Blind Carbon Copy (6/?)
Title: Blind Carbon Copy (6/?)
Author: weird_number
Genre: Adventure, Drama
Ratings/Warnings: PG13/Angst/Humor
Summary: Japan's new teleportation machine goes awry, and an America from a world where his Revolution was disastrous comes to visit.
Pairings: US/UK. Germany/France on the side.
Also at ff.net: [6], Previously on LJ: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]
-
If everyone hadn't been staring at them, Canada was sure he would've willingly dug his own grave to avoid the fury in Russia's gaze.
"The two of you," Russia snarled, "the two of you were never even here for the trial. What makes you think your votes would mean a thing?"
"Oh, we weren't here, right?" America snapped sarcastically, "Yes, just because you weren't courteous enough to invite us and provide seats for us doesn't mean we weren't fucking present. And didn't you tell England a few minutes ago that he's free to bring whichever colonies of his he wants? We're here now, aren't we? If you think we're just gonna let you kick us out because of some arbitrary crap-rules you made up-well, that's not going to happen!"
"Wrong," Russia replied, "it seems to me that the two of you were spying on us, were you not? Or else how would you have heard my reply to England earlier? That is more than enough reason to disqualify the two of you from being on the jury."
Canada chanced a glance at England. The nation was looking rather disoriented, as if he couldn't decide whether he ought to punch America in the face for being disobedient, or unite with his colony against their common enemy-Russia. Then England looked like he'd decided on the latter, because he snapped, "Bullshit, Russia. Trials are an open affair, and anyone who wishes to attend is free to do so. It is impossible for America and Canada to have been spying when they were perfectly welcome to listen in the first place."
"That is besides the point. They want to serve on the jury, but they were late, Angliya. Why should I trust that they've overheard the entire trial? And how can they be allowed to serve on the jury if they haven't? Incomplete information does not allow for good decision-making, wouldn't you agree?"
"And how exactly would you know they weren't present for the entire meeting? I'm noticing a pattern from you, Russia. You seem to enjoy making accusation after accusation that you can't prove, somehow expecting to swindle us with your words. I should inform you that we aren't that easy to trick," England replied smoothly.
England, Canada knew, quite enjoyed his verbal spars, especially when his opponent was Russia. Of course, England and Russia were hardly compatible debaters-while England valued high wit, Russia was a great troll. (Russia had once rewired England's radio to blast the Tetris song at extreme volume anytime England's feet touched the floor. How he'd managed to fit pressure sensors under England's floor would forever remain a mystery.)
"Fine then, America, Canada. What accusation did England throw my way?" Russia asked, voice challenging.
America grinned, bright with excitement. "He accused you of dealing me drugs, duh! I was here the whole time, I told you-"
"Oh, and did I deal you drugs, America?" Russia's lips were pressed into a thin line. There was something threatening about his posture, something horribly dangerous, but America failed to notice.
Instead, in an act most unfit for the situation, America threw back his head and laughed, eyes lit with mirth. "You know, Russia, perhaps you have. It depends on whether you're talking about literally or metaphorically."
Russia, realizing that he couldn't win in an argument with America (who was, it seemed, crazy-what was up with that laugh?), turned to England instead. If he couldn't back America into a corner, he would make it impossible for the Anglophones to work together. "Angliya," Russia leered, "it seems like you have no control over your wayward colonies. It is quite pathetic that you allow them free reign over your affairs-the two of them barge into our meeting against your wishes and what do you do? Stand there and take it? It makes me wonder-who is the colonized and who is the colonizer?"
"Don't run your fucking mouth on things you know nothing about," England snarled, "You should be the one mourning, you poor fool-you're the one with useless drones for colonies-at least mine can think for themselves! I wonder, Russia, what's it like when your colonies are barely an upgrade above robots? Surely with our technological progress you can obtain bots any day of the week?"
"Oh, and I suppose you must be ever so proud of your spoiled brats, hm? Because, yes, having spoiled little pigs must be so appetizing."
"Enough!" Switzerland cut in (America thought he did an impressive imitation of Germany-the two of them even spoke the same language, didn't they?), "Can we please get back to voting? Russia, England, I am sick of your antics, and I'm sure everyone else here shares my sentiments."
"Wrong," Russia snapped, turning his glare on Switzerland, "I do not care who shares your sentiments, but America is the subject of the trial. How is it possible that his vote is not declared void?"
"And how does calling England names help you achieve your goal?" Switzerland snapped back, unfazed by Russia. "Listen, since it's obvious that neither you nor England are capable of acting civilly, we're going to put this up to a vote and let the masses decide. Those that support allowing America and Canada to join the jury, please raise your hands."
Canada looked around the room-hands were going up, one by one. First France (unsurprising, because despite proclaiming himself to be England's rival, he was really quite smitten), then Japan (also unsurprising, as this was some odd form of island solidarity), China (surprising, because wasn't he still irked over Hong Kong?), Spain (unsurprising, because Spain rather liked France), Mongolia (was this because of China?), Portugal (an old ally), Andorra, Finland, Sweden, Norway (unsurprising, as the three often voted together), Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Belgium, and...
