Re: America 1.
anonymous
November 20 2011, 00:30:43 UTC
He didn’t know England had felt very guilty after Gallipoli, that even a small scratch on this nation was a big deal now. He didn’t even know himself, not really.
“Hi there, England! The hero has arrived!” he called out. Both England and the colony turned around.
“It is good to see you, America,” England said with that reserved voice of his that America knew meant he was happy, but wasn’t about to let anyone know.
“About time. Finally managed to scrape together enough courage to come?” the colony asked. He even had England’s green eyes, so bright and beautiful. America felt something constrict in his throat, but his anger eclipsed it.
“Hey, I’m never scared of anything! Who are you, anyway?” he demanded. England was content to be quiet for now, listening in.
“I’m the Commonwealth of Australia and you are late,” Australia said and turned back to England, pulling him from the sleeve. The gray uniform suited Australia, but America only noticed the dirt on it, the blood stains he had tried to wash away, the little tears mended. His own uniform seemed terribly pristine and all of a sudden it wasn’t such a good thing.
“I came as soon as I could!” he defended himself and Australia snorted. America was going to give a scathing reply, but now England interfered.
“Behave, you two,” he ordered. And that damn Australia smiled to England in a really slick way.
“Of course, England. I’m sorry,” he said. America dubbed Australia “the Demon Child” in his mind; it was just SO obvious ass-kissing it wasn’t even fun. They glared at each other, Australia and America. America was never one to give in first, even when he had no earthly clue what the challenge was about. He didn’t like Australia, that was a reason enough to one up the colony at every opportunity and rub his status as the saviour of the war against Australia’s face. In front of England, of course.
The bad first impression lasted over the war, the brief isolation period after it - he wasn’t sulking! - and the Second World War. It was the night they celebrated the victory in bomb-ravaged London, England’s wounded heart, that he realized he was in love with his former caretaker. He knew England wasn’t in love with him at all, but that was a fixable condition. And he knew that he had a Rival in love, the Demon Child who glared daggers at him every time he touched England and never let them have a moment alone. That fiend Australia was obviously going to sabotage his happy future with his One True Love!
Three out of four isn’t a bad percentage, but while close enough may count in horse shoes, love is a different game.
Re: A!A can take concrit
anonymous
December 1 2011, 16:15:48 UTC
ayrt
What I wanted to say is that phonetic accents are hard to read and understand. Maybe you could point that Wales or Scotland have an recent without writing them?
Re: A!A can take concrit
anonymous
December 7 2011, 00:35:13 UTC
I concede they make reading this a bit harder, but I have always personally found it silly when a character is mentioned to have a thick accent and then their line are written Oxford perfect. Luckily, though, both Wales and Scotland's speaking parts should be over now, if I'm not making any changes to the planned storyline, so there will only be Australia's much lighter accent.
Re: America 1.
anonymous
November 20 2011, 05:09:03 UTC
Not OP, but I ~adore~ this new fill so much! The way you handle different POVs makes it really obvious how much miscommunication is going on. (Eeeee! Why do I love seeing that so much?) And Australia! I'm now a raving fan of determined-greedy-best-brother-ever!Australia.
Also, your grammar is amazing, your characters seem very IC, and I love how history is subtly woven in. A fan once made the comment that she felt Hetalia characters lived in our world and were affected by its events, but were _more_ affected by interactions with other country personifications. You seem to be doing this and it makes me HAPPEH. (Not that this story should be about pleasing me at all, but I thought you might like to know.) Also, I love England. I love realistic!England who is strong and hurt and stuck in his mindset and unaware that people want to desperately love his ass -- I mean, his heart. XD
Rambly review is rambly.
tl;dr: I love this. A lot. Have bookmarked and will be checking for updates with ridiculous, desperate frequency! Thanks so much for writing this.
Re: America 1.
anonymous
November 20 2011, 08:25:47 UTC
oh boy, I love it already.Especially the facts that America's and Australia's goals are different. Both points of view are just hilarious. Can't wait for more.
this description is priceless "America was never one to give in first, even when he had no earthly clue what the challenge was about."
