Chapter Five – A Quiet Conference
Germany awoke at five in the morning and could not fall back to sleep, worried as he was for his friend. He tried counting sausages to fall back to sleep. Each sausage had a goofy facial expression and jumped carelessly over a fence.
One sausage…two sausage…three sausage…four sausage…
Instead of falling asleep, Germany only ended up making himself exceptionally hungry and at half five he gave up and got out of bed. Cranky from his lack of sleep, he pottered about his little hotel room, taking time to get ready for the day and making himself a hot, instant coffee from the kettle by his bed. Without realising it, he ended up checking his phone for a good seven times in the course of half an hour – the whereabouts of Italy never far from his mind.
Feeling somewhat stir crazy in part due to being cooped up inside most of the last week, but mostly from Italy related stress; the German decided to go for an early morning run and got changed into light joggers and a tank top. He snuck out of the hotel and ran with a slow gait, gravitating towards a local park he had visited with Italy some years back. As he ran, he recalled the memory to himself. There was the bush that Italy had found and befriended a stray cat, there was the bench they had sat and had a picnic in the sun and there was the path that Italy had fled down on seeing England approaching armed with scones. A bittersweet smile lit up the German's normally stoic face and he picked up his pace a little, trying to focus on the rewarding pain that exercise brings rather than his Italian friend.
There is always something very pleasing about running first thing in the morning, before the sun has fully heated up. Cooling dawn with its bright, gentle rays and soft, wispy mist brings enough light to see by, but enough cool air to not overheat. Gentle dew makes the grass soft beneath one's feet, but not in the slippery way that rain does. The lack of people leaves the streets calm and quiet and means that nobody can see one's rosy cheeks and the sweaty results of pushing oneself. Germany had always thought it was the best time to run and often regretted that Italy was unable to get up early enough in the morning to come join him in his early training.
He stayed out gently jogging for a good hour before wending his way back to his hotel room. Breathlessly, he took time to stretch his aching legs before he cast aside his clothes and went for a long, hot soak in the shower. The German dressed himself in a smart, blue suit, before he packed his briefcase in preparation for the day ahead. It was about half seven by the time he got down to the hotel dining room for breakfast and Germany not only felt famished, he already felt that he had had a long morning, with a pounding headache to go with it. He almost groaned when he spotted a certain loud-mouthed American beckoning him over with one hand whilst wolfing down a burger for breakfast with the other.
"Oi! Germany! Come sit here!" The American called, spraying burger everywhere in an uncouth manner. So far, it seemed that nobody else had come down yet, although not all the nations attending the conference were staying in this hotel. Germany trotted over to dutifully place his suitcase down on the seat next to the American.
"Guten Morgen, America."
"Hey Germany!" The American laughed, although the cause of his mirth was somewhat uncertain to the German, "You should try the breakfast burgers, they sure ain't McDonalds but they ain't half bad."
"I feel the need for something a little lighter, but I will bare in mind your recommendation for the future." Replied Germany tactfully, before he trotted over to the food area. In the end he chose a bowl of mixed fruit and yoghurt, a small bowl of cereal and two slices of buttered toast, along with another large coffee for his breakfast. He carefully carried his tray back to his seat and began quietly eating, his ear being filled with nonsensical prattling from America.
"Are you looking forward to the conference? I sure as hell am. I wonder if they managed to clean up the conference room. Do you think they will have a good buffet? If not, can I go buy burgers? I wonder where Iggy is, I didn't see him last night. Maybe he got drunk and ended up dancing on a table at that stripper club with France again…"
At this point Germany nearly choked on his toast, his cheeks turning something of a tomato red at the American's words.
"Eh?! When did that happen?" Germany exclaimed.
"Last time the conference was in Italy. Surprised your brother didn't tell you, I'm pretty sure Prussia was one of the strippers." America paused to sip his breakfast milkshake, "Think there's a video on YouTube somewhere of it if you want to see."
"Er…no I think I'll pass on that one." The bemused German replied as his thoughts drifted once more to a desert island with no daft nations and their antics.
It was not long before they were joined by France and China, two of the three others staying at the hotel – the third being England. Both grabbed their breakfasts and fell into easy conversation with the American, while Germany remained quiet. France told a somewhat graphic account of his unvirtuous antics with a flirtatious hotel maid from the previous night. China tutted away, America alternated between laughing along and looking confused at the descriptions and Germany tuned them out. He paid just enough attention though to tune into the end of the tale…
"So, then I BLEEPED her in the BLEEP and she was all, Monsieur is so good and then her husband walked in and that's why I have a bruise on my jaw." France raised his chin to show a slight swelling on his right jawline, "I'd have ended up with one either way." He replied to China's tutting and shake of a head, "I was meant to be meeting up for a drink with England but that punk never showed up, so I had to entertain myself in other ways…" He grinned suggestively, before pausing to flash a wink at a nearby waitress who almost swooned.
Germany abruptly furrowed his brow, "Wait, you mean to tell me that neither America or France saw England last night and he isn't here for breakfast this morning. He isn't one to be late for sure." A sinking feeling developed in the German's stomach and he pushed away his second slice of toast, suddenly not hungry any more.
"Aiyaa, he's probably just drunk in his room, aru and if he is dead then I'll sell all his stuff at a cut price." China nodded sagely.
