[Fanfiction] England's Italian Makeover, Part 1/2
…sorry for late update! Hopefully this didn’t fail too horribly… (also had to cut the post into two parts)
Title: England’s Italian Makeover, 1/2
Author/Artist: Theos99
Character/Pairings: America/England
Rating/Warnings: T
Summary: England gets an Italian makeover. (And shaves his erogenous eyebrows). Guess which change America notices?
Disclaimer: Hetalia characters are not owned by me.
Notes: from two prompts: angel_shin’s “England primping up his brows and America totally hates it” and bittergreentea’s “Arthur and his Italian makeover.”
Pairings: America/England
England’s Italian Makeover
(midday, hotel near L’Aquila, Italy)
Arthur wrenched the door to his hotel room open before violently slamming it shut behind him.
That stupid bloody idiot! Honestly, Arthur didn’t know why he kept on voluntarily (really, he must be absolutely cracked) speaking to that dolt.
But what exactly did he expect? Just because America’s new boss kept on talking about change, it didn’t mean that Alfred was suddenly going to morph overnight into a responsible, sensitive individual (although that would be rather frightening).
But the prat could have at least picked up on a few manners!
(1 hour earlier, G8 Conference room)
As Alfred finished addressing the current global warming crisis, Arthur had to admit that he was rather impressed.
Typically, the American would sprout off some random nonsense about creating a giant robot or hamburger bun “to patch up that big hole in the sky” (as Alfred would proudly proclaim, striking up his customary hero pose). But this time, the American had walked in with a stack of thoroughly prepared folders for everyone and a semi-professional (Arthur noted that his former colony still couldn’t leave out the flashy transitions) slideshow presentation (he should have counted that last sparkly transition as a sign for the imminent disaster that was to follow).
The proposals Alfred had brought up weren’t too bad, either. It looked as though that new president of his was finally getting through his thick skull, something that Arthur had never been able to do, even when America was younger…
Quickly shaking off the last vestiges of his jealousy, Arthur stood up and strode towards the taller blond. The rest of the nations had already scattered after Feliciano (as one of their privileges for being this year’s G8 host, the Italian twins were allowed to decide the schedule) had called for a lunch break (the younger Italian was immediately seconded by Romano).
The British man cleared his throat politely. “Alfred - ”
Hearing his voice, the American turned around, his face sporting a wide grin. “Hey Iggy! (Arthur winced) Did you like my speech? My boss, I mean, Obama - he says it’s okay to call him that - went over it for a long time with me. But I,” Here his mouth set into a determined line, “want to change for the better, new opportunities and all that - ”
Suddenly he grinned at Arthur, “Don’t worry, old man! We’re going to be putting in these changes nice and slowly, so you don’t have to worry about not being able to catch up with the times. Your eyebrows can still hang in there for a while longer!”
(back at the hotel)
Arthur dropped his G8 folder onto the desk and sat down on the chair.
Alfred was right anyways; not only could Arthur not cook, his hair was a complete disaster and his eyebrows weren’t even worth mentioning.
Arthur had tried to get a better haircut before (that bloody frog Francis had ended up cutting it back to its original bird’s nest state) and even shaved off his eyebrows in a fit of pique (they grew back overnight). Nothing ever worked. He was still the same old, boring, unattractive, ugly-browed England.
And Alfred would never like him.
Sighing heavily, Arthur began to organize the papers on the table again. He just needed to pick up a few more official documents before going out to grab a bite to eat.
As Arthur was about to get up from his chair, he caught sight of a business card lying on the table. The words “The Plaza” were emblazoned on it, with the smaller print of “founded by Howard Aldridge, 1946” placed directly underneath them.
The British man felt his lips turn up slightly. Good old chap, that Howard.
After World War II, Howard had decided to remain in Italy (his cover wasn’t broken, and he had met a rather lovely Italian woman). As the former spy had fallen in love with Italian fashions, he opened a store that sold Italian clothing. The modest establishment soon grew into a fully developed fashion district, “The Plaza,” that boasted of everything from clothing stores to hairdressers and every conceivable component needed to fully provide for even the most fashion-obsessed customers.
Suddenly an impossible idea popped into Arthur’s head. No bloody way, Arthur thought, with an edge of hysteria, clutching the card in his suddenly sweating palms. He must be absolutely bollocks, a complete nutter -
That’s when Arthur found himself running out of his room like a madman.
(The Plaza)
Now that Arthur had actually reached The Plaza, he realized that it was all just a big mistake. What was he thinking, sprinting off like that?
The Briton gazed around at the multitudes of lovely Italians around him despondently. He could never be like one of them, with his horrible eyebrows and hair and -
“Sir?”
Giving his head a quick shake, Arthur turned around to see a fashionably dressed Italian stylist looking at him questioningly.
“Well,” Arthur coughed slightly, “I, well…” Flailing around, the British man ended up just gesturing at himself wordlessly.
The Italian nodded in complete understanding, “Does sir want the complete works?”
“Er…yes, I suppose.” Arthur added, hopefully, “This can be done within the hour, right?”
Arthur usually spent only fifteen minutes at the most tugging on his clothes and giving his hair a quick brushing, but judging by the expression on the Italian’s face, this probably wasn’t very conducive to his overall appearance.
“Well then,” the Italian clapped his hands briskly after a brief pause. A huge crowd of attendants immediately swarmed around the two, pulling out tape measures and clucking softly to themselves. “we must get started immediately!”
Before he was completely whisked away, Arthur felt another rush of uncertainty run through him. He quickly shook it off. He was Arthur bloody Kirkland, for god’s sake! He could bloody well change his appearance if he wanted to.
Notes:
The 35th G8 summit took place in L’Aquila, Italy.
Howard is the name of the British spy from this comic strip: http://community.livejournal.com/hetalia/3154537.html.
Yes, Arthur’s eyebrows are erogenous!