Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: PeppermintTwertle, Ever Blazin, I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.
Warnings: crack, pure crack, swearing and France being France.
Chapter 35 - Paparazzi
Friday am
Prussia woke up with the largest hangover of his long life. He was laid under Austria's kitchen table, his tongue felt like he had been munching on the bottom of Gilbird's cage, he was, incomprehensibly, dressed in ballet tights, a tutu and had a very large felt hat on his head. His cheek was resting on something wet and sticky ... he hoped it was beer. Laid next to him – attired in a waiter's apron and very large boots, was Den.
Prussia sat up, banged his head on the underside of the table and swore he would never, ever go drinking with France again. Or, as France called it 'drinking and wenching'. However, to Prussia's dismay, he could not remember much 'wenching'.
He then realised why – he hadn't had the chance to do any – France fell out of the pantry with no less than four giggling girls. "Honhonhon! Oh yes, what a night!" the French Nation purred.
Prussia snarled at him, "Where the fucking 'ell did we end up? And how come you got all the girls?" he asked.
"Ah oui, Danmark was singing a song about invading Angleterre and re-taking Jorvik... and so we got thrown out of zat bar... but zees beautiful ladies came avec moi."
England sauntered in at that moment. For once in a good mood, having spent a more comfortable night than of late, wrapped in Belarus' arms. However, this good mood was shattered with the magic word 'Jorvik'.
"Jorvik? Jorvik? Bloody wankers... I was just a kid... I'll bloody kick Viking arses next time. Not bloody funny."
"Mon Angleterre..." France purred, trying to wrap his arm around England's shoulders, "You look tired, has Miss Belarus exhausted you?"
"Bugger off, bloody pervert," England said, feeling that he'd actually missed saying those words, but not having missed the wandering hands.
"Mein Gott! What a mess, you cannot leave this kitchen like this... who are these erm.. ladies?" Germany marched in, started to take over the making of breakfast, waved his hand around at the empty bottles of wine and beer, picked up a cloth and started to clean up.
"Bloody Germans..." England muttered, as he went out balancing two cups of tea.
"Bruder! You're Germany again..." Prussia exclaimed.
"Of course I'm Germany, dumpkomf... get yourself cleaned up, you look like a...a..." Germany gave up and started squirting cleaning fluid on the worktops, while bacon and sausages sizzled.
"Fucking 'ell, it's not fucking fair!" Prussia all but yelled, "I was going to be Germany. They asked me!" the Prussian said.
Germany looked his brother up and down and arched an eyebrow, "You're wearing a tutu and do you realise that you have a large penis drawn on your back?" Germany said with much disgust, "This is not appropriate for the representation of the great German Nation. You are a disgrace," he added.
Prussia pulled faces, "You can't say anything, you looked like an over-grown hippy yesterday and you were having a siesta!"
Germany, who was now attired in his usual formal three piece suit was utterly shocked, "I have never had a siesta in my life! Hippy?"
"Oui Monsieur Allemagne, you looked so cute in your ..." here France hesitated and said the ultimate insult, "... flowery blouse!" France honhoned and escorted his 'ladies' out of the kitchen.
"I have never worn a flowery blouse!" Germany yelled back, absolutely appalled at the idea.
"I bloody hope that little dozy Italian has photos..." Gilbert muttered. "Hey, Den... get up yer lazy sack, we've got a job to do!" he said, kicking his friend under the table.
"Job? Don't want a job..." Den dragged himself out from the under the table, rubbed his blond head, pulled out a wad of notes from somewhere Prussia preferred very much never to know about (he'd earned himself a lot of tips the night before as a naked waiter) and stole a sausage out of the frying pan.
"Ja, you're going to help me, dude..." Prussia muttered to him, pulling the big Dane to one side.
"I am?" Denmark mumbled as he stuffed a sausage into his mouth.
"Ja... you my friend..." Prussia winced as he saw the number of telephone numbers written in lipstick on his friend's broad chest. How come he didn't have any telephone numbers written on his chest? "...You are going to help me uncover that painting and reveal my identity as the great Nation of Prussia to the world... Kesesesese!"
However, his brother took note of his plans, shook his head and muttered, "We'll see about that."
Prussia's laugh was interrupted by Russia loping in, now with a jumper over his chest (Prussia didn't really want to see any more manly bare chests making his own look less than awesome). Russia snarled at the kesese, shoved Germany out of the way, grabbed some bread made a hasty bacon sandwich for Latvia, poured himself a coffee and loped back out.
"Well! Manners cost nothing!" Germany harrumphed, but decided not to argue and took his annoyance out on Prussia.
"Get some decent clothes on and make yourself useful and tell everyone to meet in the dining room. We need to get organised before this painting goes up for auction. We have less than..." Here the efficient German checked his watch, "...Two hours..."
To Germany's dismay it was an hour before the Nations were finally assembled in Austria's 'grand' dining room (said grand dining room had plaster hanging off the wall, a fire and water-damaged carpet and airbeds still scattered around).
Also several of the Nations were entwined with each other.
