France hurtled through the crowded streets of the summertime Nihonbashi neighborhood of Chūō, Tokyo, Japan. Though he had run only a short while away from the park by the Narita International Airport, the distance seemed even smaller than it really was; that mochi, though he would never admit it, scared him. It scared him very much, because it not only had it THREATENED HIM, but it also looked almost eerily reminiscent of early colonial America...albeit as a cute-looking rice cake, but still! The cowlick that refused to lie flat, those big, wondering blue eyes, that sweet smile and that voice, oh that voice...! It HAD to be America's younger self as a rice cake, as crazy as it sounded. It really couldn't be anyone else.
But was this the actual America, or was it something else? Had the irritable tea-sucker gone and tried to do "magic", as he claimed that he could? And if so, had it actually worked and turned a certain fast food-loving nation to turn into a tiny living blob? Or was it a potion, or perhaps he'd eaten some of England's cooking? Or maybe it was a government scientific experiment gone wrong, or-?
WHAM! The fates (and the fae perhaps) were not being kind to the self-proclaimed 'king of l'amour' today, as they seemed intent on making France's beloved face collide rather painfully with all manners of hard things: in this particular case, the silver-white head of a certain Albino with an 'awesomeness' complex.
"Ouch! Arschloch, what the hell, man!", came the angered tones of the person France had accidently crashed into. France himself, who was on the ground and mourning the damage to his face for the second time that day, perked up immediately upon hearing the voice of one of his best friends.
"Prussia, mon ami, how good to see you!", he exclaimed happily, quickly jumping up from the ground and trying to grab his fellow Bad Touch Trio member in a hug. Sidestepping the perverted nation out of long-standing habit, Prussia smirked slightly as his friend grasped only empty air. "So, Francy-pants, what's got you so excited, hmm? I haven't seen you this hyped up since you saw all those pretty little 'Witch Blade' cosplayers back in that convention Japan invited us to..." Rolling his eyes at his friend's crudeness (this was not the time for reminiscing, it was the time for action!), France grabbed Prussia by the arms and marched him into a nearby sushi-bar, ordering a platter of tuna rolls.
When the food arrived a few moments later, Prussia, after devouring both his share (and half of France's for good measure), asked through a mouthful of wasabi-spattered roll, "Not that I don't appreciate the free food and all, but really, what's got you all worked up? Something happen I didn't get the memo for, like free beer handouts or my bruder West finally admitting that he's got a crush on Italy that's even bigger than my awesome 5 meters?"
France sighed; his friend was fun and good company, but he had absolutely no sense of decorum, or for that matter, when to swallow when eating. Rubbing the bridge of his nose in slight frustration, he took a deep breath to calm himself; he hadn't known Prussia all these years without learning how to translate the albino's ramblings, whether they were muffled by food or not.
Turning around in his seat, France grabbed his friend by the shoulders, looked right into his ruby gaze, and exclaimed dramatically, "It's Anglettere. He has..." A moment of silence ensued as the wavy-haired nation trailed off. "What? He has WHAT, France? A huge case of beer, a map to buried treasure, freakin' magic carpet? C'mon, TELL me, dammit!", Prussia hissed furiously. After a few seconds, France's infamous 'I-know-something-you-don't' smirk materialized into place as he leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, "...a PLUSHIE. A little stuffed blob that looks like one of Japan's 'mochi' things. And of Amerique, no less..." As the albino nation's mind processed this new information, a smirk began forming on his own face. "So, England's got a little stuffed toy of America, huh? Well, isn't that just SO cute...and it makes some damn good blackmail, too. Spain'll die from laughter when he hears about THIS..."
The rest of the bar patrons hurriedly ate their sushi and tried to move away from the two crazed nations as quietly as possible; it was clear that some of these foreigners were too strange to deal with...and they'd even emptied out the sake supply.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE NEARBY AREA~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gilbird, unlike his master, was currently having a rather unawesome time. The day had started out fine, with a breakfast of a big bowl of mixed seeds and some fresh water with a hint of orange (Prussia would only let his pet have food and drink worthy of his 'awesomeness'), and then a nice nap on his master's head to sleep the food off. Later on, he would wake up and fly around his master's head as they walked around the districts of Tokyo, with Prussia hitting on women (usually getting his face hit in turn) and buying delicious fried street food, like balls of fresh deep-fried octopus, or salted rice balls with wasabi bits stuck in, or sushi wrapped up in rolls of crispy baked seaweed with sesame seeds (Gilbird particularly like these). This had gone on for several hours, and Gilbird had been enjoying another nice nap on top of soft, silvery-white locks, when France had shown up and proceeded to crash right into Prussia. Though Prussia hadn't noticed (being too preoccupied with swearing at France), Gilbird had fallen off his head due to the force of the impact. The perverted nation's babblings hadn't endeared him to the now-grumpy bird in the slightest either, and then his master went into a sushi-bar and talked to France without even noticing that the awesome Gilbird had fallen off his head!
