'ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴏʙᴀʟ ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴀʟ' || ʜᴇᴛᴀʟɪᴀ

9

Peter abandoned his spoon in an empty pot of ice-cream. He'd been going at the tub for an hour or so and he'd finally managed to empty it, collecting a total of five instances of brain-freeze. He was proud. It was nearing three o'clock. Time had flown by since the group had started reading in the later morning, and by now he figured that they'd have to keep reading the day after. They were barely a fifth of the way through!

He told Gilbert he was going to take a quick break to stretch his young legs, and Prussia had obliged, saying he'd continue to focus on the entire group. So, he put the tub down on his desk and decided to venture outside to breathe in the fresh salted air of the ocean, and to listen as seagulls soared and squawked overhead noisily. He was where he belonged. His soon-to-be-a-country sea fort wasn't like his second home with Finland and Sweden, but nothing could ever beat the original.

Peter smiled out across the water, in the direction of London. He knew that if people found out that the journal was the idea of himself and Prussia, he'd be in for more than just an earful from England. But he also knew that Gilbert - like the idiot he was - would protect him and take all of the blame. He didn't want that.

After about five minutes of contemplation, wishful thinking and deep breaths, Peter returned to his room and placed his headphones back on so he could hear Gilbert.

"Anything interesting happen?" he questioned.

"No, not really." Gilbert replied sternly. Peter noted how he still sounded a bit tense, so he asked what more had been read to continue conversation. "Just those short things about the Canada's first settlers and the Cold War..."

"Alright." Peter replied quietly, knowing that his friend would prefer to not talk about the latter of those two things. "Are you going to tell me why you were in a flap earlier on? We're in this together, you know."

"Alfred." Prussia responded sharply. "He's being a dummkopf and needs a kick up the bum. That and a hug."

"So why did Russia leave?"

"Because I told him to go and look for him, and I told him to hurry the heck up." he answered, looking at the left-most computer screen. Unfortunately, he couldn't see what was going on outside in the maze. He was tempted to leave his post and head over there to to sort it out himself, but he knew he couldn't.

"Oh... But why Russia and not England or Canada?"

Gilbert didn't reply. He was aware that Peter should already know the answer to that, and waited for it to click inside the young boy's mind.

"Ohhh, I see..." Sealand eventually said. "It must be urgent then..."

"Yep." Gilbert stated simply. "Extremely."

A few miles away from the Prussian, Francis was in possession of the journal still, and was ready to begin reading out the third entry. It was fairly long. Feliciano had popped back out to the kitchen to get more drinks for everyone, and had told them to continue in the meantime.

"Alright, I'll read one more and then someone else can have it." he announced. "Volunteers?"

"I'll take it." Arthur said across Matthew. Francis nodded in response and proceeded to read the personal entry.

"Spain. April 27th, 1937. I'm sorry if my writing is scrawled and if I don't make sense. My head is still pounding after yesterday's bombing and I've had to step away from the front lines for a bit. Franco has apologised, but I told him there was no need. I agreed to it after all. I just feel terrible. Emotionally, I mean. I basically sentenced my citizens to death in Guernica..."