Acknowledgements: Thank you to IrishMaid, B-The-Geek, Einsam-Schatten and of course all my other readers.
Chapter 1
The quaint English village of Bedlam Bottom was to be the venue for England and Belarus' wedding. Many of the Nations or at least those who were less socially competent had laughed at the name. Arthur ignored them. He and Belarus had wanted a quintessential English village wedding and thus he had chosen probably the most boring place on earth in which to hold it.
Arthur had also insisted that his stag 'do' should take place in the quietest, dreariest place in Britain - Little Snoring - a tiny seaside hamlet on the south coast just a half an hour from the wedding venue. What could possibly happen in such a tiny place? This was a question that would haunt Arthur in time...
The tiny local village church of St Judes was to be the venue for the actual blessing. The vicar of this church was a nervous man with an unfortunate name - Reverend Flunk - and if he did not have a nervous disposition before, he certainly did after just two meetings with the prospective bride, groom and their best man/groomsman and bridesmaids.
Belarus had told Rev Flunk to 'carry on with the wedding no matter what happened'. France had smiled seductively at him and mispronounced his name into something filthy. America had asked the poor man if 'he wore anything under that dress'. Latvia, Hungary and Ukraine had stomped up and down in army boots looking very un-bridesmaid-like and in the vicar's unprofessional view - looked very very pregnant. One had thrown up, the others all seemed to be eating something disgustingly similar to custard and chips.
The most alarming person had been the big Russian who had loomed over the groom-to-be, nodding excitedly at the practising of the vows. However, the vicar had been somewhat horrified when the holy water in the christening font had began bubbling over when Russia had first entered the building.
The Nations had taken over - and taken over had been the right words, Prussia had called it an 'invasion' - the only local hotel, the hilariously named 'Cock and Gun. Switzerland had liked the latter part of the name, while France had gone into paroxysms of delight at the former part of the name. Until the next morning… when the 'cock' of the title, the local cockerel, had woken them all at 4.30 am. Or, as England had called it 'half past bastard 4'.
There had been some rebellion over the bridesmaid dresses. "I'm not wearing that!" Latvia had declared at the sight of the monstrously frilly dress she was presented with and had stomped out of the room, her army boots leaving mud on the carpet. For a start, the colour was suspect. She thought it was supposed to be green. But as Ukraine pointed out, it was a green that was 'unnatural'.
"I think you have lost all sense of style and fashion since you got pregnant, sestra," Ukraine had told her sister.
It was a green that was more puce than green. Poland had winced at the colour. But for some unknown reason each bridesmaid wore different colours.
Ukraine was to wear 'peach' - which was a strange fluorescent orange colour. Poland had declared that it was 'so bright, the Stans back in the USSR could hear it'. Hungary was to wear yellow - which she claimed was 'the colour of piss' and Lily was to wear blue. Poland said it was 'no blue he had ever seen in his 1000 years of existence'. Poor Belgium's dress was pink. For some reason known only to the dressmaker who must have been mentally unstable, each dress had a sash with blood-red roses which was draped across the breast. When worn with the dresses they gave the appearance of a massacre.
"You all look gorgeous!" Belarus had declared, clapping her hands with glee.
They didn't. As Poland said, watching, in between laughing, they looked like a nightmare in a dress factory. Or the survivors of some awful fashion massacre.
Latvia had refused to wear her dress and had held it up with distaste against her. Ukraine bravely wore hers to please her sister. But the dressmaker had misread the measurements and Katya's enormous bosom strained against the cheap fabric. (Ukraine would not have used such fabric for her curtains, she decided, but was too polite to say.)
Hungary insisted on wearing hers with a crossbow slung across her shoulder. Lily was too polite to say anything, and as her brother had said, it was free and they didn't have to pay for anything. Belgium accessorised hers with her country's flag.
Poland had initially asked for a dress (he assumed he was a bridesmaid although not officially asked by the bride) but was now glad he hadn't been given one.
"You'll look wonderful for the wedding!" Belarus said with glee. "Now take them off, don't rip them… or I will be very very very very angry…" she warned as they all sighed. "And now we'll sort out the hen night… It's going to be wonderful!"
Nobody agreed. However, having seen Belarus' dress they all agreed they were not going to look any less ridiculous than her. It was, as Poland had pointed out, the largest dress in Christendom.
Ukraine had asked if she was hiding the Red Army under it. She'd struggled to get through the bedroom door. And as she'd coyly said that she didn't want Arthur to see it before the wedding, they'd all agreed that it was best he didn't see it at all.
