To Catch a Country [4]
anonymous
March 27 2009, 21:29:52 UTC
England coughs, his hand pounding his chest. “And… and what would possess you to make such a wager?” he says hoarsely.
“I like money?” France suggests.
“I never did anything to him! The only reason he would have to give my name would be so he could record the episode on his television and tease me about it.”
“So do we have a deal?”
“You’re on.”
France turns to Latvia. “So?”
Latvia rolls his eyes. “I’m not telling! This tangent has gone far enough. We need to focus on what we’re here for-”
“What about you?” England says to Spain, eagerly pushing the spotlight off himself and onto somebody else. “Who do you think sent your name in?”
Spain’s eyes go distant. “Uh… I don’t know. Give me a second to think...” They stare as he mumbles to himself, counting things on his fingers and frowning at the air in front of him. “Was it… but then it could be… Guatemala? No, I don’t… or Venezuela, but I didn’t think she was still mad at me about…. it could be… ah… but then… Mexico?... or maybe…”
“Is Romano upset with you about anything?” France asks gently.
It takes a second for Spain to smile. “Oh. Haha, I guess that’s probably it, huh?”
“Okay, you’ve had a few seconds,” France says to England. “Was it Sealand?”
England’s jaw grates. “What.”
“That cute little boy who’s always running around?” Spain says, sitting up. “That would make sense, wouldn’t it? He’s friends with Latvia. That would definitely fit.” Spain and France stroke their chins conspiratorially in the direction of the nation sitting at the end of the row.
“No,” England snaps. “You’re both being ridiculous, the very idea. And besides.” England folds his arms over his chest, sniffs in an arch way. “Not that I did, but if I had by some outlandish stretch of the imagination done something like that-which I haven’t!-he isn’t even a real country, so I don’t think it should have counted anyway.”
“Shouldn’t count?” Latvia nearly shrieks.
France chuckles. “Is that your rationale? I wondered what you were telling yourself all those years before ’76. With your precious little-”
“You damn frog, like you’re one to talk!”
“But I’m not trying to justify it with pathetic English logic either, am I?”
Spain tries to laugh as the nations on either side of him rise out of their seats to tackle each other. “I don’t mind if you want to do that some other time, but maybe you could not when I’m here right in the middle aaahhgh please no--!”
Before the traumatized yelp goes on too long, there’s a metallic chink and abruptly everyone stops to look at Latvia.
Latvia leans back from setting Russia’s pipe on the bar, rubbing his temples. “I think you are all forgetting why you are here,” he says. “This is not a television talk show, this is not a therapy session. I’m not sitting here because I honestly enjoy listening to you three bicker like grannies. You are here to face multiple charges against you on… on accounts of being huge perverts! Take this seriously!”
“I forgot he had that thing,” Spain says softly, and the others nod, eyeing the pipe like Latvia put a poisonous reptile on the table instead of a length of rusting faucet.
“I know you did,” Latvia says patiently. “That’s why I put it up there. Maybe it will help all of you concentrate and stay on topic.”
“But… but I’m not a predator?” Spain says. He blinks valiantly, but the tears win out in the end. Spain tugs at the end of his shirt, and sobs. “I'm not, really! The person, they were old enough and I-I didn't think I was doing anything wrong, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know! I thought they were old enough! I was pretty sure the person who emailed me was old enough? They were, I swear! They said they were.” Spain sniffs. “Um. So am I still in trouble?"
To Catch a Country [5]
anonymous
March 27 2009, 23:54:17 UTC
England gives Spain a dry, worried look. “From the lips of the Catholic Church no less, I presume?”
Spain glares. “And what exactly are you trying to say? Maybe you’d like to say it to my face, eh?”
“That aside,” England says, ignoring him and turning to Latvia, “I would have to agree with the whole not knowing why we’re still here. Most of these charges you keep talking about happened hundreds of years ago, what do you expect us to do about it now?” England clears his throat and leans forward in his stool, straightening his jacket in a businesslike manner that makes Latvia raise an eyebrow. “I understand how it looks, Latvia. Of course, circumstances as they were, it is certainly possible for it to appear or give the impression of certain goings on even if in point of fact there were never-what?”
Spain blinks. “You’re just a little bit too good at that.”
“If a tad rusty,” France adds and pushes England back in his chair so he can have the floor. “Ignoring the fact that nobody’s buying it, I mean. However, I would also like to perhaps make an off-the-record statement seconding what Monsieur Chia Eyebrows said? Can I do that?”
“I don’t care,” Latvia groans.
“Very well. Look, we were imperialist bastards, and we’re not denying it.”
“Salud!” Spain says, raising his glass of water. England and France raise theirs and they tap their glasses together. “To the good old days.”
