World Conference Hall, 10 AM.
After getting another slap across the cheek from her beloved Seychelles, France decided to grab a snack before the meeting.
"GAH! What's this?!"
France gagged in horror as he opened the refrigerator. Apparently, Arthur stocked the fridge with English food.. again.
"Oh, merde!* Chier!* Emergency no. 21!", the Frenchman exclaimed, as he ran away from the refrigerator, leaving it open.
The other nations wondered why France was running like a maniac towards the front door, when they suddenly heard Russia, his face in an unusual state of panic, muttered, "Emergency no. 21."
The nations who were there panicked. The Nordics called for the emergency helicopters, while China, Taiwan, Hongkong, Macau, Thailand and Vietnam jumped through the windows and ran as fast as they could, away from the conference hall. Germany sighed as he grabbed a huge box full of gas masks. "Hey, I thought we already passed the international law that English food are not allowed here in the World Conference Hall?", Germany said as he put on his own gas mask. Italy tried to stop himself from tearing up, and instantly grabbed one of the gas masks Germany was handing out to the other nations. "England knew about that law, right? I mean, even though he hesitated to sign, he still agreed to pass that law.", Spain said as he grabbed the gas mask from Germany and gave another one to the South Italian next to him. Romano crossed his arms as he cursed, "F*cking food from f*cking hell must f*cking stay in f*cking hell."
The nations in the conference hall were already in panic and distress. "The world meeting for today will be postponed. We would inform everyone about the schedule time for the next world meeting. That would be all.", Japan announced through the speakers. The sound of helicopters were also heard through the speakers, and everyone thought that Japan escaped without even turning the microphone off. Vash took the microphone and shouted through the speakers, "Emergency no. 21: Nations' Protection against British food! I repeat, emergency no. 21: Nations' Protection against British food! Take precautionary measures and escape through the emergency exits! I say, escape now or else!"
The other nations who were left there ran towards the front door and escaped through their own private vehicles. America went out of the bathroom, walking along the hallways having no idea about what had happened. "Where's everyone?", he asked to himself as he walked towards the room where the meeting would be held.
"Oh, look. Scones.", America mumbled as he grabbed one of the scones scattered on the floor. He took a bite then decided to just go home since a scone on the floor is an indication that there's no meeting for that day. Emergency no. 21, as always. , he thought but the sound of someone dropping a metal frying pan on the floor interrupted his thoughts. He turned around to see Hungary, trying to pick up the scones in a frenzy, and it made America curious as to why so.
"O-Oh! A-America!", Hungary dropped the scones as she saw America approaching. A confused look was on America's face as he asked, "Why are you here, Hungary? We have no meeting for today, right?", he looks at the scones that she dropped on the ground and grabbed one, "Someone brought some scones today, and I bet it's England."
Cold sweat dripped down Hungary's forehead. "Ah-ha-ha.. Is that so?", she wiped the sweat off her forehead as she continued, "It might be England alright, since it is his food."
"What about my food?"
England suddenly appeared behind her, a gloomy look on his face. He sighed as he tried to pick up the scones on the floor. "I didn't bring any scones today. Someone else did. I find it rather insulting to even sign that bloody agreement, and now, some scallywag is trying to frame me?"
Hungary looked at him, guilt in her eyes. She didn't mean to bring some scones for today's meeting, well, she knew about the agreement but she can't help to bring some after eating one of the boxes of scones Austria ordered her to throw away. America sighed as he scratched his head, as he tried to cheer the poor Brit, "I don't know who did it dude, but I guess I can ask the others who might have pulled this sort of prank.." Hungary felt nervous all of a sudden, thinking that it's better to admit now, than be humiliated in front of the others in the next world meeting.
"England..", she squeaked, and England turned to see a flustered Hungary, hesitating to admit the thing she just did. "I.. I was the one who brought the scones..", she finally admitted, her eyes avoiding the lime green eyes in front of her. It shocked England, and also made him curious. Instead of asking why would this beautiful nation in front of him would bring scones, he then asked her, "You.. Have you ever liked English food, perchance?"
Hungary looked at him, confused with his sudden question. "Ah— I don't know.. Well.. I have eaten some at Austria's house, since he gave me a box of scones and ordered for me to throw it away, but I found it to be a waste so I ate it and tried to bring some..", she answered. "Austria ordered you to throw it away?", England repeated, as he remembered sending Austria a box of scones as a thank you gift for the box of sachertorte he received from the bespectacled nation. "That bloody git—", he was about to rant, when suddenly, Hungary cut him off by saying, "—but I liked it, really."
England looked at her, surprised. It was rare for him to hear a compliment about his nation's food. "R-Really?", he asked, and he wished he didn't hear her wrong.
Hungary scratched her head, as she sheepishly smiled at him. "English food doesn't really suck, for me at least.. Back in Hungary, we also make scones, and we called it pogácsa*. I suggest that maybe you just need a bit more work with the glaze you put over the scones? I mean, try some honey or cheese next time, yeah?", she beamed, as the nation in front of her tried to stop himself from crying tears of happiness. America burst into laughter as he grabbed another scone, took a bite, and commented, "She's right. Needs more work. Cinnamon would be nice."
The ringtone coming from Hungary's phone suddenly echoed through the halls. "Szia*? Oh, Austria.", a confused look came over her face as she listened to Austria's worried voice over the phone. "I-I'm okay, really. You're already at home? Ah, okay. I'll be right over."
She ended the call, and America had a weird smile on his face. "I bet Austria worried that the scones might have killed you or something.", he teased. "O-Of course not!", she denied, but it was obvious that the female nation was lying. "I need to go home now, viszlát*!", she exclaimed and was about to walk away when all of a sudden, England spoke. "Miss Hungary?"
Hungary turned to look at him. "Yes, Mr. England?"
England felt tongue-tied. "M-Maybe we could have some tea together, if ever you have the time?", he asked. Hungary looked confused for a second, but then smiled sincerely after seeing the way England looked at her. "Well, it would be a pleasure.", she answered before she finally left the two nations in the vast hallway.
"Nice~", America teased, as England couldn't believe his luck. "W-What's nice?", England squeaked and the young nation looked at him in disbelief."You finally got to ask a beautiful chick to go out with you, dude! Lucky strike!", America exclaimed as the two were about to walk towards the front door. "And a girl who likes your food, to boot.", he continued as he opened the door for the older nation. "I didn't ask her out.", he retorted as the two walked down the marble steps. America suddenly disappeared, grabbing hold onto a ladder coming down from a flying helicopter. "The hero's gotta go~", he sang, as the helicopter flew away. "What a knobhead.", he mumbled as he got to his car, feeling a bit of happiness in himself.
Lucky strike, indeed. Whatever that phrase means.
A/N: This one-shot was inspired after reading something on Wikipedia about scones, and that of all European nations, the pogacsa, a Hungarian pastry, was the closest to scones when it comes to similarity.
Notes:
Merde – French curse word
Chier – French curse word
Pogacsa – Hungarian word for "scones"
Szia – Hungarian word for "hello"
Viszlat – Hungarian word for "goodbye"