Disclaimer: I don't own it.
Na-tion – Chapter 2
Chapter Summary: In which I consult my formerly cocaine addicted stuffed animal for advice.
I'm not in terrible shape; yet, I had this feeling that if I was in a race with Canada he would totally kick my ass. Seriously, a lazy sixteen-year old girl who exercises sporadically versus the personification of Canada, who has been in more battles and hockey brawls than I care to count.
Yeah, let's be realistic here folks.
Racing away from my hiding spot, I sprinted towards my parents, hoping and praying I would not be mauled by a passive-aggressive Canadian. Gathering up my nerves, I stole a quick glance back over my shoulder: Canada was gone.
Holy crap, it was like Seven Little Killers all over again... what if he had Mr. Cleaver?
For those of you who don't know, Seven Little Killers is this awesome but scary fan-fiction where Nation People suddenly start being murdered.
And no one knows who the culprits are until very moment before they're killed.
So you can imagine why I was scared.
My survival instincts had kicked in... or rather the instincts that told me being beside Mommy was the safest place to be. To my parents, I probably just looked very, very eager to catch up with them; which, I suppose, was true in a sense. As I neared my mom, my facial expression must've resembled something between a look of pure terror mixed in with some strange manic grin; I probably looked like I orgasmed or something.
And of course, my mom had to comment on it.
Wait! Let me first say that mom does know about my obsession with Hetalia; when struggling for the appropriate name, she refers to it as: the manga show... with the countries.
"So why were you hiding behind Nellie McClung and staring that guy on the phone?"
I love you mom.
I struggled momentarily, trying to figure out a way to make myself look less like a creep, "Uh... he kinda looked like Canada from Hetalia... yeah... so I wanted to get a closer look?" I finished lamely. It totally didn't help that I was still grinning like an idiot. Of course, following common sense, I neglected to mention exactly know how much he looked like Matthew Williams, or that he was him. No, she didn't need to know that.
My mom just gave me the face all mothers seem to have the inherent ability to give. The one that says, 'I love you a lot but sometimes I think you need to change your hobbies.'
We left Parliament Hill and made our down Wellington street, which runs parallel to the Hill. I was constantly checking behind me to see if we were being followed. Then, my phone vibrated; an unusual occurrence for me. What? I'm not that popular okay? I thought it must've been a fanfiction updating or something; since I usually only receive e-mail alerts on my phone. I tugged the crappy Samsung out from my sweater and gazed at the screen intently, praying fervently for an update. Did I mention I'm a fanfiction whore?
Instead, I got a text from an unknown number.
But I knew who it was.
Glancing up ahead at my parents, I decided that it would probably be in the best interests of all parties involved if I just waited until I got home before I read... The Text in the event of me freaking out which I was already very close to doing. Notice how I used capitalisation and bold font to emphasize the gravity of the situation?
Jittery as hell, I caught up with my parents, who appeared to be having a very intellectually stimulating discussion about my mom's boss. Ah, perfect, I could lose myself in this generic conversation topic and definitely not think about the fact that Canada had probably gotten CSIS (Canadian equivalent of the FBI) to track my cell number down.
Never once during the whole trip home did my hand release it's grip on the Samsung.
From: Unknown Number
Sent: Sun Jul 18 8:38 pm
Do you know we exist?
I could not, for the life of me, stop staring at that text message. Upon arriving at my house, I had barricaded myself in my room; not that this was unusual, since I spent such an unhealthy amount of in there. What was worrisome, however, was how long I had been staring at that the text message. It must've been a good hour by now.
Mentally kicking myself, my hands slowly regained their function as they slid the keyboard pad out on my phone. Thumbs positioned themselves, so that they would be at the ready to type my reply at any minute. Any minute now. They weren't moving. Damn thumbs.
Seriously though, I had no idea what the fuck to say. "Oh, hey, nice to meet you Canada, I've read many a fanfiction that have had you in compromising positions with Prussia... or Russia... or Cuba..."
Shit, what if the Canadian mafia attacked my house?
Yes, they exist!
No, no, they'd definitely send Russia, he likes torturing and beating the shit out of people after all. Maybe I could appease him with the miniature sunflower I had been attempting to grow. What if he didn't even like sunflowers? What if Hiramuya made that shit up to make Russia seem more friendly? Man, he definitely would be mad about the sunflower and then he would get put me in a stuffy closet with all the Baltics or something. I would be dead within minutes.
I then realised that perhaps my imagination was running a tad too wild. I needed to calm down. Discarding the now-sweaty cellphone onto my cluttered desk, I leaped onto to my bed and grabbed my favourite stuffed animal. He was always a good listener.
