Note # 1 — Thank you everyone. Your comments, favs, and likes keep my motivation levels at over 9000! I am also working on an update for "The Omega Fairy".

Note #2 — I had to split this chapter. Writing that long from Francis' POV tired me. More the bottom for why.

Said The Spider To The Fly

That year a wretched brute affronted beauty and love itself; he struck me in this perilously gorgeous face of mine. The angels wept. I had to be rushed to the hospital for emergency plastic surgery. And that wasn't the worst. Oh, no! I was forced — against my will — to wear a far too concealing hospital gown, one not a work of any acclaimed french designer. A truly dark time for me.

Upon my return to school, Ivan and my friends promised a delicious surprise.

In place of the wining and dining — possible foursome? — I had hoped for, they led the lovely me to a balcony, one that overlooked that vicious brute's locker.

Out slipped a red card — the first — when he opened it and I watched — I'm loathe to admit — with a tinge of sadistic glee as the students mobbed him and drove him out of Hetalia.

"A red card means rid Hetalia of the chosen worm," Ivan explained.

None of us were punished. All the students kept silent. As it did my ancestor, Napoleon Bonnaparte, this newfound power soon consumed us. We became four kings casting decrees from afar.

I fancied us musketeers, yet in truth we were tyrants. Nations unto ourselves.

—- Excerpt from "Memoir Of A Beautiful Man" by Francis Bonnaparte.

"Monsieur Braginski!" Francis's deep, velvety voice rang down the evening-lit hallway of the Pangea Building's top floor.

Although in a hurry, he walked at a languid pace for fear of causing himself to sweat. That would ruin his fantastic complexion, not to mention his Chanel-designed cerulean coat, a perfect match for his downturned eyes.

He paused before the oaken double doors of their hangout area — a room formerly for boring conferences — and tossed one side of his blue capelet over his shoulder and smoothed out a tiny wrinkle on crimson red pants.

A smack of balls hitting into each other came from inside, a sign that Antonio and Gilbert were playing pool again around the table at the room's center.

Grabbing the handles of the walnut doors, Francis threw them open and, with cleft chin lifted, strolled in, opening his arms wide, as he announced, "The ambassador of love and beauty has returned!"

Antonio and Gilbert glanced from their game with nothing more than mild curiosity. Gilbert stood on one side, rubbing a blue chalk square on the end of his cue stick.

Further past them, staring out the large windows on the opposite wall, stood Ivan, hands clasped and resting on the small of his back. The evening sun bathed him in gold hues.

Francis jabbed an accusing finger in Ivan's direction and called, "Tell the beautiful me, it's not true! That you did not yellow-card that plain boy who lacks taste!"

Ivan showed no reaction. Francis strode forward, the footsteps of his chestnut-brown boots muffled by the sea-green carpet. Francis gestured animatedly with his hands as he said, "So it's true! This is a disaster of titanic proportion! Have you lost your mind?"

"All right," Gilbert said, blowing off the excess chalk from the end of his cue stick. "What's the big deal about the bastard yellow-carding someone?"

Francis paused, eyeing their clothing. Why did know one listen to his advice? Yet again Gilbert had worn that horrid green military coat of his with all the buckles, worse it was open in the front to display his ratty white T-shirt with a Teutonic Cross print on the front. Antonio was only a little better in his mid-chest red jacket and black designer-cut jeans.

"Do you not understand? The plain boy is the American's friend!" Francis flourished his hand.

Antonio merely rolled his eyes. Gilbert shrugged and said, "So what? Who gives a shit if the American likes him. Relationship s are just a pain in the ass. Give me a quick fuck and then get the fuck out."

With that, Gilbert turned back to the game and leaned over the table, lining up his shot.

Francis gave a loud sniff. "Sex is meaningless without romance."

"Sex with my five meters is awesome, romance or not," Gilbert said over his shoulder.

Francis threw up his hands and walked until right behind Ivan. When Ivan continued to ignore him, he said, "Mon Lapin!" Ivan stiffened at hearing what Francis used to call him in primary school. Craning his head around to stare at Francis with eyes that were back to normal, Francis continued his rant. "Why did you do this? If you had only listened to me, the American would soon be falling into your arms. A man like him must be wined and dined and showered in affection. He will be angered by your attack on his plain friend."

Ivan smiled, a small giggle bubbling out of him. In a sickly-sweet tone, he said, "That's the idea."

There was a loud smack of balls running into each other and rolling around on the green velvet and the sound of a couple falling into pockets. Several curses in Spanish followed from Antonio while Gilbert bragged of his awesome skills.

"Wh-what?" Francis managed after a pause.

Ivan turned around and leaned his back against the glass. He waved a hand at the doors and said, "Any moment now he will burst in here, demanding I remove the yellow-card. And when he does, I will force him to confess his undying love for me."

Francis only gaped in horror. Finally, words came and he said softly, "Y-you cannot be serious! Love cannot be forced. I've told you that!"

Ivan's face darkened, his smile faltering. In a sour tone, he said, "Why does everyone keep saying that? I'm not forcing love. I'm forcing him to be honest about his love for me."

Francis smacked his palm against his forehead and then massaged the bridge of his nose. "Truly, mon lapin, you're mind works in diabolical ways."

Either ignoring the sarcasm or oblivious to it, Ivan said, "Thank you! My plan is brilliant. I left instructions earlier with certain students that a yellow card would appear today. When it did, they were to make sure my Sunflower heard. I knew he would rush to aid his little comrade," his lips twisted in disgust around that word, "and they would be driven here. Now he will have to approach me."

