Chapter 1: The Misfits—I mean, Actors!
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It was only a week before the scheduled nativity play would take place, and Germany was losing the will to live. Being the sole organiser of the entire event, trusting no-one but himself to get the job done without causing mass destruction, all responsibility for every last detail of planning, actors, props and staging were resting on his slightly-stiff, broad shoulders.
Sighing haggardly as he scanned his list for the remaining volunteers for the parts crucial for the play to function, Germany brooded on the fact that nobody had put on a performance to his liking for any of them. Time was short, and they hadn't even got any decent actors yet. The last one had been a drunken Ireland who had gotten a little too amorously familiar with Busby's Chair (sitting in for an absent 'Mary') and had destroyed the inanimate object when it 'refused' his advances.
Needless to say, England had made a mental note to put off giving in to Ireland's demands for the unification of Northern Ireland for another...well, eternity.
Having literally kicked the fuming Irishman out onto the street and roaring at him to 'get a job, you filthy bum', the despairing blonde nation called out for the next candidates.
Presently, a sheepish and heavily pregnant Ukraine and pumped-up America walked in together, already dressed up in their chosen garments. Ukraine was modest in her loose blue gown and shawl, and America beaming and disturbingly unassuming in his dull brown shepherd's garb, and very wisely not wearing glasses. Germany made a written note that America did indeed pay attention to detail…but only when he wanted to. The only thing that gave the otherwise loud and grand young nation away was the long cane, which America, for some unknown reason, chose to wield like a lasso, waving it wildly everywhere while Ukraine did her best to avoid being hit, the fake beard that was two miles too long, and trailed along the floor as he walked in, and the enormous sign bearing the American flag strapped proudly to his forehead.
Germany braced himself for the stupidity that was to come.
"Zho..." he commenced, eyeing them individually. "I azzume you are Mary and Joseph respectively, correct?"
They both nodded, America doing so with such violent vigour it was a miracle his head didn't snap off.
"OK. Vell, please do a brief scene together that you have practised beforehand, just to test how vell you can work together on stage. Ready? Begin!"
Germany said all this without pausing, so the pair had literally no time to prepare themselves. As a result, they stood where they were for a few seconds just staring at each-other blankly, mouthing 'What do we do?', "Scene one, scene one!", "Oh, OK!"
Then they began.
America took a few strides backwards and mimed opening the door while the Ukraine turned her back and mimed cooking...something. 'Joseph' approached 'Mary' with all the machoism of Spain on the day of a bull fight, legs so wide apart he might as well have been doing the splits in mid-air, hands on hips and chin cocked up snobbishly.
"Hullo, Mary!" he boomed, making both Ukraine and Germany jump.
Ukraine turned and fumbled timidly.
"Oh...h-hello, Joseph..."
"Anything special happened today?" America demanded suspiciously, as if having long-suspected a scandalous affair on the part of his 'wife'.
Ukraine looked away.
"Um...well...th-the Angel of the Lord appeared to me, and...he said I'm pregnant," she explained, bracing herself defensively.
America might as well have been told McDonalds was going bust by the way he reacted. He metaphorically exploded, arms failing and pointing accusingly at Ukraine's face.
"WHAT? YOU'VE BEEN IN A SEXLESS MARRIAGE WITH ME FOR TWO MONTHS AND YOU TELL ME YOU'RE PREGNANT?" he roared, causing the Ukraine to jump back and Germany to momentarily worry for her safety.
"Y-y-yes..." Ukraine stammered, voice barely above a whisper.
"WELL WHO'S THE FATHER THEN?" America bellowed, stamping his cane on the ground with each syllable, and pointing a threatening finger at Ukraine as he demanded: "COME ON, YOU LITTLE HOE, WHO IS HE?"
"I...I don't know..." poor Ukraine blubbered, tearing up. "I was laying in my bed one night and complaining about my big boobies, when the Angel of the Lord appeared and shoved his face in them and said 'You don't have to worry about your jugs being fat, they're 99.9% milk retention, and since you're pregnant the baby'll just suck it all out of you like a cute drooling leech..."
