I was told by many of my readers that they wanted to see a Scotland and Vatican pairing story-thing, so I'm here to deliver.

To everyone new to me and my stories- welcome to the madness! I hope you stay awhile! Anyway, Vatican is my OC of whom I am very fond of, and through some shenanigans of one of my previous stories he ended up being in a tentative relationship with Scotland. It wasn't written much about, and naturally a lot of my readers wanted to see more. It's complicated.

This will probably be a bit slow in development. That being said, I would like to warn you all ahead of time that I believe myself to be pants at romance so this will be a trial of my skill. Nothing too detailed will be written, so don't get your hopes too high.

Also this story makes the use of countries being human, so human names will be used and they will have human jobs and live human lives. I did this because I felt I can do more with the characters without being constrained by historical facts and things, and if anyone has read my stories before, I have a thing for history and looking things up. I'm trying to save you guys from reading a shit-ton of background stuff. No need to thank me.

The title of this story, as well as plot of this chapter, is loosely based from a short piece by Pond Ram. I have asked and was given permission to use the theme so I wouldn't accidentally offend people or be accused of trying to steal ideas. This will be the only thing that sort of shares anything with someone else's work, or I hope so.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, nor the characters. Some of the concepts of some characters I did create, but many are fan-made that I happen to carry on the tradition.

Warnings: A sort of long chapter, human names used, swearing, consumption of alcohol, and the desire to use physical violence.

Alistair Kirkland folded his arms over his chest, giving the most disapproving, unimpressed look he could muster. The source of his ire was two of his five siblings, who were giving such shark-like grins that made him want to knock their teeth out. The twin coppery-haired devils had just unleashed their newest prank on the eldest Kirkland brother, and now were looking quite pleased with themselves.

Alistair's spring green eyes flickered from one twin to the other as he silently assessed them. At seventeen the twins reached Alistair's shoulders, their coppery hair cut to the napes of their necks in wild waves. Two sets of emerald green eyes gazed back at him, almost glittering in amusement and mischief. Their faces were heart shaped, sporting the family's sharp chins and noses. Their flesh was pale in comparison to the rest of the family, whose skin held a bit more color to it and didn't burn as much as theirs did in the sun. There were subtle differences between the twins- Connor was the elder of the two, and he was taller than his brother by only a couple of centimeters. It wasn't noticeable until they were standing right next to each other, and more importantly, standing still long enough to notice it. Blake, the young twin, also had several faint freckles across the bridge of his nose and over his cheekbones, but still not really noticeable unless they were in the same room as each other.

Or that you're their brother and had been dealing with the little shits for the entirety of their lives, which Alistair was and has.

Alistair had the lovely opportunity to be titled the eldest of the Kirkland brothers. That title came with the responsibility of taking care of five younger siblings when Mama Kirkland was busy being an important political figure. At the tender age of twenty-six with no schooling passed the mandatory secondary school and without a steady job (he did have jobs, just not an "upstanding" everyday job that Mama Kirkland would approve), Alistair knew he was seen as a failure in the eyes of his mother. It was even more noticeable when the next eldest, Arthur, at twenty, went to school to become a lawyer and was interning at some fancy law firm while also showing interest in the political field as well. Mama Kirkland always had to mention Arthur's "success" and questioning why Alistair couldn't do the same. It wasn't his fault he had no interest in those fields.

The twins were bound to graduate within the next year or so, and although they hadn't said on what they wanted to do to their mother, Alistair did. He was sure their mother was going to disapprove of both of them becoming bartenders of all things, but if they were successful and made a name for themselves, she could change her tune. At least they would have a steady job and income.

Dylan had a questionable future plan as well. At fourteen he still had a few more years in secondary school before moving on, but he already knew exactly what he wanted to do: raise sheep. Oh, Mama Kirkland was going to pop a blood vessel when she hears that (which hopefully wouldn't be for another couple of years). Alistair had asked him why: "I like sheep," Dylan had said simply. It also helped that Dylan had a cousin whose family ran a farm out in the country that he visited every summer, so it wasn't like he was going to go in blind. Alistair was certain he would even work there for free if their relatives didn't feel so guilty at taking advantage for his hard work. Mama Kirkland only thought of it as a 'learning experience' and allowed him to go, which she certainly wouldn't if she knew the real reason behind it.

