Aaand, right on schedule, it's part two! This one had a pretty big revision, which you'll notice if you've read the original version. My original mentality was "I need to put every cool idea into this chapter", but I realized that there were some parts that halted the story for no reason, and they needed to be cut. Let me know what you think of this one! Oh, and vegans beware- there's brief mentions of very much not vegan food in the midway point of this chapter, which might repulse even people who aren't vegan.
Chapter 10: Being Tormented; Part 2
"SO!"
A sudden *clap* made me flinch and turn around. One of the second players was strolling towards me, his voice far too casual for the situation. "This is the famous 'Author'; hero of the Cult of Veneziano and slayer of Onis..." He stopped in front of me. "…I'm not impressed."
Man, he's tall, I thought.
He wore a dark brown uniform with a variety of tassels hanging from his belt and hat. His big magenta eyes locked onto mine, but I was staring at his red hair, at the familiar hair curl that stuck off of the left side.
Without thinking, I grabbed his hand and shook it politely. "Hi-I'm-The-Author-it's-nice-to-meet-you."
He blinked at me, obviously not expecting that. His smile was quick to reappear, though, and he returned the handshake. He then turned to the others. "The ragazza says it's nice to meet us, compagni."
Some of the second players chuckled quietly, eyes never leaving me. He returned his gaze to me. "I suppose we should introduce ourselves, si? Seeing as we've never properly met." He gave a slight bow, never letting go of my hand. "I am Veneziano. Piacere di conoscerti."
"…Just Veneziano?" I asked. "No other name…?"
He lifted his head and set his jaw. "If you're asking me for a 'human' name, you won't get one. When we were in the mansion, we didn't have that pathetic little 'alliance' of 'friendship' that your countries had. We are our nations, and we will stick by that." He seemed to be challenging me to challenge him. I would not.
It then occurred to me that things would not be all business handshakes and small talk forever. The way Materna had phrased her "deal" with the second players made it seem like I was in serious trouble. With so few options, there had to be a way to switch the situation to my favor, at least until I could make a break for it.
He smirked at me—as if he knew that my mental gears were grinding— before turning to face his "compagni". I followed his gaze, and just as I thought, they were all very tall. I was of average height, at least by American standards, and if my head only came up to Veneziano's chest, then he must have easily been near seven feet tall. Most of the others seemed to sit pretty over seven feet, though one of them in the back looked like he could be eight feet tall.
"Vieni, compagni," Veneziano addressed the group. "Come shake the ragazza's hand."
A few people groaned in annoyance. I wasn't sure if I should have been relieved or offended. "They don't have to if they don't—" Veneziano's grip tightened on my hand and I shut up.
"Come shake the ragazza's hand," he repeated, more like an order than a request.
Going down the conga-line, I guess, I thought as I prepared to go through a lot of hand shaking.
I nearly fell over in surprise as someone took up my line of vision and grabbed my hand. This man was about as tall as Veneziano, with a similar build and a hair curl on the right side of his head, just with more pink, blonde, and sky blue. He was looking at me as if I were… actually, I wasn't sure. He seemed excited, though.
"CIAO, BELLA!" He yelled, right in my face.
"…Hi?" I squeaked.
"Che bello conoscerti! Sono Romano, Veneziano's fratello maggiore! Sei carino, lo sai?"
"…Scusi?" I asked as politely as my limited Italian knew how.
Close enough, it seemed. He grinned and shook my hand rapidly. "I said, 'it's nice to meet you! I'm Romano, Veneziano's older brother! You're cute, you know?'"
I blinked at this onslaught of information. As I figured, this was Lovino's second player, and he thought I was… cute?
"U-um…" Of all the times to get flustered by a compliment... "Th-thank you—"
"At least, you would be if you put some effort into it, si?"
Ah, I thought. "Ah," I said. "Thaaaank yoouu…?"
"You're welcome, bella!" He kissed my hand and skipped away.
This is weird, isn't it? I thought, just as my hand was picked up again.
"'Ello, poppet!" My hand was shaken at a rapid but more polite speed by a man who could only be described as "unnatural". He had hair that was a pale strawberry blonde, but more like artificial strawberries than real ones. The blonde-pink hair framed a pale face with freckles like mine, an extremely wide grin, thick black eyebrows, and wide eyes that seemed to have a pink swirl in the sky-blue iris.
I stared at those unnatural eyes for a moment, then realized I hadn't heard a word he said. I'm in trouble. "Um, sorry, sir?" I offered weakly. "I was a bit distracted; what did you—"
"Oh, and such a polite one, too!" He exclaimed, his big, sky-blue bowtie bouncing excitedly. "I said, my name is England, and I must say that it is quite a pleasure to meet you properly!"
"O-oh," I said. "Th-thank you, England."
