As-Yet Untitled (Prologue)
anonymous
September 27 2009, 14:47:28 UTC
Because I cannot for the life of me figure out what to call this thing. Still, I am quite fond of it- though do be warned, it's probably going to have enough sweetness to rot your teeth.
-
England was not having a good day. This, of course, was not an unusual occurence, what with the constant nausea and dizzying headache from his economic and political situation back at home, but this day was perhaps a good deal worse than most.
For one thing, he was in America- at one of Alfred's posher hotels which nevertheless managed to retain the slightest whiff of sex amidst the starch and air fresheners- and that was something that never failed to irritate him. He'd also somehow found himself in the room next to France, who had so far made three attempts (drunken and less so) to break in and seduce him, and while he did feel rather sorry for Gordon, his incessant whining about not being able to meet with Obama properly was... well, incessant (as though England would have allowed a repeat of the debacle of fawning that had accompanied Obama's staying over at his place). And the constant noise from the protesters outside wasn't helping at all.
Thus, he was spending this blessedly free evening in his sex-scented, and securely locked, hotel room with a bottle of aspirin that was almost guaranteed not to work, and a bottle or two of whisky that was guaranteed to work rather too well. The fact that the latter substance was half-gone was the main reason why he had one of his books of magic open on his lap, turned to a page on age reversal spells; if Arthur was feeling hellish, someone was going to pay, and Alfred was looking like a very reasonable target at that point. To heck with the fact that this had never actually worked before, the alcohol whispered, let's teach him a lesson! Turn him back into a colony again- that'll show him!
Nodding along with the nonexistent voice, England ran a finger along the words of what looked to be the most appropriate spell, murmuring the ancient words that his drunkenness turned into an almost incomprehensible slurred noise.
When a white light knocked him flat, it was easy enough to blame that on the alcohol, too.
Re: As-Yet Untitled (Prologue)
anonymous
September 27 2009, 19:35:57 UTC
I must admit, all this fuss about Obama is starting to get on my nerves- yes, he's one of the best things that's going on at the moment, but really, it's almost like the British media and leaders have a crush on him, and I honestly think we should be concentrating more on the EU.
And thankyou! I'm glad you like it- I just hope it lives up to your expectations in future. ^^
As-Yet Untitled (Part 1)
anonymous
September 27 2009, 19:30:32 UTC
The next day, America was feeling pretty good about the world in general. Having showed up late to the G20 meeting that morning to find that Arthur was even later- indeed, had not showed his face at all- he was now on his way to gloat. Because really, after all the times his former mentor had lectured him on his timekeeping, America figured it was high time for some payback.
According to the hotel staff, England hadn't been seen outside of his room since dinner the previous evening. On his way up to the fourth-floor room the Nation had been allotted, America used the time well, planning his speech-to-be almost to the exact word; which was a shame, really, since it was never to be given.
On arrival at England's room, he found the door open, and the rest of the G20 (bar England) gathered around the desk. Understandably, America was a little miffed by this- especially since nobody looked up at his entrance. A hero deserved some respect, after all.
"How the heck did you guys get here first?"
"Unlike Alfred-san," Japan explained, still not looking up from the space underneath the desk, "we did not stop off at Burger King on the way."
Feeling slightly put out, America clutched at his takeaway bag protectively.
"Viens ici, mon chou," France murmured, appearing to be coaxing something out from underneath the table. "Viens-toi!"
"Francis, you're scaring him!"
"...Who said that?"
"It was McDonald's, not Burger King!" America protested to the room at large. "And what's under there, anyway?"
"Aha!" France crowed, clutching what appeared to be a squirming dress shirt in his arms as he stood up triumphantly.
A squirming, yelling and- from the tone of it- swearing-in-something-foreign dress shirt, with a mop of golden hair sticking out of the top.
"OHMYGOSHIT'SSOCUTE!" America's voice rose by almost an octave in pitch as he bounded to France's side, carelessly knocking any Nation foolish enough to stand in between him and the small, cute thing.