Re: America 1.
anonymous
November 20 2011, 17:59:08 UTC
Everything about this pleases me. The prompt itself made me giggle, the appearance of Scotland and Wales, the Australian history, the reminder that America was also a convict dumping ground (yeah, I'm sure those things didn't influence Oz and Al for the worse, England), and sibling rivalry..!
Re: Australia 2.
anonymous
November 23 2011, 00:17:03 UTC
Everybody needs a confidant and Australia had always been fond of Wales. Not as fond as he was of England, of course, but Wales had always been protective of him and Australia could talk with him about things he couldn’t with England - namely, he could talk of England. And while Australia saw New Zealand more often, thanks to their geography, he was just so… straight-laced. And sensible. New Zealand always gave good advice, but not the kind of good advice Australia wanted.
America was coming to England in four days’ time to talk about what he called Super Heroic Free Radio of Europe, a broadcaster that would be funded by his Congress to provide news, information and analysis to countries in Eastern Europe, Central Asia and the Middle East. Not that there was much to talk; it was a done deal already and obvious to Australia that America was taking this opportunity to form closer personal ties with England. He had flown over the second he heard, to meet with Wales and if he happened to crash the “happy family reunion”, well, too bad. For America, that was.
And his own self-respect.
“I hate America. It’s like talkin' with the cad always drops my maturity to a ten-year-old’s level and that’s humiliatin'. It’s like they say, never argue with an idiot. The drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience,” he complained as they hiked up a gravel road barely wide enough two cars might be able to pass each other if the drivers weren’t overweight.
“America’s 'ad toyme ter argue with yaouw lately? I thought Russia took all his toyme nowadays,” Wales asked with grim amusement. Directly after the war England had had worse relations with Russia than America, but never one to be outdone, he had proceeded to bring the argument up to epic levels of “oh shit, is the planet even going to survive this?”
“He accuses me of suckin' up and then goes and glues himself to England’s hip. Which of us remained by England’s side? I’m just askin',” Australia spat. He shivered a little in the chilly wind.
Rural North Wales was mainly hills, valleys, water and fields even these days and even though the day was cloudy Australia enjoyed their hike. It was so calm, so peaceful, and if there was a risk of rain, being a nation-continent where deserts occupied forty four percents of the area had taught him to appreciate rain. Wales was green country and he had three hundreds ninety eight lakes - count them, three hundreds ninety eight. Australia was terribly jealous. But at least Wales wasn’t the type to rub these things on people’s faces, unlike certain other nation.
“What should I do, mate, any ideas? I mean, if it was about bein' worthy I wouldn’t have trouble, but heart doesn’t operate on merit system.” Sadly. “And I’ll be damned if I just roll over because the high and mighty decided to play rapt families for once.”
If it was a merit system everything would be fine. Australia never rebelled for one, he was patient and waited for the world to change (and it wasn’t like it was a hardship, he wasn’t unhappy or anything back then...) He hadn’t been late to two wars in a row. He and England shared not only the language, but the whole heritage of English literature, philosophy, poetry and theatre. They both were good Anglicans. Both had legal systems are based on the common law. The United Kingdom was still his largest source of immigrants. He remembered England’s every birthday and really liked his food, instead of pretending really badly he did - as a cook he was about the same ilk and didn’t know what people were about, it was just food, right? Except apparently no, the jerks. But all this meant little because Australia was the goddammit prodigal brother who was forgiven everything.
Re: Australia 2.
anonymous
November 23 2011, 00:22:19 UTC
“Just ert of curiosity,” Wales drawled, his eyes sharp and arresting when they nailed Australia. He felt naked suddenly, or transparent. At times like these it was easy to understand why people were so intimidated by Wales. “Why yaouw loike Englan' so?”
