Hello! Quick disclaimer, I am not an expert on Turkish/European/African history and culture so please give me some mercy if I got something wrong from my research. This is a work of fiction/fan fiction.
This story is a redux of my very first fan fiction I wrote back in 2012, called Spring Showers. This was one of my first Hetalia ships, and I wanted to do something with them in Gakuen Hetalia just for the nostalgia.
* I made this version of Gakuen Hetalia more of a university experience than a high school thing. I think it would work better as a university thing.
** There may be reference to some heavier themes in this story.
Miss Seychelles found herself waking up on another morning. While living to see the next day was always a blessing, having to spend it at World Academy W felt like a curse. Back in her home, she would wake up to the sun, and the glass sea. Everything was so warm and bright. The antithesis to that terrible school, located somewhere much too north, where the clouds often grew black and thick. They'd block out the sun she came to love so much and in the spring and autumn it rained mercilessly. At least the freezing snow of winter covered the land with beauty, but the rain was nothing but ugly. On that morning it was already raining when she woke. Mammoth amounts of impure water came down from the gray sky, each drop sounded like a stone hitting the earth.
Fall of the leaf was upon the miserable school, and the sound of the rain and chill of the air seeped through the walls of the dorm room. It cast a spell on her, invoking the desire to lay in bed and rot until it cleared.
She hadn't gotten very much sleep the night before. She never sleep very well. Her utilitarian bed was hard as a rock and the sheets much to scratchy against her skin. Being an island-girl forced into the awful academy by conquest meant she didn't have the means to upgrade her dorm or purchase luxuries that grew more and more expensive as she got more and more weary.
After reaching for the bottle of metallic tasting water she left on her poplar nightstand, she sat up in her bed. Her night clothes were too thin to shield her from the northern cold, but she bared the shivering and twisted the bottle cap.
With the bottle to her lips, she scratched her head, not surprised her long hair was tied in knots. The others in her Africa Class were convinced her hair wasn't her own. They said it was too long and beautiful, and that it originally belonged to a woman who was much more lucky than she. It was the kind of hair Mr. France and Mr. England liked. The thought of being liked by those two almost made her want to chop it off with reckless abandon. But if she had cut it, the torment she faced would only get worse.
It was already 7:15AM, she knew so from the flimsy plastic wall clock that hung above her shoebox window. It was a bit fast so she'd have to give or take a few minutes. Morning classes started at 8AM sharp every single day. Gone were the days she could sleep for as long as she wanted and the sun was the only thing to nudge her out of bed.
Her roommate, Miss Vietnam, typically was already out the door. She was a wonderful, hardworking lady, but she too hated World Academy W, and would constantly try to plot her escape. Miss Seychelles couldn't imagine a more hellish place.
When the weather got colder, the female students were allowed to wear tights, thick stockings, and sweaters with school approved shawls. Sometimes Miss Seychelles would wear three pairs of tights just to walk to her lectures. Many in the Africa Class did so as well. Some of the more outspoken ladies in the Europe Class petitioned to let the women wear pants. Miss Hungary was at the forefront of the protest.
While it was good that the ladies to get more options, Mis Seychelles liked to wear the frilly school's skirt. It was such a lovely color. A happy scarlet that matched the ribbons she like to put in her hair. And it had so many lovely pleats and a charming plaid pattern. It was one of the only good things about World Academy W. But it wasn't enough.
After getting up and grooming herself as best she could, she ran out the door, still attempting to fasten her ribbons to her hair. The motion of tying the bows was a small thing that reminded her of her home.
NEVER was she with an umbrella when she needed one. The rain pelted her unfamiliar skin and chilled her bones like it cooled the land's colors to gray.
As she approached the main hall where she would stay for the whole day to have lecture, she saw Mr. America hanging outside with his frenemy Mr. China. The both of them would try and flag her down with their loud voices as they were selling all kinds of umbrellas. While Mr. China's product was affordable and colorful, Mr. America spoke indulgently and probably dishonestly about some kind of new aged technology and ethically sourced materials. She struggled to think of many things, ethical, about the way the man did business.
