Chapter Six: Roman Holiday
While Barcelona had been chalked up as probably the worst disaster thus far, Ivan couldn't help but laugh every time he thought about America's horrified face when she had seen that old man. Like the other dates, America's freak-out had been recorded and spread throughout the conspirators to enjoy. That pale, disgusted face she made had become Russia's new background on his laptop. It was just so cute the way her lip curled up in revulsion, mouth hanging open, and eyes wide while her hair had started to come out of the ponytail and hung limply around her face. But while that picture was nice, Ivan had to admit that he had also kept a few of the girl from earlier that day when she had been happily running around in her skimpy little swimsuit. He could use those for some sort of blackmail later, he was sure.
It had only been a week since then, but already it was time for another World Meeting. It seemed like just yesterday they had last been all together, when this whole little operation of theirs had been formed. Ivan was quite pleased to be getting away again, his leaders not having been happy with him the last several months, but he didn't really care. Leaders came and went, but seeing America like this was once in several hundred years. This operation was more important.
The meeting was being held in Mexico this time, and already Ivan decided that was probably not the best of ideas. Why did they always pick cold, northern nations in the winter told hold the meetings at when it was at its worst, and hot, southern nations in the summer? The heat in Mexico was sweltering, and for the nation that was used to snow nine months out of the year, this was too much. It was over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit and not at all pleasant when wandering out of doors. But, despite the nearly suffocating heat, which some nations didn't even seem to blink at, Russia was happy that the nations had all gathered together again so that he had an excuse to see America and her foolishness.
The meeting today hadn't lasted very long, and the nations had simply had more of a quick word than anything too serious. Throughout the meeting, Ivan had kept an eye on America. Unlike his secretary, the blonde nation didn't seem to give him a second thought and didn't even bother to look his way. Instead, she had stared at Mexico as he went through his presentation. She seemed rather excited, why, it was anyone's guess, but once it was time to end for the day, America had stood up quickly, nearly knocking over her seat, and threw her arms up in the air with a loud, "Finally! It's taco time!"
Next to her, Canada looked exasperated, if not outright embarrassed, and Mexico sighed, running a hand over his face. Rumor had it that the blonde had pestered her southern neighbor into taking her to a special restaurant to get a certain kind of taco that she was obviously crazy about. To keep the peace, Canada decided to tag along, but before he left with the other two North American nations, he gave a meaningful look at Hungary. When more people had gotten up to go, the European woman acted quickly, gathering up the conspirators like a mother hen would her chicks.
"Okay," Hungary began once they were all collected. "So, the date in Spain went…not so well."
"It wasn't my fault!" the Spaniard insisted, dismayed and looking truly sad. "I took her to a non-nudist beach…though I suppose the visitors sort of changed that..."
"It's all right, Spain," Hungary put on a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Your date had been going really well up until then. America seemed to really respond to the Mediterranean scene, minus the nudist. So, I think next date should be Italy."
"Ve, me?" Veneziano cocked his head to the side, pointing to himself. "Yay, that's happy! I will take her to get the most wonderful food in the whole world!" he beamed, looking almost drunk with joy. "It will be lots more tasty than that yucky English food she's had so far."
Next to Japan, England snorted, looking highly insulted. "Please, anyone can make that drivel you call food. It takes a special kind of person to truly understand and appreciate the delicate English cuisine."
On the other side of Japan, France looked blasé as he stared at the European island flatly. "Now, when you say 'special' you mean 'tasteless', right?"
"Why you bloody frog! You better belt up or I will kick your as—"
"Würdet ihr beide jetzt einfach mal die Klappe halten?"Germany growled, making sure to keep his voice down so he wouldn't draw attention. "Right now we have bigger problems than your old grudges."
"Problems?" Spain frowned in confusion. "We were just talking about Italy taking America out."
The large blonde crossed his arms severely. "That's just the point," he drawled. "The one that didn't understand why he couldn't go out on the beach or why he couldn't show America the 'funny video' of her kicking France in the balls? Do you see anything wrong with this? I do."
Hungary gasped. "You're right! Veneziano!" she grabbed the Italian by the shoulders and started shaking him. "When you ask America out or when you're on your date, you cannot tell her about us! You can't tell her about the competition!"
