"It's gonna be fun, 'cuz I ain't never been on a plane before!" Maribel's tellin' her doll. "And I'll take care of you, too! Daddy says yer ears might pop, but that's alright, 'cuz I got my own pack of chewin' gum to make it better with, and I'll give you some if you promise not to swallow it!"
I just sigh. I've been standin' here for half an hour while they search all the other people before us. I ain't never been good at standin' still, so I'm sorta rockin' on my feet, shiftin' from one to the other, and even tried spinnin' around at one point. Eventally, Alfred shows up and says he's got a private flight arranged for all us national delegates, as this ain't goin' nowhere fast, and we should just all go and sit and wait for it.
Ugh.
That would be just as bad as standin' in line, but then someone asks me,
"Hey, can I sit next to you?" which distracts me, and I look up.
His hair is like mine, with the bit down his nose, but it's messy. It's mostly a dirt-brown, but has streaks of all colors in it. He's got lavender eyes, like Alfred's brother's, and he's real pale, like he ain't in the sun much, really close to how Arthur's skin is. What really shocks me, though, is what he's wearin'.
This brown-haired man is wearin' a sorta fluffy pink dress, with a blue open jacket coverin' his shoulders. This is an alright outfit, not horrible in any way, just, it's a girl's outfit on a man. Not really gettin' an answer from me as I try to process his bizzare appearance, he just stands there.
"Er, I mean, who are you?!" I manage to get out. He blinks and then answers.
"I'm Jacob. Jacob Jones. I represent the American Midwest. May I sit with you, Southerner?" at first I'm wonderin' how on earth he figures I'm Southern, but then I realize I have that thick accent I always have, and pretty much anyone who's native-born to here knows what region it comes from. I try to remember where the Midwest is, but come up blank. I think it's North somewhere.
"Why're you wearin' that outfit, and around kids, too, Jacob Jones?" I ask him instead of admittin' I don't know where he's from.
"There's not really anything wrong with a boy wanting to wear traditionally 'girl's' clothes, right?"
"It's disturbin'." I say.
"Well that's your problem. Now, may I sit, or are you just going to argue with me?" he smiles brightly at me and then plops himself down when I motion to the chair next to me.
"So, I know you're southern, but are you and Al the only other ones?" he asks me.
"There's Alfred. He's the main one. The rest of us I think are just split-off from him. 'Cept me. I'm my own nation." I say, lookin' down at my phone. 12:33 PM, twenty minutes to our flight bein' in, accordin' to Alfred. Twenty minutes to be stuck talkin' to this strange man in a dress.
"Lemme guess... You're... Hmm... Nation that's made of southerners..." he thinks really hard about it, like he really don't know. I sigh loudly and make sure my Southern Pride T-shirt is very obvious to help him. I don't like it when people don't know nothin' about my home. Eventually, his eyes do land on the shirt, and then he huffs.
"Oh, you side with those awful intolerant confederates... and you were cute, too!" he pouts. Then he grins, "Wait! You must be the one that was made when the Civil War happened! The Confederate States!"
I'm still tryin' to recover from that 'you were cute, too' comment, my face all hot from the disgust of it, but I manage to nod. When I've recovered more, I look at Jacob Jones kinda suspiciously.
"Hey, how'd you know Al before Alfred, anyway?"
"Well, all us 2p nations have to stick together, don'tcha know?"
"You're 2p?" I ask. Accordin' to Alfred, the 2ps are a result of Arthur messin' up a magical spell of his that either created them or merged the universes we both inhabited, dependin' on who you're talkin' to, that bein' Oliver or Arthur. I dunno about that, but I know I ain't seemed to have a 2p self before now, but Jacob seems to be opposite enough to me...
"Yeah! Wait... Al and Alfred are 2p and 1p... do ya think you and me are too?" he asks.
"I really hope not as that'd make me related to you and yer stupid crossdressin'." I say. Just then, Alfred shows up.
"Hey, who's the new guy?" he asks.
"Jacob Jones, 2p crossdresser and a pain in the ass." I say.
"No, I'm not a pain! I'm the American Midwest." he says, grinnin' at Alfred.
"Sheesh, how many of me are there?" Alfred asks.
"There's you, me, Al and the confederate!" Jacob says. Alfred looks at me as if expectin' me to say something to that. When I don't he just asks,
"He called you a confederate. Doesn't that offend you like literally everything else in existence?"
"Ain't no reason to be offended. He's right." I answer. "And anyway you act like I'm easily offended."
I dunno why, but after I say that, Alfred just shakes his head and Nat sittin' on my other side makes this sort of snortin' sound, like she's tryin' not to laugh.
