Snowflakes drift gently to the ground as England makes his way silently down the empty streets, clutching a large paper bag in his arms. It is dark, with thick clouds overhead, so the only thing that sheds light on the scene is a streetlamp, which flickers feebly at a corner.
Shivering slightly, England stops abruptly at the door of his large estate. He waits, expecting a servant to come to his heed, but no one opens the door. 'It's Christmas Eve,' he realizes suddenly, and his mittened hands fumble for the keys in his pocket. 'They are all on vacation, enjoying themselves with family and such...'
The wooden door creaks open. England steps into his mansion and shuts the door tightly behind him against the cold. Then he turns around, leans against the door, and sighs as he stares off into dark, empty corridors.
This year, he did not feel the need to decorate...
"Well," he says at length, shedding his dark red cloak and letting it slip to the floor. "Happy Christmas Eve, England." He slides down to a sitting position, staring up at his slowly swaying crystal chandelier. "I remember better Christmases... but I suppose, with America at his stupid party, and my rather... isolated state... in terms of friends, this is just going to be another lonely Christmas..." Rather ruefully, he turns towards a spot beside him. "Even Mint Bunny is gone, off to visit Alaska's Frost Bunny or whatever... damn it, why do they have to be such good friends? That American jerk..."
After staring at his chandelier's slow dance for a while longer, England stands and picks up his grocery bag. "I suppose I should get started on dinner; wouldn't want to get hungry during the seasons..." He walks, briskly, down a center hallway, not bothering to turn on any lights.
Arriving in his kitchen, he finally flips a switch with another sigh, bathing the glorious place in a bright white light. England felt a small smile tugging at his lips. Perhaps it was because, for a reason that was beyond his comprehension, every machine he cooked at broke down, but England's kitchen was stocked with only the finest equipment, only the most beautiful dishes and silverware.
England puts his bag down on a marble counter and begins to work. He has just placed his creations -supposedly crumpets -onto an oiled pan when, from a small stand in the corner, his phone begins to ring.
Biting back a curse, he lets the phone ring for a moment, contemplating on whether or not he should ignore it. Cautiously, he walks up to it and -with slight curiosity -peers at the flashing dial for the name of the caller.
Alfred. England gives an irritated little sigh. Why in the world was America calling him, for heaven's sakes? At this hour? 'To brag about his party, I'll bet,' England finds himself thinking, and his lips tighten. 'I honestly don't want to hear his ridiculous voice right now. I'm not picking up, despite the fact that it breaches common etiquette.'
To England's relief, the phone eventually stops ringing. But just as he slots his late-night crumpets into the oven, his phone rings again.
England swipes up the phone. "Damn it, Alfred! Why the hell are you calling me? I'm trying to get dinner done!"
"Alfred?" says a calm voice from the other line. "I believe you are mistaken. My name is Ivan. And if you were about to cook, I just saved you from a great deal of trouble."
England freezes, a small shiver run up his spine. "R-Russia?"
"Hello, Arthur!" Russia says in a deceptively cheerful voice. "You weren't, by any chance, invited to America's Christmas Bash, were you?"
"Well, actually... no."
"Good," Russia says happily. "I wasn't invited either. Arthur, I wanted to invite you to dinner."
"D-dinner?" England stutters, silently freaking out.
"Yes. I've invited everyone who wasn't invited to America's silly little party. I'm cooking a little bit of everyone's food, so eating won't be a problem."
"B-but..."
"I hope you can come, England," England pales.
"O-of course I can come, Ivan..."
"Good! Please be here in an hour!" There is a small click from the other end. Crumpets forgotten, England begins to hyperventilate as he rushes into his master bedroom to pick out proper attire.
'Ivan's party... oh god... I wouldn't be surprised if this ends in a World War III…'
Exactly fifty-six minutes later, England rings Russia's doorbell with a trembling hand, clutching a bottle of vodka and a sunflower in the other. He gives a feeble attempt at a smile as the door to the mansion opens, revealing a brightly-lit entrance hall decked with mistletoe... and Russia, in a purple scarf despite the fact that he is indoors. "Dobro pozhalovatʹ! Welcome! Please, come in! Oh, you brought Vodka! Spasibo! And a pretty sunflower! How thoughtful!"
An extremely traumatized England is ushered into the dining room by an unusually cheerful Russia. Which is not a good sign.
To his shock, America is sitting at the end of Russia's long, elegant table, hugging something that looked like an albino teddy bear and shakily taking a drink from a small mug. Strangely, he is being completely ignored by the others at the table. Feeling a bit irked, England crashes down into the seat beside the bastard.
"What are you doing here, America?" England hisses, grabbing Alfred's shoulder. "Not invited to your own party?"
America sits up with a snap, his cup clattering onto the table. "But... but I'm..."
"Shut up," England starts, but the drink sitting before America catches his eye. Tea. "Wait, you're not America, Alfred would never drink that..."
