Now we're FINALLY getting to the comedy part, you guys! Before it was mostly intro and plot set-up and stuff... But now it's going to get more and more crack-tastic from hear! (See? I was so excited about the crack that I used the wrong "here"! XD)
Oh, hey! Lately I've been looking at "Hetalia Confessions"! Some are so sweet! ... And some are so true... I mean, there was one that said: I hate it when America called England "Iggy"... That makes sense... "Iggy" is from "Igirisu" which is Japanese, not English... If anybody sees anything little like that which could be changed to make this story more "canon"... (Well, it's Spongebob-Hetalia. My canon choices are a bit limited...) ANYWAYS... If you see something that either offends you or may offput others, please tell me! I would love to change my story for the better! Especially if it's just changing "Iggy" to "Artie"! :D That's such an easy change! XD (Wow, I ask for audience help a LOT... Hm... Well, I guess that IS why I joined this site... to improve... XD)
-O-O-O-
A manager? Let's talk about fireworks!
"Will you bloody gits just SHUT UP?!"
Now, opening ceremony or not, Hetalia Reef was a pretty busy place. Not exactly an ample tourist city, but not a stranded ghost town either. It had everything one may need: a beach, a cinema, theme park, skiing mountain, a few museums, and quite an array of eateries (the Bloody Pirate being the most popular by far). The population bordered around fifty thousand; each of whom loved getting involved with the ongoing happenings. So when there was an event, it was always teeming with inspired citizens... Even when Lovino tried to get a marching band together! People with no experience just showed up for the heck of it. It drove the Italian mad, but it was a good town memory.
Mix that enthusiasm with the opening of the Bloody Pirate 2, and you could CHARGE people to participate. In fact, that's exactly what Arthur did. He charged 9 dollars a head, and even 18 to a guy walking by with some lettuce. At least half the city was expected to come, and it brought in a good profit. They could even afford to rent a nice, wooden stage for the big event! Everything was turning out right...
Then Alfred brought the fireworks.
Arthur had just finished welcoming everyone when the first one went off. The Hetalia Bottomites immediately went into a state of panic. Or amusement. There was a mix of both running through the crowd. Regardless, it eventually ended up as some big debate: those who supported the use of the hazards and those who did not.
"We're UNDERWATER! It's not logical!" Old woman Monaco yelled out; but her wise, surprisingly loud voice was drowned out by, "You're a Knucklehead McSpazatron!" and "MY LEG!"
"Logic is a trivial excuse!" Someone laughed from the other side. As expected, none other than Alfred F. Jones stood on his rickety chair and bellowed the comment within the swamp of bickering people. His boss watched the scene in disarray.
It was a wonder there weren't any fires starting yet. Those threats to everyone's life were gliding flawlessly from the hands of anyone who came into the possession of one, usually missing the heads of innocent bystanders by mere inches. A young child even got a grasp on one and tried to consume it! The mother quickly got hold of the danger and flung it away, where it grappled onto one man's toupee and flew off into the open water. People weren't sure whether to watch the colours explode like flowers blooming in the sky or point and yell: "BALD! BALD! BALD!"
The Englishman behind the pedestal did not look pleased. He sighed and rubbed his temples, muttering something along the lines of, "Could this get any worse?"
"I'M THE HERO! AHAHA!"
"Bloody hell, Alfred! GET OVER HERE! We're supposed to be HOSTING this thing, not making it WORSE!" As the owner barked this, he examined the hopelessly boisterous crowd for distractions. Something that would get the audience's mind back to the stage in an orderly fashion. However, that seemed almost impossible with the exhibition of different hues soaring overhead. His gaze unconsciously turned down to the front of the stage, where there seemed to be more than one seat unoccupied. "And where is Lovino?!"
A firecracker whizzed over the irate male's head, barely dodging as he ducked at the last minute. He shot a swift, accusing glare to the assembly in front of him. "Okay, WHO DID THAT?!"
