Disclaimer: Hetalia is not owned or created by me...
Acknowledgement: Thank you to the following for reviewing, favouriting and alerting this story: Shrapnelgirl, Dogsrule, Chattie 98, Timisafunsucker, Irishmaid, Becky 999, Pedro-is-Madi12, ZeroLuver567, Lilypad The Fourth, Teh Awesome BeastMODE6,
Warnings: None... just suspend all rational belief.
Chapter 3 - Suspicion
That afternoon:
Gilbert sat with his feet up on the desk, a fag in his mouth and looked up as yet another person interrupted his perusal of an interesting magazine. Said magazine had many pictures of unclothed ladies.
"What yer want?" he asked, rather abruptly, cigarette ash scattering everywhere and stared at the man in front of him.
The man was a common visitor to the doctors surgery and they glared at each other with common animosity. "I need to make an appointment to see Doctor Beilschmidt, please."
"Name?" Gilbert asked with a sigh, taking a pen from behind his left ear, poked said ear with it and examined the end as if the contents were deserving of a Nobel Prize. He looked the piano teacher up and down with barely disguised scorn.
Roderich, for his part, looked at the receptionist with undisguised contempt and disgust. "You know my name! I've been coming here for... for..." here Roderich tried to think. He couldn't remember. His memory was getting flakier and flakier. He couldn't remember what he did last week. How long had he lived here in this tiny town? But he felt he had known this impudent upstart of a doctor's receptionist for what felt like centuries.
"Roderich Edelstein," he said finally. Why did he feel the need to add 'Von' before Edelstein and why did the bank cashier earlier that day know him?
"Chill, 'kay? What yer want, specs? You were here last week. My bruder's busy with other patients," Gilbert said, inserting the pen into his other ear languidly and twirling it around.
Roderich cringed, "I'm having a few problems and I'm not discussing them with you," he said with as much dignity as he could muster.
At that point, a small yellow bird fluttered in and landed on Gilbert's head, smattering droppings on patients' notes.
Gilbert sucked hard on his cigarette, pulled the pen out of his right ear and looked Roderich up and down. His eyes then fixed on Roderich's crotch area. "Kesese, bruder prescribe pills for that. Give you some oomph to satisfy Lizzie," he said with a horrid leer.
"You uncouth scoundrel!" Roderich looked around at the waiting patients who all looked back. A woman with many tattoos and an equal number of bawling children laughed.
"One hour, take a seat," Gilbert said nonchalantly.
"And you had better not have booked me in for another prostrate exam," Roderich muttered, albeit a little too loudly, sitting down gingerly.
Gilbert kesesed and yelled, "Hey bruder! Get yer latex gloves out..."
"I hate you..." Roderich growled from a plastic chair.
It was opening time at the local public house. The esteemed proprietor and landlord flung open the doors of the 'Axe and the Dwarf' and yelled earsplittingly, "Duuuuude!"
His brother, Erik, proceeded to wipe glasses and brush up the remains of the fight that had taken place the night before between the florist and the doctor's receptionist.
"Great night last night!" Matthias yelled, unnecessarily really as Erik was stood just yards from him, "Specially when dude Ivan smashed that bottle of vodka over his own head and didn't fall down. I thought Kirkland and Jones were going to crap their pants when they walked in. Top night!"
"You're a fool," Erik said with a sigh. Why did he have to work here with his idiotic older brother? He adjusted the barrette in his hair. He had no idea why he wore it or why he could see the small troll-like creature that followed him around and no-one else could.
Matthias Kohler, esteemed publican, upstanding (sometimes) member of the community, grinned happily, his blond hair stuck up on end, "Hell yeah!"
Over at Little Snoring Primary School, it was games lesson.
The two games teachers - sisters who lived on Knifepoint Avenue - were teaching netball. The elder of the two was demonstrating throwing and catching whilst running. Watching her was a large appreciative audience consisting of some of her male colleagues and several local boys. She could never understand why her colleagues rushed to the windows when she taught PE. Several times she had to stop breathless as her over-large chest threatened to escape from her over-small uniform.
