Gril-of-Action- Hey there readers! I know, Im bad. I should be working on my choose your own adventure book…. But Im not. ^_^; Well, I didn't really have a choice in the matter. The evil plot bunnies tortured me until I posted this. 'This' is my first Hetalia fic. And my first try at writing humor, so please be gentle. The good with the bad people, the good with the bad. Anywho, I have some French in here, so if its messed up, blame google translate. ;) This is canon and takes place somewhere in WW2. It even mentions in passing a certain episode, and if you guess it, Ill give you one of China's digital pastries. Also, if any of you guys want to cosplay it, I would be honored, just make sure to give me some credit! I would do it myself but I only know 1 person who likes Hetalia and he doesn't cosplay…
"Alright Italy. Let's see if you can do something useful for once, Ja. I need you to watch France for a bit and make sure that he does not get away."
"Ve~ Germany. You can count on me!" Italy said with a cheeky grin and a LEFT hand salute (much to Germany's exasperation).
"I should hope so," the blonde grumbled. Germany's boss had just called an emergency meeting and there was no way he could take France with him. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) country personifications are very powerful, so only other personifications could restrain each other. Thing is, Italy was not the most reliable country and there was no other axis power countries in sight. "I will be back in a few minutes." Germany shoved France toward Italy. "DON'T let him out of your site… please."
"Ve~." Italy nods eagerly and grabs a hold of France. "Don't let him out of my sight. Got it!"
Germany gives a curt nod, and with a quick 'Good', he walks away.
Italy turns his attention to France. The Frenchmen was currently trying to free his arm, but strangely enough, Italy had a vice like grip and would not let go. Seemingly oblivious to this, Italy asks, "Sooo big brother France. How did you get captured? It must have been sooome fight, ve?"
France paused in his struggling and thought back to how he was captured…
It had been a warm and sunny day when England had decided to gather everyone for a workout secession, though he insisted on calling it a 'training' secession. Everything went well (surprisingly enough) until America decided to call it quits half way through to go get a hamburger (unsurprisingly enough). England had tried to explain the importance of training and being prepared but…
With his trademark lopsided smile and a thumbs up the young nation stated, "The hero is always prepared!" and "Besides dude, its lunch time and I don't want to be forced fed your crappy cooking."
That had made England snap, and as he proceeded to try and strangle his ex-charge, China intervened. "Stop being so immature," he scolded, then said, "Instead, try some of my new pastries! We can go to the nearest China Town, about five minutes away, and-"
"Sod off!" England pushed the older nation away when China got to close to the former brothers 'brawl'.
Arms flailing, China grabbed on to the nearest thing to stop his fall. Unfortunately for him, that 'thing' happened to be Russia's scarf. There are some things that men and country alike should never lay a hand on. Some things like the holy grail and… and apparently Russia's scarf. Even worse, the scarf ripped when it couldn't support the weight. "Aru, my apologies Russia! Do not worry though, I will pay for it."
Russia stared distraughtly at his ripped scarf for a bit, before finally raising his head, childish smile in place. "Da, you will pay." Russia then pulled out a giant axe from thin air. How he could do that was anybody's guess. "You will pay, comrade," he repeated. "Just not in the way you are thinking… Da?"
"N-now Russia-kun, we can work this out! I'll give you special trading deals! I'll stop making the ever appearing China towns near you! Here, want a free pastry? No? Alright… But the other offers sound good, aru?" Russia just smiled wider and continued toward China with an ominous purple aurora surrounding him. This is when France wisely decided to make his exit.
This turned out to be more of a 'out of the frying pan and into the oven' situation though, for when he was a good deal distance away, Germany appeared out of seemingly nowhere and captured him.
As the Frenchmen was being dragged off, he tried to get his allies attention, but his pleas where drowned out by yells of,
"Bloody wanker, you used to eat my scones all the time and liked it when you were younger!"
And
"Really? Boy, was my taste buds whacked up back then!"
This was followed by boisterous laughing and loud angry shouts of things like, "You git!" Oh, and one can't forget Russia's childish 'KolKol's and China's terror filled screams… Poor, poor China… But to get to the point, France wasn't heard by his allies, at all, though his consistent yells did earn him a bump on the head, courtesy of Germany…
"Quelle bande de cons sans Coeur! (What a bunch of heartless jerks!) I bet that they did hear me and just decided to ignore… Is moi so bad?" France muttered darkly to himself.
"Whaaa, who ignored you, and Veeee~, you know I can't speak French! What did you say?" asked Italy in confusion.
France cleared his throat. "I said that it was a grand battle, mon petit cheri, and that if you had seen it, you would have been astounded by my amazing fighting skills and overall sexiness."
"You said all of that in those few words?" Italy inquired eagerly. "Oh, and didn't you also say something about people ignoring-"
France quickly interrupted with a, "Look Italie, Pasta!"
"PASTA!" The other nation yelled excitedly as he turned his head from side to side, looking for his favorite food, though he did not let go of France. "I like Germany's wurst, sausage, and cheese, but eating it again and again can get boring. Pasta is never boring! Where-" Italy suddenly froze mid-rant and looked down at his shoes sadly.
"What is wrong, Italie," France asked, a bit worried. "Do you not want your delicious Pasta?"
"Oh, I-I do, b-but Germany would get angry if I left." The Italian sniffed pitifully. "Wah! I'm sorry Pasta!"
France, to say the least, was shocked. Italy turning down Pasta? What was the world coming to! A few minutes later Italy was chatting amiably with France, as he mulled over different strategies for escaping.
"After I gave Japan a tour of my home," Italy was saying without stop, "we returned to Berlin. We were having a very nice chat about Pasta and its salty goodness when Germany suddenly appeared and demanded to know what I had done to Japan. It was a bit scary, but I know that Germany meant well. Anyways, we found out that Japan was a little drunk from all of the wine he had tried at my place. After he was sober, I could never get him to talk to me about Pasta, wine, cute girls," (this gave France an idea) "and all of my favorite things! Veeee~, Its kinda sad really, I wonder why that is…" Italy's voice trailed off.
Instead of taking this time to be amazed by Italy's unique ability to talk without breathing (like most people would), France used this time to shout, "Look Italie, a cute girl!"
"Whaaat? I haven't seen a cute girl in ages! Where-!" but he suddenly stopped, bottom lip trembling. "I-I can't!"
By this time France was getting pretty desperate, for he knew that if Germany got out of his meeting with him still there, he might never get a chance to escape like this again, so he said, "Look Italie, the cute girl just picked up the Pasta and is walking away! Are you going to let them leave?"
By this time the Italian was completely crying. "Veeeeeeee~! They can't leave!"
"Then go get them, Italie cheri. They went inside that building," France responded, pointing at a random building.
Italy immediately let go of France's arm and dashed towards the building, waving his arms wildly. "W-wait! Wait for meeeeee!"At the same time Italy was entering the building, a certain German was leaving it. Can you guess what happened?
"Italy! You Dunkoff! What are you doing?"
"Ve~ sorry Germany. I was trying to get to the cute girl with the Pasta."
"Cute girl with Pasta, what-…" Germany's eyes suddenly narrowed and he inquired dangerously, "Italy, were is France?"
The other's eyes widened with sudden realization and the pair turned to see the faint outline of France running away at full speed. "Ohonhonhonhonhonhonhonh, You'll never catch me you Germane bastard! ~!" And with that, the Frenchman was out of eyesite.
All was quite then, until Italy pointed in the general direction France had fled to and answered lamely, "Veeeeee, he's over there Germany."
Germany glared at the smaller nation and gave him a light smack on the head. "Italy, you Dunkoff…"