Acknowledgements: thank you to the following for reviews/favourites/alerts/ PMs: datteroflucifer, rowerlovesastronomy, browsofglory,imiregretsnothing, icococandy, GalaxyGirlEm, gnomiegnome, itsalwaysbeme, Sarite, weirdonamedbrie, the Oracle of Akemi, CriticalThinking, RebelsAdvocate, eleanoralovesananias, TheMoonRaven, RoseRune, aphDadmark, Still a Lover of Franchises, Deciduous Forest 208, Yu-Gi-Oh Trekkie 99, RaptureChamber, StealthSage, yukia9tendo, Mondmaedchen, Bayboo20, England 2410, mossflower1234, ChildoftheMoon86, Gwen-Van-Well, The Silent Lilac, Supergrassaysyaaasss, Azmine Junet, febrezedtrash, magondala, BrownieTheFangirl, ppurpple, mssunnymuffins, espeon64, oh-cripe-my-fish, Renchikara, LucediDio,mirrorkirby64, quity190, Kathryn Daughter of Hestia, Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary, spooky ghost flower, nightowlof2, Mondmaedchen, Siemsen, gintama200, phyllite, ravengal, not-philosophical, magicflyingmintbunnies, AllHellBrokeLoose666, GoneInASecond, Shikyoblossom20, theworldofhetalia, Acvodadkawall, skywolf2001
Warnings: France
Driving Lessons Chapter 33 - Highway to Hell
"Alfred we need your help in getting out of here!"
"Why dude?"
"To save the world," England told him simply.
"Hahahaha! No way, man. You guys kill me." Alfred replied looking England and France up and down. He was bouncing a ball up and down, watched intently by several small scruffy boys, Canada and the kittens who were sat in a sports holdall (the kittens were, not Canada).
England attempted to snatch the ball away from him as it was annoying him but missed and the ball bounced away. He sighed. "Okay, well Francis needs to go and do his driving test."
"Well why didn't you say? Me and my homey, Canadia, will help you. We'll create a diversion."
"Good man!"
"Yo Canadia!" America yelled. "We need to create a diversion!"
"What do you mean?" Canada asked, approaching, bouncing the ball.
England felt like bouncing the ball on their heads. The two Nations had been playing 'catch' at each end of the sports hall. America throwing the ball so hard he'd almost knocked Canada off his feet. A bunch of kids were crowded around America and quizzing him on his encyclopedic knowledge of Marvel superheroes.
"A diversion, dude!" America yelled at Canada.
"You're not supposed to tell everyone!" England told him. "The key to a diversion is that nobody knows it's a bloody diversion so we can get out."
"Oh right, and you're not going to save the world? You wouldn't go and be heroes without me, would you?" Alfred asked him skeptically.
"Do we look like heroes?" England asked. Beside him France was wearing a floral shirt (he insisted it was a shirt but to England it looked like a lady's blouse), the pair of pink marigold gloves and a rainbow scarf.
"No," America said. "You don't."
England was unsure if he felt offended by this remark but decided he didn't have time for a blazing stand-up row. It would be ineffectual anyway to row with America, like plaiting fog.
"You go over there," America said to Canada, "And we'll do this diversitraction thingy."
"Distraction." England said.
"Or diversion," America said.
France frowned.
"So what's the code?" England asked.
"What code?"
"Well how do we know when to make a run for it?" England persevered.
"What do you mean?" America asked and then was promptly smacked hard on the head by a ball from Canada who had thrown it as hard as he could - obviously in retaliation.
America went down like a sack of potatoes.
England went through the five stages of grief very quickly and then realised as France tugged him that this was the distraction. "Allons mon ami!" France said.
CIA men stormed past them and rushed to America's side. "Sir! Sir!" they called.
Italy burst into frantic sobs.
Mr Kumajiro began taking photos on his iphone and was no doubt texting them to Mr Panda or some such correspondent.
Thus, no-one noticed when England and France, followed closely but unnoticed by King Henry VI.
