Hey, it seems like I subconsciously really like writing stories with 13 chapters, because it's happened again. For this is the LAST chapter! *weeps* Well...probably.
JuniperGentle: *turns a rather embarassing red* Th-thanks!
If England's tendency to get distracted and let things burn is as common as I suspect it is, I'll bet the building contractors know England's kitchen back to front. And of course, that thought depends on whether the little mauve dragons are real or not! I don't trust your eyewitness account, you're English after all.
*has sudden mental image of England going around in a large eyepatch until his eyebrow grows back*
*squints suspiciously* Was that a significant pause there before the 'heroic'? You had another one earlier too, I remember! And suspicious coughing! I know how you sneaky English people work, you can't fool me. Hmph.
I was a bit worried because I wrote most of this in various states of sleep-deprivation, which makes me have mood swings, which has...mixed results.
P.S. That is a bit odd, isn't it? For me it has some connotations of badness, but mostly is just the meaning "very very much". Yet another strange twist of etymology, no?
P.P.S. Actually, I didn't even consider that! Perhaps it had its roots there *looks through correspondence* Yes, you said something like 'I wonder how he survived without [tea]...' And then in my response I mused about maple tea and sneaking supplies while pretending to paint nails and then had the crucial idea about America's snarky half-coffee trick. And after that I went into my Great Big Book of Story Ideas and started writing Idea #122, which then proceeded to take up quite a few pages with plans on how to make England crazy. I suspect this was all also helped by the underlying concept of Idea #116 (the incident where Germany cut off hair product shipments to France) from a few days earlier, which greygreenwolf inspired.
So, in conclusion, it's all your fault! So there.
Electric Plum: *chuckles* If I ever write humorous RussCan, I'll be sure to include that scene. Though since that is pretty dang unlikely, feel free to use it yourself ^^
Whoops! It's certainly fixed now! Thanks for pointing that out; I probably should have gotten some actual sleep before posting it ^^ Though if America eats burgers with poppy seeds, it would definitely explain some things about him...
*wakes up from sugar coma, gives shaky thumbs-up* Yah...creativity...woo... *passes out again* ;D
Poor guy. I don't think England would mind *cats* watching him, but fangirls with binoculars and nosebleeds at inappropriate times? Ugh!
yoong: Haha, America never had sanity to begin with, so he's safe ;D As far as I know, all those behaviors are pretty much typical of normal!America (my amusing mental image of him is with a tiny burger graveyard in his backyard, the way children do with their pet goldfish).
...but no, I don't want to know what happens when he's deprived of coffee, hamburgers, or worse, both. It's never good when a superpower gets the munchies O~O
imagination junkie: I'm so glad you think so! I still feel it's not as good as it could be *grumpgrumpgrump* but if y'all like it I can't throw /too/ much out, can I?
I can't wait either! 'Cause frankly I've got too many ideas right now to pick just one. Fortunately I have the whoooooole summer...
SakuraMoriChan: I always squee at USUK hints myself ^^ I really didn't have the heart to have a downer ending after all the horrible, traumatizing stuff England went through! Poor guy. And yeah, if anyone touched my pasta or dark chocolate (sometimes I eat them together!) they would very quickly know the meaning of true fear. And pain.
And now that's enough stalling - onto the actual omake! To make sure everyone's clear: if you see bolded writing throughout these, those are my comments.
PIRATETREE'S DARK OMAKE
Remember how England hunted that aurochs in the garden in DSM-Tea and 'ate well that night'…despite the fact that aurochs have been extinct in Britain since the Bronze Age? Well, PirateTree offered an awful, horrific, awesome suggestion for what he ended up eating. Remember, this did not actually happen! Perhaps in this fic's horror-genre twin, but not here.
…And don't cry.
It was late afternoon at England's garden, and not all was right with the world. The creature paused again, ears pricked. It had been a long time since it had needed to rely on instinct or be wary of danger, but something about the atmosphere seemed…off. It had the sensation it was being watched.