Miss Seychelles tried her best to decline the both of their offers as kindly as she could. But they both pushed her only slightly as they liked to compete over things, especially things regarding sales.
She just wanted to escape them, especially that Mr. America. While he had an attractive smile and friendly disposition, wherever he was, his older, pettier brother loomed nearby. The terrible and tyrannical Mr. England struck fear into her heart. Sometimes he still threatened her with that dreadful collar, even though he promised he wouldn't anymore. She didn't quite understand him. What kind of man went around touting himself as a gentleman with his smart tweed outfits, fancy little accessories, and his constant "Righto"s and "good on you, old boy"s while being so cruel at the same time, and hiding his hands afterwards. She wasn't the only one who felt his wrath. Plenty in her Africa Class had a story or two about him. Even those close to him could speak his name with scorn. Particularly that Mr. America. Miss Seychelles shuttered at the thought of a man who held even his own younger brother under his thumb. But she knew Mr. England was kind inside and did good, even if she tried to trick herself into thinking otherwise.
Completely soaked and frozen by the rain, she stood outside her classroom, already half an hour late. She wrung her hair on the marble floor and shivered like a lost puppy until she was found by what looked like Mr. America.
"Are you alright, eh?" He asked her rather sweetly.
Before she could preemptively turn down buying another umbrella, she recognized the man as one of the luckier Francophones, Mr. Canada.
"Oh, I'm fine. Thank you Canada! I just got caught in the rain," she offered her polite tone to him.
"I wish there was something I could do," he paused and looked at his feet as he was known to do. "Oh well, sorry."
He appeared genuine, but ultimately dismissive of her. Then Mr. Canada did what he was best at, and disappeared.
"Oh well, indeed," Miss Seychelles muttered to herself unfairly.
She had been frustrated by that same attitude she was met with almost every waking second of every day.
No one cared that she was taken from her beautiful home, and her white sand beaches, and her grandfather for that prison of a school. It was the most terrible mission civilisatrice she could fathom. She was seen as the biggest "Oh well" by most everyone with a voice at the school. And anyone sympathetic of her struggle shared it as well.
CLASSES that day dragged on, and Ms. Seychelles learned nothing new. She wasn't given to pay any attention at that point. No matter how low her grades sunk, she still wouldn't be kicked out. Only talked to. Talked at. Time and time again.
She sat on the stairs by the door of the main hall, waiting for the rain to stop before she left for the day. Her slender legs were tucked close to her body as she watched her peers buzz about, completely unfazed by the depressing weather. She even saw that Mr. Canada who thrived in the tundra. He and his brother Mr. America waved to her. Mr. Canada waved probably because he was a gentle soul. And Mr. America waved probably because he waved at everyone smaller than him. Miss Seychelles mustered a smile to them as she watched them leave unbothered by the rain. She wouldn't mind having one of Mr. America's umbrellas at a time like that.
So she sat for much longer than a little while, watching the students come and go. She kept a look out for her most dreaded bullies, Mr. England and Mr. France. Sure they were handsome in their own ways, and their culture was exciting to learn about, but she couldn't bear how they treated her when they forgot themselves. The two hadn't been around that day. She knew, because the school was too silent. Their bickering would often shake the halls when they started. Perhaps students as fancy as they were had the luxury to skip class for the rain. No one penalized such wealthy students for truancy. Or maybe they simply had something better to do. Anything was better than being at that school.
The longer the sky wept, the more the sound began to lull her. As most of the students left out of the school, Miss Seychelles felt the dream realm beckon her. With her head resting on her arms that secured her knees close to her, she began to drift. And soon the soft sound of the rain, turned into the gentle crashing of the waves.
They were the waves from her home, the ones she could never forget. She dreamt of sitting beneath the palm trees with her grandfather who was so wise and who she missed too much. And she felt the soft sand grit between her toes, which were finally freed from her school shoes. And she got to smile at the passerby's who greeted her so kindly. And she took selfies with the tourists, and watched the gulls float lazily on the water, and counted seashells while ghostly little crabs buried themselves in the sand. And everything was gorgeous and right. Until she heard the snap.
