.

Wait a minute! A light went on in his head. He didn’t need the wash-room after all — he could simply remove his overcoat! Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? I must be off my game, he reflected with a sad mental sigh.

Damn that almost-five-decades-long split with his land, people, and reality.

Now that he’d found a way around the blood issue, all he needed was…

"Shame. I really liked these ones too. Oh well. There are plenty where that came from."

Israel’s words pulled the German out of his thoughts. He turned to see her holding her shoes out in front of him. They were coated in a fine layer of dirt, and one showed signs wear along the side, but apart from that looked fine in his eyes.

Jewelry Lady took off, probably returning to her stand.

Ludwig quirked an eyebrow up inquisitively at the brunette. “Can’t you just wash them off?”

But Israel either hadn’t entirely heard — or else had chosen not to answer — this question, and she apparently abhorred the idea of wearing dirty heels even a short distance, because she turned around and continued walking. Barefoot.

Ludwig continued following, slightly behind and to her right, and for the next minute or two the pair traveled in silence. It was a friendly silence, but Ludwig couldn’t help feeling like a fish out of water. It wasn’t entirely the cultural and religious differences that were getting to him either, though they certainly played a role.

No. Try as he may to forget the past, he couldn’t. And even though Israel had not been “born” until after the war, there was no way in Hell she didn’t know the horrific details concerning her people and Ludwig’s role, whether directly or indirectly, in their suffering.

Well, she didn’t know all of the details, and she never would. There was at least one secret Germany and the one other he had told would take to the grave, in that inevitable point in the future when they finally died, as all nations on Earth would someday.

Israel started talking again once they turned a corner. "What brings you to my neighborhood? It's not a common thing to see you here. Only at UN meetings or other big conferences where we just happen to pass each other at the drink station during lunch." For some reason, she found something about this funny.

“OECD conference.” Their eyes met. “The objective was to balance environmental sustainability with profit. As usual, nothing got accomplished.”

Ludwig raised an eyebrow at Israel’s next words, mild disbelief flickering over his features. The man wouldn’t have gotten the message to leave the woman alone if he had not been there? That did not say very good things about the law enforcement around here, or Israel herself if she needed someone else to act first before she stepped in to intervene.

And, of course, even in their own country the Jews were having problems. Why am I not surprised?

Ludwig started to open his mouth to speak, but Israel cut him to the quick.

"Again.. Forgive me for the incident. I am, in fact, embarrassed for such behavior among the citizens."

You’ve got nothing on me, Ludwig thought, finding it rather ironic that Israel couldn’t stop apologizing to him for the behavior of a few of her people when really, if any apologizing was going to be done, it should be the other way around.

But that would be beating a dead horse, wouldn’t it? His citizens had already expressed their deepest regret, remorse, and outrage over what had happened: apologized a million and a half times. He even vaguely remembered signing a few papers to that effect, though he hadn’t formally apologized nation-spirit to nation-spirit.

Why should I? part of him argued, It wasn’t my idea to persecute and mass-murder the Jews. And it’s not like I was in a position to do much about it, either.

They arrived at on old building with sand-colored walls and paint peeling off the shutters. It looked very plain and was clearly in need of some repair, judging by outward appearances alone. Inside, people were talking and laughing loudly.

This, Israel announced, was her office. She needed a moment to retrieve her own phone, which was apparently the only one in the building that worked halfway decently.

Germany hesitated in front of the door. He did not know why.

“Well? Are you coming in?” Despite her word-choice, Israel’s tone was patient.

Ludwig looked up into those brown eyes and nodded. For some reason he had been staring at the ground, and he was at a total loss to explain why. “Yes.” he said after a beat, shaking his head slightly and frowning a little.

Is this another lingering side-effect of the split? It wasn’t often that he zoned-out like that.

Alarming.

“You sure are chatty, aren’t you?” Though he wasn’t smiling, the expression he wore wasn’t particularly off-putting or unfriendly. He made his way past his helpful hostess into the slightly cooler, dimmer reception area.

Israel hadn’t been kidding about the mess: newspapers, photos, fliers, and leaflets were scattered all over haphazardly on the tables, in corners, and along the walls. The bright colors depicted cheerful candidates with words written all around them. Probably their promises about how they were going to make the country better or overcome some major problem, or perhaps simple statements about how they cared, or something to that effect. Candidates always strove so hard to sell themselves around election time.

Seeing no one in the immediate vicinity, the German began unbuttoning and removing his blue overcoat, exposing the fine white business shirt underneath and the old dark-gray iron cross attacked to the gray-link necklace-chain that encircled his neck. “Guess I don’t need to worry about washing up so much after all,” he announced, his voice quieter than usual so as not to attract unwanted or unneeded attention, “but I would like to run this under a little water. Just in case.” Once the garment was off, he semi-folded it so as to make it less awkward to carry in one hand. “I appreciate your hospitality,” he said mechanically, staring at the lump of blue textile he held rather than Israel, “but after a faucet with running water — and perhaps a bit of soap — all I need is a good map. It doesn’t even have to be in a language I can read, though that would be nice. I’m good at figuring things out on my own. I can pay you for it, but you’ll have to wait for me to get back home before I can wire the money into your account. I don’t have anything on me at the moment, even in my own currency.”