He clasped his hands over his pink vested chest, as if he were about to beg. "I truly have to ask: did you really like the cupcake I made you back on that day?"
Cupcake? It took me a moment to remember. "Oh, yes! I mean—yes, it was good, yes." A different part of the memory came to me. "I… have to say though, the aftertaste was strange… f-for a chocolate cupcake, I mean…"
"Chocolate…?" England raised a large eyebrow. "That wasn't chocolate, poppet."
"It wasn't?" I asked. "I thought that's what it looked like… are you sure-?"
"Dear poppet," he grinned, "I know my pigs blood cupcakes like the back of my hand! I know what I gave you."
"…What."
"Pig's blood!" He held up a finger as if he were pointing to a chart. "A common ingredient in soups, so I thought: 'why not put it in a cupcake?'"
"…I ate pig's blood."
"Indeed!"
Veneziano patted me on the shoulder, possibly to make sure I didn't pass out. "I wouldn't trust what this guy says, Author," he grinned, "that blood probably didn't come from a pig."
I physically felt myself turn green; my stomach twinging in a horribly familiar way. England noticed and tapped me on the forehead three times before stating, "no need for that; nausea, be gone!"
I heard the sound of a bell chiming, and I shivered as a cold feeling rushed through my head and into my stomach. I felt better and worse all at once. "…W-what…?"
"Magic!" England cheered. "You've used it a few times yourself; only by accident, though, from what I've heard. Oh, how I'd have loved to have gotten to teach you! You know, you remind of someone I met back before we took over…"
He began to go on a tangent about a person who apparently was naturally apt at magic, like me. I tried to pay attention, but I was still disoriented by the disconnect between my emotions and physical response.
Before long, the one-sided conversation turned into a general discussion of magic. "Spoken spells tend to be more effective than silent spells for beginners," he said, "so it's impressive that most of your successful spells were so advanced and specific..."
I tuned him out after that. Magic? I had forgotten that was a thing. Considering I had used it so often in the mansion, it seemed like a strange thing to forget. Only by accident, though, I repeated to myself. But could I do it on purpose?
Based on what I'd been told, all of my magic was done by accident or on a hidden instinct. If that was the case, trying to cast a spell on purpose probably wouldn't work as well; and, given that I had never gotten a proper lesson on how to use magic, period, I was at a loss.
Then, it occurred to me: that little bit of magic England had just used to keep me from throwing up had been in English, and it didn't sound that difficult. Can I just… make up a spell? It can't be that hard, right? Someone had to have made something up that worked one day, so why can't I?
I went with the first thing that came to my head. It was easily the stupidest spell in the world, but if it worked, none would be the wiser.
I spread my fingers; not enough to draw anyone's attention, but enough to say so. England had made a motion with his hand, so I likely needed to do something similar.
I recited the spell in my head. Nothing happened.
I tried again. Still nothing.
Maybe I need to say it aloud? I wondered. Hoping no one would notice, I spoke the spell just above a breath.
"-!" I bit my lip, but it was too late.
"What was that, poppet?" England asked. Everyone turned to me again.
"Nothing!" I said too quickly. "…It was nothing, just, um… you made an interesting point there. Please continue."
"NO." said a chorus of voices.
England pouted at the others, then gave me an odd look on his odd face. "I'd recognize that sound anywhere," he said. "It sounded to me like pain. Are you in pain, poppet?"
"Not… really?"
It felt like my wrists had been poked with a sharp object, so while it hurt, it hadn't been enough to say I was in pain.
England looked thoughtful for a moment… then raised his large eyebrows. "Did you try casting a spell?"
"Uh, no?"
"You did! You absolutely did! What was the spell?"
"UM." I glanced around. Everyone was looking at me expectantly, some seeming bored while others were annoyed or vaguely curious. "I'd… rather not say. It was… dumb."
"Now, now," England wagged a finger. "Everyone starts somewhere. Why don't you tell us what it was?" The edge in his tone sent a shiver down my neck.
"…" I rubbed my wrists to ease the sudden ache.
England leaned forward. "What was that, poppet?"
"…hcspcsalkzmgtmoutaheerzfstzucn…" I cringed as the pain grew stronger.
England was no longer smiling, the pink swirls in his irises flaring. "Author…" he warned.
"HOCUS POCUS ALAKAZAM/ GET ME OUT OF HERE AS FAST AS YOU CAN—OW!"
The sharp, hot pain that originated at my wrists pulsed down my arms and up through my fingers. I blushed as I suppressed the pricking in my eyes and tried to ignore the roars of laughter.
A flash of green drew my eyes to the bracelets I wore. The little green gem at the center of each heart pulsed faintly with light, growing fainter until they stopped entirely.