Later… much much later…
England had been pacing up and down the driving test centre like an expectant father. His nails were bitten down. He'd smoked fourteen cigarettes and he'd told Prussia and Denmark to shut the hell up fifteen times. Yes, Prussia and Denmark.
To explain why in the name of King George they were there we have to go back to when England and France had arrived back at England's house. They had done a 'commando run' by jumping over back garden hedges to avoid the Army cordon ringing the front of the house. This had actually meant England crashing through hedges and France falling drunkenly over them. They had then arrived at England's back door, seen the Army bomb disposal team trying to defuse a pasta maker. England had thrown a stone at the window to distract them, run in, picked up some car keys and run out again. He realised then that the Hummer was still abandoned outside the French Embassy and that the Mini was still wheel-clamped. Panicked. Ran back inside the house. Ignored the Army men who were now shouting at them, ran back out with more car keys and then stood looking at the Bentley.
It had floral curtains up at the windows and a sign up that said 'PruDen's taxi service'.
England wrenched open one of the doors.
"I am going to kill you two! A nuclear explosion will be nothing to what I will visit upon you! You will be so beaten by me that your children, no, your grandchildren will feel it! I'll make sure you never work in this city again!" England yelled.
"Cool it dude…" Denmark said, stepping out of the car, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"
"Bloody hell. Is that Arthur? For God's sake, man. Calm down!" Prussia said, poking his head out of the driver's window. "We were having a lie-in."
"You… living… in my… my… beautiful… Do you have any idea what car this is?" England shouted.
"It's big…" Denmark said and began brushing his teeth with a toothbrush dipped in beer.
"It's a 1957 S1 Bentley and it's worth more than your whole country's miserable GDP."
"Hey I don't know what my country's GDP is." Denmark said and then added, "Anyway, what's a GDP?"
"You have to leave zis place, mes amies," France told them.
"Why's that then, Francy?" Prussia asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Cos you and Arthur have to go off and have a picnic in your lame car with some lame-ass thermos flask on a lame-ass tartan rug?"
"No but zat would be good, non?" France looked at England appealingly.
"Just get the bloody hell out of my car!" England yelled.
"You're totally upsetting my morning routine!" Denmark yelled back.
"There's going to be a nuclear explosion!" England told them. Surely that should work?
"You been baking again, England?" Prussia asked.
"No… really…"
"I have my driving test zis afternoon and you all should help me. I need a car!" France told them.
"You're not bloody using my precious…" England paused. He didn't want his precious Bentley sullied, but then again it already was, wasn't it?
And so they had all ended up at the Driving Test Centre. Denmark had broken the vending machine and was sat sulking on one of the small plastic chairs. He wore a large viking helmet and had tried to seduce the receptionist. The receptionist - a small man named Barry - had looked startled. Prussia had marched up and down the reception area berating the 'crapness' of Britain in general until England had mollified him by giving him a Beano comic and packet of gobstoppers.
"Please let him pass… please dear God let my car be okay… please don't let him be arrested…" England prayed to himself and all but got on the floor on his knees to whatever God might take time out from causing floods, hurricanes and American elections, to actually listen to a poor 1000 year old plus Nation.
France finally did stagger in through the double automatic doors and into England's arms.
"Well?" England said. "Well? Tell me, man! Tell me!"
France looked at him with tears in his big blue eyes. "Eet eez as we feared, mon ami… my driving… zay are scoundrels… zay do not understand…"
"Five dangerous, four serious faults and one minor fault…" England read the scrap of paper slowly. "Is this possible?"
The driving test examiner followed France in then. Or at least England had deduced that was the man. He was white and shaking so violently he could barely walk and had the air of a man who had seen terrible things. "Possible?! Possible?!" the man yelled. "I have been an examiner for 20 years and I have never seen driving like it!"
"I didn't think he was that bad…" England mumbled, trying to shrug France off him.
"His driving instructor must be certifiable!" the examiner continued.
"Yeah… that's about right…" Prussia said, looking at England.
"Tell us what happened, dude," Denmark said to France.
