Hey there, peeps! Comment ca-va? ...Fail much, me? What I meant was, how's it going?
France: Zat's what you said, chéri! Onhonhon~!
Me: -.-" This is what I get for trying to learn French. ANYWAYS. Welcome-
France: Bienvenue!
Me: *tick mark* -to my latest fic about my latest obsession, Hetalia. Before I say anything else about it, I must point out that this fanfiction contains the following: curse-word substitutes, drug and alcohol use, continuous suggestive humor/sexual references, and implied sexual intercourse.
Italy: What does 'intercourse' mean, vee~?
France: Ah, mon petit Italie! It means-
Me: *raises voice* ANYWAYS, this fanfiction started out as a gift-fic for Skulls of SkullsandDaggers, (though it quickly became something for both of us ;P) and quite honestly, she helped me write some of this... because I know nothing of the ways of marijuana. {Any sections that were written by Skulls will be in bold.} Also, if I can get her off her lazy butt and maker her write, the implied activities mentioned above may become another fanfiction, most likely titled "Behind Closed Doors." ...But again, that's if I can get her off her france long enough to type.
France: Did you mention moi?
Me: No. Shut up or do the disclaimer.
France: *le sigh* destinykeyblade owns nothing but ze original characters Nikki and Angel - well, zat, and ze amour she secretly has for America.
Me: , Well it's not secret anymore, Frog! *sighs* Anyways, reviews are always loved, future chapters will have less babbling and more pervy jokes that any good Hetalia fangirl will laugh her butt off at in the A/N, and please enjoy the fanfiction!
When In Rome- Er, Spain
You've all heard the phrase, 'When in Rome', right? Right. Well, it has been my experience that this goes for whatever country you find yourself in - no matter where you are, the best way to survive in a foreign environment is to do as those around you do. ...I take that back. The exception to this rule... is kind of a long story. Siddown and get comfy, because if this is gonna make ANY SENSE WHATSOEVER, you'll need all the details, and there is a CARP LOAD of those.
The whole problem started when I, the fantabulous Monique, and my mildly-less awesomeful cousin Angel set out on an expedition to visit our somewhat distant relatives, who lived in Canada. Comment on our intelligence or lack thereof if you want. We had never met these people before in our lives, had only a basic idea of what they looked like (all of our pictures of them being several years old), and wouldn't be able match the names on the back of said pictures to the faces for a million bucks. Each. Looking back on this little adventure, I can understand how it all went so wrong, but that doesn't change how TOTALLY SPAZZED OUT we both were when it happened. ...Well, she spazzed, anyway, but she got over it soon enough. And now I shall take the liberty of explaining...
"Toothbrushes!"
"Check!"
"Glasses and lens cleaner!"
"Check!"
"Hairbrushes, Cousin It?"
"You suck, vacuum cleaner! Check."
"Uhm... clothes?"
"No, I didn't pack any of those; I figured we'd both just walk around naked-"
A book sailed through the air at my sarcastic response, aiming for my bright red head and missing its mark by several feet. It crashed into the counter behind me; upon the sound of pages hitting the floor, Angel flew past me to pick it up and cradle it in her arms, muttering about how she was sorry she'd thrown it and how she'd never hurt it again and so on and so forth. I swear that girl was smarter before she bleached her dark brown hair to blonde... But, whatever. She was easier to corrupt this way. Hehehe.
In fact, the bleached hair and resulting blonde brain were more than likely the reason I'd been able to convince her we needed to go visit our relatives, eh. ...Get it? Canada? Eh? ...Yeah. The plan was very simple: Angel, being older than me, would drive us to the airport, where we would flash our pretty passports and tickets and get on a plane to the land of the Maple Leaf... and the Marijuana Festival... Did I mention that both of us had trademark accessories? Angel's (other than the long hair that went down to her thighs) was a small Tinkerbell purse that somehow had enough stuff in it to weigh about ten pounds. Ah, my older cousin! Almost twenty and more innocent than most American thirteen year-olds. Me? I was close to eighteen at the time and had a black belt with neon green pot-leaf print that I wore just about every day of my life since getting it. 'Nuff said.