Her sister was being no help at all.
"Bela!" she yelled, "Can you give me a hand, I mean Miss Arlovskaya?"
"Just a minute, Katya..." came the annoyed reply. The younger sister tossed back her long platinum hair and finished off the text message she was sending to the florist, Ivan, who she had fallen for at first sight. Unfortunately, he did not return her feelings and for some reason he kept avoiding her. She suspected having herself delivered in a box of lilies, complete with her knives (of which she was very fond) and a ready-made marriage licence could be pushing her luck.
"I will love u until my dying breath or yr dying breath. U will b mine, Ivan xxxxxxxx" she finished texting.
Meanwhile, over at the florists', Toris Laurinaitis was just sitting down at his desk, kicking his feet up onto an empty trolley ("If you get mud all over my desk again I will not be very happy, da?" his boss, Ivan, had told him, quite ironically as he often did that very same thing, upon viewing the shoes Toris was wearing, which had been clean. Once.), and opening his morning paper.
Toris had only read the first two lines of the editorial when an ear-splitting "Toriiiiiis~!" resounded from the back of the office.
"Coming, sir!" Toris rolled up his paper and shoved it in the drawer (it had a picture of Dr. Beilschmidt along with a 'best doctor' award on the front, and something about the doctor made Ivan growl uncontrollably in the fashion of a large bear) and practically burst into the office. It was a well-known fact that you do not keep Ivan Braginski waiting.
Toris found himself in a room smelling of vodka and cigarettes. The stench would probably have made somebody less used to such a strong odour pass out, and the Lithuanian occasionally thought that he could probably get drunk just on the smell alone. Even if Ivan wasn't there, the smell lingered because the key for the window had been swallowed by a young Raivis and the window had been locked at the time.
The florist himself sat in a big leather chair that had certainly seen better days, like everything in the room. The chair used to have adjustable heights and armrests and used to recline, but somebody might have gotten drunk a couple of years ago and had too much fun with the controls, which had promptly broken. So now the chair was as high up as it could possibly be, making Ivan look ridiculously tall. His feet, with their big snow-boots that Ivan refused to take off even in the summer, dangled a couple of inches off the floor. Toris always had to bite the inside of his mouth when he saw that so he didn't laugh.
"What's up, boss?" Toris asked, surveying the room with a mixture of distaste and wonder. There were enough bottles of vodka to stock an off-license. The ashtray, which Toris distinctly remembered emptying two days ago (because he'd had to hold his nose to protect it from the scent, despite being a smoker himself) was now overflowing. Again. 'He's going to set his desk on fire. Again. I'm not buying him a new one if he does. That's his problem.' Toris thought.
"Can you get me a new phone? She got hold of my mobile number again..." Ivan's eyes panned guiltily to the blender in the corner of the room, where a crunched-up disposable mobile sat pitifully.
Toris sighed. "Are the messages really that bad, sir?"
Ivan nodded. "Bad."
"Yes, alright. But you have to stop blending your phones, boss. You could break that blender."
"But how am I supposed to get rid of them, Toris?" Ivan looked at his employee/friend innocently.
'As if he's not the master of destruction,' thought Toris. But he didn't say it. "Burn them?" Ivan's cigarette lighter flashed eagerly. "No, don't burn them... um, give them to me, okay?"
"Da, alright Toris. I will."
Toris left the room, carrying the blender with him. "I thought I heard something odd earlier. I just figured he was trying to make lunch again." Toris shuddered at the thought, then clicked his fingers. That was what he'd forgotten to get on his last run out. "Lunch!"
"I tried to buy something from little Yao, but he was closed... again!" Ivan called after him and then, hearing the door close, sighed and opened another bottle of vodka, while quietly contemplating the slowly wilting sunflowers on his desk.
