Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers. If I did, than the whole series would focus on Poland so much more. Behold the mighty power of the Poles!
(Like, totally~)
"Oi, stop being such a bloody twat, and just pass me another one," Anna slurred, draping an arm around the equally intoxicated Italian. The two drunks were swaying slightly, their eyes' were bloodshot and glassy, yet everything else appeared to be normal. In response to her question, Lovino just took another swig from his bottle of wine.
The sun was nearly setting behind her, but Anna couldn't bring herself to care; she knew she was completely pissed, completely and utterly sloshed. She had just finished her dinner awhile ago and Lovino, being Italian, had a bottle or two of wine on him which the pair had preceded to drink.
Vaguely, Anna tried to recall the last time she went drinking and wasn't groped by a man's wandering hands. It was a nice feeling.
The young Italian groaned and tried to shake off the Englishwoman's arm, but his attempts were in vain. Even on his best (and sober) days, he couldn't seriously harm or do anything to intentionally anger a woman. Damn chivalry. "I think you...us...we, we've had enough. Maybe. Dammit I can't think anymore– isn't that a bad sign?"
"Only if you plan on stopping," Anna grumbled, reaching for the bottle. Putting the bottle to her lips, she took a long chug before exhaling contently. "If you don't, then it means nothing."
"Leave it to the English to be alcoholic."
"Leave it to the Italians to be quitters."
Lovino snorted, before taking the bottle defiantly away from the smirking Briton and taking a drink. As he finished Lovino's body started to profoundly sway, almost enough to knock Anna off kilter. For a second Anna wondered how much alcohol Lovino had; she was sure that she had more and yet, he was the one acting as if he was a new to this wine.
"Whatcha thinkin' bout?" Lovino asked, his words even harder to distinguish. His cheeks were bright red at this point, and Anna was reminded of Peter's face after a particularly harsh snowstorm a few years ago.
Smiling at the thought, Anna cocked her head at the Italian and regards him slowly. Now that she thinks about it, Lovino is somewhat like an older version of Peter, bratty personality and all. Even the childish and annoyed pout on the Italian's face was so similar to her brother's normal demeanor, that Anna thought she was looking into a older, brunet version of her stupid git of a brother.
It takes a moment, but Anna remembers (probably between the throat clearing, and pointed looks that Lovino is doing) that the young man is still waiting for her answer. To a question. Some sort of question. "Um, I'm terribly sorry, but could you repeat yourself, love?"
"I asked whatchu were thinkin' bout, crazy bitch."
"Oh, just how much you act like my brother," Anna replies, eyes lighting up when the Italian produced yet another wine bottle from seemingly nowhere. "Just how do you do that?"
"Do what?" Lovino asks, his eyebrows furrowing cutely. "Oh, you mean the bottles? What do you think, I am a goddamn Italian." Clumsily, the 'goddamn Italian' uncorked the bottle, a little bit of the alcoholic drink dribbling down the side. Anna's eyes, naturally, were automatically drawn to that lone drop.
She was so mesmerized, that Anna didn't even register that Lovino was speaking. That is, until the man snapped his fingers in front of her face, obscuring her view of the drink. Sheepishly, she turned to her disgruntled companion and questioningly tilted her head.
"I said, you cagna alcoliche," Lovino began, "that I highly doubt that your brother could be quite as amazing as I am."
The petulant pout on the Italian's face was almost enough to send Anna into a fit of laughter. Something about seeing that expression– a favorite of Peter's– on his face was just hilarious to her. "Amazing wouldn't be the word I would use, mate. More like annoyingly childish."
"I'm not childish. That title belongs to Feliciano, he's the one who acts like he doesn't a have a brain half...most...all of the time! He seriously acts like he's either mentally disabled, or stupid, or seven years old! Who does that? What healthy adult acts like an idiot?" Lovino whined.
Rolling her eyes, Anna wondered if he was being serious or just facetious. She hadn't known Lovino long enough to know what he truly thought of his brother, so she couldn't know for certain which one was correct. But, the irony of his statement was more than enough to make her giggle. As her chuckles grew in volume, Lovino's glare grew in intensity. As did the amount of alcohol that Anna consumed.
Finally, Lovino had enough. "Chigi! It's not funny, he really is too stupid to function. The only good thing about him is that he drives that Potato Bastard crazy too. It's actually hilarious to watch the two of them together, just not when their being so freaking charming. I don't know how Kiku can stand to be around them and not throw up, especially since he hates being touched."
