My first Hetalia fanfic! *celebrates
Well, that's pretty much all I had to say. Review and tell me what you think!
Love, the Jayfish :)
Samantha Quarius hated slow people.
Which was why she was storming ahead up the sidewalk, letting her best friend, Jeremy Sinda, jog to catch up with her. His pale cheeks were flushed when he did finally make it to her side, and he snagged her shoulder, dragging her to a halt while he caught his breath. Samantha rolled her eyes, tapping the toe of one of her signature black combat boots hard against the ground. The Foot Tap, as it was widely known amongst Samantha's friends and enemies, was almost as old as Samantha herself and her ultimate expression of disapproval. The tips of both of her boots were worn away from the near-constant tapping, but in her opinion, it was worth it.
Jeremy straightened, spiky black hair in a disarray. "Jesus, Sam, you didn't have to make me chase you for three blocks!"
Samantha shrugged coolly. "I was angry at you," she said. "And I'm still mad, so I wouldn't be talking to me if I were you."
Jeremy ignored the comment. "I still don't get why you're angry," he whined. "I was just pointing out your lack of a love life-…"
"Like you have one, you hypocrite."
"Not true," Jeremy retorted immediately. "I've got this great online thing going on right now." He smiled fondly. "Hopefully I'm going to get to meet him soon," he said wistfully. "Chatting with J1234_567 online just isn't the same as talking with him in real life!"
Samantha snorted. "Just make sure he's not fifty years old first, alright?" Jeremy laughed.
"I've seen pictures, and let me tell you, this kid is hot."
"Kid? He's younger than you?"
"Nah. He looks sixteen."
Samantha rolled her eyes, turning and heading into the busy flow of human bodies streaming down the sidewalk. Jeremy caught her arm again, and she turned to him, chocolate-brown eyes flaming. "You're really pushing it, Sinda," she snapped, tapping her foot.
"I'm sure," Jeremy said. "Anyway…"
"What? Did you have something to tell me?"
"Not really," Jeremy admitted, shifting from foot to foot. He looked uncharacteristically guilty now, for some reason. And then a mischievous grin popped onto his face, and his black eyes glinted with mischief. "Yeah," he said. "I really didn't have anything to say to you. Except for this: I bet you that your love life will be getting a lot better soon!" With a cheerful wave, the boy turned and headed into the crowd of commuters, tossing his black scarf cheerfully over his shoulders.
Samantha stood watching him for a minute, before a tiny grin graced her pale features. "Moron," she muttered, and slipped into the crowd.
It didn't take long for the crowd of commuters to thin out, until Samantha was walking by herself. She shrugged her shoulders and pulled up her leather jacket, brushing it fondly. She didn't exactly remember when she'd gotten the jacket, but it was her pride and joy. She loved it almost as much as she loved her combat boots, and definitely more than a lot of the people she knew.
She'd walked into the shadier part of town; she had to if she wanted to get home. Generally this wasn't a problem for Samantha, as she looked much too mean for anyone to cross her. Still, no one was around, and it wouldn't hurt to be careful. She increased her pace; fixing a scowl on her face that would no doubt ward off any would-be attackers.
She heard the man before she saw him. There was the sound of rapid footsteps, and suddenly they broke into a run. Samantha would not have been worried, but they seemed to be coming from behind her, and more importantly, they appeared to be getting closer to her with every step. She balled a fist and half-turned, and shrieked in surprise as someone lunged into her back, grabbing her around the waist and slamming her against the ground.
"What the hell!" she snapped, wriggling, but the person was now clasping her to his chest and wouldn't let her go.
"I have found you!" he was saying, sounding incredibly proud of himself. He looked suspiciously Italian to Samantha, and he seemed strangely happy for some inexplicable reason.
"Get off me!" she protested, and he seemed to actually acknowledge her for the first time.
"Oh, you are unhappy?" His face immediately fell. "Oh no! We've started out on the wrong foot!" He released her, scooting away, and she glared at him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped, glowering at him. "Are you insane? Do you think it's okay to just run at people on the street?"
"Well, I…"
"Shut it. Did you think that you knew me or something, pretty boy? Because I sure as hell don't know you! In fact, I- what the hell is that?"
The now trembling questionably Italian man was holding a piece of paper in his hand. The picture quality wasn't very good, but it was unmistakably her in the picture, eating a donut and glaring at the camera. Underneath the picture, in bold letters, was her name, Samantha Quarius. Her breath caught in her throat and she snatched it away from the Italian. "Who gave you this?"
"E-E-E-England," the Italian stammered. She looked up from the paper.
