I literally could not wait! I got a pretty okay response for just one night, but it seems unfair to post an APH fic without all our favorite characters. Updates won't generally be this quick, hopefully feedback will determine the finer points of the story and let me churn it out faster though. Thanks for all R&R, they mean so much.

Forgot to put a disclaimer in the first two chapters, but if you haven't noticed, I don't own Hetalia and I'm not making any profit from this.


Oh-ho-ho, you better get ready, Hetalia. Amelia Jones is coming for you…

After an eighteen hour flight.

Shit, how did people manage doing this on a regular basis? After hour six, Amelia's bubbling enthusiasm, shouts of claiming to be able to see dolphins in the Atlantic from thirty thousand feet up, and trying to mime 'hot dog' to her Italian attendant (with interesting results), she was starting to wane. She was really feeling that five hours of sleep she'd gotten the previous night. When had the age of ocean liners died out? Amelia would have taken a week of seasickness to this.

"No puedo salvar a Italia si yo soy un zombie," Amelia moaned against the window, Spanish leaking in where her pre-k level Italian failed. Her seat buddy, a cute little bugger from Naples, patted the back of her head sympathetically, and Amelia focused on the thumping rhythm until her eyes finally slid closed.


Amelia woke up somewhat refreshed on the morning she left. Or was it two mornings after she'd already left. Damn, she scratched her head, time differences were tough.

She fought people traffic, presented her passport and visa at Customs, and fought more people traffic until she got the ground transportation level.

"…fuck," she breathed. She felt like a lost puppy at the park. Newton had said there'd be one of those cool people with a sign on her name right here. But there were tons of people like that. And even more people trying to elbow each other out of the way to squint at the ID cards. Oh, God. What if her plane had been delayed a few hours in weird time-zone-limbo? What if they thought she snubbed the invitation and ran off to join the Turkish Circus? What if—

A bright flash of white. Amelia Jones, Hetalia Academy.

Oh.

A stout man with a nice smile and a very impressive mustache was alternating between the cards he held in each hand. He stood with the other hustle and bustle of ordered cars, but had a few good-looking teenagers standing on his right. Another kid had recognized his name on the card and fought through a throng of Japanese tourists to get to the group. Now the only card he held up was Amelia's.

Yeah, might be a good idea to head over. Amelia cleared her throat.

She strode right up Mustache. He looked at her, looked at the card for clarification, looked at her once more, and smiled. "You are…Amelia, yes?"

"That's me!" Gah! His Italian accent was too adorable, like he was trying to make his words as flamboyant and operatic as possible.

Mustache made a motion for Amelia to hand him her passport. She dug it out of the zipper on her bag, and he gave it a thorough once-over before returning it to her. "Thanks, my man," she smiled at him. She'd thought (or rather, her mother had made a point to mention it several times) that maybe it would be a good idea to 'cool it' at first. Ha. Whatever that meant. She was here. She was in fucking Italy. And it seemed a shame to put on a diplomatic face when she had been accepted for being her awesome self.

He returned her smile. "We will be leaving now, you were the last scheduled to arrive."

Amelia scanned the group of kids around her. Up close, they weren't too intimidating—if you ignored the fact they were all future world leaders—more like…uncomfortable. And no doubt they were diverse, but there was only like, twelve of them.

"I kinda thought there'd be more of us," she said. Most of them spoke English, or English well enough to understand her in the busy area, and stared at her with quirked eyebrows. Mustache started herding them towards the nice sliding doors.

"Ah! No, senorita," a voice popped up beside her. "We arrive in waves, you see? We are fifth out of seven groups arriving today. More came yesterday. That way we will not overwhelm these lovely Italians with our charisma and beauty, no?"

Amelia turned to grin at her new companion. Thank God, someone friendly! He was one of the taller boys in the group, an easy smile plastered on his face, and green eyes that seemed to spark and fizzle with mirth and energy. Whew boy, and that voice.

"If that was the case, they should have sent individual cars."

The boy stopped for a second and a smaller, Asian boy bounced off his back. "You! That is funny. I like you," he resumed walking (ignoring curses from behind him in Japanese) and stuck out his hand. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

Amelia took his hand, matching his grin. Damn, his smile was infectious. "Amelia Jones."