The bride's dress was massive. If it wasn't for the fact that the fabric was so startlingly white (Ukraine suspected her sister was making some statement) the blood-red roses in her bouquet would not have stood out so much. It had taken three of them to carry it in and the dressmaker of this monstrosity - a Madame de Pompous - a woman on the edge of reason - had declared it was the pinnacle of her career. Certainly it was the end of her career. Poland doubted that the woman would ever dressmake again, and certainly not for anyone of sound mind.
Belarus announced that her sister had arranged the entertainment - strippers. "Male ones!" she had said, as if this was the deal-breaker. Hungary raised an eyebrow. Whoever these strippers were, she thought, they would have to be very brave. Or very stupid. Or willing to do anything for money.
As it turned out, they were all three.
Downstairs in the lobby, the groom (who had overdosed on tea) and his party were getting ready to 'paint the town red' or, in Arthur's words 'have a nice quiet beer and possibly a bag of crisps'.
Arthur was unaware of his bride's consternation over the dresses, nor was he aware of the mounting rebellion. He was also unaware of the utterly incongruous male strippers now making their way to the bride's bedroom (or HQ as Belarus now termed it).
He was strangely calm, and his outward jittery countenance was only due to the ten cups of tea he'd drunk in the last two hours as he'd felt obliged to, as Russia kept refilling his cup whilst he tried on his wedding suit. (England that is, not Russia.) Russia saw it as his duty to ensure that Arthur was fit, well and completely able to wed his sister the next day. Russia would have gone through hell and back to make sure this wedding would come off. And hell was a place he had a lot of experience with, so much so, he had frequent flyer miles.
Arthur told him that he'd been married before - just once - to 'Queen Bess' but as she had been Queen, everything had been taken care of. Telling Russia any of this did not mean anything. Russia did not care. Nothing, Russia decided, not even the Golden Horde, was going to stop England marrying his sister tomorrow. Russia decided it was going to take some catastrophe on a global scale to stop this imbecile marrying Belarus and thus freeing Russia from the shackles of his sister's weird love forever.
But catastrophes can take strange forms…
England had chosen America as his best man. 'Best' had been a term that caught in England's throat as he'd said it. 'Best' was not a term that he'd chosen to describe America, or any of his fellow male Nations at all. At a push he would have chosen Hungary as the 'best man' but as she was a bridesmaid, this was impossible.
Russia had held up a hand in hope when Arthur had tried to choose, but Arthur had sensibly overlooked this and told Russia he couldn't be best man as he was 'giving away' the bride. Somebody had sniggered and said that she had to be given away as nobody would pay.
There had been many arguments over Arthur's choice. France had insisted it should be him as he felt he had the longest joint history with England. Although England had pointed out, with much swearing that this joint history had involved centuries of fighting and invasions.
"I should be best man, mon ami! I have known you for centuries!" France repeated for the hundredth time as he boarded the coach which was to take them to their stag night destination.
England ignored him.
"We brought up leetle Alfred together…" France said, sitting down next to England.
England stood up and switched seats.
America frowned at this, he didn't like being reminded of being 'leetle' or 'wee laddie' as he heard Scotland call him. He still felt mentally scarred after being brought up by 'those two European weirdos' and still wasn't exactly sure what 'crisps' were.
"I should be best man!" came a German voice.
"Fuck off, Gilbert," England yelled back (for it was he).
"I'm the best fucking man around," Gilbert yelled and then belched.
All of these arguments took place on 'Trippers Tours' coach. The vehicle to take them to 'Little Snoring' was decrepit to say the least. As was the driver, an erstwhile upstanding man of the community by the name of 'Ron', who wore a beer belly with pride and glared at them as they boarded the coach.
"Why did you hire this heap of crap, Artie? Why didn't you hire that limo I was talking about?" America yelled.
England winced at his ex-colony's lack of indoor voice. "Because I don't want to stick out like a sore thumb," he growled. He turned to the driver, "Drop us off at the quietest pub in Little Snoring and pick us up at 11 pm on the dot, no later."
The coach driver grunted and scratched his belly through his stained vest.
"Fuckin' ell man, this is going to be most boring stag do ever since Old Sven The Quiet of Norway had that tea party in 1157 and we all fell asleep," Prussia yelled.
"Good," England said.
Russia agreed and sat at the back, got out his knitting and chatted happily to himself (or so it appeared).
On the seat in front of Russia was Canada and his polar bear cub. Mr Kumajiro was the only reason the Nations had realised Canada was there. The bear cub kept looking behind him and growling at Russia's knitting bag. Canada fed him fish to keep him in his seat. England wondered, not for the first time, how Matthew had got the bear through animal customs.
