Petoria and the Battle for Liberty (3)

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"What did you say your population was?" Sealand stared at the fat nation, eyes wide. His expression could have been horror or just plain awe.

"Huh? Oh yeah." Petoria looked up from his plate, slurping up the remainder of the food in a fashion that proved his relationship to America. "Four." He paused a moment before adding, "And Meg. But she's... hm..." His expression went bland. "Four."

"Four." Sealand repeated, a wondering look on his face. "And you're actually a nation? Like officially?" Was it really possible? This was exactly what Sealand had been trying to accomplish for years and this fat, tactless Petoria had already reached the goal that had always seemed so unobtainable.

"Yup!" Petoria crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the table as the waiter glared at him.

"H...how did you...?" Sealand sputtered, slapping both hands down on the table and causing the dishes to clatter slightly as he pushed himself to his feet. The move earned him a similarly dirty look from the waiter, who was hovering near their table like a vulture. "I've never even gotten anyone on the G8 to talk to me!"

"Yeah... they do seem like assholes." Petoria scratched at the side of his neck. "Especially that England guy."

Sealand bristled at the mention of that name. "England is full of himself," he spat, not bothering to hide the venom of his tone. He was certain that England had been the one to warn the other nations against him, beginning his long struggle to pull himself out of the mire of obscurity. One fist clenched at his dinner fork, holding it like a weapon. It was a very good thing for England that he was nowhere in the vicinity at the moment.

Petoria stared at Sealand for a few moment, then laughed, that weird 'ehehehehe' that tore through the small country's skull like a jackhammer. He gaped at Petoria in outrage, sputtering, then he flung his fork across the table, fully intending to skewer the other nation with it. His aim was far from the best, flying wide. Even so, his fork found a target, burying itself in the feathered rump of a giant yellow chicken sitting at a table halfway across the restaurant.

The bird's eyes narrowed as he turned to look at the two of them, gaze lighting upon Petoria who was laughing raucously at the whole mess. Without a single squawk, the chicken lunged at Petoria, slugging him in the face. Chairs scattered, Sealand scrambling to get out of the way as the two of them engaged in a brawl, grappling with each other.

A table went flying across the room – Petoria grabbing a wine bottle from the nearest waiter's tray and smashing it across the avian's head. The bird slammed his wings against Petoria, pecking at the fat nation's face a few times before grabbing the nearest patron and using her as a club. There was a loud crash as they made their way out of the restaurant and into the street, cars screeching to a halt. Sealand ran to look out the window, gaping as the two combatants were thrown over the hood of a car. The sounds of battle gradually faded as the two made their way into the distance.

It took him a moment to realize that all eyes were on him, in the absence of his former dinner partner. Sealand ducked his head and straightened up the table as best he could, sinking into his chair and wishing he could disappear. His wish transmuted itself into wanting to have Petoria there to strangle as soon as they presented him with the bill.

An hour later, he was scrubbing dishes, swiping the rag in sharp, jerky strokes and muttering under his breath about these lousy, overpriced restaurants. He could have fed the entire population of his country for a month on what this place was charging!

Raising the dish to inspect it, he subsequently dropped it as he felt a hand tapping at his shoulder. "Agh!" Whirling around, he saw Petoria standing there, bruised and bloody, one eye swollen shut, his body covered with scrapes and gashes... not to mention feathers. Yellow feathers, all over the place. It took a few seconds to get his pounding heart back under control, then he looked down to see the shards of the plate scattered across the floor. Another addition to his bill... great. "What are you here for?"

"I was thinking-" Petoria began, smirking – no apology, no explanation of what the hell had just happened - "We should show them not to mess with us little guys."

Sigh. "And how are we going to do that?"

Petoria grinned and Sealand regretted the question immediately. He was not going to like this answer... "We're going to conquer.... what's that country... with the hockey and maple syrup and crap?"

It took a moment or two for him to realize exactly who Petoria was talking about. That country that looked like America. He had a bear or something... "Canada?"

"That's right! We'll show those Canadians!"

"Show them what?" Oh, this was crazy. They had a combined population of fourteen. "We don't even have any weapons... and I still have to do all these damn dishes..." This last was mostly under his breath.

"But we have Chuck Norris!" Petoria laughed, and Sealand turned, letting out a yelp as he realized Chuck Norris was standing beside him. Chuck Norris didn't wash the dishes – he scowled at them and they cleaned themselves out of sheer terror. "See? We'll be unstoppable!"

"I... guess..."

"And after we take over... that one country, we can egg England's house."

Bingo. "I'm in."

They shook on it. Then Chuck Norris punched them both with his beard-fist as a sign of solidarity.

The quest for global domination had begun.

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Pure crack. I couldn't resist the Petoria and Sealand team up. Heaven help us all.