"I see," Francis said. "Best of luck with that."

Mentally exhausted from this, Francis walked over to his corner — each had personalized one in this room — and sat down in the cushioned seat of his rose pink vanity. He had better things to worry over, such as his hair and skin regiment.

As he moisturized and sprayed on Chanel No. 5 perfume, he glanced at Ivan in his mirror's reflection watching the man stare more and more impatiently at the door. Finally, Ivan began to pace.

After fifteen minutes, he said, "Where is he? He should be here by now."

"Maybe the asshole got lost," Gilbert teased.

"That is true!" Ivan said suddenly, causing the others to jump. He had a look of realization. "He is very simple-minded. He may not realize how to get upstairs." Francis laughed until he saw that Ivan was being serious. With a "I'm thirsty", Ivan headed for the door.

"Going to look for him?" Francis called, twisting around in his seat.

Ivan went stock-still and then turned, aura darkening. Francis regretted his teasing words and nearly fell out of his chair, backing away into his wardrobe as Ivan came over. Looming over him, Ivan said icily, "I am not approaching him. I only crave a liquid sustenance from the vending machine downstairs. That is all. I am not approaching him. Do you understand?"

"B-but of course, mon cheri," Francis stammered. "It is very dry in here. You only want a drink."

Ivan's bright, childish smile reappeared and he said cheerfully, "Glad you understand."

After he was gone, Francis sank back onto his chair, nervous he had sweated just then. He heard Antonio mutter, "He becomes mas loco every day," and Gilbert grunted an agreement.

"Who wouldn't go mad when they don't have this lovely countenance to admire every day." Francis winked and blew a kiss at his own reflection.

Thank God Alfred didn't have work today. He'd have missed his shift. He felt like Batman trapped in Arkham Asylum and all the inmates had been let out.

Toris and he were crouched on opposite sides of a classroom door on the third floor, ears pressed to the wall, listening. There was only silence outside.

"Are they gone?" he mouthed to Toris who was as caked in powder and drying egg yolk and eggshell fragments as Alfred was. He had no idea where the students go the eggs and flour from, but they had thrown them.

Toris leaned forward and carefully cracked open the door, sliding his small, square mirror through to check the hallways. He glanced at Alfred and whispered, "All clear."

"Thank God," Alfred breathed, relaxing against the cream-colored wall. Toris did the same.

Both of them stunk from the garbage cans that had been overturned on them. A splotch of ketchup from a used wrapper stained the stitched Hetalia logo on Alfred's uniform, along with numerous other stains from who knows what. It was going to be hell to clean himself up. He had no idea how he would explain this to Matthew without telling the truth. "Hey Mattie, funny story. I tripped and fell into a dumpster," did not seem like a plausible excuse.

"Ivan," he breathed, hands curling into his fists. Between their fleeing, hiding, and running, Toris had managed to explain that the yellow-card were 'warnings' sent by the Iron Quartet that meant the student body was to "bully" a student. The red card meant an "expulsion" from the school by the Iron Quartet.

It sounded so twisted to Alfred.

Ivan, Ivan, he thought. He had to find him. What more could the man do to Alfred?

"Do you think it's safe to leave?" Toris whispered nervously.

Alfred stood up, legs aching fro all the running. "You stay here. I'll find us a way out."

"B-But…"

"They're mainly after you. Remember?" Alfred said. "C'mon. I'll be back."

He tried to say that like the Terminator, yet Toris only looked mystified. So he gave a thumb's up and a grin.

Then Alfred opened the door and slid into the empty, darkened hallway, closing the door behind him. As he searched each of the staircases, he saw students waiting on the next floor down, as if guarding. That was curious.

Now that he thought about it, it had felt as though they were driven here.

When he found the emergency exit, he worried the alarm would sound when he pushed on the door. To his relief, it didn't. The metal door opened out onto the landing of an exterior screen stairway, wide enough for two people. It had a handrail enclosed in a wire screen.

The smell of fresh air felt so good.

No sooner had he stepped out and shut the door, than a high-pitched voice from above called, "Sunflower! What a coincidence? You felt like using the fire escape as well?"

He froze, right foot hovering above the first step and craned his head upwards. Through the steel-iron screen of the landing he saw Ivan staring down at him in a pleased way.

"I was thirsty," Ivan chimed, smiling brightly. "I in no way approached you!"

Alfred ground his teeth together, right hand balling into a fist. "You!" he snarled, seeing red. "This is your fault!"

He charged up the stairs and, as if believing Alfred would run into his hug, Ivan opened his arms wide.

TBC in… "Said The Spider To The Fly Pt. 2"

Next update includes a bonus "What's in Their Corner?"

Note #1 —

Am I alone in finding France difficult to write in a real world AU setting?

While he is a great side character, his character traits don't lend well to being deepened and explained. The more you try to explain why a man likes to brag of his "beauty", flash others, and cop a feel the weirder he becomes.

I feel Russia and England are much easier to work with. Both their traits (Russia's creepiness and England's inability to express his feelings right) can be painted as "social awkwardness". It makes sense that they are outcasts. Strangely, enough those same traits can make them as "feared leaders". And those traits work well for humor as well as sympathy.

They are natural "weirdos". Whereas Francis' traits, if painted realistically, should make him an "outcast" as well. Yet in Hetalia canon he is actually a very well like nation and one of the more socially outgoing.

It is hard to believe someone who actually behaved like France, no matter how good looking, would be very popular if put in a real world setting (like an AU).