Eyes alert, it scrutinized its surroundings warily, muscles tensing in a way that reminded it unpleasantly of earlier times. A twig snapped, and it whirled to face its aggressor.
It blinked in surprise at what it saw. England? It relaxed, feeling rather silly about the paranoia that had so easily gripped it just a moment before. We haven't played this game in a while, have we? Very well, you can be It to start, and I'll—
It was cut off by a thud of impact in its side and, puzzled, it looked down to see a wooden shaft of an arrow protruding from its body, a thick line of gore already slipping down. A wave of dizziness at the sight of its own blood hit, sharp pain following close behind.
…England? it whispered, turning wide, shocked eyes to its friend.
And was faced with dispassionately focused green eyes and another arrow drawn.
What are you doing! it screamed, barely dodging in time.
England merely nocked another to his strangely-constructed bow. "You're only an animal, aurochs, and I'll never be one to call you a particularly bright one, but even you must have known not to eat my rosebushes. Nobody eats Albion's rosebushes."
What? I'm not an aurochs, England! Are you blind? I'm a— it gasped with pain as another arrow found its mark.
How could this be happening? England was its friend, a strange but kind nation who always had something tasty or at least well-meant on hand. What was this betrayal? And why?
It stood frozen in shock and indecision for a moment longer, and then as another arrowhead buried itself in its leg, surrendered itself to instinct, turned, and ran.
There was a terrible sense of wrongness in its situation, the lazy afternoon sun smiling down benignly and humanity bustling obliviously nearby. Surely there should be a pounding storm or something similarly ill-omened for something like this, the creature thought hysterically. It was being hunted by one it considered a friend, his mind twisted inexplicably, perhaps permanently by madness, its death nearer with every blood-soaked second.
An indeterminate amount of time it ran, growing weaker with every step, blood pouring down its sides and dripping to the ground. Reduced to an animal-like consciousness by pain and fear, it had only one word echoing through its mind as bloody foam dripped down its chin and its trembling legs staggered onward.
no no no no no
Mindless and weary, it wasn't until it was too late that it caught the light flashing off of golden hair again. A moment later it was wrestled to the ground, thudding with an impact that snapped impaled shafts and driving the heads ever-deeper into torn flesh.
Despite its panicked, adrenaline-fueled flails to get away, England easily held it down. His strength was not what it was in the heyday of his empire, but it was still ample enough to restrain his prey. As it frantically, futilely struggled, he reached in a pocket and withdrew an ancient flint knife that probably hadn't seen the light of day in millennia. England scrutinized the edge with a critical eye, testing it on his thumb before nodding with approval.
The creature sobbed with dread and pain. Please, England! Please don't do it, I don't know what's come over you to do something like this. Please, I'm begging you, don't kill me!
England paused, and the animal had a brief moment of hope that he had finally come to his senses. Its heart sank like a doomed ship when it was soon revealed that he was merely adjusting his grip on the old knife to a proper hold. He rolled his neck with a crackling of joints, raised his arm, and began to chop at his prey's own neck with swift, brutal blows.
"I always feel bad when I kill animals, you know," England said conversationally over the slick tearing of the other's flesh under his blade. "It's always been necessary for my continued survival as a person and a nation, but that doesn't mean I like it."
He sighed lightly and, sawing through twitching muscle now, raised his voice over the desperate gasps of the dying creature. "The hares especially…those bunnies are the worst, the absolute worst. They look at me like I'm betraying family when I'm doing it. And not with the usual betrayal I get into with Wales and Scotland and the Irelands, either." He absently rubbed at his cheek with the back of his hand, leaving a long streak of bright crimson.
The animal could feel its life-blood pouring into the dark earth of the garden, weakening further with every futile, pained pump of its heart. Time seemed to slow, its brain desperately clutching at every detail its dimming senses could feed it as if that could somehow delay the inevitable. Sobs of fear and grief shook it uncontrollably, a single crystal tear welling up before trickling slowly down its once-pristine cheek.