It was that hateful snap the little red collar made. Instantly she was pulled from her sleep and grasped at her throat, ready to plead with Mr. England. But when she felt her neck was unrestrained, she found the Brit wasn't there. Before she could breath a sigh of relief, she flinched at the sight of another man, holding a telescopic umbrella that clicked in the same terrible manner as Mr. England's collar when it extended.
Miss Seychelles was calmed by his relaxed way of wearing his uniform, without a blazer, but with an easy silk scarf around his neck. He was also handsomely tall, with a sprinkling of stubble on his tanned face. But his most striking feature was a white masquerade mask that hid his eyes, but revealed his identity with how iconic it was.
Mr. Turkey, the well established and less meddlesome student of the Europe Class. Miss Seychelles remembered one of the Italy brothers—she could never remember which one was which— told a story about how Mr. Turkey used to be great and large, and was called by a different name with Empire tacked on the end. She tried to not immediately fear him, despite his lax appearance.
"Hey, are you alright?" He asked her with a nice and deep voice.
"Yes, thank you. I'm just waiting until the rain lets up to go back to my dorm," she looked down to avoid his gaze. "I can't handle getting soaked again like this morning."
He hummed deeply while turning his attention to the windows and the steady rainfall.
"It doesn't look like it will stop anytime soon."
Miss Seychelles closed her eyes, anticipating that same canned "oh well" everyone threw at her.
"But I have an umbrella. Maybe you'd like to walk with me?" He smiled a sun ray at her.
"Umm, well," Miss Seychelles couldn't make herself look away from him at that point.
For a moment they were silent. It was the type of quiet that came when she was thinking of the correct response, and not necessarily the one she wanted to say. But her thoughts evaded her. She couldn't believe he would be so kind.
Another few seconds went by, and before she could speak, her stomach spoke up for her with a noisy growl that dragged on.
"Are you hungry?" He asked, thrown off by the noise.
"I'm sorry, I haven't eaten all day."
"All day? You don't pack yourself lunch?" He kneeled by her side and began to rustle in his backpack while talking.
"I'm kind of a bad cook," she hid her face, she always hated to let people know she struggled with cooking.
"Well I can't let you go home hungry. I'll let you know, I'm a member of the Gourmet Food Club here. And food, whether it's gourmet or not is meant to be shared, and most importantly eaten." He went on for a bit in a gust of passion.
Out of his fold over bag, he pulled a small circular container. Surprisingly it was made of a heavy painted ceramic, with a clear lid. Once he took the top off it, the exotic spices nearly caused her mouth to water.
"You have to eat something, please," he wasn't necessarily asking her.
Without any further question he put the dish in her lap and fetched a fork and spoon wrapped in plastic from the side pocket of his bag.
"No, no. It's okay, really," she said trying her best not to drool over whatever he was serving her.
"You have to try my Dolma. I need your opinion anyways. That France is always so condescending about my cooking. I need an honest review."
Miss Seychelles perked up upon hearing the name of Mr. France. She wouldn't mind getting a chance to try some food that was on par with his.
The dish had a few morsels on it. They looked like stuffed leaves with some aromatic sauce poured over top and tangy yoghurt on the side. The scent begged her to eat it, as it traveled up into her nose, still piping hot.
"Well okay I guess," she hesitated only for a moment before taking a bite. Then another. Then another. And many more.
"It's delicious!" She said after coming down from the high of her first taste.
"Good, good. I knew that Francey Pants didn't know what he was talking about." He laughed a hearty chuckle before going into detail about all the ingredients and his cooking process.
She kindly sat and listened as he put away the now clean dish. It wasn't every day she got to taste gourmet meals, or enjoy conversation with such a friendly and easy-to-talk to student.
"Let's go now," he wasted no time in offering to walk her home again.
"Okay, thank you."