"Who?" You may ask. Well...
Biography of Polo the Cat
Polo was born in De Putten, Netherlands, on April 19, 1998; little is known about his childhood. At the tender age of five, Polo joined Netherland's Men's National Waterpolo Team and garnered international attention as the first stuffed feline to do so; he was a terrible player, however, no one really paid attention to that fact; primarily because he was a stuffed animal that really shouldn't have been to do that kind of shit in the first place. In early September 2005, allegations of drug use were realised when Polo was caught snorting cocaine in the back-alleys of Amsterdam. Reputation tarnished, Polo was kicked off the team. After spending some time in and out of rehab, Polo finally managed to kick his habit. He then moved to Stowe, Vermont, where he reinvented himself as a yoga instructor. L. (which, by the way, is me) first met Polo at a yoga class where she offered him the coveted position of being her favourite stuffed plushie. Now best friends with L, Polo has made his permanent residence on L.'s bed in her Ottawa home and has never looked back since.
Fin
All that stuff seriously happened to him. Seriously.
No, it was not made up by me, where would you get such an absurd idea? Polo is as real as Flying Mint Bunny, damn it!
Settling down on my bed, I placed Polo gently on my lap and wrapped my arms around his squishy waist; Polo has quite a tummy, not that I judge him because of it.
"We've got quite situation on our hands."
"Those bastards fuckin' exist? What kind of crazy-ass shit is that, yah?"
I apologise in advance for Polo's potty-mouth, it's one habit he has yet to get rid of; on his bad days, he makes South Italy look like a choirboy.
"What the hell am I supposed to text back to Canada? Seriously, I'm still worried Russia will do strange things to me with his pipe." In case you hadn't noticed, I was really quite nervous.
"No worries sistah, I have a plan that is so fucking amazing and brilliant ya don't even know, yah? All ya gotta do is be funny as hell and they'll leave ya the fuck alone."
"Ah... comedy... that could work." I shot up, leaving Polo splayed haphazardly on the bed (I really take good care of him, don't I?) and strode over to my desk. I snatched up the Samsung and as fast as lightning my thumbs quickly typed a reply back to Canada. Every drop of wittiness and cleverness I possessed was poured into that text.
From: L
Sent: Sun Jul 18 10:49 pm
Who?
I fiddled with the phone for a few minutes, waiting for a reply to my text. Hopefully, Canada, being his polite Canadian self, would get my answer; as well as my light attempt at cliched humour. Of course, things could go awry and he could send...
"Send the Russian and his pipe to deal with ya?"
"Shut up Polo!" I yelled. Thank goodness my parents were used to hearing me talk to myself. Geez, Polo was obviously just sore about being abandoned on the bed. Stupid stuffed animal.
The Samsung rang.
I jumped, completely startled. Holy shit! I thought this was strictly a texting thing, I didn't know the relationship was now up to actual phone conversations! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! I fumbled with the phone before finally managing to jab at the talk button.
"H-hello?" I stammered.
"You ran, eh? Then you made a terrible joke."
"... please don't send Russia after me."
A chuckle on the other end of the line. Oh good, I wasn't going to die right away.
"I'm sorry but we need to meet soon," he said.
I quite literally squawked, "L-look...Canada... oh god, that sounds so weird to say... anyways, look, yes, I really, really like Hetalia and it's cool n' all... but like I have decency and I can keep a secret... and... and... you really don't need to send CSIS (or Russia) after my family or anything, okay? Please...?"
Again another goddamn chuckle, "Calm down. Don't worry, eh? The webcomic Mr. Hiramuya made is actually one part of a larger pilot program."
I was slowly getting more curious, "... pilot program?"
"Yeah, the division of the United Nations that's devoted to the promotion and protection of Nation People is heading it; their main aim is trying to try to integrate Nation People into mainstream society," he paused, "But I can explain the rest of that tomorrow, eh? Any questions before I go?"
So when I was reading about you and America doing explicit things to each other in various fanfictions... that was part of a pilot project?
"Um, not at the moment..." Thankfully, I knew when to keep my mouth shut.
An awkward silence ensued which led to me to wonder if Canada had telepathic abilities.
A very flustered and embarrassed Canada broke the silence, "J-just... meet me at the main library tomorrow around 2, eh? We'll talk more there. See you then."
Click.
He totally could read my thoughts.
Next time: I apologise profusely to Canada, more is explained, and I eat my tuna sandwich.
Author's Note: Reviews make me happy like Italy getting pasta!
