Chapter 13: Sand Is The Herpes Of The Natural World
"Sponges grow in the ocean. That just kills me. I wonder how much deeper the ocean would be if that didn't happen." - Steven Wright
America was, for all her epic blonde-ness, an incredibly intelligent woman.
Just ask her genetically engineered velociraptor.
There were moments where she could just swoop in and take charge of a situation, coming up with the best course of action for whatever was going down around her and getting her allies out of some pretty deep shit.
She could handle electrically-charged jumper cables like they were nun-chucks, effectively making her enemies poop themselves in fear.
And let's not forget, she knew both the president song and the element song by fucking HEART.
Yes, there were times when no one could disagree with America's intelligence.
This was not one of those times.
"America-san! Where have all of your clothes gone!?" Screamed Japan upon seeing America walk out of the womens' changing room with significantly less clothing on then when she went in.
America gave him a look. "Dude. Kiku. Chillax! It's called a bikini! It's what all the chicks at my place wear to the beach!"
Japan paled. He himself was wearing a short sleeve jumper and long pants, effectively covering all of his "nudy bits" as America would have called them. He was, in truth, horrified by the idea of an entire beach filled with beautiful women all wearing what America was wearing currently. Not because he swung for the other team, as many a fanfiction would suggest, but because he knew that he wouldn't be able to control himself and would undoubtedly attempt to dress all of them up in semi-pornographic cosplay.
It wouldn't be pretty.
The island nation was about to say something back to America, when from the locker room behind her emerged three of her fellow female nations, all dressed in similar fashion.
Hungary, Belarus, and Ukraine, each well-endowed in their own way, wearing very cute bikinis.
Japan had to get the fuck out of dodge before his nose could go all "the elevator scene from The Shining."
America frowned in confusion as she watched the asian nation retreat. "Huh. I wonder what's up with Japan? He was just fine a second ago."
Belarus crossed her arms and made an annoyed frown. "It does not matter." She said in her usual surly fashion. "I though you dragged us to this godforsaken beach in order to have some... what did you call it? Fun?"
America laughed and slung an arm around the shorter girl's shoulders. "Yup! Speaking of fun, lets go have some before the boys ruin it with their constant bitching! C'mon!" Hungary and Ukraine cheered. Belarus's scowl lessened a fraction.
Elsewhere, a dozen very hot, very BOTHERED male nations were acting like idiots. So, like usual, but on a beach.
Remember the whole America can be a total idiot thing?
This was it.
It had been America's FANTASTIC idea to relieve some of the ever-present tension of her fellow nations by taking them all on an all-expenses-paid vacation to sunny California, where the sun was always shining, there was plenty of sand to run around on, and there was enough water for everyone to try and drown everyone without getting caught.
Fun.
Currently, the guys were all having a competition to see who could dig a hole to China fastest, China himself sitting off to the side screaming "You assholes aru!"
America sighed when she saw this. At least it was better than them trying to physically harm one another.
"Hey, Amelia!"
America turned her head to the voice and upon finding its owner smiled widely. All of the girl nations other than her locker-room crew were gathered under a large umbrella a little ways down the beach, Liechtenstein waving them over enthusiastically.
It was a well-known fact that the girls had a sort of secret club thing going on, one that none of the guys could understand. Unlike their male counterparts, they didn't fight like rabid dingos every chance they got, and actually enjoyed each other's company and just hanging out.
You know, girly shit.
"Hey, Lili!" America called back, running over to the others while simultaneously screaming "bay watch moment!" "How's my favorite pajama-lover?"
Lili smiled and blushed. "I-I am very well. Thank you for asking." Beside her, Belgium was playing with a passed-out Vietnam's hair, Taiwan blowing bubbles in her iced tea and giggling at nothing. Hungary and the rest set their towels down on the sand and joined them.
"Fuck, it's hot," said Belarus, fanning her face with her hand.
"Why thank you." Said America, puffing out her chest. "It's nice to know you think I'm hot, Nat." Said Nat shot her a withering look but said nothing, as that would require energy. "Now then, we're all here so let's get down to business. Who's going swimming with me? C'mon, don't be shy! Who wants a dolphin ride from this sexy beast?"
"What's a dolphin ride?" Said Taiwan.
"It's magical, that's what it is." Replied America, putting her hands on her hips. "Now enough talk. The ocean calls to me." And with that, she leaned down and picked up both Liechtenstein and Belarus in either arm, and then proceeded to book it towards the water like something was chasing her.
Both captured girls screamed indignantly, but were quickly silenced upon receiving a face-full of salty ocean water. America laughed and jumped into the waves after them, easily dodging the knife thrown at her face by Belarus. "Let's play, ladies!" She cried, and splashed her friends merrily. At first, it was annoying, and Belarus found herself wanting nothing more than to bitch slap the girl and go home. But as she was tackled into the shallows by a "girly bro-hug", she found her irritation beginning to lessen. This was always the case with America. The girl's actions caused even Belarus to momentarily lose her totally goth outlook on life and smirk.