"Kiku?"
"Yeah, he's some Asian friend of Feli's, he's always around when Feli's being particularly stupid. Besides that German asshole, he's the only other one who can handle my brother's stupidity without committing suicide..." Lovino trailed off.
Kiku... Anna rolled the name around in her head, contemplating when she'd heard it before. It definitely seemed familiar, like the name of a relative or friend that she hadn't seen or heard from in years. For all she knew, it could be. Anna didn't remember much from of her childhood, or really any time before her parents died.
Desperate to clear her head (or maybe muddle it more), Anna took another swig of wine. The English woman idly wondered how intoxicated she'd get by the end of tonight.
"Oi, you okay? You got all quiet again," Lovino slurred tiredly.
Anna looked up, took Lovino's glossy eyes into account, and wryly smiled back. "Yeah, I'm fine. Except for the fact that I'm stuck in this tower, I don't know about what's happened to Peter, and my foreseeable future is unknown, I'm perfectly peachy keen."
"I know it's not much, but you shouldn't worry too much about your brother," Lovino stated, his eyes becoming serious. "Ludwig might be an asshole, Feliciano might be a bimbo, Kiku might be unsure and hesitant, but they'd never intentionality hurt an innocent person. Take yourself for example, you were "painlessly" knocked out when it could have been much, much worse. Your brother should be fine, you know, barring the fact that he's not a dumbass or anything."
Blinking owlishly, Anna stared at the Italian. She was deeply swayed by the true blue concern that someone, who was practically a stranger, had for her. It was a refreshing change from profound annoyance or barely tolerated loathing, as Peter was apt to displaying; it was even a nice difference from the mirthful demeanor of Tino or Berwald's lack of any visible expression.
"For an Italian," Anna said, her voice light and slightly sarcastic, "you don't seem like a womanizing, spaghetti-eating, mobster."
"And per una donna inglese," Lovino smirked. "you don't seem like a snobby, tea-loving, bitch."
Feigning hurt, Anna place one hand over her chest, right near her heart. "You wouldn't know how wrong you are about the last one. I love a good cup of tea, almost as much as I love a good bottle of whiskey. Which sadly, this drink isn't."
"And you're wrong about the spaghetti part," Lovino chuckled, his standing up. "I enjoy eating tomatoes much more than pasta."
The two of them continued to banter lightly for awhile, having fun poking the other's (rather large) ego, until a loud, overbearing, and obnoxious knock broke the atmosphere. Muttering, Anna rose and made her way over to the door, opening it. What she saw, was enough to make her glare and scowl.
"Frau Kirkland," Ludwig politely said, bowing his head. The German side-stepped Anna's glare, completely ignoring the woman in favor of glancing around and noting the empty wine bottles. Frowning, Ludwig addressed the Italian. "Lovino, your brother needs your help making dinner. If you're indisposed, I can have Kiku help..."
The Italian scowled, and grabbed the the leftover alcohol, chugging all that remained in the bottle. "Don't bother, bastard. Just lookin' at you is makin' me sober."
Ludwig's eye started to twitch, but he exited the room without wasting another glance around. Anna shut the door angrily, not quite believing the arrogance that the German possessed. Huffing, she turned around and spotted the brunet collecting the miscellaneous items that he had brought with him. Sighing, Lovino shrugged at Anna and started to make his way to the door. To stop him, Anna stepped in front of the visibly irritated man.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Lovino," Anna said pleasantly, forgetting the beastly feeling she had when she saw the German enter the room, and extended her hand to shake. Lovino copied her movements, smiled and firmly shook her hand. After disengaging, Lovino made a beeline to the door, his steps short and quick.
"The pleasure was all mine, Anna," Lovino quipped, his hand on the doorknob and his back facing Anna. "I hope you enjoy your stay in Hell."
"Are we there yet~?" Alfred whined. Francis had to refrain from hitting the American; this was the umpteenth time that the boy had asked that question, and he knew that everyone else was almost as tired of it as he was. In fact, Gilbert had taken to referring to every time Alfred opened his mouth as 'unawesome'.
Francis shook his head, and looked at Peter. "Well, are we close?"
Peter, who had been perched upon Antonio's shoulders (and the Spaniard looked way to happy at this; if Francis didn't know his friend any better...), just the Frenchman a dirty look. "Almost, Berwald's house is just over those hills over there. You hear that, you American twat?"
"Of course," Alfred said, rolling his eyes, "A hero always pays attention to the words of his sidekicks."
