Author's note This is a re-upload from my other account. The previous author's note ran thus:
I've emerged from my hiatus, and now I have a new fanfic! And it's... actually... comedy. Sweet lord. It's not often that I write comedy. Anyway, this was written as a character study more than anything else. I've always wondered why Prussia was depicted by Himaruya as rude, because prior to discovering Hetalia, I've always thought that the Kingdom of Prussia was this austere German kingdom (which it totally was, by the way). I'm having a lot of fun with it so far.
Also: if you're wondering about why I haven't updated 'Verloren', it's because it's rather complicated in terms of plot, and since I'm busy, I can't update that other one now. However, I have this to offer, so I hope you enjoy. :)
Translations at the bottom.
*edit Haha, I royally effed up last time and confused 'Chancellor' with 'Prime Minister' (maybe because I was doing History homework simultaneously oops). Fixed.
Disclaimer Hetalia does not belong to me.
Long Live, My Brother!
CHAPTER ONE
The Aristocrat
It always annoyed Germany how perfectly and sickeningly suave his brother could be in official meetings.
"Oh, Frau Merkel," his brother was saying with a flair that almost sounded flirtatious, "I've always been such an avid admirer of your strong will and subtle yet effective stringency. Despite the taxing responsibilities you need to attend to, none of the pressure shows in your face. However do you manage? I should like to emulate your estimable disposition."
The Chancellor flustered in a way that reminded one of a young college girl who was being courted by a potential lover. Her red cheeks—on a, ehrm, more youthful face, of course—would have made any man weak in the knees, but all Germany could feel in his knees was an urge to kick his brother to the ground. The fact that the ex-nation could congenially make conversation with Merkel—Merkel, mind you, the dragon of Europe, the fiery power-check to Putin's cold policy in Europe—and put up a charming façade that wooed the Chancellor into a giggling, flustered mess,really bothered Germany, when in fact his brother pissed off half the nations in any given world conference and, at best, disgusted the rest.
It was nothing short of repulsive. Absolutely unacceptable.
Silently seething, Germany (who was a few seats away from the chattering, Chancellor-nation pair) pretended not to hear his brother mention the word 'Schwarm' in front of who was perhaps the most important figure in Germany at the moment. Instead, he looked down at his plate, aimlessly picking apart his potatoes with his fork and mashing them into the sauce, which was turning sickly-sweet and jaundice yellow.
Lalalalala, I can't hear you, he voiced mentally, lalalalala, and before he could realise it he was already slamming his fork against the ceramic. Click clack click as metal banged against china, coupled with the squelching sounds of the potatoes as they got mashed and puréed into the sauce.
The officials beside him—all rather senior men with greying to completely white hair, wrinkly, faces, and sagging skin—were staring, appalled. The one immediately beside Germany, who arguably had the sourest face out of all of them, rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.
Germany stopped playing with his food.
"And so, Chancellor, to celebrate this occasion of our newly-formed friendship, I propose a toast to everyone on this table!" Prussia announced. Germany snapped his head up, a look of disbelief etched over his face. He looked straight at his brother.
What are you doing?! Germany silently demanded through darting eyes and gritted teeth. What the hell are you doing?
To which Prussia responded with a calm shrug that clearly said: Go with the flow, bro.
Prussia winked at him.
Reluctantly—though his hands were shaking with embarrassment and annoyance—Germany grasped his wine goblet and raised it. "Ein toast!" One of the younger officials—an attractive man with dark hair, green eyes, a lean but muscly build, a sharp business suit, and tanned skin—from Bayern exclaimed. Everyone else followed suit and clinked glasses with him.
"Prost!"
Germany couldn't remember when such an informal gesture ever occurred during an official dinner in the history of Germany. Even the Nazis were proper during their dinners, and the bastards almost always made sure that they were smashed half to hell after it. But at least they knew how to suppress their lust for drink during the dinner.
Not... like this... Germany thought, cringing.
