No. No. Convert her into a Jew and ship off her off to Germany. Dress her up in skimpy clothes and make her parade around the castle and act as the poster girl. Make her masquerade as Archduke Ferdinand of Austria and send her stupidly into enemy territory with no guards or escorts. Hell, make her swim across the English Channel and back without any rest. Anything but that most daft display of sexism and womanhood and stereotype and whatever else that could be used to describe what she was watching on TV.

Lord only knew how she got reception up there, but right now, she was too focused on the absurd display in front of her to give that another thought.

Sitting on a wooden rocking chair in a circular room, the picture of a frozen woman was depicted; it would have even been a statue was it not for the light breathing that one could hear if one listened carefully enough. Not only that, if one looked closely enough, one could see the slight twitch in her emerald eyes, spazzing in time with the cheesy music that played from the box in front of her. Mouth agape, no sense of decorum, she continued to watch the animated cartoon in front of her with the strangest, strongest urge of getting up, punching said screen, then returning to her chair to knit or whatever other else women were supposed to do. Well really, she would have already done that was it not for the fact that this was the only real source of entertainment she was going to get until her oh-so-beloved mother came back from picking berries and some other natural… stuff. The woman had promised her return after two hours, but hell, it was already four hours, the sun was setting, the birds were sleeping, and all those other fairy tale nonsense that, if one really thought about it, was impossible.

She huffed. Ridiculous.

The show was called Rapunzel. Apparently, it was about this princess who was borne to two parents who desperately wanted a child. For some reason, the wife craved a Rapunzel plant that their next door neighbour, an enchantress, had, and her husband (bless his poor, defective, gullible soul) stole some for her, but was eventually caught on the third night of his attempted thefts. Of course, the couple had then to give up their only child as compensation, and the sorrow ensued. This child was then named Rapunzel after the plant, and was shut up inside a tall tower with no door, the only means of entrance and exit through the solitary window. Her "mother", the enchantress, would come in and out of the place through her long, fair hair that had never been cut, which was long enough to reach all fifty or so feet of the tower. On the other hand, she was never allowed to leave, and in all her misery, some German writer had taken pity on her and allowed a prince to come by and fall in love with her, marry her, and together they plotted her escape. Of course, they're later caught by the enchantress (oh, how cliché, the bad guy clique), but in the end, they won, were reunited and got married.

Need she reiterate? Ridiculous.

Throwing her pen at the television that was blaring the song called the "Healing Song" (how the hell they came up with that original name, she didn't know), Hungary shut off the television grandly, a well-practiced aim in her grasp. She reached out beside her table for a comb, closing her eyes and frowning in pure irritation at the stupidly cliché scene she had just witnessed. There were just so many things wrong with that movie, it was… ridiculous.

First off, who the hell had ever heard of an enchantress? Witches and shit, didn't they burn like, a long time ago in France or something, together with someone named Jeanne…? Or Joanne… Or, whatever, and they later learned they were persecuting normal humans. It was hilarious, sarcastically so, but no one else seemed to see the humour in the situation, but really, to each their own.

Second, a tower, really? With no doors? Fuck, then how the hell did they even build the damn thing and decorated the interior without a door? What, did they build from the top up or something? Oh, oh, but then again, if they enlisted the help of the enchantress, then yeah, maybe that was possible.

Tres, what kind of woman had that long a hair! She clenched her teeth in irritation as she combed her sixty-feet length hair, mulling over the movie. Honestly, blonde and beautiful? If there was anything more cliché, it could bite her butt and swim across the Pacific Ocean for all she cared, because nothing, nothing was more cliché than that. No resemblance to her own ridiculously long, hazel hair. None at all. It was, after all, only cliché when it was blonde.

Cuatro, how randomly lucky could you get with a handsome prince? What, did he just happen to stroll along one day from his blissfully wealthy family, got lost in the woods and saw said gigantic tower, and thought to himself "Oh, maybe there's a fair maiden up in the tower of whom I will fall in love at first sight and marry! There's nothing mysterious about her being up there in the first place. Not at all!" and proceeded to act all Superman on her and sweep her off her feet, all white knight in shining armor-like. Well, fuck it, she was stupid in the brain, and he was psychologically unstable in the head to fall in love with her at first sight, so maybe they did make the perfect couple. It was sick, but cute. A sick, cute couple.

Finally, a happily ever ending? Honestly, just how much more of this nonsense would they air! If it was even remotely possible to have a happily ever after forever, then the world would be full of smiling couples being all lovey-dovey over ice cream and whatnot. In her opinion, that was disgusting, but that was beside the point.

Her ramblings were interrupted when she came across a twisted knot in her hair about a half of the way down. Crying outright in frustration, she did not appreciate being cut off from her thoughts. Despite this, her expertly skilled fingers twirled through the obnoxious little thing, splitting the hairs evenly so she could resume her combing. Hungary sighed contentedly after doing so, thoughts of the heinous television show fading from her thoughts.