She allowed herself to agree to it, and stood up, immediately feeling safe from his height and purple aura.
"Great. By the way, you can call me Turkey. I don't think we've met before." He spoke like he was singing a song.
"My name is Seychelles. It's nice to meet you," she kept her head low and absentmindedly started to curtsy.
"Don't be so formal, Seychelles. You sound just as prim as that bushy browed, England." He laughed again.
Miss Seychelles twisted her face upon hearing his name, and Mr. Turkey noticed with his watchful eye.
"Alright, alright. What did he do to you?" He asked like he'd asked that question many times before to many different people.
"What didn't he do? He's a bully, and he put a collar on me," she tried not to sound too hurt, but it was difficult.
"Oh," he seemed only a bit surprised. "What can I say, he can be ruthless sometimes, even to me too. But he'll warm up to you eventually. I can't imagine why he'd bully someone so pretty."
Miss Seychelles wanted to say thank you, as the subtle complement tempted her to swoon. But she was silent when following Mr. Turkey to the exit.
He held the door for her like a right gentleman, his smile never leaving his face as he did so. And he made sure to open his wide umbrella before they stepped into the rain from under the building's cover. Miss Seychelles noticed a small blue bead dangling from the umbrella's handle. It had an attractive pattern, but a mystical and esoteric feel about it. It matched its owner with its mysterious pull. So Miss Seychelles had to ask about it.
Mr. Turkey let out a laugh that was downright contagious, and his smile felt like the sun itself. Then he told her a handful of small stories about his home, and all the jewelry, and the textiles, and the beautiful little things that filled it with color and life. The more he spoke, the less Miss Seychelles thought of the rain or the cold.
Soon enough they both shared tales from their sunny homes. When they laughed and spoke of their families, Miss Seychelles couldn't help walking just a bit closer to him, relishing the closeness. And Mr. Turkey didn't seem to mind, he would just continue to beam at her with his familiar smile and those strong white teeth, only slightly coffee stained. Miss Seychelles began to think her stay at World Academy W wouldn't be so bad with a friend like Mr. Turkey.
FINALLY the pair made it to the women's dormitory. For a moment, Miss Seychelles glanced at the lights in the windows. She thought in a quick panic, asking herself if Mr. Turkey would be embarrassed to be seen with her. But as she looked upon him once more, he still shared his doubtless grin, and she realized he really didn't mind her. He spilt over with his good energy, and she couldn't help filling herself with it too.
"You're back, safe and sound," he sounded more happy than proud of himself.
"Thank you very much, Turkey. For everything," suddenly she got shy with him.
"It was my pleasure."
They both paused. The quiet, backed by the gentle rain, simply begged one of them to say something else.
"If you need me, you know where to find me," he said.
"I guess so."
"Maybe I will see you again, before you need me?"
"Yes. I'd like to see you again," She swayed from side to side a little.
She couldn't remember what it was like to be happy enough to dance.
"The forecast says it will rain again, tomorrow," he looked at her knowingly.
"Then I'll see you tomorrow. Goodbye Turkey."
"Goodbye Seychelles."
It felt like they should hug, or even kiss. But their simple honest glances were enough for the time. And Mr. Turkey turned and went on about his way, the crescent moon and the stars bathed him in a gallant silver light as he left.
When Miss Seychelles entered the warmth of her building, she already missed his smile and the glint of his honey eyes beneath that mask. Part of her wanted to run back out to him, as everything else that brought her joy disappeared into the night once before. But she stayed in her room.
He would be back, just like the rain, and the sun, and her home, and the things she loved. And as she went to bed that night, she finally felt happy she could look forward to something on those terrible rainy days.
I've always thought of Turkey to be a somewhat romantic character in a different way than France. He seems to be a kind and helpful for the most part and he would care about people who are having a bad day. I read on the Hetalia Archives that Seychelles wasn't a good cook allegedly, so I jumped at the idea of her eating some of Turkey's food.
I was thinking of a second part to this story, but I am still unsure if I will continue with the paring. Thank you for reading.