The rancid smell of blood and death wafted through the usually peaceful village of Tirianae. Bodies lay heaped in the streets, innocents slain by the vile General Braginski and his army. Alfred grimaced as he dwelled upon the image these poor men, women and children would have seen shortly before they perished- the scene of steel, blood and murder.
As Alfred trudged through the village, sword in hand, he noticed increasing evidence of Braginski's powers over ice. Soft snow, stained crimson in some patches, lay melting on the path Alfred trudged, and icicles hung dripping from thatched roofs and broken windows. The troops must have left here recently.
Alfred was here for one reason, and one reason only. He surveyed the half-frozen and bloodstained village for any sign of his foe. If he could only find out which direction the cruel ice mage had taken, he would find him. The Marked One. Little was known of the man, only that he was to be the saviour of this land. Alfred himself only carried a small piece of ripped parchment with him, torn from Braginski's notebook. Etched upon it was a sketch of a man in a mage's robe, with messy hair and a scar on the back of his left hand. Alfred could not see his face.
As Alfred searched through the fallen debris of some nearby huts, a large crack rang through the air. Alfred turned to face-
"Arthur, mon ami! I've got your files and tea!~" a heavily accented voice rang out in the gloom of Arthur Kirkland's office. Arthur sighed, saving the story he was writing and turning to eye Francis, his secretary, with annoyance. The blonde Frenchman stood in his doorway holding a cup of tea in one hand and a large wad of paper in the other.
"Francis, I told you not to interrupt me when I'm writing," Arthur said, exasperatedly, as Francis stepped into his room and set paper and tea down on the Englishman's desk, "But thank you for the tea." Arthur took a sip, wincing when the burning liquid hit his tongue. He dismissed Francis with a wave of his hand. However, the annoying secretary remained, peering over Arthur's shoulder in an attempt to read his story.
"Oh? Has Alfred found l'amour yet?" Francis said cheekily, earning himself a glare from Arthur, before the Englishman turned back to his writing.
"It's not a romance novel, git," Arthur grumbled, typing out a few more sentences. Arthur had just encountered Chun-Yan, a female warrior who also happened to be General Braginski's wife.
"But a novel without romance is a novel without life!" Francis said, aghast. Arthur pointed to the paragraph with Chun-Yan in it, deciding that this was the fastest way to get Francis out of his hair.
"She's married to Ivan."
"But they both die, non?" Francis countered. Arthur shot him yet another harsh look, and Francis took this opportunity to reach towards Arthur's keyboard and hastily write a few sentences. Arthur slapped his hand away, and glared at his computer screen. It now read:
Etched upon it was a sketch of a man in a mage's robe, with messy hair and a scar on the back of his hand. Alfred could not see his face, but he felt strangely attracted to the mysterious man. He held the picture close to his heart, a blush dusted on his face. It was foolish for him to fall in love with a picture, yet he had.
Arthur growled, deleting Francis's words. The Frenchman looked proud with himself.
"See, mon ami? Much better."
"Coming from someone who writes bloody romance novels about himself on the sly. Now get out, frog, I like my version better." Francis gasped, a look of mock outrage on his face, but when Arthur hardened his stare, the Frenchman slunk out out his office. Arthur shut down his computer. Francis had ruined his writing mood. Instead he looked at the files Francis had left.
They were all writing applications from budding authors, some who were practically begging Arthur to edit their newest stories. Arthur flicked through them, pausing to read some that caught his eye. The life of an author/editor for "Hetalia Publishing" sure could get busy at times, and the 20 or so applications on Arthur's desk actually marked today as an easy day of work.
The editor quickly spied a work from one of his usual clients, Kiku Honda, a japanese manga artist who wrote fantasy stories in his spare time, and who was also a good friend of Arthur's. Arthur set the manuscript aside- he would read it later. The next story Arthur picked up was a sci-fi, and it looked promising enough. At a first glance it appeared he shared a first name with the protagonist, which was interesting. He began to read the first few pages.
An alarm pierced through the gentle tranquility of the spaceship, waking all who slept inside. Captain Arthur Clarkland sprung up from his sheets, already reaching for his gun. He could hear the panicked shouts of his crew in the background, but all that mattered was that he isolate what the problem was.
The alarm for intruders had rung. Art only hoped that they weren't who he thought they were. He creeped along the corridors, blaster gripped in his pale hands. As he had feared- there they stood- The notorious space pirate group "The Deadman's Trio". Epine, Weillschmidt and Hernández- each with a vile grin on their faces. Epine carried a electric whip on his belt, which crackled with energy, his companions preferring the traditional blaster guns.