"…You were right, poppet," England chuckled after the laughter died down. "That was pretty dumb."
"Gee, thanks," I grumbled.
"Technically, though, it would have been valid." I looked up at him in surprise. "At least, for someone of your caliber it would have been valid. For most people, that 'spell' wouldn't have done a thing, but since you're so naturally talented…" He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Still, you wouldn't have gotten far. No specification of where to go, no specification of where 'here' is, no specification of how to get away from 'here'… at best, you'd have appeared somewhere else in this building, gotten found immediately, and be brought back here; and at worst, you'd have teleported a few feet away from where you are now."
"…Huh." I was not entirely sure how to feel about that. I tugged at the charm bracelets, but it was no use.
"Magic nullifiers," England explained. "She couldn't have you accidentally—or purposefully—shooting magic at anything that moves, so she took some precautions- with a little help from yours truly. Though I have to say, poppet," he leaned back and appraised me. "Even with the most powerful nullifiers I could get my hands on, you still nearly used magic. That's very-"
"Can we PLEASE move on now?!" Someone yelled. I jumped as a man with auburn hair and a crescent shaped hair curl stalked towards me, red eyes flaring. "I am so sick of wasting time with talking! This is supposed to be all of our turns, not just one person's!" He grabbed my hand roughly and shook it. "I'm America, blah blah blah. Can we keep moving so we can get to the good part?" He turned quickly, the dog tags around his neck clinking against the leather of his bomber jacket.
"What's the good part…?" I asked warily. He paused mid-stride, then smirked at me over his shoulder before continuing on his way.
"My brother does have a point," another man said, lifting his sunglasses to the top of his head to reveal tired purple eyes. He tugged at the collar of his half-buttoned red flannel and strode up to me, shaking the long blonde hair and the spiral-like curl out of his eyes. "I'm Canada," he said as he shook my hand. He turned his tired gaze to Veneziano and backed away. "We only have about an hour to do this, and we've wasted at least a half hour of that time with… whatever this has been. We need to move on."
"Wait, has it been that long already?" A man with chin length brown hair and narrow red eyes looked at his wrist and groaned. "You know what? Screw it. Everyone, get in a line."
"No," a few people said.
"Are you just saying that to spite me?" The first man's arms were hidden by his long red-sleeved shirt, making him look a bit silly when he put his hands on his hips.
"Yes," they answered.
"Well, you're not pulling that with me," Veneziano said darkly. "Everyone. In a line. Now." A few grumbles and shuffling footsteps later, everyone who had yet to shake my hand was in a line in front of me.
This is so awkward I'm going to diiiiie—the man in red stepped up to the metaphorical plate. "I'm China," he said, before dropping my hand like a rock and walking away.
…Okay then.
A black-haired man in a black Japanese navel uniform bowed, then reached out a gloved hand. "I am Japan. It is an experience to meet you."
"Y-you too," I said. For some reason, he held my hand a moment longer than necessary. His red eyes looked me up and down, lingering in certain areas before he smirked slightly and gave an acknowledging breath. Then he let go. I could practically feel the awkwardness crawling on my skin like his eyes.
A man who looked like he needed a nap walked over and shook my hand. I tried not to wrinkle my nose too much. He smelled like cigarettes.
"I'm France." His longish blonde hair hung limply around his head and his purple dress shirt was wrinkled and untucked. He put his free hand to the side of his mouth… then blinked and pulled it away. He stared at his empty hand for a moment. Then he glared at me, emphasizing the bags under his indigo eyes, before letting go and stalking away.
It took less than a second to put two and two together: he rarely didn't have a cigarette in hand, there was a "no smoking" policy today—for some reason— and he was absolutely not okay with that.
I wondered briefly if that supposed policy had been put in place for my sake. I mean, that would be kind of nice, but… 'too-little-too-late', you know?
The tallest was dressed in a large black coat with gold trim, and had a red scarf around his neck. I had to bend backwards slightly to meet his tired red eyes and larger nose on a face framed with black hair. He calmly took my hand, and I was very careful to make mine limp so he wouldn't think I was impertinent. His grip didn't hurt, but I could feel the power behind it. This man could have very well ground all of my bones into a paste with only his bare hands and any residual blood still dripping off the bones ripped out of my body. "Priyatno s Vami poznakomit'sya," he said.
Huh?
"I am called Russia. That is all you are needing to know."
"Okay," I said lamely. He looked down at me for a few agonizing seconds before releasing me and walking away; slowly, but with purpose.
At this point, I probably could have identified the next one on my own, but it was probably best to let the blonde, scarred, muscular man introduce himself. He wore a tan jacket hanging on his shoulders like a cape, with the Iron Cross hanging around his neck. His red-violet eyes had lines under them, like he was tired. Or smoked. Or both.