"HOW THE HELL DO YOU WORK THIS DAMN THING?!" A voice from behind him screeched. Arthur turned just in time to witness a furious Lovino kicking one of the firecrackers on the ground, which suddenly ignited and shot under the audience's feet. After the direction it went was navigated by the people whom jumped out of their seats, it snaked out of the crowd and passed the first Bloody Pirate into the open sand. The audience was forced to look away as it blew, sending off globs of sand in all directions. Some even got hit in the face with the chunks, while one call from the horde screamed: "MY EYES!"
Silence hit after that. People looked at each other and to the front where the owner of the Bloody Pirate, still standing in front with an outfit which now consisted more of soil than cloth, cleared his throat into the mike. "WELL... Now that THAT'S over with... Can we PLEASE sit down and have a PROPER ceremony?"
"AHAHA! You don't scare me, Artie!"
"Do you WANT to find out the next manager or not?!"
Alfred grinned triumphantly, while skipping to his seat in front of the assembly. He plopped down, with that stupid expression never leaving his features. "Of course!"
"I don't care either way." His Italian employee growled, but still planted himself in his chair.
Arthur sighed with relief into the mike. FINALLY things were under control.
At least it was a nice day. The ceremony was supposed to begin at noon and no later. It was one now. 1:17 actually, the businessman confirmed with a quick look to his wrist. The noises of car horns beeped from afar, and the scent of grease wafted around the restaurants like smog would. And... mustard? Where did that come from? Probably the American in front gorging down a couple burgers, one in each hand. An audience member beside him scooted away in disgust.
That being said, Arthur looked to the front row where one empty seat seemed to stand out. That was strange... They had prepared a seat for everyone early in the morning (much to the cussing of Lovino and the infernal singing of Alfred). Whose seat was that?
Wait...
"Hey, Alfred, wasn't you brother going to show up?"
The American in question looked up with food still in his mouth.
"Oh! I'm righ-!"
"You're right!" The employee exclaimed, glancing quickly to the seat beside him. He looked back up to his boss with a laugh and dismissive wave of his hand. "I guess he's late! Can we stall for five more minutes?"
"But I'm-!"
"We're an hour behind schedule!" The Briton burst.
Alfred jumped up from his seat excitedly. "Maybe he went to get me McDonalds!"
"You work in a fast-food restaurant, you git! Why are you buying from the competition?"
A silent sigh was covered by the argument. "You know what? Forge-"
"But I REEEEEALLY like McDonalds!"
"Do you even know what they put in those heart-attacks?"
"Ohonhon~ That's what she said!" Francis randomly jumped out from the back of the crowd, waving happily to his rival. Well, at least he was wearing clothes this time...
"How did YOU get here?!" Arthur yelled out, pointing an accusing finger. "And what does that even MEAN?!"
"I DO work right across the street, darling..."
"Don't speak to me in your perverted French, frog!"
"Well, if you are going to call me a frog, at least call me grenouille..." Francis sighed dramatically and brushed his hair with a wipe of his hand. "Let me keep SOME of my dignity, ami..."
"Never! In your dreams!" the other spat.
"Perhaps, but..." The Frenchman chuckled darkly. "You really don't have a say on what you call me in my dreams, oui?"
A stale silence crossed the area. Every single person in the crowd interpreted this sentence differently. Well, except for one, whom didn't interpret it at all...
"Wait, dude, what?" Alfred turned to his boss. "What do you call him in his dreams?"
"How the bloody hell am I supposed to know, you git?!" A heavy blush spread across the owner's face as he glared daggers at his rival. Francis laughed. Wait, wasn't he supposed to be moping around somewhere?
A tomato was thrown at the trio, hitting Francis and Alfred square in the face but missing Arthur's and splattering on his shoulder. Regardless of the luck, the owner still did not look pleased about his outfit becoming more and more abused over time. Lovino stood up and pointed at the three of them angrily.
"GET ON WITH IT, BASTARDS! I'm not getting paid to deal with you!"
By now, most of the people were regretting their choice of buying tickets. However, they did pay a good 9 dollars for it... Poor lettuce-guy was waiting for something, anything, to get his money's worth of the show.
Arthur deeply sighed into the microphone. "Okay, okay. Maybe I should start with the naming of the manager, how does that sound?"
A single whistle echoed from the crowd and a firework shot up into the air, bursting into an array of colours.
