AWESOMEVISION

Yep, I should have continued my main story! But I started writing this last night, and just couldn't get this finished beforehand… and then the result made it even more fun, so… BAD ONESHOT IS BAD!

Lots of people are probably going to/probably have written Eurovision fics. But I'm lame and obsessed trash, and feel sorry for Prussia. So, here goes… (I hope it is as vaguely amusing to read as it was to write!)

Although he'd had more appearances there than any other nation, the Eurovision Song Contest was actually one of Ludwig's most dreaded days.

It was not the meeting with the other nations (although that didn't often go well, admittedly), nor the fact that Feliciano invariably got overexcited and was sick in the back of the Volkswagen (although Gott sei Dank he didn't need a lift this year), nor the fact that alphabetically, he'd end up sitting near both England and Greece – the latter of whom owed him money and kept shying from giving it back, and the former man who constantly complained that he only always lost because no-one liked him and the whole competition was rigged and anyway, "why are they translating into French when even the Frog can speak perfectly good English!"… although those were also good arguments for not enjoying the competition.)

No. It was because every year, Prussia threw a HUGE tantrum.

"I know you're only leaving me out because I'd whip your moronic arsches!" The red-eyed ex-nation screamed from down the hall as Germany pulled on his suit jacket.

"Ja, ja. Auf wiedersehen, Gilbert."

"I don't even CARE, you know zat, right?!"

"Auf wiedersehen, Gilbert. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Don't break anything, please…"

"IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH TALENT! YOU'RE PRE-QUALIFIED! DON'T EVEN COMPETE PROPERLY! PATHETTTTTTIIIIIIC! LOOOOOOOSER!"

"AUF WIEDERSEHEN, Gilbert. Be good!"

"I HATE YOU, WEST!" he screeched as the door was slammed shut.

Not bad! Germany thought as he flattened his hair and unlocked the car, glancing about for tricks and traps but finding none. He is practically acting mature zis year! Perhaps he will be good, after all…

He'd had Prussia for a brother his entire life.
He really should have known better.

Some stupid 'competition'- held at Austria's dumb place anyway! Why would someone with MY level of COOL hang around with them? Even frickin' Russia's there! UGH. 'Building Bridges', huh? LAME!

Even in his days as 'East', he had never been allowed to participate, and although he mainly pulled his whole routine to wind up West – and because after so many years, it had become tradition – it did grate on him that he was banned, particularly with all of Germany's successes and high rankings.
Yes, Gilbert kept track.
He was something of a Eurovision fanboy.

So many victories, dumb klein Bruder… vell, SCREW HIM! I can be vay better! I can make a competition that is ten times cooler…called… called…
"Ze AWESOMEVISION!"

After coming up with the name and dancing round the room at his own brilliance, he realised he needed to work quickly if he wanted to get everything ready for tonight. Unfortunately, he wouldn't have the support of France and Spain – they were taking part in the idiotic contest too. So was Hungary. All of his stupid, betraying friends!
But there had to be others who would help him with the awesomeness that was the Awesomevision… other disvalued, dissolved or unappreciated nations would be out there.

Romano? He was standoffish, but he'd also do anything if it might irritate Spain or West. Check.
The micronations? They were the definition of disillusion, and there was nothing like corrupting the young. Check.
America, and his fuzzy northern brother with the name Prussia couldn't quite recall… check.

A list later, and Prussia was making phone calls across the world, racking up a huge bill on West's line – he had to thank his klein Bruder for the organised book of phone numbers he kept: it made things a lot easier.
The Asians proved difficult to convince, as most of them had already settled into plans of watching the Eurovision together, but in the end, Prussia had plenty of nations coming to compete.

"Remember, you can't just sing your character song. It's lazy. And bring costumes and flags and backing music!"

That was a few things sorted. Now what did he need?
A stage. Microphones… no, West vill kill me… IT'S PERFECT!

The Munich National Theatre.
The world's third largest opera theatre.
Home to many, many premiers.

And it was about to become home to one more.

Prussia handed rolls of Euros to the right people (even though he'd been banned from spending Government money after an event we shall only refer to as the 'Ikea Discovery of 2003') and got the night's performance cancelled. After five or ten minutes of running around laughing at his own brilliance, he calmed down enough to realise there was a lot to do. Namely, beer to order and a sound system to test!

