[fanfic] dude, like, what just happened?
Title: dude, like, what just happened?
Author: sonofon
Character(s): Prussia, France, Spain; which means there is also, by unfortunate association, mention of Germany, England, and Romano.
Rating: surprisingly, this is only PG-13.
Warning: BAD TOUCH TRIO. ALL NIGHT LOOOONG. and some teepeeing of the Vatican. Ahem.
Summary: Through a series of mishaps and unplanned actions, the three have ended up in a jail in Moscow. Prussia calls Germany for bail and is forced to explain.
Notes: this was written a long long time ago when I spent a lot of time at a place known as hetalia_kink. I haven't been there in forever fffff
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"So, I'll start from the beginning 'cause I might as well, and you know, it'd be really annoying to have to go back and explain everything to you and it's like, God, I'll tell you everything, just give me a fucking second. Okay? Okay. Just promise me you'll come and bail me out?"
"Me, too," added Spain.
"And I, of course, cannot be forgotten," France said, nursing the small cut on his elbow.
"Well, there you go," said Prussia. "You're paying bail for all three of us, West. I promise, once I'm out I'll pay you back. I swear. Pinky promise and all that shit. I'll also pay you back for that game you got me the other day. You know, the one Japan was advertising. The really cool one. The one with the dungeon and the hot chick with the huge tits who was blasting everyone's heads off. She was, not the tits. The blonde one. Yeah. Expensive? The game? Um, no? I don't think so. Oh, West!"
"Is he coming? This is a call for bailout, not a confession," said France. "Had I known it'd be like this, I would have called England. Then we would be out by now."
"And then we would be forced to go back with him, which is never pleasant," Spain said.
"England is very pleasant, but it takes a certain amount of Fundador."
"Oh, he likes amontillado?"
"Mm-hmm."
Prussia covered the receiver of the phone. "He keeps sighing and making funny little sounds, but dammit, that'd better be his way of saying yes. He does want to know what happened though."
"Abridged or the director's cut?" Spain asked, innocently enough.
"Do you even remember what happened?" asked France.
"Bits and pieces, yes."
"And we can always improvise."
"Ooh, yes."
"Well, West, sure." Prussia nodded and cupped the phone in his right hand. "Sure. We're in, uh, Moscow." There was a silence. Spain sadly shook his head.
"Yeah. Moscow."
Prussia paused. "Want me to start?"
"Mon dieu, hurry up," said France. "My cut is developing into an infection and at this rate, my people will have all drowned of wine by the time you finish. And what a waste of wine."
"Well, see, we were in Paris-"
"The Quarter," Spain put in. He knew where they'd started out. That was one thing he knew.
"The Quarter," said Prussia. "The place where they have the dance clubs and the bars. I guess you wouldn't know since you didn't come with the rest of us when we went sightseeing last time. Anyway. So we were, uh. Fuck, what were we doing?"
"Drinking," said Spain. "What else? What were we drinking?"
"Chablis," said France. "Or at least I was. I don't know what devilish concoctions you two were drinking."
"I stole someone's drink about halfway through. I think he's mad at me now. I didn't see his face though. He was drinking bad cognac. Then I had to drink something even worse to get the taste out. What was it?"
"Probably beer."
"Hey, don't diss beer! Oh, sorry, West, wasn't talking to you. Huh. Well. Well," continued Prussia, "so West, we were there, right? What? What'd ya say? How we end up in Moscow? Well, I'm never gonna get to that part of the story if you don't ever let me talk. Yeah. Quit interrupting! Fuck. My head. Okay. Wait."
"Oh, I think I remember now!" said Spain. "There was a girl. Someone France knew. Didn't you know her? You said you knew her."
"Of course, I know all of my citizens very well."
"But you knew her."
"Oh, yes."
"There was a girl," Prussia said into the phone. "Well, to tell the truth, there were a lot of girls. West, stop thinking ahead of me! I know you're blushing right now, but this is a time for maturity and clear thinking. Yeah, I just said that, so listen up. It was a bar, for Chrissakes! What'd you expect? A Catholic get-together?"
"Catholics. That's a good one." Spain laughed.
"You're Catholic, too, remember?" said France.
"Ah, well, I suppose . . . "
"Anyway, so there was this chick there that France knew and we all talked a little and it was really nice. I mean, she was really nice. Nice tits and all. Wait, what am I saying?"
"Very nice breasts," Spain unhelpfully said. "Was she blonde?"
"I think so," said France.
"A blonde," said Prussia. "West, no, don't go all religious on me now. I'm telling it to you straight-oh Christ, that's funny: straight? geddit?-and I'm telling you there was a girl. Maybe there was more than one. Or ten."