It was the worst five words anyone could have said…
France sat down slowly on an orange plastic chair. He took off his marigold gloves and wiped his eyes. "Ah my friends, mes amies, mes amours…" (Prussia and Denmark looked exceedingly uncomfortable at this.) "I will tell you everything!"
And he did:
(The following is in France's own words...)
The examiner told me his name was 'Bill'. I did not believe him at all. He looked like a Lancelot. So that is what I called him. I kept my gloves on. I think he was disturbed by this. I have lost my long-handled sponge, Arthur, I have no idea where it is. King Henry was waving it around in the back seat of the Bentley at some rogue of a lorry driver. But I'll get to that.
When I got in the car, ah the leather seats, mon cher, they are so sexy… When I got in the car Lancelot shouted at me straight away and told me to sit in the driver's seat. How was I to know… I know now of course… I can see with the look in your eyes that you agree with Lancelot that I am a little silly.
Anyway, I started the engine and then remembered that I was supposed to check the mirrors and so I did. I looked gorgeous. My hair was waved just so. That shampoo and conditioner I bought from Poland with the jojoba makes it shine like the rays of the sun. You should try it Arthur. Your hair looks like crap most of the time.
And then I put on my seat belt. I leaned across to put on Lancelot's seatbelt. But he slapped my hand away. I refuse to call him 'Bill', such a drab name for such a vivacious person. (England, Prussia and Denmark looked across at 'Bill' who was dressed in a grey polyester suit, had grey hair, and was filling in paperwork with a look of a demented man.)
He told me to 'pull away' but I drove anyway down the road. I was not happy that he was looking at a clipboard and not at me. I told him this. So really it was his fault that we went into the back of the lorry.
(England fainted at this point.)
The lorry driver was very rude and called me something that I do not really understand. Do you know what a 'complete arse-tool' is? There was very little damage. King Henry got out with me to remonstrate and waved the sponge at the man. I think that is possibly where we lost it. I was told to get back in the car by Lancelot. He was so masterful! I insisted on driving on. But he wanted to go back.
He told me to go left at the end of the road and left again and go back to the test centre. This of course I would not do. My French pride would not let me finish this test in such disgrace. I turned right. This was unfortunately a one way street and I was apparently going the wrong way. A kind driver wound his window down and told me I was a 'fucking idiot'. I thanked him in French and drove on.
I attempted to do a three point turn. I thought that this would rectify matters, non? But Arthur's precious Bentley is very large, much like my… Anyway, I reversed it and it might have hit something. I could not see behind me. The curtains, although very floral and very pretty obscured my view. King Henry said he would watch my behind. I let him. My behind is gorgeous. I think he is sexually frustrated and he desires me.
So I reversed, went forward, reversed, went forward all with King Henry watching the car. I do not think he knows what he is doing because I got stuck. I think Arthur should get a much smaller car. Lancelot was shouting at me now. Very unprofessional. Also there were three cars trying to get past. I told them they would have to wait until I composed myself.
Meditation is such a gift. I have always been able to meditate, even at the most stressful moments. Napoleon said it helped him just before the battle of Austerlitz. That and lots of champagne. I sat on the roof of the car with my legs crossed and meditated. I tried to get some motorists to join me. They refused. Quite forcefully I thought. I do not know what 'an idiot donkey' means or 'piss-taking arsy pansy layabout'. I assumed they were all referring to my graceful repose. It did not matter. An uncouth loutish crowd. Especially when they began to rock the car from side to side.
It was King Henry who kindly asked me to come down and attempt to move the car. I did so, not without some hesitation. But King Henry, being dead, ran right through one of the motorists and they ran off. Fancy being afraid of a dead man?
I took a gulp of wine and started the car. Lancelot told me I should not drink and drive. I did not spill any. The wine-glass was plastic. One of those Arthur has for when young Alfred visits. It has a fish on it called 'Nemo' or something. I have no idea. It is Alfred's favourite.
(England, lying prone on the floor, muttered, "The Little Mermaid is his favourite mug".)
