A/N: Okay, I have officially procrastinated on this for far too effing long.
But I have reasons! Firstly, I got grounded. Again. Because of my grades. Again. Secondly, I've got a shitload of projects to do, so... Ugh. Third, do you know how effing hard it is to write Minne-frickin'-sota?! But I did it, by simply getting around it. I DESCRIBED it, instead of actually typing it out. So, this one goes out to the awesome Megami Yari, who obviously is the one to request this.
And remember that little contest I had in my last chapter? Yes, it was a contest. And who won, you ask? Why, none other than the awesome Fence Walker. The answer was Mikey Way, bassist of My Chemical Romance. And everyone who guessed guessed right, but this is the one who guessed first. So, the little dearie wins:
*announcer voice like in game shows* A fic of your choosing, and to hell with my rules (except the ones about length and het lemons...), which will be finished before any other request I have once you ask for it~!
Hey, I didn't say it was a GOOD prize. Anyway, congrats~! And congrats to the other person who got it right afterwards: Myde the Turk.
Anyway, here's my Minnesota. Remember, I got all my info on the accent from YouTube videos/comments and stuff. So don't shoot me if I'm wrong. I'm generalizing anyway. Based on the not-so-reliable Internet, I might add.
Standard warnings/disclaimers. And COMMENCE~!
England was incredibly upset.
Well, not like that's anything new. Nor the reason… The reason being, America. America just wouldn't shut. The fuck. Up. And he was speaking like more of a git than usual.
Why have I never noticed his bloody accents before?! England wondered. I could have corrected this problem earlier, instead of trying to run from it now.
Of course, it didn't matter. What mattered was getting the hell out of Minnesota.
All Alfred did was elongate his 'o's and occasionally leave out a few vowels and consonants here and there, and once or twice he started to sound a little bit like his brother Matthew (not much, though), and say things like 'ya know', but it was enough.
He decided this while Alfred was talking to a 'Minnesotan'. And he decided it loudly.
"ALFRED F. JONES! BLOODY HELL, I CAN'T UNDERSTAND A SODDING WORD YOU'RE SAYING AND MAYBE YOU DON'T GIVE A DAMN BUT I DO! IF YOU WOULD HAVE JUST STAYED WITH ME YOU WOULD SPEAK PROPERLY, DAMMIT!" he screamed.
Alfred tried to shut him up, but he kept going on as if he were drunk (oh God, how he wished he was… then he wouldn't have to deal with this accent crap his former colony was putting him through).
After a minute or so, a small crowd of Minnesotans were gathered around the pair, some curious, some angry, and some generally amused. Mothers steered their curious children away from the fuming Brit whilst teenagers tried to supress their laughter.
Another minute passed, until Alfred yelled, "ARTHUR!" which effectively silenced the angry Island Nation, if only for a short while.
"What?!" the shorter man seethed, glaring up at the taller.
Alfred explained, in that awful Minnesotan accent of his (which was actually better than most of the other ones he'd been through, but it didn't take very long for it to get really annoying) that they were making a scene, and if Arthur resented the way Minnesotans talk then they should just leave and go somewhere else. A few of those who gathered around them clapped, and a few hooted. The teenagers were still trying not to laugh.
"… Bloody fine," Arthur snapped. America held out his sleeve, almost as an invitation, and Arthur smiled fleetingly before setting his face into a determined glare and dragging the younger man to their car. As the crowd parted, someone started to applaud, and others joined in, until everyone was clappign and cheering and chanting Alfred's name. "Jones, Jones, Jones!"
America smiled, flashed them a thumbs up, and prayed that England would let him get a hamburger on the way to wherever they were going next.