Peter was still a mystery. The youngest of the family at nine, he still had a lot of time left to consider his future. At his age he thought up of so many possibilities, from a firefighter to a naval officer. Mama Kirkland would have to work hard to try to mold him into the perfect little son, but if any of the other brothers had anything to say about it, Peter would be anything but a copy of Arthur, who was the obvious favorite. No, neither the twins or Alistair could tolerate a second Arthur.

Yet at this moment, Connor and Blake would probably not be able to see the future at all for the stunt they just pulled.

As it was, because Alistair didn't seem to find a "decent" job, Mama Kirkland was trying her best to try to convince him to find a decent girl and settle down, hoping that if he could do that, he would then think about getting a job that was up to par with her standards. It had become even more frustrating for Mama Kirkland when she found out that Alistair was more a one-night-stand kind of guy, and that he took his sleeping partners in any shape or form, female or male, and typically when he was too drunk to care. That didn't stop her from constantly trying to persuade him to her side by casually mentioning any young woman whom she knew worked at the office or some politician's "princess" that just so happened to be single.

There was a reason why Alistair did not come home very often.

However, the twins didn't let him forget even if he was out of Mama Kirkland's sight. Making a joke out of the entire girl thing, Connor and Blake would try and "assist" Alistair into finding a decent girl. The "help" came in forms of magazines of scantily-cladded women under the sheets of his bed, pictures of supermodels saved as the background on his computer and even sending texts of "hot babes" that they saw in the stores or around the streets. They even made poster-sized photos of some actresses and stuck them to his ceiling with superglue. Some of the pieces still stubbornly clung to the ceiling.

This time they pulled their greatest prank yet. The twins had taken all of his information and made an account on some dating site and now Alistair was set up on a blind date with some woman. Tonight.

"No."

"You can't say no!" Connor exclaimed, puckering his lower lip out into a pout. "That's bad manners! You can't just leave a girl hanging!"

Alistair snorted. "I can and I will. I have no interest in meeting this tramp you dug up."

"But we even picked out the restaurant, made reservations, and set out your clothes!" Connor said, Blake bobbing his head in agreement.

"We even told Mama that you wouldn't be home for dinner because you had a date!" the younger twin added in.

The sneaky little fuckers. Alistair narrowed his eyes at them as they smiled innocently up at him. Now he had no choice in going on this damn date because he certainly didn't want to get an earful from their mother. Or eat her cooking; the one thing the all-so important woman spectacularly failed at.

"What restaurant did you two pick out?" he asked with a sigh, assigned to his fate. The two grinned at him in triumph.

"A nice little Italian place," Blake said as the two of them grabbed Alistair's arms, dragging him down the hallway towards his bedroom. "The site said they had excellent pasta plates!"

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Alistair muttered, tugging on his suit. He felt too dressed up to meet some blond ditz that the twins had dug up from the dredges of the Internet. At least they didn't make him wear a fucking tie- God he'd probably hang them both with it.

He stood at the corner of the street, four buildings down from the Italian restaurant to wait for his guest as instructed. They were to meet at a quarter to seven, and it was about five minutes from being late.

"Hello, are you Alistair?"

The woman in question had finally arrived. She wore a black dress that clung tightly to her body, falling to knee-height in length. The neckline plunged low to hide nothing of her assets, and her hair was definitely dyed blond. She could be considered pretty by some with a round face, blue eyes, and pouty lips, but she had their air of snooty stupidity that rubbed Alistair the wrong way. Or maybe it was because she was trying way too hard. Really, she would've looked better by showing less of her cleavage. He wasn't drunk enough for this.

"You must be Caroline, then," he said, forcing himself to crack a smile. God, he really needed a smoke, but Blake took his pack from him. This was so stupid. The food better be good or else he was going to the nearest pub to get seriously wasted after this.