“What’s there not to like?” Australia asked back, off balance. He had never been asked this before and it was surprisingly hard to put in words. “Well, he made me for one. It’s really, don’t tell England this, adorable how he flails when someone says somethin' really nice to him and gets all huffy, but you tinnie tell he is bloody happy. And he protected me from France and Russia and the Asians when I was small. And he always comes runnin' when I’m sick. It’s fun playing cricket with him… besides, it’s just him. I don’t know, he never laughed at me platypuses! Do I need a reason? I like everything about him.” And this seemed to be the right thing to say because Wales’ smile was sneaky now, not scary.
They had arrived to an old bus stop. It was just an old bench, once painted red, but now more gray than anything else, the paint flaked off like a snake’s skin. Wales sat on it and Australia followed suit. He didn’t tire easily, but they were in no hurry and it was nice to just sit there.
“Bostin ter knoo yaouw aren’t the barmy kind that tells fairy tales. Tell me, 'oo inclined yaouw ood be ter hitten beloo the belt?” Wales’ eyes were twinkling. Australia’s mouth stretched into a grin he feared was a wee bit maniacal. He had known Wales was the people to go to.
“Hey, remember me disreputable origins; I’m a British, not a gentleman. Besides, it’s not like England’s that nice and fair either. Bein' British means you take their lands and mug their languages for spare words and bein' a gentleman means you are polite about it and sup lots of tea,” he quipped.
Wales exploded into laughter. It wasn’t a polite snort or a dignified chuckle, it was deep, rumbling belly-laughter that made him bent double, clutching his stomach, and laugh until his eyes were in tears.
Fairy tales, Wales had said. Australia knew all about England’s old fairy tales, faerie tales, and people got horribly killed, maimed and cursed left, right and centre in those. Being a brother usually meant nothing either, two of those were always good-for-nothings and tried to rip the good brother off… In fact, kind of like America and him. Well, all was fair in love, war and sibling rivalry and he was taking no prisoners.
“Yoo miskin seven kinds of all roight, bruv. Okoy, i’ll help yaouw with this. Big bruv wull teach yaouw 'oo ter ruin other people’s chuffed days an' still luke bostin, just yaouw wait.” Wales’ hand on Australia’s shoulder was firm and steady. If Australia hadn’t despised America so he would have pitied his older not-brother. The mature thing would have been to learn to share and shit, but that point never made the conversation. Love, Wales knew well, makes fool all of us, and not only the romantic kind either. This was why, while England was Australia’s favourite brother, Wales was a close second.
At least America had the decency to not curry favour with him. Because that would have been scary.
To Be Continued School will sadly take more of my time in the near future so updates will come slower, but never fear, they shall come!
Re: America 2.
anonymous
December 7 2011, 00:57:00 UTC
America was fuming. It wasn’t that he was unhappy to travel the world, no, he wasn’t taking any chances now. What if his bosses pulled another isolationist policy out of their pocket if he holed up in his own country for too long? He was never going to get anywhere with England if that happened. And he was always happy to see England, even if he was being a curmudgeon, and the business was good too, this time. His Super Heroic Free Radio of Europe was going to shed some light to Russia’s oppressed masses! He kept telling people that America was racist, sexist and cold towards the rest of the world, lazy and ignorant! This was just not going to fly! In USSR there were many, many new schools, Russia claimed, and in USA schools were being closed all the time! Hah, half of Russia’s people couldn’t even write their own name!
… Ahem.
So, his new radio was good. But his current mood had nothing to do with Russia, surprisingly. No, it was his secret service’s report that told the Commonwealth of Australia had arrived to United Kingdom.
“That Australia is just so obvious. So he says he’s visiting Wales, but I bet he’s gonna show up to suck up to England and ruin everything! Why can’t he become a communist so England wouldn’t talk to him ever again?” America moaned. Canada, who was sitting opposite to him and sipping coffee, raised one eyebrow. America had always wanted to learn to do that. England could do that too, why not him?
“You actually wish someone would become a communist?” Canada asked with incredulity and America returned to his senses. No, even England not talking to the Demon wouldn’t be worth that. He groaned and banged his head against the table.