"I told you to stop that, Alfred!"
"Come oooon!" He whined. "Fireworks are fun!"
Arthur attempted to ignore this, shaking his head in a 'this conversation is over' type of way. The American pouted. "Okay... MOVING ON. So the new manager is a loyal, hardworking employee..."
Alfred smiled and raised a bit in his seat.
"The obvious choice for the job...!"
"Ow! Al! Stop shaking me!"
"A name you all know...!" The owner persisted, maintaining the suspense for the audience who really didn't care anymore, "It doesn't start with an S!"
"Aw..." Sadik stood up and left the crowd with his head down.
"Did he even work-?"
"Shh!"
"Please welcome your new manager..." The Briton snatched onto the curtain rope and tugged to reveal a face everyone in the crowd knew...and maybe not in the best way, "Lovino Vargas!"
"I KNEW IT! WOOHOO!" Alfred jumped up from his seat, dropping an unfinished burger in the process, and shot yet another firework into the air. Seriously, how many of those did he have? Anyway, he made a mad dash towards the stage, but ended up tripping over a step and falling face-first onto the wood finish. Arthur and the other audience members watched in silence and slight confusion as the employee bounced back up and rushed to the microphone, snatching it from his boss' hand. "Better luck next time, Lovi! For now, THE HERO takes a stand! AHAHA!"
"I told you to stop calling me that!" The Italian held up a tomato threateningly, "You're lucky I don't have my moustache to use against you!"
"People of Hetalia Reef! ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?!" Alfred called into the mike, throwing a thumbs up as the people surrounding him shook their heads in horror.
"Uh... Alfred?"
"As the new manager, I declare that everyone. Must. DANCE! AHAHA!"
"Hey! Moron, pay attention!"
"You will call me Alfred F-YEAH Jones from now on!"
"You didn't get the job!"
"Ahaha! Of course I did!"
The audience looked to each other and waited in an awkward silence.
"No, you didn't! LOVINO is the manager!"
"Wait... what?"
"You. Did not. Get. The job."
The employee in question waved his hands around, which seemed to be trying to act out whatever he was piecing together in some weird, alien act. "I...?"
"No."
"Not even...?"
"Not even."
It seemed to finally hit the American as he turned to his boss. "B-But... why?"
"I mean... you know..." The businessman continued tentatively, making sure not to stress anything too painful to the heartbroken-looking male. He looked like a kicked dog, "You rarely come to work on time, and even when you do, you try to make everybody annoyed... I just wanted someone to rely on, you know?"
"You can't... rely on me?"
"Well... I mean... No."
"I see what you're trying to say!" The American burst, nearly in tears, and pointing to Arthur accusingly. "You're trying to say that you can't rely on me!"
"Uh..."
"YES, Alfred." Lovino scowled helpfully, still from the safety of his seat in the front of the audience, "That's EXACTLY what he's trying to say. Dingbat."
"Fine then! I can take a hint!" He shoved the microphone and left it to bang onto the floor, causing a screech of feedback to make the audience cringe. The employee didn't care though. He stormed off to his chair, where he snatched the burger he left and continued walking. "I'll just... pack my thing and go!"
The crowd watched as the American practically ran away, and assumed that the sniffling noises came from him as well. Even FRANCIS watched silently, almost shaking his head in disappointment until analyzing what he did last chapter. Yeah. Maybe ditching his employee to talk to a child wasn't the best career choice either. He slowly backed away into his restaurant before anybody could say anything.
Lovino looked to Arthur unenthusiastically. "So...? Now what?"
"Oh, right... Um... Ahem..." The owner got the population's attention once again. "So, if... Lovino would please come up and-"
"VE! VE!" A sudden voice shouted from afar, "Hooray for Alfred!"
The crowd could hear the Italian running towards them, and turned to witness a big plate of pasta gripped in his fingers, and curl bouncing happily in the wind.
"Feliciano?" Lovino stood up from the crowd. "What are you-?"
It was then that they realized.
The curl wasn't the only thing bouncing in the wind...
Some clamped their children's eyes shut. Others looked away in disgust or privacy. Another yelling of "MY EYES" echoed through the area. Nobody was really willing to look at the oblivious male.