"Oh god, your hair is really is that red. I thought you were joking!" the woman gushed, looking like she was about to run her fingers through his fiery scarlet hair before deciding against it. Yup, he was definitely getting wasted after this disaster.

"Let's go in before we lose our reservations," Alistair said, changing the subject from his hair as he offered an arm out to Caroline, which she took and pressed a bit too close to him for his liking.

The restaurant was very nice on the inside. Not that it was some swanky place or anything, in fact it was seemingly homely while retaining its cultural richness. It didn't even look like a fake Italian place either with fake grapes and other shit. No, it was the real deal, from the Italian wines displayed on one of the far walls to the food he could spot on the other tables. The food (and the wine, because he was so getting some) was going to be the saving grace for this date, as he held no hopes for this girl.

The place was pretty busy with most of the tables full, and it seemed that they were short staffed with only two or three visible servers dancing from table to table trying to keep up. One brown-haired man called to them with a "Be there in a second!" before disappearing into the kitchens. The woman huffed beside him, obviously not happy with the wait.

The young server came hurrying back to them, a single stray curl bouncing from the rest of his hair (auburn, now that he was closer) as he moved. He was about average height with honey-colored eyes that seemed to be closed more often than open. His lips pulled back into a wide, kind smile on his round face that appeared natural on his face. "Mi dispiace! I hope you did not wait too long. We are so short-handed today! Four servers and a cook called in sick! There's such a horrible cold going around, I hope no one else gets it!"

"It's alright. We're here on reservation," Alistair said, cutting in on the Italian's rambling. "Under the name 'Kirkland'."

"Oh! Yes, let's see." The Italian server flipped through a booklet before nodding and pulling out two menus for them. "Right this way, please!" He lead the pair to a window seat, setting the menus down on the table before them as they sat down. "I'll have someone sent over here in a jiffy!" With that the man had all but fluttered off again to a table on the far side of the room.

"Obviously those servers are faking being sick," Caroline said as she flipped through the menu. "There's no way that many could be sick all at once. They shouldn't make us wait just because their workers are playing hooky. Just hire more servers!"

Alistair grunted noncommittally, propping his chin in his hand as he looked through the menu. Many of the foods here he had no idea what they were, and certainly wouldn't know what's in it if there hadn't been descriptions helpfully placed under each item. Hell, he didn't even know how to pronounce most of these things. Even the wines were in Italian.

"What are you going to get?" the woman asked, peering down at the listed foods. "I'll probably get some pasta dish, since I can't stand seafood."

Alistair was tempted to order a seafood dish just to piss her off, but thought against it. "Probably the cannelloni or the g-nochi," he said, not bothering to wince at how he butchered the words. The woman didn't even seem to know how to pronounce them either since she didn't respond. "Do you like white wine or red wine?"

"Either is fine," Caroline said. "Oh, and I'm ordering some of these crostino-things as a side. Now where is our server?"

Alistair repressed the urge to roll his eyes. The woman was so goddamn impatient. He continued to gaze over the wine selections as the woman continued to talk, trying to determine what she wanted.

"Um...excuse me..."

Both Alistair and Caroline looked up, startled at the quiet, heavily accented Italian voice. Standing there at their table was a young man, maybe twenty at the oldest. His hair was dark, almost a charcoal grey, but that could be the lighting, and it was possibly shoulder length it hadn't been tied back into a small tail. He was pale, paler than even the twins. It was like he never went outside before. He was thin, his uniform almost seeming to hang off him at the shoulders. His face was also thin, with his cheekbones jutting out slightly and his cheeks flat in comparison to the fuller cheeks of the man they had seen earlier. He looked gaunt, tired even, with dark shadows under his eyes. His eyes... they were just as strange as his hair color- the same charcoal grey.

Alistair couldn't help but be fascinated at the color. They were so strange, unlike his family's different shade of greens, or the blues and browns or the occasional violet and red. They were different because they weren't a vibrant color, nor were they earthy like the browns and dark greens. He had seen silver-greys and blue-greys before, but never a dark grey.

