[So, this is my first attempt at a Hetalia fic. With that said, please be somewhat gentle, Hetalia fandom! Hahaha. Since the setting is the United Nations, the characters might seem a little out of character, i.e., serious. I've tried to keep in their personalities as much as was possible. Please read & review! As for their human names, I went by the wonderful list put together here: .. I take no credit for any of their hard to spell human monikers]
To the untrained eye, it was just another day in New York City. To the more trained, the fleet of black luxury cars and SUVs that were on occasion barreling through the streets were a sign of something more. Though, the fact police cruisers escorted each of the cars or SUVs was enough of a clue that something big was happening.
One car, a Range Rover, housed a very vexed diplomat. One Francis Bonnefoy, Esq, felt his hair graying.
"Mon Dieu," Bonnefoy muttered, quietly enough his driver didn't hear him. "When did I last sleep?"
Even though his question was self-asked, he had no clue or inkling. Between the Trans-Atlantic flight in midnight darkness from his vacation and now emergency duty at the United Nations, Ambassador Bonnefoy was less than pleased. Of course, his personal vanity was somewhat tempered by his desire to at least look like he was trying to save the world one foreign policy issue at a time. Perhaps that was why he, a man of immense personal wealth, had joined the Corps Diplomatique.
His thought were just one of many, for in each of the black vehicles that were making their way to the United Nations building. The British Ambassador to the UN, Sir Arthur Kirkland, GCMG, as the first to arrive. He would credit this to his affinity for being prompt. Others would point out that his Government's permanent top-floor suite at the Hotel St. Moritz made it pretty easy to get to the UN building. Even if this was the case, he still insisted on being chauffeured in his new Rolls Royce, courtesy of Her Royal Highness, The Queen. Ambassador Kirkland was one of the few who almost took his duties at the UN with seriousness close to devout. Chalk it up to his country for discovering and perfecting a balance of Divine Right and Democracy, but the UN really tickled his diplomatic fancy.
As he moved briskly through the Delegate's entrance, his mind was blurred with the myriad of news reports he had seen and read in his sleepless past 48 hours. Some African country that the Belgians or Germans had left in shambles some decades previous was dissolving into a very bloody and very televised Civil War. Most of the First World was in shock and demanded action, hence the emergency United Nations session. Adjusting his tie, Ambassador Kirkland sighed. For some reason, it was days like these that made him slightly regret taking his post as Her Britannic Majesty's Permanent Representative from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland to the United Nations.
Deciding that the bar in the Delegate's Dining Room was as good a destination as any since none of his colleagues had arrived yet, Ambassador Kirkland did his best to drown out the talk of the war and or possible genocide in the country of Duwabe. He'd be drawn into discussions of horrific things soon enough, now he just wanted a drink. He eventually arrived to the thankfully empty dining room. Dropping himself at the bar, he ordered a glass of bourbon. The slow feeling of quiet served to relax him.
"Drinking already? How typically English." The most judgmental of voices snapped behind him.
"A day like this warrants it, Roderich." Arthur replied, not turning away from his drink. His Austrian counterpart always had a knack for bringing an air of oppressive formality to any situation." I'm surprised you actually showed up today," Ambassador Kirkland said. "I'd have to imagine you'd regard piano shopping as more of a pastime than an emergency session over humanitarian issues."
"I'm not so callous," Ambassador Edelstein retorted. "I simply would rather be back home on vacation."
"Where are your favorite blunt instruments?" Arthur asked, trying to mildly amuse himself.
"Do you mean Vash or Ludwig?" Roderich casually responded. "Personally, I can't wait to hear the thoughts of the eternally neutral in regards to a tiny country's latest batch of instability."
"It bothers me you're already so judgmental."
"I merely wish to place it all into early perspective." The Austrian defended, a little bit worried about the Brit's accuracy.
"Perspective. Lovely little term." Kirkland replied.
Beyond the bar, the thinning traffic allowed for two more of the endless fleet of luxury vehicles to arrive at the half-circular driveway. Both were early 90s Jaguar Sovereigns [purchased on the cheap from the British]. Unlike the icily calm Kirkland, the occupants of the two vehicles actually looked as if they were aware of the gravity of the situation. The passenger of the first car, Ambassador Toris Lorinaitis of Lithuania, hustled to the Delegate's Entrance. Behind him, Sadik Adnan of Turkey looked vexed, but kept his pace in a respectable hustle.
"You've seen the television?" Ambassador Adnan asked to the figure ahead of him.
"Yeah," Ambassador Lorinaitis nodded. The Turk seemed to note his counterpart's obvious shakiness. "It's horrible. It's all everyone on my flight over was talking about."
"It's inescapable," Adnan said. "Especially here. What do you see happening here?"
