World Conference Clean-Up

Chapter Four- Elevator From Heck

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Warning: Slightly crack-ish.


"Get off my foot, you bloody twat!"

"What are you talking about?! Your disgusting shoe is resting on top of my new designer dress shoes!"

"It's cramped as hell in here! Oh god, it almost reminds me of when I lived in Russia's closet!"

Farley's head ached. Men yelled from all around him. If this went on for any longer, he wasn't so sure if he could refrain from assaulting them. Or have an aneurysm. He would be fine with either one.

He would have liked to lean against the wall, but unfortunately he was trapped in the middle of the elevator, sandwiched between Gilbert and what's-his-name.

A hand patted his shoulder softly in comfort. "Don't worry aboot it, we'll be rescued soon. Someone's bound to notice that we're all missing, eh? Except for me…"

Today had been a rather uneventful day. The meeting had been hosted for representatives that had not showed up to the previous day's meeting, which actually got things done for once, seeing as some of the most troublesome representatives were absent. Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, Gilbert, Antonio, and what's-his face were the only ones at the meeting today.

Sadly, seeing as Ludwig was present the other day, the meeting was completely pointless, as the representatives broke out into arguments without someone to bring order. Nothing had gotten done, as Farley had expected. He was actually starting to get used to this, which scared him somewhat.

When the meeting ended, they all packed into the elevator, eager to return to their hotel rooms for some much needed relaxation time. Farley had followed them into the elevator so he could get his cleaning supplies to clean the room.

The elevator wouldn't have been so cramped if one Alfred F. Jones hadn't decided to cram into the elevator at the last minute, leaving no space for anyone to move.

As the elevator descended to the lobby, it suddenly lurched to a stop between the eighth and seventh floor. Antonio, the Spanish representative, tried to push the buttons on the panel, but it was to no avail. Fifteen minutes were spent attempting to mash the buttons as violently as they could to get them to work. It was not a very smart move, because the force ended up damaging the panel. Now they couldn't do anything at all. They were stuck.

"Well, it can't get any worse, can it?" said Antonio as he attempted to shrug. His attempt was failed, as he was jammed in between Francis and Gilbert.

"Hey, stop trying to move! You're pressing me against the wall, and that's not awesome!" Gilbert cried.

No more than ten seconds passed after he said that did the lights flicker out.

Alfred began shrieking. Farley felt himself going deaf sooner than he expected. "SOMETHING TOUCHED ME! SOMETHING TOUCHED ME!"

"It's just me, Al…" a soft voice whispered.

"GAHHH! I CAN HEAR A VOICE! THE GHOST CAN SPEAK!"

"My god, can someone just free us from this torture room?!" wailed Arthur as he was roughly shoved by Alfred, who tried to get away from the 'ghost'. "Alfred! Stop pushing me! There aren't any ghosts here!"

"There are ghosts here! I can feel it! Mattie, help me!" He grabbed on to his brother, terri—Ahem, bravely shielding him from the dangers within the elevator. "Wait…Mattie?! When did you get here?! Did the ghosts bring you here?!"

A few terse seconds passed (unnoticed by Alfred), as Matthew wondered if he should punch or slap his brother in the face for forgetting him for the fifth time today. He ultimately decided to 'accidently' elbow his brother in the gut. Hard.

"Guh!"

"Oh, sorry Al, I forgot you were there," said Matthew sarcastically. Honestly, how do they keep forgetting him? He wasn't that forgettable, was he?! He invented insulin and zippers, for god's sake!

Suddenly, a beam of light shone through the cramped space. Ivan had taken out his phone. "Look everyone, it is a cell phone. It emits light. We can use the light to see. It is wondrous magic, da?" he stated sarcastically. Farley swore that he could see an evil aura rising from the corner that Ivan stood in.

Everyone scrambled to pull out their phones, not wanting to be beaten to death in an elevator with nowhere to run. Within minutes, the elevator filled with light.

"Oh, it seems that everyone has been able to harness the power of their grey matter," Ivan said happily.

Arthur kicked Francis's shoe away—it had been resting on top of his well polished dress shoes. "Damn it, you frog! Do something useful for once and call someone with that atrocious phone of yours!" Arthur demanded, shining his light on Francis's bejeweled phone case. The light hit the case, making the colorful jewels sparkle brightly.

"Hey! Don't be jealous of my beautiful phone, Angleterre. I would know yours looks far more unfashionable than anyone else's," Francis shot back. He scoffed at Arthur's plain green phone case. "Besides, I can't call anyone. There's no signal in this building."

"Wait, what? Why isn't there any signal here?" asked Farley.

"Because they didn't want people to text each other during the meeting—or update their blog…like some people," Ivan responded. He shot a glare towards Gilbert.

Gilbert cowered, backing up into Antonio a bit. He shot an accusing finger at the violet eyed menace. "Sh-shut it, you unawesome asshat! You don't know the true power of mein blog! Follow me AwesomePrussia1701 to become almost as awesome as me, but not as good!"