The young man smiled, although it was more of a twitch as his lips quivered and his eyes flickered nervously between the two. He looked... scared, uncertain. He didn't look like one of the servers he had seen wandering about the place earlier, so he must be some new guy who pulled the short straw.

"H-hello," he stammered slowly, as if trying to enunciate each word correctly without his accent butchering it up. "Are you ready to order?"

Caroline narrowed her eyes at the server, clearly unimpressed with him. "Yes, I want the ravioli dish, no sauce on it though."

Alistair wanted to make a face. Why eat pasta without sauce on it? That's like eating pizza without cheese. The young man had written it down though, the pen scratching on the paper before looking up from his work at him.

"I'll take the g-nochi and a Sangiovese wine, please."

"A gee-no-chi?" the server slowly pronounced back, his brow furrowing as he paused in his writing, biting his lip as he tried to process the word in his head. Alistair felt bad for butchering the word so horribly, and was about to point it out to the man what he wanted on the menu before the grey eyes brightened. "Oh! You mean gnocchi."

That... didn't even sound like how it was written, but okay. "Yeah, sorry," Alistair said, his sheepish smile to the man more genuine than the one he gave the woman earlier. The young man even returned it with a slightly greater twitch of his lips that lasted more than a second before it was hidden behind the notepad, his pen scribbling away.

"Would you like the wine now or with the meal?" he asked softly, lowering the pad once more.

Caroline had the nerve to roll her eyes. "Of course we want it before!" she snapped at the man, causing him to flinch slightly.

"I-I'll be back with your wine, if that is all," he stammered slowly, taking the menus from them. Alistair nodded, and the young man was off through the restaurant once more. Alistair watched him depart, or rather, the backside of him. Even while looking half-starved, the kid certainly had a nice arse in that uniform. Way better than Caroline's. He didn't need to look at hers to tell. With a bit of filling out, he would be quite the looker. Idly he wondered why the kid was so scraggly- perhaps an illness?

"He didn't even tell us his name, doesn't have a name tag, or tell us when our meals' are going to be done," Caroline grumbled, "He's so rude and slow. Why is he even working here when he can't even speak proper English?"

He spoke English very well, Alistair wanted to say, but instead pressed his lips together into a thin line. "He's new," he stated, leaning back in his chair. "This is probably his first time on the floor that's so busy."

"Well, he's obviously in the wrong job if he can't handle this," she said like it was the most logical thing in the world. Alistair wanted to see her try to serve this many people with so few servers. Some women had to complain about everything. Not that some men complained too, but it easier to tell them to keep their mouths shut by breaking their noses. Mama Kirkland would skin him alive if she found out he punched a woman.

The young server came back again with their wine, pouring out their first glasses for them before leaving again towards the kitchens, with Alistair watching his retreat once more. Caroline again complained about him being rude as she sipped her wine a bit too fast. She then went to ask some random questions about him, diverting from her previous annoyance with the server to annoying Alistair. She questioned him about his family, his favorite color, what he did for a living, of which the answers were five brothers and his mother, azure, and odd jobs. She questioned why he didn't have a stable job and he avoided the question by asking what she did for a living. That opened up for about twenty minutes of her chatting about herself, her job (a hairdresser), her friends, and her three cats. Alistair let her chat, most of the information going through one ear and out the other as he subtly looked out the window to watch people and cars go by, sipping idly at his wine and wishing for something a bit stronger to put him out of his misery.

He caught the reflection of their unnamed server in the window and turned to find him heading towards them with plates in his hands. "I apologize for the wait," he said slowly in his Italian accent, setting the plates before the two. "Do you need another bottle of wine?" he asked, glancing over at the bottle that was two-thirds empty already (Caroline surly could suck wine down fast).

"No, that's fine, thanks," Alistair said. "This should get us through the meal." Since he wasn't planning on drinking anymore than what he had left in his glass- he needed to save his liver for the pub down the street.