England shook his head sadly, sighing. "We all have to eat, aurochs. Circle of life and all that. And you were eating my rosebushes, after all. I thought I taught all the animals what a bad idea that was centuries ago!" He tsked disapprovingly.
"But don't worry," he said, patting the creature's shoulder comfortingly, "I'll do the appropriate rites."
As everything faded to grey and then black, the pain slipping away with the rest of the world, the last words the creature heard were "How well we'll eat tonight, won't we."
And with its last scrap of air, the unicorn could only let out a tortured, whispering scream through its severed trachea, the golden glow of its horn fading to empty, sick white.
…sweet pink fluffy unicorns, I am a terrible person.
Anyone catch the allusion to hare!England?
~o0O0o~
OBLIGATORY USUKUS OMAKE (because they're my OTP, y'know)
Okay, now we need something to cheer us up a bit. I know! Remember those photos Lithuania took?
America stared at the photograph before him, for once in his life speechless. It was only after incoherently opening and closing his mouth a few times that he finally managed to get out an intelligible sentence. "How'd you get him to smile like that?"
Lithuania smiled nervously, though with an underlying tone of victory. "He did it himself; he just appeared on Russia's doorstep with an armful of sunflowers and scones. He actually hugged him! I don't think anyone besides Ukraine or Belarus has ever—"
"Whoa, wait a minute. He gave Russia flowers? And baked his scones for him? And hugged him? England?
"Yes, you see England thought—"
"What the hell, England? Russia? Russia? The guy's completely unheroic! You can do way better than that!"
Lithuania opened his mouth to try again, then closed it with a sigh. What was the point, really? As America continued his argument with a nonexistent England, clutching the photo protectively to his chest, Lithuania walked away, rubbing his temples.
And that, class, is how the Cold War began.
~o0O0o~
SCONES OF DOOM OMAKE
If you'll recall when he visited Russia, England gave him sunflowers and a batch of scones, of which the latter was never mentioned again. If normal!England's scones are as bad as they are, what about crazy!England's? Sweet, sweet crack.
The doors to Estonia's room opened with a crash. Long used to these sorts of interruptions, he gently replaced the bookmark into his latest book's pages and turned to his diminutive invader.
"Yes, Latvia?" he sighed. "What is it this time?"
Latvia looked even more terrified than usual, if such a thing was possible. Well, where Russia's concerned, anything's possible, Estonia thought drily, adjusting his glasses.
Latvia seemed hesitant to start, wringing trembling hands and looking as though he might flee at any moment. "Um. How to start. Er. Okay, r- remember those scone things England gave us a few years back, d- during the Incident?"
Estonia swallowed. "Yes, of course I do. What about them?" he snapped, a little more forcefully than he intended.
Latvia was oblivious to it, staring glassily off into a distance that only his fearful eyes could see. "Afterward, Russia told me to get r- rid of them, right? So I threw them out. They ended up back in the kitchen…four times. So I put them in Russia's giant Ivan's Day bonfire. They didn't burn. I put them in a blender. The blades d- dulled, then the whole thing shattered. I got more desperate: I put them under my hat for when Russia did his little 'let's make Latvia shorter' party trick. I got a con- concussion, and the stupid things just grinned at me. Heck, I even made Belarus think they wanted to marry Russia, and they weren't even scratched afterward!" He shuddered. "So I put them in a separate section of the compost pile, in the hope t- time would win or at least they'd stop staring at me. And…" he began to fidget even worse than before, trembling so hard his outline actually blurred before Estonia's eyes.
"Then what happened?" Estonia asked, engrossed despite himself.
"Then…um…I sort of forgot about them," his voice dropped into a hushed, horrified whisper, "and at some point years later I- I- I SPREAD THEM ON RUSSIA'S SUNFLOWERS!" he screeched.
Estonia blinked, feeling a little let down by the anticlimactic pronouncement. But then again, that was Latvia for you. "So…?"
Latvia stared at him blankly. "So? So? They're coming for me now!" He reached forward and clutched Estonia's shirt in tight fists, shaking him desperately.