"England. Are you saying that an entire country gave you this paper? What are you, a spy or something?"
"No!" the man protested, shaking his head vehemently. "Germany says that I am a worthless spy! I'm not a spy, Miss Quarius! Please don't eat me!"
"Germany? What are you talking about?" She glared at the shivering man in the center of the sidewalk and rolled her eyes. "Oh, forget it. I'm going home."
"Wait!" the man protested, grabbing her ankle. She froze.
"Oh, no," she hissed. "You did not just grab my boot." The Italian looked at his hand confusedly.
"Yes, I did," he said, holding up her ankle for emphasis. "See?"
She groaned. "I was being sarcastic, moron," she said, pulling free. "Goodbye." There was a moment of silence, and then a wail came from behind her.
"Wait!" the Italian cried, latching onto her legs and bringing her down. "P-please don't go!"
"What is with you?" she shrieked, trying to extricate herself from the man. He wasn't as weak as she'd thought, unfortunately. "And get off me!"
"Not until you promise to love me!" the man blubbered, shaking his head for emphasis. That one shut Samantha up.
"Um… what was that?"
"You have to say that you love me," the man said. "Then I'll let you go."
She stared at him, and narrowed her eyes. "There better be an explanation for this," she hissed, glaring. The Italian swallowed hastily.
"Oh, of course there is!" he said, holding up his hands. "Don't get angry, Miss Quarius! You're scary when you're angry…"
"GET TO THE POINT!"
"Yes ma'am," he squeaked, quailing under her ferocious gaze. "Well, you see, Germany brought beer to the last World Conference…"
"Germany," Samantha interrupted. "What the hell do you mean by that?" The Italian looked at her oddly.
"Germany," he said, emphasizing it. "The country."
"So an entire country brought beer to your meeting? What?"
"No, no, no," Italy said, shaking his hands. "Germany the person. He brought beer."
Germany the person? Who names their kid Germany?
"… and then we all got very drunk," the Italian was saying, completely oblivious to the fact that she'd stopped listening to him. "And I don't remember what happened after that, but when I woke up; England was waving this in my face and telling me about a bet!"
"England? You know what, forget it. Just tell the damn story."
"He said that I had signed a sheet of paper for a bet," the man said emphatically. "I didn't mean to sign it, but you know… alcohol." He flushed guiltily. "Anyway, England told me the rules and gave me this sheet of paper, and then I went to find you! And I got you first!"
Samantha shook her head. "What do you mean, first? Are there more of you coming after me?"
The man nodded. "Lots," he said, happily.
She got to her feet. "You're crazy," she announced, turning. "I'm out. Bother me again, and I'll beat the crap out of you." Her boots clacking against the pavement, she sped away.
But not fast enough, it seemed. She heard the Italian man giving a heroic cry and felt him crashing into her back, and then she pitched forward, slamming her forehead into concrete. Dazedly, her eyes rolled sideways until she saw the Italian, looking confused and apologetic. Her vision blurred, and she ground her teeth as it faded away completely. Her last thought floated in the darkness for a while before it too vanished: How the hell did this happen?
3 Days Ago
Japan glanced at the screen, dark eyes watering. He'd been typing for a long time now, simply enjoying the strange but interesting relationship that had cropped up on an online dating website he'd found. "GayNProud" was fun to talk to, and he seemed to be interested in Japan. Japan thought that was strange; he never thought he could be good at relationships, but this one seemed to be working out well.
There was the sound of muffled screaming from the other side of the door, and he huffed. The World Conference was no doubt about to convene, and he was not interested this year. Not that he was ever interested, but he'd never been having an interesting conversation with a potential… well, boyfriend, online before.
I have to go, he typed, unhappily. The meeting's about to start.
Roflmao, Jeremy replied, apparently not being too upset. Japan flushed. He'd already started making something out to be bigger than it really was… although Jeremy had told him his name, whereas Japan… Well, explaining these things to an ordinary human could get a little bit confusing. Needless to say, somewhere along the line people had stopped caring about the personifications of their countries. It drove America nuts, being ignored like that, but Japan liked it. People had stopped stopping him on the street and asking him for his autograph, and that was definitely nice.
Soo… Jeremy typed. Umm, this meeting is with ur hot guy friends, right?
Yes, Japan responded, flushing again.
Roflmao, Jeremy said again, for emphasis. I kinda got this idea… It's about my friend.
Yes? Japan asked, questioningly.
Wellz, do you think ur friends would be interested in… I don't know, giving her a shot? She never says it, but I think she's lonely.
