Author's note: So, I asked my friend for a story title. She came up with this. Read and Review, please~
Missing Titles
It was winter in Britain, and though it may not be as bad as winter in, say, Russia, it was still pretty damn cold.
"Goddamnit! Fucking hell—shit!" England tried to fan away the smoke, which smelled like a lovely combination of burnt hair and dead fish. His spell, which was supposed to affect the weather around his house so his poor begonias wouldn't freeze, had gone wrong (big surprise). He managed to get out of his magic closet (after knocking down the whale oil- damn hard to clean up), and froze.
His books- first editions, (almost) all of them- were scattered across the floor. Not a huge problem there, they were all in immaculate condition since he never touched them. But no, it couldn't be that easy. Their covers, most of them fairly nice, were gone. They were covered in cheap cardboard, and none of the 5,000-odd books (I mislead you when I called it a study. It was a full-fledged library) had a title. They were all… USB's (Unidentified Scattered Books). Damn had his spell fucked up.
A few minutes of hyper-ventilation later, he calmed down enough to think somewhat rationally. Maybe it'd just knocked them down… He picked up one of the books at his feet, in front of one of the 'T' shelves. Something about Heathcliff… that was what, Wuthering Heights? And that was by… either Austen or a Bronte. Neither of which started with T. Goddamnit. He needed help.
Not America, he'd probably never read a decent book in his life. France… might have read them, but Arthur'd rather do it himself than invite Francis over. Which left… let's see, someone cultured… Austria?
Two hours later, Austria let himself into England's house. England had managed to read and place a grand total of 9 books, all of them Dickens (damn Dickens. Why'd he have to write so much?)
Austria: "I really don't understand why you called me. What did you manage to muck up?
England: "I, errr… cast a spell to try and warm up my flowers, they don't winter well, you know, but I messed something up- think my pronunciation was a tad off- and it slung my books around and took off the covers and titles. So, see, what I need you to do is read the books, figure out what it is and who the author is, and then I'll tell you where to put it. I think I had 5,783 books, and I've done 9. So, err… pick up a book?
Austria: "You're insane."
7-ish hours later. . .
Britain and Austria were both passed out on the floor. Between the two of them, they'd managed to place about 200 books,and neither of them had figured out who wrote Wuthering Heights (the fact that the internet existed hadn't occurred to either of them).
3 hours later
America barged into england's house, as usual forgetting/ignoring the time difference. After some aimless wandering, he managed to get to the study. "Oh, hey, Britain and what's-his-name-that's-not-Germany are dead!", he said, sounding marvelously unaffected. He looked at a book, lying open on a table. "Wuthering Heights…Emily Bronte wrote that."
Konets (supposed to be Russian for the end)
