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Post by America on Apr 24, 2012 16:07:16 GMT -5
It looked revolting. Re. Volt. Ing. America wanted to run and hide. Or scream. His precious burgers were ruined. He could stomach many things, but something sticky and sweet over his amazing, awesome, heroic hamburgers?
Yuck.
Still, a challenge was a challenge, and he certainly couldn't back out without looking like a wimp, especially when Canada swallowed it down so easily. But one look at that hamburger gave his stomach flip-flops. It might not have been so bad if the bun wasn't dripping with syrup. He felt as if it would just turn to mush in his hands. Oh, gross, horrible mental image. If you keep this up, you'll never eat it.
It was just like pulling off a band-aid. Quick, quick, quick. It'd be painful, but it wouldn't be agonizing. With a nervous smile to Canada, America picked the burger up. Okay, just think of McDonald's and their McGriddle. That thing has syrup on it and it doesn't taste bad. Or...okay, maybe the syrup is cooked into the bread and isn't soggy. Or, maybe there isn't syrup at all, just a maple flavor... Tired of his thoughts, tired of hesitating, he quickly bit into the burger. Just like a band-aid, he continued reminding himself, chewing as fast as he could and trying his best not to spit it out.
Oh. God. Disgusting. Horrible. Ugh. He wanted some soda, but he already drank what he had and there wasn't much in the fridge. Swallowing and giving a grimace, he felt like throwing it all up.
"Not so bad," he said, trying not breathe too much for fear of gagging everything right back up.
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Post by [x] Canada on Apr 30, 2012 7:26:15 GMT -5
[[Gah, sorry for the late reply. I deserve to be flogged and water-boarded at the same time. Lots of work and random stuff and World Scholar's Cup and bleh bleh bleh.]]
The air of disgust about the blue-eyed blond was almost palatable. Ideas for compensation were already flying through Canada's head, and the majority of them involved him getting humiliated, but that was fine with him. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good, the greater good in this case being America's mental well-being and their relationship as brothers.
Well, that sounded pretty sentimental, even to him, but whatever. Everyone had a bit of a poet in them, after all.
Come to think of it, this was probably the meanest thing he's done to America in a long time (excluding the occasional three-hour-up long lecture). Not that this was his fault; more of both of their faults and some sub-conscious misunderstandings. And though there was a twinge of satisfaction deep within the Canadian, mostly he just felt sorry. Besides, he himself was just lucky that France's queer-but-great cuisine had nullified him to particular flavours.
"Right? Then I suppose the two burgers that you made won't go to waste, yeah? As for me, I'll be finishing up this one and move on to the pancakes, if you please." It pained him, saying that, and he wasn't even sure he'd be able to stomach the natural sweetness of the pancakes after downing the sweet-meat-and-bread, but he couldn't allow himself to be labeled a hypocrite for leaving the food. "Oh, by the way," He hesitated, then decided to let go a bit of the worry in his mind. "If you get a stomachache or something...feel free to tell me, and I'll help you out, ok?"
Feeling slightly less stressed, he ate away at the burger, and swallowed the last bite with a strangely contented sigh, licking his fingers.
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Post by America on Apr 30, 2012 20:39:24 GMT -5
[[Ah, no, it's cool! :3]]
Canada was the one who reminded him that he had two syrupy burgers to gulp down. Two. As if one wasn't bad enough. Taking another large bite and wishing for nothing more than a large glass of water, America really resisted the urge to groan. Or barf. He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to do, but he'd rather do anything except eat these burgers. The bread was soggy, the meat was sweet, and he wanted to just die.
Swallowing what he had in his mouth, and finally allowing himself to gag a little, America replied, "Y-Yeah. I'll let you know." Not. He would never let Canada know how horrible his stomach was already aching, how it kept turning and threatening to make his lovely meal come right back up.
No. Canada wouldn't hear of that. Heroes didn't throw up over something this miniscule.
And America ate the last of his first burger, every part of his body complaining to him that, no, this was not miniscule, that this was complete and utter torture. He placed a hand over his mouth, forcing himself to swallow, forcing himself to actually keep it down. How did Canada survive this horrible experience?
Right. He didn't have another burger to eat.
This was the dumbest idea America had ever carried out.
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Post by [x] Canada on May 3, 2012 7:19:37 GMT -5
Oh dear, it looked like the other North American was going to gag and/or vomit. Canada instantly became worried. He'd assumed that his brother, of all people, could take some of the worse punishment known to man and nation and still escape unscathed. Apparently, all it took to bring the superpower down was a syrupy combination of meat and bread.
He was overcome with a feeling similar to what one gets when ...My whole life was a lie! flashes through their head. The mere ludicrousness of the idea that America could be this affected by mismatched food almost made him giggle aloud, but then he clamped his teeth down, knowing that if he let that through he'd be thrown through the wall, most likely. If, that is, America was still in good enough intestinal health to manage that.
Not one to rejoice in others' misfortunes, and especially not his own brother's, Canada took a few hesitant steps over to the blond and reached out to pat his shoulder. "Hey, man, you doing alright? You sure don't look like it, you know."