"Sluurrrrp..." PC Jones loved his job. It would have been even better if he could have had a gun and there'd been car chases...
"Will you drink that bloody coke properly? You do realise it will rot your teeth?" Officer Kirkland told him.
"Nom nom nom..." Alfred replied, shoving the burger into his mouth. He loved working with Arthur, but honestly, sometimes he was such an old woman.
"And don't talk with your mouth full..." Arthur said. "Hang on, who's this shady character walking up here?"
Alfred shook his head, balanced the polystyrene drinks receptacle on the police car dashboard, picked out the gherkin from his Big Mac (and threw it out of the window) and ignored his colleague.
Arthur pulled on his cap, straightened his tie and opened the door. "Now then, now then... can I help you?" he said to the figure ambling down the road.
"I'm sorry? I'm just... I was..."
"I've never seen you before... or your dog," Officer Kirkland said, straightening his back so he stood slightly taller than his 5 foot 9 inches. He ignored his younger colleague's gesticulations from inside the police car.
"Erm... Officer Kirkland... don't you recognise me? I'm the Mayor... Mayor Williams, and this is my polar bear cub, Mr Kumajiro!"
"Oh yes, well... you know, you can't be too careful. I have to keep the streets safe you know. Glad to see our elected representative around... Do you have a licence for that... erm... animal?" Arthur said as the polar bear placed its front paws up on the side of the police car and Alfred obligingly gave it a piece of his burger.
"Yes, of course!" Mayor Williams said. He waved at PC Jones, "Hi Alfred! How's it going?"
"S'okay!" Alfred gave him the thumbs up, "You out tonight? I'm meeting my dudes for a drink if you want to join us?"
Mayor Williams considered this, glanced at Arthur's disapproving look and then shook his head, "I'll erm... pass this time... Gilbert, Tony and Francis are a little raucous for me... The last time was bad enough. I'm still not sure how I got home and I never found my underwear."
Arthur shuddered, "Right goodbye then, Mayor. Mind how you go," he said as the Mayor walked on, his polar bear padding behind. Arthur then flipped open his notebook, took out his pencil and made a note. You never knew when such details would be needed if and when he ever had to make a statement in court.
"Terrible grammar for an elected representative of this town. And he really shouldn't be associating himself with you and your 'doods'. Mind you, you shouldn't be going out with those imbeciles."
Alfred shrugged, he had no idea what Arthur had just said. He assumed it was something clever.
Matthew Williams walked on up the High Street, straightening his tie. He glanced in at the florists – the town's biggest problem, Ivan, was asleep. Many of the town's inhabitants could be 'problems'. However, the large Russian was certainly the most dangerous should he sober up and start to remember, Matthew thought. Keeping Ivan away from the doctor's surgery was imperative. Ensuring Officer Kirkland didn't get into too many arguments with the hairdresser was also important.
The large Russian's beige-blond head was slumped on his desk, a wilting sunflower in his hand. Matthew nodded, all fine there then. He strode on, past the local Co-Op where an argument was breaking out.
He stopped to listen and then hurried inside.
The one person on the till was a sleepy-looking brown-haired man who was slovenly dressed and was moving so slow that the queue was now threading its way around the aisles and out of the shop.
"Can't you go any faster?" someone said – just a normal townsperson, Matthew ascertained.
"I have clients to see this afternoon," a woman said.
"Hello Miss Herdervary... I mean er...Mrs Edelstein. Is there a problem?" Matthew asked.
The woman turned her bright green eyes on him, and tossed her long brown hair, "Hello Mayor," and then she stopped and said, puzzled, "Herdervary... that name..."
"Never mind," Matthew struggled to think of something to distract her. 'Shit shit shit,' he thought, "How's your lovely husband?" he asked.
She began to rant about her music teacher husband's morning ritual of playing Mozart and counting his money.