The country gives a nervous laugh. "I'm Canada. Matthew."
"Sorry, Canadia," England says distractedly, then turns to observe the others at the table.
As expected, there are not many people there. Either because America has so many friends, or because so many people believed the little message on the invitations that said that something terrible would happen if they didn't attend the party... although England preferred to think the latter.
Then, suddenly, England started and grew tense, as did two of the three other people at the table. The Axis Powers. "Wh-what are you doing here?" England asks, snapping up in his chair. Italy gives him a huge grin.
"Ve~ I told America that his hamburgers tasted like cardboard, and that I wanted some yummy pasta instead, but for some reason he got offended and kicked me out! And Doit-su came with me, although his card said something terrible would happen if he left!" With these words, Italy flings an arm over Germany's shoulder, who looks understandably uncomfortable.
Germany gave England a wary look. "Hello, Arthur," he says in a slow, measured voice. Beside him, Japan stands awkwardly and gives a short bow.
"It's good to see you, England-san. Please, sit down." England sits down slowly at Japan's words. He notices that a cup of steaming tea has been placed before him on the intricately carved oak table, and he hastily takes a sip. As he does, a smiling Russia takes his place at the head of the table. Everyone gives an inward shudder.
"It's good to see everybody here," he says, somehow commanding the entire party's attention with his quiet voice. "I don't celebrate any holiday at this time, so I don't usually have visitors... it is a nice change from all the lonely holidays I have had so far, and I'm sure you'd agree, da?" Everyone silently disagrees, but no one dares to say a word. "Now, I would bring out the food, but one of our guests are still missing..." As if on cue, the doorbell rings: a rather discordant melody of chime bells. "There he is now," Russia says happily, stepping to the door, and England can't help but get a slight sense of foreboding...
The door bursts open, and -to England's dismay -France struts in the door, holding several bottles of wine in his arms. "Ahonhon~ Merry Christmas, Russia! This is a nice change from America's crazy bash, non? Here's a few things of wine." Thrusting the bottles at Russia, France marches into the dining room and, surveying its inhabitants, plops down next to England. "Merry Christmas, Angleterre! Not invited to America's party again this year, I see!"
"Shut up, you blasted frog," England growls, clenching his fists tightly beneath the table. "What got you here?"
"Love, what else, mon ami? And I may have seduced one too many girls at Alfred's party..." England makes to stand, hatred written across his face, but Russia's reentrance quickly calms him down.
"Hello! I'm back. It is time for the food!" Russia smiles and claps for his servants. There is a long silence in the dining hall. Russia's grin flickers slightly. "Oops."
"Vat do you mean, 'oops?'" Germany demands, looking suddenly anxious. "Vat's happening?"
Russia shrugs slightly. "Well, I forgot that I gave the trio a break for Christmas, so there really isn't any food... but it's okay because we have various liquors, da?" The relief on the countries' faces is unmistakable. Because when Russia says oops... anything can happen.
There was a short silence that was broken by Italy's wail: "Ve~ Russia is very scary! But wine is very good! So we will be okay!" With these words he somehow pulls a small goblet out of his pocket (causing everyone to jump and stare) and pours himself some rich, purple wine. Of course, France immediately joins in.
"Vell, I suppose a little beer can't hurt," Germany decides and, clearing his throat, he reaches for a large bottle of beer that Russia has placed on the table.
Japan looks rather uncomfortable. "D-do you have any sake, sir?"
Russia smiles and nods. "Maybe just a few drops." He heads into the kitchen, and comes back with a bucketload of sake.
"A-arigatou..."
Someone beside England quietly asks for ginger ale, and England jumps, effectively hitting someone's face with his elbow. "Oh, it's just you, Matthew," he says in relief. "I forgot you were here."
"Ouch... It's okay... maybe if you try a little harder..." Canada sighs and pours himself and Kumajiro two tiny glasses of ale. "Um, England, aren't you going to get a drink?"
"Well," England say, slightly flustered, "You see..."
"Little Angleterre can't hold his whiskey, non?" France butts in, waving his glass of wine with a flourish. "Mon ami is rather wimpy of late!" He then picks up a bottle of beer and begins to wave it teasingly before England's face.
"Give me that!" Arthur snaps, snatching the bottle and hastily downing it. He wipes his mouth, panting slightly, as his cheeks grow ruddy. "I... I can handle more alcohol than you can for sure, you bloody git!"
France raises his eyebrows and his glass at once. "Is that a challenge? Then I accept." With these words, he slowly brings his glass to his lips.
Inwardly, England sighed as he grabbed at another bottle of some liquor. This was most likely going to be a long, long night.
Outside, beyond the Prussian blue curtains that Russia has hung up for the occasion, the snow has been building up, patches of ice reflecting the deep, purple sky as the sun sets on the scene, and the mansion is bathed in an eerie, violet light.
