{Fanfiction} World Affairs, Indeed: Chapter 1A/?
Title- World Affairs, Indeed
Rating- T for mild cussing and the odd innuendo
Summary-"Give him what for?" "Well, I was going to do it the Irish way!...asking him if he's starting on me and ask him for a drink if he says no..." Relationships sure are hard to keep track of as a country; but, with little spite, Ireland's holding the camera
Genre- craic
Notes: Ireland (and Northern Ireland) have not been given characters in Hetalia yet, there is an OC warning for this. As for Ireland, there is some speculation on the Hetalia archives to what s/he will be, so I have followed them as much as I could, while making his actions towards other characters as historically accurate as I can, though my history knowledge of my own country isn't that good /fail.
Other notes, I am in no way insulting anyone's nationality or country in this. The opinions expressed by characters in this story are not my own and, unless stated outright in the authors notes, none of the relationships between characters are based on real, current political relations. With that said, the incident with Brian Cowen really did happen, but we were far more annoyed at him than the Americans in general. Someone in power in Ireland at the end of WW2 sent flowers to Hitlers grave, and if you want to know who Oliver Cromwell was, look it up, as I'll just rant. Everything else in this is fiction, alright.
Also, there is no word for yes or no in the Irish language. (if any of the Irish grammar is wrong, just say so...just because I'm Irish, doesn't mean I actually speak it) Slán~
-x-
~*World Affairs (indeed)*~
(Craic fiction warning)
Chapter 1A: In which Ireland attempts to seek revenge for his humiliation on American television, but ends up holding Hungary's camera for her.
A sullen crash echoed through the vast quiet towns of the land formerly known (and to whom Italy still referred to as) as Hibernia.
In other words, the news had finally reached the ears of an already irritated Ireland and now he was binge drinking again, cursing the country of utmost annoyance and egoistic mannerisms from across the vast North Atlantic. As if he hadn't already had a bad enough week with the politics and the seemingly never ending recession, his boss had to go out and get stupid drunk and embarrass himself not only in front of his countrymen, but in front of the entire world once the 'evidence' of Ireland's rowdiness got leaked.
And America had laughed. Laughed. Those flippin' Americans (anything America's people did was his fault. Although, his boss getting drunk had nothing to do with him, nuh uh) had put the pictures up on some chat show and laughed at him. Laughed at Ireland. Nobody does that.
Ireland scowled, staring as the faintly dark coloured liquid dribbled down the wall, his broken pint glass lying haplessly on the floor. The world seemed incomplete- he'd had that glass for such a long time.
That was England's fault. Ireland smirked. 'Blame the British for everything,' he thought slyly, 'Motto of the millennium. And before it.'
"Ireland, wha's going on?"
Ireland turned around, the wry grin still plastered across his features. "Hey, just having a bit'a craic. How 'bout you, North?"
Northern Ireland cocked his chin up slightly, staring his former union down before replying, "I was enjoying a nice cup of tea when I heard all the commotion, so I took it upon myself to see what the hell was going on with the Republic." Ireland gave him a quizzical look and his north sighed. "You? Republic?"
Ireland nodded like he understood. 'Its so weird being just the Republic of Ireland, even after this long...damn, that's England's fault...taking my damned north.' "Drinking tea is so British," he retorted haughtily, changing the subject, "You're becoming more and more like that gombeen every day."
The North cocked an eyebrow. "You drank more tea than him to start with."
"That was then."
"And this is now?"
"Yeah..."
"Anyway," The North tried to avert the topic because Ireland was starting to get the manic Irish Republican Army look in his eye, and that was never good, for any part of the United Kingdom, "Why exactly were you wasting precious alcohol?"
Ireland averted his gaze as he handed a few prints of the Taoiseach to his north. Northern Ireland stifled a chuckle at the pictures of the drunken man before handing them back. "America had a field day with these," the Republic muttered, "He still hasn't forgiven me for that whole commiseration's thing..."
Not that it was really his fault...
"Well, not that I want to give you idea's or anything," North hummed, "But your doings, as a small island miles away from America, has nothing to do with him, and he's too big to be possibly affected."
Ireland grinned from ear to ear impishly. "So," he chortled, "Its none of his business, in common folk speak, then, eh?"
"I guess you could say that."
"So he deserves a right ole' Irish punishment, then?"