I don't know, Japan said honestly. I don't think many of them would…
Humph, Jeremy responded, adding a cute little emoticon at the end that made Japan giggle. He blushed, again. Since when did he giggle? It was silly, and it showed much more emotion than he generally felt comfortable with. Of course, chatting with Jeremy made him show and feel a wide range of emotions. It was strange.
Anyhoo, Jeremy continued. I kinda figured that. Which is why I made this idea. Another emoticon popped up, and Japan smiled faintly. So, what if there was some kind of bet? Like, they had to ask her out or something.
A bet?
Yeah. Like, something horrible would happen to them if they didn't. And then, they'd all have to meet at the end and she'd have to pick the one she liked the best, like on the bachelorette. God, I luv that show… How about the winner would have to get a ton of money from the losers? And there'd have to be a penalty…
How long have you been working on this? Japan added an emoticon this time, a cute little face with crinkly eyes. He hoped that Jeremy enjoyed it, wherever he was.
Lol, Jeremy responded, after a moment. A long time. Hold on a sec, let me upload something. There was a five-minute lapse, and then a picture of a girl and a name popped up on screen. Samantha Quarius, Japan thought.
And… yeah, Jeremy finished. Do you think you could do that? Get them to all sign on?
I don't know. Most of them will simply say no.
Is there gonna be alcohol at this meeting?
… Maybe.
I say no more; I'll leave the rest to you. If you do it. Will you do it? Pleeeeaaaassseee?
It seems like a bad idea, Japan thought, and suddenly a picture of a crushed-looking Jeremy popped into his head. He winced.
Alright, he typed. You must really care for your friend.
A smiley emoticon appeared. I love her. Even though she's an idiot and apparently can't find a man for herself.
Japan nodded at the screen, determined. He would do this, to prove his love for Jeremy. Maybe he'd even give away his name after.
Alright, see you soon, he typed hurriedly, already printing out the picture of the girl. She looked very mean, to be honest. The other countries would be upset, of course, but technically this was Jeremy's fault, not his. It was stupid, but he'd done stupid things before. World War Two, for example; that had been stupid. He snatched at the printing papers, turning off the computer, and hurried from the room.
He had drinks to spike.
Lichtenstein didn't want to admit it, but her wonderful big brother was very, very drunk.
He was talking to Austria, for one. That was something that never happened. Austria appeared to be just as drunk, if not more so. He had actually slung his arm around Switzerland in a comradely fashion, and Switzerland hadn't beaten him off yet. Strange.
Lichtenstein herself was not yet drunk, as Japan hadn't spiked her drink. She'd seen him doing it, but she hadn't said anything; she'd been shy. It was now clear that the quiet country was up to something, because he'd come back with some sort of paper and was going up to a host of countries, apparently asking them to sign. She sighed and shook her head as an exuberant Switzerland snatched Japan's pen and added his signature to the list, Austria following close behind. She didn't like to think badly of her older brother, but today he was acting like a bit of an idiot.
"C-cool party, h-huh?" Lichtenstein turned and sighed. A very, very drunk England was grinning at her, eyes completely bloodshot and a crazed grin on his face.
"It's not really a party, England," she muttered, but he ignored her.
"What's Japan doing, huh?" England asked, starting forward and tripping over his own feet. Lichtenstein moved away quietly, and jumped at the sight of Japan holding the piece of paper in front of England's nose.
"Sign, please," he said quietly, looking as though he wished to be anywhere else.
England looked up confusedly. "W-what's that, huh?" he asked, making a drunken grab for the paper. He missed by a mile.
Japan sighed deeply. "Sign, please," he said again. England's bushy eyebrows knitted into a frown.
"No!" he complained, suddenly angry. "I will not sign something without knowing what it is! I will not!"
"England…"
"No!"
"Alright! Please be quiet!" Japan hushed him, looking around furtively. "If you don't want to sign, how about you be the judge? Would you like that?"
England shrugged, slipping on his feet again and falling flat on his face. "Yeah!" he crowed, falling into a puddle of his own drool.
Japan wrinkled his nose, turning away. "We'll discuss this when you are not so drunk…" he muttered. Lichtenstein swallowed; now was her chance to find out what was going on! Mustering her courage, she grabbed Japan by the sleeve.
"Excuse me," she stammered, looking at the ground. "But what's going on? Why are you putting Germany's beer in everyone's drinks, Japan?"