Canada's eyes widened, and he quickly met Ukraine and Lithuania's eyes. There seemed to be something off about the way they were looking at Canada-they were planning something, but were they trying to assure themselves or Canada? What were they-would they risk their lives to support the motion? Canada hoped not, because whatever England would do once the affair was all over would almost certainly be better than what Russia would do, and it wasn't right to ask the two Soviet states to suffer such a fate. It was not worth it-he wanted to say-so don't do anything rash!
He choked when he realized that Lithuania had lifted his arm into the air.
"Litva," Russia began, eyebrows raised. He didn't say anymore, because he didn't need to, because everyone knew.
Lithuania looked shaken, but did not respond.
The votes counted in the North American brothers' favor, but Canada wanted to scream. What difference would it make now that Russia was going to destroy Lithuania in the comfort of his own home? Who gave a shit if they won? It was an empty victory, empty because they were asking a close friend to shoulder a huge burden. He met Lithuania's eyes, not sure if it was best to laugh or cry.
"Alright," America continued, oblivious to Lithuania's plight, "Now that that's settled..." He grabbed two sheets of lined paper from Switzerland and shoved both into Canada's hands before Russia could ignite further protest.
After they'd cast their votes, he turned to Switzerland and asked, "So what's the count now?"
"And why would you even need to ask?" Russia snarled, voice thick with barely contained fury. "I cannot believe that everyone here has allowed a clearly biased vote to pass. After these two ignorant pigs barged into the meeting room-does anyone here truly believe that a vote cast by America, who was the one on trial, can somehow be considered legitimate?"
"Look," England seethed, "I'm the one on trial, not America, and if you wish to speak about exactly how biased this jury is, you only need to look around the damn meeting room. I wonder, Russia, if you think bringing all your colonies along is somehow less biased?"
"Alright," Switzerland intervened, "We've listened, we've judged, and we've voted, so I do believe we're done here. If the two of you will kindly take your arguments elsewhere, then perhaps we can move onto something more important."
Russia and England shot each other heated glares, but remained silent.
"Now then," Switzerland continued, "North Italy requests that we begin our lunch break. All those in favor?"
The motion passed unanimously.
-
America had wanted to go bother Japan, but as soon as the words 'lunch break' were pronounced, the nation was nowhere to be found. And worse, despite their protests that they'd already eaten, England had insisted that Canada and America join him. The Empire was picking delicately at his food (which, Canada noted with some amusement, was Hong Kong's cooking and not his own).
Canada shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He had no idea how America could sit at the table with England and not look the least bit nervous-England had broke his arm, for fuck's sake!
"I suppose..." England began stiffly, glancing surreptitiously at America's arm, "I suppose I should thank the two of you. Even though you started it in the first place."
America snorted, turning away. "Yeah, you do that."
There was another awkward silence, during which America fumed, Canada fidgeted, and England pondered on a reasonable conversation topic. Eventually, England broke the silence. "Look, you two shouldn't just watch me eat. There's a nice sandwich place down this street. I can buy you both something-"
America answered for both of them. "We've already eaten."
"Dessert, then? There's a bakery nearby with Russian pastries."
"Not hungr-"
Before he could finish his petulant outcry, America felt someone-Canada-kick his leg. Okay, so he probably shouldn't have been so rude, because if his theory were at all true, he'd have to try harder to actually act like a British colony, Victorian era politeness and all. Pissing off England would only waste his time, time that he should be spending on fixing Japan's machine. But how exactly had he behaved back in the day?
Canada turned to England and said, "We're not too hungry, England, but dessert would be nice."
"Yes, dessert does sound good," America hastily amended, glancing back and forth between his brother and England. Hopefully this particular bakery had syrniki-his favorite Russian-style pancake. He'd remembered wolfing down a large number of them at a summit with Russia once, and then becoming offended when Russia had discreetly mouthed 'fatty' in his direction. Why did the nation have to be such a bastard about America's weight? He did get the last laugh when Russia's boss had agreed to go to a burger place with his boss though-oh, the look on Ivan's face!
-
Lunch was the most awkward affair England had ever engaged in. He wasn't sure what to feel-because yes, in some sense, the North American brothers' disobedience of his orders had allowed him to win the trial, but wasn't it also because of their disobedience that the trial had to be held in the first place? It was a double-edged sword, it really was, and he couldn't trust his colonies to handle it properly.
"America, Canada. I hope you both understand that what happened today is not to become a common occurrence."
"Certainly." Canada was quick to agree. America, on the other hand, remained alarmingly silent.
"America," England grumbled, impatient. "Did you hear what I said?"
America grunted. "Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Which part exactly do you not want to be a common occurrence? The mishap in the meeting room or the part where I swooped in to save your-"
"Look," England snapped, frustrated, "I want neither incident repeated, understood? You have no experience in the dealings of international affairs, and if you think repeating stunts like that will get you somewhere, you're horribly mistaken. I'm only telling you this for your sake-the world is not a forgiving place, and you were only lucky that a mass of nations didn't kick you out of the meeting room."