"F-Feliciano...?" The cashier Italian questioned tentatively, trying not to look... below the belt area, "Why aren't you wearing any pants...?"
"Ve... I'm not?" Looking down at himself, the other noticed the problem immediately. However, he did not lose that jolly grin for a moment, "Ve! I'm not! Sorry, I just finished my schedule early and took a nap! When I woke up, I realized I was late and came as fast as I could, ve! I guess I just forgot them!"
"You don't just FORGET things like pants, Feliciano, you-!" Now the children not only had their eyes covered, but their ears as well.
"Now will you two just CALM DOWN?" Arthur snapped back from the stage. "First Alfred, now this? Honestly! I should fire the lot of you!"
The Englishman was talking to himself more than anything else though, because Lovino continued to shout curses at his brother, whom whined and spouted excuses. Nobody was sure who threw the first tomato (although everybody assumed the same culprit), but it started the food fight. Yes, apparently everybody in Hetalia Reef can magically conjure their favourite food out of thin air.
Arthur glared at the crowd, obviously not impressed with the ordeal. His employee was acting like a child amongst the rest who had no fear in throwing potatoes, celery, and bowls of soup at their friends and neighbours... And don't even get him started on how he felt Alfred was behaving... Taking deep breaths, the owner seemed to be trying to calm his steadily growing nerves. It wasn't until one lonesome sausage slammed against his face when he finally burst.
'WILL YOU ALL JUST BEHAVE, YOU GROUP OF BLOODY NITWITS?!"
That was when the stage spontaneously combusted.
The audience stared at the scene with mouths agape as the boss quickly tumbled away from it. Anything could have caused that explosion. It could have been a stray firework. It could have been a certain flammable food. It could have been anything. Or maybe Arthur really WAS magic like he claimed... No, that couldn't be it.
"How is that even POSSIBLE?!" Lovino yelled.
Someone brought out marshmallows, and once the coral sticks were passed around, the audience made a circle around the burning stage. The members remaining of the Bloody Pirate watched in confusion as the audience took a greater interest in the fire than the restaurant they came to witness in the first place. Arthur shook his head.
"You know what? I don't even care anymore." Sighing and calling it a day, he leisurely made his way along the pavement in his sand-filled clothes and headed home.
Lovino frowned at the crowd, not that anybody really cared. Maybe he should just go home too.
"Ve! Lovi! Lovi! Wanna roast marshmallows with me?"
"W-What? No!" The annoyed Italian turned to see his brother, who was waving around two marshmallows in his hand as if they were treasures. "Why the hell would I want to roast marshmallows here?! With YOU? WITHOUT YOUR PANTS ON?" Feliciano cooed and seemed to be unfazed by the comment. Grabbing onto his brother's hand, Lovino dragged the bobbing male away. "Come on, we're going home. Where logic makes SENSE!"
"Ve!" was the only reply.
-O-O-O-
Hm... England seems more like Germany in this chapter... -_- WHY CAN'T I WRITE AN ENGLAND THAT'S NOT OOC?! *headdesk* And "Old woman Monaco" is meant to imply that she's "Old Man Jenkins" here... Just in case you didn't know... ^^" I wasn't sure who to put into this spot...
Hey! Guess what? Looked on fanfiction, there are M-RATED SPONGEBOB FANFICS! Who would do that to their childhood?! Who would make SPONGEBOB do stuff like that?! Of all things?! Or Patrick?! I mean, I'm sorry if you like that sort of thing, truly I am... I mean, different people have different tastes, but... SPONGEBOB? Seriously? ... ... We need to get those M-Rated thinkers to the Hetalia fanbase. Stat. XD
DISCLAIMERS~! The most important time of the day~ Serving up, the Cookie way~! (YAY SPONGEBOB! *shot*) I don't own Hetalia! Or Spongebob! Or a head of lettuce! Or any M-Rated Spongebob fics! Do I really own anything? Probably not. Probably. Maybe. Who really knows, eh? Ohoho~! XD (Gettin' into the Christmas spirit... WITH SPONGEBOB! *shot*)