"Well I'm not." I say, crossin' my arms.
"Okay. I'll get you a shirt to wear to your next NRA protest that says 'don't worry, I'm not easily offended' and we'll see if WalMart lets you stay longer." Alfred says.
"I feel like yer tryin' to make fun of me."
"Oh wow," Jacob says, "he's on to you! Better be careful, Alfie!"
"And that's scar-casm." I say, glarin' at both of 'em. Jacob just starts laughin'. I hear Nat sigh and then get up.
"South, the word is 'sar-casm.'" Alfred says. Again with the 'South' business.
"That's another thing, Alfred! You know my real name, so why not use it?" I ask him.
"'Cuz it feels weird. You're kinda a part of me I kinda wanna forget happened... I mean..." he does the thing where he scratches the back of his head, "That came off sounding kinda mean, didn't it? Sorry..."
"I understand. You don't want me to exist, but I do anyway, so you think by ignorin' the problem it'll go away, right?" I say, crossin' my arms again.
"Well, I mean, when you put it that way..."
"Well, I'm stuck with you, 'cuz I ain't got a whole other country to run off to. I could jus' ignore you, but where'd that git me, huh? You think I wanna be ruled by some idiot yankee government? If it were up to me, I'd still be my own nation, and I know we'd do it damn better'n you! Yer glorious yankee democracy is collapsin' on itself, and I seem to be the only one who kin see it!" I shout at him, gettin' up and stompin' off, not even carin' about the chair I knocked over on my way.
I end up sittin' at an airport diner, playin' with a fork and some ice water, as I'm too poor to afford anything else, as usual.
"Would you like to finish up this tea, sir? My shift ends in a few moments and I need the pot to be fresh." the waitress asks me. "It's free." she adds as I start to look like I ain't gonna take it.
"If you put ice in it and lemme at them sugar packets with it too, we got a deal." I say.
"Alright. Here." she says, pushin' the button on the ice machine. It sputters and crackles and pours ice into the mostly-empty pitcher. She sets the pitcher in front of me, along with the sugar packets.
"Never did understand people who like iced tea." she says as way of conversation.
"Never did understand them that don't." I say back, the irritation in my voice really showin'.
"Huh, you sound cheerful. What happened? Find out your girl's cheatin' on you?" she asks of me.
"Nah. Nat'd never do that." I say.
"I'd find it pretty easy to cheat on a confederate sympathizer." she says, indicatin' my shirt. "But I guess racism and intolerance just isn't my thing."
"I don't care 'bout none of that." I say, rippin' one of the packets to put into the pitcher, "I just wanna show my pride fer the place I was born and raised." I stir it around with the fork and taste a bit. Yuck, not nearly sweet enough yet. I tear open three more packets. "My... I 'spose... brothers... they don't think it's right, but I guess how it is is, I know the south ain't done good things, I know it... but I love it anyway, y'know? Like a kid that's grown up to be a dumbass deadbeat. You're that kid's mama, you ain't gonna love him less, jus' 'cuz he's made awful stupid choices in his life. That's how I feel."
"I suppose there is something to be said for aknowledging your ancestors, even if they're awful." she agrees. Just then, Al comes runnin' up.
"Hey, J.G., come on, Alfred says we gotta-" he stops and smirks as he sees the waitress, "heeyy good lookin'... you ever screwed a guy with a pierced d*ck before?"
"Oh please." she sighs. "I, as a forty-year-old married woman, have a habit of not screwing little boys, pierced or not." Al looks like he's gonna say somethin' else to that, but I interrupt.
"Thanks for the sweet tea, ma'am." I say, then grab Al's arm and drag him away. Once we're a good distance, I grab him by the front of his stupid punk-rock-band shirt. "Yer an idiot, y'know? A stupid, perverted idiot!"
"Glad to see your vocabulary's gotten better since the last time I saw you." he says.
"Just shut yer mouth and tell me where we're goin'. And don't git distracted by any more..." it occurs to me, as the young lady about my age wearin' the croptop and the tight, high-up shorts walks by, that it's been a while since Nat and I had some fun. I shake the thought out of my head real fast. Ain't no way I'm gonna cheat on her. I ain't that kind of guy. I feel bad for just thinkin' of it now. I stick my hands in my pockets for a moment and come up with some little squishy-ball-thing Nat gave me to combat my fidgetin', back when we were sittin' and waitin' for the plane. I put it back. I dunno how bored I'll be on this fight, so I'd best keep everything I got.
I've lost Al again while I was distracted, so I look around for him. He's over at the girl I was lookin' at and chattin' with her. Now she's gettin' close to him and blushin'. Now they're kissin'. Now he's got his hand on her breast... In public. Yuck. He must've gotten her to come with him somewhere, 'cuz they're leavin' now, and I follow. They go into some door, and I just sit on the nearby bench, thinkin' on how some people are just so disgustin' I can't even stand 'em.
