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First Impression

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1230

Austria was still growing, a knobbly-kneed, fragile juvenile specimen with a penchant for having the stuffing kicked out of him whenever Switzerland happened to be too slow to bail him out of trouble.

And he had just had the stuffing kicked out of him, a quarrel between himself and Bavaria leaving his clothes dirtied and pride wounded. Honestly, all he'd said was that he didn't have to answer to those ludicrous Dukes of Bavaria anymore, and that one day everyone would see that he should be in charge of the Holy Roman Empire.

Everyone wanted a fight when he mentioned those kinds of things. Politics, he was quickly learning, were painful. Apparently speaking eloquently was only half of an aristocrat's duty, and not offending anyone stronger than oneself was the rest.

How tedious. He was going to have to work on that if he ever wanted to show the others that he was serious. He knew they saw him as a weakling, and it stung, in his pride and in his heart. He wanted to prove them all wrong, to show them that he was worthy of their respect, if nothing else.

Some day...

Trudging through the forest on the way back to the Donau was also proving to be painful, but as an Imperial State, he carried himself with as much grace and propriety as he could manage in his small frame, bruised or not.

The earthy tones of the forest blended into the deep green and umber hues of trees, sun-speckled leaves and mossy rocks making for monotonous landmarks. With his horrible sense of direction, Austria hardly stood a chance to last long in such a landscape. He soon found himself turned around, left only to hope that he was still going in the right direction. Eventually, the trees would end or someone would locate him, wouldn't they?

Unfamiliar shouts ahead caught his attention. It seemed as though he'd found someone else, instead.

Austria headed toward the sound, finding a gap in the trees which opened into a sun-lit clearing. Keeping to the cover of the forest for the moment, he peered out from behind a weathered trunk at the spectacle before him.

This was how he came across that strange boy from the north, the one he'd seen Hungary hanging about a few times.

It would have been difficult to miss that stark white outfit, a large black cross blazoned across the center of the other boy's chest. His tangled, curiously albescent hair took on a slightly silvery gleam in the afternoon sunlight. Just like snow on the slopes, Austria thought, or dove's wings. I wonder if Hungary has ever thought of that?

The German Order hadn't seen him yet. He seemed to be occupied with practicing sword fighting all by himself, feinting away and slashing at an invisible opponent. He was no bigger than Austria, yet he was brandishing a longsword as if he were as tall and strong as a grown soldier. Every now and then he would yell obnoxiously, very obviously absorbed in his mock battle.

Austria wrinkled his nose.

Another loud one, he mused to himself in silent woe.

Even so, there was something different about this boy compared to other nations the violet-eyed youth had met - something mysterious, contrary and a little bit intimidating, but somehow charismatic. Austria now thought he understood why Hungary had been spending time around him.

They're both like that. Strong.

After watching from his safe distance with cautious curiosity, Austria left the protection of the trees and began to walk over. He would take the initiative to introduce himself sooner rather than later, he decided. And then...since he appeared to have lost his way, he might ask the boy for directions.

At least, that was his plan.

He attempted to approach the other boy, but he was so concerned with keeping his back straight and shoulders poised – good first impressions – that he completely missed the large, twisted root sticking halfway out of the ground.

With a useless flail of his arms, he found himself falling forward, barely managing to catch himself on his forearms and one knee. A soft groan escaped his chest as his already sore body felt the new abuse. He scrunched his eyes shut for a moment, pain and mortification racing through his nerves in tangled, dizzying sensations.

Heavy footfalls pounded in his ears, louder than his heartbeat. He looked up to find the German Order grinning down at him, arms folded.

"I'm not supposed to laugh at others' misfortune." The boy informed him, in a domineering tone that suggested he would very much like to disobey the rule.

"Then don't." Austria muttered peevishly. His eyes widened slightly as the other boy extended a pale hand to him.

Averting his gaze, he felt his cheeks burn with humiliation. His one chance to make a worthwhile impression on the German Order was lost. Certainly the albino boy thought him a fool now, and perhaps he was... Perhaps the other young nations were all correct in that sense, but Austria would never admit that to anyone but himself.

He was foolish enough to take the offered hand and allow the strange, argent-haired boy to pull him up, anyway. Calloused fingers clasped his hand, secure and warm, hauling Austria back on his own two feet.

Despite his embarrassment, he straightened his shoulders and attempted to regain his dignity and manners as quickly as possible. "Thank you for the help."

"You needed it." The other boy snorted good-naturedly, bringing a defensive scowl to his companion's face.

For a moment, they stood close, facing one another and simply studying the others' appearance.

"There's a...bird...in your hair." Austria realized in sudden astonishment, his eyes widening slightly at the unexpected sight. A plump little yellow chick had gone from the safety of the German Order's hooded tunic to his head, giving a soft chirp as he was noticed.

"Oh, yeah!" The albino boy grinned. "That's my friend! I don't know what I'm going to call him yet, but he's got to be named after me somehow because I'm just so great! Don't you think?"

"I don't know." For someone who had helped him, this person was awfully arrogant. Austria had never met anyone quite like him, a conundrum of good intentions, overbearing confidence and...something else that he couldn't put into words just yet.

