Gunshots and Galas

Authors Note: This is a follow up piece to my revolutionary war story, The Price of Freedom. It takes place right before World War 1. Now there's a lot of mixed history and fantasy here. Meaning I talked to a friend of mine who has an obsession with weapons. We spent three hours, or something like that, just working out what weapons were proper to use and how to conceal a holster under a dress. He was insanely helpful and is the only reason there is anything slightly historical here. All the information I use about guns here comes from him as I know almost nothing about them. So I would just like to thank him again and say that this was going to be a one-shot but when I wrote it out it was very long. 10 and a half pages on paper at my final count. This could also be seen as a distant follow up to my other Hetalia piece Princesses and Pirates. But I digress. This note has gone on far too long. I OWN NOTHING. Please review. There aren't any real translations here.

1. Glasses and Gold

1913

To say that England was nervous was probably the understatement of the century. He hadn't seen his former sister since he had stormed out of her house after the Revolutionary War. He had heard rumors of her current situation but most were from France, so he ignored them. Some were impossible to miss, like her people's invention of the air plane. But that was more believable than some of the other poppycock France had come up with, like all this talk of some outlaws she had hunted down herself. Ridiculous.

But with the rising tensions in Europe England had cleverly set up a diplomatic ball and lest he risk losing a valuable ally, and even more of the sister he remembered, he invited America.

Now, with the party in full swing around him he saw neither hide nor blonde hair of his former colony. He sipped a glass of champagne and scanned the room again. He knew everyone was here, except his little brother Australia. He could sense all eleven nations on his soil but he couldn't find her. France was flirting with Romano and Italy as Spain glared. Canada was dancing with Whales, her brown curls bouncing as she twirled. Scotland and Ireland were trying to get Japan to try whiskey and Russia was dancing with a blonde in a flowing gold dress.

Russia was dressed in a nearly obscene amount of finery, complete with the metals and blue sash his boss wore. England's eyes lingered on the woman he was dancing with. She practically floated across the floor. She was nearly as tall as Russia with short but elegant hair and wire frame glasses. Several golden bracelets chimed around her wrists as the powerful nation spun her gracefully. England hadn't noticed her before which was a shame.

She was beautiful really, slim but full figured and tanned. He reasoned she was a diplomat; they were always changing with the years. America must be mingling among them, he thought. He would recognize her when he saw her; she couldn't avoid him forever after all.

He heard musical laughter and refocused on the girl Russia was dancing with. She was smiling at something he had said, she must not know who she was dancing with. Yet England focused on the larger countries face and saw a smile. It was as close to genuine as the strained country ever got these days. The song ended and he bowed to the woman, kissing her hand. She curtsied slightly and her medium length sleeves rippled shimmering in the light of the ballroom.

England set down his glass and made his way toward her. She had struck up a conversation with France, Romano, and Italy. France spotted England first and cleared his throat as he approached. The girl turned and the light of the chandeliers electric bulbs sparkled off her glasses, hiding her eye color behind a golden light. She seemed to have tensed but England dismissed it as nerves and extended his gloved hand to her.

"May I have the next dance Miss?" France was laughing behind her which England thought was rude but he made no comment. The countries tried to be civil in front of their people. She nodded glaring at France. She took his hand and as a waltz began to play he led her out onto the floor. They began to waltz as several other pairs joined them on the floor. Spain had pulled a reluctant Romano onto the floor and Canada had saved Italy from France. Several dignitaries, each from a different country swept onto the floor as well. France, Scotland and Ireland were watching England and his partner.

"You look lovely." He complimented the picture of diplomacy. She glared down at him, she was a head taller than him, and he finally saw her eye color. He almost froze mid waltz but her foot brushed over his and he continued the dance mechanically.

"You seem to be doing well too Arthur." Amelia F. Jones commented her tone light and only a little annoyed. Her height made the dance a little more awkward but they danced with all the grace two countries should show each other. Yet both avoided the others eyes.

"How have you been?" England asked as the never ending dance dragged on.

"Busy." He rolled his eyes at her curt reply.

"Care to elaborate? I haven't seen you in quite some time. You've grown." He had heard of the expansion into the wilds of the west at her home but he had never dreamed his little sister would be taller than him. In fact her height was only rivaled by Russia's.

"You seem to have shrunk a little." She grinned, avoiding the question. He huffed.

"That is not possible. How did you get to be so tall? And why glasses? I never knew you needed those." She shrugged lightly.

"Well neither did I until Benjamin Franklin invented bifocals. After that the world became much cleared." She grinned at her own joke and he chuckled despite himself.

"That was quite amusing." She rolled her eyes at him the way she used to. For a moment there was no tension, no memory of gunshots and muskets in the mud. For a moment it seemed to be just the two of them, like things used to be.

But then the song ended and the rest of the world burst back into their shining illusion. America tensed and took her hand out of his. He bowed stiffly to her, all comfort gone as resentment bubbled under the surface.

"You should wear a dress more often. You look lovely, you truly do." Amelia glared as she curtsied slightly. As she did he noticed the necklace that rested around her slim tanned neck. On a shiny new gold chain rested an old pendant. He knew that symbol, Scotland. He was about to turn and glare at his estranged older brother but something caught his eye. Almost hidden by the neckline of her dress was a scar. It was thin and England instantly began mentally comparing it to weapons. Then her blazing blue eyes caught his attention and he excused himself.

America wandered grumpily up over to where Canada and Italy were talking. The large feather on the wide brimmed hat Italy wore was ticking the nose of the polar bear Canada carried around like the child he still was. America stepped up to Mathew's side and smiled at Feliciana, who began to babble away in Italian.

"Sorry Italy, I'm still learning. You'll have to slow down a little please." The pretty girl smiled and complied, even switching to English for Canada's benefit.

"Ve, I love you're dress Amelia. It is so pretty! And your fratello is a very nice dancer!" America smiled down at her brother.

"Well I'll have to test that one won't I? Last time we did this I wasn't very good at it either. Would you like to see if we step on each other's toes this time?" Mathew smiled and one of his dignitaries took the polar bear.

"If you'll excuse us Feliciana, I think Lovina's headed this way so you won't be lonely for long." America let Canada take her hand and lead her out onto the floor. As they began to dance America looked over at England who stood next to France. Canada, who had made up with his sister shortly after her civil war, noticed her glance.

"Penny pou vos pensees?" He asked testing her French. He had been teaching her and she was getting better. She was quiet for a moment then she spoke, glancing down at her brother.

"He didn't recognize me Mattie. At all. I could see it in his eyes. I came here to try and see if he was willing to talk to me again at least." Her blue eyes looked sad behind her glasses. Mathew looked like a child dancing with her as she was a full head taller than him.

"I'm sorry sis." She sighed.

"I thought he wanted to make up, when I got the invitation. He really just doesn't care does he?" Canada had no idea what to tell her.

Translations, so there are a couple. Google translate is to thank for them.

Fratello: Brother (Italian)

Penny pour vos pensees: Penny for your thoughts (French)