on his mun's insane ideas regarding him and *Hetalia* of all things

[workingclass]

Mademoiselle, I do not often say this, and never to women, but you are insane.

[Feuilly's normally a polite and fairly calm young man. His mun, however, is trying his patience]

There is no such thing as a--a literal personification of a country. There is not someone walking the streets who is France in the flesh, nor is there a Greece or a Poland despite your attempts to tell me otherwise. Please, get back to your schoolwork and stop this absurdity.

Comments

[niepokonany]

Rude! Like, do I go telling people you don't exist?

[workingclass]

E-excuse me?

[niepokonany]

It's totally bad enough, with Russia and Austria and Prussia getting all, "how can you be a nation without any land, be a good territory and shut up while the empires are talking!" Who says you get to act like I don't exist, too?

[It's a little touchy right now, ok?]

[workingclass]

What on Earth are you talking about?

[...Monsieur? Mademoiselle? He's not sure which]

[niepokonany]

[He's at least dressed like a "monsieur" today, though if Feuilly were to mistake him for a Sweet Polly Oliver, he totally wouldn't be the first one.]

I'm talking about how dumb it is to act like I'm not a nation when, hello, how many humans do you know who look this good at 1,000?

[workingclass]

[...Feuilly votes opium. He's got to be on opium. Or absinthe]

Ah...are drunk, monsieur?

[He's got pants on, Feuilly's going with it]

[piccolino]

Then why would you say anything in the first place if you're just going to call her names, dumb ass? Dammit, even if you are French you shouldn't go around saying stupid things!

[workingclass]

Excuse me? Call who names--the mademoiselle?

[niepokonany]

[Poland takes a flask out of his bag, weighs it in his hand, then shakes his head as he puts it away again.]

Nope, like, stone-cold sober? What about you?

[workingclass]

Sober, but...I am not calling myself a nation.

[piccolino]

[Romano may have to crane his neck to see properly into the man's face, but it hardly stops him from delivering the meanest scowl he could muster.]

You can't call women 'insane', dammit! Especially when they're not! What if somebody heard you? Stupid!

[niepokonany]

Well, like, you're not one. Duh.

[LOGIC!]

[workingclass]

[This is actually kind of cute. Feuilly tries to not smile]

I meant no offense and she knows that. She is just...there is no other word to describe her...ideas.

[workingclass]

...and, I would assume, neither are you.

[piccolino]

[He's not scowling as much now but he's still heavily judging this guy!!]

How do you know that she knows that? ...And what ideas of hers are insane anyway? Besides you, that is.

[workingclass]

Because she just laughed when I said it.

[He's unamused by the laughter, too]

The idea that there are literal personifications of nations.

[niepokonany]

Look, this is like, just gonna turn into a pretty ugly match of "no you're not," "yes I am" at this rate, and if that happens, I'm gonna have to be drunk to put up with it. Decent wódka's a total pain to come by here, so like, I'm not really into wasting it, you know?

So what'd it take to prove it to you?

[workingclass]

[Blink. Blink.

He is too tired for this.]

Ah...I am not certain that is something that can be, uh, proven, monsieur.

[niepokonany]

Kurwa, you've like, gotta be all stubborn about this? Okay, fine!

[It's not like nations have powers, aside from England's magic and Norway's fairies and maybe being stronger and more resilient than people their size should normally be. He can't, like, do anything flashy to show it off, and getting France to back him up would probably just convince him there were two crazy people running around, and any of the little historic objects among his effects could be not recognized, dismissed as fake or unimportant.]

[What option does that leave, as far as proof?]

[Stripping, obviously. He's a Hetalia, it's the answer to half of everything anyway!]

[He tosses his jacket over a chair, and lifts his shirt up to show 3 things:

1) Totally a monsieur, or a REALLY flat madamoiselle.
2) Holy shit, a person should not have survived whatever left those scars.
3) ...Are they shaped like the borders of the partitioned area? MAYBE. Yes.]

[piccolino]

Oh. [Well, if she laughed it must be okay?

Romano just shrugs his shoulders. He takes a moment to speak again.]

That's an old idea.

[workingclass]

M-monsieur, please put your shirt down!

[Feuilly is terribly confused and a little panicked right now. He notices the scars but it doesn't register what they represent]

[workingclass]

It is, but she assures me they are real.

[piccolino]

[...Maybe this guy was smarter than the average idiot.]

Hm. Would it change anything if they were really real?

[niepokonany]

Dude, you've gotta look first, or we're gonna be here arguing all night!

[workingclass]

What, exactly, am I looking at?