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Open Mic, Chapter FiveEngland was the first nation to recover, having stereotypically very few emotions to begin with. He crept back into the empty room and greeted the fairies and unicorns that had supposedly been there waiting for him.
After waiting for a moment in silence, his sights fell to the abandoned microphone. Without giving it a second thought, he tore off his uniform, revealing the baggy T-shirt and jeans he wore underneath. He put on sunglasses and a backwards baseball cap, and grabbed the mic.
“Flying Mint Bunny,” he said. “Drop me a phat beat.”
Flying Mint Bunny swirled around England, beatboxing into his tiny little paws. England nodded to the beat. Then he raised the microphone to his mouth.
“My name is Britain and they call me Great,
France will try to outdo me, haters love to hate
I’m a rapping nation, bet you didn’t expect
And if you want to get to know me, then I’ll tell you direct
My heart is ambitious,
Open Mic, Chapter FourPutting his pants back on for the third time that day - or maybe the fourth time - France pushed between America and China. He plucked the mic from America’s hands as if picking a delicate rose. Then he sauntered across the room.
“My brothers in arms,” he said. “And, my lover in bed,” he added, with a wink toward England. England scowled and turned away.
“I, France, the country of love and romance, will show you what to do with a microphone.”
“I hope this does not involve sesame oil, aru.”
But, much to China’s relief, that was not what France was planning to do. France snapped his fingers and the lights went dim. A single spotlight shone down on him, as did a rain of sparkles and bubbles. In a voice as rich and silky as liquid dark chocolate, France began to sing:
“Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas
Je vois la vie en ro-o-o-ose
Il me dit des mots d'amour
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