Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 15/??)
anonymous
April 19 2009, 10:34:33 UTC
The three of them immediately set out in chase, using the linkages all three of them had to America to track him as he ran south. What followed played, ever after in Matthew's memories, like a blurred, manic, sped-up parody of a road-trip-comedy movie. On acid.
They jacked a mud-caked truck from someone's driveway (Canada made sure to leave an official note apologizing politely and telling the owner that Ottawa would immediately compensate him, on official Canadian state letterhead) - comandeered, actually. The man had left the keys in the ignition. They raced southwards, and at some point - they'd stopped for gas, bathroom breaks, gas-station food, and to be informed by the gas-station attendant that while Canada was asleep and not able to play navigator, England and France had managed to drive fifty-seven miles off course - Kumajirou had ambled casually into the truck. Canada had taken to clutching him for comfort and perhaps to get into the crash position as England and France took turns piloting the truck into behaving like it was a runaway bull. Kumajirou's fur was covered with snow. Soon enough the snow began to melt, and the truck smelled like wet bear.
At some point, they almost ran into a moose. The moose then began to chase the truck, bellowing mightily. As England broke the speed limit, cursing in a low steady chant, France asked Canada in all seriousness if it was true that there were more moose-related deaths in Canada than crime-related.
Canada buried his face into Kumajirou's fur and counted to fifty, then a hundred. He stopped at eighty-six because England and France needed him to give directions again.
At some point they found a Canadian air base and used England and Canada's authority (France made an under-his-breath comment about England sticking his nose in) to get a CH-146 Griffon helicopter and a pilot, who was mildly confused as to why three young men and a polar bear cub were to be ferried to the American border post-haste, but was game enough.
At least he was, until suddenly they were confronted by three Apache attack helicopters hovering around them, while an angry, excited voice with the distinctive twang of the American southwest demanded they set down on the Canadian side of the border. There was an audible whir and clack as the other two Apaches armed weapons.
Before the pilot could do anything, France shouted, `Montjoie! St Denis!" and jumped out of the helicopter with a parachute strapped to his back.
England and Canada exchanged long glances, shrugged, and grabbed their own parachutes before following France's lead.
When they landed, they found France already in the process of hotwiring a car, which they subsequently used in a fifty-five minute long escape from irritated and yelling border guards. France drove, whooping, while Canada and England made frantic calls to their embassies.
Someone must have got through, because the border guards stopped chasing them at some point. And then the car ran out of gas. In the middle of nowhere.
Canada began to weep a bit hysterically into an almost offensively calm Kumajirou's fur.
Re: Who Slept With Alfred Jones? (part 15/??)
anonymous
April 19 2009, 11:30:48 UTC
Oh God the shriek that escaped my mouth the moment I saw "part 15"...must have matched Canada's XD I love you writer!anon. Honestly this is the best Hetalia fic I've ever read! None other has made the transition from comedy to action, then drama, then back again so well! Seriously, writer!anon, I love you!
They jacked a mud-caked truck from someone's driveway (Canada made sure to leave an official note apologizing politely and telling the owner that Ottawa would immediately compensate him, on official Canadian state letterhead) - comandeered, actually. The man had left the keys in the ignition. They raced southwards, and at some point - they'd stopped for gas, bathroom breaks, gas-station food, and to be informed by the gas-station attendant that while Canada was asleep and not able to play navigator, England and France had managed to drive fifty-seven miles off course - Kumajirou had ambled casually into the truck. Canada had taken to clutching him for comfort and perhaps to get into the crash position as England and France took turns piloting the truck into behaving like it was a runaway bull. Kumajirou's fur was covered with snow. Soon enough the snow began to melt, and the truck smelled like wet bear.
At some point, they almost ran into a moose. The moose then began to chase the truck, bellowing mightily. As England broke the speed limit, cursing in a low steady chant, France asked Canada in all seriousness if it was true that there were more moose-related deaths in Canada than crime-related.
Canada buried his face into Kumajirou's fur and counted to fifty, then a hundred. He stopped at eighty-six because England and France needed him to give directions again.
At some point they found a Canadian air base and used England and Canada's authority (France made an under-his-breath comment about England sticking his nose in) to get a CH-146 Griffon helicopter and a pilot, who was mildly confused as to why three young men and a polar bear cub were to be ferried to the American border post-haste, but was game enough.
At least he was, until suddenly they were confronted by three Apache attack helicopters hovering around them, while an angry, excited voice with the distinctive twang of the American southwest demanded they set down on the Canadian side of the border. There was an audible whir and clack as the other two Apaches armed weapons.
Before the pilot could do anything, France shouted, `Montjoie! St Denis!" and jumped out of the helicopter with a parachute strapped to his back.
England and Canada exchanged long glances, shrugged, and grabbed their own parachutes before following France's lead.
When they landed, they found France already in the process of hotwiring a car, which they subsequently used in a fifty-five minute long escape from irritated and yelling border guards. France drove, whooping, while Canada and England made frantic calls to their embassies.
Someone must have got through, because the border guards stopped chasing them at some point. And then the car ran out of gas. In the middle of nowhere.
Canada began to weep a bit hysterically into an almost offensively calm Kumajirou's fur.
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This IS a road trip from hell-- and it's the funniest thing that I've ever read XD
Love your total transition between moods, you've completely worked your way around to the crack that this started out being.
I hope this fill doesn't end for a long while because it's waaaaay too entertaining!!
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This anons favorite line
"France drove, whooping"
Oh god France, the imagery! I wasn't even rooting for you, but you win!!
writer!anon is wonderfully amazing for continuing this, <3 <3 <3
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Here, just take my soul already and be done with it. B( -hands over soul-
Hohohoho, voting UK here.~
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I second other replier-anon's sincere hopes.
This part. <333
So much win. <333
recaptcha: riding circular, clearly agrees with this mood music XD
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