Disclaimer: Hetalia is not owned or created by me...
Acknowledgement: Thank you to the following for reviewing, favouriting and alerting this story: missnoodlechan, Petalnose, RAINBOWwORLD5678, Yami-no-Oujo, THE-complete-zelda-fan, Cathrag, Daughter of the Wise One, Hotel of California, DeviousDragons, Frustration, WinterLake25, JuniperGentle, icantthinkofausername, Beelzineff, PhantomPrussia, Nekolandia flippyanimegirl, Azamiblossom, Waverripple of Team Sunrise, button-pusher, Shrapnelgirl, Dogsrule, Chattie 98, Timisafunsucker, Irishmaid, Becky 999, Pedro-is-Madi12, ZeroLuver567, Lilypad The Fourth, Teh Awesome BeastMODE6 (if I've missed anyone please shout).
Warnings: Crack
Chapter 7 –Shopping Spree
"White or cream... white or cream... Which do you think, Katya?" the speaker was Natalya and she held up a variety of different wedding dresses – all resembling very large meringues.
"Cream... definitely... Are you sure about this? I mean has Ivan actually said...?" her sister didn't finish the sentence when Natalya turned to her with blazing eyes.
"Why shouldn't he marry me? I am beautiful and I can cook and I will look after him and..." Natalya flounced around the shop in a huge dress – which could easily have hidden half of her class within its skirts.
"And it's tomorrow? At the Majestic? Seems a bit fast..." Katya said with much concern. Perhaps she should put a call through to Elizaveta for some advice, after all, the Hungarian was a counsellor. Or perhaps she should call the doctor and get some more of those anti-psychotic drugs.
"And why shouldn't it be fast? For love such as ours?" Natalya asked and pulled out a knife, running a finger along its edge.
"Erm... no reason, I'm sure..." Katya said hurriedly and winced as her sister held up a dreadful puce-coloured frilly monstrosity of a dress.
"This can be your bridesmaid dress, Katya dear!" Natalya informed her.
"Well... er... thank you... I think."
In 'downtown' Little Snoring, the police car cruised up and down the streets.
"Now... where is the little tyke?" Officer Kirkland ruminated, partly to himself and partly to his partner.
"What's a tyke, Artie?" Alfred asked, his foot on the accelerator, he was dying to go faster, but the speed limit was 20 miles per hour and, unless they had their blue lights on, they couldn't break the speed limit. Once they did – but that was because they'd ordered a takeaway and Alfred was panicking that it would be cold.
"It's an English word for a brat, Alfred... keep driving... turn left."
"Right..."
"No, left."
"Right..."
"Left!"
"You don't have to shout, Artie... Is this Acacia Avenue?"
"Yes... there he is! Alfred turn the car around... Stop!" Arthur shouted and then before Alfred had put on the handbrake, he was out of the car and ran after the small boy who disappeared over a garden wall and into someone's back garden.
Arthur thought he was fit, he regularly did push-ups at the gym and did 'power-walking', but he wasn't – as Alfred frequently told him. He got to the garden wall and attempted to jump over it and failed – several times.
"Alfred! Over here... give me a leg up!" Arthur yelled.
Alfred parked the car, waved at a housewife who was watching him from behind lacy net curtains and ran across.
"Dude?"
"Give me a leg up and then you go round the other side, then we have him!"
Alfred nodded and picked Arthur up and threw him over the wall.
"Aaargh! I said a leg up, not bloody throw me over, you bloody wanker!" Arthur yelled and then apologised profusely as the home-owner – a large woman in an apron opened her front door and glared at him.
"I'm so sorry madam... we are in the process of apprehending a criminal who is on your property," he said sheepishly while brushing mud off his trousers.
Alfred had already ran off and was vaulting over the garden fence of the next door property and sidling down the property wall overlooking the gardens and the fields that ran along the back.
PC Jones was quite proud of his fitness – he could bench-press far more than Artie and had once towed Arthur's clapped out Ford Fiesta to the local garage so the Englishman didn't have to call out the breakdown services. He now vaulted another wall and landed in a ditch on the other side and jogged through the field after the boy.