So. Anyway. After finishing the checklist, we loaded all our junk into the car and set off for the Atlanta airport, about a two-hour drive from our house in the middle of nowhere. About FOUR hours later - the reason they call traffic 'murder' is because that's what you want to get out of the car and do - we made it to our destination. Guess what happened then? The flight was delayed. So we sat there, waiting, for another two hours until our flight was finally ready to take off. We snatched our stuff (we were not already on the plane, as they had been checking the flying contraption over for problems that might make it explode - I know, right?) and dashed toward the plane as fast as we could, but THEN... we had the 'accident'. In our rush, the two of us just happened to bump into this young couple, also hurrying along with their possessions. And when I say 'bump into', I mean 'run headlong into them and send all four of us crashing to the floor'. The suitcases, bags, and whatever other containers copied us, falling on the ground; most stayed shut, but others ejected their contents to create a jumbled pile of belongings that were no longer sure who they belonged to.
A flurry of 'I'm so sorry'-s and 'it's my fault'-s were exchanged as we all scrambled to gather up what was ours, which we (thought we had) achieved, and in as little time as possible we were back to racing toward our respective flights. Angel and I made it to the little desk-y thingy without any more troubles and quickly showed the lady our passports and tickets. She frowned at the latter and handed them back to us along with the little blue booklets. "Your flight is over there, luvs," she said in a mild British accent, pointing to another desk and attendant about three planes down with one hand and picking up the phone with the other. "It's nearly time to take off! I'll call and ask them to hold on a moment for you, but you'd best hurry."
Not wanting to risk missing the plane, we grabbed our junk again and ran to the other check-in-type-thing. "I thought you had the number memorized?" I called to Angel as we jogged over, feeling a frown on my face. Ditzy bleach blonde or not, she had a memory like fly-paper, and though it only seemed to attract things that she found interesting or important, I figured the flight number was pretty important. Thus, I was quite thoroughly confuzzled as to how she could have possibly taken us to the wrong plane.
"So did I!" she panted back, frowning herself. "But-" But we didn't have any time to argue about this now, because the lady behind this desk looked ticked off that we had delayed the flight by a whole two minutes, and demanded our passports and tickets. Again we surrendered them, and again the passports were handed back, unaccompanied by the tickets this time. "Go on," the woman said in a displeased tone, waving someone over to put our big suitcases on the conveyor belt. The carry-ons we had went through a scanner about the same time we did, and as we had nothing that would get us arrested (that they could see... mwahaha- er, I mean... I'm innocent?), we were allowed to reclaim our tiny bags and scurry onto the plane.
Upon taking my seat, I rummaged around in my backpack for an item familiar to both my cousin and myself - a battered and abused green notebook with two pencils, one light green, the other light blue, stuffed in the binding rings. "Ah, the beloved fanfiction notebook!" I exclaimed dramatically, waving it in front of Angel's face. She immediately made a wild grab for it, but I snatched it back, laughing. "My turn first, sista," I said, assuming my 'gangsta' persona. My lovable yet somewhat violent relative promptly brought her fist down on the top of my head, and I surrendered the book to her.
"You know I hate it when you talk like that," she growled as she took hold of the blue pencil and began flipping pages. "That whole 'homie' thing, and the... ugh, just, no."
I shrugged. "Whatever," I said as I grabbed my pencil as well and started chewing on it out of random boredom. "Whadd're we wridin'?" I asked around the wood.
"Naruto," she replied instantly, and I pouted, taking the pencil back out of my mouth.
"But I wanna write Death Note," I complained, tapping her shoulder with the eraser. "Or Black Butler, or Bleach, or... something other than ninjas!"
"Naruto fanfics own and there's nothing you can do about it," she said dispassionately. "And Naruto fics are what we're going to write." Thus began the argument that drowned out all other sounds; the people behind us demanding that we shut the fuzz up, the people in front of us begging that we shut the fuzz up, and - here's the important one, folks - the voice on the intercom that told us our destination. Guess where we WEREN'T going? Canada. The plane took off, and my elder cousin and I were unknowingly embarking on the coolest trip of our lives, homies. For reallz.
~~Meanwhile, back at the airport...~~
"CANADA? EH? WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR TICKETS TO SPAIN?"
...Yeah.
"-be arriving in Madrid in approximately-"
"MADRID?" Angel squeaked, turning to me with green eyes wide. "As in, the capital of Spain, Madrid?"
