I do not own Hetalia
M for aggressively mean language.
The places are fictional.
Ra-Ra Riot, Let's Start a Riot!
"I've broken glass against my forehead."
"I've stepped on stage during one of my school's concerts and slapped the singing cunt across the face because she was butchering the song."
"I've seen a war."
A pause. Only it was brief.
"I've been in war."
"Oh fuck you, Alfred. You haven't. Unless you count you're mama as war!"
A burst of laughter.
The group laid back, comfortable at last in their surroundings. Smoke from the two cigarettes they shared rose up in the air, curling around the night air, caught by the draft and then eventually finding itself lost in the trees.
The one who broke glass on his forehead, Gilbert, yawned loudly. "Man, these stars. You can't see these in the city."
The one who went up on stage, Arthur, nodded. "You're right. Light pollution, pollution of the mind."
The one who had seen war, Elizaveta, agreed. "Man, I hate the city."
The one who lied about being in war, Alfred, stayed quiet for once.
The group of four was bound by a promise: never betray, never backstab. In short, stick together and you'll be just fine. They went to a boarding school in the mountainous city of Castle Brooks. One for elites that they were smart enough to enter but far too rebellious to merge comfortably with. Their friendship formed inevitably.
Gilbert reached for the cigarette Arthur held and took it between his fingers. He took a long, deep drag and puffed it out in circles. They went up, around his white hair, and disintegrated into the cold night air.
"Want to play a game?" He asked.
"Not really. I'm content watching the stars." Arthur responded, watching his cigarette burn down quickly. He felt anxious and reached behind his ear, scratching beneath a piercing he got for the sole purpose of rebelling. Now that it was allowed, he had grown too attached to it to take it out. Plus, the little glitter of silver on the side of his ear he found attractive, a good balance for his heavy brushstroke eyebrows.
Elizaveta nodded, her brown hair sprawled, loosened from its bun. "I like it. It's nice here." Alfred looked at her.
He was the nicest looking of them all. He had flaxen hair, bright blue eyes, a movie-handsome face and chiseled muscles across his body. He was rich enough to afford going there, but too slow to keep up with the other people. He didn't smoke or drink. He stuck with them. He cracked jokes. He made them laugh. Without him there'd be permanent night and no day to balance it out.
Elizaveta caught him staring. She pinched the leather jacket over her breast and blew a ring of smoke into his face. He coughed and turned away.
"Aww, fuck you lady, I wasn't looking there." He said. "You ain't got much anyways."
"You're a man just like the rest. 'Course you were looking there, even if you didn't want to." Her accent dissolved into a warm, loud laugh.
Alfred shook his head.
"Why, you gay?" She asked in sudden interest, her eyebrows rocketing up her forehead.
Alfred shrugged. "I like people."
"Bi?"
"No… The other one…"
"Pan?"
"Yeah, that."
Elizaveta shifted, the blanket beneath her scrunching with her movements. She rested her elbow on the ground and her forehead on her palm. The cigarette dangled on her lips. Arthur made a grunt and she rolled her eyes, plucking it from her lips. She reached over her shoulder and gave it to Arthur, who was diagonal from her. He thanked her, giving her a smack across the back. She grinned at him, scrambling for his arms. He pulled away, laughing. Gilbert snickered meanwhile, crushing the dead butt into the tin can he had drunk soda from.
"So," Elizaveta said. "What were you staring at? Can't be my eyes. And I don't have much else in front."
Alfred pressed his lips together. He was slowly working out his thoughts. He gazed at the curled ribbon of moon hanging in the sky.
"I was wondering about the war you said you were in."
Elizaveta lay back down, crossing her arms behind her head. Gilbert and Arthur had perked up. They stared at her eyes. The group had also agreed not to get too hot with each other. If they did problems would stir and they did not want that. They couldn't date anyone, actually, until they finished with this boarding school crap.
Gilbert prodded her side. "Go on." He wore a leather jacket with a fur lining inside, over a slightly patchy flannel shirt and really patchy skinny jeans. Style, he insisted. Even when the calculus teacher asked if his dog had an appetite for denim, he continued to insist. My style, man. Style.
"If she doesn't want to talk, leave her alone." Arthur said irritably, though he was also eager to hear.
Elizaveta sighed. "When I was little I went to live with my mom for a week. She lived in a war torn country. But she didn't know that yet. I went there when it was just starting. I saw bombs and I saw people screaming in the streets. I came home, told dad I never want to go back, and that was that. It wasn't as dramatic as I made it out to be."
"Oh." Alfred said.
"Yeah."
"Do you miss her?" Gilbert asked nonchalantly.
"Kind of."
"You grew up to be boyish, didn't you?" Arthur asked, sitting up and brushing the grass out of his purple-streaked hair. He reached for the basket in the center that Alfred had packed. He fished around until he found a a box of blueberries, still wet from being washed. He popped the plastic box open and set it on top of the basket, taking a handful. Gilbert snatched a few as well.