_______________________________

Jäger: The lowest rank in the trooper/rifleman class of the modern German army.

[mommaisrael]

With small and patient pats and rubs to her skirt, Zivah let out the smallest sigh escaping from in between her lips. The day was hot and the coincidences of meeting the German. Her eyes slowly glanced at Ludwig before looking away in thought. He seemed so deep in his own world than actually being in the rest of his surroundings. The small nation tapped at her lips before smiling wide at his glances towards her.

As friendly as she may seem, Zivah could really only be that way since she had hardly any knowledge of what had happened to her people. Being such a newish country, it was already hard enough to fathom the intensity of how to run things. But for Ludwig, it was probably easy now that he had been a mature nation for quite some time. It was kind of intimidating that she was even next to the man.. despite their 'past'.

Snapping out of her thoughtful trance at Ludwig's question, the younger female just stared up at the male, pondering what to say. Not so chatty anymore, huh? "Well, when you have sand and a few bodies of water to deal with.. you kind of mingle with everyone. Traders, merchants, tourists-- Anybody really. I guess I provide for all." A sweet smile was made again and she spot some more dirt! Ugh! When was it going to just leave her alone!? As her hand slapped away the dirty particles, Zivah listened to what Ludwig needed for the moment. "There should be a bathroom right down that hall. It's about.. six doors down and around the corner-- Here, I'll show you. It's really a labyrinth in this place." Zivah threw back another smile before padded down the hallway with bare feet.

All along the walls were piles of papers and files since there was a lot more things to be paying for then an organizational way of doing things. The office assistants knew where things were so there wasn't a problem unless someone came in with OCD, then there'd be an issue. It wasn't like they were under anybody so they'd have to keep up with a regulation. Zivah kicked some things out of the way so there was more of a path for Ludwig to follow down if he wished. People were running around everywhere, yelling and screaming for answers from others. It was like an accounting firm but even worse with angry Middle Eastern people.

Suddenly, a man busted out of a door and ran into Zivah with another messy pile in his hands-- well, was in his hands.. Now, they were either in the air or floating down onto other piles. The younger nation was holding herself against the wall for a moment, wondering what had just happened with the situation.
אני כל כך מצטערת! ישראל ליידי! אנא סלח לי! הייתי מנסה להגיע לאנשהו מהר אב אתה שם ..במקרה ו¹

A shake of her head and a pat of his shoulder was all that was made from the smaller nation. Nothing else said as she knelt down to help out with the papers. The man kept whispering apologies but there was a simple, yet playful, push made to the other from Zivah as if she was telling him to stop. Once everything was picked up, the younger nation continued down the hallway until she was at the corner with a gesture towards the other end. If Ludwig had been in the room still, he would have completely seen her, even though there were a lot of crazy people running around too. "Please. Use my resources. I'll get you that map and get you home as soon as we can and even as comfortable too." That smile came back to her lips as if it was permanent.

Maybe she should clean up a little bit? It was like a train had rushed by and it was kind of embarassing for her to have a good guest see everything like this.. "Perhaps when things are planned and we wait, we could go on a walk through this side of Jerusalem? Maybe a few of the sites that around here so that way you get a little more of my culture. It'll be my formal apology for this mess and chaos you get to see right now." It kind of saddened her. The thought of how Ludwig's office might have been was kind of disappointing on Zivah's side. It must have been inevitably clean.

___________________________________________

1 - I'm so sorry! Lady Israel! Please forgive me! I was trying to get somewhere quickly but you happened to be there and--

(Author's note: I do apologize for the length of this but I am trying to get back into the swing of things. Life has been hard for me lately but it's starting to look up in these next three weeks. I will be posting again and more frequently. Again, I apologize <3)

[Germany]

“There should be a bathroom right down that hall. It's about.. six doors down and around the corner…”

Ludwig automatically looked down the indicated hallway, blinking a few more times as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting.

“Here, I'll show you. It's really a labyrinth in this place”

A labyrinth? Hardly an efficient building design, especially where politics and business are concerned. He never had liked such layouts — they made everything so unstructured, confusing, and chaotic. However, even pushing etiquette aside, he really didn’t have a place to criticize his hostess’s buildings as there were a few glaring examples of bad planning in some of his own cities. It could happen to anyone — no country was immune.

At least Israel was offering to show him the way. He followed her lead deeper into the building, stealing glances into some of the open rooms they passed and eying the various papers, promotional posters, and fliers plastered along the walls and doors along the way.

My god, what a mess! Ludwig’s eyes widened in repulsed disbelief at the messy, leaning mountains of papers strewn haphazardly and every which way along desks, tables, chairs, and any other available platform. There were plenty of stray papers that didn’t belong to any one of these monuments to chaos around, too: they waved out of drawers, dangled over edges, hid under books and other objects, rested under cups and mugs, flailed in the hands of bustling, angry-sounding people who were all in a whirl of motion and shouting things at each other in Hebrew and Arabic. Untold numbers more lay scattered in every imaginable position on the floor; these swirled and danced about the feet of the Israelis.