America stared, shocked, clearly having not expected this response. He calmed down considerably and made to embrace the whimpering Ukraine.
"Oh, Mary, darling, I'm sorry—!"
Suddenly Ukraine shoved the apologetic 'husband' so hard he lost his balance and fell over backwards.
"Get away from me you BASTARD!" she barked, fuming. "I don't need you, I'm going to Bethlehem on my own!" With that, she turned and stormed away.
"And...CUT!" Germany announced, clapping despite being stunned by the explosive performance. "Vell done to zhe both of you! You really got into character and executed drama vunderfully!"
Ukraine smiled bashfully and hid her face in her hands while a shaken America staggered to his feet.
Germany, not caring for the deficiencies in their performance, being all-too-desperate at this point, smiled.
"You got the parts, see you tomorrow afternoon at eight o'clock sharp for rehearsals! Be late and I shall force you to parade around the streets wearing lederhosen and yodelling!"
The pair whooped and hugged each-other and skipped out of the hall, Germany left wondering whether he'd made the right choice.
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The rest of the desired actors came in quick succession, much to Germany's relief. The first was France, carrying a plastic doll in both hands. He presented it to the confused German with pride.
"Baby Jesus!" the Frenchman announced, grinning.
Germany didn't know how to respond.
"Uh...OK...is that all?"
"Non!" France replied brightly. "He also pees!"
Germany was too flabbergasted to stop France from pushing a hidden button somewhere on the doll's body and activating the function, causing fake piss to spurt out of the plastic nether-regions and onto the floor, forming a small puddle, while France looked on with pride.
Finally, the disturbing display ended, and France looked at Germany with expectation. Germany looked at France with a mixture of pity and revulsion.
"France," the blonde nation said.
"Oui?"
"The doll got the part."
"YAY!" France cheered, throwing the doll up into the air and catching it several times like a football.
"FRANCE!" Germany bellowed, "TREAT ZHE BABY JESUS VITH RESPECT!"
France stared, thinking the other had finally lost it.
"But this isn't really…"
"Vhatever. It got the part, now get out."
France looked hurt.
"But…what about moi…?"
Germany blinked, and then assumed the air of superiority as he said:
"Oh. You get nozhing."
France gaped.
"WHAT? But…but what if the baby needs to pee…?"
"NEIN! ZHE BABY JESUS VILL NOT BE PEEING DURING ZHE PLAY! VE HAVE CHILDREN VATCHING! VE DO NOT VANT ZHEM TO GO HOME THINKING ZHAT PART OF ZHE UNTOLD STORY VAS ZHAT BABY JESUS PISSED ALL OVER ONE OF THE VISE MEN AND THE SHEEP! GET! OUT!"
France scarpered, throwing the doll at the livid Germany, who caught it, and proceeded to stare at it (its face, of course) with interest.
He then cradled it, cooing in German baby-talk.
"Zhere, zhere, little baby Jesus," he murmured. "Who is a cute little son of God? Who's a squishy little Messiah? You are, yes you aaaare!"
Germany stopped giggling and looked up suddenly to see England wearing nothing but a white toga, sandals, and a cheap plastic halo.
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Wielding a plastic toy wand and trying to secure his feathered wings on his back, England was the picture of 'epic fail'. Thankfully, Germany was too concerned whether the nation was good for the part to ponder on how stupid and girly the other looked.
He hastily stowed the doll away in one of the desk drawers and tried to resume his former stern composure, only to make himself look more ridiculous than he had a few seconds prior.
A long, crooked smirk twitched on England's face as he tried to retain his own dignity while mocking Germany's lack of it.
"Sorry to interrupt you, old chap," he sneered. "If you want, I'll come back in an hour when you've finished drooling over your dolly!"
Germany pursed his lips to restrain himself from strangling the Brit.