America nodded absent-mindedly. Technically, England was right-he didn't know the international affairs of this new universe he'd been forced to inhabit, though he'd had plenty of experience in dealing with a motley crew of nations. Maybe England just needed a nudge in the right direction-what did his psychologists call it again? Oh yes, positive reinforcement. (Or, summed up more primitively: Step 1. Praise England. Step 2. Make a request. Step 3. ??? Step 4. Profit!)
"So England," America began, "I agree with you and everything, but don't you think we're more than ready to navigate these affairs by now? I mean, how can it hurt to gain some experience, to learn a bit? You could teach us or something-it'd be great!"
"Don't be daft!" England grumbled, "What could the two of you possibly understand?"
America looked ready to protest, until England continued, "Actually, there is maybe something you two could do for me. Did you see-today-during the vote-what Lithuania did?"
Canada's eyes widened, because he hadn't really considered England's reaction-was he suspecting something? Did he know what Lithuania's true purpose was? He could only hope not, because what if England suspected that Lithuania's actions were deeper than simple rebellion against Russia? What if he knew of their deformed friendship, what if-
"In any case," England continued, "I suspect that something, perhaps a rift of some sort, is developing between Lithuania and Russia. I don't know if this rift extends to the other Baltic states, because for Lithuania to openly express his disapproval of Russia's policies..." England chuckled, looking at America. "It's quite the interesting development, I must say. And since you two insist on learning a thing or two about international politics-I'll give you something to mull over-see if you can deepen the rift between Lithuania and Russia."
"And if we-" America paused to stuff the last bite of syrniki into his mouth, and Canada cringed. How many times had England told him not to eat like that? "-if we manage to do this-then what?"
England gave him a disapproving look, whether about the (lack of) etiquette or the statement itself no one could tell. "You really are forgetful, America. Don't you remember that time I told you about the documents detailling Russia's political infighting? This, combined with those documents, will help us to bring Russia down a peg or two. He and his sordid communist affairs, they really don't have a place in this world, wouldn't you agree?"
"Well, duh," America agreed smoothly, "Whoever doesn't agree is an anti-Am-anti-democratic idiot!" He hastily corrected himself, realizing that "anti-American" was probably not an appropriate phrase, given their current situation. Hopefully England didn't misconstrue his statement to be sarcastically mocking the validity of the British Empire's...whatever they were doing.
-
As soon as the meeting had reconvened and England was tucked in the safe recesses of the meeting room, Canada dragged America aside and said, "Look, America, I don't have any idea exactly how crazy you are, but did Russia give you drugs or not? Tell me the truth."
"What?" America asked, a bewildered look plastered on his face, "Seriously man, of course he didn't! I don't take drugs from bastards like him, and he isn't even all that good at producing anything I like anyway. I mean, shit, who really wants to drink vodka? The damn thing tastes like rubbing alcohol mixed with toilet cleaner-not that I've tasted toilet cleaner-and I'm not cutting my lifespan in half just to enjoy a drink. Besides, I already told you I'm not crazy, you saw Japan's machine with your own eyes!"
"Yeah, but what makes you think it did anything? You have no evidence, Alfred, you can't come to an utterly illogical conclusion and expect me to go with it! What if you're an impostor? What if someone planted you here to spy-"
"Are you kidding me? If I'm spying why the hell would I bother to help England today? It's pretty pointless if I were a Russian spy, don't you think?"
And that, Canada thought, was precisely the reason why America might be an impostor-certainly his 'brother' wasn't a Russian spy, but rather an impostor England had implanted. An impostor who wanted to steal their secrets involving Lithuania and Ukraine and Kazakhstan and...No, that was unlikely, considering that America had suggested, quite fervently, that they plan a revolution. Certainly someone on England's side would not be so vocally encouraging about the matter.
"Alright..." he conceded, "so maybe you're not an impostor. But if your theory or whatever is right, you still know nothing about us, and nothing about-well, everything. If you're going to plan a rebellion..."
Canada wondered silently if his decision to tell this America everything was the right one. But it didn't matter anymore, because his mouth was running for him, as though he had no control over his instincts-"So first of all, the reason Lithuania voted for us today-it's because he's on our side. He doesn't like Russia any more than we like England, and well...we were thinking of setting up a date to stage...simultaneous rebellions. But this wasn't supposed to happen anytime soon, and now that Lithuania has openly expressed his disapproval of Russia-I don't know, I just don't know..."
"Hey, I say it's a sign!" America grinned. "Lithuania obviously wants you guys-us-to start things already. I mean, if he's riled up Russia that much, why not just openly fight? He's got nothing to lose at this point, 'cause if he doesn't fight, I'm betting Russia's going to screw him over."
