This is dedicated to TygahStahLuvah33333, who, as a Christmas/Chanukah (Midsummer, by the way; Southern Hemisphere Wiccan :) present, put my story Mein Schutzengel Il Mio Prottetore onto the recommended Hetalia shipping fanfiction list on the TVTROPES website. Oh. My. God. Anyway, thank you so much sweetheart!
These are her OCs Wales and Scotland.
The personification of Scotland strode into the room, feeling very business-like in her pantsuit. Which was rather inappropriate considering that this meeting was anything but business. But the suit did make her feel safer. In the same way that wearing her nicest panties made her feel prettier; the suit gave her a shield to hide behind. Not that she was afraid of course. She was Scotland the Brave, after all.
She turned and offered a smile to the boy behind her, who was desperately shy, and looking nervously around the house that they had just entered. It showed signs of a neat-freak and personified chaos working at cross purposes. Though in all technicality, he was the personification of Northern Italy, not chaos. Close enough though.
"Hello?" Scotland called, hoping she found the anal-retentive Germany before his messy little friend.
"Ve~ Scotland! Wales!"
No such luck.
"Italy," she said, smiling, she loved the little fellow like a son – though he had never been a protectorate – but he could be unnervingly accurate when it came to emotions – Stupid romance countries – and she was really hoping that his idiot savant ways weren't going to embarrass her.
"Gutentag, Scotland, Wales," the more reserved blonde came thundering after his ally, and Wales took a step behind Scotland. It wasn't that he was a cowardly country, just a little shy. He wasn't much fond of meeting new people.
"Hello Mister Germany," he said quietly, glancing up at the intimidating nation. Though he had lost a lot of bulk and might since the nineteen-forties, he still cut an impressive figure; tall, broad and austere. The redhead nodded, smiling,
"Hello," Italy cheered enthusiastically, throwing his hands up into the air,
"Ve~! Now we can all have pasta, si?" the Germanic man gave his guest an apologetic glance.
"He is a little focused," he explained, leading them out onto a terrace where there was a rather fetching lunch laid out.
~====o)0(o====~
While the grownups chatted (the fact that Italy was one of the oldest countries at the table was disregarded due to his blatant childishness) Wales steadily warmed up to the point where he was chatting quietly with the exuberant Mediterranean nation.
Smiling indulgently, she turned to Germany, "It's good to see them getting along. Wales can be ever so shy."
"Ja, Italien has been a little lonely lately. Most people are away for the holiday season."
"Some people have work to do," she sighed, thinking of the mountain of paperwork sitting ever so neatly on her desk in her office, a thousand miles away.
"True, but don't you have family you could visit? It is that time of year," the Germanic nation probed, then backpedalled, "Not that I mean to pry. "
"You've met England?" she asked, a wry smirk on her lips, Tamoshanter sitting at a jaunty angle on her red hair, "Put him, Wales, Ireland and myself into the same room and you will know exactly why our family steers as clear of each other as a few small islands allow."
"Wales, too?" the blonde asked incredulously, looking at the young teenager with dubious eyes. He knew that the other members of the British Isles could brawl with the best of them, but Wales didn't look a day over fifteen, and was really quite sweet-looking with it. Then again, so was Scotland, and she could knock the socks off most seasoned veterans and then drink them under the table.
"Ask him about the Rugby World Cup, I dare you."
~====o)0(o====~
The afternoon progressed quickly, and then Italy insisted that they stay for supper (well, if you count foolishly holding Wales hostage as insisting, then yes, he did. If you don't, then he held Wales hostage, almost causing both Scotland and Germany to have aneurysms when they saw the ransom note; "Ve~ I have the boy, you'll stay for more pasta, si?"). But soon enough the sun had set and the visiting nations had to go home ("No, Italien, they cannot sleep over, we have no space right now!" Though that was said with less severity than apology.)
"What do we say?" Scotland prompted her ward in her best maternal voice.
"Thank you for having me, Mister Germany, and thank you for inviting me, Feliciano!" the teen smiled happily, not nearly as shy and socially awkward as he had been earlier that day.
"Ve~ Thank you for coming, Arwan!" The Italian chirped with his usual vigour, "It's been so nice to have a friend here. You'll come again soon, si?"
"I think it's our turn to host next time, Italy," Scotland smiled, turning to Germany, "Would that be alright?"
"Ja, I think that that would be very good," the blonde nodded, "I'll call. Thank you very much for coming, Scotland, and you too, Wales, it was good to have you."
"Faolan," she corrected automatically, which was a bit stupid, and she immediately felt the blood rush to her face, "You can call me Faolan." It wasn't much of a save, but she knew from experience that when talking to foreigners, you generally had to tack 'my name is' in front of your moniker to stop them saying, 'bless you,' or in Germany's case, 'geshuntheit'.
"Faolan," he said, weighing the name on his tongue, "You may call me Ludwig." It was polite to wait until invited to call a country by their human name.
"Right, Thank you, Ludwig, we really should be going, I'll be expecting your call," he nodded, smiling faintly,
"Count on it."
As they walked down the path, the Germanic country heard the Scotswoman remark,
"Well, Arwan, it looks like we have another play date." Wales smiled quietly to himself and Ludwig only just heard his comment carry on the chill evening air,
"No, Faolan, you have a date-date."
When I read The Misadventures of Scotland the Brave, I kind of got the feeling that Scotland had a bit of a thing for Germany. Hence this embarrassingly short drabble.
I hope that you enjoyed it!
~RuthLa