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12 August 2011 @ 09:16 pm
Venice + The Hangover | Aphro  
Germany wakes up in a lavished hotel room filled with distinct Venetian influence: silk sheets with golden embroidery, dark rich colors covers the whole room in romanticism and a sense of something darker, and there's wine, glasses and rose petals set on a round table made for two. None of that matters though. Germany is having the headache of the century. The empty bottle of grappa he woke up with would explain that. And it could only mean that the lump beside him is the still sleeping Italy. He doesn't want to think about why he's only in his boxers or if Italy has any clothes on.

He brings both hands to his neck and kneads the muscles there. With a groans, he fights the need to curl up and die on the bed. He needs to get up. He needs straighten whatever damage had been done in his inebriated state. He needs water.

Slowly, he slides out of bed and being up-right again makes his world spin and blackness creep in from the corner of his eyes. Germany takes the edge of the bed, then the bedside table and pushes himself up slowly. He stumbles and trips to the room's joint bathroom. He takes the wine glass on the way and fills it with precious water in the bathroom. With his thirst quenched, he looks in the gold frame mirror. He had expected to see the dark circles and illness induced paleness, but there are also marks littered on his chest and neck and. And. He's still wearing a Bauta mask.

How he can possibly sleep with it on is a mystery and in his state, he's not going to try and figure it out. Instead he tries to take it off with one smooth frustrated yank. Unfortunately for him, he didn't see or read the note left on the bedside table or he would have known that until he completes round two with his partner, the mask is glued on and absolutely fixed to his face. The blond lets out a muffled yell of pain. Now he has a hangover, and his face is hurting. While the headache and pain can be fix with conveniently found painkillers, he is completely baffled by the mask.

[ooc: Help Germany out? No toilet and gore/vore. If you're not sure just PM. Castmates and or not, you are loved and welcomed to pry his face off. Be gentle, it's (kind of) his first time here. Also I'm a slow tagger.]
 
 
 
Berwald Oxenstierna: hm?mgunbake on August 13th, 2011 02:26 am (UTC)
I... Hope you don't mind a Sweden
(ooc: If you do, you can opt not to respond.)

That muffled yell makes the other person in the room shift under the covers of the bed. Tousled blond hair. Pale skin over strong, but lean muscles. Cool blue eyes crack open before closing again as a deep sigh breaks the silence that follows the yell.

No, not Italy.

Another sigh and Sweden sits up from the bed, blue eyes fixed to Germany quietly. His silence is characteristic of the Nordic as he takes in the sight of Germany in his boxers and his mask. If he finds it strange, he doesn't make a comment. Instead, he greets him, "G'd morning..."
Ludwig | Germany [Bundesrepublik Deutschland]: Schwierigdienstlich on August 13th, 2011 02:53 am (UTC)
I'll try my best! >>
He snaps his head over to the greeter. It's octaves lower than it should be. It sounds more like a grunt than the high and almost lyrical notes that Italy embodies. His eyes widen behind the holes of the mask. The shock of it all makes his knees weak, and he goes to lean against the door frame for support.

"What. What are you doing here?" He doesn't mean to sound rude, but Sweden is off ways from Italy. It's not like he could get on the next boat and get to Italy. Even a flight from Sweden to Italy has a connection in Berlin, and Germany would have know then. His hands comes to rub his temples, the painkillers are working but it doesn't help ease the confusion and the awkwardness. He takes a breath, calms himself and responds as normally as he can (which comes out in that same rigid and professional tone).

"Good morning, Sweden."
Berwald Oxenstierna: relaxedmgunbake on August 13th, 2011 04:45 am (UTC)
We both will!
"Mn." He grunts back before taking the time to look around at their surroundings. This is definitely not his room.

He came down to Italy for the Carnavale after being happily invited by Spain, who was first sort-of threatened, sort-of invited by Romano... He doesn't really know the story behind that, but he came because well, Spain can be very convincing when he wants to be. And a few days in warm, exciting Italy wouldn't be so bad. He hadn't counted on ending up in a lavish but gaudy room with Germany of all people. But he has to say that well, he's been in worst situations. He could have ended up with Denmark, for example.

A hand lifts from his side, brushing some disheveled bangs from his face as he looks back towards Germany. "How'd we get 'ere?" Because he really can't remember, though his head hurts a little. Alcohol seems to be have been involved.
Ludwig | Germany [Bundesrepublik Deutschland]: Dienstlichdienstlich on August 13th, 2011 05:17 am (UTC)
Ok!
"I'm not sure. But it seems I've run into a slight problem."

He sighs, turns his attention back to the mirror and continues to examine the edge between the white mask and his own slightly tanned skin. "This mask is glued to my face. Do you remember what happened?"

His face remains neutral. Germany simply doesn't know what to make of this situation. A logical conclusion could not be made from the circumstances he's in. Most of all though, it is extremely annoying to have this mask cover his face when he really needs a splash of cold water to fully wake up.
Berwald Oxenstierna: hm?mgunbake on August 13th, 2011 02:42 pm (UTC)
Sweden tilts his head as he hears what Germany said. As he tries to remember last night, he looks to the side and is grateful to find his glasses safely resting over the bedside table. He slips them on and somehow feels more like himself. Now if only the headache will go away.

"N't in particular." He murmurs just as he starts to shift around to get out of the bed. It is through this process that he discovers that he's quite naked under the covers. How that is possible is another mystery. Did they perhaps sleep together?

That question is sort-of answered when he spies the note on the bedside table right beside the spot where his glasses were placed. He takes it and reads it over silently. That silence doesn't last long.

"Germany."
Ludwig | Germany [Bundesrepublik Deutschland]: Wasdienstlich on August 14th, 2011 12:45 am (UTC)
He nods and considers where he is, what is happening and how to proceed with all this. His head is still hurting and judging the slowness of Sweden's response, his is as well. He tosses the bottle of pills on the bed and staggers over to the drawers to find clothes. His shoulders slumps when he opens it. Empty. His luck is just getting better.

"Yes." His snaps his head to attention, momentarily distracted by how a hotel room like this, suited for royal couples, can have no complementary towels nestled in the drawers. Or even windows or a balcony.

He looks at the thin piece of paper in the Nordic's hand and takes it. Then immediately regrets it. A hand and its fingers stretches over his face and covers the eye holes of the mask, thumb and middle finger takes its place once more at his temples.
Berwald Oxenstierna: sighsmgunbake on August 15th, 2011 12:45 pm (UTC)
Sorry about the late reply OTL He just wandered off...
The note and the state they're both in has finally started creeping up on the Nordic, his mind tripping over the things that he should have been thinking about when he first woke up in this strange room. What happened last night? How did they end up here? Did they sleep together? What will Finland think? And other such questions that makes him close his eyes and just wish that he can wake up from his horrible morning after.

His own hand comes up and starts kneading at the space between his eyebrows. There's a building ache there. He's not really surprised. Cool blue eyes open a fraction as he looks towards the other person in the room.

At least he doesn't have a mask stuck to his face.