"Yes, but isn't it obvious yet that we're not ready for a war? We don't have an official army, and we can't exactly train one when England's soldiers are everywhere. If we start a war, the only thing we can really withhold are natural resources, and England is certainly not lacking in allies who are willing to provide resources for him."
"It's not about natural resources or armies or manpower or anything like that, Matt." America had a suddenly serious look on his face, and Canada wondered what exactly he was trying to convey. Then America leaned forward with a gleam in his eye and said, "You'll see, Matt, you'll see. I have a plan, and it involves the people, not fancy guns or uranium pits or what have you. You said that England's people use Baidu as a search engine to protest Optical's censorship, right?"
"Well, yeah, some of them..."
There was a pause before Canada added, "Wait, have you seen the news at all? They're going to be here today, physically staging a protest, and they're..."
-
The annual "Anti-Optical Censorship" rally had always attracted a great number of internet lurkers from their respective mothers' basements. Coming out to the protest marked a monumental moment for each of them, as it was the beginning of the end of a life of armchair protest. England could not stand the protesters-they were too damn loud, too damn rowdy and generally encroached on his quiet Sunday morning in a most unwelcome manner. And worse, how the hell had an entire horde of them been wealthy enough to afford a goddamn flight to Moscow?
Shouting filled his mind, and England clutched his head delicately, trying to concentrate on not falling.
A high pitched voice rocked the base of his skull, and he bit his lip to keep from screaming. "Fuck the government, the pathetic information hoarders that they are!"
This was followed by a hoarse yell: "Fuck censorship! Fuck corporate greed! Fuck the military-industrial complex and its mouthpiece Optical!"
England tilted his head to the side, trying desperately to contain the voices. They lack originality, he told himself, because they were ripping off the "fuck the police" slogans of yesteryear, replacing "police" with their catchphrase of choice-he'd remembered putting those posters up himself, back when he'd had a momentary lapse of mental sanity and identified with the rebellious hooligans. Besides, Optical didn't really censor, they just made it slightly cheaper for the government to push their preferred sites to the top. How in the world was that censorship? It was just a most welcome discount, especially since he was running out of money and his economy was in the hole and these arseholes were choosing to waste money by flying to a foreign country to protest.
Why couldn't people be more appreciative of his efforts?
The voices became louder and more abrasive, punctuated by various incoherent shouts, sirens, and nasal roars. England wanted to scream. Why in all the levels of hell did his people have to come so damn far to protest? They were going to embarrass him in front of everyone else, turn the British Empire into the laughingstock of the world.
And worse, why was it that every single damn time some bastard picked up a sign, he would be left feeling like an avalanche had dropped on his head? Their shouts could be thousands of miles away (but it was worse now, because it was so close), and they would immediately take over his mind, body, soul, leaving him incapable of doing anything. He couldn't stand this-the stupid headache, the way his ears were ringing, the way his people were so fucking ungrateful.
England ripped open the window to his room and glared down at the people below. His street was quiet at least; it looked like all the protesters had decided to concentrate their efforts on busier roads.
Then he felt his hands shake uncontrollably and heard a deafening roar in the back of his mind: "Optical is a lie! The CEO should be shot!"
"Take it down! Tear down the fucking Optical tower-it's a symbol of censorship and oppression, and we the people will not stand for it! Will we stand here and take it?"
"No!"
"Will we?"
"No!"
The voices grew ever louder, every shout punctuated by a painful ring, as though some pathetic child was trying play drums, volume and anger feeding into each other like an infinite feedback loop.
"Damnit!" England screamed, shooting a frenzied glare to the people in the streets below him-they were making such a ruckus and couldn't they see what they were doing to him, couldn't they see? Why were they so pathetically blind, so willfully ignorant?
"Fuck you all!" he screeched, slamming his arms into the windowsill, "You think Optical is a lie? Well then, what the hell is the point in using Baidu to protest? You think Baidu doesn't fucking censor? You goddamn fools don't even think, and then what do you do? Make us all pay and pay and fucking pay to China-just what is wrong with you? You have brains for shite! For shite!"
He ended the last word with a punch to the wall and slumped against it, sickened.
Because his people were right, weren't they? Because he was his people, and they were always right. Optical was a manipulative little bastard, too caught up in making its own profits to care. And England wondered-was it possible for corporations to take over nations? What if-what if Optical built such large corporate headquarters that they covered the entirety of his land? And what if Optical provided the food, the lodging, the jobs-everything-would he and his people be so damn dependent on the company that the CEO of Optical would be his boss?
England shuddered at the thought. It was pathetic, really, absolutely pathetic that the British Empire could be reduced to something like that by a single corporation. A puny, useless, potentially defunct corporation if he pressed hard enough.
He decided that he had to go down and protest with his people, because Optical was lame, it was evil, and these were his people so how could they ever be wrong?
notes:
- Litva is Russian for Lithuania. I'm pretty sure Russia wouldn't call Lithuania "Lietuva", as Russia was pretty oppressive of the Lithuanian culture/language.
- syrniki - a Russian pancake-like entity
- The Russian and American presidents made a visit to Ray's Hell Burger together after a meeting at the White House.