Matthew nodded and then hurried to the front of the queue.
"This is ridiculous. I have my hotel to run and you are holding me up..." the man second in the queue was saying in a strong Turkish accent. He was an imposing figure. He wore a suit but wore a small mask that partly obscured his face.
The man behind the counter ignored him, "Really?" he was saying and continued to load the shopping into carrier bags as his customer – at the head of the queue – told his tale.
"Si... and I told Lovi... I said Lovi... you are very cute... Oooooh..." the Spaniard suddenly stopped, "Herakles my amigo... I forgot my tomatoes!"
Matthew stepped in, "Don't worry Antonio... you stay there, I'll get them for you," he said hurriedly. If he moved this along, then all hell may not break loose.
It was exhausting - trying to keep some of the town's inhabitants from arguing and fighting. Their natural antagonism towards one another meant that really, they shouldn't all be living within a five mile radius of each other. In the usual universe, there would be continents or certainly bloody big barriers between them. And anything could fire them up – which could result in flashbacks.
Matthew swept people aside, picked up the tomatoes muttering as he did so, "Whose idea was this anyway... madness... sheer madness..."
It was hometime at Little Snoring School, the primary children had already left, the older children ran out of the schoolyard, fights breaking out, thumbs busy on mobile phones with shouts and laughs as children exchanged farewells.
Three children walked together, for some reason, although they were different ages, and in different classes they felt an affinity with one another.
"How was your day, Lily?" Raivis asked, pulling his school backpack on and ignoring a much bigger boy who was gesticulating at him that his Uncle Ivan who lived with, was gay and drunk. 'Try that in front of the shop, I dare you...' he thought.
"Fine... quiet. Miss Arlovskaya kept going off in cookery class to sharpen her knives. She scares me a bit," the girl answered. "Mum says she has an manic obsessive behaviour..."
"We had PE with Miss Big Boobs," Peter chirped up.
"You shouldn't call her that, it's not nice," Raivis said, shocked. Really, Peter was his friend and all that but, he did wonder what the boy's parents were thinking. He was hardly ever in school – played truant half the time and seemed to acquire people's credit cards. The local police – Officer Kirkland in particular – was always around at the Oxenstiernas' house telling the boy's two 'Dads' that Peter had been in trouble again.
"Hahaha! See ya both later losers! I got some money to make, people to see, business to deal with!" Peter yelled, running off.
"His Dad's told him to be home for tea," Raivis explained to the wide-eyed girl next to him.
"How are you, Raivis? Is Mr... Mr..." here Lily stuttered, as everyone did who had met Ivan the florist. Everyone was afraid of the big Russian. She didn't know why, he'd always been kind to her when she'd visited the flat above the shop and helped Raivis with his French homework. But his big purple eyes creeped her out and he always smelt funny. "...Is Mr Braginski not being nice to you? Is he still shouting at you?" she asked.
"He just has bad days and good days..." Raivis shivered. Ivan never hit him, but frequently slammed about and shouted. More often than not, Raivis kept out of his way, especially when he was drunk. He had no idea why he lived with Ivan, he wasn't his father, or any relation, Ivan had adopted him and Toris years ago, but he couldn't remember when. They all shared the tiny flat above the florists and Raivis shared a room with his big brother Toris.
"Mum says he's an alcoholic," Lily said quietly. "She says he should go and see Dr Beilschmidt."
"Your mum is very clever..." Raivis said, but thought '...and nosey.. but then I suppose she is a marriage guidance counsellor...' He added, out loud, "But last time Toris and I managed to get him out of the shop and into the surgery to see the doctor – you know, when we ran out of vodka and he drank all that stuff that was meant for my eye infection – that doctor's receptionist threw up blood as soon as we walked in. And then... Ivan went absolutely mad, I don't think he likes Gilbert... Dr Beilschmidt told him to calm down and tried to give him a sedative but Ivan nearly smashed the place up. It's a good job the off licence was open and Toris bought some vodka."