"Ah! O-okay, okay!" Italy cried. "I-I won't say anything! I don't want to get anyone into trouble!"
"Itaria-san," Japan spoke up seriously. "You will need to make sure that you do not say anything about us. You should also make sure that when you take her out to be polite and do not talk about any of her other dates. You shouldn't know about them, remember?"
"But I do know about them," Italy scratched his head thoughtfully.
Sighing, the group began walking to go grab something for lunch. On the way, Germany grabbed the little Italian's upper arm roughly before dragging him away. "Come on. You need some training."
"V-ve? Training? For what?" Veneziano whined. "I don't want to train!"
"You're training and you're going to like it!" the blue eyed nation hissed. "We're going to think of the best way to ask America out and then practice conversation topics so that you don't let this slip. Because if you do, do you know how much backlash I'll get from my leaders? After what Maria did last week with that pony and sauerkraut, I can't afford to get blamed for anything else."
Russia chuckled lightly. He'd have to find out about that later. Although it hadn't been mentioned, Ivan was sure enough to bet his nationhood that beer had also been involved in this recent incident concerning the Prussian. But he knew he couldn't think long on this gossip as the others were walking away to have Italy practice his conversation as well as grab something to eat. Unlike the others, he hadn't had time to put his papers away before Hungary had seized him to talk about who would be next. So, Russia went back to his seat and quickly put away all of his things. He went to catch up to the others when he heard a phone go off.
Looking about, the Slav saw Germany's suit coat left draping over his chair. He must have forgotten to grab it when Hungary had gotten him. Walking over to it, Ivan pulled out the cell phone and checked the I.D. It read: Osten.
Unaware of the evil smile that sweetened his features, Ivan flipped open the phone. "Hello, can I help you?"
There was a long pause on the other end, as it seemed the ex-nation had been taken completely by surprise at a different voice answering her brother-nation's phone. "West?" came a tentative voice, the eastern German seeming to have thought perhaps she had dialed the wrong number.
Ivan giggled. "Nyet. This is Rossiya answering for Germaniya. May I ask who is calling?"
It didn't take a second before the albino on the other end exploded. "Russland you filthy bastard! Why the hell do you have West's phone? What the hell did you do to him?" she demanded. "I swear, if you hurt him, I will come over there and kick my boot so far up your ass, you'll be licking it!"
Growing bored of the tirade, Russia yawned. "I am sorry Vostochnaya Germaniya, but I need to go. I should go help Germany since he's trying to figure out the best way to ask America out." He smirked wickedly.
"WAS?" the albino shrieked. "West would never…he doesn't…He…"
"I need to go!" Ivan chirped. "Goodbye!"
"RUSSIA! Don't you dare—"
Russia hung up the phone and shoved it right back into the pocket. Throwing the coat over his arm, the large country easily found the other nations still deep in conversation with the Italian. When he came back, the others stared at him for a moment. "You forgot your jacket, Germany," Russia smiled kindly, handing it over. "I think your phone went off."
Not a second after he said this, Prussia had dialed right back. Pulling out his phone, Germany answered it tiredly. "Hallo?... East? Yes, I'm fine… What? No, nothing bad's happened…East…East, I can't talk right now, okay? I'm in the middle of something. I'll tell you about it when I get back…East…No, I'll talk later. I need to go now…I just can't talk now!... Okay, goodbye."
The others looked at Germany expectantly, but he didn't answer. Instead, he calmly put his phone away, face blank, before he turned to Russia. "Thank you, Russland," he nodded. "I didn't realize I'd left it."
"Oh, you are very welcome," Ivan beamed, trying hard not to snicker.
Japan gave him a stern glare, but the larger nation ignored it in favor of watching Italy practice with Hungary. Austria proved to be a very competent "buzzer" of sorts, always pointing out when the Italian failed, while Britain, France, and Spain were telling him good topics he might try. Germany had gone strangely silent, staring rather pointedly at nothing across the room. He apparently was not too happy with his latest conversation with the albino waiting for him back at his house.