"Very nice to meet you, Amelia," Antonio said as they stepped into the mild Italian day. The sun felt amazing after half a day of being stuffed into a plane. Everyone else in her group seemed to enjoy the same effect, and Amelia saw it as a good sign. Maybe this pleasant setting would loosen the sticks they seemed to have shoved up their asses. As far as she could tell, only Antonio and she had engaged in conversation.

"Back at you." Mustache led them to a plain charter bus, not much different than the airport shuttles Amelia saw at Washington Dulles. They were instructed in three different languages to store any large luggage in the compartment on the side of the bus and then to get on quickly.

"We are not wanting you to miss out on your first day, no?" Mustache finished in English.

"What exactly goes on before classes?" Amelia turned to Antonio, who had situated himself in the seat across the aisle from her. "The pamphlets were general, not very specific you know." She hoped to God it wasn't like stupid 'socials' her honors classes and orchestra put on. Usually Amelia was good with a crowd, but not a bunch of boring kids who thought they were The Shit.

Antonio shrugged. "This is my first day, as well, linda. How should I know?"

"You knew about the arrival stuff."

"Only because some pomposo culo wouldn't shut up about the schedule." Antonio rolled his eyes. He straightened up, apparently taking on the persona of another student. "The other group has already left Giovan Battisa Pastine, no doubt we'll be late. It simply isn't proper. I say, this would not be the case in Heathrow. Too bad the Academy has already hosted London. Quite a shame, really."

"Hey!" someone yelled indignantly. Amelia snickered as Antonio's eyes widened. The 'pompous asshole' had apparently chosen the set right behind him. "I'll have you know it is common courtesy to be concerned about punctuality and scheduling."

It took Amelia a few moments to grasp what exactly he was saying. One, he sounded like a slurring idiot when he said 'scheduling' like that. Two, his eyebrows were fucking enormous and very distracting. Had this kid never heard of tweezing? But she caught herself; she remembered she was supposed to be nice to sad, foreign kids who had never heard of personal grooming.

"So!" Amelia leaned over to try and wrangle his attention away from glaring daggers at Antonio. "You do know what happens at Orientation and…whatever?"

"We're to be sorted into our Houses," his expression was stoic. "Our houses, during our stay at the Academy, will be our family."

Amelia quirked her head to the side, then laughed when the wires crossed. "Harry Potter? Oh my, gosh man, best books ever. Well, definitely up there, you know? Of course you know, you're British. What's your favorite? Can you believe how they ended the last movie? It was basically perfect until the last twenty minutes. I mean, still amazing. But, really. What's your name? You really can't be all that stuck up if you like HP. Oh, yeah and seriously though, what goes on in Orientation? Do we swear a blood oath? Make secret pledges? Share international secrets over espresso and pizza?"

Amelia saw Antonio eye the kid in sympathy, forgetting for a second that earlier he had been mocking him. The kid's eyelid twitched, from information overload or annoyance she didn't really know.

"I…you…" He flushed, embarrassed at stumbling over his words. "Bloody American," he muttered finally, and retrieved a book from his bag.

"Come on!" Amelia whined. "You didn't answer a single question!"

"The Order of the Phoenix," he said. "And Arthur Kirkland, representative of The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland." That's all she got before he disappeared behind The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Amelia tried not to blink. That sounded awfully like the information a fucking prisoner of war would give under the Geneva Convention. Weren't they supposed to be classmates?

"What about Orientation?" she pestered, leaning farther into the aisle. In Amelia's experience, the need for personal space outweighed the desire to stay silent. No one was immune to Amelia's 'annoy the hell out of them' strategy. "Come on, a heroine can't just walk into a situation blindly!"

Arthur gave a snort before turning a page.

"You might as well give up, Amelia," Antonio's lazy voice floated down from where he had turned and perched his head on the top of his seat. "The English aren't well known for helping out others as well as they do themselves."

That got Arthur to lower his book. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"You know!" Antonio declared dramatically. "How dare you pretend ignorance!"

