Black Coffee :|: America x Russia :|: Countryhumans

Act I, Chapter Seventeen

Play the song if ya want, idk

It's good if you familiarise yourself with it cus it's gonna be a running theme in this book - t r u s t  m e.

It's kinda sorta s u p e r  i m p o r t a n t.

Well not sUpEr but like important????? It just comes up a few times so yeah.

But still listen to it.

...please?

~~~~~~~~

"Jazza! Stop trying to eat your cousin!"

"GET THAT DAMN THING UNDER CONTROL!" New Zealand cried, holding her kiwi bird to her chest with tears in her eyes. "IT ALMOST HURT MY POOR HINE, JUST LOOK, SHE'S SHAKING!" (Pronounced: Hin-ay)

She wasn't lying, the fluffy brown kiwi bird cradled in her arms was quivering, eyeing Australia's pet cautiously. The creature Hine was wary of was a cheerful looking snake called a coastal taipan, one of the most dangerous snakes in the world – probably the most dangerous. Just moments before, the snake had crawled a bit too close to the flightless fluffy bird for comfort, showing off its fangs dripping with a fatal poison.

Australia, completely undeterred by Jazza's deadly nature, hugged her snake – who happily slithered into her hair and flickered its tongue to taste the air "Excuse me? Thing? Jazza isn't a thing! He's a beautiful boy who deserves all the love in the world!"

"He's a VENEMOUS SNAKE, AUSTRALIA!"

"So what? Hine's a dumb, flightless bird," Australia retorted, stroking Jazza's scales methodically. "Plus, he didn't do anything! He wouldn't hurt a fly!"

New Zealand glared daggers at her, stroking her "child" as well. "Do you not understand what venomous means you mongrel?!"

As they bickered some more, America stabbed another couple of pancakes on the top of the tall stack in the middle of the table to plop onto his emptied plate. He added a scoop of ice cream, some fresh chopped fruit and just a drizzle of maple syrup. It annoyed him to have to decorate his pancakes again, since this was his second stack, but it tasted good so why should it matter?

He sliced through the fluffy goodness and scooped it into his mouth, practically melting into a puddle of joy. As usual, Canada had made his infamous pancakes for breakfast – a secret recipe he refused to share with anyone, not even his family. Whenever he made them, he kicked everyone out of the kitchen to keep his secret a secret, and it annoyed their mother to no end. If Canada had the urge to start on his masterpiece, he acted immediately – not taking others' feelings into account (unlike his usual self). America had actually made him a little sign to put on the door for this odd pancake ritual when he was younger. On it was a badly drawn Canada holding a stack of pancakes with holy light illuminating them. Under the drawing were the words: 'DONT COM IN!!! COOCKING IN PROGRES'. Since America was a kid when he made it the spelling was atrocious, and the illustration was far from gallery worthy; but Canada, France, and Britain (the main users of the kitchen) all found it endearing enough to keep around.

America slumped in his chair, eyes staring at the ceiling – his gaze bleary with bliss.

"Good God, I missed this," America moaned, inhaling more pancakes but still savouring the exquisite taste.

Canada chuckled, pausing for a swig of maple syrup. "What – the bickering or the pancakes?"

"The pancakes 1 000 000%," America grinned at his brother before swiveling around to face his sisters, who were somehow still arguing. "And I wouldn't call it bickering – I prefer the term 'sibling love'."