The server nodded slowly. "I hope you enjoy your meal," he said before taking a step back to leave.

"Wait a minute, where's my crostino?" Caroline asked briskly, her eyes flickering around the table to the server.

The man stopped, his charcoal grey eyes widening a second. "Y-your crostino?" he fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his notepad and flipping through it. "Y-you did not order-"

"I most certainly did!" Caroline snapped, her cheeks flushing slightly in anger. "You apparently cannot listen and write at the same time! Or do I need to talk slowly so you can hear me better?"

The server's pale face turned white as he visibly cringed at the woman's anger, fear, hurt, and something Alistair couldn't identify flickering through those dark eyes. "Mi dispiace, ma'am," he said hurriedly. "I'll go fix it now." His accent got a bit thicker when he was upset, Alistair noted as the server scribbled in the pad before disappearing into the kitchens once more. Yet he was more irritated at Caroline than he ever could be at the server.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked, turning his spring green eyes to the woman, who huffed at him.

"He's being rude! The only way to get through their thick skulls is to be rude back! It worked, didn't it?"

Alistair gritted his teeth and counted to ten so he didn't end up yelling at the stupid bint. "I don't remember you ordering that dish either, you know."

"Well, I did."

He let out a heavy sigh. He wasn't going to win with this one. "Just try not to rip his throat out next time, alright?" The scowl he got certainly didn't win him any points either. What, did she expect him to support her even though she was in the wrong? She was being a complete arsehole to the poor guy.

Alistair busied himself with his gnocchi- which happened to be very good- instead of arguing the point further. Caroline just picked at her food, being the little shit that she was, and drank the rest of the wine.

It was only five minutes before the server returned with the "forgotten" plate, murmuring apologies as he set the plate down. It was like fancy little toasts with stuff on top. Alistair wanted to thank him, but Caroline took one look at the dish and immediately went to tear the poor man's throat out. Again.

"What is this?" she asked with a growl, pointing towards the dish. The server stiffened, worrying his lip for a moment.

"Um... it's the crostino?" he said hesitantly.

Wrong answer, apparently, as the woman snapped "No! What's this?" She gestured towards the green vegetable topping on the dainty pieces of toasted bread.

"S-spinach?"

Caroline stared at the man like he was stupid for a few seconds. "Are you trying to kill me?" she asked seriously, her eyes narrowed on the server.

The young man stared gobsmacked at the woman. There was a glint of anger in his charcoal eyes, a spark against the coals, but it disappeared when he dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands and took a breath to speak. "No, I would never-"

"Apparently you are!" Oh great, they were attracting attention. Alistair wanted to groan as he noticed eyes from nearby tables on them. "I am allergic to spinach! You should know better than to stick something like this in front of me!" She wasn't done yet in her verbal attack as she continued. "Why are you a server I have no idea. You're positively rude, you're slower than shit, you act like you forgot things when you clearly didn't, you give people food they're allergic to, and you're standing there acting like an idiot! How in the world did you get this job is beyond me. The owner must've felt sorry for you because you're no good at anything else!"

Their table had the attention of the restaurant now, people stopping their meals to stare. Even another server, not the bubbly talkative one from before, was just standing there watching the scene unfold. The young man at the receiving end of the woman's ire looked like he was about to burst into tears at any second, the sliver of anger from before gone as his teeth gnawed into his lower lip. It looked like he had curled in on himself, his eyes glassy, not focused on anything at all as he silently let the woman continue to steamroll him without a single peep.

Alistair was sick of it.

"Excuse me," he butted in on Caroline's rant, looking at the server who flinched at the second voice, his eyes refocusing as he looked over at Alistair- or rather the table in front of him. "May we have the bill, please?"

The server nodded his head jerkily, and slowly made his way to the side of the restaurant near a register, where he shakily got the bill for them. The woman was now complaining to Alistair, but he ignored the woman even as the server came back. His knuckles were white as he gripped the leather folder that the bill was in, his hands shaking as he handed it to Alistair.

