Hello everyone! It's us! Your favorite trio! This is our first collaborative fanfiction and we're excited for it! It's a cracktastic story that we thought of at lunch soooo bare with us. We hope you enjoy and laugh so much you pee a little (just a little bit) at the end.
Disclaimer: We do not own Hetalia, this story is from our own minds, so be warned.
The stale smoke of an empty bar, the droning of a futball match in the background. The patrons of the small German bar knew not of the storm heading their way. A few of the nations all agreed upon a meeting at the bar on that very evening. It was sure to be an interesting event to say the least. Nations ambled into the bar just as the sun was beginning to set, and the lone bartender gave each a weary look as they entered.
A chorus of English curses rang out like a set of trumpets to signify the entrance of two bushy eyebrows, and an even louder distinctly American voice filtered in behind it. Closely behind the duo, a ghost of a person seemed to float in, barely noticeable in the wake of the others. A slight quiver in the air, however, seemed to attest to his presence. A few minutes later, a man with an impossible altitude followed by a woman who was bound to have chronic back problems entered the bar, much to the humble bartender's chagrin.
A loquacious trio joined the fray as if invading the vital regions of this poor, poor bar. Their entrance was as loud as the clothes they wore. The bar was quickly filling up, and soon a pair of matching males entered. Though alike in appearance they, could not be more different. Language as colorful as a rainbow was mixed with boisterous exclamations of Italian dishes usually drenched in sauce. A quiet and very reserved pair were the last to enter this quaint establishment. They, unlike the previous guests, seemed to be content to observe the actions of the others.
All of these unusual guests flocked to a small table in the far back corner of the bar, flagging down the extra staff that the bartender called in as soon as they began to flood the bar. Under the dim lights, a pair of rouge tinted eyes held a mischievous spark as an idea worked it way out of the man's mouth.
"Guys, guys, guys. I have ze most brilliant, spectacular, awesome idea in ze history of ever," said Prussia with an unmatchable intensity. His demeanor demanded the heed of the gathered nations, and they unintentionally gave heed to his words.
"Alright, okay. Get zis. Drinking contest. Ja? Ja? Ludwig? Ja?" he asked and was given a noncommittal nod in response. With what he assumed as the agreement of his brother, Prussia pressed on.
"Ja, okay. So, who zinks zey can out drink ze awesome me?" His challenge was met with a low mumbling, each country considering their tolerance in relation to each other. A small voice was heard, seemingly from a great distance.
"What happens when someone wins?"
"Yeah! What's the prize, bro?" rang the boisterous American. There was a glint in Prussia's eyes as he looked to the blond and his teeth glistened like a predator.
"Blackmail, my tall and blind friend. Video evidence of just how sloshed all you losers can get. Ze vinner keeps it for," he paused for a moment, "posterity." A hazel glare burned holes into Prussia's face.
"Who the hell is gonna tape this shit, you kraut?"
"Hush now, Little Romano, I alvays have a plan. Ze bartender," Prussia gestured in the poor man's direction, "who is a good friend of mine, vill handle zat."
Sitting back with an air of arrogance, England was the first to reply with, "Alright gents, I've got your numbers. Let's get this shindig started."
Varying degrees of enthusiasm led to the unanimous agreement of all the Nation's participation in Prussia's contest. And so began the night branded into history: the night a German bar ran completely dry.