Lily shook her head, her phone rang – playing a Mozart symphony as the ring tone, "Oh it's Dad... I have to go," she gave Raivis and quick peck on the cheek, "Take care, Raivis and I'll see you tomorrow at school!"
Raivis nodded and watched her go. He sighed and carried on walking, very slowly. He didn't really want to go home yet, you just never knew what you would walk in on – Toris was being chatted up by Feliks the beautician the other day, or Ivan flat out on the floor covered in dead sunflowers or a customer being chased down the road by Ivan wielding a piece of plumbing because said customer had not wanted sunflowers at all in their bouquet.
He made a detour into the local library. He liked this building. It was quiet, fairly empty apart from a few old ladies and he liked the librarian.
"Hello Raivis, how are you today?"
Raivis smiled, "Hello Mr Von Bock, I'm fine!"
"Call me Eduard. It's nice to see you, you're my best customer!" the man said, pushing his glasses up his nose.
Raivis had no idea why they got on so well. It felt that they'd known each other for years and Raivis always felt comfortable with the older man. They chatted about books and Raivis' homework. However, whenever Raivis mentioned Ivan, the other man would look uncomfortable and even scared and would change the subject.
Raivis was about to tell Eduard about his English homework – an essay on a Shakespeare play – and hoped the older man, who seemed so clever could help him, when his mobile pinged a message. 'Don't come home yet, boss drunk and tearing up the bathroom, luv T' the message said.
Raivis sighed, he was grateful for his brother's concerns, and knew that really he should go and help him, but it was so safe and quiet in here. What could he do anyway? He was so small... A niggling thought went through his mind though. Why did Toris always call Ivan 'boss'?
Early evening at the Axe and Dwarf public house and the proprietor, Matthias Kohler was chugging a beer sat outside with his feet up on a picnic table. "Erik! Bro!"
Erik came out, wiping his hands on a tea-towel, "What?"
"Where are my customers?"
"How should I know? It's early... I suppose people will start coming in soon..."
"I blame that cafe across the street..." Matthias pointed with his beer to the establishment across the road. "He's a shady character that Hans... with his sticky-up stupid hair... and that funny pipe he smokes..."
Erik ignored the reference to the hair, how on earth anybody with vertical hair could comment on another person's hairstyle was beyond him, "You're an idiot," he said and went back inside.
The Herb Cafe had only been open about a month. It was run by a tall Dutchman with his sister and brother. They served coffee, cake and you were allowed to smoke in there. Everyone who went in came out happy and smiling broadly.
Matthias frowned, all he knew was that while people were in there drinking coffee and smoking those smelly pipes and cigarettes, they weren't in his bar drinking his beer and listening to his jokes and tales of sailing the high seas and ravishing women.
He scratched his head woefully.
"Kesese! Get those beers lined up, yer big Danish idiot!" a loud annoying voice yelled.
Matthias jumped to his feet and gave a high-five to his best pal... "Gilbert! It's a quiet night and..."
"No worries... the awesome me has arrived!" Gilbert yelled and shoved his way into the bar, nodded at Erik (who groaned, he'd once had visions of the Axe and the Dwarf being a quality establishment – these were smashed to smithereens by his brother's awful friends), "Get me a beer, girly! One man party package has arrived!"
Many of the townspeople called their local pub just 'The Axe' for short. It wasn't just out of idleness but mainly because it was usually an axe that stopped the violence.
Tonight was no exception.
It was karaoke night. Feliks was singing "I am what I am!" in a high falsetto and shoving his co-worker, Francis away from the microphone.
"Ah poo! I wanted to sing a song as well!" Francis pouted.
"Shut up, Francy-pants, you'll get a turn... after me! I'm going to sing Sex Bomb!" Gilbert said.
"Woohoo, a full bar... see this, Erik? Brilliant! All my dudes..." Matthias' eyes shone.
