Sleep (APH Nordic Fanfic)

Chapter 23

Chapter Status: Not Edited

Minnesota's POV

I hate most of the people I know. I have to act nice to them though. That's how most of us are, Minnesotans, I mean. Passive aggressive, that is. People who know who I am think I'm really nice, despite death threats I give under my breath.

They don't know I feel so strongly for them.

However, most people never even see me. I'm like my uncle, Canada. Nobody can see him, either. The most memorable out of my friends would have to be Arizona. She is a fire cracker. I wish I was like her.

I was really surprised when my mother sent me to work on this article.

The girl who the article is centered around-Oslo-she is so pretty. One of the most beautiful people I've seen, in my opinion. She had thin arms and a beautiful face. But I didn't see the rest of her. She could be hideous, for all I know.

The people I interviewed seemed nice enough.

Norway stuck out most to me, though.

He's in his twenties.

That depresses me.

Not really.

"Mom, I'm back!" I holler.

I hear her footsteps pounding down the stairs.

"Great! Now I can show you how to convert it to paragraph form!"

My eye twitches. Go. Die.

"But mom! I don't wanna be a journalist! I want people to notice me! I wanna perform!" I cry out.

Oh great, here comes a storm.

Come it does.

She yells at me for the next twenty five minutes about setting realistic goals and how I'm grounded for not following her 'structure.' Structure. Frikkin' structure. Are you kidding? I'm grounded for being unhappy and having a will of my own.

Damn people. Damn you all.

I proceed to sneak out my bedroom window, and make my way to Americas house. He's never seemed to mind in the past. He'll always take me I'm for a day or two, until he kicks me out 'cause my mother is worrying. Some people.

*~*~*~*

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

I knock on the door and wait impatiently outside. Finally, America opens the door.

"Hey, mind if I stay here fer' a day er' two?" I half ask, half suggest.

"Oh, totally." He lets me in.

I kick off my shoes on the large mat. I hear people talking in the next room over. I assume they're the group I interviewed. They need to get their lives together.

Oslo's POV

The tall male stands in front of me, obviously annoyed by something.

He has vibrant red eyes and dark brown hair. He wears a raggedy white dress shirt underneath an old, worn out aviators jacket. He carries a baseball bat.

The scary thing, nails are protruding from it.

"The fuck are you looking at?" He spits at me.

"Agh! Allen," England whines, "you know I hate when you talk like that!"

He glares at the both of us, his expression distasteful.

We're the only ones sitting in the large dining hall, and we're having tea, by Britain's request. Sitting with us, is America. I've learned about these people already. Well, as much as one could after being here for three days.

America- excuse me, Allen, he enjoys clobbering people to death with his baseball bat. The one I pointed out earlier. He's also surprisingly vegan, and strict about it to. He is very hostile, and still pretty much hates my guts, for no reason.

Eh, this realm is probably better than death.

They all have more than one name. Their country name (yes, I know I'm named after a country), and a different name.

England is Oliver, America is Allen. I still haven't met anyone besides them and Iceland, who didn't bother to tell me his other name.

I think I like it here.

No I don't.

Yes I do.

Nope.

"Why not?"

Definitely not.

Wait, who said that?

I whip my head around, a tall man with chin length hair sits in a tree smoking a cigarette. I don't know what he's doing, but it smells fragrant, like a poppy.

"What are you smoking?" I inquire, not realizing the comedy of my question.

"Just opium."

Yeah, that's normal.

He jumps down and lands square in front of me, the drug only inches from my face.

"What's your name?" He whispers.

"Oslo," I inform him, indifferently.

"Zao," he says, this time at a regular volume. He backs away from me, almost stumbling.

Almost.

"Do you want any?" He holds out a small bag, the reddish powder sitting prominently at the bottom.

"Say no," a deep, gruff voice instructs.

Allen.

"No."

Allen grabs the hem of my shirt, pulling me away from Zao. What if I did want some?

"He has a reputation of offering girls some opium, then when they're high, he'll rape them."

Well, that answered my question.

(A/N) Yeah, I just needed a filler chapter, so that's why it's short. I love the 2ps! Iggy and China are my favorites. Also, if you couldn't tell, I personified myself as Minnesota so... Yup, I'm blaming myself if a certain Frenchman finds out where I live.

-Miss Catastrophe