Arthur got riled up at once. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"You shamed my country, you and your godless pirates." Antonio clutched at his heart. "My poor armada."

Arthur looked at the other man in stunned silence, clearly frustrated but seeming to have been paralyzed by the complete absurdity of what he was hearing.

Amelia felt the need to interject. "Um, Antonio, wasn't that like…five hundred years ago?"

Antonio continued to stare over his seat at Arthur, muttering darkly in Spanish.

"Okayyy," Amelia said (mostly to herself, since her only acquaintances were apparently blood enemies focused on either antagonizing or ignoring each other).

She spent the rest of the ride talking to the person in front of her, who really only wanted to know if he could check her shirt tags to see if her outfit had been made in Korea.


Finally, Amelia was able to climb out of the van and allow herself to be sequestered to the registration office. Which as it turned out, was not too daunting. Since each group was small and arriving at different times, there wasn't traffic or much hassle. The first thing they did was take her measurements for the school uniform, which Amelia hoped would turn out as good as they looked on the stylish models set up in the main lobby. She was also given a thick, glossy booklet describing her course work and options for class selection, which were to be completed by the next day, three keys (two to the dorms and one for a locker at the athletic complex).

A pretty lady in a pencil skirt waved her group in the direction of the dorms. She spoke Italian and French, both very slowly so second or third language speakers could keep up, and explained the layout of the campus in short detail. From the small main office they made their way through the beautiful property. It was a small school, hidden away from the main roads so completely that Amelia had a hard time believing Rome was thirty kilometers away, and decorated superbly. Every building they passed was dotted with climbing ivory, topped by recreations of archetypal moldings and sculpture. The grounds were strewn with oases of sparkling marble fountains, gardens encircled by mosaic tile depicting scenes from Roman mythology, and busts of classic and contemporary scholars alike.

"You will have time to explore on your own, have no worries. Classes do not commence for another four days. Orientation, the introduction of all students and faculty, on the other hand, will begin at seven o' clock this evening in the student hall, so try to get your class registry done by then. Now, I'm sure all of you are exhausted from your travels. I'll show you to your rooms and let you have a nice siesta."

Amelia felt like crying from relief. Finally. Her fatigue seemed to slam into her like a brick wall at the mention of a nap. She'd barely had the energy to laugh at Arthur arguing with the Chinese representative, who Arthur had apparently grievously offended by comparing their national cuisine on the same level. She'd managed, but man had it been tough.

The lady in the skirt produced a clipboard and started calling names. It didn't take long for Amelia to get her room assignment. Third floor of the girl's dorm, room eight. It meant climbing stairs, but she didn't care at this point as long as there was a place she could throw her stuff and then slip into a coma for the next five hours.

The inside of the building was a relief from the warmth outside and very tasteful from a design perspective. If Amelia was into that kind of thing. Tile floors, walls a rich green, and simple little things that just said 'Italy'. Grapevines styled into the crown molding. Stuff like that.

"Yay," Amelia huffed as she dropped her bag on the floor beside her room. The hallway wasn't long, there were only twenty rooms to a floor. And no co-ed, which might be a problem if 'the girls' didn't appreciate Halo or Michael Jackson in the middle of the night. She may have to work on those impulses. Or soundproofing her walls.

The inside of the room was…pretty. Plain, but pretty; a full bed, vanity, set of drawers, a wardrobe carved out of hard oak, and walls just begging to be plastered with posters. Amelia picked her way over the luggage that had arrived ahead of her and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.


Amelia's right eye cracked when a soft, eager knock rang through her wonderful dream. She scowled. She didn't get married to Tony Stark every day, you know.

"Coming," she yawned, smacking her lips together. Ew. Nap breath.

She took the time to clear a more workable path out of the boxes that crowded her door, so her visitor was halfway through a second bought of knocking before she finally swung it open.

"Oh!" A smaller girl with pigtails and a sweet expression quickly tucked her hand away to her side. "Hello! My name is Madeline, I'm the floor supervisor for you girls, I just wanted to stop by and see if you needed anything before Orientation."