"Guten Tag. Ich heisse Deutschland." He shook my hand.
"Guten Tag, Deutschland," I replied carefully. "Es ist nett zu treffen Sie." He gave me a weird look and I bit my lip. There was probably a better way to say "it's nice to meet you" in German, but I couldn't think of it at the moment.
We stared awkwardly at each other before Germany blinked and let go. "Seltsames Mädchen…" He muttered as he left. Despite knowing this meet and greet wasn't likely to be important, I still felt embarrassed at my misuse of the language.
I probably would have mistaken the penultimate person for a woman with how long their hair was, but their extremely deep voice made me think, yyyeah, never mind, that's a man… probably. His chocolate brown locks were thrown over his shoulder in a ponytail, tied together with a ratty purple ribbon, and he was dressed rather plainly. There were a lot of scars on his face, and his burgundy eyes seemed both blank and… hungry. For power, hopefully, and not something else. "I'm Spain," he said, and walked away. I could still feel the imprints of his eyes on mine, and I felt my pained blood creep through me like a centipede.
The last person's introduction ended up being quite a ride. A terrible, terrible ride.
Alrighty; we're getting to the good part(s)!
2p England is usually depicted as a baker, and his ingredients are often depicted as less than normal, hence the reference to cooking and baking. If you don't remember the cupcake, it's in a brief scene in the first chapter of The Author, The Rogues, and The Oni, so if it's been a while since you've read that, you'll want to go back for a refresher; there are many references to that book in the later parts. Heads up as well, the next part will feature heavy references to The Cult of Steve, so make sure you remember that one, too.
Twelve characters is a lot of characters to meet, so some of them got more screen time than others. This was both a result of me going on a tangent with England and also not being super involved with many of the 2p nations. This is an issue I've struggled a bit with, but hopefully, it will be okay.
Also, keep in mind: The second players don't have canonical appearances for the most part, and they especially don't have canon personalities. So that begs the question; why can The Author see and interpret them so directly? Is there anyone else she can see that few others can?
Okay, I'll see you next Monday with the next part. Remember to leave a review and tell me what you thought! I'll see you later; until then!
Now, here, I would like to make a formal proposal:
This series of four books- The Cult of Veneziano; The Cult of Steve; The Author, The Rogues, and The Oni; and The Citadel of the Onis- has been a product of literal years of work and passion; however, I fear that at this point, I've grown jaded and one-sided in my work to make this something to remember. Maybe it's because I've been so focused on this, the most serious chapter in the entire series, and I can't break out of serious mode, or maybe it's just been too long since I first enjoyed the fresh passion of being engaged with Hetalia, but the point is, my revisions to the earlier books in this series don't feel as well written as I'd like them to be.
This is where you could potentially come in.
This is my formal request for a Beta Reader for this series. Given how "dead" Hetalia is at this point, it's very likely that no one will see this, but I'm making the request anyway. To anyone who is interested, please PM me as soon as possible.
Here are some requirements I'd like to make:
1. The potential Beta Reader should have read my series up to this point at least once
2. The potential Beta Reader should have basic knowledge of HetaOni (this includes basic gameplay, lore, and an awareness of the twelve main nations featured in the game)
3. The potential Beta Reader, naturally, should be skilled with grammar, syntax, punctuation, and English (any)
4. The potential Beta Reader should be flexible, willing to assist me but also willing to stand down on a hill that I'm dying on, unless you can really convince me otherwise
And here are some of the things that the potential Beta Reader would be asked to do, if selected:
1. Tone: make sure the chapter/story has a consistent tone of voice, both throughout the story and for that story's placement in the overall series (the first book should be a little light hearted while the last book should have a mostly dark tone)
2. Consistency: make sure that something that happens in an earlier book/scene that gets referenced later is the same or similar, depending on the reliability of the perspective
3. Characters: make sure that the characters featured are engaging and developing over the course of their appearance; a character that exists over the course of the entire series should change at an appropriate pace, while a character who only appears in one book should develop within the course of that book (a character who appears for less than a single scene should be allowed to be as flat as is appropriate for their purpose)
4. Patience: I am an idiot, and also stubborn. If the potential Beta Reader has reason to believe that something in the story needs to be changed, but I'm hesitant to listen, they should be prepared to walk me through their thought process
I'll leave my request here, and continue on my journey to refine this series until I can say, "Alright, it looks good, I'll never look at it again so that I don't revise the whole thing again". At which point, the series will be posted to my AO3 account, along with other stories that I never posted there. Then finally, finally, I can move on to something else. Something fun and easy, with a little less plot and a little more fluff, I hope.
Anyway, thank you for listening to me ramble. I'll see you next Monday with the third part of Chapter 10. Until then!