Soon enough, after eating, they heard the telltale signs of America's return. Her laughter bounced off the walls and seemed to fill the building, like she was everywhere at once. The conspirators all stood up and looked around the corner to where they saw her walking in between Mexico and Canada, beaming happily, laughing, a taco in one hand and a drink in the other. The other two next to her looked worn out, though they were both wearing slight smiles.
"I freakin' love your tacos, dude!" the girl exclaimed in Mexico's ear. "Seriously, they're the best."
"I'd hope so," Mexico snorted, mainly to cover up his pleasure at the compliment.
Deciding that it was his time to shine, Italy walked from around the corner and right towards the three North American nations. "Ciao, America!" Veneziano greeted with a wave.
America's smile showed all of her many white teeth when she saw the Italian. "Hi Italy!"
Seeming to sense that he had lost the girl's attention, Mexico nodded over at the two siblings next to him, watching with faint amusement as America stuffed the remaining chunk of taco into her mouth before Italy got to them. "I think I need to go check up on everyone else now. I'll see you two later."
"Bye, Mexico. Thanks for showing us to the restaurant," Canada smiled, grabbing his sister's shoulder, as though to remind her that she was still with Mexico even though Italy had made an appearance.
Turning around, wiping her mouth with her hand quickly before she turned to her southern neighbor, America smiled. "Yeah, thanks, Mex!" she leaned down to give a big hug to the shorter nation, taking him by surprise. Ivan frowned. "Your food's awesome. See ya!"
The black haired nation shook his head smiling. "Eres loca. See you."
America just laughed in response as Mexico left with a last wave. When Italy was before them, the blonde twins turned their full attention to the European, Canada apparently worried that Italy had gotten off his leash and was coming to talk to America when he shouldn't. Russia was a bit impressed when he understood just how much damage control the usually timid-looking nation was willing to do. It made Ivan realize how much more he was going to have to watch Canada in the future.
"What's up?" America asked, taking a slurp of her drink.
Although Veneziano was not considered the brightest bulb in the pack, he was quite charming and good with the ladies. Oh sure, he might be spineless in war, afraid of strong winds, and was absolutely terrified of several food combinations— Germany had told them all a story once of Italy having nightmares about bangers and mash coming to life and, living up to their name, beating him up until he resembled mashed potatoes—but he was really a fantastic romantic, and had successfully flirted and hooked up with girls all around the world. It didn't matter if they were taller or shorter than him, if they were Asian or South American, black or white or anything in between, if you gave him a pretty girl, he could successfully beguile them.
The conspirators waited with baited breath and listened attentively to the conversation, all of them trying to appear as though they were just talking about business incase America came around the corner.
"Oh, nothing much," Italy smiled. "I heard from big brother Spain that you went over to his house last week. Sorry it didn't go well."
America cocked her head to the side, pouting slightly in confusion. "What? Why didn't it go well? I had a great time! We played on the beach all afternoon before he took me back to my hotel."
Italy wasn't the only one to be taken back by America's answer. They were all quite perplexed while Veneziano seemed to try valiantly to recover himself, but he couldn't. "Ve?"
Luckily, while America was slurping at her drink again, Canada provided translator. "Amelia's decided to repress that memory," he explained calmly.
"I sure did!" America beamed, giving a thumbs up. "So, besides asking me about my wonderful time in Spain, did you need anything, Italy?"
"W-well," Italy tried to pull up another brilliant smile before he continued. "I was just wondering, since big brother Spain had had you over, if you wanted to come to my place for some dinner?"
The blonde began bouncing a bit on the balls of her feet. "Really? That would be awesome!" she cried. "Wait. Why? Not that I wouldn't love to go, but first Arty, then France, then Spain, and now you. Did I miss something here? Is it International Be Awesome To America Year, or something?" Everyone held their breath. "But no matter what, my answer's yes, because your food kicks ass."
While Italy looked close to panic at America's insightfulness, Canada was once again the one to save the day. "Well, your president wanted you to start working on your foreign relations," he touched her shoulder, drawling her attention away from the flabbergasted Italian. "And don't forget that you've been working on your attitude, Amelia. Seems people have started to take notice," he praised gently.
"And big brother Spain told me about how much fun you were and I thought that maybe I should invite you over too. It's been a while since you last came," Veneziano interjected smoothly, having finally recovered.