Honestly though, what the hell were they teaching kids these days? That princesses existed in some faraway lands just waiting in and out for their beloved prince to come? That princesses had all these beautiful things that could fulfill their hearts' desires, but did not because, of well, the former? That princesses always had some sort of unfortunate circumstance which they would be delivered from by, again, the former? Hungary scoffed in pure spite. Yeah, hell, she was a princess, but not even. Her mother, the queen, told her explicitly that she was an illegitimate child after she got far too drunk on Fiore's wine and whatever other bastardized drinks they served. Of course, with her reputation at stake and all that, Hungary was immediately disowned and sent to live with her mother's cousin twice removed. Now, this cousin of hers was bat-shit crazy, that much she could say. The woman lived for nature, always had that sneering look on her face, and absolutely had the best taste in architecture. How could she say that? Case in point: the tower. Once the official papers of adoption had been signed, she was whisked away into some ridiculously lengthy tower with no way in or out except through a window (no, not like Rapunzel at all, she thought bitterly to herself; no way was she associating herself with that happy-go-lucky-bitch). Ever since then, she'd been stuck in her, with only the crazy grandmother delivering her food every now and again.

Oh, a perfect fairy tale, if she ever saw one.

Truthfully though, she had nothing against fairy tales. It was just their sexist categories that irked her more than anything. Hungary always thought that girls liking pink and flowers and swooning over handsome princes was absolutely ridiculous (this was turning into her favourite word, really), and very stereotypical. She, on the other hand, would not be afraid to admit that she liked watching bloody or gory movies, with hints of psychological trauma in them, and she absolutely loved the colour black. And she, absolutely, would not fall in love at first sight. What was with that crap?

Hungary shook her head free of the thoughts, sighing resignedly. What was the point of ranting on and on like that? It wasn't going to change anything, and the world would remain as perverted as always. Fairy tales would continue without a hint of truth in them, but she couldn't very well go around murdering every single writer, could she?

Hey, well, that wasn't a bad thought now, was it?

On second thought, she could do that… if it wasn't for the fact that she was – had she pointed it out? – stuck in this damn tower with no way out and a very estranged grandmother to face if she even attempted to do so.

Life sucked.

Still, if she faced it honestly, there was one huge thing that irked her about that movie. Not only was it drastically cliché, it was also a damn musical. Seriously, who ever heard of someone breaking out into song out of sheer happiness, and then, moments later, magical flying mint bunnies would appear and everyone around her would also burst into song like it was the most normal thing that could possibly happen? Answer? No one. Only in these stupid fairy tales did that happen, and someone smack her dead before she'd do that, too.

It wasn't because she had a horrible voice. Because she didn't. Just ask the canary out her window. She just didn't… want to.

Stealing a glance at the clock, Hungary sighed as she noticed that it was quarter to eight. AM. Really, now all she needed was to cue the music and start into song about how she would entertain herself with books (or two) or paint a canvas (or two), whilst tiny little woodland creatures would come swarming in and help her clean up. She'd rather be shot.

She picked up the broom that lay nearby, and set to work on cleaning the impossibly small space. It was decorated sparsely, as though the homeowner was both tasteless and poor – which, she knew from experience, was both. It had a homey feeling to it, where everything was constructed from old-fashioned wood. A cabinet was adorned with paintings of various creatures, set aside next to a bookshelf that house about thirty books, give or take. Lord, would it kill the woman to buy more books? She'd read every goddamn book here about fifty times over, including the prologues and forewords, mind you, and she'd almost had the Mein Kampf memorized. Across from that was a typical set of a chair and desk. In the dead smack of the room was a circular, red, blue and green carpet (hideous, definitely), where the TV was settled upon, and a chair a few feet from it from where she watched. Behind the television was just about the only piece of furniture in the entire place that was actually appreciated. It was a simplistic closet for clothes (whereas the other was just full of various knickknacks like some weird star-striped flag and maple syrup), and it currently hung about two outfits, both of which were hers. She didn't even want to know where the old lady stowed her things, but she couldn't care less. For some reason, it was its simplicity that drew her to it, or maybe it was just the fact that it was the only relatively normal thing around her when her life was going to shit. A lifeline, of sorts.

She decided it was enough of that depressing state, and with the broom in hand, she proceeded to sweep along the carpet, which apparently was imported from some important nation of Britain. 'Tasteless nation, more like it', she thought to herself, but then, it made sense. Tasteless grandmother plus tasteless nation equals throw-up baby carpet. She smiled to herself; well, that was one mystery solved.