Ivan ignored him, as Gilbert regularly advertised on a daily basis. Heck, he even managed to peer pressure Yekaterina, his big sister, into 'following' him one day, by telling her that he'd be 'BFF's' with her if she did. Ivan would have to do something about that later. Perhaps Gilbert would be quieter if his mouth was sewn shut. Ivan opened his mouth to say something about Alfred texting all the time, but he was interrupted before he could say anything.

"Say anything and you won't be getting any more memes from me," threatened Alfred.

Ivan closed his mouth and stayed silent. This he could not put at risk. He needed his daily dose of memes.

"Oi!" Gilbert began waving his phone around, shining the blinding light into everyone's eyes. Arthur swore at the dazzling light shining deep into his retinas. "Hey guys! I know what we should do! Instead of waiting for help like a bunch of losers, we can just escape out the hatchet!" he shouted, directing the beam of light towards the top of the elevator. Sure enough, there was a hatchet they could escape from.

"Well, why didn't I think of that sooner?" pondered Arthur.

"'Cuz you're not awesome!" cackled Gilbert. Arthur gave him the stink eye. "Now let's do this! Gimme a boost, Toni!"

Antonio boosted up Gilbert as high as he could. Gilbert fumbled around with the hatchet for a few minutes. Clinking and clanging sounds were heard as the group waited expectantly in silence. "Uh…guys? It won't open. We're screwed."

He jumped out down from Antonio's hands, unknowingly landing on Matthew's back.

"Maple…"

Francis sighed. "Well, what are we supposed to do now?" He flipped his hair into Arthur's face. "Any longer in this stuffy space and my hair will lose their beautiful luster!"

Arthur brushed the hair away from him, growling. "Oh, put a sock in it, frog! We've got bigger problems than that!"

Francis quirked a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Oh? What kind of problem?"

Arthur rubbed his hands nervously. "Uh…you know the about the kitchen, right? The one that's downstairs?"

"Oui."

"This morning, the door was unlocked."

"And?"

"…I made scones?" Arthur mumbled, his eyes looking anywhere but directly in anyone's eyes. He reeled back a little (well, as much as he could).

"YOU DID WHAT?!" screamed Alfred. "WHY, ARTHUR?! WHY?!"

"I just wanted to give some out during break!" Arthur defended. "…You know, if I had any leftovers!" he added hastily.

"Hold on, what?" Farley was confused. What was wrong with making scones? You know, besides the fact that he snuck into the kitchen to cook. Arthur was just trying to be generous, right? "What's wrong with making scones?" Farley questioned.

Francis whipped his head around dramatically. "I'll tell you what's wrong! Angleterre here is actually banned from the kitchen—for life! He's not allowed in there!"

"Banned from the kitchen? What did he do, burn down the kitchen?" joked Farley.

"That is correct, monsieur."

"What? When did this happen?" Farley couldn't remember a time where Arthur burned down the kitchen at all. Perhaps it was a repressed memory of his. After all, he had seen some horrible sights since he took this job that he could not unsee.

Francis waved a hand dismissively. "It was before you came here. Burned down the whole kitchen, and then some. Poor chef had to dispose of the wretched salad himself." He wiped away a stray tear.

Salad? Arthur started a fire that burned down the kitchen with a salad? Farley didn't know whether this was fake or real. But then again, this was the World Conference Building, and anything that could happen happened here. But a salad? This was the strangest story he's ever heard, and he worked around the most insane representatives in the world, so that was saying something. He didn't think that someone could be that bad at cooking. He felt a wave of relief that he didn't have to clean up that mess. Close call.

Arthur cleared his throat nervously. "Uh…gentlemen, I'm sorry to say this, but…they're still in the oven."

Eight pairs of terrified eyes bore into him as he continued. "And the oven is still on," he mumbled, barely audible.

The cramped elevator broke out into sheer panic. Representatives screamed, banging on the metal walls around them. Light from various phones danced upon the walls like a disco ball as they fruitlessly tried to escape.

"NOOO! I DON'T WANT TO DIE THIS WAY! I ALREADY ATE THEM ONCE, ISN'T THAT ENOUGH FOR YOU?!" shrieked Prussia, shaking his fists up at the ceiling.

"Shut your gob! They were perfectly fine!" yelled Arthur from his corner.

In an act of pure bravery (and desperation), Antonio grabbed a concealed pipe from a very surprised Ivan's long tan coat. Leaping over Francis's weeping form in the corner, he destroyed the hatch with a single blow in his haste.

Seeing this, Alfred took the chance and began to somehow physically throw the bodies of the elevator's inhabitants out one by one. Farley was the last to be ejected; he was caught carefully by Gilbert who helped lower him onto the top of the elevator. Everyone else before him was not so lucky—they mostly landed face-down or on their butts. Alfred was helped out last with the help of Antonio and Gilbert.

"God America, you're so heavy! You really are a fatass!" grunted Gilbert as he heaved Alfred out with great struggle.

"Shut up! This is all muscle here!" Alfred retorted.

Brushing some dust off of his coat, Ivan asked, "Well, now that we are out of the elevator, how are we going to escape the elevator shaft?" He shot a glare at Antonio. "Also, may I please have my pipe back? If you wanted to borrow it, you could have asked. You didn't have to so rudely rip it out of my coat."