I racked my brains, trying to remember my last geography test. "Uuuhhmm... Yeah, that sounds about right."
She seized my shoulders in a vice-grip and shook me back and forth. "We are supposed to be in Canada, not Spain! Can you PLEASE try to sound a LITTLE concerned that we're on the wrong fuzzing CONTINENT?"
Laughter came pouring out of my mouth; I couldn't hold it back. "Dude, are you kidding?" I exclaimed, prying her hands off and running my own through my vibrant red hair. "This is so totally awesome! We are in SPAIN, baby! Land of of the sexy-sounding language!"
The blonde twitched as she looked over my head to see out of the window; her head turned left to right in hopeless denial. "But... how did this even happen?" she asked, sounding dazed. "We..." And right then was when realization hit. "FUZZY MUSHROOMS!" she swore, slamming her head back against her seat. "The couple at the airport! Our tickets must have gotten switched when we ran into them! Jashin dang it, I KNEW I had the flight number right! Augh..." She put a hand up to her temples, which I could practically see throbbing from the stress of the situation. ...Well, stress for her, anyway. Personally, I was bouncing up and down in my chair, watching in anticipation as the colorful land got closer and closer to the window.
"Eh, so what if we're on the wrong continent?" I asked, grinning at Angel. She glanced up at me like 'Are you nuts?' "Come ON, girl! This our chance to have a little fun, cut loose, ya dig?" Aaaand cue the fist to the head again. Fortunately for me, I've got a pretty dang hard head, so I barely noticed the blow, instead letting out a happy squee as we started to land.
Roughly thirty minutes later, we were wandering aimlessly around Madrid, neither of us having any clue where we could even go. The fact that neither of us spoke or understood more than a few words of Spanish was decidedly NOT helping my dear older cousin's mood; Angel was practically having a heart attack as we shuffled through the streets with our baggage. "Ooohh, Nikki," she mumbled/moaned at last, the two of us having come to a busy section of the city. "What are we gonna do? We-"
"DUDE, NOT COOL! GIVE IT BACK!" yelled a loud, spastic voice.
Her head, previously hung, snapped up instantly. "English!" she shouted, heaving her duffel bag off the ground and slinging it over her shoulder with her backpack. "Somebody speaks English! Let's GO!" She broke into a run, thigh-length hair streaming out behind her like a ray of sunshine. ...Wow, I'm poetic. Who knew? I myself followed Little Miss Sunshine at more leisurely pace, my own shoulder length hair bouncing as I went.
When I caught up to her, the first thing I noticed was the big group of cute guys she was standing in front of, nearly all of whom appeared to be in some kind of fight over... something I decided I didn't care about. The second? Well...
"Ah! Dos bella damas-"
And even though there was more to it, that was about all I heard, 'cause you know what I saw? Super-cute guy: brown hair, green eyes, speaking sexy-sounding Spanish and smiling at me, and - when he started coming toward me and ended up tripping due to that fight I mentioned - really nice butt. ...Hey, you'd think so too if you saw it!
"Onhonhonhon! Spain, zat was not ze best way to impress ze young woman," a wavy-haired blonde laughed at Mr. Sexy-Speaker. I stepped backwards when he laughed and gave him the 'touch me and you die' look for good measure. He laughed like a RAPIST! However, the hot one was apparently unfazed; he simply jumped back up and scurried on over, smiling like nothing had happened.
"Hola, Señorita!" he said, randomly grabbing my hand and kissing it. Unlike the French rapist-sounding man, I was unopposed to physical contact with this cutie and didn't yank my arm away. "Wh-"
"Hey, who're you guys?" the spastic voice from earlier interrupted loudly. I glanced over that way and saw another blonde with shorter hair and glasses looking at us with a confused expression. He was pretty cute too, but not as much as the Spanish guy who still had my hand. My cousin seemed to think otherwise, as was obvious from her instant blush, but cherry-faced or not, the girl never lost her voice.
"Excuse me! I'm sorry we're bothering you, but-"
Blondie jumped out of the stilled fight (everybody froze when they noticed us, apparently?) and pulled out a couple of random chairs at an even more random table, patting one. "Nah, no problem!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "The hero always helps the damsel in distress! What's up?" Angel was in the chair next to him in about 0.4 seconds, explaining everything from our collision at the airport to our being lost and not speaking Spanish and having nowhere to stay, at which point she was interrupted by the guy. "Hey, no biggie! You can just come stay with us!" he said with a big smile.