One of the theatre managers handed him a microphone and he chose to test it by yelling "Awesome!" at the top of his lungs. There was a muffled squeak, and he glanced about to find the source.

"Hallo, Peter!" Prussia leant over the stage and picked the kid back up. "How did you get here so quickly?"

"Sailed my country. And I am SEALAND!"

Yeah, right. The older man bit back his words, but they must have shown on his face, because Peter began to get grouchy.
"If you're not going to take me seriously, I'll just leave!"

"Chill, kid! Relax! Faulenzen! What are you performing, anyway?"

"Oh, we're representing all the micronations." Sealand said airily, in his loud way. "Seborga, Wy, and I. We call ourselves… MicroMassive!"

Prussia now had to really force himself not to snort. But he managed it, somehow.

"Okay, kid. Vhat I need you to do is get all the Micros, go and make flyers and spread them around Munich. Ve need as many people as possible for our audience, and charge them ten euro – get the computer guy-"

"Ladonia."

"Ladonia to email them out, too. Ve only have five hours until it's due to start! Hurry! Auch, play cute. They'll trust you if you play cute. Got it?"

"Right on it, if…"

"If…?"

"IF YOU'LL RECOGNISE ME AS A NATION!"

"Okay."

Sealand was stunned. He'd expected arguments, opposition and eventually having to do as he was told anyway.
He had not been prepared for 'Okay'.

Prussia nearly toppled over this time when the boy threw his arms around his knees. "I love you Mr. Prussia you really are awesome you're the best yay yay yay now they'll have to take me seriously oh thank you…"

"Um…" For once speechless, Prussia ruffled the boy's hair and then attempted to detach him from his legs. "Vell, only if you get going! And remember, we don't want anyone to get bored and valk out! It has to be better than Austria's!"

"It will be, sir! You can count on me!" He saluted and ran out of the grandiose hall and into the afternoon.

Soon, nations and audience alike began to arrive, and it was as chaotic as you'd expect trying to prepare each act. A few eager reporters – catching wind of a quirky-sounding Eurovision alternative and having no idea what they were letting themselves in for – were sat in the Royal Circle. Buoyed by Prussia's recognition, Sealand had done his task well.

And for all his efforts, it came down to an albino man striding onto the stage, and getting to announce: "GUTEN ABEND, PEOPLE! Welcome to the AWESOMEVISION SONG CONTEST, 2015!"

Fireworks exploded behind him, and a smoke alarm went off somewhere backstage, but he chose to stubbornly ignore it. The audience whooped.

This time, West, it was going to be Prussia's victory.

"This competition is designed for the people who are TIRED of being left out of things. So, first up, representing all present, past and future Micronations… it's MicroMassive!"

The cheering was now somewhat confused as the three kids mounted the stage: Sealand carrying an electric keyboard, Seborga with bongo drums and Wy with her hair down for once, swishing it around her shoulders.

"G'day!" She yelled cheerfully to the crowd as the boys set up behind her. "This one's for my big brother, who got in the main competition this year: DAMN YOU!"

Taking a microphone, she began to sing – ever so slightly off-key – to the tune of ABBA's Mamma Mia; it was the only backing track Peter could find in Sweden's CD collection.

"I'm a nation,
Here we go again
I'm Wy – why won't you recognise me?

I'm a nation,
And these are my friends
I'm Wy – why won't you recognise me?"

Admittedly, it was catchy, and ABBA had been a Eurovision hit all those years ago for a reason. However, they never cut the backing track, and it was playing on loop, with Wy repeating the chorus endlessly until Seborga ran to turn it off.

"And that was MicroMassive with I'm A Nation!"

The clapping was very subdued by the time they left the stage, and some people had got up to leave. There was an ensuing panic when they realised that the doors had been locked for some reason, and screams started to arise as they slammed at the fire exits.
Prussia darted to the circle where the performers sat, eyeing the journalists worriedly.

"Um, zey're panicking! Who has a relaxing act?!"

"Yo, I'll relax them! Heroes are great at relaxing people!"

Before he could be stopped, America grabbed Prussia's microphone and dove onto the stage, Canada close behind. Everyone expected some punky, angry shouting, but his song was very soft, almost like country music. And though obnoxious, it was… quite reassuring.

