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 Out to the Ball Game

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Posts : 29
Join date : 2011-08-21
Age : 22
Location : Rome, Italy

Out to the Ball Game Empty
PostSubject: Out to the Ball Game   Out to the Ball Game EmptyTue Oct 11, 2011 10:09 pm

(WELLLLL~ Since I've been pestered asked to post this, I will. Here is the worst piece of crap fanfiction you will ever read~! /shot)

“Germany!” Italy exclaimed, running through the house. He screeched to a halt outside of the German’s office and ran in excitedly.
“What do you want, Italy?” Ludwig asked. He glanced through his papers unfazed.
“We…got a letter…from America in the mail…,” the Italian answered between gasping breaths. He held out a long white envelope. Germany took it and tore it open to find two tickets and a piece of paper.

Dear Germany and Italy,
Greetings from the hero! I know how much you two like sports so I’m inviting you to a great game! Inside this envelope are tickets for the both of you to come and watch the New York Yankees take on the St. Louis Cardinals! By the way, food and lodging are on the house! Just as long as you say who you are and show your Nation ID. You won’t have to worry about a thing, dudes!
Hope to see you there!
Your Favorite Hero

Alfred Jones
Alfred F. Jones

Germany sighed. Might as well, he thought. What harm could a game do, after all?
“What’re these?” Italy interrupted the German’s thoughts as he stared questioningly at the vouchers.
“They’re tickets to a game America invited us to.”
“What kind of game?”
“I…I don’t know,” Ludwig replied truthfully. He gently plucked one from Italy’s grasp and looked at it. What kind of game were they to see? Well, he claimed it was a sport. Hockey, maybe? Football? “But what do you say we go find out?”
The Italian smiled. “Okey dokey! I’ll go pack!” With that, he sprinted into the hallway.


The next day, Germany and Italy heaved a giant suitcase into the trunk.
“Now, Italy, are you sure you packed everything?”
“Clothes for a 3-day stay? Toothbrush and toothpaste? Deodorant?”
“Yep, yep, and yep.” Italy took a carryon bag to the front seat.
“Extra socks and shoes?” Germany asked, climbing into the driver’s seat.
“…none of it is yours, is it?”
“Uh…” Nervously the Italian stepped out of the car. “I’ll be right back.” He made a mad dash for the front door as the German rubbed a migraine forming at his temples. Then he notices the carryon. Curiosity got the best of him, and he unzipped the small bag. Inside are several pasta containers, pizza slices wrapped in aluminum foil, and an assortment of vegetables. A vein throbbed angrily in Germany’s forehead. Verdammt Italy, he thought as he zipped up the bag and threw it into the other seat.
As if his thoughts conjured the Italian, Feliciano stepped out of the front door, locking it quickly behind him. He raced to the trunk and threw his suitcase inside. After slamming it closed, he jumped to the passenger’s seat.
“Italy, what’s that?” Germany asked, pointing to the carryon.
“Th-the bag? Oh, it’s just an extra in case we need it.” Italy laughed nervously as the German pulled out of the driveway.
“Don’t lie to me. When you were gone I looked inside.”
The Italian sighed. “Okay, it’s food for the plane.”
“Why are you bringing food? They do provide us with some. You know that.”
“Yeah, but airline food tastes like crap!” Germany groaned as they turned a corner.
“It’s not that bad. They have very fine chefs on international airlines.”
“Sure tastes like it,” Italy retorted, making a face. “Besides, they never serve pasta. Not that I’d want any from them.”
Germany finally gave in. “Well, if you’re going to eat that garbage, you’d better make it last. We have a 7-hour flight ahead of us.”

(More to come soon! I plomise!!!, promise!)
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