Latvia holds his hands out. “You don’t feel regret? For anything that you did?” he says, to the various no’s. Latvia’s eyes close and he shakes his head, momentarily flustered. “It was horrible then, but how can you still be letting your old habits get the best of you?”
“I object!” France says. “First of all, I don’t like the tone you’re taking concerning my old habits. It happens that I am very fond of them. Second, since we aren’t going to have intercourse there doesn’t actually seem to be any reason for us to be here and by us I mean myself, so I would like to leave.”
Latvia blinks. “Okay.”
France’s shoulders slump. “Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“You mean… okay okay? Just like that I can go?” France’s eyes narrow, trying to bitchily glare the information out of their host. “This wouldn’t happen to be another of your oh-so-clever Latvian mind tricks like the one that makes us stay in the chairs, would it?”
Latvia smiles. “I brought the pipe for protection, but I’m not Russia; you’re free to go whenever you want. I’d like you to stay so we can talk some more, but if you really don’t want to I won’t stop you. The door’s open.”
“Ah, very well.” France jumps to his feet with a flourish, and the other seated nations flinch as if waiting for his shoes to burst into flame or his legs to be sucked into the floor. Nothing happens. “Very… very well, then. I will maybe see you next time then, eh Latvia?” With a shuffle of his notecards, Latvia gives France a friendly nod as France turns towards the door.
Spain and England sit stiffly, waiting for the sound of the door closing to see if it’s actually possible. “There’s got to be a trick to it,” England mutters under his breath. There’s a second of near silence, the door squeaking closed, then it stops.
“Maybe we really can leave?” Spain says, but England shushes him.
“Wait, did you hear that?”
They watch, and a moment later France marches back into the light, eyes wide and with a distraught grin. Switzerland walks close behind him, hefting a rifle aimed at the back of France’s head. France doesn’t lower his hands out of the air until he’s sitting safely back in the stool and Switzerland has gone back outside to wait at his post.
Spain is the first to speak. “You said you wouldn’t stop him!”
“I didn’t stop him.” Latvia shrugs. “You are all free to leave at any time you wish."
"Just not from that door," France says. "Who are at the other exits, if you don't mind me asking?"
Latvia folds his hands in front of him. "I'm not sure. I know Hungary was eager to volunteer, but she might be on camera duty..."
-- Ugh. And it kind of turned into Spain-France-England soap hour there but I’ll make up for it, and try to wrap this up soon kolkolkol WHAT I MEAN
“I like money?” France suggests.
“I never did anything to him! The only reason he would have to give my name would be so he could record the episode on his television and tease me about it.”
“So do we have a deal?”
“You’re on.”
France turns to Latvia. “So?”
Latvia rolls his eyes. “I’m not telling! This tangent has gone far enough. We need to focus on what we’re here for-”
“What about you?” England says to Spain, eagerly pushing the spotlight off himself and onto somebody else. “Who do you think sent your name in?”
Spain’s eyes go distant. “Uh… I don’t know. Give me a second to think...” They stare as he mumbles to himself, counting things on his fingers and frowning at the air in front of him. “Was it… but then it could be… Guatemala? No, I don’t… or Venezuela, but I didn’t think she was still mad at me about…. it could be… ah… but then… Mexico?... or maybe…”
“Is Romano upset with you about anything?” France asks gently.
It takes a second for Spain to smile. “Oh. Haha, I guess that’s probably it, huh?”
“Okay, you’ve had a few seconds,” France says to England. “Was it Sealand?”
England’s jaw grates. “What.”
“That cute little boy who’s always running around?” Spain says, sitting up. “That would make sense, wouldn’t it? He’s friends with Latvia. That would definitely fit.” Spain and France stroke their chins conspiratorially in the direction of the nation sitting at the end of the row.
“No,” England snaps. “You’re both being ridiculous, the very idea. And besides.” England folds his arms over his chest, sniffs in an arch way. “Not that I did, but if I had by some outlandish stretch of the imagination done something like that-which I haven’t!-he isn’t even a real country, so I don’t think it should have counted anyway.”
“Shouldn’t count?” Latvia nearly shrieks.
France chuckles. “Is that your rationale? I wondered what you were telling yourself all those years before ’76. With your precious little-”
“You damn frog, like you’re one to talk!”
“But I’m not trying to justify it with pathetic English logic either, am I?”
Spain tries to laugh as the nations on either side of him rise out of their seats to tackle each other. “I don’t mind if you want to do that some other time, but maybe you could not when I’m here right in the middle aaahhgh please no--!”
Before the traumatized yelp goes on too long, there’s a metallic chink and abruptly everyone stops to look at Latvia.
Latvia leans back from setting Russia’s pipe on the bar, rubbing his temples. “I think you are all forgetting why you are here,” he says. “This is not a television talk show, this is not a therapy session. I’m not sitting here because I honestly enjoy listening to you three bicker like grannies. You are here to face multiple charges against you on… on accounts of being huge perverts! Take this seriously!”