After smothering his frustrated sigh, Francis rushed to stop Gilbert from attacking the other blond. Francis disliked being addressed as a 'sidekick', but he was used to Alfred's quirks, especially after living with the boy for so long. The Prussian on the other hand... well, he took any slight suggestion that he wasn't awesome as a horrible offence.
In fact, if Alfred wasn't so terribly oblivious, he might have noticed the blood-hungry Gilbert clawing towards him.
"Let go Franny," Gilbert shouted. "I'm going to slice his head off and feed it to my awesome bird, and maybe then he'll realize how awesome I am!"
Antonio chuckled, remembering the last time Alfred had something that annoyed his Prussian friend to this extent. But, of course, that time there had been a few beers involved, and Gilbert had forgiven the blond boy because he'd been sloshed. The Spanish man knew that Gilbert had a short fuse, but an even smaller tolerance for grudges.
Readjusting Peter, Antonio tapped on the American's shoulder. He was met by the blinding smile that Alfred loved to show off. "Ai, Amigo. I think you need to apologize to Gilbo– a héroe never hurts his friend's feelings, right?"
Alfred stared at Antonio, taking in the Spaniard's cheery smile, before nodding and rushing over to Gilbert. When he reached the albino, the American winked and started talking too quickly for anyone (including Gilbert) to understand. The only thing that Francis could gather, and he was usually an expert when it came to interpreting what Alfred was saying, was that the bespectacled man had an apologetic tone.
Gilbert stared into Alfred's eyes, as if he was looking at his soul. Alfred shifted uncomfortably, but relaxed once he saw a lazy smirk appear on the other's face.
"It's not your fault that you can't comprehend my awesomeness; it just means you're not awesome enough."
And with that, Gilbert turned back around, slung an arm around Antonio (consequently knocking Peter off the other's shoulders) and preceded to speak with his Spanish friend. From his spot on the grass, Peter saw Alfred smirk before jogging up to the pair. Peter could vaguely hear him saying something about a drinking contest, but he was too angry to really think about it.
"Don't get too mad at him," Peter turned around to see an amused Francis looking at the trio fondly. "Gilbert tends to get a bit defensive."
"Defensive? How about deranged!" Peter challenged, watching the Frenchman chuckle in response.
"Gilbert is no more insane than the rest of us. He just has an exceptional way to see things," Francis said lightly. Peter snorted, from what he had seen all of the men had to possess some sort of mental disease. There was no way that they were normal, especially the Frenchman or the German kraut! "But that is a topic for another time. Perhaps you could tell me a bit more about your friends, mon garçon?"
Tilting his head, Peter felt a smile appear on his lips. That always happened when he thought of Tino and Berwald. "They're the nicest, kindest people I know. Even if Berwald is a bit scary and Tino's a bit talkative... and their food is somewhat weird."
"Isn't all English food weird? You should be used to be by now, non?" Francis smirked, a hand running through his hair.
Peter glared viciously before shoving the elder blond, cackling over the indignant squawk that followed. "Shut up, jerk! Berwald and Tino aren't even English, they're Swedish and Finnish! And even if they're food sucks, they're still one hundred percent better people than you!"
Stomping and grumbling under his breath, Peter left the Frenchman to his thoughts. Peter seemed to be awfully attached to the Nordic couple, despite the fact that he lived with his (magnifique, déesse d'une femme) sister. It was even more peculiar that the young Englishman referred to this couple, and he knew they were a couple, with a nicer demeanor than he had ever spoken of Anna.
There was more to the Kirkland family than met the eye.
And with that thought, Francis shorten his stride and began to catch up with the rest of his friends. Soon, he crossed over the hills, and found himself in front of a nice, cosy house. The Frenchman watched as Peter skipped (was this really the boy who was acting so rudely mere minutes ago?) to the front door and knocked.
"Alright, all of you stand behind me, Berwald tends to get a bit... suspicious of new people," Peter said flippantly, as if he really didn't care what happened to the men. Francis rolled his eyes, but otherwise complied with the rather bossy English boy. Following his lead, the rest of the merry men retreated as well, some mumbling about how "awesomeness wasn't afraid of anything".
After a few moments, the barrier was opened, and Francis saw what could possibly be the scariest image he had ever seen. There stood a tall, muscular, bespectacled, blond man, with a stare so intimidating, that Francis swore he felt the temperature drop.
