The By-turns Hilarious And Angst-filled Misadventures of Scotland the Brave

Oh God. In order to create publicity for the current world problems, Scotland and her fellow nations are being shipped around the world, city by city, for a year long press tour. That's 365 days, people. But she can survive. She's Scotland the Brave. Right? Right?

Chapter 1: Why Scots Hate Mondays

Scotland walked into the World Meeting room with a nervous feeling in her chest. She didn't like meetings, as she was an introvert, claustrophobic, Denmark would be there, Norway would be there, Sweden would be there, France would be there… The list went on and on. Mostly it was because people would stare at her. Her dark-red hair, the golf club strapped to her back, and of course you couldn't forget the scar over her eye, clawing one forest-green iris into blindness. Although she was the oldest of the U.K., she let England take care of their matters. The two had been in fights in the past, but they'd worked out an agreement: he didn't tell her what to do, and she helped him with financial issues. The only reason she was going was because of Wales. The small fifteen year old country held her hand as they walked in. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, and gave her a small smile. She bent down, adjusted his small reddish-brown ponytail, pecked him on the cheek, and took their seats. England started presenting about the environmental state of their country. Scotland held back a yawn. France gave her a suggestive smile from across the room. She shot him a glare, and hit her golf club in the palm of her hand. Russia gave her an approving nod. Makoto sniffed at Kumajirou under the table. Her eyes drifted to the nation sitting across from her. The tall, blond, muscular, blue eyed, exceedingly sexy nation. Mentally, Scotland hit herself over the head with a golf club. Germany was a friend. Nothing more, she told herself. Even so, she continued to stare at him. After several minutes, excessive pencil scratching, a sharp cry of pain, a quiet "Aru?", a French chuckle, and several "Kols", a piece of paper was passed to her.

Scotland and Germany, like, sitting in a bush-

Oh my god, Poland, it's tree. TREE. Bush does not rhyme with G!

Scotland recognized Estonia's neat, compact handwriting.

YEAH IT DOES, CAUSE, LIKE, I ACTIVATE THE POLISH RULE!

K-I-S-S-I-N-G-USH! SEE!

He has a point, Poland…

Like, shut up, Lithuania.

It does not matter. You will all become one with Russia, da? Right, Latvia?

Yes…

You have a crush on Germany, aru? I can give you some advice if you want, aru!

So, the potato bastard…Scotland, I thought you had a goddamned brain. Stop hugging me, tomato bastard.

You two would be so cute together! Tomatoes!

Dude, you have a crush on Germany? Weird! I thought he bombed you and stuff! Which I saved you from 'cause I'M THE HERO!

Er, that's great Scotland… Can you please tell America and Kumojeryiou who I am? Or at least that I exist? I know you remember me…

Dude, I think there's a ghost sitting next to me… He smells like maple syrup.

Aw, that's heterosexual, so there's no yaoi… Sad…

Hungary, you should support a pairing because they're your friends, not because there will be yoaii… Yoia… Yuoi… Yeaio? On other matters I have the perfect piano track for this.

So, Ecosse is in love with Allemagne, non? If you change your mind, my bedroom is unlocked!

Cool, mon. Just remember to call me if you need bananas!

The standard of my culture demands that I say anything negative in the least offensive way I can. I'll think about it.

What's everyone talking about? Guess I'll never know… Want to come over and have pasta for dinner tonight?

If I support you two, will you recognize me as a country? And can I pet Makoto?

Could you get the crazy Italian and those three perverts to stop streaking on my lawn? It's compromising the innocence of Lichtenstein's eyes.

To the un-awesome Switzerland: Scotland has no control over us! Well, she makes France horny, but that's another story. She'd be way more awesome if she dated me! But her lion scares me… Scotland's day reached a new low as she read the last line.

So you like me?

Germany raised his eyebrows across the table. Scotland hit her head on the desk. Repeatedly. She lifted her head up, scribbled something on the paper and gave it to the German.

I hate Mondays.