"I'm a hero,
Oooh, I'm a hero
I'll help you if you're blue
I have candy too
'Cos I'm a hero…"

Soon, he had the audience up on their feet and swaying, echoing his words when he held out the mic. Canada took over for a verse while America strummed his acoustic guitar, but most of them assumed it to be the instrumental, and he miserably snuck off the stage while his brother – as usual – got all of the praise and applause.

Next up was Romano, who sang opera backed Grandpa Rome's piano music, bringing tears to the eyes of the people gathered there. Cuba and some of the South Americans sang their rich songs, and the mood seemed to have calmed somewhat by the time Prussia declared it, 'his turn'.

Star-shaped sunshades over his eyes, black leather jacket and an electric guitar later, he appeared onstage, slamming the chords violently as he roared his improvised lyrics.

"Yeah, I'm awesome! I'm so awesome! I am ten times better than West!"

Canada had been moping backstage, and as he sniffed, he thought he caught the smell of something.

Eh? Is that… smoke?
Oh NO!

"FIRE!" he shouted weakly, knowing nobody would pay him any attention, and running back towards the stage. One firework of earlier had failed to go off, and had fallen over, still smouldering, catching the corner of the curtain with a sparking flick of flame.

Canada screwed up his face. This was serious: people's lives were in danger.

HE HAD TO BE NOTICED.

"FIIIIIIIRE!" He shrieked, just as the spark caught further and the curtain went up in billowing flames.

Unfortunately, as everyone was used to poor quality fire effects at Eurovision, they thought it was part of Prussia's act. And Gilbert didn't hear Canada, thinking the 'Oooh' of appreciation was for him.

He kept going, smacking his guitar and screaming.

That's it, Canada thought bitterly. I'm going to have to tell Alfred and let him play hero.

"AAAALF!" He dived onto his brother, who was encircled by a group of fangirls in the green room and looking rather out of his depth - he seemed relieved for Canada's distraction, if anything.

"Hey, bro. Need a hero, huh?"

"THERE'S A FIIIRE!" Canada roared, gesturing towards the stage as the curtain waved because of the hair fans and caught Prussia's leather jacket. The smell was acrid (and proved it to be fake leather), and Prussia began to cough. Finally, he turned around, and an expression of pure panic set light in his eyes.

"Nein nein nein nein nein..."

Now, the crowd were on their feet, and again piling for the doors.
"VHY ARE THE DOORS LOCKED!" Prussia gripped the nearest person by the shoulders – which happened to be Sealand – and shook him violently.

"You said you didn't want them walking out!"

"I MEANT WE MAKE IT ENTERTAINING, YOU FRICKIN' DOLT!"

"Oh…"

"DON'T WORRY, GUYS! I'LL SAVE YOU!" America was in his element, breaking doors down with his shoulder, passing people out of windows and directing people here, there and everywhere. Cuba was also acting heroically, and it seemed as if the two of them were in competition.

Meanwhile, Canada was trapped in Alfred's ring of fangirls, and they were petting both him and Kumajiro.
"Aw, Manny, you're so cute!"

"It's, um, it's Mattie," Canada murmured; he had never wished to be invisible so much.

It finally occurred to someone to call the fire service, and as the people rushed from the historic opera house, the ceiling began to fall in.

"EVERYBODY…. RUUUUUUUN!"

Astoundingly (and very luckily) nobody was injured, though many were in shock. As they congregated outside the collapsing theatre, America knew what had to be done.

He broke out the Elvis impersonation.

"Well it'sa one for the money
Two for the show,
Three to get ready,
Now go, cat, go!"
But don't you step on my blue suede shoes.
You can do anything but lay off of my blue suede shoes…"

It didn't matter the era. It didn't matter the language.
Soon, everybody was swaying to the rock and roll, and America was transported back to the fifties. With their opera house burning to the ground and the Eurovision main going unwatched, the people of Munich danced well into the night.

"MY PEOPLE MUST HATE ME!"

Germany and Austria were taking a seven-hour drive from Vienna to Berlin, after Austria saw his act and refused to stay in his country any longer. Listening to the progress of the voting on the radio, they got more and more miserable.

"HOW COULD ZEY DO IT, LUDWIG?!"

"I don't know, Roderich."

"ZEY SET FIRE TO A PIANOFORTE! A BEAUTIFUL PIANOFORTE!"