Author: weird_number
Genre: Adventure, Drama
Ratings/Warnings: PG13/Angst/Humor
Summary: Japan's new teleportation machine goes awry, and an America from a world where his Revolution was disastrous comes to visit.
Pairings: US/UK. Germany/France on the side.
Also at ff.net: [6], Previously on LJ: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]
-
If everyone hadn't been staring at them, Canada was sure he would've willingly dug his own grave to avoid the fury in Russia's gaze.
"The two of you," Russia snarled, "the two of you were never even here for the trial. What makes you think your votes would mean a thing?"
"Oh, we weren't here, right?" America snapped sarcastically, "Yes, just because you weren't courteous enough to invite us and provide seats for us doesn't mean we weren't fucking present. And didn't you tell England a few minutes ago that he's free to bring whichever colonies of his he wants? We're here now, aren't we? If you think we're just gonna let you kick us out because of some arbitrary crap-rules you made up-well, that's not going to happen!"
"Wrong," Russia replied, "it seems to me that the two of you were spying on us, were you not? Or else how would you have heard my reply to England earlier? That is more than enough reason to disqualify the two of you from being on the jury."
Canada chanced a glance at England. The nation was looking rather disoriented, as if he couldn't decide whether he ought to punch America in the face for being disobedient, or unite with his colony against their common enemy-Russia. Then England looked like he'd decided on the latter, because he snapped, "Bullshit, Russia. Trials are an open affair, and anyone who wishes to attend is free to do so. It is impossible for America and Canada to have been spying when they were perfectly welcome to listen in the first place."
"That is besides the point. They want to serve on the jury, but they were late, Angliya. Why should I trust that they've overheard the entire trial? And how can they be allowed to serve on the jury if they haven't? Incomplete information does not allow for good decision-making, wouldn't you agree?"
"And how exactly would you know they weren't present for the entire meeting? I'm noticing a pattern from you, Russia. You seem to enjoy making accusation after accusation that you can't prove, somehow expecting to swindle us with your words. I should inform you that we aren't that easy to trick," England replied smoothly.
England, Canada knew, quite enjoyed his verbal spars, especially when his opponent was Russia. Of course, England and Russia were hardly compatible debaters-while England valued high wit, Russia was a great troll. (Russia had once rewired England's radio to blast the Tetris song at extreme volume anytime England's feet touched the floor. How he'd managed to fit pressure sensors under England's floor would forever remain a mystery.)
"Fine then, America, Canada. What accusation did England throw my way?" Russia asked, voice challenging.
America grinned, bright with excitement. "He accused you of dealing me drugs, duh! I was here the whole time, I told you-"
"Oh, and did I deal you drugs, America?" Russia's lips were pressed into a thin line. There was something threatening about his posture, something horribly dangerous, but America failed to notice.
Instead, in an act most unfit for the situation, America threw back his head and laughed, eyes lit with mirth. "You know, Russia, perhaps you have. It depends on whether you're talking about literally or metaphorically."
Russia, realizing that he couldn't win in an argument with America (who was, it seemed, crazy-what was up with that laugh?), turned to England instead. If he couldn't back America into a corner, he would make it impossible for the Anglophones to work together. "Angliya," Russia leered, "it seems like you have no control over your wayward colonies. It is quite pathetic that you allow them free reign over your affairs-the two of them barge into our meeting against your wishes and what do you do? Stand there and take it? It makes me wonder-who is the colonized and who is the colonizer?"
"Don't run your fucking mouth on things you know nothing about," England snarled, "You should be the one mourning, you poor fool-you're the one with useless drones for colonies-at least mine can think for themselves! I wonder, Russia, what's it like when your colonies are barely an upgrade above robots? Surely with our technological progress you can obtain bots any day of the week?"
"Oh, and I suppose you must be ever so proud of your spoiled brats, hm? Because, yes, having spoiled little pigs must be so appetizing."
"Enough!" Switzerland cut in (America thought he did an impressive imitation of Germany-the two of them even spoke the same language, didn't they?), "Can we please get back to voting? Russia, England, I am sick of your antics, and I'm sure everyone else here shares my sentiments."
"Wrong," Russia snapped, turning his glare on Switzerland, "I do not care who shares your sentiments, but America is the subject of the trial. How is it possible that his vote is not declared void?"
"And how does calling England names help you achieve your goal?" Switzerland snapped back, unfazed by Russia. "Listen, since it's obvious that neither you nor England are capable of acting civilly, we're going to put this up to a vote and let the masses decide. Those that support allowing America and Canada to join the jury, please raise your hands."
Canada looked around the room-hands were going up, one by one. First France (unsurprising, because despite proclaiming himself to be England's rival, he was really quite smitten), then Japan (also unsurprising, as this was some odd form of island solidarity), China (surprising, because wasn't he still irked over Hong Kong?), Spain (unsurprising, because Spain rather liked France), Mongolia (was this because of China?), Portugal (an old ally), Andorra, Finland, Sweden, Norway (unsurprising, as the three often voted together), Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Belgium, and...
