"Oh schieße..." Germany cursed as he recognized the voice. "Stay hidden. Don't let him see you." He tried to flatten his body even closer to the ground than before when he was stalking the bird, and yet he mentally thanked that voice for bringing him to his senses before he ate a raw bird. Shuddering at the thought, Germany didn't realize the person who spoke before had reached down and picked him up. Legs flailing this way and that, Germany screeched, "Verdammt, put me down!"
"Such a cute kitty! I'm gonna take you home with me and...hmmm...I think I'll call you Pooky! No wait, I already have a kitty named Pooky. Ooh! How about Romi? Oh si, I like that very much!"
Germany stopped wriggling and stared at Italy in contempt. It sounds like he's naming me after his capital city. Can he really not think of anything original? "Nein! Put me down this instant!" Italy walked up to Germany's house and burst in through the door.
"Geeeermaaanyyyy!" Italy called out in his perky, high-pitched voice. "Buongiorno! Wake up! It's so pretty outside so we should go play football! Germany?" Italy looked up and down the halls for the person who was indignantly underneath his arm at the present moment.
"Ow! Shit! Damn bloody-, Italy? What are you doing here?" Britain was rubbing a towel between his hands and nursing a newly formed bruise. His gaze came to rest on Germany, who was tucked underneath Italy's arm. Germany's gaze was quite clear...If you say one word, I will kill you.
"I'm looking for Germany. Have you seen him?" Italy looked around nervously. It was apparent that he did not want to be alone with the Brit.
"Uh, nope. Haven't seen him! I'm, um, just doing a bit of housework for the chap while he's off on a...trip." Britain avoided Germany's gaze the whole time he spoke. Das dummkopf...he's going to give me away, I can just tell. Germany squirmed and tried to get out of Italy's grasp, but the Italian had a much tighter grip than Germany anticipated. It appeared that Italy didn't want to let Germany go...ever. At least that's what it felt like as Germany felt his sides being squished uncomfortably. Ugh...Italy...maybe loosen up on your grip a bit?
"He left to go somewhere? Oh...oki-dokie! When you see him, let me know! Arrivederci, Britain!" Italy waved and made to leave the house.
"Hey Italy?" Italy turned around and faced Britain, who was eyeing Germany with both amusement and worry. "Perhaps you should stop strangling your cat. I think it would probably much rather be alive."
"Eh?" Italy glanced down at Germany curiously and poked his nose. "I think the kitty's okay! Yay!" And with that, Italy sped out of the house leaving a trail of dust in his wake. "Come on, Romi! I'm gonna bring you to my house and you'll have so much pasta that-" Germany had learned years ago to tune out Italy after he started chatting on and on about the seven wonders of Pasta. All he could do now was relax and go along for the free ride. Plus...well...the food Italy made was lecker[1], very lecker. Maybe he'll even put in some wurst. Germany thought hopefully as Italy started up his car and drove off at the speed of sound.
"So let's see, I have penne, cavatappi, conchiglie, farfalle, fusilli...or maybe you like lasagna?" Italy listed the different types of pastas he had and Germany's head shot up at the word "lasagna". You could put basically anything in Lasagna, and Germany's wish was for the wurst. "Lasagna, eh?" Italy turned his attention on Germany and the car momentarily swerved. Germany's ears flicked back as he heard someone yelling at the Italian, and curse words were abundant. "Aren't you so cute!" Germany flinched as Italy's fingers touched the base of his ears and he tried to cringe away...but then Italy started scratching them.
Oh...oh wow...oh "Mein Gott that really feels good!" Germany couldn't help but purr at the caress and he leaned into it. "Just a little...little lower. Ja, right there. Oh gott...that's amazing! Maybe it would be worth it being a cat..." That thought certainly brought Germany back to reality and he hissed at himself for being so careless.
"You don't like being scratched? Oh, sorry." Italy parked the car and opened the door, giving Germany the opportunity to escape and make a mad dash for the nearest tree. "Wait Romi, come back!"