"One was of them was very indignant though," said France. "I remember. She wore glasses and her hair was slightly curled. She was not French. She was not. And I should know."
"Guess what, West, the girl wasn't French! I'm talking about another one, of course, God, can't you keep them straight? And we were in Paris. But the girl wasn't French. She was, what, American? That's fucking hilarious."
"Canadian," France clarified. "From Quebec."
"She was from Quebec," said Prussia. "Yeah, I know. I'm not too into those sort of girls anyway, but you know, it's always the really quiet ones. And I mean the really quiet ones. She talked philosophy. And the merits of cheese. Oh, West, stop that! I'm telling you the whole story, aren't I? And well, I'll never be able to tell you the whole thing if you don't let me say it. So. Anyways. We left the place after a while. We went. We went-where did we go?"
"Across the street and then zigzagged the square and we went to the island. Up by the Notre Dame. Ate a couple of raw eggs."
"Ate some raw eggs. They didn't help squat. Maybe we drank some more. What'd we drink? Whiskey? And then danced a bit. Danced a little jig. France can dance a damn good jig. He's damn good at a lot of things."
"Indeed," said France.
"There was a girl called Georgiana," Spain smiled. "And she kept getting sick from the pernod, which she kept drinking. And she wore a very nice hat and she was pretty."
"But what an ugly smile," France shook his head.
"No, that's the other one. The one who tried to sit on you."
"I no longer remember who tried to sit on me," France announced.
"Well, fuck, so we went to the island. There was a barge. Dancing. Have I said that? Only, I think someone at the last bar had alerted the cops about us. And they followed us to the island. Fuck, can you imagine that? They were actually useful for once, you know? I mean like, they were doing their job and all, only it was sort of stupid, 'cause it wasn't like we were doing anything wrong."
"Is that where the fight was?" Spain said.
"Oh, dear, I think it was," France said. "The fight." He shook his head.
"Oh, yeah, West, there was a fight! Nothing big. Just a little spat between us and the police. It was chill. Most of the people fought on our side, so we totally outnumbered them. It was like back in the day when that little Austrian priss had all those allies against us but he couldn't do squat. It was like that. Wait. No. I take that back. Fuck, I can't think."
"I remember smashing someone on the head with a guitar," Spain said, touching a finger to his chin. "Was that me? Maybe it wasn't me."
"It probably wasn't you."
"Head on. Someone smashed a cop head on with the guitar. It was beautiful to watch. One moment there's a guitar and the next, there's a broken guitar. Man, it was amazing. Almost as amazing as me. I mean, wait, no, that's impossible. Nothing's as amazing as me. But, shit, West, you get what I mean. And then we valiant three ran away while some French citizens held off the police. I gotta go back and thank them one day."
"Then, we jumped into the river Seine," finished France. "I managed to keep my hair out of the water though."
"How did you do that? Where did you get that tie?"
"I am always prepared."
"Remember the second world war?"
"Be silenced, you half-breed!"
"So we jumped into the river and swam to the other side. Miraculously, we didn't drown. Yeah, we swam across, really! Reached the other side. And then we realized that that was the side we'd come from. So we're like, damn, let's jump this city. So we left the place. I think the police followed us. I don't know how they did that. Anyway."
"We left footprints," said Spain. "Our clothes were very wet." Their clothes were still partially wet.
"Went into the Bois. That was crazy, West, I tell you. It still is. Yeah, and you nearly shitted your pants back then. Yeah, you'd still do that now. The least craziest thing happened there was, uh. What happened there?"
"Met a couple of whores and treated them to coffee."
"That's right. Yeah, West, we met a couple of hookers and drank coffee with them. The really cheap kind of coffee. The kind that Little Glasses Shit likes to drink, only with five cups of sugar added to it. And then, uh, we went south. Yeah. Went to Italy's house and hung out there for a while."
"Romano was not particularly happy," Spain said. This was the second thing he knew. He would have to apologize later, when he wasn't feeling as tight, when he could actually think straight. Right now, the wall in front of him looked as if it had come two steps closer. That was not supposed to happen, he thought.
"We teepeed the Vatican. Shit, man, why are the walls so damn tall? And those Swiss bastards were guarding the place so that made it hard. But so worth it. I almost kept falling off because one of them turned the guns on me, but I climbed up and France threw me the toilet paper and Spain talked to the nice Italian kid in the front. He was explaining what we were doing. A new form of worship. To praise the, uh, Pope. You know, the Pope, West. The Pope! Gotta respect the Pope. Romano's pretty pissed, I hear. Oh, he already called? To complain? What'd he say?"
"What did Romano say?" asked Spain.