"How cool of you," Amelia tried to smile, but it quickly fell into a yawn. "I'm Amelia, from the United States." Madeline shook Amelia's outstretched hand, palm to palm. Yeah, no prissy handshakes for these two strong, independent women. Amelia wondered what country Madeline represented.

"Canada, by the way," Madeline seemed to read her mind. "I graduated last year, class of Budapest. Well, like I said, Orientation is soon. Don't worry about it. It's really a lot more fun than it sounds. You get to meet a lot of people and there's tons of food. There's no way anyone can really go wrong."

"Sweet," Amelia wiped away the last signs of sleep from her eyes. "How soon, exactly?"

Madeline checked her watch. "In about…an hour and a half."

"What?" Amelia's voice hitched a little, making Madeline jump. "Shit, sorry." She ran her fingers through her hair, wincing when she was met with resistance of the gunk-grease-grime trifecta. "Guess I slept longer than I thought. I need to get a shower."

"No worries. Keep calm, just do your thing. You know?"

The blood stopped thrumming through Amelia's veins so violently, her breath lengthened again. Man this chick was mellow.

Madeline left afterwards, moving onto the next room. And Amelia tore through her crates to find anything suitable to Orientation. Ugh. Boys were probably wearing slacks. Girls would wear skirts. GOD she'd have to wear makeup. She threw her most presentable (read: longest) black skirt and a deep blue blouse her mom had gotten her for her birthday on the bed.

Maybe she'd have time to catch up with Antonio on the way to the student hall, she thought as she blasted hot water from her private bathroom. Or even Arthur. Anyone was better than having to rotate around the room, trying out different people like shoes in a department store.

The registration packet took only slightly longer than swiping on her make-up, since Miss Westin had drilled it into Amelia's head over the past few months how many options she had, what would help her in the diplomacy track she was pursuing. She checked off the basic classes (Poli Sci, Current Events, World History, Speech and Debate, Foreign Language Lab, etc.) and flipped through a few elective options before she settled on Astronomy. She would've loved to flick a few checkmarks next to sports, but with such a small class, the students were put in charge of their own physical education.

A small chirping noise started going off from Amelia's cellphone, signaling fifteen minutes until seven. She threw down her pen after one final signature. She grinned at the ceiling, feeling the jet lag lying in wait at the edge of her mind and the butterflies that had taken up a breeding ground in her midsection. "Rock it, girl," she whispered to no one.


Amelia bit the inside of her cheek when she continued to scan the trickle of students starting to make their way across the grounds. No tall Spaniard, no weirdo Brit, not even a timid little Canadian chick. "My life sucks," she muttered to herself. Then remembered her Disney and reminded herself, "A flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all."

The girl walking closest to Amelia shorted her stride to fall back several feet.


Amelia's smile was back in place by the time she was filtered through the doors of the student hall. An attendant at the door had given her a fancy nametag that spelled out her Romanized name and country in silvery script, she felt very official, like she was attending a State Dinner. She could hear the din of conversations in dozens of languages, some she could work her way through if she stopped and listened hard enough. It was like the whole world was in the same room for the night.

A flittering of Spanish caught her attention. Antonio? She wormed her way into a slightly larger group of people, they parted like the Red Sea and quieted somewhat. Amelia was suddenly very aware of her pigment.

"Ahhh…lo siento, pensé que mi amigo…" Several tanned faces looked at her with bizarre curiosity. After a tense moment, she added cheekily, "El equipo venezolano se va a matar a Costa Rica este año."

Amelia laughed as it sparked outcries from everyone except a smiling boy that laughed and clapped her on the back. Soon though, Amelia was trying to snort back laughter with them as they shouted at each other, talking animatedly about football. A few people standing around them were sending inquisitive glances if they were alone, annoyed if they were trying to talk to others over Amelia's new Latin American friends. One guy especially threw Amelia off, a giant in his own little group, he narrowed his eyes, managing to be both aggravated and perplexed at the same time. His circle wasn't much for talking, but no one seemed to want to bother moving anywhere else. Weirdo, Amelia thought dispassionately.

"Amelia!" Antonio's voice cut through the muddled mess around her. "Over here!"