Belarus was sat on England's knee, her arms around his neck, which seemed to stop him for a time grumbling and moaning.
Latvia was sat on Russia's knee, his arms wrapped around her waist, his face snuffling her hair.
Belgium was sat next to America, and although not on his knee, they were holding hands under the table.
Poland was sat on Lithuania's knee and lastly, Italy not to be outdone was trying to get on Germany's knee but kept getting pushed off.
Germany did not feel that it was conducive to being a leader having a love-struck Italian sat on your knee. He took charge, seeing as everyone else was too busy 'being silly' (his words) to take anything seriously.
"I vill take charge. I am the only one not with their head in the clouds..." Germany began, pushing Italy off his lap.
Estonia stuck his hand up, "What about me...?" he asked. However, as he had lost France's sexiness and natural charisma and so nobody listened to him. He sighed, sat back down and got out his briefcase.
France sauntered in just as Germany began again, "Honhon, did you miss me, mes amies..." he stopped ultra dramatically at the sight of the number of Nations hugging and kissing each other, "Ah l'amour..." he all but sang and twirled around, "Zis is fantastique! You have all embraced passion... Ah zis is wonderful..."
"Shut up and sit down!" Germany yelled.
"Apart from you, Allemagne... eet iz sad..." France said, producing a rose from behind his ear and plonking himself down next to Denmark – who was thankfully now dressed and trying and unsuccessfully, to hug Estonia.
In fact the only Nation not present, who should have been (apart from Spain whose whereabouts will be explained shortly) was Prussia.
In fact, Prussia had been told to 'stay out of it and he would not in any way shape or form be helping them get this painting back' after Germany had heard him telling 'dude Den' that he was going to reveal his Nation status to the world's media.
So, Prussia had took himself upstairs with a cunning plan in mind. Prussia wasn't allowed to go to the auction house wasn't he? No? Well... we'll see about that...
Toys R Us
"I'm afraid that you cannot return this erm... product, Sir."
"And why not?"
"Because it doesn't appear to have a barcode..."
Spain sat on the counter with his guitar singing a sad Spanish lament about the tomato harvest failing or something or perhaps about some pretty Italian girl who would not go out with him. Whatever it was it had gained an audience.
"But all it does is sing in Spanish. I assumed it would at least have come with instructions..." the Austrian man complained. He ignored his wife and children who were all adamant that they wanted to keep the 'toy'. Particularly his wife, who he had caught dancing a very slow and sensuous tango with the 'toy'.
Back at Austria's mansion
The phone had rung and Lithuania had answered it, muttering that 'he was the only one who did anything around here'. It had been Hungary telling them that Austria was over the worst. She would be staying with him in hospital and to send some clothes across with someone sensible (this flummoxed Lithuania – there was really only him and Estonia who could be described as 'sensible'). Also Switzerland was still on the ward, his medication had worn off and he was having psychiatric tests done on him for delusional and possibly paranoid behaviour. Hungary seemed to find this entertaining.
Lily was staying at the hospital with her and from what Lithuania could determine, a proper mother-daughter reunion was taking place. This was probably the only good thing to have come out of this whole awful mess, Lithuania wisely thought.
"We go to this auction house, I will inform my security services to clear the cameras and journalists and between us and our respective Governments' budgets we will buy this painting," Germany told them all.
"Who the bloody hell put you in charge?" England said, as he gently lifted Belarus off his lap.
"Hell yeah, man!" America yelled, letting go of Belgium's hand. However, it was testament to just how serious he thought their relationship was as he handed her his light-sabre, "What about the giant robots, man?"
England shook his head, "No Alfred..."
America ignored England, Germany sat down in disgust. Having come up with the only sensible plan, he was being ignored.
"Right who's with me? Poland, dude? What're you going to do?"
"Well, dearie... I need to get some new eyeshadow and perhaps later I'll get my nails done..."
"You bloody started all this!" England remonstrated.
America did not think that new eyeshadow and false nails would get them the painting back but moved on around the table, "Dude Den... what are you going to do, what's your take on this? Are you with me, man?"
Den scratched his head, he was wearing a bizarre combination of spare jeans he'd borrowed from America and a spare tweed jacket from Arthur, together with a candy pink t-shirt borrowed from Poland that was too tight on him, "I was going to get some more beer," he said slowly.
America sighed and turned to the one person he knew he could count on to 'kick some shit up'. "Russia, my main man... what're you going to do?"
Russia contemplated this question in all seriousness and then chirruped rather menacingly, "I'm going to do fighting!"
"Hell yeah!"
In a bathroom upstairs, Prussia contemplated the mess he had made. He knew Austria, when he finally returned home, would be extremely angry, but this was all for a better cause. He then contemplated his reflection in the mirror. The results weren't bad, not as good as they should have been... rather frightening actually, but they would pass muster. He knew his fellow Nations would not be fooled, but it might just get him past the security...
Vienna Auction House
Germany's sensible plan appeared to be working. Together, the Austrian and German security services cleared the news media and television cameras – all of whom were made to stand outside the building, around which a cordon was erected.
