Acknowledgements: Thank you to Blackdevil Nightheart, Mely-Val, IrishMaid, B-The-Geek, Pedro-IS-Madi12, Percabeth is Awsome, cullinane, Go LilixIcy, Missmanda, Einsam-Schatten,, Becky 999, Kate Marley, Typewriting Fangirl, fishstick1999, Envie Rouge, Laughinthefaceofdanger, Missflutterpie, abbydobbie, saraholly, Draskar, julyza, Deefangirl, Pandoala, Hintori-time, Senor Tree, Wandering Authoress for the reviews, PMs, faves and alerts and of course all my other readers. (If I've missed anyone please tell me.)
White Wedding
Chapter 10
The German Embassy staff watched in utter amazement as their Nation was hustled into a helicopter by a large blond Russian who was wearing ridiculously short trousers and by the new tea lady, a Scottish transvestite who went by the name 'Dorothy'. They had no idea their Nation was so interesting.
"This is not going to work. I told you. They have been arrested and quite rightly, for an act of terrorism," Germany told Russia and Scotland. Again. For the twentieth time.
"We don't care. You will use your influence to get them out of jail," Russia told him as he strapped himself and Russi-cat into the front seat of the helicopter next to the pilot who looked at him in stricken fear.
"You can't just requisition one of my Government's helicopters!" Germany exclaimed.
Russia nodded at the helicopter pilot - who looked very scared.
Scotland clutched at the tea urn, which he'd inexplicably brought with him. "I dinnae like heights," he told Germany next to him.
"Do not take off," Germany told the helicopter pilot.
The helicopter began to rise. Clearly, the pilot was way more scared of the big Russian with the piece of plumbing than he was interested in taking orders from Germany.
"Do not, under any circumstances, leave this heli-pad," Germany said.
The helicopter rose higher and higher over London and began to gain height.
"I wish I'd brought those kitkats," Scotland said.
"Do not leave London," Germany ordered. "Turn back right now!" he said ineffectually as the helicopter began to head out of London and over the docklands.
Germany slumped back in his seat as the helicopter followed the River Thames out into the English Channel.
"Head towards Paris," Russia told the man.
"Nein! We are not going to Paris!" Germany said, suddenly sitting up, with a final attempt at order.
"Da, you are right, Germany. We should go straight to Calais. That is where they will be."
"I don't like heights," Scotland said again, his face white.
Russia turned to look at him. "I thought your country was all mountains?"
"It is! How do you know that?"
"You told me at least one hundred times."
"It disnae count being on top of a mountain," Scotland said.
"You should count sheep," Russia said inexplicably.
"That's for insomnia," Germany said.
"Nyet, you are wrong, for insomnia you drink vodka," Russia said.
"Or read War and Peace," Germany said, bravely.
Luckily, Russia wasn't listening. He was gazing out of the window in fascination, his mouth agape as they began to fly over the English Channel.
Scotland clung to Germany, his tweed skirt riding up over white hairy thighs (he wore no tights or stockings), "I dinnae like these heli-things. Do ye know how many of these hellish contraptions have crashed this year?" he told the German.
Germany tried to inch away from him but he was trapped by the confines of the 'contraption'.
"413!" Scotland told him.
"413 what?" Russia asked, turned round to look at them.
"413 helicopter crashes last year and that includes all the ones that nearly crashed."
"That makes no sense," Germany said.
"They just need more vodka," Russia said, making no sense whatsoever.
Germany had to ask, despite his own sensibilities, "Who needs more vodka?" he asked.
"Everyone who crashes!" Russia answered and shook his head as if this was perfectly logical.
Germany began to slowly bash his head against the window.
At Doverham Primary School, things were not looking very good.
The Viking longboat was in its element now as the sports hall was awash with several thousand gallons of water that were gushing from the ceiling.
Prussia and Denmark high-fived each other.
"And they said I couldn't hold down a job!" Denmark said.
"Who did?" Prussia said, aghast.
"Fin and Sue."
"Kesese!" Prussia laughed as he waved a large piece of plumbing around. "I can see now why fat Russkie likes to mess with plumbing. Who'd have thought it would be so much fun?"
"You are both sacked!" came a voice.
"Aw man! I only had this job for a day!" Denmark said. He sounded utterly distraught.
"Half a day," Prussia corrected as he watched the children floating around the hall on a mix of wooden benches and gym mats. It was his finest hour - at least this century.
"Get out of my school!" the headteacher yelled at them, "I'm complaining about you to the teaching supply agency."
"Aw no!" Denmark exclaimed.