"You can't catch me!" Peter yelled. Actually, he thought, they could. The American cop was much faster and fitter than PC Jerkface. He ran into the field and could see that the 'Yank' was catching up with him. He panicked and looked around him.
"I can't do 'time'," he thought, "Can't face jail..." He spotted a tall metal structure – much like a very large climbing frame which had a notice on it 'Danger – Keep Off' in red letters.
He turned to see the American closing on him and 'PC Jerkface' also approaching – the latter policeman puffing and panting a little. There was only one thing to do – he began to climb.
"Why didn't you catch him?" Arthur asked Alfred, punching him on the arm as he did so.
"I tried! Shall I climb up after him? You know like Bruce Willis in that film? What would Batman do?" Alfred leaned against one of the metal poles.
"This isn't a bloody film! And no, you can't climb up – it's against health and safety. He'll come down soon enough," Arthur said.
"Yeah but... he might get electricitified!"
"What kind of bloody word is that? Of course he won't! It's a mobile phone mast... I think..."
"Better call the fire department and his parents..." Alfred yelled excitedly.
As it happened, it wasn't the mobile phone mast – it was the television transmitter.
The Mayor, Matthew Williams, arrived with the fire department and looked very worried.
He called up to Peter, who was now perched on the top of the mast, "You should come down now, before you hurt yourself..." and then added, under his breath, "... or break the transmitter... oh dear Lord..."
He smiled wanly at Tino, who was in tears, his hands clasped in front of him, and then at Berwald who stood a little to one side with a grim look on his face. Then, Matthew hurried off to make a telephone call.
"Hello? Code red... yes I know I've already used a code red... okay then... code violet or whatever... the highest code... we may have an emergency... if that boy breaks that transmitter then we are in serious trouble..." Matthew said into his cell-phone, pacing up and down, his polar bear cub following him.
He listened for a while, absent-mindedly feeding 'Mr Kumajiro' doggie treats, as the person on the end of the line gave him instructions.
"So you're saying it's unbreakable and that it will be okay? That there's no way a little kid could damage it? Phew that's a rel..." he didn't get to finish as he watched in utter horror as PC Alfred F Jones threw off his jacket, handed his police helmet to his partner and began to climb.
"I'm the hero! I'll save the day! Everyone step back!" Alfred yelled – totally ignoring the fact that everybody had already stepped back. The Little Snoring Fire Department had set up a safety net for Peter should he fall and were now drinking cups of tea.
"Noooo, don't climb the tower – you'll break it!" Matthew shouted.
Too late, Alfred, with the ease of something like a chimp, Arthur thought, but in the American's head like a superhero, reached the boy, grabbed him around the waist and his foot slipped.
There was an audible gasp from the ground.
"S'okay dudes!" Alfred yelled, his hand reached out and grabbed a stray cable, he regained his footing, his hand grasped a cable and, with a yell of "Germoline!" he jumped, or swung, holding Peter tightly in his arms.
There was a commotion and everyone said "Aaaah!" at the same time.
The firefighters caught the two in the safety net, Tino ran forward and gathered Peter in his arms, Arthur ran forward and tapped Alfred smartly on the head with his truncheon.
"Bloody fool! It's Geronimo! And besides you could have been bloody killed!" Arthur said and then almost cried with relief.
Alfred grinned and held up the cable on which he'd swung – quite epically he thought, "I know, but thanks to this, I didn't!" he said.
"Oooh no..." Matthew wailed as the cable fell to the ground. He immediately started to dial a number as around him Alfred posed for pictures for the local newspaper, Peter was arrested by Arthur and the Fire Chief grumpily began to put away the safety equipment.
"Hello... code red... code red... the transmitter's down... this is bad really bad..." he said into his phone, his voice sounding more and more desperate.
The Axe and Dwarf Public House, Proprietor: Matthias Kohler
An old man in a corner of the bar was the first to notice that something was different. "What happened to the football?" he asked suddenly and pointed at the television.