North knew all to well what that might entail. IRA look again..."No, I never said that-"
"Ah ah," Ireland grinned, watching the look of horror form, etching into his younger's features at the proclamation, "If you want me to call off my plan, you have to ask me very nicely not to-" North opened his mouth. "-in completely perfect Gaeilge."
Northern Ireland's rather thick eyebrows (England's fault!) furrowed in frustration, his mouth trying to force words to form in the language he had easily forgotten. He sighed and looked at his comrade. "What do you want me to say?" Ireland blinked. "What do I have to ask to make you call this hair-brained, half-thought scheme off?"
Ireland grinned. "Just say, 'Ireland, no,' alright?"
North copied his grin, nervous at why Ireland seemed so happy at giving him a very simple statement to translate of only two words. "Uhm, Éire..." North stopped, blinking a few times to himself before looking at Ireland, who was smirking. "You little-"
Ireland looked innocent. "Whoops, looks like you gotta keep studying your Gaeilge," he crooned, ruffling his fuming younger's hair.
"That was a trick!" North hissed, "It wasn't fair, so call this idiotic plan off! No, Ireland, No!"
Ireland looked thoughtful. "Well, my dear North," he pondered, "You should have realized sooner it was a trick question; you would have if you'd been revising!" North glared. "Silly North, In Gaeilge, there is no word for 'no'."
He smirked, taking in the younger's distressed expression. 'I should give him more credit. Maybe he's actually worried about me this once. Meh, I don't need his pity, aye?'
"I guess you could say, mo chara," he smiled, picking up his peaked green hat of the stove, placing it on his head and tipping it in a gesture of mock acknowledgment, "That I just don't know the meaning of the word..."
Ireland grinned, jumping out of the bush he had been hiding in, shaking off the leaves, as America walked up his driveway, carrying a McDonald's and whistling quietly to himself. Ambush was going to be easy- America was completely unaware.
But as it turned out, Ireland was the one who was completely unaware.
Why was Russia on America's doorstep?
Well, apparently by the look on the younger nation's face, he wasn't expecting this visitor either. Russia smiled up at the flustered younger, and asked in a creepily soft voice, "Would you like a hand carrying those in? I would be happy to help, America-kun."
America blinked. "Its some burgers," he replied cautiously, "I don't help to carry them. But Russia, why are you sitting outside my house?"
"Ah America-kun," Russia smiled eerily, standing up and dusting his knees, ignoring America's attempts to dodge him so he could open the door, "I wanted to see you. That is all right, da?"
America finally managed to dodge around Russia, balancing the food on one arm while he turned the key in the lock with the other. "Well, I suppose you've seen me now," America replied with mock cheer, jumping when the air around Russia turned a dark purple colour. "B-but you're welcome to come in if you want," he corrected.
"I would be happy to," Russia smiled, walking in airily ahead of America, who was trying to keep the burgers balanced.
Ireland stared. He didn't care what trouble he would have gotten into, he certainly would never let Russia into his house! The man was decidedly scary, and he was a very very small island, made even smaller by the split between him and his north. Which was England's fault.
The door shut behind them and Ireland cussed. His plans were foiled. 'I guess I'll just go home and drink some more-'
"Ireland?"
Ireland blinked, turning around to face the woman who'd called his name. Her long, wavy brown hair framed her face, with the exception of one strand of hair held back with a flower. Ireland blinked again. She looked sheepish.
"You are Ireland, right? I know you're one of England's brothers-"
"Am not," Ireland retorted, hands on his hips indignantly, "I refuse to acknowledge that north-stealing arsehole!" 'Me? Hold a grudge over Cromwell (amongst other things)? Noooooo...'
"Yes yes," she brushed him off, to the island's dismay, "Was that Russia who just went into America's house?"
"Yeah?" Ireland sighed, running his fingers through his hair, "Bummer, aye?"
The girl looked at him a moment longer before walking past him, pulling the odd twig out of her hair that had managed to wind its way in as she had been hiding in the bush. She turned back. "Aren't you coming?" she asked impatiently.
"For what reason?" Ireland asked, cocking a so not British eyebrow, "Death? Maiming? Death?"
And then she pulled the otaku pose. You know the one with your chin between pointer finger and thumb and your eye closed and cheesy grin and/or tongue out.
"Yaoi, of course!"