'Stupid master', Gilbird chirruped angrily. 'If the silly pervert guy wants to talk to him, fine, but that SO doesn't give him the right to knock me off my throne!' (Yes, Gilbird thinks of Prussia's hair as his throne (and a day-nest), because he spends so much time in it). Huffing slightly, the little yellow bird got up off the sidewalk it had fallen on, checked over its wings to ensure flight capabilities, and then took off into the sky.
Flying about in little loop-de-loops, twirls, sharp dives, turns, and barrel rolls soon took Gilbird's mind off the problem with his master, and the avian soon devoted himself completely to the delight of zooming through the sky at the speed of bird-driven 'awesome'. However, as several hours had passed since he had last eaten, the little bird found himself hungry. Circling around as he cast his gaze about for food, Gilbird's sharp eyes suddenly spotted a small, somewhat secluded bench between two sakura trees...a bench upon which there was a man (who Gilbird remembered from his time with Prussia was a rather grumpy ex-pirate named England) holding a small blob of something...'FOOD!', the tiny bird thought.
With a chirruped battle cry for courage, he dove downwards towards his target.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~WARNING: INCOMING AWESOMENESS DETECTED!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
England was sitting on the bench again, Alfie leaning back against his chest as the two gazed at the sakura petals slowly floating away in the warm summer breeze. Every so often, the mochi would let out a soft giggle, as a stray petal fell down and landed on it, causing the curious rice cake to huff and puff at the petal in a determined effort to help it follow the other petals flying away.
The peace of the afternoon was once again shattered, this time by the sudden incoming yellow 'bullet' hurtling towards Alfie at breakneck speed. England, who had spent so much unwilling time with the Bad Touch Trio, recognized the tell-tale 'PIYO!' and swung his hand out, uttering a quick "Protego!" A shield burst into existence, shimmering a silvery-blue in the air. Both nation and mochi braced for impact; a few seconds later, Gilbird, who was speeding forwards so fast that he didn't see the shield until it was too late, slammed into the shield's domed surface with a muffled gonging noise, uttering a soft "Piyo.." before falling to the ground in defeat.
"What... is that? Is that a bird? Is it dead?", Alfie asked curiously. "Yes, it's a bird, Prussia's pet, to be exact," England responded as he knelt down beside the dazed avian. "His name is Gilbird, and no, he's not dead. He'd be twitching in post-mortem spasms if he was." Upon catching sight of his friend's inquisitive gaze, England explained, "If he was dead, he'd be twitching." The mochi nodded in understanding. "Hmm, no wonder he looks different, he's not a seagull then..."
The sandy-blonde raised an eyebrow questioningly; Alfie replied, "When I went to the city where that big store Japan got me from was, I came in on a seagull." "A...seagull?", England haltingly asked. The mochi nodded again. Deciding not to question this apparent transportation method (as it would most likely drive him mad), England instead turned his attention from the mochi in his arms to the still fallen Gilbird.
After he'd persuaded Alfie to get back into the satchel so he could carry Gilbird safely, he looked the bird in question over for a moment. Gently slipping his left hand underneath Gilbird, England gently nudged the little avian into his palm with his right hand and stood up. Brushing grains of sand from his knees, he walked quickly threw away the leftover trash from lunch earlier, before walking out the park.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
England had managed to get directions from the park to the hotel he'd booked for the duration of the meeting, and soon checked in. Having carefully hidden Gilbird in the satchel with Alfie (the quilt-nest really came in handy now, as it successfully cushioned both bird and mochi and hid them from view if someone looked in the satchel), he thanked the desk clerk before heading towards his rented "room"-a modestly-sized capsule space provided by this particular type of hotel (for both convenience and quick booking, England would occasionally rent a room at a "capsule hotel" when going to meetings in Japan's country).
After slipping inside the small chamber and shutting the curtain over the fiberglass door, England knelt down inside the tiny space and unclasped the satchel flaps, allowing him to look inside and see that not only had Gilbird fallen asleep after its rather harrowing ordeal, but was also snuggled up against an equally conked out Alfie. Between the two tiny forms cuddling up in the quilt bunches, there was a soft, oddly rhythmic chorus of "piyo..", soft snores, and murmurs of "hmmmm...food...".
Chuckling softly to himself, England curled up beside the satchel and settled himself down for a short nap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MEANWHILE, WITH PRUSSIA AND FRANCE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"OH MEIN GOTT, WHERE'S GILBIRD!"
"Oh, merde, Prussia, you lost him...!"