"Oh, that von't be necessary. Now—I assume you are volunteering to play the Angel of the Lord?" he asked, shuffling his papers needlessly.
England gave the other a withering look.
"No! I'm going to be Elton John!" he drawled, layering every word with sarcasm. "Of course I'm the Angel! God!"
Germany reached for his glass of beer, but crushed it in his rage. Ignoring the mess, he addressed England with a deadly calm.
"Very vell. Begin."
England sighed, mentally preparing himself, spread out his arms wide and tried to look imposing. He ended up looking like a skinny out-of-work Roman-era extra who had stumbled into a Harry Potter convention.
"Be NOT afraid!" he cried in the most overly-dramatic manner known to man. "For I am the Angel of the Lord! And I bring you glad tidings of GREAT JOY!"
He finished, and looked expectantly at Germany.
Germany had the look of one who had expected more but was brutally disappointed.
"Uh…was that it?"
"Yeah, I've forgotten the rest. Sorry."
"Vell…remember them for next time," Germany fumbled, feeling horribly awkward.
England caught on a split second later and twirled, to the immense horror of Germany, whooping and shouting "TAKE THAT SCOTLAND, YOU GIT!"
Germany waited until the jubilation had ended.
"…Fine. Now get out."
England pouted, gave him the finger, and ran out to avoid being clobbered by an angry German wielding a baby doll with all its bodily functions at his disposal.
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Next came Italy, Prussia, and a vengeful France all together, looking much like America had—minus the emblazoned flag and unnecessary twirling of their canes, although Prussia, clad in white and silver, had a sign saying "MOST AWESOME BEING IN THE UNIVERSE!" strapped to his head. Their beards were even longer than America's, with the albino nation's trailing behind all the way to the back door. France wore an eye-meltingly strong pink robe and frilly head-scarf, a rose pinned to his front. Italy, glad in various shades of green, was busy munching on a breadstick, looking happy. But then, Italy always looked happy.
"The three shepherds?" Germany asked.
They nodded.
"ATHWIDJMAFF!" Italy blurted through a mouthful of bread.
Germany looked at his albino brother for a translation, which Prussia gave.
"And the vise men!"
Germany was pleased. This saved a lot of time seeking another three volunteers for those particular parts.
"Very vell. None of you, as you know, have speaking lines. You merely mime actions…although, it vould be nice if you could improvise a little before the Angel of the Lord—England—arrives."
While he was speaking a horribly creepy smile stretched all across France's face.
Germany chose to ignore it.
"WHUFFSHEOFLFLSLUYY?" Italy drawled, spewing showers of crumbs.
"VHAT?" Germany shouted incredulously, making the hungry Italian flinch. "STOP EATING, ZHIS IS A SERIOUS MATTER! IT IS NOT LIFE UND DEATH, IT IS FAR MORE ZHAN ZHAT!"
"Vhat should ve say?" Prussia translated, sniggering.
Germany thought about this.
"Anyzhing. But make it relevant to the time period—."
Prussia snorted.
"Heh. Period! HA!"
Germany pinched the bridge of his nose to calm himself and sighed.
"You get the point. And you all get the parts. Dismissed!"
The trio left—Prussia still cackling to himself, France plotting silently, and Italy still munching away on his breadstick.
Germany was left alone, dying a little more inside.
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Next came Russia, looking extremely pleased. Then again, the large, unassuming yet terrifying nation always looked pleased.
Germany shifted uncomfortably. Russia was wearing his normal clothes, and the blonde nation was relieved to see no visible weapon in sight.
"Zo…vhat are you going to do?" he asked.
Russia giggled.
"I'm going to be narrator, da!" he said, as if it was already decided.
"Oh, but…" Truth be told, Germany had secretly wanted to be the narrator. He had the right voice. The voice that gave drama to the proceedings and fully captured the story.