He didn't even look at it. Instead, Alistair leaned forward and dropped the thing directly onto the whiny bitch's plate with a clatter. That shut the woman up, her blue eyes wide as Alistair casually rose up from the table, picking up his own plate of half-eaten gnocchi with one hand. His free hand reached out, gently taking hold of the server by the elbow, who stiffened under the contact, and proceeded to lead the young man into the kitchens. The server let him without resistance.

The kitchens were hot and noisy, with the banging and clanging of pots and pans and shouting of Italian back and forth. One man appeared around a stove with the talkative auburn-haired server from before. He was taller than the server, perhaps even taller than Alistair, and he had muscles on him that made Alistair question whether it had been a good idea to walk in here. However there were resemblances between the server and this large man. The older man's hair was several shades darker than the younger server beside him with several small curls visible amongst the wild, windswept strands, but their honey colored eyes were certainly the same. Their round faces had the same contours and their noses were the same. Even their smiles were the same. Was he the talkative server's father? They were definitely related, that's for sure.

The pair of them had spotted Alistair and the gaunt server, who was now shivering beside him as tears trickled down his cheeks. He didn't make a sound, which was surprising and slightly strange.

The smiles faded off the two workers as the younger man came fluttering over to the server, taking the tearful man into his arms. He patted his back, murmuring something in Italian to console the other server as the father-like man came over, his face unnaturally serious.

"What happened?" The tone he used held no room for argument- not that Alistair wanted to. Standing in front of him he could finally judge that this man had a good four or five centimeters on him and his shoulders were wide on his frame. Alistair wasn't small either, both in height and in the muscle department, but this guy gave off the vibe old-time Mafia hitman in his current state. The Italian could probably clean the floor with him along with half of the restaurant without breaking a sweat.

So Alistair opened his mouth and began to tell him exactly what happened- the short and blunt version. "My date decided to be a fucking little piece of shit by complaining about everything, accusing this guy here for trying to kill her because she's suddenly allergic to spinach, and basically told him that he's a useless charity case."

The taller man's brow furrowed as he glanced over to the two servers. The younger relation (son?) stared at Alistair in disbelief before asking something in Italian to the charcoal-eyed server. The young man rubbed the side of his face with the sleeve of his shirt to clean his tears and simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

The older man growled- Alistair straightened up, ready to get the fuck out of there. The man seemed to realize this and gave him a slightly sheepish look before his eyes hardened again. "I'll deal with this. You can stay here if you want." Without waiting for a reply the taller man left the kitchens to wreak hell in the dining area.

"Come on," the younger brunette said, smiling up at Alistair as he took hold of his free hand. He dragged both the other server and himself to a side room, which turned out to be a break room with lots of comfy looking chairs and a table. Alistair sat in one of the cushioned chairs from heaven while the brunette settled the distraught server into another.

"Thank you for what you did!" the brunette server said once the charcoal-eyed server was taken care of, his chatting mode turned on once more. "We're so short-staffed and Varinius has only been with us for a week and he usually just bakes but he wanted to help us servers and Nonno couldn't say no and he was doing really well until this happened and he would've been run over by that horrible lady if you didn't help! Oh! I'm Feliciano by the way! You can call me Feli! Everyone else does. Would you like some desserts?"

So, the charcoal-eyed man was named Varinius. That didn't sound much like an Italian name, unlike Feliciano, but who was he to understand the Italian naming system? He watched with slight amusement as Feliciano fluttered about, pulling plastic-wrapped homemade cookies out of seemingly no where and piled them in front of Alistair, saying that he could have as many as he wanted. Varinius seemed to have calmed down, and was watching the pair of them with sad, tired eyes, his knees tucked to his chest.

Feliciano continued to chatter all the while, talking about his Nonno (who apparently was the tall muscular man from before) who both owned the place and was head chef. Some of the family worked there as well. One of the other cooks who was sick happened to be Feliciano's elder twin brother named Lovino and one of the servers who was out was their younger brother, Romeo. Varinius happened to be their cousin who not only just began working there a week ago, came to live with them a week ago from Italy. Feliciano didn't get into details on that bit, and instead showered Alistair with even more cookies.