Elizaveta shrugged. "I guess. Remember when we met, Gil? Took you a whole month to figure out I was a chick."
"More than that." Gilbert said, dropping another blueberry into his mouth.
Elizaveta reached for them and munched silently.
"That's when I hit out on the head with a glass bottle."
"Two stories cleared up in one night." Arthur muttered.
"I think I have something to say…" Alfred said, smiling.
Gilbert scoffed. "Sorry, a whole minute without talking about you. We can't do that."
Alfred gave him a curious look. Gilbert reddened at once. "Sorry, I forgot."
"No, it's fine." Alfred scratched at the scar on the side of his head.
Elizaveta pursed her lips. Her eyes glazed over with melancholy.
"Did you see the doctor?"
"Yeah."
"What did he say?"
"Not much has changed. I'm still tired as fuck all the damn time. But unless I figure out how to eat cancer, I don't think much will change."
Gilbert curled his lips in and bit them. He felt so bad. "Go on, Al." He offered gently.
"Well," Alfred said, sighing, "I was just about to tell you about my dog, Chesapeake. What a sweetheart. She was a mutt we found on the street and she would always lick my face. We walked home from school together. She took me there. She protected me once from the older kids who were starting to fight. She barked at them and I ran. It was really great to see them piss their pants in fear."
They laughed collectively. Even his jokes seemed to be dying.
"I wonder how she's doing." Alfred said.
As he grew sicker his demeanor softened. He lacked his original buoyancy and steadily became a moderate, slow, thoughtful man. Much too late. He already was lagging behind a year in school.
"Al?" Elizaveta asked.
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever kissed someone?"
"No."
"Do you want to?"
Alfred shook his head.
"Let's play spin the bottle." Gilbert suggested. He knew what Elizaveta was doing far before Arthur or Alfred picked up on it. Arthur was lost in his thoughts, in his haze.
He took an empty soda bottle from the basket.
"No not today." Alfred protested.
His excitement was cut off so abruptly Gilbert felt as though a knife had slit it.
"Oh, okay." He put the bottle away.
They fell silent for a moment. The last of Elizaveta's cigarette, the end smeared with her red lipstick, flew into the air in the form of smoke. Arthur smothered it and they considered going back to the dorms.
"It is warm out here." Elizaveta said.
"Yeah, and those asses over there are probably having a drunken party." Arthur said, squinting into the distance.
Lights bobbed in the night, peeking through the dorms' windows. They could hear distant music throbbing like a heartbeat. A car went around the lot, its sirens glittering. The school had sent the authorities to make sure no one fell dead drunk out the window. Or maybe to catch a few contraband substances.
They were far away.
Gilbert lay back down.
"I'm sleeping here."
"Hell, you guys can go and I'd still sleep here." Alfred said, laughing. "I'm tired."
Elizaveta pressed a kiss to his cheek, which crimsoned at once. She grinned.
"We promised no love." Arthur said, not without a hint of jealousy. He turned to lie on his side, resting his head on his arms. He was uncomfortable even then.
"We did. But I can't resist." She laughed.
Gilbert shifted, pushing Arthur's head on to his lap. "You'll give yourself a headache lying like that."
Arthur grinned. "Thanks."
"And me?" Elizaveta asked, reaching into her purse and pulling out her keys. She tucked those into her back and set the bright red fake leather pouch under her head. "I came prepared."
"Thanks, mom." Alfred muttered.
They laughed quietly.
Alfred had bunched up the blanket they used under his head. Soon all were comfortable, but not yet ready to sleep.
"Let's start a riot." Gilbert suggested sleepily.
No one opened their eyes, but listened.
"Why?" Arthur murmured.
"Get rid of the preps, of the hatred."
"Without the heroes there wouldn't be underdogs." Alfred argued, his hands laced on his chest. It wasn't too bad. He was getting better. Maybe. Hopefully.
Gilbert puffed his cheeks. "Yeah, well, without underdogs there wouldn't be heroes."
"Doesn't that suggest balance?" Elizaveta asked. "One can't be without the other. So we need both. Plus, I doubt a ra-ra riot would help."
"Yes that's doubtful. Good point. Very astute." Arthur said.
"You can shut up." Elizaveta snapped playfully.
Gilbert opened his eyes briefly. "Don't argue like a married couple just yet. What did we promise?" He watched the empty plastic blueberry box flutter in the wind and the last embers of the cigarettes pulse with a dull glow.
"No backstabbing." Three voices replied.
"And?" Gilbert asked.
"No relationships."
"Good, you all get a gold star."
Laughter.
Then, silence. But only briefly.
"The truth is," Gilbert continued, sighing. Arthur shifted as the legs beneath him moved. He was taken aback that what he thought were firm pillows turned out to be human parts. Then he settled again, waiting for Gilbert to go on.
"The truth is," Gilbert said again, now looking at the stars. "They don't care about us. No matter how hard we scream, there will always be a mute button handy, right under their fingers."