Matthias actually put down his beer and started to press all the buttons on the remote control. "Hmm... no QVC... no CBeebies..." he muttered.
The television showed just static and then somebody – no-one would later recall who it was – twiddled the knob, and a picture suddenly appeared.
The news was being broadcast and showed fighting, soldiers and guns, a very grim and serious-looking newsreader told them that 'Severe fighting had broken out in the Middle East, diplomats are attempting to resume talks with all sides but the situation worsens with each day...'
"Do you think it will affect my beer?" Matthias asked Erik.
The Norwegian didn't answer but stared at the television screen as the newsreader mentioned NATO and the United Nations and then that Russia and America were 'taking opposing sides'.
Memories nudged at the young Norwegian, he frowned and shook the Dane's hand away from his arm and hurried out of the pub.
"I said we couldn't rely on a dampener... that sooner or later they'll pick up BBC News and ... oh no... CNN..." Matthew practically shouted down the cell-phone as he hurtled down Chestnut Avenue, swerved around a corner and into the High Street. He parked his car and looked around, "I told them I didn't want to do this... I'm not equipped to look after this lot..." He said wearily to no-one.
"Who are you?" his polar bear asked.
"The Mayor of Little Snoring... otherwise known as the Nation of Canada... and I failed..." he said and promptly banged his head on the steering wheel – setting off the car-horn as he did so.
Climbing the steps of the Hotel Majestic, Natalya and her sister huffed and puffed – carrying one huge wedding dress and one equally huge bridesmaid dress, together with assorted shoes, veils and other accessories – they finally staggered into the reception area.
"Is this a good idea? I mean... who's paying for all this?" Katya asked. "We can't afford it on our teachers' pay..."
"A kind benefactor," Natalya told her. Honestly, anyone would have thought her sister didn't believe that tomorrow was going to be the happiest, best day in the history of weddings.
"Hmmm," Katya mumbled.
The tall Turkish man behind the counter looked them up and down, "Can I help you, ladies?" he asked.
"Mr Sadiq, we're booked in for the wedding tomorrow," Natalya told him imperiously.
Katya was about to protest but was amazed when Sadiq looked at the register and said with some amazement, "Oh yes... all paid for, the lady rang earlier."
He then said the words that Natalya had wanted to hear for a long time, "You're booked in the honeymoon suite."
"Oooooh Katya! Did you hear that?" she cried, turning to her sister.
Katya nodded. "That doesn't mean you're married... yet," she said pensively, but very quietly.
Natalya wasn't listening but had given her wedding dress to the grumpy Bulgarian bellhop and told the unsmiling man to take it to her room and that if he stood on it, tore it or otherwise damaged it in any way, he would get a knife in his gullet.
He looked her up and down and silently boarded the elevator, his arms full of boxes, bags and frilly gowns.
"This is going to be the most amazing wedding ever! Everyone will be talking about this for years to come!" Natalya exclaimed, clapping her hands together excitedly.
And she was right – they would.
Behind the reception, the television switched from QVC to the BBC News and a newsreader's voice cut through the frivolities. "The United Nation Security Council meeting broke up today without resolution to the growing conflict in the Middle East. The United States and Great Britain refuse to concede whilst Russia and China are vetoing the vote for military action, France abstained..."
"Ha! France never abstains from anything!" Katya cried and clamped a hand over her mouth and wondered why on earth she said that.
"Big brother Russia?" Natalya muttered and then shook away a disturbing thought and instead flounced into the function room and began ordering Sadiq's hapless staff about balloons, flowers, tablecloths and streamers.
"...And Katya, dearest sister?"
Katya smiled with trepidation as her younger sister picked out the most garishly pink tablecloths ever seen in the history of linen, "Yes, my little gosling?"
"As my chief bridesmaid, you can organise my hen night!"
Author's Notes:
CBBC – Children's BBC – a public service broadcasting channel which broadcasts children's programmes.
"Geronimo" – the name of a famous American-Indian chief, often a call cried out by people taking a leap. As usual America/Alfred gets it wrong.
Next Chapters – a hen night, more revelations, silliness, an unusual car chase...