I glanced at the building behind them that I somehow hadn't noticed before. It was enormous, and it looked almost like a palace or something - needless to say, it was quite impressive, even to my hard-to-impress cousin. When I heard her accept his 'generous offer', I glanced back at the man with the cute butt. He was grinning in a very pleased manner.
"Muy bien, Señorita! It seems we will spending some time together!"
I thought to myself: 'This. Is. The. Best. Trip. Ever!' And the fun hadn't even started yet. ...Yes, you can take it that way.
"So you guys are like, representatives for each country in some kind of world conference, and you just call eachother by your country's names?" I asked, beginning to sum up the last hour of conversation, during which I had been introduced to most of the representatives and told about any that weren't present. We had all moved inside and now sat on a bunch of big cushy couches; Spain, or Antonio, to use his real name, was right next to me, while Angel sat across the room next to Alfred, AKA America. After he explained his role in this mess, Alfred had said something about video games, unintentionally starting up a very animated conversation with my relative; thus, the two of them were completely ignoring the rest of us. I shook my head at her. She hated it when I used gangsta lingo, but when Alfred did it (which was every other sentence), it just seemed to turn her on. Premonition: they will end up in a room with a bed in it before this is over... Not that she's easy, but something about the way she kept looking at him just told me she was about to get a black mark on her otherwise snow-white record, courtesy of Alfred F. Jones. Or should I call it a red mark...? ...I'm such a perv.
"Yes, I suppose you could say that," England replied with a nod.
" 'Kay... and... France, Prussia whom I have not met, and Spain-" I paused and glanced at him out of the corner of my eye; he smiled in a deceivingly innocent manner. Seeing him in my peripheral vision, I had a sudden urge to lick him. ...What? That happens to me with everything, inanimate objects and people alike. (Angel hates it, because we usually walk side-by-side, and she doesn't enjoy being slobbered on. Not that that stops me.) Unable to help myself, I leaned over and licked from about his elbow up to his face, which, like everyone else's, was now home to a shocked and disturbed expression. Although... was he smirking now? Apparently he enjoys being licked? Cool, he's crazy! "-make up a group you call the Bad Touch Trio, for self-explanatory reasons?" I continued as though nothing had happened.
Relative silence reigned for several minutes. Then, "That's it!" Alfred exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "Consider yourself officially challenged!"
"Challenge accepted," Angel shot back, also rising. "Just tell me when and where."
"My room, right now!"
Cue two-thirds of the room's population busting into perverted laughter. I am clearly not the only one!
"Onhonhon, America! You move fast, non?" France practically giggled. Nevermind that he was on the other end of the couch, I still scooted toward my end some more. Rapist does not turn me on, although pedophile apparently does, as evidenced by my dragging Antonio with me. "Try not to go too fast, zo- Zey just ran off."
"Hey, Angel, guess what!" I screamed at my cousin before she could vanish around the corner. She stopped dead in her tracks to look at me with a 'what-the-fuzz-do-you-want' face, Alfred standing impatiently beside her. I merely grinned, took a deep breath and without warning screeched: "Lace Trap! Paul Revere's famous quote! British invasion masters! We live in America! And you're about to walk off with him!" The look on her face was epic, but to make it even better England says: "What exactly did Paul Revere say?" Me and Angel both grinned and at the same time blurted out "THE BRITISH ARE COMING! THE BRITISH ARE COMING!" I continued by saying casually, "In, (here I paused for dramatic effect) AMERICA!"
The look on England's face was priceless! The whole room burst into laughter as England and Alfred's faces both lit up like fires. Antonio and France both seemed to laugh the hardest. Then, one poor, uncomprehensive voice asked, "What's-a so funny? All I heard was-a someone named Paul screaming Britain's coming in America, Veeee~!" and the rest of the room just laughed even louder.
"Is that Feliciano?" I asked Antonio with a slight grin.
"Yes, that is-"
"Then where's Lovino?" I practically screamed in excitement.
"Well, Lovino usually tries to keep his distance from me," Antonio stated.