Francis flicked his hair back and attempted to switch seats again to sit with Arthur, "I zink we should go to the Big Bottom Dancing Club," he said.
"Dear Lord," Arthur muttered.
Russia dropped a stitch. "Wut?"
"Please leave all questions until the end!" America yelled.
The American was dressed in full Army General uniform (Arthur seriously wondered which Army General was trying to find his uniform - he doubted very much it belonged to Alfred) and seemed to be taking the role of 'best man' very seriously. "I have a full itinerary for this mission, men!" he yelled.
Arthur winced again. "We are going to have a nice quiet evening out. No fights, no strippers…" England said.
"… and no fucking fun either by the looks of it, kesese!" Prussia said and then added as two other bodies boarded the bus, "Hold the phone… this could get interesting."
Gilbert's eyes lit up, America grinned and England sighed. One of the figures was Denmark in a viking helmet clutching his own crate of beer. The other was anonymous - in a pink bunny costume.
"One man party pack coming through!" Denmark yelled.
Arthur stopped Denmark on the steps, "Not you…" he said, trying to shove the Dane back.
"Sweden and Finland said I could come!" Denmark yelled.
"Well you're not coming. Not after your disgraceful performance in that IKEA," England said.
"No way, man!" Gilbert shoved his way to the front of the bus, passing a completely indifferent Spain who was humming along to his ipod and waving cheerily at everyone. "Den's my mate and if he ain't going then neither am I."
"Okay, bye then!" England said.
"Awww, I'll be good. There aren't any IKEAs where we're going are there?" Denmark said, his grin disappearing.
England was distracted by the pink bunny stood behind the Dane.
"Hold on there! Who on earth are you?" Arthur said.
"Matthias! The personification of the great Nation of Denmark! The King of Northern Europe. The only man to drink 20 pints of Carlsberg and…" Den said, outraged.
"Not you…" England said, shoving him aside and poking the 'bunny'. "You!"
"No rabbits on my bus," said the bus driver, pointing at a sign that read 'no livestock allowed', "Not after last time."
The 'rabbit' took off his head, "Outrageous!" Austria said (for it was he).
"Why? Just why?" England said.
"Well may you ask!" Austria replied.
"He's one of us!" America told the bus driver.
"He's one of them…" Prussia added with a leery wink and a lewd grin.
"I don't care, he's not coming on my bus," 'Ron' said.
America tried to be smooth and dug into his pockets for a bribe. He unearthed a tiny power ranger doll with an arm missing, a packet of gum (opened) and a single dollar bill. He had no idea how much a dollar was worth in the UK but took a chance and gave it to the driver. The driver promptly gave it back.
"That utter idiot and bane of my life Vash Zwingli told me it was a fancy dress party and it was either this or a German Luftwaffe uniform in the shop," Austria said, his face very red.
"Aw man, it would have been hilarious if you'd…" Prussia began.
"…Got my head ripped off by Russia?" Austria finished for him. "Yes, I'm sure that would have been most amusing."
"So you decided to come as a gay bunny?" England said and then promptly fell into his seat as the coach driver shut the automatic door and the coach pulled away jerkily.
"I hate Vash…" Austria moaned and plonked himself next to England.
"I'll need an extra £100 to take animals on this bus," the bus driver said as they pulled away from the 'Cock and Gun'.
Canada shoved Mr Kumajiro down in his seat. Russia shuffled and said something to his knitting bag.
"He's not an animal, he's an Austrian.. An idiot of course…" England protested.
"I'm an aristocrat of good repute!" Austria said indignantly.
England sighed and looked at America, "Well?"
"Yes I am!" America said and jumped up, took hold of the microphone and was about to launch into a sing-song, when the coach screeched to a halt.
The door opened and a very grumpy, red-haired man in a skirt leapt on the bus, shoving Austria out of the way. It was Scotland. And if England thought it couldn't get any worse, Scotland had brought his bagpipes.
"Ach yer wee jessie! Yer nearly left withoot me! I shoulda been yer best man! I'm yer broother!" Scotland shouted at England.
"You've told me all this before," England sighed.
"Humph," Scotland grunted and slumped in a seat with his bagpipes. Everyone moved at least three seats away from him. "Get a bloody move on, man or they'll have run oot of beer!" Scotland yelled at the coach driver.
The coach did get a move on. With America singing down the microphone and occasionally telling some joke that nobody understood the punchline. England doubted the 'boy' (England still thought of his ex-colony as 'the boy') needed a microphone.