"Tell you later," said Prussia. Then: "Oh, really? Well, that's to be expected. Yeah, okay, maybe in hindsight that probably wasn't the best thing to do. Er, yeah. The Swiss guards are gonna have some cleaning to do. A lot of shit cleaning to do. Maybe they can color the paper red and call it Christmas decorations? Oops. Well, anyway. Then we went and ate some pizza for the hell of it. Tomatoes and all."
"Oh, Romano," said Spain, and put his head in his hands. Oh Romano.
"There, there, cher," said France in a comforting way,
"I actually remember more than I meant to," he replied.
"That's how it always is."
"Yeah, then we went around to the Tiber and made some whoopee-I mean, noise. They had a bunch of boats down there, too. God, what's it with boats and Catholics? Anyway, it was pretty fun there, too. Drank some wine. Italian shit. Good as hell. I mean, heaven. Yeah."
Spain still had his head in his hands. France was still patting him on the back.
"That's most of it," said Prussia. The phone was feeling warm in his hands. The watchman looking at them seemed worried. "I think. Oh, right, Moscow. How'd we end up here?"
"We met Russia up by Hungary's house. He was checking up on her, he said. And, well," Spain stopped. There would be no need to say any more than that.
"I think that's pretty self-explanatory. We met Russia. He brought us up to Moscow. Yeah. West, you sound upset. Were you worried for my well-being? Truly? Aw, West, I'm touched. From the bottom of my truly manly and testosterone-oozing heart, I'm touched. I'm so touched I might go and write a limerick. So, West, that's how we ended up in Moscow. I said I'd tell it to you and I have. I forgot some stuff, I mean, and I may have deliberately left other parts out, but, uh. Yeah. Just come and bail us out? I mean, I don't want to spend the night in some pissy Russian jail. I've done it before and I can tell you it ain't pleasant. The Bois is bad enough. Yeah, I mean, seriously. Thanks, West. I knew you'd understand."
"Oh, thank the lord," said France.
"Oh, Romano," said Spain.
"So, West, come over as soon as right now, right? West? West?" Prussia held the phone in front of him. "Fuck, connection's lost."
"But he is coming, right?"
"Well, he never explicitly said, but I'd assume so . . . "
Prussia blinked. Once. Twice.
Oh, as they so eloquently say, fuck.
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a masterlist of all my hetalia fic can be found here.
Author: sonofon
Character(s): Prussia, France, Spain; which means there is also, by unfortunate association, mention of Germany, England, and Romano.
Rating: surprisingly, this is only PG-13.
Warning: BAD TOUCH TRIO. ALL NIGHT LOOOONG. and some teepeeing of the Vatican. Ahem.
Summary: Through a series of mishaps and unplanned actions, the three have ended up in a jail in Moscow. Prussia calls Germany for bail and is forced to explain.
Notes: this was written a long long time ago when I spent a lot of time at a place known as hetalia_kink. I haven't been there in forever fffff
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"So, I'll start from the beginning 'cause I might as well, and you know, it'd be really annoying to have to go back and explain everything to you and it's like, God, I'll tell you everything, just give me a fucking second. Okay? Okay. Just promise me you'll come and bail me out?"
"Me, too," added Spain.
"And I, of course, cannot be forgotten," France said, nursing the small cut on his elbow.
"Well, there you go," said Prussia. "You're paying bail for all three of us, West. I promise, once I'm out I'll pay you back. I swear. Pinky promise and all that shit. I'll also pay you back for that game you got me the other day. You know, the one Japan was advertising. The really cool one. The one with the dungeon and the hot chick with the huge tits who was blasting everyone's heads off. She was, not the tits. The blonde one. Yeah. Expensive? The game? Um, no? I don't think so. Oh, West!"
"Is he coming? This is a call for bailout, not a confession," said France. "Had I known it'd be like this, I would have called England. Then we would be out by now."
"And then we would be forced to go back with him, which is never pleasant," Spain said.
"England is very pleasant, but it takes a certain amount of Fundador."
"Oh, he likes amontillado?"
"Mm-hmm."
Prussia covered the receiver of the phone. "He keeps sighing and making funny little sounds, but dammit, that'd better be his way of saying yes. He does want to know what happened though."
"Abridged or the director's cut?" Spain asked, innocently enough.
"Do you even remember what happened?" asked France.
"Bits and pieces, yes."
"And we can always improvise."
"Ooh, yes."
"Well, West, sure." Prussia nodded and cupped the phone in his right hand. "Sure. We're in, uh, Moscow." There was a silence. Spain sadly shook his head.
"Yeah. Moscow."
Prussia paused. "Want me to start?"