Ireland stared. She grinned. He deadpanned. "What. Doesn't that mean something homosexual?"
The girl nodded.
"You called two world superpower's gay."
The girl nodded.
"Are you fecking insane!"
"Possibly," she shrugged nonchalantly, "Prussia would probably agree with that statement, but he's not really around anymore to be irritating me, so we'll never know if I was most certainly right. Anyway, they are, so I don't see a problem."
Ireland deadpanned. "Saying they're gay is like saying...well...I don't know, but its wrong!"
He gaped. While he had apparently been talking to himself, she had already made her way over and was peeping through the living room window. "Come here, quickly!" she waved. Ireland, in a sudden act of heroism, took her in his arms and ran away from the scary Russian man who was most certainly going to kill her.
Rewind. Rewind. He squealed like a little girl, hid behind a bush and tugged the back of her dress so she too toppled behind the shrubbery, safely hidden just in case Russia decided to look out the window randomly in search of more taps.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed, ignoring her struggles against the hand he had firmly placed over her mouth. She bit him and he drew his hand back quickly, scowling. "Thank you," he muttered sarcastically, trying to keep his voice down, but it was hard to remember with all the alcohol he had consumed before coming here. Not that the little incident where he saw his history (why does the word 'bloody' appear so much, he had wondered, before deciding that it was England's damn fault) flash before his eyes hadn't sobered him up considerably.
"Watching the action, duh," she grumbled, as Ireland flattened her attempts to get out of the bush- fighting back would have caused too much noise and then they would definitely been caught. She had experience in these things. "It would be a shame to miss what the cold war and all resolved to."
Ireland gaped. He didn't know much about the cold war, but any war was not a good thing. He learned that from arse-hole England and his bloody this and that. "Are you insane?"
"You've already asked me that. I'm Hungary by the way," the nation replied, smiling.
"A late introduction."
"Better late then never!"
"Better never than late."
"Uncalled for," she said, raising an eyebrow, "And oh so immature. Anyway, why are you here if you're not interested in watching UST? I cant really think of any other reason."
"Well," Ireland said, poking her in the head for no apparent reason other than to make a point. She scowled and threatened him with several cutlery objects if he didn't just spit something out or if he touched her head again. He obliged, slightly scared. "Well, America made fun of my boss, and I came to give him what for, but Russia turned up."
"Give him what for?" she asked, amused.
"Well, I was going to do it the Irish way!" he proclaimed, before adding pathetically, "Which literally translates as asking him if he's starting on me and ask him for a drink if he says no. No one's ever answered yes before, though. They may think I'm Scotland, and Scotland shouldn't be started upon."
'Maybe I should have brought him along. On second thoughts, he would have just laughed and tried to shoot me. He doesn't like any of us much, it seems...'
"That's pathetic," Hungary deadpanned, staring at the island with a mixture of pity and sick fascination, "Do you have cabin fever from being stuck on that island for so long? I know England is strange, but are you all like this? Man, the British isles are weird."
"Yeah, the British isles are. Not me," Ireland scowled.
"Anyways," she brushed him off. "Don't you want real revenge?"
Ireland blinked before putting up his two hands in a surrendering motion. "Hey hey hey, I'm not going to war again! Its bad enough that the fast food guy in there thought I was pro-Hitler because of my boss and because I wouldn't fight with England, without going to war again! I still fight with North all the time! I'm not going to war. It always ends in disaster...and bloody this's and thats"
Hungary sighed. "No, not war. Most of us have too much to lose from war, which is why most of Europe only have peace-keeping armies now, like yours. Anyway, America would crush you!" Ireland deadpanned. "No offense. Anyways, I meant the blackmail way, no?"
Deadpan. "Blackmail? And how would we go about that."
"That," Hungary smirked, "Should become very very obvious once you look in that window."
Doing as he was told, for once, Ireland stood from behind the bush and looked in the window, just to find out what the cold war really had resolved to (or so it seemed).
"Look Russia," America stated, placing his burgers on the counter in his kitchen, "Not to be rude or anything, but could you please leave?" And preferably never come back are the words he never quite added.
"Da, da America," said Russian said airily, inspecting several cupboards around America's living room, "Just my monthly inspection."
America flinched. "So you check up on a country every month or something," he said carefully.
"No. Just you and China-kun. You usually don't lock your door so tightly."