"Nein! You will not coerce me with your...fingers...anymore! I am not a damn cat! Not!" Germany scrabbled at the base of the tree, trying to get a grip on the bark. "Verdammt...there are no hand-holds. Oh wait, cats have claws. Now just to use them, ah ha!" The claws sunk into the wood like it was butter and Germany used them to haul his way up the tree in short hops of a sort. The nearest tree limb was about three meters off the ground; too high for Italy to reach, so Germany cautiously wove his way through the shorter branches and leaves in order to perch on the sturdier one. His tail anxiously flicked this way and that as he looked down at the ground. That's...that's a long way to fall. He shuddered for a moment and tried to look out instead of down.
Italy's house always amazed him on its architecture. The Roman style and the beautiful gardens that were in the backyard always sent a chill down his spine at their beauty. There was also something really familiar about it, but Germany just couldn't figure out what it was. It was something that irked him every time he came to visit.
"Romi! Come down, per favore!" Italy pleaded with him and stared up into the tree Germany was perched in. Germany gave a sigh and glanced down at the wide-eyed Italian. Why would he be worried? Cats always land on their feet, right?
"Veneziano, what the hell are you yelling at?" Germany's ears flicked up and he brought his attention to an open window, of which Romano, Italy's older brother, was leaning out of.
"Oh hey, Romano! I'm trying to get the kitty down from the tree." Italy happily shouted and waved up at his brother, who was shaking his head in exasperation.
"The cat will come down when it wants to, Veni. Just leave it alone and come inside already; dinner's on the table!" Romano brought his head back inside and shut the window with a somewhat loud bang...at least it was loud to Germany's ears.
Wait...dinner? Germany's mouth watered at the thought but he quickly pushed down on the temptation with all his resolve. When he looked down at Italy, though, it all crumbled. The look on Italy's face was...heart-broken. Seriously? He's this upset that I won't come down? Germany sighed and dipped his head. Fine... Germany let the cat instincts take over and he tensed his muscles before springing down onto Italy's head.
"Che?" Italy lifted his hands to his head and picked Germany up. "Fantastico! Grazie, Romi! Come on, I'll go make you some pasta too!"
I think I'll end up regretting this. Germany just purred in response, though, and twitched his nose. Italy had a funny smell. It wasn't bad, quite the opposite really. It reminded him of salt water and freshly baked bread. Verdammt, now I'm hungry.
Thus began a trek into the beautiful Italian house. Underneath an arm, not a very comfortable position to be honest. Germany hated every moment of it, but that hate dissipated when Italy walked inside. Decorating every wall was familiar pieces of artwork that Germany remembered from the last time he visited Italy's house. A lot of it was Italy's own paintings, and Germany had to admit that he was amazing at it. The arts had always been Italy's strong area, and it was where Germany had the most trouble. He couldn't draw; every time he tried to draw an animal it came out funny and misshapen. People just looked like blobs with strange-looking faces. The only instruments he could play were the accordion and a bit of piano that Austria had tried to teach him.
"Veneziano! Where the hell are you?" Romano's voice issued from another part of the house and the skip in Italy's step became more pronounced as he picked up his pace. Germany struggled out of Italy's arms, probably leaving some fur behind, and followed Romano's voice into Italy's kitchen. Well, the kitchen was certainly a lot bigger than Germany's...and surprisingly cleaner, seeing as dinner had just been prepared. The strong smell of...pasta...was wafted through the air and it filled Germany's nostrils to the point he sneezed.
So...much...tomato sauce*. Germany staggered slightly and got picked up by a slightly stronger pair of hands.
"No gatti in the kitchen!" Romano's hands felt slightly rough despite their outward appearance and his nails dug into Germany's skin. It must be from all that tomato picking he did with Spain. Note to self, try new work-out routine. Tomato picking? It sounded absurd when he formed the thought. Damn, he's strong. Germany noted as he tried to wriggle out of Romano's hands. The Italian's grip was something Germany might expect from a logger, tight with persistent strength. He dropped Germany right outside the kitchen door and used his body to block Germany from coming back inside, not that he needed to. The smell overwhelmed Germany to the point that his vision blurred a bit before he shook his head to clear it. He tilted his head up to look Romano in the eyes. Germany could sense the challenge the stubborn Italian posted and decided to accept it.