"Mon dieu, hurry up," said France. "My cut is developing into an infection and at this rate, my people will have all drowned of wine by the time you finish. And what a waste of wine."
"Well, see, we were in Paris-"
"The Quarter," Spain put in. He knew where they'd started out. That was one thing he knew.
"The Quarter," said Prussia. "The place where they have the dance clubs and the bars. I guess you wouldn't know since you didn't come with the rest of us when we went sightseeing last time. Anyway. So we were, uh. Fuck, what were we doing?"
"Drinking," said Spain. "What else? What were we drinking?"
"Chablis," said France. "Or at least I was. I don't know what devilish concoctions you two were drinking."
"I stole someone's drink about halfway through. I think he's mad at me now. I didn't see his face though. He was drinking bad cognac. Then I had to drink something even worse to get the taste out. What was it?"
"Probably beer."
"Hey, don't diss beer! Oh, sorry, West, wasn't talking to you. Huh. Well. Well," continued Prussia, "so West, we were there, right? What? What'd ya say? How we end up in Moscow? Well, I'm never gonna get to that part of the story if you don't ever let me talk. Yeah. Quit interrupting! Fuck. My head. Okay. Wait."
"Oh, I think I remember now!" said Spain. "There was a girl. Someone France knew. Didn't you know her? You said you knew her."
"Of course, I know all of my citizens very well."
"But you knew her."
"Oh, yes."
"There was a girl," Prussia said into the phone. "Well, to tell the truth, there were a lot of girls. West, stop thinking ahead of me! I know you're blushing right now, but this is a time for maturity and clear thinking. Yeah, I just said that, so listen up. It was a bar, for Chrissakes! What'd you expect? A Catholic get-together?"
"Catholics. That's a good one." Spain laughed.
"You're Catholic, too, remember?" said France.
"Ah, well, I suppose . . . "
"Anyway, so there was this chick there that France knew and we all talked a little and it was really nice. I mean, she was really nice. Nice tits and all. Wait, what am I saying?"
"Very nice breasts," Spain unhelpfully said. "Was she blonde?"
"I think so," said France.
"A blonde," said Prussia. "West, no, don't go all religious on me now. I'm telling it to you straight-oh Christ, that's funny: straight? geddit?-and I'm telling you there was a girl. Maybe there was more than one. Or ten."
"One was of them was very indignant though," said France. "I remember. She wore glasses and her hair was slightly curled. She was not French. She was not. And I should know."
"Guess what, West, the girl wasn't French! I'm talking about another one, of course, God, can't you keep them straight? And we were in Paris. But the girl wasn't French. She was, what, American? That's fucking hilarious."
"Canadian," France clarified. "From Quebec."
"She was from Quebec," said Prussia. "Yeah, I know. I'm not too into those sort of girls anyway, but you know, it's always the really quiet ones. And I mean the really quiet ones. She talked philosophy. And the merits of cheese. Oh, West, stop that! I'm telling you the whole story, aren't I? And well, I'll never be able to tell you the whole thing if you don't let me say it. So. Anyways. We left the place after a while. We went. We went-where did we go?"
"Across the street and then zigzagged the square and we went to the island. Up by the Notre Dame. Ate a couple of raw eggs."
"Ate some raw eggs. They didn't help squat. Maybe we drank some more. What'd we drink? Whiskey? And then danced a bit. Danced a little jig. France can dance a damn good jig. He's damn good at a lot of things."
"Indeed," said France.
"There was a girl called Georgiana," Spain smiled. "And she kept getting sick from the pernod, which she kept drinking. And she wore a very nice hat and she was pretty."
"But what an ugly smile," France shook his head.
"No, that's the other one. The one who tried to sit on you."
"I no longer remember who tried to sit on me," France announced.
"Well, fuck, so we went to the island. There was a barge. Dancing. Have I said that? Only, I think someone at the last bar had alerted the cops about us. And they followed us to the island. Fuck, can you imagine that? They were actually useful for once, you know? I mean like, they were doing their job and all, only it was sort of stupid, 'cause it wasn't like we were doing anything wrong."
"Is that where the fight was?" Spain said.
"Oh, dear, I think it was," France said. "The fight." He shook his head.
"Oh, yeah, West, there was a fight! Nothing big. Just a little spat between us and the police. It was chill. Most of the people fought on our side, so we totally outnumbered them. It was like back in the day when that little Austrian priss had all those allies against us but he couldn't do squat. It was like that. Wait. No. I take that back. Fuck, I can't think."
"I remember smashing someone on the head with a guitar," Spain said, touching a finger to his chin. "Was that me? Maybe it wasn't me."