"S'ere 'om'ing you nee', Pet'r? Who's a'l the's pe'ple?"
Jumping in alarm and the deep voice, Francis was amazed by how Peter's face transformed into an expression of pure adoration. In fact, it was quite creepy how happy the Briton seemed; it was the happiest Francis had seen the boy in the small amount of time they'd known each other.
"Berwald," Peter cried, launching himself to the taller man. "You need to listen to me! You won't believe what happened, probably because it's really scary and weird and stupid and completely idiotic!"
To his credit, Berwald didn't blink as the now hyperactive teen latched himself to his arm and calmly started walking into his delightful home, nodding his head and the other men to come inside. Squaring his shoulders, Francis did just that, not looking back to see if his friends followed him (which they did).
"T'no," Berwald called. Faintly, Francis wondered how much less intimidating Berwald would be if his speech was understandable. Looking around, Francis could see the quaint atmosphere surrounding the house; it seemed like Swede's partner was quite knowledgeable about the art of decor.
Or, perhaps beneath the roughness there lied a man with good taste.
"In the kitchen, Su-san," A voice replied, brimming with cheer.
Grunting, Berwald adjusted Peter so that the small boy was now perched atop his shoulders. He then effortlessly entered the kitchen, ignoring Peter's hair tugging and the Alfred's enthused whispers about how Berwald was hero material. Sometimes, Alfred made really immature remarks– other times they were just complètement inutile.
The shift that the Swedish man made proved pointless, since as soon as Peter was in the same vicinity as Tino, the small Briton launched off of Berwald and tackled the slighter man to the floor. Francis' eyes widened in horror; what if Peter had seriously hurt the other man? In shock, Francis looked at the tall Scandinavian.
He looked completely nonplussed. Francis didn't know which was more concerning, Berwald's reaction, or the yells of "Awesome one!" coming from behind him.
"Kultaseni, I'm happy to see you too, but could you get off? I'm sure your scaring your friends," Tino said breathlessly, his chest expanding and contracting violently. Peter looked unhappy at the idea of leaving, but detached himself out of necessity.
As he helped the panting Finnish man, Peter shot a glare over at Francis, Antonio, Gilbert, and Alfred, one which Francis readily returned. "They're not my friends Tino, they're just jerks who are going to rescue Anna!"
"Rescue?" Tino and Berwald asked (well Tino asked, Berwald just blinked at stared fiercely at Peter), worry evident in their expressions. "What the hell happened to Anna?"
Francis patronizingly patted Peter's head, before speaking. "C'est horrible! Apparently, the beautiful maiden known as Anna was kidnapped by a brutish German man– sorry Gilbert– and taken away to a mysterious location. My friends and I have taken on the task of finding her."
"Yeah, we're gonna be totally awesome, kay?" Alfred said, carelessly swinging an arm around Berwald's shoulder. The taller, blonder man looked as if he wanted to rip the American off of him, the only thing holding him back was the Tino's calming gaze.
Francis' thoughts took on a less kid-friendly tone as he regarded the Finnish man. Tino seemed to be a very chipper and cute young man, one who Francis would not feel shameful about teaching how to love and cherish with his entire heart. All night long.
Berwald glared at the French man, who, was not even concealing his thoughts. "'M sor'ry, but we 'aven't int'oduc'd ourselv's. M' name's Berwald Oxenstierna. Th's is m' w'fe, Tino Väinämöinen." To accentuate his point, the Swede shook Alfred's arm off and drew Tino into a hug.
Francis smiled sheepishly, or as sheepishly as he could, and wrapped his arms around Antonio's shoulders. That ship had sailed then.
"Su-san, can you let me go? And stop telling people I'm your wife, it's...awkward," Tino trailed off, staring embarrassingly at the smirking Francis and Gilbert, obliviously smiling Antonio, and arguing Alfred and Peter. Apparently Alfred had insulted Peter's love of tea, and the Englishman was taking revenge in the form of yelling. "Please, won't you all come inside and rest? Anyone willing to help Anni is welcome here."
Traveling to the sitting room, Francis was yet again surprised with the cheery decor. It seemed out of place in the duo's residence. "Excuse me Tino, but did you decorate?"
"Me? Oh no, Su-san is the one with the taste in furniture," Finland said, smile in place. "Now if you don't mind me asking, just what are your names?"