"Wait, who's coming for you? Russia? I don't understa—."
"THE SUNFLOWERS!"
Estonia opened his mouth. Estonia closed his mouth. "…what?"
Eyes darting wildly, Latvia began speaking very quickly, words spilling out of him in a terrified, breathless stream of near-incoherent babble. "Some of them exploded or turned funny colors or started giggling or acted like Spain and one actually grew little butterfly wings and flew away to who knows where that'll get a laugh for sure wherever it lands I bet and this was all really weird but not too crazy (I know Russia and Belarus after all) but some of them became sentient I think and they came after me and Ukraine while we were watering them with tea because we thought it might calm them down but it just seemed to wake them up more and they chased us and I think they caught Ukraine because after a while I stopped hearing the boinging sounds and there was this horrible dry rattling sound but I didn't dare look back and though Russia doesn't know about any of this yet I'm actually less scared of what he may do to me for ruining his sunflowers than I am of these things which is a realization more than a little scary in itself and what are we going to do Estonia we're all going to be turned into mulch!"
Silence settled between them as Latvia gasped for breath and Estonia tried to parse what the heck he had just said.
Silence that was then jumped and mugged in a back alley, beaten within an inch of its life with a crowbar, and warned never to try peacefully settling anywhere again; silence broken by what could have been the sound of rustling leaves, or the clicking of sunflower seeds, or the death-rattle of a doomed man.
The two nations slowly turned toward the door, one shaking so hard his scream came out like it went through whirring fan blades, one staring in dawning horror, only managing to shout one time-honored cry.
"LAAATVIIAAAA!"
And that, class, is how the end of the world began. Or the development of new Russian botanical shock troops, I'm not sure. Though that may be the same thing in the end!
Another cameo from our good friend silence! Poor thing gets broken all the time.
Actual facts time! Midsummer's Day (the summer solstice) is known, among other names, as Ivan's Day in Russia. Though a coincidence, this still amused me for reasons that should be easy to see. (Frankly, I'm amazed there isn't yet an Alfred day in the U.S.) This holiday is actually the most celebrated holiday in Latvia (where it is called Jāni) after Christmas.
Hey, if anyone caught the reference to The Tick, they win something awesome. Scout's honor!
~o0O0o~
CATZI'S OMAKE
It's not quite the same idea as the one you suggested, but this version just grabbed my imagination and ran away with it!
America was bored, and what's worse, he was bored in England's house, which had practically nothing that would distract him for long. Heck, the only reason England had even an iPod was because America sent one for him along with the Queen's. What an odd combination it was, too, with show tunes for the monarch, waltzes and punk rock for her nation.
Struck by an idea, he leapt to silent feet and padded down the hall. He peeked into the kitchen, where England was busy cursing lunch into a black, toxic mess. America would never admit it, but he sort of actually believed England's magic existed; he had actually eaten England's cuisine before, and there was no other way horrors of that magnitude could have been created without some sort of supernatural help. He knew, because he had tried, and then his best scientists had tried, and then Tony had tried and they all ended up with something very nasty but—critically—not nasty enough. As some dude in a funny hat once said, once you've gotten rid of all the impossible ideas and some of the stupid ones, whatever you've got left has got to be the truth, no matter how weird.
Speaking of weird…America grinned to himself as he considered his plan. No doubt before long England would find the house suspiciously quiet and come searching for him, but for a while yet America had some free time to snoop. Using his totally boss ninja skills, America slipped away and up the ancient stairs that would have creaked was it not for those selfsame totally boss ninja skills, up and up and up until he reached the attic.
He wandered around the large room, peering and prodding at things that probably shouldn't be peered at or prodded. Even if England liked to pretend to be stuffy and boring these days, no amount of embroidery and fussiness could hide his whole past. He kept plenty of mementos around the house, old man that he was, but the attic was where he stored all the stuff he didn't want everyone to see yet wanted to keep. That also just happened to be most of the freakiest, craziest, awesome-est stuff too. For reasons beyond America the other nation didn't show this stuff off; if he knew he had an actual Iron Maiden, he'd mount it in his front yard for the world to see, with spotlights and kickass heavy metal accompaniment.