Erik shook his head, karaoke night never ended well.
The television in the corner crackled. In Little Snoring the only channels the local transmitter could get were children's television, a sports channel which showed football and a shopping channel.
"I've got one of those!" shouted a voice. The voice belonged to Antonio, he was slumped at a table, bemoaning the fact that he couldn't get a date with the pizza delivery boy. He pointed at the television screen which showed a maniacal grinning lady selling a cheese-grater.
Everyone ignored him.
"Woohoo! I'm here! Dudes!" another voice yelled.
"Alfie... dude man! Where's your uniform?" Matthias asked the American.
"Off-duty! Throw me a beer, man!" Alfred answered.
"Did you get a note from your mum?" Gilbert asked him.
"Mum? Arthur ain't my mum, he's just my buddy... my pardner..." Alfred pronounced 'pardner' with a swagger as if he were a cowboy.
"Honhonhon, he is very delectable non... where is your truncheon, leetle Alfred...?"
"Erm..." Alfred edged away nervously from the Frenchman, "I left it at home... I'm off duty... hey!" he exclaimed as Francis moved in closer, "Mind my takeaway... I'm dropping my fried rice, man!"
"You bought zis? Eeet is disgusting, non?"
"Yep, bought it from Yao's across the road... had sushi stuff at lunch-time from Kiku's... Yao wouldn't come to the counter though until I shouted. I think he thought I was that mad florist..."
As if on cue, the doors flung open and Toris came in, "Vodka please... a double with ice, no lemon..." he said breathlessly.
"Has the big guy run out again?" Erik asked, pouring it out.
"No, this is for me... Ivan's asleep on the sofa. All I can say is thank God for the Teletubbies!"
There was nothing to say to this.
Feliks jumped off the stage and hugged the care-worn looking Lithuanian. "I will love you, like, until my dying day!" he said dramatically.
There was a crackle and the television changed channels. There was a hush as everybody turned to the screen. Instead of teletubbies, football or a woman selling cheap jewellery, a man was sitting at a desk with a map of the world behind him whilst pictures of people fighting were broadcast. "The situation in the Middle East today. The United Nations assembly convened to propose sanctions against..." here static over-rode and the screen blurred and then righted again, "... Britain, America and France called for sanctions whilst Russia and China used their power of veto..." static again and then... "... more Nations were expected to..." The television suddenly went off.
Silence descended, everyone stared at each other. Foggy realisation, words that should mean something... of course they'd all heard of Britain, America, France, Russia, China... but why did those words and, more specifically the word Nation, give them goosebumps? The Earth for one millisecond stopped spinning.
"Nation?"
"Le France?"
"Hell yeah, America, man!"
... and then a blond-haired man came in and switched over the channel.
"£24.99 an absolute bargain for this gold-plated necklace... and over to you, Doreen with those wonderbras..." came the vacuous voice from the television as QVC broadcast around the pub.
"Oooh lala, I will sing now.. it is my turn..."
"Shut up Francis... it's my turn, the Awesome One will now sing ..."
"...and so I said to Lovi..."
"... me and Arthur arrested this kid this afternoon for riding his bike up the street and I said..."
"...Toris, we should, like, have a day out shopping – you need a make-over, sweetie..."
The conversations continued, the blond-haired man stole away, followed by a furry polar bear cub, "Mr Kimjero... it's kinda getting harder keeping it from them..."
Outside in the street, a taxi pulled up and two strangely attired men got out.
One was dark-haired with amber eyes and wore what appeared to be a toga.
The other had long blond hair, piercing blue eyes and was wearing some kind of leather tunic. Both men carried swords.
A local drunk staggered out of the pub and shook his head at them, "Bit early for Halloween, eh?"
The dark-haired man laughed, "Hahaha! I love humans... they are so funny! Right! Come on, let's go find my little grandsons!"
The blond-haired man just grunted and followed, a grim look on his face.
