APPARTMENT NUMBER G8
Chapter One: Intruders From the Right Wing
Apartment complex number G8 was, to say the least, a chaotic place.
Watch as a thin young man with long blonde hair and large grey-blue eyes bolts down the corridor, a suspicious black book clutched tightly to his chest and half-hidden by the worn leather jacket he has thrown hurriedly over his pajamas. Observe as he is chased by a teen clad in nothing but a towel tied hastily around his hips, bright green eyes glowing with anger as he shouts, scraggly brown hair plastered to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and soapy water. Feast your eyes on the sight as a pale, shirtless short man with noticeable abs and narrow, flashing silver eyes darts after the both, shouting profanities in a surprisingly deep voice-
Oh, wait. Wrong wing.
Divert your gaze over to the left, then, and note the appearance of a sleepy-eyed teenager with tousled blonde hair and striking blue eyes emerging from the door on the right corridor, surprise and mild annoyance written across his face. Gaze on in amusement, not on his American-flag boxers, but the sudden panic and abrupt realization that spreads rapidly across his face as he recognizes the incoming intruders and hastens to alert the rest of the building of their presence.
"Oh shit-HEY! EVERYONE! IT'S THEM AGAIN! GET BERWALD, IVAN, AND LUDWIG OUT HERE, QUICK!"
Various other confused faces appear in the door along the hall, some curious, some bewildered, and others mostly pissed off, but of all of them, only three actually muster the courage to walk out into the hallway, all of them big, burly males with evident muscles and even more evident pissed-off faces. Well, all but one, who had a creepy smile stretched across his face and a noticeably dark aura radiating off of him in a rough three-foot radius.
The blonde rounds the turn in the corridor, bare feet skidding slightly on the polished tile floor, and charges ahead, eyes not registering the trap lurking sullenly in the corridor. He gives the area behind him a terrified glance, big eyes wide and full of fear, and then suddenly he's gone, disappearing upward into the air with a terrified squeak. The same results happen to the screaming brunet about a second later, arms trapped behind his back and legs still moving weakly as a long metal pipe is held to his throat.
"Calm yourself, comrade," Ivan says cheerfully, holding the struggling teen with little to no effort. "Six in the morning is really not an appropriate time for battle, da?"
The adolescent let out a throaty yell in response, which almost immediately broke off into a choking, sputtering noise as the grip on the pipe tightened.
"'Ly, off, Braginsky," grumbled Berwald, adjusting his grip on his prisoner, who stopped his weak struggling and immediately went limp, gasping in relief. "Y' don' have te choke 'im."
"Okay!" The Russian exclaimed cheerfully, half-releasing the hold on his victim, who collapsed and started panting, eyes bugging out of his head. "Just as long as he doesn't struggle, da?"
The soft pad of bare feet on cold marble alerted them to the third's presence as he came up the hallway, cool gaze fixed unblinkingly on their faces. He came to a stop barely a foot in front of Ludwig, cricking his neck up to glare up at the other man, still half-tensed for capture. The two initiated a staring contest, Ludwig looking slightly intimidated despite the fact that his enemy was a full foot shorter and several times smaller than him.
"Tch," clicked the intruder, glancing away from Ludwig to fix a death stare at the other two captors, who flinched despite themselves. He prowled over to the brunet and yanked his chin down, staring deep into his terrified green orbs.
"Stupid brats..." he muttered, flicking the other under the chin (ignoring the resulting howl of pain) and stalking away. Ivan watched him with a sort of terrible fascination. "What the hell aggravated you this time?"
This spurred his victim into speech, who began twisting and howling all over again.
"It was his fault!" He cried, pointing at the blonde, who flinched. "He got out the family album! Not fair!"
"I don't give a shit about what's fair or not," the short man growled. "You fucked things up all over again, and now I'm gonna have to be the one to clean up your mess. Are you really so constipated that your unfortunate ability to shit started to backfire on your horrifically simple brain as well?"
He turned and nodded curtly to the bewildered tenants, gaze lingering on the nearly-indistinguishable Swede and German. "I can take them from here."
He roughly grabbed the two trembling high schoolers by the scruff of the neck and whirled around, apparently not noticing the sign taped to the back of his jeans that said SLAP ME in big black letters.
The shrieking that echoed back went on for a long, long time.
"Mein Gott..." Sighed the German, shaking his head slowly. "Those people sure are strange...