America made a mental note to lock his doors even tighter in future. Russia made a habit of breaking and entering his house? It wasn't a pleasant thought; Tony could've at least told him! Said alien smirked and went back to playing his extremely violent video games.
"Alright, but can you leave now?"
"Why would I do that, America-kun?"
'Because you're a freaky communist jackass who is still checking up on me to see if I've any nuclear weapons hidden in my closets, for Christ's sake and I'm hungry and would like to eat my burgers without sharing them with said freaky communist jackass, maybe?'
"Look," America sighed, losing patience with the seemingly innocent older country, "Can you just go? Maybe check up on China instead?"
Russia blinked, closing the press door slowly. "China is hiding weapons from me, da?" he asked, his face unnervingly calm.
America sweat-dropped. "Well, how the hell am I supposed to- No! He's not, jeesh, dude."
Russia advance slowly, his hands clasped together behind his back. "But, that's what you insinuated?"
"No. I wasn't doing whatever that is!"
Don't get any freaking closer!
"Or do you just want me to leave?"
What...
"Hello? Duh!"
America breathed heavily. Russia was less than a few inches away now, and, much as he hated to admit it, it was intimidating. "If you want me to leave," he pondered eerily, "Then isn't it possible its because you are hiding something you don't want me to find?"
A twitch. "What, no! Jeez, how many time's, jackass, I'm not hiding nuclear weapons!"
"Eh? What about over there? I don't think I've checked over there yet..."
"What- No! I haven't cleaned out that room yet- Don't touch that! Uwahhhhh!"
Somewhere in the one-sided struggled on the ground, Hungary gave her camera to a distressed Ireland to take pictures, as she carefully took care of her nosebleed.
"I'm scarred for life," the island nation complained, skipping through some pictures on Hungary's camera. He really didn't want to know what the kingdom that he was no longer part of did in their spare time. Well, he'd guessed that limey-
"You'll get used to it," Hungary shrugged, turning and smiling impishly.
"No, I wont," Ireland argued.
"Do you always have to complain?"
"Its what I do."
"You're also wasted."
"Like always."
Hungary sighed, shifting around in the bush they were being forced to hide in. From what the could hear going on inside, America wasn't giving up any time soon, but Russia had the upper hand. It had been quiet for a few minutes now though.
"You think they're doing it?" she asked excitedly, Ireland noting the lack of shame from such a blunt question in her voice.
"Please; I'm going to need counseling as it-"
The front door of the house opened and Ireland jumped, his hand that was already clinging to Hungary's dress clenching tightly around the fabric as the huge Russian man walked out into America's front garden, cheerfully waving at the occupants of the house, whom Ireland couldn't see from where he was positioned. Hungary put a finger to her lips, taking an extra precaution in putting her gloved hand over the island nation's mouth in order to muffle the sound of his heavy breathing.
The front door shut, America, no doubt, having barricaded it and called someone to change the locks.
The two hiding watched as Russia tapped his chin with his finger, making a little chuckling sound from the back of his throat as he spoke softly to himself; "Looks like I'll have to pay China-kun a visit, da?" and walking out through the gate. Hungary dropped her hand in order to cover her gasp with it. Ireland tried to remember how to breathe.
"Did you just hear that," she whispered, urgency and excitement making her voice raise an octave.
Ireland shrugged. "So? He's gonna go kill China. That's none of my business."
Hungary sighed, patting him patronizingly on the back, exasperation in her voice as she told him; "Why would Russia kill China? I mean, he's only been lusting after him since the nineteenth century; it would be such a waste for him not to have some fun with him beforehand~"
Ireland had a feeling it was going to be a long day, and that he should've had another drink when he had had the chance.
-x-
Translations.
Craic- Irish- having a laugh, messing about, having fun ect.
Gombeen- Irish slang (I think)- A fool, a moron, an idiot, (is a general insult)
Irish Republican Army (IRA)- Irish republican revolutionary military organisation, that descended from the Volunteer army. Was used to win Irish independence from Great Britain and still exists today.
Taoiseach- Ireland's version of a Prime Minister
Gaelige- Irish- Irish language
Éire- Irish- Ireland
Mo Chara- Irish- My friend
Da- Russian- Yes
Feck- Irish slang- Kind of like Frick or Freak; a cuss word, but not very offensive.