Yeah...I got kind of lazy, you see...well...It got warm here in Canada and...I got distracted. (I could see the ground for godsake! The GROUND!) Forgive me! And now, withut futhur inttruptions, the cheesy, kind-of filler chapter of Our Love!
Our Love, Known.
Arthur slammed the door open, Francis calmly following behind him. They didn't know what to expect, but the sight of Tony sitting in his bean-bag chair playing another of those horrifyingly bloody video games in the dark created by large, heavy, ugly as sin curtains over the windows, the floor covered thickly in old MacDonald's wrappers, at least three dozen two gallon ice-cream buckets in varying flavors and discarded tissues, an inflatable mattress in the middle of the room.
"Wh-where'd Alfred go?" Managed Arthur over his shock of the scene.
"He woke up." Said the alien, not even looking at them as another soulless zombie was gunned down. "He left."
"Where?"
"Pancake place." Was the only reply.
Half-way across the continent, in another nation, stood the stony-eyed Alfred F. Jones, before his brother's British Columbian home. He trekked onward, quietly cursing his surely insane brother for choosing such a remote house to retreat to.
It was basically a platform mansion on the side of a mountain that over-looked a large lake right in the middle of a giant forest, at the lake there was a resort and a beach, filled with the usual giggling children, laughing adults and what-have-yous associated with such a vacation-like area. There was actually a little town near the house, about twenty more large buildings, most of them empty with the off-season, and a general store connected to a gondola station and fancy restaurant.
Just as he was about to finally set foot on the deck that would lead him to his brother, a girl with dark-medium skin and ashy-black hair tied up and back in a pony-tail, a few strands framing her face, dressed in a yellow-shirt with a green leaf on it (A marijuana leaf, he thought sourly) and a pair of knee-long spandex shorts and a loose blue-jean skirt over it, she wore a pair of Heelie shoes, the kind with wheels on the heels. She had a potted plant in hand and a red umbrella in the other.
"What do you want?" She asked, clearly annoyed by his presence.
"Who're you?" he asked, wondering faintly if this was another woman Canada had taken to comfort himself over.
"I'm British Columbia, you should know since you're on my land, and I'll kindly ask you to get the hell off it." She very nearly hissed, glaring at him.
"You're one of Mattie's states, right?"
The girl rolled her eyes. "I'm one of Boss Mattie's provinces."
"Right." Said Alfred, not sounding as if he cared in the slightest about the difference, pushing the girl to the side. "Well, I'm a real country, and I need to speak to my brother."
But he almost immediately was pushed back to the ground, the end of a red umbrella pointed at his throat. "Haven't you done enough, Uncle? Just leave, before I have to call big brother Manitoba to deal with you, and he isn't very friendly."
Just then, an entire mahogany table flew out of the window, followed by a glowering, red-haired teenager with brown eyes, glaring at British Columbia. "I'm plenty friendly, you British bitch!"
British Columbia grinned at the look of horror cross her dear uncle's face, as her brother and cohort crossed the deck, turning to put his scary stare on the American before them. His scowl deepened, a growl rising in his throat. "Oh…it him…" consideration crossed the red-headed males' face for a moment, before his scarily blank face returned to its neutral state. "I have a deforestation project going on, and the saplings we're planting to replace the ones we cut down need nourishment." He knelt, facing the blue-eyed American dead in the eye. "His body will work."
A fearful thought passed him. This was the furthest villa from the town, it was high and he doubted the people on the resort bellow could hear his screams, running down the mountain itself was suicide, god knows what would happen if he tried running back to town, he had no weapons on him and they could've very well had an entire armory in that house for all he knew, that Manitoba kid looked like he could go toe-to-toe with Chuck Norris for a few rounds, and British Columbia didn't seem on the sane side either.
"Dad says to stop." The three looked up, and America nearly screamed when he saw who it was. Ivory-blonde hair on top of a rounded head, light purple eyes and near deathly pale skin, he wore a pair of ratty blue jeans and a plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up and an off-white scarf wrapped around his shoulders twice, the feathered ends reaching his elbows, this boy greatly resembled the every terrifying Russia. "This isn't getting us anywhere."
The two seemed to deflate immediately. "But…it's America…" Said British Columbia, her teeth gritting as the name passed her lips.
The boy nodded. "I know," he stepped forward, helping the man to his feet with unreal strength not completely unlike America's own. "Killing him won't get anyone anywhere. And besides, he's father's closest ally, and harming him isn't a wise idea." He said simply, leading the blonde away from the still growling provinces, and into the house, to where a large kitchen was. "I'm Saskatchewan, son of Canada and Ukraine." He said, holding out his hand with a smile.