Art wasn't afraid of pirates, for he was one himself. But he was afraid of "The Deadmen", although when facing him this was hardly ever apparent. He turned the corner he was hiding behind and pointed his blaster directly at the rival pirate group. Weillschmidt snarled at him, wanting to raise his own gun but being unable to without being shot. Art noticed Epine reaching for his whip and fired a warning shot.
"Epine, Weillschmidt,
Hernández," he greeted coldly. Hernández returned the favour, "Clarkland."
"What the-"
"Bloody hell!" Arthur shrieked, cradling his scorched hand. The spilled remains of his tea formed a large puddle on his desk, thankfully not staining any of his documents. Arthur inspected his hand. This was the fifth time this week he had spilt tea on himself whilst reading, and the evidence of this was showing- a permanent burn mark took up most of Arthur's left hand. He mopped up the spillage with some of the tissues Francis had put on the side of the desk after the 3rd time he had spilled tea everywhere. Arthur mentally thanked Francis for a moment before he realised what he was doing, instead turning to mentally slapping himself for even thinking of thanking The Frog.
"So you wish to arrange a meeting with Mr. Smith?" Francis asked, writing down this on a pink clipboard.
"Yes, the sci-fi author," Arthur replied, handing Francis the manuscript. He had half finished the story, and he was quite intrigued by it. Francis skimmed the text, raising one eyebrow appraisingly.
"You do realise-"
"Yes, I know the the protagonist and I share a name. Is that a problem, Francis?" Arthur said warily, fixing Francis with a glare. Francis nodded, turning away and heading out Arthur's door.
"And you call me narcissistic..." The Frenchman mumbled, just loud enough for Arthur to hear. The Brit scowled, barking one last order at his secretary.
"And fetch me some ice!"
Francis slammed the door behind him, leaving Arthur to boot up his computer again. He opened his precious word document, and began to write.
And turned to face a short woman, her auburn hair styled in two buns, tied with yellow ribbons. Her appearance closely resembled the foreigners Alfred had met a while back whilst sailing on the high seas during another epic adventure. Dirt and blood marred her pretty face, and she wielded a small kitchen knife.
Alfred kept his sword at the ready, in case the woman attacked him, although judging by her appearance, she looked more like a survivor of Braginski's attack than a warrior. Alfred approached her warily.
"Who are you?" he asked, and the woman frowned at him, a calculating look on her face.
"That is what I should ask you, aru. Are you another of Braginski's brutes here to finish me off? Because I will fight you if you are, aru," she snapped, her hands tightening on her makeshift weapon.
"Alfred Franklin Jones, of the Order of the Paladins. I heard this village was attacked and was sent to investigate." Not a complete lie, but still evading the truth. Alfred held out his hand, and the woman took it graciously, all traces of bitterness gone.
"Thank you, aru." Alfred pulled her up to her feet, and the duo headed off towards the end of the villiage. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon.
"We should set up camp," Alfred announced, "It's getting late."
"So, three o'clock tomorrow, is that fine?" Francis suddenly spoke, once again interrupting Arthur's tranquility.
"Yes, right, fine," he mumbled.
"And here's your ice."
"Put it on the table." Arthur was starting to suspect that Francis was loitering around just to annoy Arthur. It was working.
"Nothing else I can help you with?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Really?" Oh, the Frenchman sure was getting on Arthur's nerves, alright.
"YES." Arthur decided to ignore Francis and start typing again.
"Are you sure you're sure?" Francis said cheekily.
"YES!"
"Will you go out with me after work?"
"YES!" It took a while for Francis's words to register in Arthur's brain, but when they did, he blanched. "I mean-"
"Okay then! See you at six, mon cher!" Francis said, leaving Arthur's office.
"DON'T YOU MON CHER ME, FROG!" Arthur yelled after him, but the Frenchman was already too far away.
The date, if you could even call it that, was awkward, to say the least. After Arthur, had refused to pick Francis up, the Frenchman had pulled up to his apartment and had practically kidnapped the Brit, forcing him to go to whatever ridiculously named French restaurant Francis had chosen.
The restaurant was crowded with happy couples, and Arthur spent the night ordering expensive French wine to drown his embarrassment in, whilst Francis, who was the one that was supposed to be interested in the date, spend his night flirting with a cute waiter.
Please let no one I know see me, Arthur repeated in his head like a mantra, To whoever's listening, I beg you, please-
"Arthur-san? Is that you?" Spoke a short japanese man. Kiku.
Arthur groaned, downing yet another glass of wine in hopes he would forget this night. Kiku walked over to Arthur, a look of concern crossing his face as he noticed Francis.