“America! You are denting my table,” Canada protested. And when America raised his head, there really was a dent roughly the size of his forehead. Canadian furniture didn’t seem to be very sturdy.
“Sorry, bro. Maybe you should by your furniture from me, this is kinda flimsy.” The corner of Canada’s eye twitched now. “But what should I do about Australia? I mean, he’s always milking the fact he showed up before me in both wars, but it isn’t easy to tear down a policy, it isn’t my fault or anything! And there was my lend lease! And did you know he didn’t even declare himself independent, England had to declare it for him. Where is his pride as a nation?” America continued ranting, happy that he at least had such a good brother who would listen to his worries. And while America hated to admit it, he had a reason to worry.
Usually “having common history” with someone was just a euphemism for “it took me a hundred years to stop wanting to strangle him after X happened”, but there was nothing like that between England and Australia. The one rebellion Australia ever had was something silly over rum and even that was just one English guy overthrowing the other. The pacific nation had taken a false start in the race for England’s heart and if life was fair there would have been a judge to disqualify him, but it didn’t work like that. If it had been anyone else America would have been assured of his victory. France could get serious about his flirtations all he wanted, all England was ever going to give him back were insults and maybe punches if France groped him. England never liked the Nordic nations, something about Vikings, the exception being Finland who had never been a Viking, but was in love with one and not really England’s type anyway. Spain really, really wasn’t England’s type and still got twitchy sometimes, Germany was way too awkward about emotions to be romantic and England always mistook Canada for America and which had to be a sign…
Re: America 2.
anonymous
December 7 2011, 01:01:43 UTC
The list went on and on, a case of bad history or bad present or wrong personality after another. But no, his rival in love just had to be the one nation who stood a chance. And whatever was said about having a Worthy Rival, America would have much preferred an unworthy one.
“What could be more romantic than a hero? If some vile villain tied England to train tracks I would rescue him first.” America could clearly picture the scene in his mind, a dark night and Russia cackling that creepy laugh of his as he tied poor, gagged England to the tracks. America would fight Russia, it would rain and the approaching train’s lights would gleam on the wet metal and then America would win the fight dashingly just in time to punch the train aside. Then England would look at him with big, emerald eyes full of adoration and gratitude. Sadly this was where the fantasy broke down because America couldn’t imagine what England would say that would be appropriately romantic, yet in character.
“I don’t think that is applicable in your situation,” Canada sighed and sadly America had to concede the point.
“Maybe I should frame Australia for having communist sympathies. That would get him into trouble with England,” he mused and sipped his own coffee, grimacing; it was cold and bitter now.
Canada leaned over the table and thwacked him soundly to the head.
“Hey, what was that for?” he demanded to know, rubbing his head. Canada was standing with his legs spread and his hands on his hips, frowning. His polar bear wandered into the room and asked who Canada was, but even that sure-fire way to turn Canada’s exasperation away didn’t work now.
“No, this is what you are going to do: you will be polite to Australia. You will go to places that interest England, a naval museum for example, and you will not complain about how boring it is. You will not insult his cooking. When the visit is over, invite him to your house, Australia can’t barge in there without your permission so you will be undisturbed. This time is about making a good impression so you have to act maturely, like a good prospective partner and not a kindergartener. Make a better impression than Australia; comprenez-vous?” Canada lectured. America pondered this for a while. It was good, mature kind of advice, he had to give Canada that much. But…
“Framing the Aussie would be easier,” he complained and consequently had to duck a second thwack.
“Hi there, England! The hero has arrived!” he called out. Both England and the colony turned around.
“It is good to see you, America,” England said with that reserved voice of his that America knew meant he was happy, but wasn’t about to let anyone know.
“About time. Finally managed to scrape together enough courage to come?” the colony asked. He even had England’s green eyes, so bright and beautiful. America felt something constrict in his throat, but his anger eclipsed it.
“Hey, I’m never scared of anything! Who are you, anyway?” he demanded. England was content to be quiet for now, listening in.