"I've got a seat on the Security Council this term, I intend to make it an issue." Lorinaitis explained turning back towards the door. Lithuania had been one of the two chosen to represent the Eastern European bloc. Toris relished this, but knew he might be facing an uphill battle. He did not look forward to facing Ambassador Edelstein and Ambassador Zwingli, both of whom were more than a little aloof to problems that weren't in their immediate snowy and forest backyards.
"Look on the bright side, my Balkan friend," Sadik began, grinning his famously scary grin. "Cuba has the Latin America and Caribbean Seat this term. They'll keep Jones and his ilk busy."
"True enough," Toris laughed, running a hand through his brunette mane. "What's Hassan thinking about all of this?"
"I do not know," The Turk shook his head. "He's been very tight-lipped."
"Wonderful. Well, at least Seychelles will be fun."
"She's on the Security Council?"
"Yes," Toris laughed. "The African block this term is Hassan, Laroche and Abasi from Kenya."
"It's not like any of them will veto anything, "Ambassador Adnan chuckled, adjusting his tie. "Jones and Braginski are your big issues. Bonnefoy will want to look good, so he'll be onboard with any action. The question is if, well… if action is warranted."
At this, Ambassador Lorinaitis stopped in his tracks. "Of course it's warranted! How could you think it isn't?"
"Being honest, because it's instability from a Continent known for nothing but instability."
"That doesn't excuse our moral responsibility," Toris interjected, trying to keep pace with the taller diplomat. "If anything, it demands action."
"Relax, Toris. This isn't a press conference. And you sound like Kirkland."
"A noble aspiration." Toris almost chirped. He was about to continue on when an out of place white Mercedes Geländewagen came to a near screeching halt. The always graceful Ambassador Elizabeta Hedervary of Hungary seemed to float out, her all-designer wardrobe would surely be the talk of the building as soon as she entered.
"Good morning, gentlemen," She smiled as she carefully promenaded past the two male diplomats, both slightly stunned at her seemingly easy style of beauty.
"Good morning, ma'am." Toris smiled, bowing slightly. After she had passed, Sadik rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Do me a favor and remind me I'm happily married." The Turk requested. Toris chuckled.
"Hard to do when she's around," The Lithuanian admitted. "I've been on a plane for too long, I need actual food. Let's go see who's annexed the Dining Room."
Ahead of them, the oddly determind Hedervary was busy on her iPhone, trying to figure out who had arrived and where they were. She visual confirmation of two, one being a fellow Security Council member. She guessed that Ambassador Kirkland was about, probably already playing up angles that made him look like a Saint in his country's always-active tabloid press. Her natural gracefulness made it seems as though she moved in a slight form of slow motion.
Outside, in a flood of suits and somewhat somber facial expressions, several diplomats arrived in a rush of cars, some almost skidding to a halt. Ambassador Karpuis of Greece led the flock, those his mind was far too absorbed in his homelands own problems to worry about a country he could not find on a map. Behind him, Ambassador Carriedo of Spain flanked Ambassador Bonnefoy, who was busy bragging about the various luxury options in his car. The Spainiard couldn't tell if his French friend was being serious or just trying to cover up his nerves, which he reasoned all his fellow diplomats were feeling. Except maybe Switzerland, whom he wasn't sure was human.
"Mi amigo, we have the same car. I know all the options," Carriedo laughed. "But yes, they are very nice."
"Oui!," Bonnefoy exclaimed. "I thought about ordering my bodyguard to just drive around."
"And miss all this excitement?," Carriedo replied. "Where's the fun in that?"
"I'm on the Security Council," The Frenchman answered, shaking his head. "I don't foresee much fun. I was all set for a nice vacation, I had even arranged for one of my underlings to sit-in for me. Sacre bleu, this happens."
"On the brightside, you get to spend time hearing the US and China argue." Ambassador Carriedo deadpanned.
"Lucky me." Bonnefoy sighed.
By now, the stream of cars in the driveway was reaching a fevered pace. The common theme was that each of the arriving diplomats was clad in their best suits or dresses. It was a safe bet that this meant even the Poland's and Egypt's of the UN thought they'd appear on camear at length. It was to no one's surprise the Ambassador Honda of Japan emerged from his limo without a peep and briskly strode to the entrance. Well aware he occupied a seat on this terms Security Council, he intended to be a laser of focus. He knew this situation would be different. His biggest hint was the fact that his fellow delegates were exiting their vehicles then immediately conversing with themselves. He had always functioned under the impression that a good portion of these men and women didn't really care for each other. Seeking clarity, he flagged down the nearest diplomat. "What time is the Emergency meeting?" he politely inquired.
"Twelve sharp," Ambassador Karpusi said. "The Council is meeting in the Dining Room."
"Wait, did you get assigned as a substitute?" Ambassador Honda asked.
"No, but I volunteered to be the spokesperson," Heracles explained. "They tell me I do well on camera."
"Yes, I can see that. So, this seems like a big deal."