"He shall of course become one with Russia, da? Russia takes good care of children."
"Mon cher Ivan, the child needs someone who knows him! I was the one who raised him the first time around, alors - aïe!" He yelled, the dress shirt that was in fact a small child having just kicked him in the groin. His hands flew to protect the injured area, and America caught the toddler as he was unceremoniously dropped (accidentally-on-purpose elbowing Russia as he did so, but that was expected really). The boy took a moment to blow a raspberry at the fallen France; then, as several other nations laughed, he buried his face in America's jacket.
That clinched it. "I'm taking care of him."
You could have heard a pin drop. Every nation who wasn't already staring at the superpower turned to do so, all of them looking rather incredulous.
"Alfred-san, this would be highly -"
"Heroic? Fuck ye- ah, dammit." America broke off, remembering that you weren't meant to swear around children. "I mean, yeah, I'm a hero..." Wide green eyes blinked up at him from halfway up his chest as several nations facepalmed. "What do you think, kid?"
"J'avais oublié," France wheezed, unfolding himself from the crumpled heap he'd been lying in, "qu'il était si violent quand il était jeune..." The toddler hissed at him, clutching tightly to the front of America's jacket.
"Well, that settles it!" America beamed. "C'mon kid, let's get you home." He strode from the room, burger bag in one hand, the other holding onto a recently-adult toddler.
Canada looked around at the faces of the other nations, sighed, and ran after his brother. However long England was going to stay as a toddler, America was going to need a lot of help.
Translations, because author!anon is a forgetful little francophile.
anonymous
September 27 2009, 19:33:29 UTC
Viens ici/viens-toi - Come here Mon chou - Pet name (literally, 'my cabbage') Mon cher - My dear J'avais oublié qu'il était si violent quand il était jeune - I'd forgotten he was this violent when he was young.
Re: Translations, because author!anon is a forgetful little francophile.
anonymous
September 30 2009, 20:00:40 UTC
Thankyou! The second chapter will be coming soon, don't worry. School's just being a bit evil right now- and we're not even into the coursework season yet. :s
Re: Translations, because author!anon is a forgetful little francophile.
anonymous
October 1 2009, 16:55:52 UTC
Thankyou! I'm glad you like it- hopefully the rest lives up to expectations. ^^
And when I request, I usually put an 'OP' thing in the subject line of the reply. It's a little ostentatious, perhaps, but since I love it when OPs let me know how I'm getting on with their fills, I figure I might as well inflict it on everyone else. ;)
-
England was not having a good day. This, of course, was not an unusual occurence, what with the constant nausea and dizzying headache from his economic and political situation back at home, but this day was perhaps a good deal worse than most.
For one thing, he was in America- at one of Alfred's posher hotels which nevertheless managed to retain the slightest whiff of sex amidst the starch and air fresheners- and that was something that never failed to irritate him. He'd also somehow found himself in the room next to France, who had so far made three attempts (drunken and less so) to break in and seduce him, and while he did feel rather sorry for Gordon, his incessant whining about not being able to meet with Obama properly was... well, incessant (as though England would have allowed a repeat of the debacle of fawning that had accompanied Obama's staying over at his place). And the constant noise from the protesters outside wasn't helping at all.
Thus, he was spending this blessedly free evening in his sex-scented, and securely locked, hotel room with a bottle of aspirin that was almost guaranteed not to work, and a bottle or two of whisky that was guaranteed to work rather too well. The fact that the latter substance was half-gone was the main reason why he had one of his books of magic open on his lap, turned to a page on age reversal spells; if Arthur was feeling hellish, someone was going to pay, and Alfred was looking like a very reasonable target at that point. To heck with the fact that this had never actually worked before, the alcohol whispered, let's teach him a lesson! Turn him back into a colony again- that'll show him!
Nodding along with the nonexistent voice, England ran a finger along the words of what looked to be the most appropriate spell, murmuring the ancient words that his drunkenness turned into an almost incomprehensible slurred noise.