Ludwig’s face twitched. How could these people work in this environment?! How the hell did they ever manage to find anything?! It looked like a couple of tornados had come through!

Actually, no. Scratch that.

A tornado couldn’t possibly make this big of a mess.

And the germs! Who knew how many viruses and bacteria were hiding and incubating themselves comfortably in a lost sandwich or old, sticky beverage spill buried deep under heaps of papers? What if someone who was infected had sneezed on or touched something? How often were these surfaces washed?!

A profound shudder of ickiness shot through him just thinking about it, and he was struck with a sudden and powerful urge to wash his hands, grab some towels and industrial-strength cleaners, secure some garbage-bins, and get to work.

Unhygienic!

And here was Israel, walking through without a care in the world, casually kicking papers and bins out of the way to clear a path for them.

How could she not mind this?

How?!

It was like walking into an officially-declared disaster area! All that was missing were the backed-up sewer-lines, sick and dying bodies, almost non-existent food and water rations, and a few weapons for the desperate and angry survivors to fight each other with.

Ludwig was about to ask whether or not the deeply religious Jews believed in order and/or pathogens at all when a door off to the side burst open and almost hit him in the face. A man loaded with papers shot out like a canon-ball and collided with Israel, knocking her to the wall and sending the papers flying.

What the hell?! Ludwig halted in his next step and watched in mute astonishment as Israel dismissed the accident as though it were nothing and helped pile the man up again, his mouth scrunching up with overt disgust. Nein! Just, NEIN! This is NO way to do business, or even campaign!

Israel didn’t see his expression — her head was turned the wrong way — but the man did. A deep blush spread through his cheeks, and he averted his eyes away from the German, quickly dashing into another room the second he was able.

Without another word, Israel turned and continued her casual stroll through the literal mess hall.

Germany followed at a brisk pace; the quicker he was done with his business in this building, the better.

They reached the end of the hall, and his young hostess gestured to the right. “Please. Use my resources. I'll get you that map and get you home as soon as we can and even as comfortable too.”

Ludwig blinked. It was just as much of a madhouse in this big room as all the other, smaller rooms they had passed. “Thank you,” he said, striving for his most polite tone. Scanning the right-hand wall, he was quick to detect two doors that led into bathrooms. At least, he hoped they did: judging from the stylized male and female stick figure drawings on them it wasn’t a ridiculous notion.

Still smiling, Israel caught his eye and suggested that they go for a walk while they waited after everything was arranged. It would be a formal apology for having to walk in on this mess, she claimed, and he would have a chance to see some of her culture besides.

Ludwig was about to turn her down gently, thanking her for the offer but reminding her that he didn’t really have the time, but the hint of sorrow — and was that a tinge of embarrassment? — that touched her soft features right then left him voiceless as a fish, his mouth hanging open slightly. Rather than speak his mind the way he almost had, he shut his mouth and reconsidered.

Ever since he had found her, Israel had been bending over backwards to help him, the embodiment of helpful and polite. She had taken time off of her schedule to lead him here, and now was doing everything in her power to help him get home comfortably and without unneeded delay. She was extremely embarrassed about the behavior of her people earlier as well as the present state of this building, and it was only natural that she’d want to give her guest a chance to experience the better, saner side of her people, sites, and culture.

Ludwig inwardly flinched. It was true that he didn’t have all the time in the world to catch his flight, and it was also true that he felt like a fish out of water in this country and couldn’t wait to get back within his own borders, but he couldn’t get away from feeling that it would be incredibly rude and ungrateful of him to refuse her sightseeing offer. In fact, it would be like a slap in the face.

Blue eyes fixed on brown. “Sounds like a plan,” he relented, flashing the other nation an extremely awkward, tiny toothless smile in a conscious effort to appear friendlier and convey his good intentions. “I’ve always been a little curious about Jews and the Jewish culture and…er…religion.” He swallowed lightly, not quite sure how he was coming off, but feeling very much like he needed to explain that more. “I’ve had some Jewish friends before…in the past…and I never really knew that much about them in that…regard. I just remember seeing them praying sometimes, and…well, the six-pointed star and things like that.” He shot a quick glance towards the bathroom door. “I’d better get this suit taken care of.” Turning his attention back to her, he added a bit sheepishly “Get that map and I’ll meet up with you here. We can navigate together and do some sightseeing along the way, but if we have to catch any rides or talk to anyone you’ll have to translate. I don’t speak the local languages. At all.”

__________________________________________________________

A/N:

*Nein = German for "no".

This post was crazy-fun to write, what with Ludwig’s clean-freak, germophobe nature. XD Also, isn’t he quite the gentleman, standing there staring and making a face instead of helping his hostess pick up papers for another? XD

No need to apologize! Your last post was actually pretty long — it just probably seemed smaller to you next to the freakish giant I posted before it ( where I was responding to all that action and talking ).

Sorry if it doesn’t seem like I’m giving you much new content to work with: I’m trying to get more interactive here. It’s safe to assume that Ludwig will have finished washing his overcoat and will be in the mentioned spot by the time Israel gets back with a map, when/if you decide to have her leave for one. ^^