"It is. And everyone wants to make sure we don't let it turn into another Darfur." Ambassador Karpusi said, face somewhat grave.
"If it isn't that bad already," Honda said. "The makeup of the Council will present numerous challenges."
"You mean Lithuania sitting across the table from Russia?" Heracles laughed. "Let's hope a war doesn't erupt over chair height."
As the dialogues abounded, tables in the dining room were being rearranged in a square semi-horseshoe to situate all the members of the Security Council. Per his usual behavior, Austria was directing the orderly but cumbersome process. He very much resembled his uppercrust birth as he rotated between barking orders and adjusting his pocketwatch and Armani tie. From the bar, Ambassador Kirkland rolled his eyes, somewhat content to let a Continental European run the show for the time being. He had his veto power, and that was usually enough to make sure he never felt threatened by his collegues, except the ones that also had veto power.
"He needs a life." A reserved voice chimed from behind the preoccupied Brit. Kirkland turned to find the source. It wasn't hard seeing as there was only one person behind him. One person who was wearing a $3,000 suit topped with a pristine white Keffiyeh and a clearly new Agal.
"I agree, Ambassador Hassan," Kirkland said, bowing slightly to show respect for the President of the Security Council. "Enjoy the show."
"Is the main meeting room not ready?" The terse Egyptian asked.
"Well, I suggested, and Austria agreed, that it might be better that the Council meet before hand. Just to get the feel of the field." The British diplomat explained.
"Who's here so far?"
"Myself, Bonnefoy are in the building, Toris and Kiku are around. You're here, so is Laroche. I haven't heard from our esteemed Chinese, Russian or American fellows. I believe Roderich and Vash are supervising the moving of tables. Abasi from Kenya is stuck in traffic, so is Jones the Canadian. And I believe Elizabeta and Ricardo Cruz are somewhere on site."
"Wonderful. Just don't sit the Cuban next to either Jones." Ambassador Hassan advised.
"Duly noted." Ambassador Kirkland said, taking a drink. The Egyptian took a seat and watched several members file in. Well, it wasn't so much filing in as it was Ambassadors Bonnefoy, Williams Jones and Lorinaitis follow, maybe stalk, Ambassador Hedervary in. The Hungarian femme-fatale referred to think of it as "Runway Diplomacy". Her fellow male diplomats, the married ones at least, thought it something closer to exploitation. Many followed her lead when she took her seat. Kirkland and Hassan left the bar to assume prime power positions at the table.
When seated, the diplomats seemed less like powerful political appointees and career diplomats and almost like humans. Toris adjusted his tie and collar nervously, Ambassador Honda remained stoic, scanning his compatriots faces for any emotional clues. William Jones, as always, looked somewhat nervous. To his left, Ambassador Zwingli suspiciously studied his colleagues, the same went for Ambassador Edelstein.
"I suppose I can say no one is surprised our three more…vocal members aren't on time." The Austrian half chuckled.
"Someone find a television," Ambassador Karpusi, seated at a separate table complete with a large glass of wine, advised. "That will probably show one or two of them."
"And since when does Ivan count as vocal?" Ambassador Bonnefoy asked. "I'd go more for brooding cave-bear."
"How very welcoming." The tall Russian suddenly boomed from the doorframe.
"Oh, Bloody Hell," Ambassador Kirkland rolled his eyes. "Just sit down, Ivan. We haven't the time for centuries old, territorial squabbling. Not when the entirety of the world media is clamoring for us to do something."
"Define something." The Austrian said, leaning back in his chair.
"Not until the entire Council is present," Ambassador Honda interjected. "This may be informal, but it must be governed by the same rules and protocol."
"Seconded." Said Ambassador Jones of Canada.
"All in favor?" Ambassador Hassan asked, breaking tradition by actually speaking at a Security Council meeting.
"Aye." Said all present members in unison, including Edelstein.
"The motion carries." Said Hassan, a stickler for proper parliamentary procedure.
Back at the driveway, Ambassador von Bock of Estonia was busy with his new camera taking pictures of anything that tickled his fancy. It was an odd choice of activity seeing as the events inside the United Nations building were of such a somber mood. The clicking of the camera was the only noise until a Lincoln Town car limousine rushed through the driveway before skidding to a halt, tires screeching. The door flung open and out stepped the always somewhat late Ambassador Alfred F. Jones, the United States Ambassador to the United Nations.
"Hey, Eduard, right?" Jones asked, extending a hand.
"Yes, Ambassador." von Bock answered, shaking hands.
"Tell me I'm not the last one here."
"No, I don't believe Ambassador Wang has arrived yet." Ambassador von Bock answered. Jones nodded as he turned and made for the door. Though his back was soon to the camera lens, he flashed a confident thumbs up with his left hand. Eduard pondered if not all of the Security Council took the gravity of the current situation the same.