Drabble #2
The Prussia-Fritz Correlation
Prussia had this nasty habit of crashing world meetings.
The ex-nation was never given the location of said meetings, nor the time. It was kept tightly under wraps, away from prying hands and ears. So really, how the albino always seemed to know the when and where was a complete mystery. America didn't know about the others, whether or not they ever wondered how the man did it—because really, that was some seriously awesome spy work. Perhaps they were too hung up over the obnoxious, narcissistic personality to even consider? Prussia was being severely underestimated all the time these days, much like how the others viewed the American . . .
But that was a thought to be pondered at a later date.
The thing is, Prussia had the tendency to crash world meetings every now and then, usually in a very volatile way. Sometimes he just quietly snuck in (for later to give everyone a heart attack), other times he simply barged in through the front door (oftentimes sending it flying off its hinges, complete with a smirk and extra loud laughing for extra dramatic effect), and then there were those other times such as when the whole state of Pennsylvania suffered a power outage.
The menace that was Prussia was unpredictable—you never knew when or where he was going to strike, or if he even was planning to. America personally didn't care whether or not Prussia was present, as long as Pennsylvania and the rest of his land remained intact. Or, at least, without being harmed. Meaning: he didn't hold a grudge for the power outage fiasco. In fact, America found himself to be rather amused. Besides, Pennsylvania was used to weird shit anyways.
If the Prussian ever decided to ask America for the world meeting location, he would give it away as long as his name wasn't mentioned. But, alas, that had yet to happen. America was still waiting. Revenge could be such a beautiful thing . . .
"That albino idiot can't possibly find zhis place!" Austria sniffed proudly, a slight smirk on his posh face. "No one has said anything, correct?"
The nations shook their head in the negative.
"OK, zhen," said Germany, getting up. "I officially declare this meeting in session." He cleared his throat. "Afghanistan, you're up. Next three: Albania, Algeria, und Andorra, get ready."
The meeting, for once, was actually proceeding without its usual chaos. The room was also pretty devoid of ghosts, at most ten of them floating about. Except, well . . .
There was this one ghost in particular. A male ghost, kinda old and wrinkled, but not too much so. There was something about his face; it was triangular, wise, with a prominent nose and sharp cheeks, white hair done in a noble 18th-century style. Something about the man radiated power and authority, a tactical mind, and yet America could also sense the man's kindness. The man wore a white tunic and black pants, an iron cross necklace loosely hanging from around his neck. He simply sat there, in mid-air, one leg over the other, barefooted, calmly and quietly smiling to himself like an old grandfather. He appeared to be quite content, minding his own business. An old (mid-1700's, just about) military sword rested at his hip. The sheath was a dark silvery color with a tint of blue, meaning it probably had been blue when its owner was alive.
America looked on with an amused face, head resting upon his knuckles, elbow on the table. This once-in-a-blue-moon peace would not last long, he knew.
The American saw Germany shiver, something that no one else noticed—unless you included Japan. The German looked around him, apprehension dawning on his face. Japan looked at him. Italy looked at Germany in light confusion, which again, no one noticed—America kept forgetting that Northern Italy was like America; severely underestimated. Hey, they should totally start a club~!
Germany muttered something under his breath. America read his lips like a pro:
"My Prussia senses are tingling . . ."
America nearly lost it, a guffaw escaping before clamping his mouth shut with his hand, face reddening with the effort needed to contain his laughter. His arm twitched, his body instinctively wanting to smack his hand against the surface of the table as he struggled to contain his laughter, but subconsciously stopped himself; he had trained himself not to, as he sometimes didn't know his own strength, especially when it was by instinct. His lungs started to hurt.
My Prussia senses are tingling! Oh man. I can't. Pfffff.
America buried his head against the crooks of his elbows, hiding his face into the crossed arms now resting on the conference table. His figure trembled, muffled sounds slipping out.
"What the bloody hell are you laughing about, git?"
Noooooooooo don't make me talk!
"What the—what's with the fat idiot?"
His body twitched. Oh, look, someone combined two of his most hated insults. Awesome.
"What an imbecile."
"Is he laughing at us?"
"God, why is he so immature? What a child."
"The fatass shouldn't even be here, he stinks up the place with his awful ideas and stupidity."
Aaaaaaand he has had enough. America looked at the other nations, innocent blue eyes curious and oblivious. "Did you guys say somethin'? I wasn't really listening." He grinned, perking up like a hyperactive puppy. "I was busy last night beating this new game that Japan gave me! Totally awesome, dudes!" He yawned long and wide, stretching out his arms. While doing so, he gave the ghost a quick peek—the spirit seemed to have perked up. It was time, then. Uh-oh. A transparent, weathered hand had been brought up to lightly touch slightly upturned lips, which practically oozed amusement. America braced himself.
Oh, God, thou that art in Heaven-
"Git! You shouldn't be staying up all night playing some idiotic game!" England grouched, angrily putting down his cup of tea. "Have you even done all the paperwork your Boss gave you?"
"HAHAHA! You're so old, old man. Live a little, will ya? Not everyone goes to bed at five." The ghost had now turned to look at the door, as if it had heard its name being called. It gave a grandfatherly smile, back straightening. It chuckled, something it only did when . . . oh geez. At least they weren't in his country.
"Why you inconsiderate-!" Enlgand grabbed the American's shirt, bringing him down to his attacker's height. America took that as his que. Just as England was about to cheerfuly strangle his ex-colony to death, America deadpanned out a curt "I think I hear Gilbert."
England blinked. The whole room seemed to halt. Was that stomping they heard?
South Italy said what everyone else was thinking: "Oh shi—"
He never got to finish, though, as the doors were thrown open with a mighty BANG!
"KESESESE~!" the fierce-eyed albino shouted with laughter. "ZE AWESOME PRUSSIA HAS ARRIVED!" He dramatically pointed at the Nations. "TREMBLE IN FEAR AT THE MIGHT OF MEIN AWESOME ARMY!"
"Bruder, what ze hölle are you—"
But he, too, never got to finish, as the whole room was promptly flooded by a yellow wave of flying feathered fluffballs. The Nations, some of which were thousands of years old, screamed their heads off like prepubescent girls as the loudly chirping fluffy tsunami crashed into them.
America laughed so hard his sides hurt. He soon had to stop, though, as he found himself spluttering and choking on the soft feathers that invaded his mouth. He was probably the only one who found all of this hilarious, though, as he was the only one to have had a heads up. No, Prussia never told him. In fact, the albino never had to say a word; America knew just from spotting the ghost that always appeared whenever Gilbert Beilschmidt was up to something.
It was simple logic, really. Prussia was notorious for his unpredictability, and here America had the key to the modern day's equivalent of Enigma. Knowledge really was power . . . something that he knew very well.
A/N: Idk. Just thought that the idea of Alfred using Old Fritz's presence to predict Prussia's unpredictability was pretty neat. Oh, and Enigma was this WWII typewriter machine that Nazi Germany used to encrypt its messages. The computer had to basically be invented to crack it XD