Soon, Al and his apparently new girlfriend leave wherever they were, him adjustin' his belt and her fixin' her hair.
"Wow, Alphonse... I never knew it would feel that good to do a guy who's pierced!" she breathes, just as they get into my range of hearin'. I make a face like that comment's makin' me feel sick.
"I never knew a cute little thing like you could know how to do all that." Al says back. I squish the urge to make a loud gaggin' sound. Al hands the girl her cell phone back. "Here, I put my number in there... next time you're in New York, call me!"
"Oh I will..." she says, "and if you're ever transferred to John Motson High in Austin, let me know!" Al blinks.
"Wait, how old are you again?"
"I'm fifteen, a sophomore." she says. "We came here for our band trip!"
This time I actually do gag, and Al's face looks bright red. Dear God, to think a teenage girl made me consider cheatin' on my wife... I don't even care what Al's thinkin', I'm more horrified at the way this girl looks. If Maribel ever tried to go out, on a school trip no less, lookin' like that... Ugh! The girl herself just looks confused.
"What's wrong, Alphonse?" she asks. "How old are you? Oh God, are you like, some creepy thirty-year-old?!"
"N-no, not that" Al manages out. "You're just... I'm like, nineteen..."
"Ugh, you pedo!" she yelps in disgust, runnin' off. Al looks to me for help. I just shrug.
"She ain't wrong, pedo."
He whacks me on the shoulder, smirk in place.
"Shuddup. Come on, Alfred's gonna throw a fit if we're any later."
I think I might be growin' kinda fond of Al and his rough, perverted ways.
"There you two are!" Alfred says, but his grin says he ain't mad. As we get onto the plane, he pulls me to the side.
"Look, you're right... my ignoring that you exist, and that your people probably always will isn't right... I guess I should just accept that you're gonna be here, and try to get to know you. What do you think of that, J.G.?" I smile at him.
"Y'know, one thing I've been told a million times is I hold grudges too long, but with you, Alfred, it's near impossible to stay mad. Come'ere." and with a back-pattin' hug exchanged, Alfred and I are now on good terms, and probably will be as long as we both exist, I hope. The nation may be on the edge of splittin' up again, and I'd be one of the first Southern boys out there fightin' if it did, but for now, I'm alright with where we're at.
The jet is luxury, with us nations getting free reign. I find this out when Arthur, stinkin' of alcohol and a bottle in hand slings his arm around me and laughs, slurrin',
"This plane's rea' good, innit? 'S got booze'n eve'thin'!"
"Yeah. It's nice." I agree, tryin' to push him away.
"'Ey, 'ey, you ain't gettin' rid 'o me tha' easy, Alfie-baby!" he giggles, huggin' me closer.
"I'm J.G., Arthur." I say, tryin' to push him off again.
"Like bleedin' 'ell you are, Alfie! Quit tryin'a fool me jus' 'coz you don' wan' me!" at this point he starts cryin' into my shoulder, whimperin', "Why don' you wan' me?" I pat him on the head in what I hope is a comfortin' manner.
"I like you fine, Arthur, just, please leggo..."
"Mmm, no." he says, nuzzlin' on my neck, which I can tolerate, until he starts kissin' me there. Then I shove him down.
"Arthur!" I yelp, my voice crackin' and my face hot. He staggers to his feet, a sort of gleam in his eye.
"Ah, playin' 'ard to get, are we? Well I'll play wi' you awright..." he pushes me against the wall and pulls my shirt up and he's kissin' me and lickin' me and I scream,
"ARTHUR, GIT OFFA ME!" loud as I can and it seems like no one's heard me as his hands go to my belt buckle and he's murmerin' into my neck,
"Shh, Alfie 's not gonna 'urt you, not mushh..."
And then I've had more'n enough and haul back and punch him hard as I can. He goes down, and I take off, and end up back in my seat, breathin' hard. Nat comes back soon after, lookin' funny at me and holdin' some kinda clear stuff in little bottles which I drink two of, findin' that they're vodka. I don't mind. I need somethin' to calm down, after all.
Honestly, I prob'ly should get used to male nations thinkin' I'm attractive given the current record with 'em, but the very thought makes my stomach crawl. I drink another one of the mini-vodka bottles and sink into my seat.
A/N: Introducing 2p!J.G.! He's super progressive and always into new trends, and also is very Midwestern because the Midwest is like the opposite side of the country from the South. He's also what me and my friends have grown to call a "business 'murican."