Attende januar:
Australia:
-It may seem as if I'm only interested in things that are wild or obviously fun, but that's not true. Kyle Jett Cook, Australia reassured Luke Cook, New Zealand. I'm interested and proud of my Wesley College, established on 18 January 1866
-Do they've a celebration or a party at the date of its official establishment? Luke asked skeptically.
-A small one. Kyle shrugged dismissively. It was a bigger one four years ago when it was their 150th anniversary. Although it was an even bigger one 54yrs ago for their 100th anniversary.
-It won't get bigger because you're attending?
-No, they're used to me coming at least once every year. So, that won't have any effect on the whole proceeding.
-And you just want to pay the College a visit?
-Yes, don't worry about the Meeting later.
-You think you'll have time for that?
-Yeah, I'll just pop in for a few moments, and then leave for the Oceania Meeting. This time, for once, it's in Fiji, right?
-Yes.
-See? No problem then?
Before Kyle could make his retreat, Luke said,
-And this desire to visit Wesley College on the day of its establishing, has nothing to do with you being more than just the inspiration for the motto?
When he saw the embarrassed look at Kyle's face, Luke laughed.
-Just don't be late for the Meeting. Or England will know and he will have your head.
Canada:
Matthew Williams, Canada, walked unnoticed, intentionally (unlike the other times when he would be unnoticed unintentionally) through the corridors of TD Garden, the home arena of the Boston Bruins.
Finally, he found the picture he was looking for; that of the young Willie O'Ree.
Matthew was very proud of O'Ree, he'd broken the NHL's color barrier, together with Larry Kwong a decade earlier, Kwong being ethnic Chinese and O'Ree being African Canadian. It pleased him that those two were Canadians.
He gently unlocked the glass case where the photo containing O'Ree was and reached for the picture. He took it out with the softness that Francis had only recently complimented him on. The thought of Francis made him blush, but he still took out a small handkerchief and brushed away the dust that had managed to accumulate on the glass and polish the wooden frame with the wood polisher he'd brought along with him.
He'd put the photo back and locked the case when he heard voices. It was the voices of Chara, Marchand, DeBrusk, Bergeron and Bjork; players of the present Boston Bruins team.
Aware that he wasn't really supposed to be there, he snuck away so unnoticeably that not even the cameras took notice of him, and hurried to the airport.
England:
-Do you think I'm doing the right thing, England?
-Your Grace?
-Marrying Elizabeth, uniting our Houses, preventing another War of the Roses?
-Do you request my honest opinion, Your Grace?
-That I do, Arthur.
-Then Henry, I believe you are doing the right thing and I am of the strong opinion that you two can manage to live together. And in the scheme of things, he added as he brushed off imaginary dust from the shoulders of his Boss, His King, that is all that matters, is it not?
Arthur Kirkland, England, was shaken out of his reverie of that day, 18 January 1486, by loud sounds coming from the hall almost right below him in Her Majesty's Royal Palace and Fortress of the Tower of London, or the Tower of London for short, that he'd required for the week for him and his fellow nations. Sometimes, it paid to be a Nation.
But anyways there were loud sounds, no doubt quarrelling, coming from the hall downstairs. Nothing unusual there, they'd never been able to not quarrel unless alcohol was included, and even then… What was unusual, however, was that so few nations were in on the quarrel. After listening for a while, England understood that they were arguing about whom were the best hockey nation.
Denmark, Russia, Canada and America could all talk (and quarrel) about who was best in hockey. He, England, had the satisfaction of knowing that modern field hockey would not have existed if not for The Hockey Association that his country had formed on 18 January 1886.
No matter what anyone might say.
France:
Francis Bonnefoy, France, remembered it vividly; what he and everyone else had been wearing in Toulouse when the gorgeous A380 had been unveiled.
He was broken out of his beautiful reverie by the sound of ugly arguing from below. He followed the sounds of the arguing, because although there was nothing unusual with the Nations arguing, he heard his Matthieu, Matthew Bonnefoy, Canada, arguing; and he was always fun watching whenever he got passionately agitated (or passionate at all), and found Arthur Kirkland, England, leaning on the banister and overlooking the hall underneath. The only thing that was odd with the arguing was that England wasn't participating; he just stood there smiling with satisfaction. Considering that they were in one of his national treasures, it was odd that he wasn't angry, or even participating in the argument. Francis debated whether he was going to watch Mathieu argue and continue his daydreaming (even if it'd been somewhat nice of England to arrange and invite them all here, it was no way that he, France, was not going to think about anything French), or if he was going to watch Mathieu argue and argue a little himself with Arthur, annoying him just for the fun of it.
