Sportsmanship
"Shoot me!" Antonio cried, holding onto the football. "Shoot me! In the heart! Where it hurts! Put me out of my misery right now!"
Vash stared, hand out stretched awkwardly as if to comfort the Spaniard but unsure if it was the right thing to do. "You're being dramatic." He scolded and Antonio let out a strangled cry. Swallowing, the neutral nation placed a hand on Antonio's back and began to pat.
He shook with emotion and a lisp (that he normally had under control) was beginning to slip, "Sthupid, sthupid, sthupid! This wasthn't sthupposed to happen! I wasth sthupposed to win!"
"There, there. . . ? You. . . played like a winner." Vash comforted awkwardly and Antonio jumped to his feet and held onto the ball so tight it might have burst.
Vash only stared, looking around awkwardly. Never in his life had he wished he could see Francis or Feliciano around-- naked or not-- to take this sorry mess of a Spaniard off of his hands.
"I'm never eating chocolate ever again! Ever! You never would have had it if it weren't for me! I gave you chocolate, Vash! I gave it to you! And I can take it away!"
"You're being ridiculous."
"I am not!"
Again, Vash tried to offer a hand and the Spaniard stormed off, yelling to be left alone and complaining about magnetic hands, giant mountain men players, lucky goals, vuvulzelas, not being able to hear, and how it was raining in Madrid and nothing could be worse.
-----
The next day, Vash opened his door to find a red carnation and a note which simply read,
Sorry about the other day.
Congratulations.
- Antonio
Vash stared, hand out stretched awkwardly as if to comfort the Spaniard but unsure if it was the right thing to do. "You're being dramatic." He scolded and Antonio let out a strangled cry. Swallowing, the neutral nation placed a hand on Antonio's back and began to pat.
He shook with emotion and a lisp (that he normally had under control) was beginning to slip, "Sthupid, sthupid, sthupid! This wasthn't sthupposed to happen! I wasth sthupposed to win!"
"There, there. . . ? You. . . played like a winner." Vash comforted awkwardly and Antonio jumped to his feet and held onto the ball so tight it might have burst.
Vash only stared, looking around awkwardly. Never in his life had he wished he could see Francis or Feliciano around-- naked or not-- to take this sorry mess of a Spaniard off of his hands.
"I'm never eating chocolate ever again! Ever! You never would have had it if it weren't for me! I gave you chocolate, Vash! I gave it to you! And I can take it away!"
"You're being ridiculous."
"I am not!"
Again, Vash tried to offer a hand and the Spaniard stormed off, yelling to be left alone and complaining about magnetic hands, giant mountain men players, lucky goals, vuvulzelas, not being able to hear, and how it was raining in Madrid and nothing could be worse.
-----
The next day, Vash opened his door to find a red carnation and a note which simply read,
Sorry about the other day.
Congratulations.
- Antonio