Blue eyes widened a bit and the Superpower grinned enthusiastically. "Really? You've noticed?"
"Sí," he nodded quickly with a captivating smile.
"Awesome!" America cheered. "Okay, yeah, now I'm going, like, ten times more than I was a second ago. Where you wanna meet at?"
And so, details were given, and it had been agreed that they would meet in Rome in three days time, and she should dress for the Mediterranean heat. When the date was made, the other nations listening in all turned and quickly dispersed, knowing that the North Americans were probably coming their way. But Russia remained where he was. He wasn't sure why, but he had the uncontrollable urge to go talk to the girl. It had only been a week since last he had seen her, but he was surprisingly curious as to see how she would act in front of him in person as opposed to skype.
When Italy had gone, Russia came around the corner where the North Americans were beginning to walk again. "Privyet, Amerika. Kanada," Ivan nodded to them.
Canada frowned seeing the large nation coming towards them but America gave a big smile. "Hey there Big Guy!" she called. "What are you doing here, wandering around all alone?"
Again, realizing that she was communicating with him set the Russian's usually steel nerves on edge. He hadn't felt this jumpy around her since discussing nuclear power in Europe in the 1950s. He attributed this to the fact that he really hadn't planned out anything particular to say to her, so he wracked his mind to think of a topic. "I was thinking of our conversation the other day." He blurted out the first thing that came to him.
America looked positively giddy. "You think of a new screen name? Because I was fond of 'Komrade Kol'. I think that one was a keeper," she winked. Canada looked horrified at his sister's impudence. "You can use that if you want, I don't mind."
"Nyet." Ivan's face went blank. Her little jabs made it easier to remember the past and not be so nervous anymore. "I was thinking about what you suggested, about the conference calls?"
"Oh!" the girl nodded. "Yeah, you really wanna do that? 'Cause I think it would be fun."
"Da, it would be," Russia's smile widened when he saw how troubled Canada looked. "I was wondering if perhaps you might like to schedule an appointment? Whenever you're free, of course."
"Sure thing! But I couldn't tell you now," America frowned in thought. "I don't have my planner on me. But can I let you know tomorrow? Or maybe later tonight?"
Just as Ivan was about to answer, thrilled with his results, claw-like hands came from behind him and latched on. A wave of cold dread settled in the pit of the Slav's stomach and he involuntary let out a cry of absolute terror. The twins looked startled, taking a step back, and hot breath came from behind Ivan's ear, hissing, "Back off! He's mine!"
Canada went pale at the sight of Belarus, but America screwed up her courage and took a step forward to regain the ground she'd lost. "Cool it, Needles, we were just talking. No need to get your panties in a twist," she glared.
Russia gulped as his sister's grip on him tightened and he heard a distinct growl emit from her. "My panties are not in a twist, but if they were they and everything else belong to Big Brother, so get away from him!" Belarus spat.
The twins, Ivan barely noticed due to his extreme fear, wore matching expression of surprised disgust. "Well," America regained some of her composure slowly. "That's probably the most disturbing thing I've heard all day…We'll just be leaving then."
"Good!" Natalia sneered. "Because Big Brother is coming with me. He doesn't want to be around a loudmouthed twit like you anymore. He loves me!"
If he had a gun with one shot, Ivan would not have wasted a moment putting it to his temple and shooting himself in the face without a second thought. He was embarrassed and he wasn't sure he could live with it. Even though Natalia was right and America was a loudmouthed twit at times, it was still embarrassing that she had so little tact and told it to the Superpower's face. And there was the fact that he was always self-conscious when others saw just how spineless he was when his little sister was around. He must look like the biggest coward in the world. Good thing he'd brought his pipe, just in case anyone saw this and decided to comment on it later.
But whatever America thought of him at the moment, it was hidden by anger and insult that entered into her usually clear blue eyes. Canada also seemed to realize his sister's temper rising and tried to reach out to take her hand. The blonde would not have it though, and step forward again, as though accepting a challenge.
"He's not your dog, he can do whatever he wants," she sniffed indignantly at the other girl. "And as for his love for you? Well, whatever helps you sleep at night. I'll see you later, Big Guy," she turned to look at Russia, outright ignoring Belarus. "I'll find you later tonight," she winked exaggeratedly at him, which didn't fail to get a rise out of Natalia, as the European tightened her grip on him until Ivan was sure it drew blood. But he couldn't help how his heart leapt when America winked at him. It made his heart feel warm.
