Hi! This is my first fanfic that I actually think I'll finish. It was inspired by booklet I found about the language of flowers. I saw almond means stupidity and indiscretion, and was immediately reminded of America. And so, this was born. It'll be fun. Trust me.
I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters!
The Bouquets
Russia picked idly at the bouquet sitting on his desk. It had arrived earlier that morning, accompanied by a card addressed to him.
It had seemed odd even before Russia had opened the card. After all, who put lettuce in a bouquet? The purple-blue hydrangeas were understandable, but… lettuce? Honestly? Not only that, but who would send a bouquet to Russia, of all people? Albeit a bizarre bouquet, but, still…
The attached card's message was even weirder. It read:
Hydrangea & Lettuce
You may be heartless, but you still have a head for chopping. You think that you are cold-hearted?
Just wait for Death.
Russia had gotten death threats before, occasionally, but only when he really warranted them, such as during the Cold War when he had thought about launching nukes into America, or when Germany was reunited with Prussia, and saw the condition his brother was in.
But Russia couldn't remember doing anything to warrant one recently. Besides, this wasn't even signed, so he didn't know who was angry at him for what this time. Whatever the reason, whoever had sent it, didn't matter. He would find out who it was, and make them see reason.
England woke at dawn, like he always did, yawning. The American beside him wouldn't wake until at least 8 at the earliest, and it was 6 now, so he had a few hours to spare. Maybe I'll make breakfast… he mused.
8:05, and the fire alarm was going off. America pulled on his pants and stumped down to the kitchen.
"What are you cooking this time, Iggy?" America asked, slightly irritated with his lover.
England emerged from the smoke, coughing. "H-how'd you know I was cooking?"
"Who else would want to set my house on fire?"
"I wasn't trying to, you git!" England snapped, blushing. However, it was a reasonable assumption. "I was trying to make toast!" When his lover cracked up, collapsing on the floor, he glared. "It's harder than you think!" he snapped crossly.
When America finally had control of his laughing, he picked himself off the floor. "Why don't we go out for breakfast today?"
"Fine," grumbled England. He liked his own cooking, at least.
As they headed out the front door, they tripped over two bouquets. England picked them up, turning to look at America. He looked as perplexed as England felt. Each bundle of flowers had a card. One for each of them.
"Flowers?" said America, grabbing his bouquet. "Who would send us flowers?"
"Let's see…" England said, opening his card. In flowery writing, it said:
Barberry & Pyrus Japonica
You think that your sharpness will hide the secret of the Fay. But beware, for the fire will not be hidden by your ill-temper.
The words sent shivers down his back. Only a few people knew about his relations with the Fay. His brothers and America. No one else. And they weren't they type of people to send this… this threat. That's clearly what it was.
He looked over at America's card, to see if it was as weird and chilling as his. It was.
American Elm, Almond, Pomegranate & Saffron
You think that your patriotism is the best, but your stupidity will be the death of you. It is foolish not to beware of success, especially with your indiscretion.
"That's really weird," America murmured. "See how some words are written in red? It's like whoever sent this wanted to emphasize them."
England nodded. "It's the same on mine. I wonder why they're important…"
America looked at the other card. "Who could've sent these? For that matter, why send them?"
"It's probably someone's idea of a joke," England said reassuringly, though he didn't feel that way at all.
"Some joke. You know, it's probably Russia. He has some sick sense of humor," America replied. "Now let's go get breakfast. There's a World Meeting at 10."
"Let's go, then," England said, and they walked to their favorite breakfast café.
Spain dropped down on the unsuspecting Italian asleep on the desk. "Lovi!"
"Gaah!" Romano woke with a jerk. "Antonio, don't do that!" he scolded his lover.
Spain's voice was dark. "Out late last night?"
"Yeah. Mafia stuff," Romano answered absently, his tone telling the Spaniard not to inquire further.
"Really? Then who's sending you flowers?"
"What?" Romano twisted to look at Spain. "Flowers?"
"Yeah." Spain reached behind his back and produced a bunch of red flowers. "These came for you this morning."
"Who would send me flowers?" Romano asked, clearly puzzled. He opened the card. His face grew progressively worried looking as he scanned it.
"Well?"
"Here." Romano surrendered the card. "It doesn't say who it's from."
Spain had been anticipating a love message, maybe none, but the message scared him far more than anything like that. It read:
Red Balsam
You will scream, "Touch me not" but no one will listen. For insults mean nothing when you cannot run away.
"That's… weird," Spain said slowly.
"Yeah. It's like a death threat, but it's unlike any I've ever seen." Romano looked at it again. "It's not from the mafia, anyway. This is too subtle for them."
He would know, Spain knew. Still… "What about someone new, someone weird?"
"I'm pretty sure it isn't. It might be some nation's idea of a joke," Romano mused.
"Oh, right. I came to tell you when I found these," Spain said, remembering. "It's time to go to the World Meeting."
"Let's go then. It's being held in America this month, right?"
"Yeah," said Spain, opening the Nation Path to Washington DC.
What the flowers mean
Hydrangea = heartlessness
Lettuce = cold hearted
Barberry = sharpness/ill-temper
Pyrus Japonica = Fay fire
American Elm = patriotism
Almond = stupidity/indiscretion
Pomegranate = foolishness
Saffron = beware of success