"Idiot. We weren't the real teachers anyway, yer big loon," Prussia said, trying to shove the big Dane out of the school.
"It's the only job I've ever had," Denmark said ruefully.
"And we didn't even get paid…" Prussia said sadly.
"Now what?" Denmark said, equally sadly. Neither had any money nor any means whatsoever of getting back to the hotel.
They stood outside the school gates looking at one another. There was the familiar sound of sirens - that seemed to follow them wherever they went. It was starting to rain. Again. Neither relished hitchhiking, or reverse calling the hotel to get one of the other Nations to pick them up.
Prussia frowned, pulled Denmark with him down the road before the 'fuzz' as he called the English police could catch them and then saw their salvation.
Across the road was a parked car, emblazoned across it in red letters were the words 'Doverham Driving School - Pass 1st Time!'.
"Come on, dude Den, got an idea," Prussia said.
Denmark saw where they were heading, "But I passed my driving test in 1954."
"Yeah, how that happened, I don't know…" Prussia said, pulling Denmark along with him.
The driving instructor was at that moment underneath the car checking something. A hapless-looking 17 year old in a death metal t-shirt stood alongside.
"Get in the car," Prussia said.
The teenager and Denmark both got in the car. The latter climbed into the back, the former into the driving seat.
"Not you!" Prussia said.
They both tried to get out, but the driving instructor under the car realised something was very wrong and began to get up so Prussia jumped into the passenger seat and yelled at the teenager, "Drive!"
"Erm… I don't… I'm not… I haven't…"
Prussia leaned across, turned the key, released the handbrake and yelled at the poor teenager, "It's the pedal on the right that makes it go!"
And so began the strangest of driving lessons…
In a Calais jail (Russia was right), the 'terrorists' were arguing amongst themselves.
"You had no bloody right kidnapping me! I'm supposed to be getting married today, you scoundrel. What will my beloved say when I'm not bloody there?" England was shouting at France and trying to throttle him at the same time.
"I argh…didn't… argh… it was… argh… not… supposed to… argh…" France gargled and spluttered and struggled to get out of England's grip.
England had the worst hangover he had ever had in his long thousand year life. He felt as if his eyes had been poked with red hot needles, his tongue was as furry as Scotland's sporran and his head felt as if Prussia and Denmark had taken up residence in there. To top it all, even his teeth hurt.
As he strangled France, Austria, who was beyond the end of his tether (he was so far past his tether it was lost to sight) was being jerked up and down as England shook France.
"Will you stop this, you complete morons?" Austria yelled. "This is reprehensible!"
"Oui Angleterre! Zink of Roderich…argh…!"
"You complete and utter waste of breath!" England yelled at him - which was odd really as France could no longer breath and was now turning a delicate shade of blue.
"Monsieur Angleterre! I think you should stop strangling France…" Pierre began to say.
"Why?" England said, his face very red.
"Well.. He is my Nation and I will be sacked if he dies on my watch," Pierre said, lamely.
England paused. He'd always felt a bit sorry for Pierre. The poor man had been 21 when England had first met him, he was now 41 but looked 141. He was on countless anti-anxiety and high blood pressure pills and was on first-name terms with Special Branch, the UK Diplomatic Service and London Metropolitan Police. His predecessor had retired early with various medals of honour and was living in an undisclosed location still receiving therapy.
England dropped France to the floor with regret. "I'm letting him live just for you, Pierre."
Pierre gave a sigh of relief - at least his pension was safe. "Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Angleterre, you are truly a gentleman."
"Yes, well… of course I am…" England said.
"He's a disgrace! You all are! I will be writing to my lawyer to instruct him to sue you all for compensation," Austria yelled.
"Well it's hardly been a picnic for me either!" England retorted.
"What about me? I didn't ask to be kidnapped and my van stolen and now I'm implicated in a robbery and a hijacking," the postman said.
"Who are you?" England asked.
America snored on, the sleep of the ignorant.
Over at the hotel…
Ukraine, Estonia, Poland and a snivelling Italy were looking at the remnants of Belarus' wedding dress.
"Not my fault! Not my fault! Not my fault!" Italy chanted, running up and down, waving his arms around.
Nobody was listening.
"She is going to go nuts," Ukraine said, looking at the dress.
"I think this is beyond even my fabulous needlework skills, honey," Poland said, one manicured hand on his hip. He shook his head, "It was an awful dress anyway."
"Yes, but she liked it," Katya said defensively.
"Well, she has no taste," Poland countered.
