Kärringkånk - Or Not (Hetalia - Nordic 5 short story)

Kärringkånk- Or Not

Denmark was drinking on his couch watching football highlights of his team vs England's on his flatscreen TV while Norway and Iceland were sitting at the small dining room table playing chess.

It was unusually quiet at the Dane's house that night except for his occasional cheering at the television and his sporadic "Woo! Did ya see that move, Nor? It was sick!" gesturing his beer bottle towards the players on the television.

"Hm," Norway would reply, never looking up from the chessboard. No part of him moved except his stony eyes as he carefully scanned the board then he moved his black pieces in the spots that he deemed fit.

Iceland groaned at his brother's strategic moves. This was their third game, and he hadn't won a single round. Just when he thought he was finally about to win a game of chess against his big brother, Norway dominated the board, eliminating his every next possible move to victory.

After thoroughly analyzing every piece on the board, he let out a small gasp when he finally found the ultimate winning move that would once and for all take Norway down. As he picked up his white queen to checkmate Norway's king, a loud thud banged against Denmark's front door, startling all three of them. It happened again then a large boot kicked it open, almost off its hinges.

A low feral noise growled throughout the room as a tall figure dressed in a thick black fur cloak and chainmail staggered through the doorway. A leather belt that held a throwing ax and many daggers, hung sloppily off the man's waist, almost falling to his knees. On the man's head was a brass helmet that covered the top half of his face. In one hand, he brandished a gleaming gigantic sword and in his other, a half-empty bottle of Swedish vodka.

"ESTONIA!" he roared, charging through the door with his sword raised and ready to strike, but his weapons belt fell around his feet causing him to trip. The room shook as he fell hard and face down onto the hardwood floor.

"Wait—" Denmark peered from his hiding place behind the couch. "Sve? What the hell, man! What're you doin'?"

A pained groan came from the pile of man on the floor. "Es-tonia..." he slurred, slowly trying to get up. "I've c-come t' take Finland back...He's mine."

"Estonia? Why would he be here?"

"Fin's at 'is house."

"Are ya not wearin' your glasses, bro?"

"They don't f-fit in m' helmet," he swayed to his hands and knees, and his helmet fell off with a clang. His sweaty hair was plastered to his flushed face, and his glassy blue eyes were bloodshot.

"Hate to break it to you," Norway walked over. "But this isn't Estonia's house."

Sweden's glazed-over eyes floated around his familiar surroundings. "Shit...went th' wrong way."

"Hold on—" Norway realized. "—did you walk all the way over here like that by yourself?"

The man didn't respond as he tried to reach for the spilled vodka bottle on the floor. It brushed against his fingertips, but sadly rolled further away, escaping his limited reach.

It took all three of them to lift the drunk man off the floor. He smelled like straight vodka and his skin and fur cloak were damp with sweat. Underneath his chainmail, he was wearing a blue dress shirt and work slacks.

"Ya look like shit, buddy," Denmark said, retrieving the vodka bottle on the floor that rolled away. "What's goin' on?"

Sweden steadied himself against the front door. "Finland went t' Es-tonia's house...for th' s-stupid Wife-Carrying compet-tition. S' been gone all week.."