"See ya, Crazy," America flipped her hair at Belarus, walking away, as though she hadn't a care in the world. Canada, looking shocked, stumbled after his sister who seemed to have an obvious death wish.
When the blondes were out of sight, Natalia finally released her death grip on Ivan, but didn't let go of his hand. When they were alone, the younger nation scowled up at him, and Russia swore her dark blue eyes turned black. "What was that, Vialiki Brat?" she asked with frightening calm.
"N-n-nothing, Syestra," Ivan stammered. "We w-were just p-planning a meeting."
Those soulless eyes didn't leave Russia's face for a second as they burned into his flesh, leaving him feeling weak and petrified. "Is that all?"
"Da! Da of course! W-What else would I be talking to Amerika about?"
Natalia stared at him a moment longer before she seemed satisfied enough with his answer. Still scowling horribly, however, she dragged him away, saying that it was time for another "talk" and Ivan could do nothing but follow. He hoped that Ukraine would realize that their sister was gone and come looking for her, or else he knew that he was in for at least several hours of torture in an attempt to make him commit and marry. But in that time, he thought, he could always distract himself with the pleasure that America had promised to find him later that night.
oOoOoOo
Three days passed since Russia's nearly fatal encounter with his little sister, and it saw him sitting in Rome. Because Spain was back in the group, most of the nations in the van seemed in higher spirits than when they had been in Barcelona. The Spaniard was happily bouncing in his seat—probably excited that when this was over he could see his precious Romantito again—which brightened Hungary and France's outlook on events. And since France was distracted with his friend, that left Britain free from too much harassment, and with Hungary satisfied, that made Austria calmer. Japan and Canada were about the same as always, though Japan seemed a little nervous for whatever reason. It was only Germany who was in an outright foul mood.
Spain, good man that he was, had tried to ask the blonde what was wrong, but Germany had only snapped that it wasn't his problem. Eventually, at Hungary's prying, the strong economic nation admitted that a certain albino was causing him a bit of trouble, and Russia could clearly see the worry in those icy blue eyes. It made the Slav wonder if it could be anyway connected to what he had told the former nation on the phone the other day, but he didn't ask. While Germany could be an all right sort of fellow, Russia still outright hated the former Teuton and all the trouble she had caused him early on in his history, and even in the First and Second World Wars. She was not so very pleasant and he didn't care two rouble about her.
But the general atmosphere of the van was a good one since Germany brooded silently to himself, and everyone seemed anxious to know just how this date would turn out. The other ones had been so dismal that it was the general assumption that nothing could possibly be worse than any of the others. Unlike Britain, Italy was more comfortable and knowledgeable about romancing, he was more subtle and considerate than France's more direct course of action, and unlike Spain, there wasn't a beach around the restaurant he was taking America to, so there would be no nudists. This date just had to be better than all the others.
Italy, by some miracle, had convinced Romano to help him with his date, and had gotten the older Italian to actually agree to cook and serve the meal. How the ditsy Veneziano had managed that feat, no one knew, but they all suspect it had taken a lot of graveling and pleading and crying and bribing. But in the end, whatever it had taken, Romano agreed, so there was someone else there to help Veneziano's chances of winning America's heart. Ivan, personally, thought it was cheating, but he kept his mouth shut. He was the last person that could complain about that considering he had helped mess up both France and Britain's dates already.
Soon enough, the time came and America arrived at the small summer house Veneziano had rented for a more intimate meal. Today she was wearing a long sundress and had sunglasses resting on top of her hair with that little strand she affectionately called Nantucket poking up. She had a small backpack with her that suggested she had arrived earlier and had been out sightseeing before arriving for her dinner date. She looked bright eyed and bushy tailed for her dinner, and was smiling merrily. Seeing her like that, looking so very content, made Ivan stare. She certainly smiled more these days.
"America!" Italy cried once he saw his date. He rushed over and kissed her cheeks in quick succession before she could protest. "How are you?"