Canada's eyes widened, and he quickly met Ukraine and Lithuania's eyes. There seemed to be something off about the way they were looking at Canada-they were planning something, but were they trying to assure themselves or Canada? What were they-would they risk their lives to support the motion? Canada hoped not, because whatever England would do once the affair was all over would almost certainly be better than what Russia would do, and it wasn't right to ask the two Soviet states to suffer such a fate. It was not worth it-he wanted to say-so don't do anything rash!
He choked when he realized that Lithuania had lifted his arm into the air.
"Litva," Russia began, eyebrows raised. He didn't say anymore, because he didn't need to, because everyone knew.
Lithuania looked shaken, but did not respond.
The votes counted in the North American brothers' favor, but Canada wanted to scream. What difference would it make now that Russia was going to destroy Lithuania in the comfort of his own home? Who gave a shit if they won? It was an empty victory, empty because they were asking a close friend to shoulder a huge burden. He met Lithuania's eyes, not sure if it was best to laugh or cry.
"Alright," America continued, oblivious to Lithuania's plight, "Now that that's settled..." He grabbed two sheets of lined paper from Switzerland and shoved both into Canada's hands before Russia could ignite further protest.
After they'd cast their votes, he turned to Switzerland and asked, "So what's the count now?"
"And why would you even need to ask?" Russia snarled, voice thick with barely contained fury. "I cannot believe that everyone here has allowed a clearly biased vote to pass. After these two ignorant pigs barged into the meeting room-does anyone here truly believe that a vote cast by America, who was the one on trial, can somehow be considered legitimate?"
"Look," England seethed, "I'm the one on trial, not America, and if you wish to speak about exactly how biased this jury is, you only need to look around the damn meeting room. I wonder, Russia, if you think bringing all your colonies along is somehow less biased?"
"Alright," Switzerland intervened, "We've listened, we've judged, and we've voted, so I do believe we're done here. If the two of you will kindly take your arguments elsewhere, then perhaps we can move onto something more important."
Russia and England shot each other heated glares, but remained silent.
"Now then," Switzerland continued, "North Italy requests that we begin our lunch break. All those in favor?"
The motion passed unanimously.
-
America had wanted to go bother Japan, but as soon as the words 'lunch break' were pronounced, the nation was nowhere to be found. And worse, despite their protests that they'd already eaten, England had insisted that Canada and America join him. The Empire was picking delicately at his food (which, Canada noted with some amusement, was Hong Kong's cooking and not his own).
Canada shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He had no idea how America could sit at the table with England and not look the least bit nervous-England had broke his arm, for fuck's sake!
"I suppose..." England began stiffly, glancing surreptitiously at America's arm, "I suppose I should thank the two of you. Even though you started it in the first place."
America snorted, turning away. "Yeah, you do that."
There was another awkward silence, during which America fumed, Canada fidgeted, and England pondered on a reasonable conversation topic. Eventually, England broke the silence. "Look, you two shouldn't just watch me eat. There's a nice sandwich place down this street. I can buy you both something-"
America answered for both of them. "We've already eaten."
"Dessert, then? There's a bakery nearby with Russian pastries."
"Not hungr-"
Before he could finish his petulant outcry, America felt someone-Canada-kick his leg. Okay, so he probably shouldn't have been so rude, because if his theory were at all true, he'd have to try harder to actually act like a British colony, Victorian era politeness and all. Pissing off England would only waste his time, time that he should be spending on fixing Japan's machine. But how exactly had he behaved back in the day?
Canada turned to England and said, "We're not too hungry, England, but dessert would be nice."
"Yes, dessert does sound good," America hastily amended, glancing back and forth between his brother and England. Hopefully this particular bakery had syrniki-his favorite Russian-style pancake. He'd remembered wolfing down a large number of them at a summit with Russia once, and then becoming offended when Russia had discreetly mouthed 'fatty' in his direction. Why did the nation have to be such a bastard about America's weight? He did get the last laugh when Russia's boss had agreed to go to a burger place with his boss though-oh, the look on Ivan's face!
-
Lunch was the most awkward affair England had ever engaged in. He wasn't sure what to feel-because yes, in some sense, the North American brothers' disobedience of his orders had allowed him to win the trial, but wasn't it also because of their disobedience that the trial had to be held in the first place? It was a double-edged sword, it really was, and he couldn't trust his colonies to handle it properly.
"America, Canada. I hope you both understand that what happened today is not to become a common occurrence."
"Certainly." Canada was quick to agree. America, on the other hand, remained alarmingly silent.
"America," England grumbled, impatient. "Did you hear what I said?"
America grunted. "Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Which part exactly do you not want to be a common occurrence? The mishap in the meeting room or the part where I swooped in to save your-"
"Look," England snapped, frustrated, "I want neither incident repeated, understood? You have no experience in the dealings of international affairs, and if you think repeating stunts like that will get you somewhere, you're horribly mistaken. I'm only telling you this for your sake-the world is not a forgiving place, and you were only lucky that a mass of nations didn't kick you out of the meeting room."
