A/N: Hello! I hope you have fun reading this, it's just going to be a little story I'll write for the heck of it. I always love ones like this! Sorry if it isn't very original :P
This is just the introduction, so it's short. Sorry.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia
It would be a lie to say that the sight of the blonde, British man with unusually thick eyebrows being drunk off his ass at the local bar was unusual.
In fact, the bartenders would be surprised if they didn't see the short man hobble in on a Saturday, a scowl on his face as he sat down and ordered an Irish Car Bomb (he always muttered something about his brother getting him hooked on them).
No, it was not an unusual sight at all. What was unusual about this particular Saturday night at the local bar was that this strange, small, and thick browed British man had an acquaintance. He had thick, loose brown curls, bright green eyes and a rather exotic air to him. The opening conversation between the two went something like this.
British Man: "Oh bloody hell. You're here? It was bad enough seeing you at the conference!"
Exotic Looking Man: "Haha! Well I heard that you went here a lot and wanted to bothe- Um, visit you!"
British Man: "Ugh! Just leave, you damn Spaniard!"
Apparent Spaniard: "Aw, don't pretend you don't love seeing me, eyebrows!"
Now, the rest of this greeting was some half slurred curses and laughs. And this was heard by pretty much the while bar because both men were shouting and it was only after the loud profanities were shouted did the bartender tell them to shut the hell up or get out.
By the end of the night the two were drunk. Very drunk. Now let's just use their names now, because I think we both know who they really are.
England groaned as he pressed his forehead against the wood of the bar. "I'm never drinkin' again," he slurred out, his grasp on his rum not loosening. The bartender shook his head knowingly and tutted. He would be back again next saturday. He said the same thing every time and always showed up again.
Spain messily threw his arm around the other, a sloppy grin plastered to his face, his own glass of rum in his hands. "H-ha! I knew I could beat you at a drinking competition!"
"You ne-never said we were having a competition!"
"Uh-huh!"
"Nuh-uh!"
"Uh-huh!"
"Nu- Oh, bloody hell, I'm not doing this. I could beat you at a dr-drinkin' competition any bloody day!" England exclaimed while slamming his hands on the counter and sitting up straight. He seemed to have forgotten, however, that he still had his drink in his hand and the golden liquid sloshed over the sides and onto the bar. He frowned at it for a moment before turning to the lightly giggling Spaniard who was swaying in his seat, his arm now back at his side.
"T-tell ya what, eyebrows. If you ever... Ever ever ever beat me in a drinking competition... I'll... I'll... I'll, um... I'll show up to a world conference in a dress!"
"A dress?"
"Sí! A pirate costume!"
"Bu-but you said..."
"With a peg leg and ruffles and a skirt! Sí!" Spain said confidently, the words tumbling clumsily out of his mouth.
England's pale face crumpled in thought, his eyebrows furrowed. Spain wanted to poke them to see if they were alive but before he could lift his hand England interrupted him.
"I'll take you on! And if I loose... I'll... Um... I will do the same! With an eyepatch and, um, a corset and yeah!" He nodded, his blonde hair falling in his glazed over green eyes. Now, he knew he couldn't loose the bet. He didn't want to show up at the meeting in a pirate dress costume. No, he would make sure the damn Spaniard would loose! And he had the perfect way!
As Spain started to blabber about how his dress would have lace and ribbons and pretty flowers on it ("With a hat that has a feather and a hook hand and maybe I'll draw on a scar or two, Sí, that would look good..."), the Brit fumbled around in his pocket for his to-go book of spells he kept around in case he met a lingering pervert frog in the streets.
He clumsily started to riffle through it as Spain wondered out loud if the looser would have to wear lace panties to go with the outfit ("I mean, boxers can't be comfy under a dress, a-and I could get a pair to match my eyes..."). When he got to the right spell, or what he thought was the right spell (after all, everything was doubled right now for some reason), he grinned triumphantly and started to slur the spell under his breath.
"And I mean, I suppose my hair is long enough to put a bow it, but it wasn't as long as it used to be and what if the only bow I find doesn't match my dress and eyepatch? I mean-" Spain was cut off as he felt a peculiar feeling in his chest. It almost felt like a strong tingling that spread from his chest to his toes to the tips of his fingers. For a moment the tan nation glowed, but then he was back to normal. He swayed in his seat.
"H-ha! Haha! Now you'll never win!" England said in what he hoped to be an evil and scary way, pointing his finger in Antonio's face. "I used my magic and now you'll never be able to hold any alcohol but a-"
The bartender decided that, as always, when the little English man decided to talk about magic it was time for him to leave. As the two nations stumbled out of the bar to their respective hotel rooms, neither knew that for once, England's magic had worked.
It was just the wrong spell.