I walked in Austria's courtyard, vassoura in hand. Italy would be coming início soon from visiting his brother, Romano, at Spain's house. I thought that might as well start cleaning, so Italy and I could go out to the park.
Austria followed me out, back erect. He raised an eyebrow questioningly at the vassoura in my hand.
"Why do you have a push broom? It is Italy's job after all!" he scoffed.
I frowned, "I just thought I could do Italy's chores so we could all have a relaxing dia today."
He shook his head, "Don't be stupid! It is Italy's job to sweep, and yours to supervise. Do not confuse poor Italy...
continue reading...