“I’m the Commonwealth of Australia and you are late,” Australia said and turned back to England, pulling him from the sleeve. The gray uniform suited Australia, but America only noticed the dirt on it, the blood stains he had tried to wash away, the little tears mended. His own uniform seemed terribly pristine and all of a sudden it wasn’t such a good thing.
“I came as soon as I could!” he defended himself and Australia snorted. America was going to give a scathing reply, but now England interfered.
“Behave, you two,” he ordered. And that damn Australia smiled to England in a really slick way.
“Of course, England. I’m sorry,” he said. America dubbed Australia “the Demon Child” in his mind; it was just SO obvious ass-kissing it wasn’t even fun. They glared at each other, Australia and America. America was never one to give in first, even when he had no earthly clue what the challenge was about. He didn’t like Australia, that was a reason enough to one up the colony at every opportunity and rub his status as the saviour of the war against Australia’s face. In front of England, of course.
The bad first impression lasted over the war, the brief isolation period after it - he wasn’t sulking! - and the Second World War. It was the night they celebrated the victory in bomb-ravaged London, England’s wounded heart, that he realized he was in love with his former caretaker. He knew England wasn’t in love with him at all, but that was a fixable condition. And he knew that he had a Rival in love, the Demon Child who glared daggers at him every time he touched England and never let them have a moment alone. That fiend Australia was obviously going to sabotage his happy future with his One True Love!
Three out of four isn’t a bad percentage, but while close enough may count in horse shoes, love is a different game.
To Be Continued
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What I wanted to say is that phonetic accents are hard to read and understand. Maybe you could point that Wales or Scotland have an recent without writing them?
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Also, your grammar is amazing, your characters seem very IC, and I love how history is subtly woven in. A fan once made the comment that she felt Hetalia characters lived in our world and were affected by its events, but were _more_ affected by interactions with other country personifications. You seem to be doing this and it makes me HAPPEH. (Not that this story should be about pleasing me at all, but I thought you might like to know.) Also, I love England. I love realistic!England who is strong and hurt and stuck in his mindset and unaware that people want to desperately love his ass -- I mean, his heart. XD
Rambly review is rambly.
tl;dr: I love this. A lot. Have bookmarked and will be checking for updates with ridiculous, desperate frequency! Thanks so much for writing this.
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this description is priceless "America was never one to give in first, even when he had no earthly clue what the challenge was about."
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AND ICKLE AUSTRALIA IS SO CUTE OMG.
And England's obliviousness. >_
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America was coming to England in four days’ time to talk about what he called Super Heroic Free Radio of Europe, a broadcaster that would be funded by his Congress to provide news, information and analysis to countries in Eastern Europe, Central Asia and the Middle East. Not that there was much to talk; it was a done deal already and obvious to Australia that America was taking this opportunity to form closer personal ties with England. He had flown over the second he heard, to meet with Wales and if he happened to crash the “happy family reunion”, well, too bad. For America, that was.
And his own self-respect.
“I hate America. It’s like talkin' with the cad always drops my maturity to a ten-year-old’s level and that’s humiliatin'. It’s like they say, never argue with an idiot. The drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience,” he complained as they hiked up a gravel road barely wide enough two cars might be able to pass each other if the drivers weren’t overweight.
“America’s 'ad toyme ter argue with yaouw lately? I thought Russia took all his toyme nowadays,” Wales asked with grim amusement. Directly after the war England had had worse relations with Russia than America, but never one to be outdone, he had proceeded to bring the argument up to epic levels of “oh shit, is the planet even going to survive this?”
“He accuses me of suckin' up and then goes and glues himself to England’s hip. Which of us remained by England’s side? I’m just askin',” Australia spat. He shivered a little in the chilly wind.
Rural North Wales was mainly hills, valleys, water and fields even these days and even though the day was cloudy Australia enjoyed their hike. It was so calm, so peaceful, and if there was a risk of rain, being a nation-continent where deserts occupied forty four percents of the area had taught him to appreciate rain. Wales was green country and he had three hundreds ninety eight lakes - count them, three hundreds ninety eight. Australia was terribly jealous. But at least Wales wasn’t the type to rub these things on people’s faces, unlike certain other nation.
