[Sunlight filters through the treetops, the sound of birdsong and activity nearby a strange melody.
An Italian sits leaned against a tree, wings curled gingerly against his back. He isn't sure where he is, what happened, or why he has wings, but he knows that he is less than happy about the whole thing. For one, there's no pasta here! At least not
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Comments 35
Robin Whitby...Robin Whitby! Damn it. I know no Whitby!
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If worse comes to worse, he can always say he's just a tree fairy.]
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N-no one! J-j-just a tree fairy, a harmless tree fairy!
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I-Italy-kun?!
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Japan!
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[True to his word, Japan is running along, trying to find Italy.]
Italy-kun? Italy-kun?
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Japan!
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I could have pasta for dinner tonight! Grazie, sir!
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Italy, oh my gosh! It's you!
[Yep, running to him now to give him a hug.]
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Poland! You're here too!
[Running over for hugs too.]
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Oh my gosh, yeah. You have no idea how long I've been here and ugh, it's been such a drag and I kept wondering, "Huh, wonder if Italy will show up?" and here you are!
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Si, here I am! How long have you been here? Is anyone else here?
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Hey! You okay there?
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Ve... I don't want to turn into England, his food is terrible and he has no sense of style and...
[Cue a breakdown into terror at this notion.]
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Doesn't mean the first thing he does when he gets near a mirror is make sure he's not developing bushy brows.]
V-ve... w-well, England's the only guy I know who says he can see fairies, and I don't want to be him. He can't cook, especially not pasta. And he's kind of mean too.
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