[Fanfiction] An International Affair, 2a/?
Title: An International Affair
Author/Artist: Theos99
Genre: Humor, Romance, Adventure/Action, AU
Pairing(s): AmericaxEngland, AustriaxHungary (n.b. I only listed the obvious ones; you can take all other pairings as romantic or platonic)
Rating/Warnings: T
Summary: Prince Arthur Kirkland, heir to the British crown, is pushed into a world in which way too many people try to kill him when he stumbles across a certain annoying American.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia.
Author’s Notes: Taiwan = Huang Rong (n.b. “Rong” is her first name, and cookies to anyone who can guess where Taiwan’s name came from! *hint* Asian drama ^__^). Should have also noted this before, but all characters are the ages they appear to be in the official series (e.g. Arthur is 23, Alfred is 19, etc.). Sorry for lateness! L Wrote a little before losing my muse (but luckily watching Lady Gaga live on Youtube revived her J)
Chapter One: http://theos99.livejournal.com/5906.html
Chapter Two
Deserted warehouse, London
2:39 AM
A police car sped past, blaring sirens piercing through the darkness.
The sudden light snapped over a slight figure slipping into a nearby building, whipping across pale skin, illuminating the faint smudges above his cheekbones. His dark brown eyes were discernibly Asiatic.
Kuso.
The man quickened his pace, a thin line creasing his forehead as he picked his way across the scattered debris, eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. If they had seen him here…Stop. Focus.
Veering abruptly to his left, Kiku Honda stepped over the threshold of an open doorway. Its hinges, rusted with time, still bore traces of a wooden door that had been ripped off violently - a relic from the international bloodbath that had erupted when news of Roma Vargas’ assassination hit the streets five years ago.
The dark blotches near the boarded-up window shifted.
Sporting a pair of ripped, taped jeans and a faded shirt that proclaimed, “Anarcny in thc U.K,” Rong Huang met his gaze evenly, mouth twitching…Kiku accepted the thin sheaf of paper neatly stapled at its upper right hand corner. Information was scarce; their pool of informants had drained rapidly now that the few remaining pockets of resistance against the newly anointed Vargas Don crumbled. Oh, no - Lovino Vargas was quite a formidable foe when one cared to look beyond his deceptively child-like face. The paper crinkled (too many agents had already - ).
No matter. He would not allow anything to obstruct their goal, not when they were so close… Kiku scanned the contents of the report, painstakingly handwritten in their personal code. His gaze focused, intent.
A39iL
9.15
September fifteenth. At his swift glance upwards, his partner flicked her eyes at the door.
He’s on to us.
They were going to be heavily in the disadvantage if the plan had to go forward now - nearly two weeks ahead of schedule - but if it couldn’t be helped…
Still, Kiku mused, rubbing a hand absentmindedly at the grit clinging in his eyes, I wish it didn’t have to turn out this way, Alfred.
----------------------------------------------------HETALIA----------------------------------------------------
Clarence House*, London
Around midday
The official study of the Prince of Wales was rather impressive. Any visitors entering the room would immediately be confronted by furniture so well-polished that glimpsing one’s reflection was really a quite feasible notion.
But in spite of its intimidating veneer, the room still held an air of domesticity. The desk, while in spectacular condition, was well-worn, and the elegantly embroidered pillows (several of which sported an intriguing pattern of unicorns) scattered around the various upholstery gave off a warm, welcoming feeling.
Today the study appeared especially enticing. Soft, wistful notes (1) floated gently through the air from the grand piano, the acoustics of the room transforming the already lovely piece of music into something fantastical. In fact, one could most understandably assume that the Prince of Wales, though forbidden to toe one step outside of the House ever since his latest escapades, was enjoying a relaxing, peaceful morning.
Of course, one would also have to ignore the other new addition to the room.
“Alright, spill,” the Countess Elizabeta Hedervary-Edelstein grinned, dangling a rather battered looking paper cup in front of the heir-apparent’s face, whose increasingly unsubtle attempts to retrieve it brought him closer towards tipping over his chair.
“You already know what happened!”
Elizabeta nimbly danced out of Arthur’s reaching fingers, “But I want to know what else happened! Your account was so uninspiring (here her eyes took on a particular glint that made Arthur cringe): We had coffee afterwards. Come on, you have to give me something! Did you drool over his abs? Was he a good shag?” Waving a finger at Arthur’s slowly reddening face, his cousin intoned mockingly, “It’s all for your own good.”
Sometimes Arthur wished that his grandmother didn’t know everything (although by virtue of the fact that she paid Ivan’s paycheck this was probably just another pipe dream). But she could have done something other than calling his meddlesome cousin over to “look after him” while she was at bloody Balmoral (2)!
“Bleeding hell! We just had a cup of coffee!” Arthur shouted, mentally plotting how best to dump Peter into the nearest rubbish bin (Make sense? No? Whatever. It would make him feel better, anyways. Oh god, don’t think about the headlines, don’t think).
The accursed cup was waved in front of him tauntingly, “Then what is this?”
Feeling his cheeks redden (blasted genetics), Arthur hoisted his chair back into a less precarious position, snatching the first useless folder of paperwork from its teetering stack. Focus, focus…now, when should he schedule that charity trip…
Quiet.
Arthur risked a peek upwards.
And widened his eyes in horror as the countess reached into her handbag to pull out a rather familiar set of photographs. Oh bloody hell were those…
Scattering the paperwork in a forgotten pile around his desk, Arthur attempted to banish the Dangers of Alcohol and Old Costumes from his mind, hissing, “Fine, I’ll call him but for the love of God put those away!”
As his cousin obligingly held the cup in front of him, Arthur punched the numbers into his mobile. Two rings, then:
“Hello?”
Arthur cleared his throat. “Hello, Mr. - Alfred? This is Arthur. From - before. The coffee cup. I mean, last night - ”
“Give me that!”
Thump. “No! Elizabeta what are you - ”
“Hello, is this Alfred of the Amazing Abs? This is Elizabeta, Arthur’s cousin.”
Mournful notes (2) emerged sympathetically from the far corner.
A pause. “Really?”
“How about seven? Tonight?”
Squealing. “Of course!”
Elizabeta giggled, snapping the phone shut. “He’s so cute!” She tapped her chin with an index finger and turned to critically examine Arthur, who was attempting to asphyxiate himself with a pillow, “but we’ll have to get you ready.”
“Now? But it’s barely half past!”
“ - let’s see…We’ll need a…” Elizabeta continued over her cousin’s protests, halting only briefly in her (shopping?) fantasy to snag Arthur’s arm and tow him towards the doorway.
“Wait! Who is “we?” I never agreed to - ”
“Oh sweetie, I didn’t mean you! We’re going to see Feliks, of course! That man is such a wonder with clothes...”
Continued here: http://theos99.livejournal.com/6253.html