However, it was not soon after her grumblings to yet another day of chores (you'd think by now that the damn house could keep itself clean for one fucking day; what, were there magical unicorns of dirt, too?) when she was interrupted by a bristling sound from outside. Broom frozen in hand, Hungary's grip on the object tightened as she listened closely to the noise. It was… different, unnatural. For all the time she had lived up here, it was only ever the wind or the birds, but this time, it sounded larger, more intense – more… human-like. Not only that, it seemed to come straight from out her window. She knew for all purposes that it wasn't her grandmother, as the old bat would call out for her hair if she ever wanted to ascend.

Oh, fucking hell, it might have been a Frenchie. Those people were notorious for stalking, and she could stake her life on it that it was one of those bloodthirsty ones that came out to rape women and stain them forever. 'Too bad for them', she smirked to herself, treading lightly across the small room to grab a frying pan that was her signature weapon. Who needed swords and pepper spray when one had a frying pan?

Hungary situated herself right by her window, out from sight, waiting for some perverted-looking idiot to come falling in, probably half-naked in all his manly urges, ready to come rape her. Well, wait, it could be a totally innocent random who had happened across her tower, but honestly, what were the chances of that? She would sooner find a flying hamburger than one of those.

So, it was back to square one. A perverted, half-dressed Frenchie. Just the thought of smacking him senseless with her beloved weapon brought a smirk of delight on her face.

This would be fun.

The rustling outside subsided for a few moments, and she was half-tempted to peek out of her window, but she knew that if she did that, that was exactly what the Frenchie would want. He'd grab her all cool-like and whisk her away to some secluded spot in the wood and rape her. Repeatedly, where no one but the birds and rabbits would hear the humping sounds. No way was she falling for that shit. She was the master of looking out for cliché, after all.

Just when she thought the other person outside – whoever it was – had finally left her alone, or maybe, in a dash of hope, fallen all the way down the tower and would never be seen or heard from again, the supernatural sounds resumed their frantic pace from outside her window. Although panic was setting into her mind at this point, a more pressing matter invaded her thoughts. From how close it sounded, whoever it was had managed to climb at least half of the way up. With this, she had to absolutely ask herself: how the hell did he manage to do something like that? He wasn't going to be some sort of Superman like she had thought, was he?

Well, she would find out soon enough.

The leaves that were situated outside her window flew off into the breeze, as well as from the force of the human – or monster, really – that was emerging. Hungary had to tighten her grasp on the handle of the frying pan, her fingers almost feeling numb, as two hands gripped the edges of her window sill, reddening as they hoisted whoever owned them up. She leaned further into the darkness, eyes widening and nerves on the edge as she calmly surveyed – or attempted to – the culprit who had trespassed into her home.

There was a groan of complaint from the male (she was at least glad to know it was a human), before two boots clacked simultaneously on the hardwood floor, mud pooling around them. She felt a twitch in her eye; the bastard was going to pay for dirtying up the place she had just finished up cleaning… maybe with his face, even. She could only see the bare of his back, illuminated by the sunlight outside. From where she stood, he looked to be dressed in black and blue; blue overcoat with black pants and boots. His hair matched the hue of his jeans, and an unnatural curl was erected by the front of his head. A metallic piece hung around his ear, leaving her to think that he was wearing glasses.

The figure stood still for a few seconds, his head turning about as he surveyed his surroundings. She hadn't noticed it before until he relaxed, but his muscles were undeniably tensed. He stepped forward, still not spotting her from behind her little corner, approaching the middle of the room, towards the television, which she had just switched off a few moments ago.

And then he spotted it at the same time she did.

On the table top was undeniably, her undergarment, frilly and pink (she was going to kill her grandmother for buying her such an embarrassing show of lingerie), and due to its neon colour, it had attracted the male's attention. He trod on over to it, petite fingers befitting of a musician reaching out to it, and he surveyed it closely… before chuckling and muttering in a low voice, "Now, what sort of pretty maiden would leave this lying around?"

Well, hell, that was enough.

Creeping up from behind him, Hungary poised herself, lifting up the frying pan, and smacking it towards the back of the man's head in all her feminine rage. With a satisfied smirk, she watched as he collapsed face-down in front of her, dropping the embarrassing thing in front of his face.

She tiptoed forward, frying pan still held up in case he somehow had an unbelievably hard head and was still somehow conscious. Prodding his face with her foot, she angled it in a way that she could at least see his expression… and froze. Thoughts of the pukingly sweet fairy tale Rapunzel flashed into her mind.

No. No.

He was drop-dead gorgeous.

Oh, hell naw.

... Man, I'm not even sure where this came from. Blame the word "frying pan" (because it really is Hungary's weapon in the animanga) and listening to I Won't Say it from Hercules. This is meant to be a one-shot, but if there are enough reviews, I might continue. xD Might, since I just had a burst of muse for this one.

Bet you can't guess who the man is, haha. Or the movie it was based on, lol. Any ways, here ya go! A bit of randomness and my first fic without Canada. Have fun!~