"Go away, Kiku... I'm in enough misery already, please, just leave me to die in peace..."
To his annoyance, Kiku instead pulled out a chair, sitting down next to his British friend. "What are you doing here, Arthur-san?"
Arthur clumsily refilled his wine glass, feeling a bit tipsy already. "I could ask you the same thing, Kiku. What brings you to this dump? Francis dragged me here, to answer your question."
Kiku nodded in sympathy."A friend of mine just started working here. I came to visit. Unfortunately, I haven't seen him yet." Arthur noticed that their waiter, who had been called back to the kitchen moments before was arriving, presumably to take their order. Arthur hoped that was so, as he was starting to feel hunger knowing at him.
"Excuse me sirs, may I- Kiku?" The waiter that Francis had been flirting with said, cocking his head in surprise.
"Konichiwa, Matthieu-san," Kiku greeted politely. The two began to talk to each other- discussing everything from the weather to hockey. Francis looked rather put out by it all, irritable after having Matthieu's attention derived from him. Arthur suppressed an amused chuckle at seeing the jealous Frenchman try to cope with having the limelight drawn away from him.
"Oh! Look at the time!" Matthieu suddenly exclaimed, glancing at a red and white watch on his wrist, "I need to be back in the kitchen now! Bye Kiku! Bye Francis!" He started to blush, "Ah- sorry for ignoring you earlier, Francis, I just... Can I have your number?"
Francis looked surprised but none the less pleased, scrawling down his phone number on a napkin, and handing it to the flustered-looking waiter. Kiku and Arthur watched the exchange with mild amusement. The waiter shyly thanked Francis and rushed off to the kitchen.
"A bit of an odd character," Arthur remarked, setting down his wine.
"But none the less handsome, non?" Francis remarked. Arthur shrugged.
"I suppose." Although, in the back of Arthur's mind, he had a nagging feeling of deja vu.
Arthur watched the clock in his office tick by. It was well past three, and still the author of the intriguing science fiction had yet to arrive. He began to doodle absentmindedly on his notepad, dreaming up ideas for his book, he imagined how the current scene would play out.
The fire crackled in the darkness, releasing a torrent of small sparks and embers in to the air. Chun-Yan and Alfred sat, discussing each other and similar nonsensical things. Alfred gazed at the starry night sky, reminiscing of times when he was younger and more carefree, nights spent staring into the heavens. He would stay up late with his twin, Matthew, and watch the stars.
"What are you thinking about, aru?" Chun-Yan asked, watching Alfred with mild interest. The paladin tore his eyes from the sky and his mind from his memories, and turned to face his companion.
"Just remembering," he answered simply, stoking the fire with the tip of his sword. More embers flew into the dark sky.
"Remembering?"
"My childhood. When things were better. Before Braginski's evil corrupted the world."
"Nice unicorns," a loud, American voice spoke. Arthur snapped out of his trance to find that his doodles had morphed into the horned horses. Arthur directed his gaze at the unwelcome intruder of his office.
Bloody interns... Arthur thought, shooting daggers at the man. He had wheat-blonde hair, with one stubborn-looking lock sticking up defiantly. The man wore glasses, and behind the glass were the most startling sky blue eyes Arthur had ever seen. The man raised his hands up in defense.
"Uh... Dude, you are Arthur Kirkland, right? I had an appointment," the man stuttered. Arthur was suddenly hit with a mixture of realization, surprise, and disappointment. So this is Frederick Smith. Honestly, I was suspecting someone less, for a lack of a better word, obnoxious.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Smith. Please, take a seat," Arthur said, gritting his teeth. Frederick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, sitting down on one of the plush chairs that stood in front of the Brit's desk.
"So, Mr. Smith. I arranged an appointment to discuss your novel," Arthur took a deep breath, knowing that the next few words may condemn him to a couple of months of hell.
"I wish to edit your work."
The grin Frederick gave him was so huge Arthur thought that his face would split open.
"Thanks dude!" He reached across the desk and shook Arthur's hand frantically.
Here's to the age of earache.
A/N: Here's my first Hetalia (and by extension, my first USUK) fanfic! In case you didn't figure it out, here are some of the nations' names (some:
Art Clarkland= Pirate!England
Epine= France (Taken from one of France's original human last names)
Hernández= Spain (From the whole Hernández-Fernándezconfusion)
Weilschmidt= Prussia (Again, an early last name)
Chun-Yan Wang= Fem!China
General Braginski= Russia
Matthieu= Canada
Frederick Smith= America
Comments and constructive criticism is always welcomed!
EDIT: Changed Canada's name to Matthieu instead of Matthias, to avoid confusion. Also fixed some things.