Japan gulped. "Look," he said, stabbing a finger at his paper. It was covered in signatures already; from what Lichtenstein could see, at least seven countries had already signed, not counting Austria and Switzerland. "You see, I have a… friend, whose friend needs help. He thinks that she's lonely, so he wanted me to get some of the other countries to sign a paper."
"What did they agree to do?"
Japan looked at the floor. "They agreed that the one country that could get Samantha Quarius to fall in love with them gets the equivalent of 50,000 dollars from all of the losers, and… well; I had to think of a penalty…" He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to escape.
But Lichtenstein had to press him. "What was it, Mr. Japan?"
He sighed. "All of the losers have to wear a shirt I made for them."
"A shirt? That doesn't sound so bad."
Japan shuddered. "The shirt… It says, 'Five Dollars a Night' on the front, and 'Only Services Ages Sixty and Up' on the back. And they have to wear it every day for a month. In a public setting." He closed his eyes tightly. "I am so ashamed!" he moaned. "Doing this to my fellow countries. It is wrong. Wrong!"
With that said, he wandered off to ensnare a completely unsuspecting and totally drunk Canada.
Lichtenstein shook her head. My poor big brother, she thought. I guess things are going to be more interesting from now on. With a tiny smile, she snuck after Japan. He'd be doing something cool for sure.
Present
Samantha's head hurt quite a bit more than she expected when she finally did wake up.
It throbbed in time to her heart, which was pounding. She hadn't opened her eyes yet, but no doubt when she did she'd be in a basement, chained to the wall, or something equally creepy.
No point in putting it off. Swallowing hard, Samantha opened her eyes.
To her surprise, and horror, she was not in a basement, as she'd been expecting. No, she was in a bedroom, and although it was thankfully empty, it was the wall color that was bothering Samantha. Bright, garish pink. She tried not to cringe. Hideous color, pink. Whoever had painted this room clearly had no taste.
She tried to move and blinked dazedly. Narrowing her eyes, she jangled her wrists. "Okay, who the hell tied me up?" she complained, straining her wrists and ankles against the ropes. There was no response. "Hello? Italian dude?" Nothing. "Freaky kidnapper asshole!" she screamed, and the door burst open.
It was the Italian, unsurprisingly. The surprising part was the flowers he had in one hand, the steaming bowl of pasta in the other, and the guitar slung over his back on a strap, as well as the fancy dinner jacket he had on. "Buongiorno!" he cried, upon seeing her. "You're awake!"
"No thanks to you," Samantha said, glaring at him. "What the hell is going on? Why did you kidnap me?"
"Allow me to explain." The one speaking hadn't been the Italian. Both of them jumped at the voice from the doorway, as a green-eyed, blonde-haired man in a suit strode in, smiling evilly. "The name's England," he said, sounding professional, "and I am the official judge."
"England?" The Italian flinched. "Who made you the judge? And how did you get here?"
"Why Japan made me judge, of course," England said, sounding smug. "Because, unlike you twits, I didn't sign the sheet. So now I have to be here; to judge."
"Pardon me for interrupting," Samantha said, sarcastically, of course. "Could somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?"
"Righto," England said, nodding emphatically. He cleared his throat. "You, Samantha Quarius," he began, "have been selected to take part in the biggest bet between countries of the century!"
"Countries?"
England nodded. "Countries, or the personifications of the landmasses on which you live. I am England; this is Italy." The Italian waved like an idiot.
Samantha stared. "You're crazy," she said, in a hushed voice. "Bonkers. Completely out of your heads."
"No," England began, and then glanced at Italy. "Well, I'm not, at least."
Samantha felt her usual anger bubbling to the surface. "Just you wait," she said, darkly. "As soon as I break these ropes, I'm going to find a phone, and then I'd like to see you escape the police, you psychos!"
England looked amused. "If you mean the American police, then I doubt it. We're in Germany."
Samantha's jaw dropped. "…Germany?" she asked weakly. Italy nodded.
"Nobody said I couldn't!" he sang, dancing around. "I'm going to win the bet, tra-la-la!"
"WHAT BET?" Italy stopped dancing, and his jaw dropped.
"You're angry," he realized.
"Of course she's angry, you git," England said nonchalantly. "You kidnapped her with no provocation. You didn't really think about this very hard, did you?"
Italy's eyes filled with tears. "Well, not really, but I didn't think she'd be upset about it! Please don't be angry, Miss Quarius, I've got so much more left to do in life! I'm still a virgin; you wouldn't kill a virgin, would you? You couldn't be that evil, right? No, nobody could be so mindlessly cruel! But just in case…" He whipped out a handkerchief and began waving it around frantically. "I surrender! Please don't kill meee!"