She seemed to understand that kissing like this was common in many places in Europe…but she still seemed comfortable with it, though she plastered on a smile. "Hey, Veneziano! Thanks for inviting me!"
They sat down at their candle lit table, and not a moment later, a frowning Romano stormed over, wearing a classic chef's jacket and hat. "Buona sera," he greeted pleasantly enough. There was a pretty girl before him after all. "I am your chef for this evening. What would you care to drink?"
In the van, Spain was nearly beside himself, gushing with obvious affection. "Oh, chiquito!" he cooed. "Look how very polite and grownup he's acting!" he pointed excitedly at the screen. "I taught him these manners! I did! I did that!"
"Oui, oui, now sit down," France muttered, shoving his friend back down so that they could watch the proceedings.
America, as she was so very prone to do, ruined the fancy atmosphere that the Italians were attempting to create as she waved at her waiter. "Hey, Romano! How are you? Aren't you going to join us?"
Looking at the girl coolly, Romano had apparently learned of the blonde's lack of sophistication, and merely shook his head. "No, not this evening. What would you like to drink?" he asked again, turning an annoyed glare his brother's way.
"The Barolo, '97, please," Veneziano chimed in before America could protest. France and Spain, as well as Austria, hummed in appreciation for the selection, all muttering a "good choice" under their breaths.
Apparently agreeing with the others, Romano nodded too, before he disappeared to retrieve the wine, ordered and prepare the meal, leaving America and the younger Italian alone. The moment Romano was gone, the blonde turned towards her date, frowning slightly. "Why isn't Romano joining? Doesn't he want to eat with us too?"
"Tell her that he wanted to see if America liked his cooking as well as yours," Hungary hastily spoke into the microphone.
Laughing lightly, Italy did just that, repeating Hungary's words smoothly, impressing everyone. "He told me that if you were coming, then you probably wanted the best, so he wanted to cook," Veneziano added.
It was clear that America still found the situation quite strange, but she didn't comment further. Instead, she talked about her sightseeing that afternoon and how beautiful Italy really was, which, of course, pleased the older personification greatly. Romano came back up and poured the Barolo and setting out bread before disappearing back into the kitchen, informing them that he would be out soon with their dinner.
Once the older brother was gone, Veneziano turned towards his dinner date, and began his Italian charm. "I'm glad you came, America," Italy smiled gently. "It's nice to see a lovely lady such as yourself, in a lovely place like this."
Either because she didn't realize he was flirting or she didn't take him seriously, America laughed and grabbed some bread, taking a bite. "Haha, yeah, it's nice being here. So, what sorts of new cars have you been making?"
All thoughts of romance went out of silly little Veneziano's head at the mention of cars, and soon he was talking excitedly to America about all of the races and new designs that he and Romano had been thinking up. America had, in turn, tried to bring up something about her NASCAR, but the Italian snubbed any talk of it, saying that it was nothing compared to the races there in Italy. The blonde, Ivan could tell, was quite insulted, though unfortunately for Veneziano, he didn't seem to realize that he had made the American mad.
None of the Europeans, in fact, seemed to catch the girl's annoyance, not even the usually observant Germany. But that was probably because he wasn't really paying attention, still looking a bit lost in thought as he stared out the front of the car instead of watching his friend make a grave mistake. Canada caught on, and Japan seemed to sense something was not going right, but no one else did. Russia knew America was truly proud of her NASCAR, enough that the slight insult left her a bit putout. Hadn't she just had a movie out about a talking race car fighting with an Italian car? Veneziano really should watch what he said.
Romano came out with the food shortly after, whispering right over his brother's hidden microphone, to inform the younger man that he had several business calls he had to take care of and he would be back in several minutes. And so with food in front of them, America seemed to forget her anger for the time being and dug into her pasta.
"Oh man," she sighed happily. "This stuff is so good! You Italians sure are amazing cooks! You should send more of your people over to my place again. That wave of Italian immigrants was awesome!"
Italy laughed more for the fact that it was polite to believe your date was funny or witty than actually finding any amusement with what she said. "I will see what I can do," he winked. "So," he went on carefully, "I was wondering if we could get together like this more often?"