Francis frowned, upset that he had forgotten one of the most basic things about meeting new people. Peter looked at him with laughter in his eyes; his sister was right, the French really did have no manners. "Oh pardonnez-moi, I'm Francis Bonnefoy. The awesome albino is Gilbert Beilschmidt, the loud blond is Alfred F. Jones, and the lively brunet is Antonio Carriedo."
"Oi Francis, it's Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. You need to get it right, say it with more passion~," Antonio sang, his eyes sparkling. After shaking his head, Francis turned back to the Finnish man.
All he saw, was Tino shaking his head and mumbling something about how Mathias would love all of them. Maybe being so close to Peter had pretty much made Tino go insane; it was entirely possible based solely on the small amount of time that Francis had spent with the ill-tempered Briton. And how terrible were those times...
"Ah Tino, what we really came here for is just to drop Peter off. If we are seriously going to pursue Anna, then we'll need to work quickly and a child would just slow us down," Francis stated, ignoring the indignant yells and curses that Peter was tossing at him. Well, it's not like those persisted for long, since after one glare from Berwald, Peter obediently back down and pouted. Francis looked at the display in disbelief; he thought that the blond boy would not listen to anybody. He certainly hadn't listened to anyone in their group.
"Okay, that's totally unawesome," Gilbert said bitterly. "Why didn't the wenig Scheiße listen to us? We're are, well I am, awesome!"
Looking thoughtful for a second, Tino cocked his head. After convincing Peter to go check on the food, he looked at the mixed group of men with a guarded expression. "I guess it's because I've known Peter since he was a little kid, even back before his parents died. I know, or knew, all the Kirklands, Anni is just the only one around our age."
"Hey man, why do you keep calling her Anni?" Alfred asked, his eyebrow hitched. "I thought her name was Banana or something."
"Olet väärässä, it's just a nickname. I've referred to Anna as Anni for as long as we've known each other; it's the Finnish equivalent of Anna."
Francis briefly wondered if Tino had an expression other than amused or happy, but judging from the wide grin on his face, Francis doubted that was true. If Tino was so close to Anna, shouldn't he be worried about her safety right now, not out her giggling with them? Shouldn't they be out there, valiantly trying to save the damsel in distress?
"Calm down, Franny. I can see your stress marks from here and it's totally unawesome," Gilbert teased, his eyebrows waggling. "Just think of this time as preparing and shit."
"Oui, oui whatever you say, Gilbo. Tino, what do you mean you knew all the Kirklands? Are there more than Peter and Anna?" Francis inquired.
Tino's smile slipped from his face for a moment, and he checked to see whether or not Peter had come back yet. The action itself just made Francis want to hear the response even more. Even from the brief amount of time that they had known each other, Francis knew that Tino wasn't one to make suspicious moves. After locking eyes with Berwald, the Finnish man took a deep breath.
"Anni and Peter have three older brothers: Eadan, Liam, and Callum, but they haven't been around in a long time. Those three had skipped town long before their parent's death, and even after it, they didn't return. I guess they just didn't care enough about what happened to their family. They're the reason why Anni was the one who needed to raise Peter too, even though she's only a few years older than him."
"Even if Anni would disagree, I think Peter turned out to be a nice man– somewhat like Su-san," Tino joked, laughing slightly when Berwald turned and glared at him. Still despite his statement, the Finnish man still seemed unusually quiet and somber.
Francis sat quietly, thinking about the woman he was to rescue. She seemed like such a complex woman, someone who had dealt with the hand that life had dealt her, but not without bitching about it. It that regard, she truly was a proper English woman. As he thought, Francis was unaware of how his hand was curling until one of his perfectly manicured nails broke the skin of his palm. Silently, Francis made a vow. As long as he still had blood running from his veins, he'd find and protect Anna, the woman who needed to grow up too quickly.
A/N:HEY. HEY. HEY YOU.
I'm not dead, I'm just talking my sweet-ass pimp time. Anyways, I'm actually a little behind where I wanted to be in this story, even though this chapter is also slightly longer than I wanted. :'[. Hopefully I can get back on track next chapter, and introduce another genderbent character (hint hint)!
Translations:
per una donna inglese - for an English woman
magnifique, déesse d'une femme - magnificent, goddess of a woman
complètement inutile - completely useless
Kultaseni - sweetheart
Olet väärässä - you're wrong
wenig Scheiße - little shit
If needed, I can translate what Berwald said... but I hope you can follow that... Good day and good night Space-Cadets. I hope you find a drunk!Lovi in your closet soon ;D
Oh, and please Review! It's sorta weird when you have three times as many alerts than reviews...