"Is there a problem?" Russia questioned, and Germany was alarmed to look up and see the towering nation looming over him, smiling and blazing with a dark aura that seared the air with its evil, violet eyes alive with bloodlust.
"N—nein…" Germany stammered. "Zhat…zhat is fine…You may go…"
Russia snapped back to normal and clapped his hands like a five-year-old who was promised sweets.
"Yay, I'm so happy~!" he sang, turning and waltzing out of the room.
Germany waited until the Russian's singing and loud footsteps were out of his hearing, and doubled over, clutching his chest and shaking with suppressed terror.
Why had he done this? Why? What the hell had possessed him when he allowed stupid Italy to have his way and allow a nativity play to take place? What?
He got to his feet and went to get another beer. He couldn't do this sober.
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Next came a very ratty China, huffing and grumbling and dressed in peasant's garb.
"An innkeeper, aru! In a Christian play! Why do I let Japan talk me into these things? Why?"
"Because you are a pussy," Germany stated, as if it was a known fact.
"WHAT?"
"Never mind, you get the part," Germany announced hastily, before China realised there was a broom very near him. "See you tomorrow at rehearsals!"
Grumbling viciously, China turned and stormed out, kicking over the grandfather clock in the corner as he went out.
"HA, I didn't even make zhat clock anyvay! Switzerland did!" Germany called out smugly.
China bolted back and stared at Germany around the door in horror.
"Switzerland?" he spluttered. "I-is he out of town?"
"Ja, for two more veeks."
"Can you tell him it was the panda?"
"Jjjja…" Germany drawled out slowly, rolling his eyes, "But only if you play your part vithout svearing or complaining on the night!" he bargained, grinning fiendishly.
China glowered.
"I hate you, aru."
"OK. Bye-bye."
Spitting on the floor in Germany's direction, China once again left, but this time in angry silence. Germany sat back in his seat, smug and loving it.
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Finally, in came Greece and Japan, clad in Roman soldier's armour and looking extremely bored. The armour was way too big for them as well. It was all they could do to walk more than five steps at a time without tripping over themselves. Thus, they both took fifteen minutes to get across the room to Germany's desk. Germany, the sadistic bastard, did absolutely nothing to help them, and simply watched, amused.
"We wourd like to be the Roman guards arongside Herod," Japan requested, panting, as they finally stood before the blonde worn-out and more than a little sweaty.
Germany stared.
"Uh…OK. That's fine. You just have to be blank and one-dimensional. You'll both do just fine," he said, not being able to resist a slight jab.
"But…we need a Herod…" Greece mumbled, like an old man not quite certain what planet he was on.
Germany groaned.
"Oh Gott, ja…vell…who could play someone so evil and calculating…?" he wondered aloud, wracking his brains furiously. The blonde then noticed both Japan and Greece staring at him pointedly.
"…Vhat?"
They kept on staring.
Germany finally clicked.
"…Nein," he refused, looking absolutey stricken. "Nein, nein nein!"
Japan smiled eerily.
"I wirr ret you control the giant robot for a whole month."
Germany screwed his face up in mental agony. Damn, they'd got him on his weak spot!
"Ghhh…You bastard!...Fine, fine I vill do it! But I svear to Gott, if ANYONE mentions the Var I vill—!"
"No one wirr mention the War," Japan promised, grinning in triumph (much to Greece and Germany's horror). "We wirr leave you now. See you at rehearsals."
Bowing, he and Greece left the room, leaving Germany wallowing in self-loathing and dread. How was this all going to plan out? What would be destroyed? His reputation? His house? The young members of the audience's innocence? He couldn't tell, and he hated to think about it. For now, he just had to prepare for the hell that would no doubt come in the form of agonisingly and unnecessarily difficult rehearsal sessions that would test every single one of their respective sanities—or lack thereof—as well as their endurance. Germany just prayed they could all hold out and pull this nativity play off, for the sake of their audience and Christmas!
…He wasn't getting his hopes up.
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TO BE CONT.