His eye caught a flash of white behind an old suit of armor that America made a note to investigate further in the future, and he reached back to tug a sandwich board into the open. It was perfectly ordinary, the sort one would hang over their shoulders. But what it said wasn't perfectly ordinary at all.
He brushed dust off the surface and squinted to read the familiar, faded handwriting. "Will…whore…for tea? What…?"
"Er," said a voice from behind him, and he spun to see England, finger raised and mouth open as if interrupted in the opening salvo of a lecture. They stared at each other for a moment.
And then America burst into laughter. "AHAHAHAHA! I can not believe you, England, you have a sandwich board reading "Will Whore For Tea. HAHAHAHA!"
"It's- it's not mine!" he protested, flushing, eyes darting guiltily.
"Oh yes it is, this is your handwriting!" America could barely speak for laughter. "This is just so, so perfect! World War Two, right?"
"It's not mine, git! Put it back and go eat lunch!"
"Oh, no way man! Just wait 'til I show everyone!"
England glared, eyebrows furrowed dangerously. "You shall not do any such thing," he growled, fists clenching.
America, brash superpower that he was, was about to do it anyway when he paused. There was something in England's eyes, something strange and wild…
"…Did you have any tea in the past few hours?" he asked cautiously.
England tapped his chin in mock thought. "Hmm, I was very busy all morning keeping an annoying Yankee from making rocket ships out of my good china, so no, I don't quite recall the last time I had a cup. But." He absent-mindedly picked up a massive greatsword leaning against the wall, hefting it thoughtfully in one hand. He watched America for a moment impassively before a cheerful smile spread across his face. "But the real question is, my dear, dear America, are you feeling lucky?"
America swallowed dryly, eyes unable to decide on which was the greater danger to focus on, the gleam in England's eyes or the enormous sword. For the briefest moment he felt a chill of absolute fear roll down his spine.
And then like the rising sun over the mountains, like a trickster deity reincarnate, like a brave fool about to do a brilliantly stupid thing, he grinned broadly. "Of course I do, I'm the United States of Awesome! AHAHAHAHA!" And with that he grabbed the sandwich board and ran for his life.
And as the infuriated yells of "GET BACK HERE, GIT!" followed close behind, America laughed and laughed. What could he say? He loved to live dangerously.
*gigglegigglesnort*
The iPod: In April of 2009 the Obamas gave the Queen an iPod full of some of her favorite show tunes.
Iron Maiden: Though torture instruments of the Middle Ages were endlessly creative in the pursuit of pain, the Iron Maiden was actually a fiction created in the 19th century. America's heavy metal musical accompaniment would be, of course, Iron Maiden.
I have a good deal more omake ideas for this fic - many of which suggested by my awesome reviewers - but they're at the moment either too fragmented and incomplete or nothing more than a few words, so for now I'm marking this fic as complete. In the future, perhaps I'll add another Omake Par-tea chapter, but who can tell what the future will bring? Certainly not I.
I'd like to thank all of my lovely reviewers, whose kindness knows no bounds (and no, Electric Plum, I still have not thought of a good name for y'all). I would thank you all individually but then we'd run out of room for all the omake! And we can't have that.
I'd also like to thank my dashing idea-cohorts for this piece of insani-tea: my cunning partner-in-crime, JuniperGentle; my awesome idea-bouncer, PirateTree; my fountain of delicious crack, Lilyflower1987; and my Designated Foreign Person, greygreenwolf.
I wish I could thank you for each of the ideas and all the encouragement you all have given me, but there's just far, far too many to list here.
At any rate, I have thoroughly enjoyed planning and writing this fic, and I hope you have similarly enjoyed reading it! (and if you haven't you're a strange sort of masochist indeed to keep reading despite it ^^)
Tea and donutburgers,
~Punmaster Extraordinaire