"Hehehehehehe, and what, did'ya pull his ahoge?"
"OKAY, I'm getting out of here before this conversation goes any further," Angel said loudly at the mention of the hair curl. I noticed that her face was kind of red. Courtesy of the Britain comments, perhaps? I didn't have to wonder about Alfred, who was still rather crimson himself as Angel gave him a push down the hall. "Video games," she said commandingly, and he nodded, blush fading as his competitive spirit returned to him.
"Yo, that's right! You and me are still gonna play some games!" The blonde-haired, glasses-wearing duo scurried away to the sound of more laughter, but I don't think they even noticed.
Once they were gone, England threw me a worried glance; the pervy comments clearly had him in an 'oh-no-what-if-something-actually-happens' frame of mind. "Ah, Monique-"
"Call meh Nikki," I interrupted.
"Very well, NIKKI," he continued, stressing the nickname and tossing his glances down the hallway now instead at of yours truly. "Will your cousin be alright if we leave her alone with him?"
"Yeeeaah," I said, examining my fingernails... while lying on my back and using Spain's head (the one on top...perverts!) as a footrest. Holy crap, that purple polish has been on there for like a MONTH! "He tries anything and she'll knock him into next week. Maybe even next month! She doesn't do the random hook-up thing." Although I've never seen her look at a guy like that before, so I don't really know what to expect...? That little bit of doubt must have shown in my face, because scarcely five minutes later, England got up off the couch and headed down the hall after them. Technically I guess it was my problem; I was the one related to the girl, but he seemed more qualified to worry about it, and I decided to let him. Angel dearest, you just became Arthur's problem, for I must focus on a sexy Spaniard! Don't do anything stupid. ...And if you do, for pity's sake use protection!
~Day One - Tourist~
Spain. ...The country, not its representative. Frankly, it's beautiful, as I discovered when Antonio cheerfully suggested taking me on a tour of his home, which I just as cheerfully agreed to. It was fairly warm, unlike Canada would have been, which pleased me; I'd never been big on cold weather. And it was so colorful! The city bustled with activity, and the people passing by were like rainbows personified, dressed in the same kinds of bright clothing that could be seen in shop windows and at various stalls in the busy marketplaces. And the language! Every time I heard someone speak, I couldn't help but stop to listen and think how I REALLY needed to learn how to do that.
"-like one, Monique?" Antonio said, interrupting my eavesdropping on a couple of teenagers.
"Baka-say-whaa?" I responded out of habit, then facepalmed at myself for unintentionally calling him an idiot. That was my famous line at school when the teachers called on me and I wasn't paying attention. Since none of them spoke Japanese, it was easy to insult them without them knowing. ...Not that I spoke it either, but hey, I knew more than they did. Hehe.
The brunette cocked his head sideways like a puppy. "Perdon? What... did you say?"
"I asked what you said," I replied, not revealing my unintentional mistake, and he smiled.
"Oh," he said, and pointed towards one of the shops I mentioned. "I noticed that you seem to like the (here he said something in Spanish that I didn't understand but thoroughly enjoyed listening to) and asked if maybe you wanted one?"
I blinked. "Um... one whut?"
"The outfits you keep looking at." He grinned, and I just knew he was going to take advantage of the fact that I didn't know anything of his language. "Money, it is no issue, so if you like I can buy you one."
On one hand: Angel has told me time and time again not to 'impose' on people. On the other, he's offering, so it's not really imposing, and those clothes are flippin' awesome. Decisions, decisions... "YES PLEASE AND THANK YOU!" I shrieked, hugging his arm. He grinned widely and pulled me off towards the store, where I found myself a sexy-looking get-up that, with my somewhat tanned skin (in contrast to my ghostly white cousin; I swear, if she put in red contacts and sprayed sparkles on herself she'd be a Meyerpire), almost made me look like a native. Needless to say I was pleased with it, and Antonio seemed to be just as happy from seeing that I liked it so much. That, or I looked hot in it and he liked THAT.
