YonderBlue's Artbook/Short Stories

Transformation Writing Practice

(Basically doing a werewolf transformation thing for a practice, but I'm using Drago Britain because he is my favorite)

Disclaimer: This is a practice and doesn't connect to any of my books

Britain groaned as he stumbled. He looked like he got drunk and he was sure acting that way. His eyes were baggy and unfocused while his movement was swaying. He felt weak in every body part and he had a painful headache. His formal clothing was loose and dirty. He was heading to his apartment and hoped to just crash once he did.

France was also heading for his (yes he) apartment. He had a fun night with Portugal that night but now it was really late. The elevator opened the third floor and he made his way to his part of the building. He stopped and saw Britain stumbling to walk.

"Britain?" He went by Britain who was slumped down and didn't react. "Britain?" He asks again.

Britain winced and covered his ears. "Don't yell..."

"I'm not. Britain, buddy, are you okay?" France put a hand on his shoulder.

"...Peach... Peachy..." He groggily said not making eye contact with the taller male.

"If you're so peachy then how many fingers am I holding up?" France put up three fingers.

Britain looks up and squints. "...The letter... A?"

"That wasn't an option." France scoffs-laughs. He looks at Britain's coat and sees a dart in him. He takes it out. "When did you get hit by this?"

"...By whaaat?" Britain tried focusing on the black dart in France's hand.

France looks at Britain. "Were you playing with tranquilizers? If you did, I'll remind Ireland not to do it again if this is your reaction."

Britain giggles. "... What if... If... Ireland... was a boy?!" Britain laughs.

"Okay, that's it. Let's get you to bed." France put Britain's arm over his shoulder.

Britain keeps acting weird and giggling like a little girl. "What if... you... were... a.. chicken nugget... no... a girl... chicken nugget?" He giggles. "You'd be so pretty...~"

"I would look sweet as a chicken nugget." France played along. He got to Britain's apartment which was next to his and Germany's. France looked in Britain's coat and found his keys and uses them to open the door.

France helped Britain in and enjoyed how neat everything was. "Wow, you and you're roommate make cleaning look easy."

"Don't have... roomie... Scotland... Don't want to stay with... a monster..." Britain's childishness immediately changed to sad. "Easy to keep clean... because... no one makes a mess..."

"Sorry to hear that..." France felt bad and... why would Scotland think he's a monster?

France found Britain's room and opened the door. His room was totally different from the living room. His room was filled with bottles and not just any kind of bottles, but whiskey bottles.

"Britain... I think he might have called you an addict, not a monster."

"... Same thing..." Britain sadly sighs. Then he starts whining and puts his hand where the dart was previously (right below his ribs).

"You okay?"

"Hurt... bad... bad hurt." Britain whimpered.

"Okay..." France wasn't sure why. He'd never personally gotten shot by one but he never thought it would hurt where it hit. Maybe he just has an upset stomach. Best to make sure. "Where?"