"Wow, great way to wish us a good night." Alfred interjected.
Gilbert shrugged, brushing shoulders with Elizaveta.
"Hey?" Elizaveta asked.
"Yeah?" Arthur answered.
"If someone came up and threatened to hurt me, what would you do?"
"Beat the ever loving shit out of them." Alfred said.
"Hit them on the head with a glass bottle." Gilbert said, only half-jokingly.
Elizaveta waited for the last response.
Arthur sighed. "I wouldn't do anything because it wouldn't happen. So long as you're with me, or with us, no one will ever mess with you. That goes for all of us."
Elizaveta didn't find the words to say. There were too many. Or too little. Sometimes it was hard to tell. She breathed deeply, thanked him, and turned around.
It seemed like they were finally about to fall asleep.
Before they could, Arthur shot up. His sudden movement jerked the others back to wakefulness. They looked around, wide-eyed and scared. "What happened?" Gilbert hissed.
Arthur waved his hand frantically. "Shh! Shh!"
Then they heard it too.
Rustling.
Grass breaking under heavy feet.
Haggard breathing of the drunk.
Laughter.
"Where are those fags and their personal dyke?" A slurred voice called out.
The group flushed.
Elizaveta bit her lip.
She searched for someone's hand. A dry palm met hers and squeezed her fingers.
The shadows appeared on the top of the hill. Five of them. Three male by shape and two females from the superfluous amount of perfume surrounding them like a shroud. Giggles, laughter.
"Ohhh and they've been smoking."
Tears of fear fell down Gilbert's cheeks. He gritted his teeth, staring at the group.
One of them reached down and picked up the can. He tipped it over and dropped the embers to the grass. He smothered them with his toe.
"What if I lit it on fire?" He asked.
"Dear God," Arthur said, starting to pray.
"No, you mistook me." The guy said. His teeth were pearly. "I'm the Devil."
Elizaveta was too mad to do anything.
One of the girls piped up. "Oh I like that one." She pointed at Alfred. "Let's keep him." Her friend giggled.
They were obviously drunk. And they were being watched, from far away. Some's camera was glinting in the dark. The four on the ground knew these people. Mod mentality. Ra-ra riots. They weren't bad. They were around bad things. Right? Right?
"Aw fuck." Gilbert muttered.
"You don't want the blond one." The leader said. "He's… Ah…"
Alfred stood up. He was nearly a foot taller than the guy with the stubbly mustache and the overbearing grin.
"I'm what?"
"You're a freak." He whispered, not too aggressively.
Alfred shrugged. "And?"
"And?"
"Why is that a bad thing? 'Because you're different' is not a valid argument."
"You're disrupting us. You don't belong here."
"Sorry to disrupt your safe haven."
He must have looked like a hero up there, Elizaveta thought. He was so tall, so proud. But she could see the tremor in his palms, the sweat going down his neck.
"Leave." He said.
The group started to step back. One of them, a wily one with too-big ears didn't consent. He ran forwards and grabbed Elizaveta by the hair. Elizaveta started to scream and kick. No one seemed to know what to do. She could feel his hands grabbing at her breasts and tearing her jacket off. His sour breath spoke next to her ear.
"Naw, let me keep her. She's hot."
"I wouldn't." The leader piped weakly.
Elizaveta clawed at his hands. She met leather gloves. Patent.
Who was this guy?
It struck her that she knew him.
It also struck the others that they didn't.
This was a teacher.
Elizaveta screamed harder, kicking wildly.
No matter how hard you scream, they always have the mute button.
She bit at his hands, clawed at his skin.
Ra-ra riot, let's start a riot.
Someone lunged at her as an elbow clamped around her throat.
Let's start a riot…
The man stumbled back from a blow to the stomach. He huffed and lunged at the attacker next. A flurry of punches flew between the blurry white shapes bouncing in Elizaveta's vision.
A riot… A riot…
It was Arthur. He was fighting for her. Gilbert and Alfred now had pounced on him. They fought, tearing his hair. Gilbert's hands were choking him.
A riot.
Elizaveta saw that the man was too big. He pushed Alfred to the ground, despite the pain, and started to scratch at his clothes. Elizaveta struck him across the head.
"I'm not weak." She said.
A riot!
The man looked at her soppily. The rest of the group had run away.
"No one messes with our friendship."
A RIOT!
The man, with his head bleeding and his dignity in shreds, was slumped against the ground. Alfred, once cleaned up, ran to get the fuzz that had showed up by the school. Justice would be served, surely.
It wasn't.
When the police came they recognized the drunken man, beat up and warn, as one of the teachers. They also recognized the four as the troublemakers, even though they haven't done anything wrong at that school.
The man laughed as the police took him to the infirmary and arrested the group of four.
"No, no…"
A riot…
a riot
(a riot?)
"No…"
No more protests. No more words. No more justice to be served. Ra-ra riot, let's start a riot.