Hello hello hello!

You Hetalia fanfictioners probably don't know meh… but that's okey dokey with me.

So, I finally wrote my first Hetalia Fanfic! Yay! I'm really excited about this one you guys. It's gonna be long, and the beginning is a little bit boring, but bear with me! It gats exciting, trust me! I have the whole freaking thing planned out already.

So, here goes nothin'.

Also, here's a song I listened to that I think fits this chapter best: You can listen to it while reading if you like.

Dylan Patrick Smith

Winter in Lindley park

…..

Gild – To give an often deceptively attractive or improved appearance to. To adorn unnecessarily something already beautiful. To make superfluous additions to what is already complete.

… Archaic: To smear with blood

He spun the gun around in his fingers and deftly replaced it back in his pocket. Up this high, the air was frigid and cold, just like the winter that would soon come. It tasted of gasoline and human pollution. Still, it was nice.

America had been watching this skyline for as long as he could remember; from his very first moments as a country, to the ones right now. Everything about it had changed, the skyline was tall and bulky, the cars were strangely silent, and more people took the magnet trains than ever before. They ran underground in tunnels, quiet and out of sight. It was a peaceful calm and tranquil time. He looked curiously around himself. The horizon curved around him, the buildings lapped at the clouds and jutted into the sky, three standing above the rest. New York's finest, one might say.

To his left was the hero building; nobody really knew why it had been named that, it just had been. He himself was atop one of the taller ones, the rook apartment and living complex. People below just called it the RILC. You could live here without ever leaving.

Then, perhaps the most important of the tall ones, was the bank. 400 floors of vaults and offices, high-tech security systems and lots of money. His boss usually hung around the basement levels, near to where the substation hooked up with the public vault room.

There was an abrupt ringing that disturbed Al's thoughts. It stepped up and down in little electronic beats. He deftly pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, holding the receiver up to his ear.

"Yo." America greeted, "What's up?"

"Iceland is coming over today. Meet him by the north-gate substation and talk business with him until you two get to the bank."

"So basically just talk to ice-dude. Got it."

"Be serious." The caller hung up. It was probably some lackey of his boss'. America sighed, took one last look at the horizon, and walked back down the steps that led off the rooftop.

…

Iceland stood stiffly among the bustling citizens of New York, listening closely to each new accent he heard. The one to his right was from Queens, the one to his left from Brooklyn. The one in front of him was from…New Jersey.

A few gave him odd looks. He easily ignored them; while in Alfred Jones' company, one must always pay attention to Alfred. If you got distracted and didn't listen to what he was saying, he could get angry. Or, for instance, if you didn't look at him every other second, he might leave you behind and get run over by the bullet train. Oh, well; it wasn't like it was worth worrying over.

"So, dude, while you're in New York, I'm gonna take you to all the best restaurants. We do have the best food from all over the world here after all! You'll love the pizza!"

"Pizza is Italian."

"Naw, bro. It's totally American."

"Ok then."

Iceland sighed as the train pulled up, already emptied, and opened its sleek metallic doors. America stepped on first, then Ice trotted silently on behind. They sat in the very back, in the farthest possible seat. Al pulled a manila envelope from his leather jacket and placed it on the white table that shook slightly underneath them. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out the contents and spread them out.

"Let's get down to business." He offered in a new voice. This was no-fool-America. He could be quite serious when need be. "How many planes does your military need?"

"As many as our money can buy us." Ice grimaced, "Those filthy Danes…I thought we were friends…"

"Happens to the best of us." America shrugged, "So, when we arrive at the bank's substation we'll check up on your finances. Sound good?"

"Sure."

For the rest of the long train ride, broken up by short pauses in-between stations where more passengers came and went, America questioned Iceland fervently, while Ice simply nodded or shook his head in reply. The world went by quickly out the window, giving new meaning and appearance to everything. At one point, an image of a dancing rabbit stayed in the window and twirled a cane happily. Ice jumped to his feet just as it left and searched it out again. America laughed.

"It was just graffiti," He chuckled, "Some people make it so that their pictures move with the train. Sort of like cartoons without sound. Cool, ain't it?"

"Yeah. People don't do things like that in my country." Ice replied. For the rest of the train ride, Ice watched out the window for any more images. America shook his head in disbelief, then remembered that technically Ice was only fifteen. There were still a lot of things he hadn't seen yet.

They arrived soon after at their stop and exited the train in the same fashion that they had entered in. This station was a lot busier than their last stop. People crowded everywhere, pushed and shoved against all sides and screamed profanity at each other when they nudged. Ice held onto America's sleeve, embarrassed that he must do so, but determined not to get lost. In the end, the latter would be much more embarrassing.

Weaving through the crowd, America led them to the top deck, as it was called. There were no steps, just a ramp that led up to an elevated platform, overlooking the whole station. There were three distinct grooves cut into the silvery sheen of the floor; two were the civilian tracks, heading in and out of the station endlessly. The last train tunnel was the high-priority track, meant only for emergencies and VIPs. Along the edges of the expansive room, two additional tracks ran the room's length. They were shallower and contained little ridges and lookouts and ledges, with a pointy-looking fence gating them in. Inside, dogs and their masters paced. They kept security 24/7. It was a tough job, but one that had to be done.

Finally, as Iceland turned around, the vaults became visible; huge, metal things that stretched all the way up to the ceiling. Little hovering elevators could take you to yours. Too bad they weren't here for that; the elevators looked really fun.

"Amazed, aren't you?" America smiled, "Pretty cool, huh?"

"They're so big."

"Mmhm."

"America, Iceland!" A voice from behind gruffly greeted. It was a warm, yet authoritative voice; comforting, yet frightening. The kind of voice God might have. "Found you, finally!"

"Hey boss!" America waved.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice." Iceland said to the man, a short, stout thing with perpetually greying hair. "I would've called sooner had I the warning myself."

"So," The man started, "You wanted to buy some planes off of us?"

"Yessir."

"Drop the formality, will ya?" Al's boss joked, "We're not in the military, son. War's gotten to your head."

"Sorry, sir."

His boss sighed. "What am I gonna do with you foreigners?" Then he half-turned and received the packet from America, flipping through the contents brusquely and frowning. "Well, anyway, it'll take us a few weeks to process this. Why don't you kick back here for a while and enjoy some free time? You look like you could use it."

"With all due respect sir," Ice said flatly, "this is my country we're talking about here. We need those planes before we're overrun…"

"…And planes you'll get!" America gripped Iceland's shoulder. Ice uncomfortably met his stare and re-adjusted his too-big bow tie. "But first, you need to chillax."

"…Whatever." Ice shrugged him off. "Let's hurry this up though. I wanna go home."

"Haha!" America laughed, pulling Ice back to the trains, "This is great, you'll be here for thanksgiving and everything!"

Iceland kept his mouth shut obediently. It wouldn't be that bad, he told himself, it wouldn't be that bad.

…

So, what did you think? Leave your opinions in the comments section, pls. ILUVYOURCOMMENTOMGGGGG. Ok…so…

Yeah. This is Gild. Pay attention to everything, because it all comes back to bite yo ass later. Thanks for reading! See ya next time!

BYE!