She turned to see Antonio, sporting black slacks and a red dress shirt waving at her. In their short time spent apart, he'd managed to procure a small group of new faces. He'd gone to work.

A chorus of nearly comical moans echoed back when she said adios. Amelia waved them off, smiling and promising they'd get on fine without her. A few disagreed but they were back to chatting and laughing before she got ten feet away.

"Hey," her confidence increased with every step she took towards them. She hadn't struck out so far, and showing off her Spanish had given her a buzz. God, people here loved her. Fucking awesome. "Amelia Jones, United States of America," she introduced herself, nodding to everyone.

They surprised her by speaking extremely fluent English. So far she'd noticed that most students were fluent in anywhere from three to half a dozen languages, but English was almost always a constant.

Where Amelia had branched out to the New World, Antonio had preferred staying on the Continent: Francis Bonnefoy of France (that seemed redundant). Ludwig Beilschmidt of Germany. Feliciano Vergas of Italy. And Gilbert Beilschmidt, an albino that was the advisor for the floor they had all been roomed on in the boy's dorms, and also Ludwig's older brother.

"Isn't that weird, though? Like a one in a million chance and wham, you both get picked. Will your family rub my next lottery ticket for good luck?"

Gilbert laughed, slinging a long pale arm around his brother's shoulders, who tried to look indifferent but no one could mistake his squirming. Amelia felt kind of bad for him. Here he was at one of the most exclusive boarding schools/colleges/whatever in the WORLD and he still couldn't get away from his older brother. "Isn't unheard of. Not when geil just runs in your family!"

Francis rolled his eyes. "Mon ami you are not that awesome if the Vargas brothers can easily achieve the same circumstance, non?"

"Your brother is here too?" Amelia turned to Feliciano, tuning out Gilbert squawking indignantly in German. Feliciano nodded animatedly. He really was cute, in a take-you-home, protect-you-forever kind of way. He had one wayward curl that sprung independently from his otherwise straight, stylish auburn hair that you instinctively wanted to reach out and pat. Maybe he'd had an accident with a curling iron in his youth.

"Si, fratello had to take care of something with one of the boys on the first floor. Apparently he tried to sneak a cat onto campus! Maybe everyone can meet him later. Big brother, not the kitty."

Ludwig cleared his throat. "Someone is starting to speak." He had a no nonsense way about him; his hair was slicked back like men had done about half a century ago. But he wasn't that bad. So far, Amelia's only complaint was that she felt like she automatically had to straighten her posture when he threatened to look her way. Everyone else in the room started to quiet down as a man Amelia recognized from pictures as the dean of their campus made his way to the front of the room.

The dean smiled out at them. "Welcome to the Hetalia Academy of Global Achievement, class of Rome. I would like to first touch on a few announcements that were not included in your packets. Clubs and Model UN meeting times will be posted during the second week of term. Model UN is attendance is strongly encouraged to all students, even if you are not part of the diplomacy track. And the mock Hetalia Olympic committee, which organizes friendly-" he fixed his audience with a stern look, "-competitions of sportsmanship and teamwork, will start meeting very soon. Anyone interested can see Ms. Maes.

"Right. Now, down to business. Classes of the Academy are also running in Stockholm, Istanbul, and this year's graduating class at Shanghai. But as they are continuing the journey they have embarked on, you are just beginning. The Hetalia Academy might be strange. It might be unfamiliar. Sometimes even a bit silly. But I hope that the message of the Academy is instilled on you during your stay: that you are all humans first, and then, hopefully, friends. Eat, be merry, and don't brown nose your professors too much."

Polite applause and laughter flitted around the room as he stepped down. Amelia stuck a few fingers and her mouth and let out a low, long whistle. Ludwig seemed a bit put off. "Are you entirely sure that was appropriate? That was Romulus Veneziano, the former Secretary of the Euro Panel for Higher Education—"

"Lighten up," she laughed at him. "You sound just like…ARTIE!" She cried, catching a glimpse of spikey, blonde hair and EYEBROW. Aw, and poor Artie was alone, hovering near a few representatives but not engaging in direct conversation. FINALLY, a perfect opportunity. She had a damsel in distress.