"And what's your name?" Feliciano asked. He was now sitting in a chair, kicking his feet back and forth as he watched Alistair with fascination. "I know your last name must be Kirkland, but you don't sound like the ones who called."

Alistair- he had finished his gnocchi some time ago- leaned back in his seat and groaned. "That was either Blake or Connor. They thought it'd be funny to set me up on a date with some unbearable bitch, the little bastards." His tone held no malice, only a fond exasperation. Siblings were made to piss each other off. "I'm Alistair- and no, do not call me "Alli" or I'll put my foot up your arse."

"You sound like Lovi!" Feliciano giggled, his face practically splitting in two as he smiled. "He can't be a server because he's curses a lot and likes to be grumpy all the time."

The door to the break room opened and the tall man now dubbed as "Nonno" came in. "Well, that woman's a piece of work," he said, running a hand through his wild locks.

"Hopefully neither of us will have to see her again," Alistair said. With the questioning look from the older man, Feliciano happily filled him on the prank dating bit and the man laughed.

"Well then! Seems like you were in for a bit of excitement. But thank you for helping Varinius, here." The man then gave him a large paper bag with four wine bottles in it. Alistair wanted to protest, but the man wouldn't hear a word of it. "Take it and don't worry about it! It's just a 'thank-you' gift!" The man then went over to Varinius, squatting down to talk to him quietly in Italian for a bit while Feliciano happily piled the cookies he had given Alistair previously into the bag and probably added a few more to to the batch.

Alistair rolled his eyes at the two Italians before looking over at Varinius. He found the young man staring at him, so he gave him a small smile. The charcoal-eyed man's lips twitched upward in a tiny smile in return- which "Nonno" had noticed and looked behind him at Alistair. A smirk crossed his face before he turned back to Varinius and spoke in Italian, causing the younger man's ears to color.

Whatever the older man said made Feliciano grin too and turned his head around, saying something back in Italian. The charcoal-eyed Varinius' pale cheeks flushed pink before turning to look away from the other two Italians who laughed at him. Alistair wondered what they had said to get the kid flustered, but was distracted when he heard the sound of pen scratching on paper.

He turned his eyes to Feliciano, who had a pen out and was writing something down on the paper bag. He didn't get to read it as the honey-eyed server pushed the bag into his arms. "Well! We better get back to work and you need to get home! Your family must be worried for taking so long!"

"I'm sure they're not too worried," Alistair said, but it was in vain as he found himself out of his chair and being pushed towards the exit, the older man calling out his farewells to him. Feliciano himself gave him a cheerful goodbye and a wink before pushing the confused scarlet-haired man out of the door and into the street.

"That was fucking weird," he muttered to himself after standing there dumbly in front of the restaurant with his arms full of the bag full of wine and over three dozen cookies for a good minute. He sighed, shifting the bag to one arm to find his phone. It was already a quarter to ten- where did the time go? He didn't even have enough time to go to the pub before sneaking back home before curfew- Mama Kirkland always made the boys follow the rules of the house, even if they didn't live there all the time. Knowing his mother, she'd probably be waiting all night wanting to hear all about the date, or the sham that it was.

He was about to put his phone away when something on the bag caught his attention. There, written in a loopy handwriting was the name "Varinius Vargas" and a phone number.

Google Translations:

Italian: Mi dispiace- I am sorry.

Strange Food Stuff:

I have a confession to make: I've never been in an Italian restaurant. I've never had Chinese either until about May of last year but I would like to think that didn't count because when I went it was like, seafood night or something so I didn't eat much because I don't like most seafoods. I had everyone's fortune cookies though (which is not Chinese). But anyway, this means I went to Wiki and found random Italian dishes and wines and stuff. So everything here can be questionable and I am sorry for getting it wrong.

Gnocchi- pronounced Neaw-key if I'm correct, is a type of mini-dumpling dish. Usually contains some sort of cheese and herbs.