"This is getting us nowhere. I think I have an idea… if we cut out this bit and this bit…" Estonia began marking with his biro parts of the dress.
"What are you doing? Don't you think it looks bad enough as it is?" Ukraine said.
"Obviously he doesn't," Poland smirked.
"We just need some material to patch it up," Estonia explained.
"Where on earth from? Do you see a curtain shop around here?" Poland said sarcastically.
Estonia nodded at Poland, "Good idea… curtains…" he then saw Katya's face. "No, not curtains…" he said. "I have an idea…" he then left the room abruptly.
"Well, I think Estonia is living in dreamland if he thinks this is salvagable," Poland said.
"He'll do it. If anyone can save a dress, it's him," Ukraine said with a sigh.
Poland shook his head. He didn't frankly think that the geeky Baltic would be any good at saving a wedding dress. But as this whole day was going to turn into one big gossip-storm that should keep them going for years - and that was just if the groom did turn up - he didn't really care.
"Come on, Pol, let's go and do Natty's make-up and hair. That will take her mind off everything and she might even forget she has a dress."
"Oh honey, I think we're going to really need my wizardry with this."
The two Nations swept out of the room. Ukraine then re-opened the door, said to Italy, "Feliciano sweetie, will you please stop crying?" and then closed the door again.
"Si!" Italy said, happily, to an empty room.
"I need your silk," Estonia said to China.
"My silk?" China replied to Estonia's shoes. That was all he could see of him as he was stood on his head in the garden. (China was stood on his head, not Estonia.)
Estonia nodded. Then realised that China couldn't see his nod, so bent down to look at the Chinaman. "I know you have some silk with you. I know that you are an illegal smuggler…"
"Importer! I prefer to use the word importer!" China said and toppled over. "You made me lose my balance. I was doing the reverse upside down crouching tiger."
"Listen, we have a tiger in there who will start ripping everyone to pieces unless we can repair her dress."
China bounced to his feet and faced Estonia, "I do not have to listen to you, Estonia. You are just a little inconsequential Nation… I was old long before you were a glint in your mother's eye… What does it matter to me if Arthur and the Belarussian's wedding does not go ahead?" China said all this with a hand on his hip.
Estonia sighed. What was it with these old, crotchety Nations and all this 'I'm older than you' rubbish. "It matters because Russia," he said with finality.
"Because Russia?"
"If you think he is a pain now…"
"He is not! He has not bothered me for a long time! Not since he figured out that little Latvia was that little sniper from the war."
"How do you know about that?" Estonia said.
"I know everything… well okay… he told me over a few vodkas and cried on my shoulder," China shrugged.
"I can make your life very awkward. The boss can make your life very awkward. I can make sure he visits you every weekend for the next thousand years."
"You wouldn't…" China frowned.
"Wouldn't I?"
"Would you?"
"Care to take the chance?"
"No."
Estonia smiled.
"THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!" Belarus shrieked.
"Yes dear it is…" Ukraine said, trying to get her to sit still so she could apply the make-up.
Belarus broke down into tears. "I don't think Arthur loves me…" she sobbed.
"Of course he does, why wouldn't he?" her sister said nervously.
Poland was about to add something but was silenced with a 'look'.
"I don't know… I mean… I know I'm beautiful and pretty and brave and I'm a good cook aren't I sestra?" Belarus began.
"Yes… it's just nerves…" Ukraine said, trying to soothe her sister and apply mascara at the same time.
The mascara wand was swept out of her hand by Belarus who waved her hand in the air (probably for the best as Belarus burst into fresh tears).
"Hormones," Poland said.
"Hmm…" Katya was just relieved that nobody had let slip to Belarus that the groom was nowhere to be found.
"I'M NOT HORMONAL!" Belarus yelled and then flung herself on the bed.
"Bridezilla…" Poland said. He was loving this. He couldn't wait until they got to the church and found England not there…
"Shut up Pol, just bloody help me," Katya hissed.
"Well honey, it's going to take some work but let's see what I can do," Poland answered. He then rolled up his sleeves, tucked his hair back and pulled out a huge workman-like bag. It was actually his Avon Lady bag containing over 100 lipsticks of different hues, every eyeshadow shade known to man (or woman), mascara, foundation creams and powders, curling tongs, hairspray, hairbrushes, combs… He then pulled on a pair of latex gloves and advanced upon Belarus brandishing a pair of eyelash curlers.
Next Chapter...
Will Arthur get to the church on time?
Will Prussia and Denmark find their true vocation?
Will Germany ever finish his paperwork?
Will Scotland find his kilt?
All this and less in the next chapter.