Stop. Hero time.

She nearly skipped over to Arthur. He tried to hide behind the small Asian boy that had been in their arrival group earlier, but he hadn't seen her coming fast enough.

"Hey, Artie," Amelia disregarded the student cringing between them for the time being (always time to introduce yourself later, after all) and engaged in a little keep-away game with Arthur. "Come on, say hi to some people I just met!"

"Don't call me that!" The Englishman objected, countering Amelia's sidestep. "And I'll do whatever I bloody well please."

Amelia stuck out her bottom lip. "Aw, come on! Aren't we supposed to be allies? I thought the President was following the Queen on Twitter!"

"You, twit," Arthur shoved the Asian boy aside, taking a few steps to get in Amelia's face. "If you think we're supposed to be friends just by our countries stance as allies then you are a complete nutter! That negates the whole point of this blasted school!"

Amelia rocked back on her heels. Damn. Of course. It wasn't reasonable that she could expect to get along with people just because their governments were tolerating one another. Artie was a wise one.

"I see…" She tapped her fingertips together, and Arthur relaxed, thinking that his Miraculous Voice of Reason had deterred her. "I guess that just means we'll just have to be friends on our own!"

She grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and started dragging him over to her group (which had been watching the entire encounter with wide, disbelieving eyes). "Unhand me you…you wench!" Amelia wasn't having that though. She made easy transport time, even which all the kicking and scratching.

"Okay guys, this is Arthur, he's from the UK. Specifically England. At least, I think. So he's a bit stuffy. Make him feel welcome." Arthur kept on sputtering, his cheeks flushed with rage. But Amelia was already doubling back for the Asian kid, who looked just as confused as he had when used as a human shield.

"Hi," she toned her voice down a bit, unsure how well he understood English. "Sorry about that. My method is a bit…abrasive I guess." The boy just looked at her with blank, dark brown eyes. "But I was wondering, if you weren't already, uh, otherwise occupied, maybe we could forget about the past two minutes and you could join us…over there. If you want."

The boy swerved his gaze to where Amelia's thumb was frozen over her shoulder. Thankfully, they seemed to be getting along, because he slowly nodded. "That would be…acceptable."

Amelia snorted. "Awesome, please. Mostly because of me, but they seem okay. I've only known them for about ten minutes, though. What was your name again?"

"Kiku Honda," he didn't blink as he fell into step beside her. "I'm from Japan. And yourself?"

"Amelia Jones, from America. Your English is awesome!"

The complement brought forth at least a little smile. "I've been taking English courses since I was very young. And also watching American baseball on television has helped."

"Sweetness!" Amelia lightly punched his arm. "I wish my school had taught Japanese. I had to make do with really crappy subbed anime."

"You," Kiku's eyes seemed to focus fractionally in interest. "You watch anime?"

Amelia nodded as they reentered the ever growing circle of people in the middle of the room. "Way better than American animation." She looked around wildly and leaned towards Kiku's bubble. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

Kiku jumped back about half a foot. "Sorry!" Amelia rushed to straighten up, hands in the air. "Sorry." Note to self: Kiks has space issues.

Everyone else was starting to get along. At least, as well as strangers from completely different ethnic and cultural backgrounds could at their first meeting. Ludwig and Kiku quickly struck up a conversation about engineering. Francis and Gilbert were eying some girls across the room. Antonio and Feliciano were talking about the pros and cons of using tomatoes in a dessert.

It kind of went to hell when Arthur and Francis started going at it.

"What do you mean, English literature is rubbish?" Arthur's voice broke loudly with frustration. Amelia and several others paused to listen in.

"Come now, Monsieur Kirkland," Francis tsked. "Rubbish isn't exactly the word I would have used. Dull. Borish. Unentertaining. Which isn't surprising. Perhaps the authors overindulged in Shepard's Pie before taking up a pen." Amelia was pretty sure she had never seen someone's face turn the exact pigment of purple that Arthur's had. "How else do you explain Sense and Sensibility?"

"You shut your mouth, frog! You've got about as much sense and sensibility as my right eyebrow!"