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Post by America on May 4, 2012 8:03:16 GMT -5
"'M fine," America replied, , trying to keep his mouth at least partially closed so as to not start gagging or, even worse, barfing everywhere. He was sure he'd be able to handle it if only the bread wasn't drenched in syrup. The meat, while rather nasty, was at least edible. The bun, on the other hand, was soggy and threatened to fall apart the moment he picked up the second burger.
If only he could just take the bun off. If he could take it off, it wouldn't stick to his mouth, it wouldn't make his stomach turn at the simple feel of it, it wouldn't turn into some sort of horrible, disgusting liquid-mush right on his tongue.
However, he was afraid taking the bun off would mean defeat, so he took a bite, soggy bread, sweet meat, and all. The more he ate, he was beginning to realize, the harder it became to swallow. And Canada was watching him struggle through this. God, he was being such a loser right now. Canada must be inwardly laughing at this behavior. He thought growing up with England would make him use to this sort of food, but he never really used syrup much, except for pancakes. And he certainly didn't ever pour enough syrup to make anything soggy.
Quickly finishing his burger (like a band-aid, he kept thinking), he shuddered, the taste of mushy, syrupy buns still lingering in his mouth. "There!" he exclaimed, trying to sound cheerful. "Done! Beat ya!" Well, maybe. If he could keep it down long enough for his stomach to settle.
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Post by [x] Canada on May 9, 2012 4:52:14 GMT -5
Goodness, just watching him made Canada inwardly writhe with sympathy and disgust. What led them to this point? Who started this silly competition in the first place anyways? He couldn't even remember anymore. But was this appalling combination of foods really as bad as America made is seem? Or was the guy just pretending?
Nah, you know that that's not the case. Look at him, he's practically having World War III in his stomach. Poor soul. "Yep, you sure did, Meri. Two of those things...I seriously don't know how someone could eat that and keep it down." There wasn't a trace of sarcasm in his voice now. He'd calmed down. Although, he briefly wondered how England's...questionable cuisine skills compared to this. Surely his brother would've taken worse things than this in the past.
Or maybe he was too young to remember the difference between bad and good cooking. Here was one moment when he felt grateful for France's upbringing. Canada sent the blond country a silent word of thanks.
"Ok, um, if you're feeling up to it, we could work on these pancakes, but if not, I'll just put the lot in a box, yeah?" The other blond looked dangerously close to spilling some inner digestive juices, and Canada darted his eyes around the kitchen to look for a cloth or towel or something, just in case.
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Post by America on May 9, 2012 19:49:05 GMT -5
"No, no, I'll be fine. The hero is always fine, no worries!" He grinned brightly, trying to prove that he was okay. He knew he wouldn't barf everywhere- years of living with England taught him how to hold everything in and play it cool. All he had to do was wait a few more minutes and he'd be perfectly okay.
At least he won. He didn't regret it knowing that he actually won. I beat Canada in a competition involving maple syrup? The thought made him surprised, but overly pleased. There was yet another thing to add to his ever-growing list of how incredibly awesome he was. He beat Canada. And it involved maple syrup. How amazing was that? How epic was he?
Holding himself up straighter, America crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the fact that he should probably wait a few more minutes before even trying to eat anything else. "All good. See, told ya I could handle it!" But only because the knowledge of victory was making him forget his sickness. "If you're ready for pancakes, let's go!" Because he'd show Canada that he was more than fine, that he could take anything thrown at him.
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Post by [x] Canada on May 13, 2012 6:56:44 GMT -5
Huh, it seemed that the guy was perfectly fine. It was a huge shift in the America eating and the America saying that he could handle the pancakes. Maybe there really was nothing to worry about, after all. With a shrug to himself, Canada thought, Oh well, he did insist that he was fine. If anything comes up, literally, I'll deal with it then. He'll have to learn to know his limits the hard way.
For that was the way America seemed to learn best.
"Ok, up to you then. Lemme just grab a couple of forks..." Striding over to a cabinet, he drew out two of the pointy utensils and laid them next to the plate of pancakes. After a brief inspection, he discovered that they were still, thankfully, relatively warm. That way the taste wasn't ruined, unlike those unfortunate burgers, bless their souls.
Pretty sure he knew the answer, Canada asked anyways: "You want any syrup with them? If not, I can separate your portion and mine, since I'm definitely having some." He added as a considerate afterthought. Knowing his brother though, he might take this in a completely different way.
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Post by America on May 13, 2012 16:16:29 GMT -5
Syrup? Could he handle eating the syrup? What if backing down now would prove that Canada had won? Wetting his lips in order to give himself some more time to think, America slowly nodded. "Yeah," he muttered. Quickly, however, he held up a hand. "Uh, but only a little. Like...very little. 'Kay?" He was certain he could handle a tad bit of syrup. Never again, though, would he drench anything in syrup. Especially not hamburgers. Or...or bread. Only pancakes and waffles.
He leaned back against the counter, staring at the syrup with great distaste. It was all his fault. He had to go and be a smartass. He had to go and challenge Canada, of all nations, to a contest with syrup. And now his poor tummy was acting up again.
"O-On second thought...could I have half of a pancake with...with no syrup?" He asked, his face turning red. "You see, I'm just..." He was just what? He couldn't very well say he was sick- he'd be a loser. "I'm just not hungry." There. Not very believable, not not entirely false, at least.
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