The German Order tilted his head as he stared Austria up and down, the yellow bird hopping down to his shoulder. "What happened to you, anyway?"

"Ah... Nothing, I just came back from visiting someone." Belatedly, Austria attempted to dust off his already sullied and wrinkled clothes. Bavaria – that barbarian - knew how much he valued his clothes, so he took special care during their fights to take him out into the courtyard and flip him over in the dirt.

The other boy watched him for a moment, then puffed up his chest proudly and began to introduce himself. "Well, they're not as extraordinary as me, are they? I'm the Order of Brothers of the German House of Saint Mary in Jerusalem."

"I know who you are," Austria replied immediately. "Hungary told me about you."

Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say, for before Austria could even begin to introduce himself, a change swept over the German Order's demeanor. He seemed to go from amicable – he was trying to be amicable in his own way, as far as Austria could tell – to hostile, bristling as if Austria had just admitted to something unacceptable.

"You're friends with Hungary?"

Frowning slightly, Austria shrugged, readjusting the ends of his deep violet cloak. "Maybe. We fight sometimes, but he's nice to me other times, too."

The boy grunted and took a step closer, peering into his face as if he was searching for something.

Austria froze and stared back, wondering what this boy was looking for in him, and whether it would be a good or bad thing if he found it.

"You have strange eyes." Prussia groused, but didn't look away, as if he was put out and fascinated all at once.

"I haven't seen any like yours, either."

It was true. Austria had seen eyes the color of sapphire, emerald, and chromatic hazel. He had seen soulful brown eyes similar to those of a doe, some almost black with secretive depths. But he'd never seen eyes like these, canny and glittering like blood rubies.

Somehow it felt peculiar, being this close to someone other than Switzy, but Austria didn't feel too threatened. The boy had left his sword back in the clearing when he'd run over to help. Besides that, they could hardly be enemies if they'd just met, could they?

"I'm a Knight, you know!" The German Order boasted with a great amount of self-important enthusiasm. "Well, not yet exactly, but I'm in training! I'm going to be a righteous, strong, brave leader!"

He ceased his preening to give Austria a second look-over. "I help, defend and heal people like you who need it."

Austria felt his lip curl. "I don't need any of that," He lied, taking a step back and lifting his chin defiantly. "I can take care of myself."

One day, anyway, he was going to. Hungary, Bavaria and Bohemia didn't believe him. Even Switzerland didn't believe him! Would this boy be the same way?

Tilting his head, the German Order continued looking him over. Austria struggled hard not to squirm, feeling inexplicably vulnerable all of a sudden, as if the other boy would be able to see right through him and call him out on the weakness in his limbs, in his heart.

"Why don't you have armor or weapons, then? You have fancy clothes, but you look plain."

Frowning, Austria looked down at himself. Plain? Now he really wasn't certain whether that was a good thing or not. It didn't sound like it.

Switzerland always said that gaudiness complicated things, but Switzerland also knew how to fight well. He wore armor and carried swords, and he looked impressively noble doing so. Noble in a way that the aristocracy which was grooming Austria currently could not duplicate.

"My sword was taken from me today." He admitted reluctantly. "I lost a fight."

The German Order did laugh then, an odd sound between a snicker and a cackle. It grated on Austria's nerves, "You must be really hopeless!"

"I am not! I'm Austria." And he absolutely, most definitely was not going to pout because of something this odd new boy had said to him. He had more dignity than that!

Dignity was another thing that Switzerland considered to be a waste of time.

Dignity means nothing if you can't protect yourself, he would say. You can have dignity after you've won, when it counts.

Although he knew the words were true, Austria didn't like them very much. He was convinced that he could have dignity if he lost, too, otherwise he wouldn't have it very often at all. But he did much prefer it Switzerland's way...

"Anyway, not everything is about fighting." He added. No matter what the quarrelsome new Duke says.

"No, not everything. But a lot of things are." The German Order clapped him on the shoulder, hard. Ow.

"Don't worry, I'm going to get much stronger and have the best army in all of Europe, because I'm always right!" The boy boasted assuredly.

"I wasn't worried." Austria arched an eyebrow. It seemed they both had grand visions about ruling the world. What an awful thing to have in common! "And I don't know about that..."

The German Order folded his arms testily, the odd little chick in his hair giving a tut-tut tweet.

"Just wait!" He insisted heatedly, promise and passion sparking in his eyes. "I'll show you!"

And in his mind, Austria echoed the other boy's words, his own emotions and connotations slowly forming around them.

I'll show you.

Plain.

Hopeless.

Awful first impression.

Naturally, that was how he first met Prussia.

.x.

Centuries later, these are the types of childhood memories that Austria will push to an opaque section of his mind.

They may come in glimpses, drawn to the forefront of his unguarded psyche only when he is in that place between wakefulness and dreaming.

As his fingers unconsciously clutch for a helping hand that isn't there, the day he first looked Prussia in the eyes might resurface.

Sometimes he even wonders if Prussia remembers.

You would, he thinks. You would relish any day that had me kneeling at your feet.

It's for the best, then, that he never talks about it, never mentions that time in his life when he'd wanted to impress Prussia – not even when a small, sly voice in the back of his mind reminds him that perhaps that time has never truly ended.

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Ende

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