Hi all, here's the first chapter of my new fic about, well, you'll see. Here's a hint-it's got plenty of a certain color in it! :D
If it isn't obvious, this is set during Paint it, White. After all the countries attempt to take on the alien invaders on their own and fail gloriously, the next scene has them all turning up in a run-down house and deciding to work together after all. Whereas the previous scenes all had them in various suits or military uniforms, they suddenly appear quite inexplicably in bizarre colored jumpsuit things. I was just thinking about how that might have come about and then I noticed how England was wearing what looked like a red race-car driver outfit...and this twisted little historical fic was born. Huzzah for history writing the plot! And huzzah for blatant color symbolism!
Waiting in the new, temporary U.N. headquarters, America chortled to himself as Italy bounced into the room in his new powder-blue outfit. America had no idea out of what pocket universe Japan had drawn those colored jumpsuits, and didn't much care. At the mere sight of the rainbow rack of clothes America had begun helping Japan in arguing for them all to choose a color and get with the program.
"C'mon guys, it'll foster cooperation and unity and awesome stuff like that! If we're gonna fight those aliens, looking like a team will help make us act like a team!"
They had all agreed eventually under an onslaught of America's chatter and Japan's cunning arguments, with the usual sighs and eye rolls and France's grumbling about the proper style of clothing for alien-fighting. Even boring old England and his big grouchy eyebrows agreed. Come to think of it, England had been oddly...easy to persuade. America hadn't even needed to break out the puppy eyes. Wait…maybe the end of the world had finally made England see how magnificent his plans were! Awesome!
To absolutely no one's surprise, as the hero America had proclaimed his clothing independence and wore his brown bomber jacket, France appeared in delicate pink with a shower of rose petals, and Germany strode in wearing dull militaristic green. And…how had China managed to make the sleeves of his orange jumpsuit longer, anyway? America shook off the thought—he probably had a portable Chinatown to do it for him or something—and exchanged an ecstatic look with Japan. Finally their mutual dream of seeing the former Axis and Allies in Power Ranger-esque ensembles was almost complete! They were just missing…yes, England. America rubbed his hands together, grinning inanely and already thinking of a theme song for the team. This was going to be so sweet!
But then England swaggered in, and all the usual petty bickering and marginally non-lethal fighting abruptly came to a stop. Because England was wearing red.
Everyone froze in shock for a long moment, and the tense silence built and built until it shattered as the room burst into noise and movement. As he stared at the apparition now leaning against the doorjamb, America distantly observed the other countries' reactions.
Italy had begun babbling incoherently and clinging to Germany, whose countenance—though stolid as ever—now looked pale and tight. Wrapped in old memories, China began muttering angrily about opium and stalked away with taut fists. For the first time in recorded memory Japan actually blinked and even Russia's sunny sunflower smile flickered for the briefest moment. And France…France screamed girlishly, leapt behind America, and most shocking of all did not grope him whatsoever. Somewhere in the back of America's cloudy mind he decided it was a good thing Spain wasn't here, or there'd be weeping and battleaxes for sure. America didn't know what he himself had looked like at the sight of England in the red jumpsuit, but he did know that his heart rate had jumped and his throat was uncomfortably dry.
England in red was cold pride and a vicious sneer over a razor cutlass. Red was plunder and rapine and crazed laughter over a sinking Armada. Red had conquered a fifth of the world's population and a fourth of the landmass. Red was the long cloak of the British Empire sweeping into the treaty rooms of surrendering enemies and subjugated colonies. Red was the uniform of Britannia, dripping with blood.
Memories began streaming through America's head, swift and tumbling, swirling and falling through his mind.
I suppose France would have more memories than anyone else of Red England, wouldn't he? Poor man, he never expected to see that monster again. Yes, I did just say poor France. *hides*