“What should I do, mate, any ideas? I mean, if it was about bein' worthy I wouldn’t have trouble, but heart doesn’t operate on merit system.” Sadly. “And I’ll be damned if I just roll over because the high and mighty decided to play rapt families for once.”
If it was a merit system everything would be fine. Australia never rebelled for one, he was patient and waited for the world to change (and it wasn’t like it was a hardship, he wasn’t unhappy or anything back then...) He hadn’t been late to two wars in a row. He and England shared not only the language, but the whole heritage of English literature, philosophy, poetry and theatre. They both were good Anglicans. Both had legal systems are based on the common law. The United Kingdom was still his largest source of immigrants. He remembered England’s every birthday and really liked his food, instead of pretending really badly he did - as a cook he was about the same ilk and didn’t know what people were about, it was just food, right? Except apparently no, the jerks. But all this meant little because Australia was the goddammit prodigal brother who was forgiven everything.
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“What’s there not to like?” Australia asked back, off balance. He had never been asked this before and it was surprisingly hard to put in words. “Well, he made me for one. It’s really, don’t tell England this, adorable how he flails when someone says somethin' really nice to him and gets all huffy, but you tinnie tell he is bloody happy. And he protected me from France and Russia and the Asians when I was small. And he always comes runnin' when I’m sick. It’s fun playing cricket with him… besides, it’s just him. I don’t know, he never laughed at me platypuses! Do I need a reason? I like everything about him.” And this seemed to be the right thing to say because Wales’ smile was sneaky now, not scary.
They had arrived to an old bus stop. It was just an old bench, once painted red, but now more gray than anything else, the paint flaked off like a snake’s skin. Wales sat on it and Australia followed suit. He didn’t tire easily, but they were in no hurry and it was nice to just sit there.
“Bostin ter knoo yaouw aren’t the barmy kind that tells fairy tales. Tell me, 'oo inclined yaouw ood be ter hitten beloo the belt?” Wales’ eyes were twinkling. Australia’s mouth stretched into a grin he feared was a wee bit maniacal. He had known Wales was the people to go to.
“Hey, remember me disreputable origins; I’m a British, not a gentleman. Besides, it’s not like England’s that nice and fair either. Bein' British means you take their lands and mug their languages for spare words and bein' a gentleman means you are polite about it and sup lots of tea,” he quipped.
Wales exploded into laughter. It wasn’t a polite snort or a dignified chuckle, it was deep, rumbling belly-laughter that made him bent double, clutching his stomach, and laugh until his eyes were in tears.
Fairy tales, Wales had said. Australia knew all about England’s old fairy tales, faerie tales, and people got horribly killed, maimed and cursed left, right and centre in those. Being a brother usually meant nothing either, two of those were always good-for-nothings and tried to rip the good brother off… In fact, kind of like America and him. Well, all was fair in love, war and sibling rivalry and he was taking no prisoners.
“Yoo miskin seven kinds of all roight, bruv. Okoy, i’ll help yaouw with this. Big bruv wull teach yaouw 'oo ter ruin other people’s chuffed days an' still luke bostin, just yaouw wait.” Wales’ hand on Australia’s shoulder was firm and steady. If Australia hadn’t despised America so he would have pitied his older not-brother. The mature thing would have been to learn to share and shit, but that point never made the conversation. Love, Wales knew well, makes fool all of us, and not only the romantic kind either. This was why, while England was Australia’s favourite brother, Wales was a close second.
At least America had the decency to not curry favour with him. Because that would have been scary.
To Be Continued
School will sadly take more of my time in the near future so updates will come slower, but never fear, they shall come!
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And I can't even edit. The price of anonymity, I guess.
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… Ahem.