The next stop on the tour was lunch, which also made me veeery happy. What can I say? I like food. And for the record, anything in America (again, country, not person) that claimed to be authentic Spanish food is LYING! My new favorite person generously treated me to the BEST mole I have ever had in my LIFE! ...Yes, yes, I know I'm using a lot of capitals and exclamation points! The tacos were glorious, and the mango thingies that I have sadly forgotten the name of are the REASON I forgot what they were called. Mind-erasing goodness! Oh, and did I mention that we shared a dessert? Yep, fried ice cream! Weird name, kinda weird flavor and texture, but delicious nonetheless, which I told him with a big smile on my face.
"Oh, you like it?" Antonio said, grinning back at me. "Muy bien! I'm glad." He stuck his spoon back into his half of the stuff - or tried to. Rule number one: DON'T. GIVE. ME. SUGAR. There will be consequences if this rule is broken, as he found out the hard way. The spoons clanged loudly as I smacked them together and knocked his hand away from the sugary treat.
"Yes indeed, Antonio," I said, purposely making my grin seem menacing. "I do like it... And if you want any more of you're gonna have to fight me for it!"
He blinked, looking shocked. "What do yo-"
"SPOON FENCING!" I shouted, holding my 'weapon' out. "Do you accept my challenge?"
Again, the Spaniard blinked... then smirked, following suit. "Si... Let's go," he said, his voice taking on a deeper tone. I swear to you, if I had not been that sugared up and thus getting ready to spoon-fight, I would have tackled that man right then and there. ...And heck yes I mean it that way! So. Flippin'.Sexy.
Maybe it was a good thing we had those spoons, and were out in public. I mean, I had just told my cousin not to do anything stupid, and I'd hate to be a hypocrite.
~Back at Home Base (yes, that's what we're calling it :P)~
England crept slowly down the hall, trying and failing to banish the inappropriate images from his mind. America was ALONE in his BEDROOM with a WOMAN! Nothing good could come of that, nothing! Of course, Monique had promised that nothing would happen between Alfred and her elder cousin, but... Well, it couldn't hurt to make sure the boy was behaving himself, could it?
The Brit began to tip-toe as he neared America's door, stopping all unecessary noises to better hear what was going on behind the rectangular wooden barrier. I'll only listen for a tick, and if it's all clear I'll-
"Faster, Alfred! You have to go faster!"
England's heart stopped for what seemed to be a full minute before sputtering back to life and hammering spazzmatically against his ribcage, feeling on the verge of arrest. He leapt the remaining four feet between the door and himself in a single bound and raised his fists to the white-painted wood, (A/N: OH NOES, THE PICTONIANS HAVE BEEN HERE! XD) bringing them down on it desperately. "Alfred! Open the door!"
Several seconds passed before the reply came. "Nngh... Go awaaaay, England!"
Arthur seized the doorknob and twisted it violently, but to no avail. It was locked, which only served to make the green-eyed man more frantic, as evidenced by the way he resumed beating on the door with both fists. "ALFRED F. JONES OPEN THIS BLOODY DOOR RIGHT NOW!"
Much to his surprise, the door did open a few seconds later, revealing an irritated - and fully clothed - America, an Xbox controller in his left hand, as he'd opened the door with his right. "What do you want, Iggy?" Sirens and screeching tire sound-effects issued from the television, in front of which Angel was sitting, a controller in her hands also and an expression of intense focus on her face.
A racing game, Arthur thought to himself, feeling heat rise to his face. It was a bloody racing game! Now what was he supposed to say? "I, erm... I-"
"Hahahaha!"
Both countries glanced up at the stream of giggles that left the nineteen year-old's mouth; the sound was followed by an all too familiar victory jingle from the TV. The other nineteen year-old glared daggers at his unwelcome visitor. "Dude, for reallz, that was totally not cool. You just made me lose - to a girl!"
England raised a hand to his mouth and coughed a few times, trying to clear his voice of the embarrassment that he knew would be obvious. "Ahem... Yes, well... apologies, Alfred," he said awkwardly. "I'll... just... go." So saying, he dashed off before either of the American teens could reply.
So passed the first day with the representatives. How long the girls were going to stay even they weren't sure yet, but already they knew that there would never be a dull moment. ...How many times must it be said? That is meant in the perviest way possible.
And voila! The first chapter! There should be a total of... four or five? Not sure, since I'm not entirely finished with this yet. Anywho, hope you're liking it so far and that you come back for the next installment. À bientôt! ^ ^