Oh, he was good. Unlike the others, he was already planning for more dates. If America accepted, that could possibly mean that Italy had won, or at least would have a better chance than the others when it was their turns. While Italy wasn't the best at planning in war, when it came to dating, he could out-plan even a German, with a higher success rates than people getting their tonsils out.
America didn't pause in her feeding frenzy, but nodded all the same. No one was sure if she even heard Veneziano's request as she took up her wine and drank. She hummed in delight before looking at her date blankly. "I'm sorry, what?" But before Italy could repeat, her eyes brightened as something else occurred to her. "Oh hey! What are we doing after dinner? Are you going to take me around the city?" she asked. "I know I've been to Rome, but it's just so beautiful and old!"
As ever tenacious in love as his older brothers, Veneziano was not deterred by America's lapse of focus, and instead smiled brightly at her. "If that is what you want," he told her easily. "A romantic stroll through Rome is always a good idea."
Again, America didn't seem to take her date all that seriously, and laughed. "Haha, yeah, just like in the brochures, huh?" she winked.
Now Italy seemed to be getting a little disheartened, but before he could speak, the sound of car door could be heard slamming outside, and suddenly seven well dressed, well armed men came crashing through the door, pointing their guns at the two dinning nations. "All right, get on the floor!" one man yelled.
Everyone one was surprised, Veneziano, America, as well as the nations in the van. Even Germany's attention was caught by the sudden appearance of the men. "V-ve?" Italy stuttered before he was forcibly pushed onto the ground by one of the men.
The obvious leader of the band took one look at America and a charming smile adorned his features. "Well buona sera, bella donna," he purred. America scowled darkly. "Please don't be alarmed," he went on. "We're just here to do a little business, so if you wouldn't mind getting on the floor so that we can—"
The sound of a gun locking stopped the man midsentence, and the other men in the room stopped their surveillance to turn and found their leader frozen in place as America pointed an M&P9L compact 9mm handgun under the man's chin, her blue eyes hard and her expression bored. A truly deadly combination if Russia ever saw one.
"I suggest," she began, her voice hard like steel, all childishness and playfulness gone, as she glared at the men around her coldly, "if you don't want your buddy here in a bunch of pieces, that you lower your weapons, let me and my companion here go, and we'll all be on our way. If you don't, well, hope you brought a mop because I sure as hell ain't cleaning him up after."
There was a long silence, as the mafia members and America stared off, the girl having the leader's arms behind his back and a gun to his throat. Veneziano looked horrified, like he didn't know whether he should speak up, or let his date continue to bluff. Everyone in the van was about to get up and go help if they weren't frozen in their seats, when the back door slammed open.
Everyone jumped and turned to see an absolutely livid Romano storm forward. "What the hell do you think you're doing here, bastards?" he snarled.
"S-Signore Romano!" one man called out, looking horribly confused with what was happening.
"Chigi!" Romano growled, grabbed two of the men and shoving them towards the back. "I told you not to come here, morons!" he hissed. "Veneziano, get off the floor, you idiot," he barked.
"I-is he Signore Veneziano?" another man asked, looking a little sick that he had shoved the northern personification down.
"'Is he Signore Veneziono'—of course he is, idiot!" Romano rolled his eyes. "Now, all of you, get the hell out of here! Out the back door! Go to where I told you to go before! Bastards. I ought to shoot you all in the knees," he muttered.
America, for her part, blinked several times, uncertainty written on her face, though she did not release her hostage. "So wait a sec, these are your men? You know about these guys?"
"Unfortunately. Chigi," Romano groaned. "My mafia's not what it used to be."
"Oh." America released the leader with a hard shove that sent him tripping and stumbling into the back, before smiling at Romano. "Haha, well that's a relief! For a minute there, I thought they were terrorists or something."
The older Italian looked the blonde up and down, apparently believing that she was crazy, before adopting a more neutral expression. "Yeah, well, with the way these idiots were acting, they probably couldn't have even made an information transfer."
"Yeah, the branch in my place hasn't been doing so hot lately either," America admitted before lifting up her dress a bit and re-holstering her gun onto the inside of her thigh.
Romano seemed to appreciate the show of leg, but frowned after a moment. "You keep a pistol like that on you all the time?"