Ukraine? Isn't that the hot sister of that commie bastard? Thought Alfred, shaking the boy's hand. He…he had Ukraine but he wants to marry Belarus? That's it; he has to be insane…
Another kid looked down from a second floor balcony, he had wavy blonde hair exactly like Canada's, with ice blue eyes that, as soon as they landed on America, shone in distain. He was short, about shoulder height with Alfred, and wore a white hockey jersey with blue trimming. "Hey Saskatchewan!" The Canadian teen looked up, seeing the other above. "Bring the American bastard up-stairs, Dad want's to speak to him!" Saskatchewan nodded; taking the sleeves of his bomber jacket and making him follow.
"Who was that kid?" Asked Alfred as he was led down a long hallway.
"Ontario, proud little bastard, always going on about how he's the most beautiful because he looks more like Dad than the rest of us." Said Saskatchewan as he went up a curved staircase.
"How many kids does Mattie have?" exclaimed America, trying not to huff with effort as they went down another long hall.
"My brother Alberta, New Brunswick, Ontario and I are his only children by blood, he raised us from birth, but we all call him Dad or Boss." Explained Saskatchewan. "But Dad made the other provinces using the land as material. British Columbia was made with stone, honey and maple. Manitoba made with mud and pine needles. Nova Scotia was made with half a broken violin, beer, and nettle, his little sister Prince Edward Island was made from the other half of the broken violin, nettle and a potato. Yukon was made with an ax pick and mineral stone. Northwest was made from ice, animal skin and whale bone; she in turn created her little sister Nunavut from the same materials used to create her. Quebec was made from a lily and a maple tree bough. Newfoundland was a country himself, but he got too sick during the depression and he ended up joining Dad, but now he's stuck with the body of a six year old."
"Mattie created them all?" Said Alfred, unsure of something like that happening.
"He did, Dad didn't want to find a human person to take the each province's place because doing that would force immortality upon them, so he created a Hetalian from the land and with material's that each part had to offer, or he created one via relations."
"Created one? That sounds a little…formal, didn't you…I 'unno…love your mom?" Saskatchewan paused, making the nation stop abruptly, lest he run into the province.
"I've never met her." He said briskly, coldly towards his blood mother. "Her people populated what is now Saskatchewan and Alberta, in exchange for these people and for his new born sons, Father recognized Ukraine as her own independent nation. She gave him two sons and a population to start with, and he gave her visibility. The same goes for New Brunswick, Germany held and had Father's child in exchange for trade (The name Brunswick is of Germanic descent, after all) and even Arthur had his own grandson to keep Father in line and give him a capital, that kid becoming Ontario. We're personifications, Uncle. Emotions don't have a place in our world." He said as they crossed a common area.
Normally, it would've freaked him out hearing that his boyfriend (Exboyfriend? He wasn't exactly sure on that front right now.) had birthed his own grandchild, but hearing that his brother created people by his own hands was just a tad more shocking. But a thought remained, if Matthew was so cold about relations like that, then what of that volatile woman he had planned to wed? "What about Belarus?" Saskatchewan seemed to stiffen at the name. "Your father likes Belarus, doesn't he?" He asked as they traveled up another set of stairs.
The teen nodded. "He loves her. But that's different. Both Belarus and Father don't have any reason to stay together, there is no spike in Belarusian immigrants to Canada or Canadian immigrants to Belarus, nor is there any new iron-working or lumber trade between them. If they were to marry, there would be no benefit or downside to the union; they would remain two distinct countries with no alliance, be it militaristic or political, between them."
"If they gain nothing and they lose nothing, then why bother?" Asked Alfred, seeing a scary half-smile, reminiscent of the one Saskatchewan's uncle usually wore.
"That is something I've been asking for a long time, Uncle." He turned, continuing down a short hall, the ceiling slanted slightly, a sign that made Alfred sure that this had to be the top floor, maybe an attic that was redone to fit a room, they stepped onto a little bridge that spanned a good ways across, about the width of a twin-baby stroller with railing on both sides, the rest of the floor gone so that Alfred could see the common area they had passed through, and a down a few more floors too.
He could see a little redheaded girl with her hair done up in two braids, dressed in a powder blue dress and a pair of working boots carried a bunch of potato's, leaning back to stare up at him. A boy came by, dressed in one of those ridiculous men-skirts Uncle Scotland always wore, speaking to her before looking up too. They must've been the two born of the two halves of a violin, he could see the resemblance. Then a kid, maybe six or so, came by, leaning on his Labrador retriever dog, looked up when he noticed the two redheads doing the same. A name was on the edge of his tongue, he remembered seeing somebody that looked like that kid, once at a World Meeting; a really good drinker, a funny and extremely nice guy.
"Ben…Ben-something…" Alfred stopped, biting the thumb of his glove. "Ben…Benjamin! Benjamin O'Reilly! Benji! I remember him! I haven't seen him since-"
"March 31, 1949?" Offered Saskatchewan, leaning on the railing and waving to his fellow provinces.
"Yeah…he went missing a few days after St. Patricks Day." He mused, remembering the happily drunk Newfoundlander when he had been full size.