"I know, Austria. Shush, die Schweiz is voting – I expect some from him."

There was nothing.

"ZERE IS NO RECOGNITION OF MUSIC," Austria was almost sobbing.

"You von last year! It's not zat bad! Now SHUSH!"

At around half past six, they pulled into the Beilschmidt's drive, and stumbled for the door. "Mein Gott, I need a beer."

"I second you on that. Nul Points! NUL POINTS!" Austria kicked the side of the Volkswagen, but Germany didn't even care enough anymore to tell him off. "Not even ENGLAND got Nul Points zis year! BOTH OF US! Vhat did ve ever do to zem?"

Germany unlocked the door, and prepared himself for sights of carnage, or Prussia sobbing over piles of cardboard boxes as flashbacks to 2003 filled his mind.
"Hallo," a sleepy voice came towards them. "You're home early. How did it go?"

Prussia was dressed in the Gilbird pyjamas Ludwig had bought him for Christmas, and he looked strangely young and sweet in the early morning shadows. "Oh, I'm sorry for vaking you up. It didn't go too vell for us two zis year, unfortunately…"

"What did you come? 20th?"
Gilbert knew full well where they'd come, but he wanted to hear them say it.

"Lower," Germany muttered, rubbing his face with his hands.

"25th? Thirty odd points?"

"Nein…" Germany swallowed. "Nul Points."

"Really? And you too, Austria?"

"Ja, ja. Shut up."

"Oh, poor guys. Do you need a beer?"

At any other time, ANY other time, Germany would have been suspicious. Really suspicious. No destruction, alcohol still left in the fridge, Prussia being kind, the slight smell of singed hair and pleather…

At any other time.

"Ja. I need to drink to forget."
And the three of them got through several cases.

At half-seven, a girl called Annalise wheeled her bike through the Beilschmidts' gates, slinging down her bag of papers by the doorstep. She liked this house: not only did it signify the last of her round; the brothers that lived there were nice – they ordered three papers (Ludwig liked to be up-to-date on current events) and tipped really well at Christmas. And their dogs were cute. She stroked one under the chin as she sorted her bag out.

However, when she pushed a rolled tabloid through the door, she couldn't get it in. Something was jamming the letterbox. With a more violent attempt, there was a groan.

Oops! That's someone's head! They must have passed out by the door…

"Sorry, Herr Beilschmidt! Are you all right in there, Herr?"

"Ja…" A voice came creakily though the letterbox, and she heard bolts being drawn back. Seconds later, the door swung open. The girl blinked – Herr Ludwig looked very drunk.

"Guten Morgen, Annalise. Vhat's in the paper, then?"

"National Opera House Munich destroyed; Sweden wins Eurovision; Irish Referendum…"

"Ze National Opera House?! VHAT?!"

The girl handed him the article. Without his glasses and not completely sober, Germany read very slowly.

Witnesses report 'crazy albino'… Elvis impersonator 'the Hero'… Opera House unsalvageable… bill of millions of euro… 'Awesomevision'…

He should have known better.
Prussia, acting innocent?
He should have known better…

"GILBERT, I'M GOING TO KIIIIIIIIILLL YOU!"

Gott sei Dank ~ Thank God
Auf wiedersehen ~ Goodbye
klein Bruder ~ little brother
faulenzen ~ like a mix between chill/relax/laze
(German from my head so sorry if it's wrong :D)

Yes, both Germany and Austria got 'Nul Points'… and Austria's entry set fire to a piano. I laughed too, too much.

The Munich Opera House exists. I don't know anything about it though!

Also, the Irish Gay Marriage Referendum - never have I been so proud of my roots! THEY VOTED YES FOR EQUALITY! :) WHOOP WHOOP!

This is giving me flashbacks to ABBC – why do I have such a huge Romano opera idea in my brain? Why?

RYTM will get updated either slightly before next Sunday or slightly after; more likely slightly after – I'm staying with my grandparents for a few days so writing will be tricky, sorry! But there might be one-shots, this week. Don't hold me to it, but I'm getting random ideas…

I need to stop singing Belgium's song now. It's getting obsessive. Rapapap, rapapapap, AND IF WE DIE, TOMORROW…

*ahem*
Review for biscuits, favourite for fist bumps. PM me for random stuff in your inbox :D