America nodded absent-mindedly. Technically, England was right-he didn't know the international affairs of this new universe he'd been forced to inhabit, though he'd had plenty of experience in dealing with a motley crew of nations. Maybe England just needed a nudge in the right direction-what did his psychologists call it again? Oh yes, positive reinforcement. (Or, summed up more primitively: Step 1. Praise England. Step 2. Make a request. Step 3. ??? Step 4. Profit!)
"So England," America began, "I agree with you and everything, but don't you think we're more than ready to navigate these affairs by now? I mean, how can it hurt to gain some experience, to learn a bit? You could teach us or something-it'd be great!"
"Don't be daft!" England grumbled, "What could the two of you possibly understand?"
America looked ready to protest, until England continued, "Actually, there is maybe something you two could do for me. Did you see-today-during the vote-what Lithuania did?"
Canada's eyes widened, because he hadn't really considered England's reaction-was he suspecting something? Did he know what Lithuania's true purpose was? He could only hope not, because what if England suspected that Lithuania's actions were deeper than simple rebellion against Russia? What if he knew of their deformed friendship, what if-
"In any case," England continued, "I suspect that something, perhaps a rift of some sort, is developing between Lithuania and Russia. I don't know if this rift extends to the other Baltic states, because for Lithuania to openly express his disapproval of Russia's policies..." England chuckled, looking at America. "It's quite the interesting development, I must say. And since you two insist on learning a thing or two about international politics-I'll give you something to mull over-see if you can deepen the rift between Lithuania and Russia."
"And if we-" America paused to stuff the last bite of syrniki into his mouth, and Canada cringed. How many times had England told him not to eat like that? "-if we manage to do this-then what?"
England gave him a disapproving look, whether about the (lack of) etiquette or the statement itself no one could tell. "You really are forgetful, America. Don't you remember that time I told you about the documents detailling Russia's political infighting? This, combined with those documents, will help us to bring Russia down a peg or two. He and his sordid communist affairs, they really don't have a place in this world, wouldn't you agree?"
"Well, duh," America agreed smoothly, "Whoever doesn't agree is an anti-Am-anti-democratic idiot!" He hastily corrected himself, realizing that "anti-American" was probably not an appropriate phrase, given their current situation. Hopefully England didn't misconstrue his statement to be sarcastically mocking the validity of the British Empire's...whatever they were doing.
-
As soon as the meeting had reconvened and England was tucked in the safe recesses of the meeting room, Canada dragged America aside and said, "Look, America, I don't have any idea exactly how crazy you are, but did Russia give you drugs or not? Tell me the truth."
"What?" America asked, a bewildered look plastered on his face, "Seriously man, of course he didn't! I don't take drugs from bastards like him, and he isn't even all that good at producing anything I like anyway. I mean, shit, who really wants to drink vodka? The damn thing tastes like rubbing alcohol mixed with toilet cleaner-not that I've tasted toilet cleaner-and I'm not cutting my lifespan in half just to enjoy a drink. Besides, I already told you I'm not crazy, you saw Japan's machine with your own eyes!"
"Yeah, but what makes you think it did anything? You have no evidence, Alfred, you can't come to an utterly illogical conclusion and expect me to go with it! What if you're an impostor? What if someone planted you here to spy-"
"Are you kidding me? If I'm spying why the hell would I bother to help England today? It's pretty pointless if I were a Russian spy, don't you think?"
And that, Canada thought, was precisely the reason why America might be an impostor-certainly his 'brother' wasn't a Russian spy, but rather an impostor England had implanted. An impostor who wanted to steal their secrets involving Lithuania and Ukraine and Kazakhstan and...No, that was unlikely, considering that America had suggested, quite fervently, that they plan a revolution. Certainly someone on England's side would not be so vocally encouraging about the matter.
"Alright..." he conceded, "so maybe you're not an impostor. But if your theory or whatever is right, you still know nothing about us, and nothing about-well, everything. If you're going to plan a rebellion..."
Canada wondered silently if his decision to tell this America everything was the right one. But it didn't matter anymore, because his mouth was running for him, as though he had no control over his instincts-"So first of all, the reason Lithuania voted for us today-it's because he's on our side. He doesn't like Russia any more than we like England, and well...we were thinking of setting up a date to stage...simultaneous rebellions. But this wasn't supposed to happen anytime soon, and now that Lithuania has openly expressed his disapproval of Russia-I don't know, I just don't know..."
"Hey, I say it's a sign!" America grinned. "Lithuania obviously wants you guys-us-to start things already. I mean, if he's riled up Russia that much, why not just openly fight? He's got nothing to lose at this point, 'cause if he doesn't fight, I'm betting Russia's going to screw him over."
"Yes, but isn't it obvious yet that we're not ready for a war? We don't have an official army, and we can't exactly train one when England's soldiers are everywhere. If we start a war, the only thing we can really withhold are natural resources, and England is certainly not lacking in allies who are willing to provide resources for him."
