YOU HAVE WHAT!?

Rockabilly Blues

The soulful voice was drifting through the halls from a mahogany-made door with a silver handle. The countries looked among themselves then back to the door. Should they? Well, there was the issue of the recently-discovered, hyper, over-protective father that was America and if it is something they shouldn't see then no one really wanted to be staring straight at the bullet end of his shotgun. However, that music was borderline angelic that it actually shocked the countries behind the door. Maybe just a peek would be suitable. And hopefully not life-threatening. 

Germany cautiously opened turned the knob and proceeded to push open the door just an inch that allowed the countries at the front to peek in and from what the few who managed to crowd around could view there were a young girl and boy both with ebony black hair and brown eyes, however,  the former had dark chocolate-colored skin while the latter was pale in appearance. It was the girl who was singing and the countries were nearly entranced with her angelic voice it was delicate and soft but still matched the style of music that flowed throughout the room by the boy who was strumming a crimson-colored rhythm guitar.

The music drifted around them and swayed the countries, something they never thought possible as it was clearly American music that they were singing and they never thought that it could beautiful. Perhaps it was just the girl singing. Her voice was like a nightingale's. 

They wanted a closer look, however, unfortunately, they fell straight into the room startling the boy and girl who immediately halted what they were doing to look at the intruders. The girl immediately turned bright red but tried to give an awkward smile as she started to play with the hem of her orange, single-breasted dress. The boy, meanwhile, walked over and held out to help the countries. 

"Can we help ya gentlemen?" the boy said, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. They saw he was wearing a white button-up and gray pants with a pair of work boots.

"Wow, you guys were really good!" Italy Veneziano cried, completely disregarding his question. "Especially you, bella. You could be in opera with a voice like that." 

She turned much brighter but muttered a small 'thank you' in a thick Southern accent. "I should leave y'all alone," she said before grabbing a white guitar case with a black leather jacket draped across.

"Aw...you can't stay longer?" Italy Veneziano continued. 

"Yeah, um...Bye," she said before racing out.

That was weird. They didn't even find out the girl's name before she took off. Honestly, a few were offended. She could've at least said hi and not act like they had the plague...Okay, they did. But that was a long time ago.

"Don't mind her," the boy said as he must've seen their looks as they aren't as discreet as they liked to think they are. Especially in England. "She's a bit shy, especially around strange folks." Rude. "Anyway, I'm Tennessee or Dylan Glen if you want and that was Clementine, the State of Mississippi. Welcome to our house and I hope y'all make yourselves at home." He then gave a little chuckle. "Actually, I wished I had known you was standing there and I would've had us quit with all that racket."

"Don't worry about it," Italy said, coming up and roughly shook Tennessee's hand. "You and your sister are very good."

"Why thank ya sir," Tennessee said with a pained smile, as he tried to pull his arm away from Italy's death grip. 

"ITALY! You're breaking off his circulation," Germany cried.

"Oh sorry, Tennee. Can I call you Tennee?" Italy says as he releases poor Tennessee's hand that was now being rubbed by its owner.

Tennessee looked up and shook his head, "Sorry. It's already bad enough that the others call me Dil."

"Aw...But your name's so long," Italy replies.