“I forgot he had that thing,” Spain says softly, and the others nod, eyeing the pipe like Latvia put a poisonous reptile on the table instead of a length of rusting faucet.
“I know you did,” Latvia says patiently. “That’s why I put it up there. Maybe it will help all of you concentrate and stay on topic.”
“But… but I’m not a predator?” Spain says. He blinks valiantly, but the tears win out in the end. Spain tugs at the end of his shirt, and sobs. “I'm not, really! The person, they were old enough and I-I didn't think I was doing anything wrong, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know! I thought they were old enough! I was pretty sure the person who emailed me was old enough? They were, I swear! They said they were.” Spain sniffs. “Um. So am I still in trouble?"
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Spain glares. “And what exactly are you trying to say? Maybe you’d like to say it to my face, eh?”
“That aside,” England says, ignoring him and turning to Latvia, “I would have to agree with the whole not knowing why we’re still here. Most of these charges you keep talking about happened hundreds of years ago, what do you expect us to do about it now?” England clears his throat and leans forward in his stool, straightening his jacket in a businesslike manner that makes Latvia raise an eyebrow. “I understand how it looks, Latvia. Of course, circumstances as they were, it is certainly possible for it to appear or give the impression of certain goings on even if in point of fact there were never-what?”
Spain blinks. “You’re just a little bit too good at that.”
“If a tad rusty,” France adds and pushes England back in his chair so he can have the floor. “Ignoring the fact that nobody’s buying it, I mean. However, I would also like to perhaps make an off-the-record statement seconding what Monsieur Chia Eyebrows said? Can I do that?”
“I don’t care,” Latvia groans.
“Very well. Look, we were imperialist bastards, and we’re not denying it.”
“Salud!” Spain says, raising his glass of water. England and France raise theirs and they tap their glasses together. “To the good old days.”
Latvia holds his hands out. “You don’t feel regret? For anything that you did?” he says, to the various no’s. Latvia’s eyes close and he shakes his head, momentarily flustered. “It was horrible then, but how can you still be letting your old habits get the best of you?”
“I object!” France says. “First of all, I don’t like the tone you’re taking concerning my old habits. It happens that I am very fond of them. Second, since we aren’t going to have intercourse there doesn’t actually seem to be any reason for us to be here and by us I mean myself, so I would like to leave.”
Latvia blinks. “Okay.”
France’s shoulders slump. “Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“You mean… okay okay? Just like that I can go?” France’s eyes narrow, trying to bitchily glare the information out of their host. “This wouldn’t happen to be another of your oh-so-clever Latvian mind tricks like the one that makes us stay in the chairs, would it?”
Latvia smiles. “I brought the pipe for protection, but I’m not Russia; you’re free to go whenever you want. I’d like you to stay so we can talk some more, but if you really don’t want to I won’t stop you. The door’s open.”
“Ah, very well.” France jumps to his feet with a flourish, and the other seated nations flinch as if waiting for his shoes to burst into flame or his legs to be sucked into the floor. Nothing happens. “Very… very well, then. I will maybe see you next time then, eh Latvia?” With a shuffle of his notecards, Latvia gives France a friendly nod as France turns towards the door.
Spain and England sit stiffly, waiting for the sound of the door closing to see if it’s actually possible. “There’s got to be a trick to it,” England mutters under his breath. There’s a second of near silence, the door squeaking closed, then it stops.
“Maybe we really can leave?” Spain says, but England shushes him.
“Wait, did you hear that?”
They watch, and a moment later France marches back into the light, eyes wide and with a distraught grin. Switzerland walks close behind him, hefting a rifle aimed at the back of France’s head. France doesn’t lower his hands out of the air until he’s sitting safely back in the stool and Switzerland has gone back outside to wait at his post.
Spain is the first to speak. “You said you wouldn’t stop him!”
“I didn’t stop him.” Latvia shrugs. “You are all free to leave at any time you wish."
"Just not from that door," France says. "Who are at the other exits, if you don't mind me asking?"
Latvia folds his hands in front of him. "I'm not sure. I know Hungary was eager to volunteer, but she might be on camera duty..."
--
Ugh. And it kind of turned into Spain-France-England soap hour there but I’ll make up for it, and try to wrap this up soon kolkolkol WHAT I MEAN
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Lol Captcha: LA Empire ...hehehe
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'Monsieur Chia Eyebrows'
I DIED LAUGHING! Holy crap! I love that you're still writing this, anon!
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Oh, AuthorAnon.
This fic stole my soul, seriously. I never stop thinking about it. Ever.
I am begging - on my knees and begging - for you to continue this.
Please. It is wonderful and lulz and...fffeverything I ever asked for in a fic.
So please, continue this. <3
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continued @--> http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=8889794
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