So, his new radio was good. But his current mood had nothing to do with Russia, surprisingly. No, it was his secret service’s report that told the Commonwealth of Australia had arrived to United Kingdom.
“That Australia is just so obvious. So he says he’s visiting Wales, but I bet he’s gonna show up to suck up to England and ruin everything! Why can’t he become a communist so England wouldn’t talk to him ever again?” America moaned. Canada, who was sitting opposite to him and sipping coffee, raised one eyebrow. America had always wanted to learn to do that. England could do that too, why not him?
“You actually wish someone would become a communist?” Canada asked with incredulity and America returned to his senses. No, even England not talking to the Demon wouldn’t be worth that. He groaned and banged his head against the table.
“America! You are denting my table,” Canada protested. And when America raised his head, there really was a dent roughly the size of his forehead. Canadian furniture didn’t seem to be very sturdy.
“Sorry, bro. Maybe you should by your furniture from me, this is kinda flimsy.” The corner of Canada’s eye twitched now. “But what should I do about Australia? I mean, he’s always milking the fact he showed up before me in both wars, but it isn’t easy to tear down a policy, it isn’t my fault or anything! And there was my lend lease! And did you know he didn’t even declare himself independent, England had to declare it for him. Where is his pride as a nation?” America continued ranting, happy that he at least had such a good brother who would listen to his worries. And while America hated to admit it, he had a reason to worry.
Usually “having common history” with someone was just a euphemism for “it took me a hundred years to stop wanting to strangle him after X happened”, but there was nothing like that between England and Australia. The one rebellion Australia ever had was something silly over rum and even that was just one English guy overthrowing the other. The pacific nation had taken a false start in the race for England’s heart and if life was fair there would have been a judge to disqualify him, but it didn’t work like that. If it had been anyone else America would have been assured of his victory. France could get serious about his flirtations all he wanted, all England was ever going to give him back were insults and maybe punches if France groped him. England never liked the Nordic nations, something about Vikings, the exception being Finland who had never been a Viking, but was in love with one and not really England’s type anyway. Spain really, really wasn’t England’s type and still got twitchy sometimes, Germany was way too awkward about emotions to be romantic and England always mistook Canada for America and which had to be a sign…
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“What could be more romantic than a hero? If some vile villain tied England to train tracks I would rescue him first.” America could clearly picture the scene in his mind, a dark night and Russia cackling that creepy laugh of his as he tied poor, gagged England to the tracks. America would fight Russia, it would rain and the approaching train’s lights would gleam on the wet metal and then America would win the fight dashingly just in time to punch the train aside. Then England would look at him with big, emerald eyes full of adoration and gratitude. Sadly this was where the fantasy broke down because America couldn’t imagine what England would say that would be appropriately romantic, yet in character.
“I don’t think that is applicable in your situation,” Canada sighed and sadly America had to concede the point.
“Maybe I should frame Australia for having communist sympathies. That would get him into trouble with England,” he mused and sipped his own coffee, grimacing; it was cold and bitter now.
Canada leaned over the table and thwacked him soundly to the head.
“Hey, what was that for?” he demanded to know, rubbing his head. Canada was standing with his legs spread and his hands on his hips, frowning. His polar bear wandered into the room and asked who Canada was, but even that sure-fire way to turn Canada’s exasperation away didn’t work now.
“No, this is what you are going to do: you will be polite to Australia. You will go to places that interest England, a naval museum for example, and you will not complain about how boring it is. You will not insult his cooking. When the visit is over, invite him to your house, Australia can’t barge in there without your permission so you will be undisturbed. This time is about making a good impression so you have to act maturely, like a good prospective partner and not a kindergartener. Make a better impression than Australia; comprenez-vous?” Canada lectured. America pondered this for a while. It was good, mature kind of advice, he had to give Canada that much. But…
“Framing the Aussie would be easier,” he complained and consequently had to duck a second thwack.
To Be Continued
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You're build-up and pacing is terrific, I can't wait to read the future parts when America and Australia "face off" xD
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I love you authoranon, this story is absolutely magnificent!
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