It was only once the feeble protests and high-pitched shrieks of pain faded away when the scruffy nearly-naked blonde reemerged from behind a potted plant, a stupid grin tugging at his lips. He pulled out a pair of glasses from who-knows-where and put them on with an air of great importance before leaping up with a triumphant whoop, almost as if he was the one to single-handedly neutralize the random pack of bat-shit crazy enemy tenants that had run into their territory (again).
The hired hands glared at him (again, all except for Ivan, who was staring into the corridor with ominous "kol kol kol's" issuing from his throat). Ludwig and Berwald glanced at each other, and, in a rare moment of silent agreement, advanced on the loud American.
"Und why didn't you help out?!" Growled Ludwig, glaring down at Alfred threateningly. He was still pretty terrifying, despite the fact that his eyes were blurred with sleep, his pale blonde hair was tousled up and hanging down into his eyes, and he was wearing a pair of baby blue boxers with little puppy dogs dancing across them.
"Ahaha...um...scary well, you see, I thought I would leave it to the big, muscular, ripped, totally handsome crazy-person-handlers this time 'cause I'm the hero who totally wants other people to feel good about themselves and let them get a chance to try to prove themselves..."
"That so," grumbled Berwald, giving Alfred a look that could either be tired or coldly angry. "So why 'r we alw'ys th' ones t' grab 'em when th'y run rampn't?"
"Because...because..." Alfred's voice rose to a terrified squeak.
Luckily for him, he was saved from having to answer by the arrival of a sleepy Italian. "Ve-Luddy, what time is it? I'm tired..."
Feliciano trudged into the hallway, yawning and stretching as he went. To the relief of everyone around him (except for maybe Ludwig) he was wearing underwear today, though that itself barely qualified, considering the fact that they were tight and riding low enough on his thin hips to give the unwilling viewers a glimpse of some...body parts that really shouldn't be seen at this time of the morning, if one wished to preserve their innocence.
Ludwig sighed and brought a hand up to his eyes (though not before thoroughly enjoying the sight in front of him) "It's six am, Feliciano."
"Ve...too early. Did the weird people come again, Luddy?" asked Feliciano, reaching small arms around the German's thick neck and nuzzling his nose against his ear. Ludwig's icy blue eyes softened a fraction.
"Yes, they did, Feli," he murmured, brushing red-gold hair away from sleepy amber eyes and scooping the unrelenting Italian into his arms as he began walking towards the bedroom. "Don't worry about it; they're gone now."
"Woah, they really must be tired!" Whispered Alfred, entranced. "They're acting all gay and cuddly together out in public view with people watching!"
"Th'n let's give 'em some privacy," Answered Berwald, grabbing the American by the scruff and pulling him away by the scruff of his neck. "Th'y wouldn't wan' ye intruden' on th're lovemakin'"
"Aw, com on man, lemme down, I wanna watch! I bet Feli's totally the seme, that would be so hot, haha, lemme down! They're probably making out as we speak! I'm missing out on all the action!"
The yammering voice slowly faded down the left corridor as the emotionless Swede dragged the struggling American along, presumably towards the landing that would lead them to the downstairs kitchen. There was a small commotion when Alfred escaped, marked by triumphant shouts, high-pitched panicked screams in Finnish, and a steady stream of very angry British cursing as two of the other residents were awoken by the crashing of the two men fighting.
Ivan Braginsky stood forgotten in the empty hallway, purple eyes smoldering. He looked thoughtfully down the right passage, where the other students had long disappeared into the dark, then glanced over to left, where a clamour of irritable voices speaking a plethora of different languages was slowly rising in volume.
"Weird?" he chuckled, apparently talking to the inanimate metal pipe in his hand. "I think that we are far stranger than the muscly guy and his minions, da?"
The pipe stayed silent. Ivan shrugged, apparently used to this treatment, and wandered off to the left, where the scent of breakfast was rising.
END OF CHAPTER ONE
A/N: Wow, this is pure crack. Warning you now, I'll be trying my hand at humor now, though there WILL be angst from the Forgotten Trio (Canada, Prussia, Romano). This is only my second Hetalia fanfic, so if I got any of the characterizations wrong, let me know :)
Oh, and can anybody guess the three intruders? They're from a really popular anime...hehe...and they also happen to be my babies, so... ;) Kudos to those who guess correctly!