But since Prussia never got invited to Nazi celebrations and therefore had minimal influence on bastards like Göbbels and Hitler and Göring and whatnot, then maybe his brother was the variable which made officials go... wild. He turned them into party animals.
It seemed as if he saw them as party balloons which he could twist and bend into fun things, and not the rigid, boring things they usually were. He added pizzazz to them. Colour and vitality.
But just like party balloons, they were easily popped. One wrong twist, one wrong turn, or too much of it—could explode into a disaster. And for this reason, Germany was almost completely sick to his stomach with anxiety.
Please don't mess up please don't mess up please don't mess up.
However, Germany had a weird feeling that maybe his brother wasn't going to mess up. It was impossible to ignore his brother's flawless, unmarred High German and the Chancellor's laughs of amusement and everyone else seems to like what he was doing and oh mein Gott how is he even acting like this, how very... very... proper. How very... very...
...Prussia.
The thought seemed almost foreign to Germany. It jarred in his head but at the same time it made sense.
And it bothered him.
His brother stole a glance at him from across the table, and smirked a smirk that Germany was certain could instantly woo women—and possibly even men—into bed.
Germany flustered a deep red almost as deep as his wine and looked away.
"I would like to express my deep gratitude for having been invited to this dinner," Prussia said, his voice genuine to Germany's ears. Germany perked up. Now, his brother was making sense. "Thank you so much for allowing me to dine amongst such admirable company. Thank you, Frau Merkel, for being the benefactor of this delightful dinner. Thank you to all who prepared this dinner for us, as it was quite a culinary treat. Thank you, of course, to all of you who found time to attend. And thank you, most of all—Dankeschön, in fact—to my brother, Germany, for inviting me here—(Invited you here, Germany scoffed to himself, you were practically begging me on your knees to let you in here)—and whose health and glory we are all celebrating today, as always in these events."
Everyone murmured their assent and applauded. Merkel was teary-eyed. Even the sour-faced old man beside Germany was smiling. The young official from Bayern gave a hoot of appreciation.
"Long live Germany!" The young official said.
Prussia grinned warmly at his brother. Germany found himself hesitantly grinning back.
And then all of a sudden, he remembered that once upon a time, a little less than a couple of centuries or so ago, his brother was once the formidable and magnificent Kingdom of Prussia. And with that mighty title came not just the cunning and courage needed to be a major world power, but also an acute awareness of the niceties that such a title so entailed, from table manners, to casually dropping fancy terms en français, to sugary compliments that made one's teeth rot, to knowing how to look powerful but attractive: all of which culminated to a set of enviable PR skills which Germany had almost forgotten his brother actually possessed and applied at some point or another.
In short, his brother knows how to be a prissy aristocrat.
Then again, he was the goddamn Kingdom of Prussia, for goodness' sake. Of course he knew how to be a prissy aristocrat. That was part of the job description of being a major world power from the 1800's, alongside 'kickass soldier' and 'smartass'. He knew how to be so prissy, even Austria would be shamed.
Germany was almost ready to accept his brother's behaviour as some form of praiseworthy thing he needed to learn how to appreciate. He was almost ready to transform his half smile to a wider smile, when he had the misfortune to see Merkel kiss his brother on the cheek.
And not less than three seconds later Germany, Bundesrepublik Deutschland, the major economic and political power of the European continent, fourth-largest economy in the world, and home to several influential scientists, inventors, musicians, and philosophers, had unabashedly vomited mashed potatoes on his plate.
Translations:
Schwarm – slang-wise, it's meant to mean 'sweetheart', 'idol', or 'heartthrob'.
Ein toast! – a toast!
Prost – German equivalent of 'cheers' or 'bottoms up'.
oh mein Gott – oh my God.
Dankeschön – thank you very much.
en français – in French.
Bundesrepublik Deutschland – the official name of Germany in German, which is translated as the Federal Republic of Germany in English.