"Germany, you need more love and less worry," France replied with a wink to the German, "Let Big Brother France sooth you. If he hasn't turned up for the conference then I'll give him a ring later."
Germany nodded with a sigh, "Very well then." He stood up abruptly, "I'll head down to the conference centre. See you in a bit." He picked up his briefcase and strode to the exit, checking his phone one last time before leaving the building.
-Hetalia-
Neither England or Italy turned up to the conference. Germany decided to proceed as normal and for once the lack of the argumentative Brit and the dozy Italian led to relative progress in their business. Eventually, the inevitable happened and France interrupted the proceedings not long before lunch.
"Germany, I believe many here are now concerned at the whereabouts of England and Italy. May Big Brother France try and ring them before we proceed further?" France asked persuasively.
"Ja, go ahead." The German replied, taking a seat again, "Just put it on speakerphone."
France started by calling Italy.
Briiiing…briiiing…briiiing…briiiing… briiiing… briiiing… briiiing…
"I'm sorry but the person you are calling cannot pick up the phone right now, please leave a message after the tone."
BLEEP
"Very well, let us try mon petit England."
Briiiing…briiiing…briiiing…
"Hello?" The word was a question and the tone of voice was curious and guarded rather than friendly.
"Bonjour, mon petite lapin! It is France." The Frenchman said, placing the phone on the table and putting it on speaker, whilst gesturing for the other nations to stay quiet by putting a finger to his lips.
"Really, thanks for telling me, I would never have worked it out from that ridiculous accent of yours." The scathing sarcasm in England's tone of voice was quite clear.
"You're welcome mes amis, I am only here to serve."
"What do you want wanker?"
"I was just wondering why you were not at the meeting today? Did you finally get laid?" France spoke suggestively, making a few kissy noises into the phone, causing some of the other nations to blush somewhat.
"Piss off and mind your own business. As it happens I am not well."
"Eat one of your own scones? I can hear a lot of traffic for someone not well." Indeed, the faint, muffled sounds of cars passing and people coming and going was quite obvious to all the other nations.
"Yes, I am going to the doctors." The exasperated Englishman explained.
"And is Italy going with you? He isn't in the meeting either." France asked curiously, trying to give the impression that he knew more than he was letting on by asking the question.
"How should I know? I barely know the git. Now will you piss off, I'm nearly there." The reply was quite aggressive, although this was hardly strange coming from the Englishman.
"Of course, mon petite, get well soon! I shall be around to your hotel room later to check up on you. Bye bye!" He hung up the phone and pocketed it before eyeing the other nations. "Well what did we all make of that?"
"England-san knows where Italy-kun is." Ventured Japan, the reserved nation sending a sideward glance to Germany as he spoke.
"Which means Italy is safe." Germany said softly, his shoulders sagging almost imperceptivity with relief, "Let's go through the facts. England would have told us if either of them were in trouble or at least left us some sort of indication, so they are both clearly safe; but England is clearly lying about being ill as well. Italy occasionally bunks off world meetings but England never does. Italy should be at home but was not there last night when I went to check on him and nobody saw England last night either, which means they left for wherever they are last night."
"Whatever it is they are doing they are clearly trying to do in secret!" Said the chair.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Canada…"
"Hey, I just realised that whatever they are doing they are obviously trying to keep secret." America piped up with pride, pleased with himself for coming up with a constructive idea. Beside him, the chair let out a longsuffering sigh.
"So, what do you think we should do next? If you want me to use Mister Pipe to teach them to turn up on time I can? Kolkolkol." Russia shifted ominously, holding his pipe with tender affection.
"Aiyaa, that's very ill advised!" China exclaimed, before expanding in a quieter voice, "Although if you do I won't stop you."
"I think our best plan would be to see what mon petite Anglais and little Italy plan to do next, leave them to it for a bit." The Frenchman chipped in, "Perhaps they have simply awoken some inner passion and are BLEEPING in the BLEEP by the BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP."
Awkward silence as most of the nations blushed and Japan drew a manga style diagram of the description in his notepad.
"Erm…moving on, I think France has the right idea…" Germany quickly backtracked, "Not about -that- bit." He clarified with a blush, "I think we should wait and see what they plan to do next. France, check on England's room tonight and I will check on Italy's house tonight. If they aren't there then we will try ringing them again tomorrow and give them two days to come back." He paused, "If they aren't back by the two days, then we will threaten to put them on the missing person register and mobilise most of the world's armies to go looking for them. After all, a Nation mustn't shirk his or her duties." He replied grimly, with something of a glint in his eyes.
The rest of the day's conference proceeded with a strange aura of quietness throughout the room.
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed this instalment of Pasta Tattoos. I hope the continuity of the plot makes sense, I understand that I am jumping around with time a little so please let me know if I am confusing you all. For reference, London is an hour behind Rome. I hope none of you mind me (quite literally) bleeping out France, I feel that leaving his words to your imaginations is more entertaining, closer to the anime and is the kind of thing that Germany (who's point of view this chapter is from) would tune out. Thank you for your continued support with this story and a shout-out to pastaaddict for your enthusiasm. I welcome any feedback. As ever, I don't own Hetalia.