"Romi, where are-, Romano? Romi? Are you fighting?" Italy stopped when he saw Germany and Romano's stare-off.
"Your stupido cat won't stop staring at me, Veni!" Romano growled but maintained his eye contact with Germany. It was apparent to both of them who would win, and it would be Germany. Cats were just naturally skilled like that. Germany flicked the tip of his tail in amusement as Romano's eyes narrowed angrily. "Damn cat!" He shouted as he blinked and turned back into the kitchen.
"Romano it's okay. Romi doesn't mind-" Italy tried to comfort his brother, but wasn't quite clear on what he was comforting him about.
"Your damn cat thinks it's better than me, I can just tell! Go introduce it to your other stupido cat already and make it leave me the fuck alone." Romano cursed a few more times and started rummaging through the cabinets to find dishes.
"Che? Oh that's a magnifico idea, Romano!" Italy dashed away, his footsteps echoing throughout the house as he started hunting down his second cat. Meanwhile Germany kept his gaze fixed on Romano. It amused him to no end that Romano seemed unnerved by him, and he decided to push his luck a bit.
"Hey Romano, how about putting some sausage into the pasta, okay?" Germany purred and rubbed his side against Romano's legs. The Italian stiffened and glared down at Germany with a disgusted look on his face.
"Get the hell away from me!" His words said one thing but the fact he didn't move said something completely different. It enticed Germany to paw at Romano's leg until the Italian was beet red in the face. "Stop being so cute, dammit!"
Cute? I'm being cute? I thought I was being irritating. Germany mused and his whiskers twitched. Oh well, if you insist. Germany persisted in the rubbing of his sides up against Romano's legs, feeling a bit irritated at the fact he was acting so much like a cat but somehow enjoying every second of it. Soft footfalls announced the presence of a smaller being and Germany flicked his ears around as he heard a soft meow.
"Tu chi sei[2]?" Germany turned his head around as a cream-colored tabby padded into the room, her paws gently touching the linoleum flooring and barely making a noise. That cat, I know that cat. Is that the cat Italy calls Pooky? Oh mein gott I think it is. "Tu chi sei? Come si chiami[3]?" She persisted.
"Um..." Germany tried to mentally translate it, because it seemed that the built-in translator the countries had wasn't working for him. "Mein...um..."
"Non parli Italiano[4]?" She...Pooky...strode up to Germany and sat down in front of him. Her blue eyes sparkled as she eyed Germany thoughtfully.
"Uh, nein." Germany could feel the fur around his face heating up a bit. Nein! I'm not a cat! I'm not a cat! I'm not a-
"Um, I am Alegra. Do you speak English?" Germany just stared at her. Her name is Alegra? I thought it was Pooky.
"I'm, um, Germany." Germany decided it was safe to tell her his real name seeing as neither of the Italians could understand them.
"Germany?" Alegra's, or Pooky's, fur bristled a bit and her eyes widened. "That's not possible. I thought you were a nation, like Veneziano."
"Well, I am. Let's just say it is a really long story..." Germany folded his legs underneath him and motioned for Alegra to settle in too. It was going to take a while to explain the events around his turning into a cat, and to have someone listen to him was just what Germany needed.
~/~
* = the overwhelming smell of tomato sauce...this actually happened to me once. I walked into the kitchen while my mom was making pasta sauce and the smell of the tomato paste made my eyes water while I staggered out of the kitchen with blurry vision. Don't get me wrong, I love my pasta!
[1] - delicious, tasty, yummy
[2] - "Who are you?"
[3] - "What is your name?"
[4] - "You don't speak Italian?"
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Aaaaaand, author's note time! I appreciate the time you've taken out of your busy fangirl day to read my story! I know these first two chapters have been short as hell, but they'll get longer as I get into the rhythm of writing. So anyway, leave a comment! A suggestion! It takes all of us to build a story, da?
Also random thought....Germany and Romano have such an awkward relationship -.- it doesn't matter in they're both human, or one of them's a cat....hmmm...O.O I think I know what I want to write next.