"I'm afraid no could have that much, mon ami, surely they'd explode."

"Oh, very clever, fancy pants. Just because directors can barely manage to make people forget about what an awful book Les Miserables was doesn't mean everything else is shit!"

"Oui, but I don't recall Pride and Prejudice ever won an Academy Award."

"FUCK YOU, JANE AUSTEN IS A DELIGHT."

Francis smirked as Arthur stomped off towards the food table. Everyone stood frozen for about two seconds before continuing where they left off, some laughing at what they'd just seen. But Amelia felt like she'd been punched in the gut. It was kind of her fault he was over there in the first place. And now he had been in a screaming match, made fun of, and forced to retreat to the punch bowl with the air of a sulking puppy. All in the span of about three minutes.

She pinched Antonio's elbow to let him know she was leaving (but he was still talking animatedly about food so she wasn't sure if he noticed) and made her way over to Arthur.

"Here to kidnap me again?" his voice was laced with bitterness and wounded ego.

Amelia pouted, settling into his line of sight. At least she would have been if he wasn't being a big baby and looking at the clock on the wall. "Don't be like that, Artie. How was I supposed to know you're apparently incapable of getting along with anything with two legs?"

Arthur snorted. "Very nice. Thank you. I'll hold onto that compliment to my dying day."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "I was joking, Artie."

"Whatever," he sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. Amelia noticed he had small holes in his ears, two in his lobe and one in his cartilage. He wore a thumb ring as well, and she could see the tan lines where he usually decorated his other fingers. She wondered if she was missing anything else, if his blazer sleeves hid a tattoo or something. She felt like giggling. Bookworm Arthur was a little punk! How cute!

"Well," she drew out her vowels. "I know technically we aren't supposed to be on good terms strictly because of our countries, and there's no reason for me to owe you anything. But you want to know a secret?"

Arthur scoffed, and that kind of irked her. She was trying to be friendly here! You'd think after a really stressful day of international travel that would be welcomed. Sheesh.

"Fine, I'll tell you anyways." Except now it didn't feel like she was sharing something cool to build a lifelong friendship. He'd warped and twisted her heroic deed into something stupid. God, the British. "Jane Austen's pretty great, no matter what that dick says."

There was silence where Arthur slid her a sidelong glance. "Quite so." He finally said.

"And you know what else?"

"…what?"

"You didn't get mad at me calling you Artie this whole time!"

"Now, see here!—"

"Yeah, yeah," Amelia grabbed him by his sleeve, tugging him back out into the foyer. Maybe it was best to avoid…people in general with him around, but she couldn't leave her pal by himself now. "Come on bro."


The rest of Orientation went off without much incident. Well, until she found Madeline for a few minutes and Gilbert flew in out of fucking nowhere, pestering and flirting with her at a spectacularly low level. Amelia was able to distract him long enough with the idea of a bratwurst eating contest so Madeline could finally make a break for sanctuary at the French professor's side, looking over her shoulder every few seconds.

"Dude, what was that about?" Amelia really didn't have much patience for guys who thought they could walk all over girls.

"Don't worry, little bird," Gilbert said, sending a smile he probably thought was sexy in the Canadian's direction. "It's totally fate. We graduate together? And then just happen to be room advisers all the way in Rome…together? For Christ's sake, she wants my five meters."

"…what the fuck, man."


Yay! thanks so much for sticking with it through this intro. I'm truly sorry if I completely botched those translations, if anything bugs you please feel free to tell me (it'd be a great help). Don't worry, though, you ain't seen nothing yet, just wait until I try to write in Russian. Phonetically. I just like being able to sound it out in your head, because it's so badass. Lol I must love looking like an idiot in two languages.

According to Google Translate

No puedo salvar a Italia si yo soy un zombie- = I can't save Italy if I'm a zombie.

El equipo venezolano se va a matar a Costa Rica este año = the Venezuelan team is going to kill Costa Rica this year. (note: I don't know the standings of ANY pro soccer team. I just thought it would be a good ice breaker for the other American countries.)

Oh, and giel is supposed to mean 'awesome' but the internet gives me awful doubts.

See ya soon!