"Oh…yeah, sure. Sorry about that, amigo." Antonio nervously extended his hand and returned the metallic object back to its rightful owner.

"Spasibo, comrade," Ivan smiled. Then his aura grew dark. "But please keep in mind that this sort of act will not be tolerated next time, da?"

At this, everyone shrunk away from the menacing man. "D-da…" Antonio responded quietly.

Francis broke the ice. Clearing his throat he suggested, "I know of a way we can get out. See that elevator door above us?" He pointed to a door a few feet above them. "We can boost Amérique up there so that he can pry the door open and we can escape."

"And who's going to boost Alfred up?" asked Arthur, crossing his arms. "He weighs as much as an elephant!"

Without skipping a beat, Francis quipped, "You are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are," the whole group chorused.

"It's your fault you baked scones, Arthur. And now you have to pay up," said Antonio evilly. Finally. He'd been waiting to get revenge for the Spanish Armada since forever. Now his chance had finally some, and he wasn't going to pass it up.

Arthur bit his lip. There must be a loophole somewhere! He scanned the group, looking for a scapegoat—but found no one he could blame. Blast it all. This was just not his day. "Fine," he grumbled. "But I'm only doing this so we can escape."

"Great! Thanks Artie!" Alfred scrambled over and was boosted up by a very disgruntled Arthur. With ease, he pried open the metal doors. He jumped down and turned to the others, pumping his fist up in the air, narrowly missing Arthur's face. "Alright! Now that's what we're talkin' about!"

One by one, they were boosted up by Alfred, who volunteered because he claimed that he was 'the hero, of course'. When they were all safely on the non-elevator floor, Gilbert bent down onto his hands and knees and began kissing the carpeted hallway. "Oh my god, I missed this carpet so much!"

"We were only in there for an hour and a half, Gilbert," said Francis.

"It was cramped as hell in there! My awesomeness was trapped in there with no way out!"

"Weren't we going to go to the kitchen to see if it was on fire yet?" asked Farley. Why don't these people ever remember what they're supposed to be doing? They're supposed to be representatives of nations, but they always goof off.

The representatives all froze for a second. Then they all broke into a run that was so fast that it would have made the Usain Bolt envious. Actually, forget that. Farley could've sworn that these people must've been Olympic track runners at some point, because man, were they running. Were Arthur's cooking skills that bad? Farley could barely keep up; either he was getting too old for this (he refused to admit this), or they were just inhumanely fast. He felt it was the latter.

The representatives reached the kitchen first, screeching to a stop and freezing at the sight before them. Farley arrived a bit later than them, wheezing heavily. He made a note to himself to get back into shape.

Fortunately, the kitchen was not on fire, as the representatives foretold, which was a good thing; Farley didn't know if he could handle all the extra hours he's have to put in. Instead of smoke, there was a lovely smell that wafted out of the room. Sitting inside the clean kitchen were Ludwig, Feliciano, and Kiku. Feliciano was currently force feeding pasta to Ludwig, who put up a weak fight. "Come on, Germany! Pasta is good for you!"

"This is the third bowl, Italy…"

"Wha—what are you lot doing here?! And what've you done with my scones?" cried England as he pointed at the table. A basket of freshly baked scones sat in the middle of the table. They were cooked beautifully; not a single one was burnt.

Kiku looked up from the book he was reading. "Oh, greetings to you all," he greeted. "Ludwig-san and Feliciano-kun came here so that Feliciano-kun could cook some pasta. The hotel's kitchen was busy and declined his request to cook there, so we came here. As for your scones—I took them out of the oven so that they wouldn't burn [like they usually do]."

Antonio looked back and forth from Kiku to the perfectly baked scones. "You took them out on time?!"

Kiku frowned a little. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

The group let out a breath of air that they had been holding for quite some time. Relief filled their faces. Even Farley felt relived, though he still did not quite understand what the fuss was all about.

"Oh, oh no! None at all! I'm just very relieved!" Antonio assured.

Francis clutched his hands to his heart. "Thank goodness! I was so afraid that I might've fainted!"

"Da, I was a bit worried that we might have perished in a fire inside of an elevator," admitted Ivan. "But I was also looking forward to see your petrified faces as you are all roasted alive."

Alfred ran up and hugged a squirming Kiku as tightly as he could. "My hero!" Kiku tried to slip away as politely as he could, but there was no escape in the death grip Alfred had on him.

Arthur burned with embarrassment. "What are you all talking about?! My scones aren't even that bad! They're supposed to stay in the oven longer so they can get crispy!"

"Yeah, but they aren't supposed to be blackened!" countered Francis.

"Quiet, Frog! You know nothing!"snapped Arthur. He punched Francis in the gut.

"I'm glad we're not stuck in that hellhole anymore!" injected Gilbert. "Although I kinda wish that Ivan was still in there…"


Back in the dark elevator, a whispered voice echoed in the darkness.

"Uh…guys? You forgot about me…"


Author's Notes

I don't really think it's that much of a challenge to translate everything they said yourselves, so you can kind of figure it out yourself. It's pretty obvious what they're saying, anyways.

For any suggestions or comments you may have, please leave a review!