A/N: Hej~ Anyways, for those of you who don't know, The Good Earth is a classic historical fiction novel taking place in China a bit before the Opium Wars. (They used opium though, so trade was already existent.) It won its author, Pearl S. Buck, the Nobel Prize for Literature. I've read it- quite a fine book, indeed.
Also, just because I put people in dorms together does not mean that's the pairing! A word of warning to those FraGer fangirls who squealed in joy when they saw previous chapters. No official pairing has really been established yet but the Spamano that was hinted at before with the whole "Romano switching dorms faster than Veneciano runs to the call of 'Pasta!'" thing.
Also, October in the US of A is National Pasta month! SQUEAL~~
I apologize for the lack of Romano and many other characters. Eventually, EVENTUALLY, they'll show up. (Which means maybe soon or the far, far future. But eventually.)
I look at my story stats and the countries where some of my readers are coming from and I just go,"Wow. I feel... honored. And I'm going to go fangirl in this corner now." /goes to corner and dances around in happiness/
In Soviet Russia, you do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers, Hetalia: Axis Powers… is not owned by either of us.
Yes, I just spent, like, 25-30 minutes going over and revising this author's note. You might not know it, but after my Soviet Russia comment, I had a whole bunch of different things written down THAT YOU WILL NEVER EVER SEE. /evil smile and maniacal laugh/
Arthur sat in the semi-comfortable polyester chair, his mocha-frappe held in the hand that was not holding his book, the chill of the drink seeping through the cardboard sleeve that wrapped securely around the thin plastic of the cup. His book, which he had been reading for the past seven or so minutes, had drawn his interest to a moderate level; however, the occasional sip and burst of flavor from his beverage, combined with the motion of raising his arm every time he did so, distracted him from being entirely sucked into the printed text of the crisp pages.
He continued on into the story, his mind on the events in the novel at hand, when he felt the material of his uniform jacket bunch up at the nape of his neck. All he had for warning was a mirthful shout of "Watch out dudes!" before the bunch lifted him up from his seat, hung like that for a second or two, and then flung him across the café interior. He couldn't see where or who he was flying towards; all it was to him was a rush of colors, objects to the naked eye becoming distorted from speed.
"Watch out dudes!" was the cheerful yell that Antonio heard from behind his back. Gilbert and Francis turned their heads immediately, while Antonio just kept facing forward, drinking up his strawberry milkshake, not seeing the reason in partaking in such useless tomfoolery. His two friends by his sides yelped as their eyes widened and they scrambled away. That was when something large crashed into the Spaniard's back, causing him to choke on his milkshake. The force of the impact caused both him and the body on his back to slide over the counter in an instant, flipping over at the opposite end before landing on their backs.
Francis and Gilbert looked at the other worriedly before dashing towards their friend. They leaped over the countertop to assist their friend and the poor soul that was used as a projectile weapon, but alas, Antonio's milkshake had crashed along with him and was bleeding out it's thick, pale pink substance all over the floor. Upon touching down on this floor, Francis and Gilbert instantaneously slipped, the German crashing down on his side, with his French companion face planting on the sticky puddle of milkshake.
Mathias hooted with laughter from where he stood, having to place a hand on Arthur's former seat to steady himself from his intense laugh session. He turned towards the Taiwanese girl, his hooting reduced to mischievous giggles as he stared at her, already plotting how to tangle her up in the mess. However, under his gaze, the girl, who had already backed up into the window, squeaked in terror before smashing her laptop closed, hugging it to her chest, and bolting out the door. Her forgotten sweet berry iced tea stood lonesome, its only company being the girl's crumpled up napkin.
Mathias walked up to the iced tea and took a sip of it. He deemed it acceptable and continued to gulp it down through the pearly white straw as he turned around to look over to the groaning pile of bodies.
"Oh dear God, what in all blazes happened?" Arthur moaned as he removed himself from being suffocated under Antonio. After standing back up, he spotted the trio around him. "You three!" He snapped, narrowing his eyes. "What did you seek from me this time, you gits? A good laugh? What childishness." He sniffed, raising his nose up in disdain.
Gilbert got up from the sticky floor, his shirt and jacket soaked in pink fluids. He gave Francis a hand, which he accepted, before turning to help Antonio, however, the Spaniard had already risen from his sticky spot on the floor. Upon hearing Arthur's accusation, the albino bristled.
"Oi, bastard! If you think we caused this shitty mess then you're damn wrong, dickhead!" he snarled, grabbing the front of the English boy's now pink shirt. Arthur continued to glare at him furiously. "You needn't be so coarse in your language, uncivilized pig," he replied icily.
"Why you little fu-" Gilbert began to growl viciously, but was interrupted by Francis. "I know Arthur can be a stubborn, idiotic little rosbif, but you shouldn't let it bother you," he ground out to Gilbert, ocean eyes narrowing. "And Arthur," he chastised. "You should really open your eyes and ears and look at the laughing Dane right over there," he snapped irritably. "And you both are acting like complete idiots and that annoying Danish boy is slurping loudly and goddammit my hair is ruined and I'll have to spend a good thirty minutes just conditioning to return it to its former beauty!" he screamed at the lot of them.
They heard a merry chortle behind them. "Okay guys, that was priceless!" Mathias grinned at them airily, but was met with dark glares. And a murderous leer from Francis. Mathias walked carelessly towards them until he spotted the look he was receiving from the French student, and faltered uncertainly. "Uhhh…" he nervously managed, an uncertain smile still stuck on his face. Francis began to slowly advance to him.