In the end, he went for the latter.
-I must say Angleterre, you've got some beautiful buildings. The seed of annoyance and argument had been planted, now he'd to just wait for England to take the bait.
-What's that supposed to mean? "Some beautiful buildings"? And he beautifully didn't disappoint. It was smooth argumentation sailing from here.
-Well, I don't mean to brag, but in my country, we've beautiful buildings even from the very early and short barbarian period.
And the fight was on. But even when arguing with England, Francis still managed to keep an eye on his Mathieu and one ear on his voice. England, growing more and more illogical for every argument, fueled by Francis, finally managed to say,
-You're just jealous that my suggestion of spending time here instead of going to France, where you wanted us to once again celebrate the Paris Peace Conference!
-It's an important event!
-Which we celebrated last year, when it was the centenary of said event!
Germany:
-This is incredible!
-What is, Luddy?
Ludwig Beilschmidt, Germany, and Feliciano Vargas, North Italy, were in one of the rooms in the basement of the Tower of London. Or dungeon if you like.
This room contained several uncatalogued documents and stowed away art.
-This document that I found. It's a letter from Willhelm I to the then-current Monarch of the Great Britain. And it's dated 1879! That's when he became the first German Emperor.
-Did you say 1879?
-Yes, Feli, why?
-I found a bunch of paintings labelled "1879", maybe your Willie is among them?
-One; don't refer to Willhelm I as "my Willie", please, two; it's doubtful that he is, as the Head of one country there was little to no reason for his image to have been included among another country's leader's collection of paintings.
-Well, if these had been made in 1879, I would've agreed with you, but as these are only labelled "1879" and obviously made later, making it likely that 1879 is their subject, it's probable that a portrait of him is included; him becoming German Emperor would've been considered such a vital part that his portrait would've been included in the collection.
-Oh. No matter how many times Ludwig had been subjected to one of Feliciano's speeches, he was always rendered almost speechless by them. Especially when they were as educational as this one had been. He carefully replaced the letter he'd been reading and walked over to Feli.
As Feli went through the paintings, occasionally asking Ludwig to take away one painting or another to make it easier for him, he remembered something that Ludwig had said.
-Why can't I call Willhelm for Willie?
-If you've to call him Willie, you can call him Willie. Just don't call him "my Willie", or "your Willie".
-Why not?
Poland:
Not every Nation was at Tower of London. Feliks Łukasiewicz, Poland, for instance, wasn't. He was in Kraków with Lily Zwingli, reminiscing a bittersweet memory.
One hand; the Red Army had liberated his people here from the Nazis, on the other hand; they'd ended under Soviet control from them on.
-How many? Lily asked gently.
-11 000 that ended up in various camps, extermination, slave-labor and concentration, 2 000 killed on the spot. There would've been more if not for Tadeusz Pankiewicz, Maria and Bronisław Flores, Oscar Schindler, Władysław Budyński, Dr. Helena Szlapak, and many other brave souls.
-You were there weren't you?
-When they got deported, or when the Red Army came?
-Both.
-Yes.
-Do you want to talk about it? When she saw that he hesitated, she said hurriedly. You don't have to go in details.
-They dragged me out, the SS-people I mean, they dragged me out on both the deportations and killings, so that I could watch, watch without being able to do a thing about it.
-What about the event that transpired on this day?
-Lily, it's only been 75yrs.
-That bad?
-I'm not saying that it was worse than all the other… things, but at least I knew that it was… bad. But when the Red Army came, I thought… just for a moment there… that Ivan and his people had come to rescue us, and then we just end up under Soviet rule. All over Europe, the end of WWII meant for other people that they could get their previous government back, they were even hailed as heroes for having supported them, while my people got arrested.
Only silence met Feliks's unusual somber and serious speech. Then Lily took Feliks's hand and squeezed his hand and he leaned on her.
Author's notes:
I sincerely hope I didn't offend anyone, or seemed disrespectful in some way here.
I don't own Hetalia