So I reversed again and went forward and then a large man shouted at me to 'get the bloody hell on with it' or he 'would kick my bloody head in'. I thought for a moment it was you, Arthur dear. But the man was very large and wearing some bright orange jacket affair. The colour did not suit his colouring and I told him this. A more russet shade would not clash with his clammy white face and mud-coloured eyes. English people hate style and fashion I have found. I moved the car before he 'smashed my bloody face in'. I like my face.
We went down the street and turned right. This was a dual carriageway. Lancelot was by now talking to himself and trying to telephone someone. I took the phone from him and threw it out of the window. It was distracting and also it clearly says that you should not use the mobile phone when in the car. He was quite angry at this. But I was busy. There was a large waste lorry coming towards me. So of course I had to go faster.
I know the speed limit was a paltry 40 miles per hour and I was going 70. I could have gone 130, this Bentley is so gorgeous with its plush leather seats that hug my derriere but there were traffic in front of me so I could not. Many people did get out of my way and Lancelot of course, was screaming.
I find British people so very strange. They are either docilely watching Antiques Roadshow and drinking Ovaltine or they are screaming at you because they believe they are going to die. I told him to calm himself down. There was no chance of course of making a cup of tea. We were in a moving vehicle. I am a competent driver I believe.
There was no need for all those crosses on the test sheet. I would have taken it from him but my hands were full. I was holding a plastic cup with wine in one hand (how I hate wine in a plastic cup but c'est la vie) and a cigarette in the other hand.
I was steering with my knees. I think this is permissible, non? Of course my foot being in plaster did not help so much. But the brick on the accelerator helped a lot so my other foot was free to use the brake.
King Henry screaming in the back was also a bit of a distraction (Prussia at this point muttered, "Just a bit?!") but I have no idea why he was screaming. He is already dead. Think of me! My passing would be mourned the world over. Besides there was no danger. I believe I smiled for the speed cameras and toasted them with my glass. Ah, if only it were a real wine glass. It was so, how do you say, mon ami? ...so crap. Ah well… By now Lancelot was begging me to take him back to the Test Centre.
I told him of course that I would take him back if he would give me a kiss and a pass. He refused. But I told him that I would drive forever, that I was immortal, I could continue for centuries, driving… can you imagine, mes amies? Driving along the North Circular Road for 200 years avec moi until I get my pass? Or until the fuel ran out.
He was steadfast. Determined. I have seen this look before in the British. They are a Nation of shopkeepers, of gardeners, of tea drinkers and ginger biscuit eaters. They look so miserable and sad with their begonias and matching cups and saucers. But they are also immune to fun and all that is good and they will not back down when threatened.
He ordered me to go back and I could not refuse. It reminded me so much of dear Arthur. I told him this and he told me to 'shut the bloody hell up'. So I turned left into Garden Square.
Unfortunately the Test Centre is not in Garden Square and so I had to reverse around a corner. Or something. A bollard got in the way. I may have clipped the wing. King Henry said it was a stupid place to put such a thing.
Then I did an emergency stop. It was an emergency. A real one. My wine had run out. I had not realised that I had drunk a full bottle. A small bottle. A tragedy. I drove on. My tears ran like rain. Then it did rain and I forgot how to switch on the windscreen wipers. This angered Lancelot more than words can say. Or perhaps he was in awe of my driving - finally. King Henry thinks that he might have had some kind of fit. We will never know. I have seen such things before in Arthur.
And so I returned…
England, still prone on the floor said, "So basically you failed your driving test, drove a perfectly good man to a nervous breakdown, made a dead man scream, broke at least six driving laws, pranged my car, was verbally assaulted by the good motorists of London and basically proved yourself to be an even worse driver than Italy!"
"You take zat back! Italy!?" France was appalled.
At that moment, Italy himself walked in and, hearing his name says, "Ciao!"
'Lancelot' or 'Bill' turned round saw the Italian and said, "Oh no! Not him!" and promptly fainted.
"Did he pass then or what?" Denmark asked, looking round.
To be continued…