Germany, who has done away with more than a few bottles of beer, is even more irascible than usual. When an extremely ditzy Italy wraps him in a bear hug, he snaps, "Vat are you doing to a fellow soldier? Get down and do thirty push-ups immediately!" Which a very frightened Italy instantly obeys.
Japan appears to be completely sober, although he looks very flustered and his cheeks are colored scarlet from the sake.
France just seems more jovial than usual, boasting loudly as he pours himself another glass of wine. "Now, mon ami~ Drinky drinky! Wouldn't want to lose to Brother France, would you? Drinky drinky, I tell you!"
England, who is not sure how many glasses he has downed so far, shakes violently as he slumps against the table, resting his head on the cool, oak surface. He is feeling strangely dizzy. "L-leave me alone, you bloody frog..."
"Alone! But mon ami! You cannot have love alone!" France takes another glass of wine, and an even wilder look enters his eyes. "But if you are tired, I can always take you to bed, Angleterre."
"N-no..."
"What do you mean, no? I know you wants it~!" Then, to England's horror, France begins to undo the buttons of his attire.
"Vat the hell?" Germany jumps France, and both England and France topple onto the floor. "Vhy in the vorld are you doing this? Vat the hell!" France wriggles under Germany's weight.
"What? Germany? Would you, mon ami, likeys some loooooove too?"
"Shut up!" Germany immediately begins a well-practiced torture method on France, while both Italy and Japan frantically try to dissuade him. But England cannot pay attention to anything they're saying.
"Is that you, Flying Mint Bunny?" he finds himself muttering, groping in the air where he saw something blurry and green. "Buuuuuuunny why did you goooooo? I've been miserable here... Gaaaaaaaaaah!" England feels someone shaking him, and looks up groggily. "Whaaaaaat? Who are you?"
"Please, England-san... please, you are drunk. Let me take you to the sofa so you can get some rest..."
"SHUTUP! Iknowthatyouplannedasecretpa ctwithRussiawhyelsewouldyoub ehereyoutraitorhaveyoualread yforgottenthedealwemadetoget herhuhyouthoughtIwasstuuuuuu upiddidn'tyouthoughtIwouldn'tfindoutbuthaIdidsoLEAVEMEFR EAKINALONEYOUGIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIT!"
"England-san!" Japan cries, looking genuinely flustered. "No! None of those things are true! Come on, you are drunk, please, let me take you to the..."
"I'll handle this~!" France waltzes over to the scene, dragging Germany and Italy behind him. "Oh Angleterre~"
"Shut up, you bloody FROG! Can't you leave me alone for ONE DAMN MINUTE? SERIOUSLYIAMCONTEMPLATINGANO THER100YEARSOFWARWITHYOUYOUB LOODYPERVERT!" Feeling a strange rush of anger running through him, England tackles France.
Soon, Russia's mansion is a madhouse.
As his drunken guests tumble, shout, fight, and destroy things at random, Russia simply stands, watching. For once, his smile has left his face. Slowly, a tear makes its way down his face. "I... I just wanted to have a peaceful Christmas Eve dinner... why is it that everything I do, I always cause... this?"
Suddenly, the door bursts open.
"Brother~!" Belarus steps in through the door, bringing with her a torrent of snowflakes. "Brother it's Christmas Eve! Let's get married, brother!"
Russia immediately freaks out. "No! Get away from me!"
Suddenly, Belarus notices the men fighting in the living room floor. Her eyes glow with a strange anger. "You countries... disturbing dear brother... GET OUT!" With these words, she grabs a gun off the mantle and begins to shoot wildly at anything that moves.
It clears the house effectively.
"And now, brother," she says to a shivering Russia. "It's just you and me."
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!"
England is pushed through the door. He attempts to stand, but his foot skids on the ice, and he lands in the ice and snow. Something cracks, and pain shoots up his body, but -in his drunken stupor, he doesn't really notice it.
He can't see anything but darkness and snow and the strange green blob. Strange, alcohol-induced emotions rush up his body, and suddenly, he can only think one thing. "America, you damned bastard... declaring independence just like that... WELL LOOK AT ME NOW," he mutters, clawing at the ice. But suddenly, he stops, and lets his arm drop down. He feels cold tears run down his face as he drunkenly turns over on his side. He is barely startled when he sees that his mansion, in the distance, is on fire: the scones... "Just let me die here! Let me die here, in the snow..."
He closes his eyes, and gives himself up to the darkness and cold.
His body is already numb and he so, so tired... His logical side -or, at least, as much logic as he has left -tells him it is not a good idea to fall asleep in front of Russia's house in the middle of the winter, but he is too tired, perhaps even too drunk to care.
He feels his consciousness spiral into darkness. And his last thought his on that damned American jerk... His entire body is tingling with cold, so he doesn't notice when someone gently picks him up and let his head rest on their shoulder...