All for that girl, Amelia F. Jones.
If it were anyone else throwing her into the sea, they would be on their way to the hospital by now.
If it were anyone else urging her to be social and love life, they would have one less organ in their body right now.
If it were anyone else beginning to love her brother... well...
We all know how that song and dance goes.
But it was Amelia. And as the girl danced like a fairy in the salty ocean spray, Belarus reaffirmed her belief that that was what made all the difference.
How did Belarus, the ice-queen of the world. know this?
Well, that too is a story for another day.
Belarus was blown out of her reverie by the familiar terrified screaming of her so-called allies. America too looked up from her play, only to see France, Prussia, and Spain, buck-naked, sprinting down the beach in pursuit of a squealing Latvia. They were screaming something along the lines of "clothes are for people who hate babies" or something like that.
America sighed.
Time to reign in the fun before someone got arrested.
She exited the water and walked up to where the Bad-Touch-Trio had the trembling Latvian pinned against a palm tree. She cleared her throat, and watched with amusement as three semi-guilty-but-mostly-scared old men turned to face her.
"Now," she began in her best "Imma scold you" voice. "What is the proper beach behavior?"
Three relpiles: "No groping, no teasing, no running without clothes on."
"Good." Said America with a sickly sweet smile. "And how many of those rules have you listened to in the last thirty seconds?"
"None."
"Good! And do you remember what I said I would do if I ever caught any of you disobeying my rules?"
All three men paled. Even Latvia, who wasn't even in trouble, paled.
They all nodded, not wanting to say it out loud lest it become real.
"That's right. Now, I've got my riding crop back on the bus, and I've made sure to remember all of my polka CDs. So. Are we going to behave ourselves?"
Three frantic nods. Four if you count Latvia.
"Good. Now, begone. Switzerland looks lonely, go ask him to build a sandcastle and try not to get shot. And put some goddamn clothes on! This is not a European beach!"
From behind her, America heard a very distinct, very italian, "Fuck!" followed by hurried footsteps in the direction of the boy's locker room.
Prussia, Spain, and France nodded again, and then took off to find their clothes. America sighed heavily and crossed her arms. Maybe the whole beach thing was not such a good idea. She had sand in places she didn't even remember she HAD! And she didn't even want to KNOW why Russia had constructed what appeared to be a military base out of sand and was throwing dates at people.
God, these nations today.
"Hey there, Sheila!" Came a very friendly call from behind her. America turned, and her mood was instantly lifted to see her step-brother Australia standing there, holding two surfboards one under each arm.
"Aussie! My man!" America said, rushing up to him and hugging him around the neck. She eyes the boards with interest. "Are those what I think they're for?"
"They ain't for chasing dingos, that's for sure." Australia said with a grin. "Whaddya say, ya wanna catch a few o' them beauties out there or what?" He offered her a board, green eyes twinkling with mischief. America seized it and placed her hand on her hip with a smirk.
"Lead the way, Joey," she said. "I'm right behind ya, mate!"
The Aussie smirked, and together they raced towards the water, the waves like sirens begging to be ridden. They hit the ocean like sharks, cutting through the spray with practiced ease that would have made an olympic swimmer jealous. They swam until they were a couple hundred yards out, far enough that everyone could observe their awesome but still come rescue them if they were drowning.
Before they knew it, the first wave was upon them.
America cut through it like butter, coming out on the other side and waiting with her back turned and her belly flat on the board. When the next wave hit, she pushed herself up and balanced on the board with arms outstretched, just letting it carry her wherever it wanted to go. She loved surfing. She just felt so much closer to nature, to her roots, than if she were running or driving. It was a great feeling, one that she and Australia could only share with each other, being the only two nations who surfed out of all of them.
When the wave was done, America immediately paddled back out to catch the next one, watching as Australia cut and twisted with his wave in a very artistic and show-offy fashion.
They spent hours like this, riding the waves, seeing who could stay upright longest, making obscene hand gestures to the people on the shore.
At last, the surf went flat, and the two paddled in to shore only to be greeted with the sight of a full-scale sandcastle based war, with food as the weapons and the smaller nations as foot soldiers.
It was to make up for the World War Three that didn't happen, but secretly, everyone knew that it should.
America was too tired to do anything about it, and so sighed and offered to buy Australia a beer. He agreed without hesitation, and together they, along with the girl nations who were far to intelligent to get involved, watched as the war drew out, casualties were called, and eventually Britain and Russia were the only ones standing. And we all know who was going to win in a hand to hand struggle between a limy magician and a six-foot yeti-man.
It was Russia. And Britain was embarrassed. Sexually.
All in all, America thought that the day was a win. The nations had resolved their differences in a semi-constructive way, and nobody died or got a sexually transmitted disease, so yeah.
Win.
Everyone was too tired to fight after all that, and so they had no choice but to sit together and watch as the sun set over the California coast, the curve of the world still visible, even after the light had faded and the stars had come out.
Chapter Next: If You're Mad At Something, Smash It With An Axe. That Usually Works.