Cannelloni- oftentimes referred to as manicotti outside of Italy, is a hollow pasta that's stuffed with meat, vegetables, sauce, and cheese.

Crostino- an appetizer made of small pieces of grilled toast with various toppings which can include meats, vegetables, cheeses, sauces, and herbs.

Sangiovese wine- a type of wine made from sangiovese variety of grapes. Very acidic and supposedly tends to taste like sour cherries.

Notes:

Caroline's no one important. Just a random human. No need to worry, she probably won't come back.

This is practically the first time I included all the Kirklands. I know there's a difference between Ireland and N. Ireland, but Hetalia fandom-wise? I have no clue. I tried looking it up, as well as the most common fanmade names for both Irelands and Wales. Apparently Wales is popularly dubbed "Dylan" so I used it, but the Irelands? I sort of vaguely remember the name "Connor" so I just went with it, and I picked Blake because... I have no fucking clue, I just did. It was that or Blaze/Blaise, but I figured Blake fitted better.

Also, you may have noticed that I used "Alistair" instead of "Allistor" in this story like I did in my last one. This is because 1- I thought Alistair would fit better with Scotland and 2- Allistor looks really weird when it's repeated twelve bazillion times, especially when spell check says it's wrong. I found it distracting to have so many red lines popping up so I changed it. Besides, Alistair's a Scottish name while Allistor's a Greek word... (I know, I looked this up, I need to stop).

I also probably butchered their ages. Apart from Scotland who I'm pretty certain is the oldest and Sealand who's the youngest, I have no idea how their ages went, so I took a gander and made so it goes like this from eldest to youngest: Scotland (Alistair), England (Arthur), Ireland (Connor), N. Ireland (Blake), Wales (Dylan), Sealand (Peter). Also made the Irelands twins for no apparent reason other than because I didn't know what else to do with them.

Mama Kirkland is, quite obviously, the mother of the family. I have no idea what to name her, but she's apparently very important and does very important things, so help me pick out a classy name for her, please. (Also she's technically Britannia, so that might help).

The cousin mentioned in the story will probably be New Zealand. Because sheep.

Eye colors? Yes, there's going to be somewhat of a theme. I noticed that some families tended to have similar eye colors, so I'm going to work on that. Kirklands all have a shade of green. Spring green, although it sorts of looks like a funny shade of blue, is in fact a shade of green. If you go looking it up, in Google it should be the second color tile, or the weird bright blue-ish green-ish color. I sort of see Alistair with a very bright color, and I have seen some fanart with his eyes both blue and green, so I improvised. The twins' have emerald green, while England's will probably be a forest green. Dylan I'm not too sure about, so I'll take suggestions on that.

Peter... Peter's eyes are blue though, now that I think about it. I could say blue-green, that way I get the best of both worlds. What do you guys think?

For the Italians, the relative ages and names go like this: Romano (Lovino), Italy (Feliciano), Vatican (Varinius), Seborga (Romeo). I'm thinking Rome would be Romulus. I'm also thinking of adding Sicily and San Marino as cousins, but I will take opinions on this idea (plus names!).

Italians' eyes are honey-colored for the most part. This is because I am a little shit and never actually looked it up. Apparently Italy's appearance changes slightly from the manga to the anime (his eyes and hair are brown in the manga, and auburn and amber in the anime. Rome's eyes are also, apparently, amber in the anime). I decided to keep the honey coloration because it's a food item and they're Italians, so why not? I have most likely interchanged the hair color for Italy, which I am sorry for any confusion.

I'm using terms such as centimeters and secondary school because I'm probably going to base this story in England and want to play the part. I would say America but somehow I cannot picture Scotland in America for some reason, so I'm not going to.

1cm is approximately 0.394 of an inch. Secondary school is equivalent to high school. In case anyone wanted to know.

I hope I didn't bore you all! I know I like to ramble on so please tell me when it gets a bit too much! Please review and tell me your opinions thus far! Who should I include in this story? Is it any good? Should I bother continuing this?