Germany had also told the security services chiefs that Prussia was on no account to be let in, as it was feared he would attempt to reveal the painting to the world.
Poland was giving interviews to the assembled press as Lucinda Lovelace, telling them that a sequel to 'Love and Bullets' would be out soon. Lithuania stood nervously at his side.
The female Nations had been left back at the mansion with all intentions of going to visit Hungary and take her spare sets of clothes, some girly magazines and plenty of gossip.
Inside the auction house, Russia, America (still grumbling that he wasn't allowed to bring a tank), England, France (who had been forced there by England 'It's your bloody fault we're in this mess, so you can bloody well spend your expenses on something useful instead of women...' he'd told Francis), Germany, Italy and Den were sat on the front row of seats.
Estonia sidled in at the back, watching the proceedings with an interested eye. There should be plenty of millionaires here today, he thought.
Germany turned to his fellow Nations, "Leave the bidding to me... I have been assured by my Government that they will pay and then claim recompense from all of you..."
"I'm not on it... why does my Government have to pay for it? Arty, this could be the end of my MacDonalds account..." America all but wailed.
"Shut up, you idiot. If this painting gets out then we're all in trouble," England muttered.
"Why am I not on it?" Russia complained, "I was a world power..."
"No you weren't..." somebody said, but quietly.
Russia growled and looked around, "Well, I wasn't as big then as I am now..."
"Honhonhon..." France giggled.
There was a shush as the auctioneer took the stand. "Ladies and gentlemen and erm..." the man hesitated.
He spied Denmark waving a rubber axe in the air, Russia trying to reach across England and America to punch France; and Germany pretending he wasn't in any way shape or form with the imbeciles next to him – particularly the sleepy-eyed man leaning on his shoulder snoozing quietly.
"Yes, well... My name is Mortimer Goth and I am the auctioneer today. We present for you the lost masterpiece by Leonardo da Vinci... The Nations... painted in 1516 it has been authenticated by the best art experts in the world as a true da Vinci..."
A large easel was carried in, a cloth was removed and the painting was revealed.
Russia almost fell off his chair in surprise. Even Den looked up.
England tutted when he saw an almost exact replica of his face staring back at him – dead and lifeless and covered in blood.
America yelled, "Yeah, man!" and was shushed by England.
Germany shook his head in disapproval and glared at France.
"The bidding starts at..."
The next events happened actually quite slowly – but as England explained to Belarus later, it was evident what was going to happen, it was inevitable and reminded England of a Laurel and Hardy film... However, he never thought the day would be saved by none other than that 'hooligan' Prussia.
A very odd looking individual came out from behind the scenes. With strangely un-natural black hair, spectacles perched on his nose through which said person peered, and wearing a velvet waistcoat, velvet pants, a cravat with egg stains down it and just to complete the 'disguise', a mole drawn roughly on the wrong side of his cheek in black crayon.
Den frowned, lifted an arm pointed, dropped it again and then lifted it again, "Dude Austria's okay!" he said.
England looked up from shoving France's hand away from his pants, Russia had picked himself off the floor, America had stopped trying to get his pistol out of his pants to 'take out the security' so that he could be the hero, Germany shushed Den irritably, Italy slept on.
"That's not..." England began.
"Nein, it's not..." Germany agreed.
"Honhonhon... but he looks gorgeous, oh yes!" France exclaimed.
"Wait, guys, I'm going to..." America began to take his gun out.
"Wut?" Russia said, several beats behind everybody else.
Den leapt to his feet as he realised what was happening, "Cool, man! Awesome! You dressed as specs dude..." He flung himself across the room, slamming into the fake aristocrat, "Dude, you're hilarious... that's how you got past the security! It's just like Scooby Doo..." Den yelled, utterly delighted.
The combined force of a five foot ten, muscly Viking fuelled on several bottles of Carlsberg beer, hitting Prussia (for it was he) at a speed of several knots as said Viking attempted to hug him, forced Gilbert forward. He tried to stop himself, tried to shout out his practised speech for the world... but found he couldn't for once in his long awesome life say anything as he slammed forward and his head shot straight through the 400+ year old canvas which ripped from one end to the other.
The masterpiece of art was now in tatters a gaping hole stood in for where the great Nation of Le France should have been standing over the bodies of his enemies. Only Gilbert's face and the two Italies painted as cherubs pointing arrows at him.
"Fucking 'ell!" Gilbert moaned.
There was stunned silence.
"...50...erm..." Mortimer Goth paused in his bidding, completely stunned. No-one moved.
A solitary hand went up at the back of the room, "50 dollars!" came a confident voice.
The silence continued.
"Sold to the man in the glasses at the back of the room..." the Auctioneer announced.
Author's Notes:
Jorvik – the old Viking name for York
If anyone can guess where I got the name 'Mortimer Goth' I will be very impressed and will send you a virtual internet cookie
Can anyone guess who bought the painting?
Next Chapter will be the last and then an epilogue.