America threw back her head and laughed. "I don't walk like a man without a reason," she winked.
For once, the older Italian seemed to loosen up again, and smiled at the girl. "Well, sorry for ruining your date with Veneziano."
"That's okay," America waved off, as Veneziano finally managed to stand, still looking a bit shocked at the sudden appearance of mafia members. "We were just eating and catching up. Nothing big."
"V-Ve, but I—" Italy tried, but his brother cut him off.
"You weren't on a date with my brother? I mean, a romantic date?" he questioned sharply, turning and glowering at his brother.
Once more, America laughed. "No way! Veneziano just invited me over to dinner 'cause we haven't talked a whole lot lately."
Romano frowned, obviously realizing that his brother hadn't made his intentions very clear, before shrugging. "Well, that's good, I guess. You better get going though. If those bastards came here—like I distinctly told them not to do— then more might come later. You should get back to your hotel."
"Okay," the blonde accepted, grabbing her bag. "But can I have a to-go box? Your food is just way too wonderful to waste."
This seemed to please the southern half immensely while the northern was devastated. "B-but we never got—"
"As you wish, bella donna," Romano grinned flirtatiously. "I'll go grab it and then take you home. Veneziano," the older brother snapped. "Time to pay back your promise. You stay here and tell anymore idiots that show up here to go to the other point. If it's the police," he paused as he looked around the slightly upset room, "tell them you tripped or something."
"But—!"
"Night, Veneziano!" America rushed over and hugged the younger man tightly. "Thanks for the great night! Maybe we can catch up again without a mafia bust in."
And before Italy could complain again, Romano ushered America out through the back to pick up some pasta and go, leaving the northern half alone and very befuddled. Russia burst out laughing. He was laughing so hard, he wasn't sure he would be able to stop this time. Of all the weird things to have had happen on a date, having the mafia come and then have your brother steal the girl? What were the odds?
"Oh dear," Hungary put a hand to her lips. "I think he's going to cry! I need to go to him!" she said before quickly exiting the van to go comfort the still shaken Veneziano, Austria running after her.
Spain looked to be in shock as he stared at the screen, horrified. "L-Lovi in league with men like that?" he questioned, turning to France as if the other nation could make it not so. "I did not teach my baby brother that!" he screeched. "My poor Romano is running with a bad crowd!"
Hearing this only made Russia laugh harder. Japan was shaking his head, while Canada was once again trying to keep Britain down. "I can't believe she carries a firearm wherever she goes!" he screeched. "After all of those lessons I gave her on how to be a lady, and she carried a gun!"
Ivan decided not to point out that he himself carried a weapon with him at all times—his pipe was quite dear to him—and that he was quite sure Germany carried something at all times, but refrained from saying anything. It would only cause the Englishman a heart attack.
With the events of yet another disastrous date concluded, all the personifications went back to their hotel. The events of the evening greatly amused Russia, and he believed that this was probably the best date yet. So when he went to bed that night, he was quite relaxed and happy.
That night, he dreamt of a beautiful blonde with a six shooter at her hip.
Author's Note: My goat had a baby today! Huzzah!
Okay, well, I was listening to Tchaikovsky's Capriccio Italien_ op. 49 and decided to give another update~ And when I saw a picture of Romano holding a Franchi in one of Papa Himaruya's drawings last month, I just knew from that moment on that I had to get a mafia!Romano in one of my works, so here he is. I find him very appealing~
Germany: "Würdet ihr beide jetzt einfach mal die Klappe halten?"- (like) would you two shut up now?
** Thanks NoName! I really wish I could reply to your TOTALLY awesome review!
Russian: Восточная Германия (Vostochnaya Germaniya)- East Germany. Сестра (syestra)- sister.
Any Russians or anyone that speaks Russian, correct me if I'm wrong here, please. Thanks. ^^
Belarusian: вялікі брат (vialiki brat)- big brother (***brat is pronounced like br-ah-t, like in the German bratwurst. It is not the English 'brat', as in a spoiled child)
This was quite a long chapter, wasn't it? Next one probably won't be so very long. Thanks for all the reviews and fav's and all everyone! I really enjoy hearing from you! :) Please keep this author's mind well fed with nice, tasty reviews. Thank you! :D