When a white light knocked him flat, it was easy enough to blame that on the alcohol, too.
Reply
This looks really good, I can't wait to read more!
Reply
And thankyou! I'm glad you like it- I just hope it lives up to your expectations in future. ^^
Reply
According to the hotel staff, England hadn't been seen outside of his room since dinner the previous evening. On his way up to the fourth-floor room the Nation had been allotted, America used the time well, planning his speech-to-be almost to the exact word; which was a shame, really, since it was never to be given.
On arrival at England's room, he found the door open, and the rest of the G20 (bar England) gathered around the desk. Understandably, America was a little miffed by this- especially since nobody looked up at his entrance. A hero deserved some respect, after all.
"How the heck did you guys get here first?"
"Unlike Alfred-san," Japan explained, still not looking up from the space underneath the desk, "we did not stop off at Burger King on the way."
Feeling slightly put out, America clutched at his takeaway bag protectively.
"Viens ici, mon chou," France murmured, appearing to be coaxing something out from underneath the table. "Viens-toi!"
"Francis, you're scaring him!"
"...Who said that?"
"It was McDonald's, not Burger King!" America protested to the room at large. "And what's under there, anyway?"
"Aha!" France crowed, clutching what appeared to be a squirming dress shirt in his arms as he stood up triumphantly.
A squirming, yelling and- from the tone of it- swearing-in-something-foreign dress shirt, with a mop of golden hair sticking out of the top.
"OHMYGOSHIT'SSOCUTE!" America's voice rose by almost an octave in pitch as he bounded to France's side, carelessly knocking any Nation foolish enough to stand in between him and the small, cute thing.
"He shall of course become one with Russia, da? Russia takes good care of children."
"Mon cher Ivan, the child needs someone who knows him! I was the one who raised him the first time around, alors - aïe!" He yelled, the dress shirt that was in fact a small child having just kicked him in the groin. His hands flew to protect the injured area, and America caught the toddler as he was unceremoniously dropped (accidentally-on-purpose elbowing Russia as he did so, but that was expected really). The boy took a moment to blow a raspberry at the fallen France; then, as several other nations laughed, he buried his face in America's jacket.
That clinched it. "I'm taking care of him."
You could have heard a pin drop. Every nation who wasn't already staring at the superpower turned to do so, all of them looking rather incredulous.
"Alfred-san, this would be highly -"
"Heroic? Fuck ye- ah, dammit." America broke off, remembering that you weren't meant to swear around children. "I mean, yeah, I'm a hero..." Wide green eyes blinked up at him from halfway up his chest as several nations facepalmed. "What do you think, kid?"
"J'avais oublié," France wheezed, unfolding himself from the crumpled heap he'd been lying in, "qu'il était si violent quand il était jeune..." The toddler hissed at him, clutching tightly to the front of America's jacket.
"Well, that settles it!" America beamed. "C'mon kid, let's get you home." He strode from the room, burger bag in one hand, the other holding onto a recently-adult toddler.
Canada looked around at the faces of the other nations, sighed, and ran after his brother. However long England was going to stay as a toddler, America was going to need a lot of help.
Reply
Mon chou - Pet name (literally, 'my cabbage')
Mon cher - My dear
J'avais oublié qu'il était si violent quand il était jeune - I'd forgotten he was this violent when he was young.
Reply
Hee~ This is turning out great authornon! And I'm looking forward to more~!
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Reply
:D
~OP
btw, is there a way to let you know I'm the OP without making some wierd "OP here!!1!eleventyone!!" announcement? What do you usually say?
Reply
And when I request, I usually put an 'OP' thing in the subject line of the reply. It's a little ostentatious, perhaps, but since I love it when OPs let me know how I'm getting on with their fills, I figure I might as well inflict it on everyone else. ;)
Reply
Anon was childish enough that this sent her into giggles.
Also loved that England decided to RANDOMLY punish America because of other people annoying him.
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