She glowered at him. "You," she snapped, looking at England. "Just tell me what's happening."
England grinned evilly. "With pleasure. Like I said before, you, Samantha Quarius, have been selected to take part in the biggest bet between countries of the century!" He paused, most likely for dramatic effect. "You see what Italy's wearing, correct?" She opened her mouth to affirm but he cut her off. "Of course you do. Now, can you guess why Italy is wearing a fancy dinner jacket and has flowers, pasta, and a guitar?"
Feeling like a contestant on some sort of twisted game show, Samantha shrugged. "Um, no? Why does this matter, anyway?" Her foot had started to tap, making England clear his throat uncomfortably. Italy had slowly started backing away; the foot could be quite menacing.
"The details of the bet are simple," England said. "In three months, all the countries involved in the bet are going to convene, and then you have to pick one; the one that you liked the best. Well, I should really say loved the best, because the whole point of this is for you to fall in love with one of them."
Samantha stared. Her foot slowly stopped tapping, and her face went white. Slowly, a smile curled up her cheeks. It was the kind of smile that scared the hell out of anyone who saw it, and for good reason. "In love, you say?" she asked, suspiciously sweetly.
If England or Italy had known her at all, they would have known that it was time to retreat. Unfortunately for them, they actually had the audacity to approach her. "It isn't really that bad," England began to say, and was stopped, presumably noticing that Samantha was playing with a lock of her auburn hair, ropes discarded on the floor. Her smile grew sharper.
"Told you I'd break them," she said, grinning like a demon. She cracked her knuckles. "Now, you guys have two choices: either you're going to take me home, and fast, or I'm going to have to resort to drastic measures." She curled her hands into fists.
Italy's bottom lip quivered. "Do you want some pasta?" he asked, pathetically. Samantha's eye twitched.
"I DO NOT WANT PASTA, YOU IDIOTIC EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING! I WANT TO GO HOME! DID YOU NOT HEAR ME? HOME!"
"Retreat!" Italy wailed, backtracking out of the room and slamming the door, locking in England with a very angry Samantha Quarius. She started to get to her feet, and yelped as her ankles strained against ropes she had unfortunately forgotten to unwind.
"Crap!" she shrieked. "Foiled…" England appeared to be smirking, and she growled. "DON'T LAUGH AT ME!" she screeched, flopping forward like a fish and reaching for his ankle. He jumped away hurriedly.
"No need for that! You bloody wanker…" he added, under his breath. Putting a foot out, he pressed it against her forehead, keeping her from coming forward. "Look," he said. "There's no need for you to be scaring Italy. He's doing his best, you know."
She glared at him. "How is tying me up and dragging me halfway across the world 'his best'?"
England shrugged. "Italy's an idiot," he said. "Anyway, as the judge, I'm here to make sure you don't get too badly beaten up, so you can relax. And trying to escape would be bad, because I can guarantee that there are other countries out looking for you. You'd rather be with Italy than Russia." He shuddered.
Ignoring the fact that this strange "England" man was still talking about countries, Samantha let out a huff of air. "Why me?" she asked. "Why'd I get stuck with the crazy people after me?"
England looked mystified. "Crazy? How am I crazy?"
"…You think you're a country?"
England sighed, shaking his head. "Will you ever believe us?"
Samantha thought about it. "Nope. Because you're crazy."
England sighed. "Whatever. The point here is that in a few minutes Italy will probably come back in here with chocolate, and maybe this time you shouldn't try to kill him. Or it might be Germany; the idiot got drunk off his own beer and signed up for the bet too!" He chuckled. "So, what do you say?"
Samantha grimaced. "I'm going to kill him," she said. England sighed yet again.
"Well, you're a twat," he admitted, grabbing her by the shoulders and tossing her back on the bed. "Have fun untying yourself, Quarius. I'll be outside, making sure Italy doesn't come up with some brilliant plan to get you to fall in love with him that involves some sort of mass destruction."
"Is that likely?"
"Very." England opened the door with a flourish, and looked back at her. "One more thing. I would be nice to Germany, if I were you. He hates dissent." With that helpful parting hint, England left the room, locking it behind him.
Samantha stared at the closed door for a moment before untying the ropes around her ankles and looking at the door with a face of contemplation. So England doesn't want me to escape, huh? She grinned. Well then, it looks as though that's the first thing I'm going to be doing. She rubbed her hands together evilly. Screw Italy and his pasta.
She was busting out.
Blehh. What didja think? Why don't you tell me? *waves hands enticingly around the review button.* Come on, you know you want to!