"It's not about natural resources or armies or manpower or anything like that, Matt." America had a suddenly serious look on his face, and Canada wondered what exactly he was trying to convey. Then America leaned forward with a gleam in his eye and said, "You'll see, Matt, you'll see. I have a plan, and it involves the people, not fancy guns or uranium pits or what have you. You said that England's people use Baidu as a search engine to protest Optical's censorship, right?"
"Well, yeah, some of them..."
There was a pause before Canada added, "Wait, have you seen the news at all? They're going to be here today, physically staging a protest, and they're..."
-
The annual "Anti-Optical Censorship" rally had always attracted a great number of internet lurkers from their respective mothers' basements. Coming out to the protest marked a monumental moment for each of them, as it was the beginning of the end of a life of armchair protest. England could not stand the protesters-they were too damn loud, too damn rowdy and generally encroached on his quiet Sunday morning in a most unwelcome manner. And worse, how the hell had an entire horde of them been wealthy enough to afford a goddamn flight to Moscow?
Shouting filled his mind, and England clutched his head delicately, trying to concentrate on not falling.
A high pitched voice rocked the base of his skull, and he bit his lip to keep from screaming. "Fuck the government, the pathetic information hoarders that they are!"
This was followed by a hoarse yell: "Fuck censorship! Fuck corporate greed! Fuck the military-industrial complex and its mouthpiece Optical!"
England tilted his head to the side, trying desperately to contain the voices. They lack originality, he told himself, because they were ripping off the "fuck the police" slogans of yesteryear, replacing "police" with their catchphrase of choice-he'd remembered putting those posters up himself, back when he'd had a momentary lapse of mental sanity and identified with the rebellious hooligans. Besides, Optical didn't really censor, they just made it slightly cheaper for the government to push their preferred sites to the top. How in the world was that censorship? It was just a most welcome discount, especially since he was running out of money and his economy was in the hole and these arseholes were choosing to waste money by flying to a foreign country to protest.
Why couldn't people be more appreciative of his efforts?
The voices became louder and more abrasive, punctuated by various incoherent shouts, sirens, and nasal roars. England wanted to scream. Why in all the levels of hell did his people have to come so damn far to protest? They were going to embarrass him in front of everyone else, turn the British Empire into the laughingstock of the world.
And worse, why was it that every single damn time some bastard picked up a sign, he would be left feeling like an avalanche had dropped on his head? Their shouts could be thousands of miles away (but it was worse now, because it was so close), and they would immediately take over his mind, body, soul, leaving him incapable of doing anything. He couldn't stand this-the stupid headache, the way his ears were ringing, the way his people were so fucking ungrateful.
England ripped open the window to his room and glared down at the people below. His street was quiet at least; it looked like all the protesters had decided to concentrate their efforts on busier roads.
Then he felt his hands shake uncontrollably and heard a deafening roar in the back of his mind: "Optical is a lie! The CEO should be shot!"
"Take it down! Tear down the fucking Optical tower-it's a symbol of censorship and oppression, and we the people will not stand for it! Will we stand here and take it?"
"No!"
"Will we?"
"No!"
The voices grew ever louder, every shout punctuated by a painful ring, as though some pathetic child was trying play drums, volume and anger feeding into each other like an infinite feedback loop.
"Damnit!" England screamed, shooting a frenzied glare to the people in the streets below him-they were making such a ruckus and couldn't they see what they were doing to him, couldn't they see? Why were they so pathetically blind, so willfully ignorant?
"Fuck you all!" he screeched, slamming his arms into the windowsill, "You think Optical is a lie? Well then, what the hell is the point in using Baidu to protest? You think Baidu doesn't fucking censor? You goddamn fools don't even think, and then what do you do? Make us all pay and pay and fucking pay to China-just what is wrong with you? You have brains for shite! For shite!"
He ended the last word with a punch to the wall and slumped against it, sickened.
Because his people were right, weren't they? Because he was his people, and they were always right. Optical was a manipulative little bastard, too caught up in making its own profits to care. And England wondered-was it possible for corporations to take over nations? What if-what if Optical built such large corporate headquarters that they covered the entirety of his land? And what if Optical provided the food, the lodging, the jobs-everything-would he and his people be so damn dependent on the company that the CEO of Optical would be his boss?
England shuddered at the thought. It was pathetic, really, absolutely pathetic that the British Empire could be reduced to something like that by a single corporation. A puny, useless, potentially defunct corporation if he pressed hard enough.
He decided that he had to go down and protest with his people, because Optical was lame, it was evil, and these were his people so how could they ever be wrong?
notes:
- Litva is Russian for Lithuania. I'm pretty sure Russia wouldn't call Lithuania "Lietuva", as Russia was pretty oppressive of the Lithuanian culture/language.
- syrniki - a Russian pancake-like entity
- The Russian and American presidents made a visit to Ray's Hell Burger together after a meeting at the White House.