"Do…you…know…how….much…I have… to work… on this fabulous hair?" he growled furiously.
"'Kay bros, this was fun and all, but Vashie is calling for me…" Mathias trailed off nervously, edging towards the door. "Liar… come and play with big brother…" Francis coaxed with dangerous undertones.
"No! No! I hear him now! I HEAR HIM!" Mathias screeched helplessly, dropping the cup of iced tea in his hand to crash on the floor, making a break for the door. However, Francis clutched onto the back of the troublemaking young man with an iron grip. Mathias thrashed wildly in Francis' hold, but unable to break free. "NOOOO! DON'T HURT ME!" he squealed. "Conditioner isn't cheap,"Francis stated mercilessly. "You'll have to pay for this glorious mane. In blood." With this condemning judgment, the usually weaker French pretty-boy hurled the Dane through the window with surprising strength, effectively shattering the glass of the window. Mathias lay helplessly on the pavement of the sidewalk.
He blinked, and blinked again. With each one, his vision got fuzzier, and his eyelids dropped lifelessly, succumbing to the darkness of unconsciousness.
"Oh my God," Gilbert gasped in horror. "Francis, my man, did you kill him?"
Mathias stirred, his vision of blackness shaking. He heard five different voices with various accents: One English, one Spanish, one French, and two German.
"He's dead, good going Francis! I can't hide from the cops again!"
"Quiet, Gilbert. He's not dead. Wankers. Why did you have to become so violent, frog?"
"Can I go to my own dorm now…?"
"I cannot help but protect my beauty like a mother protects her baby, cher."
"Shit, shut up guys! The bastard's waking up!"
"Bruder, why do you need to use Francis' and my dorm?"
"Ohhh…." Mathias groaned painfully. "My head… what the hell…?" He shot open his eyes, and snapped up from his lying position on the unfamiliar bed. He sent his eyes glancing wildly around the room: Antonio, Arthur, Francis, Gilbert, and a tall blonde student standing beside them. It was a usual World Academy dorm, with posters of French singers littering the walls, until it was as if an invisible line cut across an exact half of the room to give way to the neat blue walls of the dorm, with one perfectly aligned portrait of the seashore framed neatly hanging by the wrought iron and glass desk. The other desk was on the less freakishly organized but still fairly clean side of the room, a tan wooden desk, way over the "fancy" line and a bit old fashioned and large, with multiple drawers. Papers were scattered on the desk and on top of it all was a flyer from the campus' church. A dark steel crucifix was hung up on this side of the room, a rosary hanging simply but elegantly from the same nail from which the crucifix was supported by.
"Okay, three questions: What happened? Whose dorm is this? And who's the Catholic? Or Protestant? Or…whatever?" Mathias asked steadily.
"You were knocked out by Francis after he went rage-Frenchie and so we felt guilty-" Gilbert started. "I didn't feel guilty," Francis intercepted. "Anyways," Gilbert carried on enthusiastically. "We, save Francis, felt some level of guilt so we decided to bring you back to Francis and my brother Luddy's dorm." He finished, throwing an arm around the unknown blonde's neck. "This is quite tiring bruder. My proper name is Ludwig." The stoic blonde said, apparently not amused.
"So, for my last question, who's-" Mathias started up again. Francis and Antonio raised their hands swiftly. "Catholic," Francis and Antonio chorused. "But what you're seeing is my stuff," Francis informed him, tossing back his hair, which had recovered it's glossy sheen. Which reminded Mathias of something.
"How long have I been out?" he chirped. "Five hours." Antonio answered matter-of-factly.
"Oh," he said. A silence went around the room. "Now what?" Mathias said from his awkward place on the bed. "What happens," Ludwig griped angrily, but still with controlled tones. "Is you all owe me a favor from keeping me from writing my Physics paper."
"Yes, yes." Francis sighed dramatically. "What is it that you want us to do now, Ludwig?" The blonde German sent an irritated look Francis' way before continuing. "Clean out my Dutch friend's garage this Friday at noon. He already graduated and lives near campus; I owe him one anyway. It's full of old junk from this music shop he used to run, he told me he wants to get it cleaned out anyways." Antonio shot up his head and cried out in protest, "But I usually go to the park with my guitar Friday mornings!"
"Then just bring your guitar there. He won't mind." Ludwig answered. "Now out!" he shouted crossly. Everybody followed suit, and quite quickly if he must say. Francis went over to his desk and began organizing papers, chuckling lightly to himself. "Hope they all have fun on Friday."
Ludwig shot him an amused look. "What do you mean 'they'? You're going too."
"But why?" Francis whined, his head shooting up to give his roommate a miserable expression.
"You're the one who threw him through the damn window." Ludwig answered, taking out his laptop to begin his paper. "Impressive," he muttered.
Francis smirked arrogantly down at his various papers and handouts. "Merci beaucoup."
Alfred F. Jones whistled as he came out of his back rooms from his break to study and finish up his assignments, his Canadian brother walking quietly alongside him, tying his red apron back up. Upon walking into the café, they halted immediately. Matthew could only stare at the scene in horror: broken window, spilled milkshake, various objects on the counter toppled over, a plastic cup of iced tea toppled over near the entrance, its insides already all over the entrance area, and above all, a large, ragged absence of glass in the floor-to-ceiling window. Broken glass was scattered all over the floor. There were minimal amounts of blood on the sidewalk outside. Overwhelmed with shock and at a complete loss for words, the American dropped down to his jean-clad knees.
"WHAT HAPPENED?!"