"It probably wasn't you."
"Head on. Someone smashed a cop head on with the guitar. It was beautiful to watch. One moment there's a guitar and the next, there's a broken guitar. Man, it was amazing. Almost as amazing as me. I mean, wait, no, that's impossible. Nothing's as amazing as me. But, shit, West, you get what I mean. And then we valiant three ran away while some French citizens held off the police. I gotta go back and thank them one day."
"Then, we jumped into the river Seine," finished France. "I managed to keep my hair out of the water though."
"How did you do that? Where did you get that tie?"
"I am always prepared."
"Remember the second world war?"
"Be silenced, you half-breed!"
"So we jumped into the river and swam to the other side. Miraculously, we didn't drown. Yeah, we swam across, really! Reached the other side. And then we realized that that was the side we'd come from. So we're like, damn, let's jump this city. So we left the place. I think the police followed us. I don't know how they did that. Anyway."
"We left footprints," said Spain. "Our clothes were very wet." Their clothes were still partially wet.
"Went into the Bois. That was crazy, West, I tell you. It still is. Yeah, and you nearly shitted your pants back then. Yeah, you'd still do that now. The least craziest thing happened there was, uh. What happened there?"
"Met a couple of whores and treated them to coffee."
"That's right. Yeah, West, we met a couple of hookers and drank coffee with them. The really cheap kind of coffee. The kind that Little Glasses Shit likes to drink, only with five cups of sugar added to it. And then, uh, we went south. Yeah. Went to Italy's house and hung out there for a while."
"Romano was not particularly happy," Spain said. This was the second thing he knew. He would have to apologize later, when he wasn't feeling as tight, when he could actually think straight. Right now, the wall in front of him looked as if it had come two steps closer. That was not supposed to happen, he thought.
"We teepeed the Vatican. Shit, man, why are the walls so damn tall? And those Swiss bastards were guarding the place so that made it hard. But so worth it. I almost kept falling off because one of them turned the guns on me, but I climbed up and France threw me the toilet paper and Spain talked to the nice Italian kid in the front. He was explaining what we were doing. A new form of worship. To praise the, uh, Pope. You know, the Pope, West. The Pope! Gotta respect the Pope. Romano's pretty pissed, I hear. Oh, he already called? To complain? What'd he say?"
"What did Romano say?" asked Spain.
"Tell you later," said Prussia. Then: "Oh, really? Well, that's to be expected. Yeah, okay, maybe in hindsight that probably wasn't the best thing to do. Er, yeah. The Swiss guards are gonna have some cleaning to do. A lot of shit cleaning to do. Maybe they can color the paper red and call it Christmas decorations? Oops. Well, anyway. Then we went and ate some pizza for the hell of it. Tomatoes and all."
"Oh, Romano," said Spain, and put his head in his hands. Oh Romano.
"There, there, cher," said France in a comforting way,
"I actually remember more than I meant to," he replied.
"That's how it always is."
"Yeah, then we went around to the Tiber and made some whoopee-I mean, noise. They had a bunch of boats down there, too. God, what's it with boats and Catholics? Anyway, it was pretty fun there, too. Drank some wine. Italian shit. Good as hell. I mean, heaven. Yeah."
Spain still had his head in his hands. France was still patting him on the back.
"That's most of it," said Prussia. The phone was feeling warm in his hands. The watchman looking at them seemed worried. "I think. Oh, right, Moscow. How'd we end up here?"
"We met Russia up by Hungary's house. He was checking up on her, he said. And, well," Spain stopped. There would be no need to say any more than that.
"I think that's pretty self-explanatory. We met Russia. He brought us up to Moscow. Yeah. West, you sound upset. Were you worried for my well-being? Truly? Aw, West, I'm touched. From the bottom of my truly manly and testosterone-oozing heart, I'm touched. I'm so touched I might go and write a limerick. So, West, that's how we ended up in Moscow. I said I'd tell it to you and I have. I forgot some stuff, I mean, and I may have deliberately left other parts out, but, uh. Yeah. Just come and bail us out? I mean, I don't want to spend the night in some pissy Russian jail. I've done it before and I can tell you it ain't pleasant. The Bois is bad enough. Yeah, I mean, seriously. Thanks, West. I knew you'd understand."
"Oh, thank the lord," said France.
"Oh, Romano," said Spain.
"So, West, come over as soon as right now, right? West? West?" Prussia held the phone in front of him. "Fuck, connection's lost."
"But he is coming, right?"
"Well, he never explicitly said, but I'd assume so . . . "
Prussia blinked. Once. Twice.
Oh, as they so eloquently say, fuck.
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a masterlist of all my hetalia fic can be found here.