"He joined the confederation, because the World War and the Depression got to be too much to handle on his own. Come now Uncle, Father isn't in a forgiving mood as of late." Sighed the teen, pulling Alfred's bomber jacket to follow down the rest of the walkway with strength not completely unlike Alfred's own.
They halted at the very end, where there was only a door and a wall; the walkway ended and became a whole floor again.
Saskatchewan knocked softly, the door opening with what sounded like a thunder clap in the silence. "Dad?" He asked warily, stepping into the room. "Dad, are you awake? Uncle Alfred is here…" he said quietly, peering into the room.
Inside was his dear father, laying in the large, double king sized bed that stood on an upraised platform, the foot of the bed was pointed to the east, where the sun set, where large, glass double doors led outside, to a veranda, where it would be a magnificent view of the lake and resort bellow, breakfast left on the bedside table just has it had been this morning when he had taken it there fresh. His father's heavy, plush comforter covering only bellow his knees, the rest of his body covered by the thin sheets. His pillows strewn about, and his hair nothing short of a mess atop his head. Kuma lying nearby curled against his bare back, sensing his master's displeasure and misery.
"I'm awake…" he managed, his voice worn with either tears or disuse, as turned in his bed, his bear falling into the warm gap that his masters' body created.
Alfred got closer, just noticing how his brother seemed to be a little…lifeless, defeated even. He looked up with bleary eyes, and rubbed at them, yawning and blinking, turning to his brother. "What're you doing here Al? Why did you come all this way?"
"Are you fucking insane?" Well…no points for subtlety but you got to admit, America gets his point across.
"What the fuck to you want…" his whispered groan went unnoticed as he was pulled from the warmth of his bed, more or less dragged out of his massive bed and forced into one of the nearby, plush chairs that adorned the room.
"Belarus? She's beyond crazy and she's Russia's little sister." Whatever dreams of sleep were shot clear out of the water at the mention of his beloved.
Matthew stood, getting right into Alfred's face and glaring with the absolute detest of a heart-broken man, a dark purple cloud covering his shoulders and head as he growled deep in his throat as his eyes glowed slightly. "Say one more word against her and die." He hissed darkly.
Alfred pulled back from the furious, violet-eyed Canadian as he sat back down and rested his blonde-head in his arms. "Why? Why her when somebody else could do you so much better." The next thing Alfred knew, he had the blunt-end of a lacrosse stick pointed at his throat.
Matthew closed his eyes, letting the equipment drop as he turned his back to his brother, instead of bashing a hand through America's skull; he opted for smashing a hole in the wall. "Why the hell does it matter to you…?" His voice carried as he pulled his dusty and slightly bleeding hand from the surface.
The blue-eyed one between them spoke. "Because I care for you, you're my brother…"
Oh hell, that wasn't a smart thing to do. Matthew raised his venom-violet eyes, his usually kind and gentle gaze turning to nothing short of absolute hatred as tears fell down the side of his identical face. "Like hell you care for me! You just don't like it that I'm doing something you don't like for once in my life! That I'm starting to move away from depending on you so much even though you make my life fucking miserable! You don't like the fact that I was happy without you! You don't want me to marry Belarus e…even though…" Matthew sobbed, falling to the floor as he held his head, gripping his blonde, wavy hair as he screamed. He put his forehead to the floor, clenching his eyes shut as a vision of the dangerous beauty crossed his mind. "Even though she was the best thing that ever happened to me…"
"…Matt?" Came the concerned, slightly scared sounding American.
"Damnit Al!" Shouted Matt in the strongest, loudest voice he'd ever heard from himself. This obviously startled Alfred enough to make him flinch. "You got what you wanted! When you and England started dating, even though he's the man that fucking raised you, I didn't say a goddamn thing! You know why? Because I was happy for you two! Why can't you be happy for me? Why can't you forget for one fucking second that Belarus is Russia's little sister? A-and now…now she's gone! Gone because Russia couldn't tell the difference between us and thought you were me! Russia won't stand anybody getting close to her! There's no way to contact her, to tell her that…that everything…" Matthew raised his tear-stained face to his brother's eyes, who seemed not at all moved by his brother's revelation.
"Alright." Came the simple sounding agreement, a smile on the American's face. "Then stop crying like a little bitch and let's get going."
"A…Al…?" Whispered Matthew, shock clear in his stare.
"Mattie, you love Belarus simply because you love her, there's nothing to gain and nothing to lose, nothing but your own happiness and sanity." America put a hand to his brother's shoulder. "So let's go prove you're insane and go get your Belarusian bride!"
Matthew couldn't help but smile.
Da~ Here you go! I'm sorry for the wait! Now...I have a little question for you...
One night, you were upstairs when you heard your mother yell from the kitchen: "Honey, can you come down for a minute?" and just as you were about to go, you hear your mother's voice from the bedroom: "Don't go downstairs, I heard it too!" What do you do?