Russia wished, not for the first or last time, that he'd brought one of his Baltics. But Lithuania had told him he had a 'migraine' and Estonia had 'business'.
Over at the hotel, Lithuania did indeed have a migraine. Which was getting steadily worse. And no wonder as his room was just two doors away from Belarus' and the raucous laughter, shouting and music made his ears ring. He stuck his head under a pillow to try to shut out the noise. He was wise.
In Belarus' room, the strippers had arrived. A rag-tag bunch if ever there was one. The two Italies, Estonia and Greece fell into the room. Instantly there was shouts of indignation.
"Is this a joke?" Hungary snarled. "Where are the proper strippers?"
Latvia started laughing and threw popcorn at the two Italy brothers, who hugged each other.
"Try not to cry," Romano said to his brother, trembling.
Belarus glared at Eduard, "He was supposed to sort this out. Eduard, I gave you money…" she said in a low growl.
Estonia had indeed been given money to get strippers, but had decided to pocket the money instead and 'sub-contract'. In fact, Estonia had 'sub-contracted' quite a few services for this wedding, but more on that later.
"I didn't get any money!" Romano said, shooting a look at Estonia.
Estonia shrugged. "Take it or leave it, Miss Belarus," he said.
"Get stripping then!" Ukraine said, leaned back and popped another olive in her mouth.
"I don't want to see my own brother naked! It's weird!" Latvia said.
Estonia smiled to himself. He had no intention whatsoever of revealing any part of his anatomy to this pack of wolves that masqueraded as female Nations. He wore at least ten layers of underwear, along with four shirts, two jumpers, and a large overcoat. By the time he'd got down to the last layer, they'd all be asleep or bored, or both.
Besides, he was counting on Greece to do the stripping.
Greece had already forgotten he was there to strip, and was sat on Belgium's knee, having his hair ruffled.
Eduard shoved the two Italies forward, switched on the music on a very old tape recorder and told them to 'get on with it'.
It was dire, or 'utterly crap' as Latvia called it. She doubted strippers should hide behind each other. Or that it would take so long to take shoes off.
"Did you hire the wimpiest blokes you could find?" Belgium said, and tried to ease Greece off her knee. He was asleep.
Romano was appalled, "Hey! I am Italian! We are the world's best lovers!"
"Do we have to take off our shirts?" Feliciano moaned, "I don't think I have a vest on underneath… shall I go get some pasta and pizza? I made some earlier for Luddy in the kitchens, the staff here said I could when I went down to ask and then I made a huge pot of bolognese sauce and it was the best sauce they had ever had!" He said all this at 100 miles per hour.
"Stop talking and just bloody strip!" Belarus told him.
"I'm going to tell Luddy about you," Feliciano said.
Latvia laughed and threw a peanut at him.
Ludwig Beilschmidt was actually on the coach with the other male Nations. He wished he was actually with Feliciano eating pizza. But if he'd known what was actually happening, he would have changed his mind. He had been silent during the arguments between Austria, England, Prussia and the others. Largely because he was doing his paperwork. He noted that no other Nation ever seemed to have paperwork. He asked Russia this but Russia had pointed a knitting needle at him and shook his head.
Spain had just grinned happily at the question and then began singing some Spanish rubbish. Germany sighed. He hadn't wanted to come on this 'do'. He didn't like 'fun'. He'd had 'fun' once before with Italy and Japan. It was over-rated in his view.
He actually wanted to tell Canada off for bringing the polar bear with him, but as the polar bear was being particularly grouchy tonight (Mr Kumajiro kept growling at Russia's knitting bag and Russia's affection for the bear stopped him from ripping his head off) he decided not to.
He ignored his brother who was teasing him for 'doing his homework on the bus'. As if he were a little kid. He also ignored Denmark's belching at him from the seat in front as the big Dane leaned over the back of the seat and grinned moronically at him. There was no justice, he thought. Why were these morons Nations? They never did anything but fight, get arrested and generally cause havoc.
The coach had only been travelling for half an hour, yet the driver had to stop. Mainly because Denmark claimed he needed the toilet, America needed snacks and France said he needed some 'provisions' from a pharmacy and then winked lewdly at England.
They stopped at a motorway service station. America, already two hours behind his eating schedule, ran into the MacDonalds and ordered a Big Mac, large fries, a strawberry milkshake and a bag of donuts 'to be getting on with'.
Russia wandered off after Arthur (he'd taken it upon himself to shadow the Englishman at every turn and make sure he got to the church on time) and carried his knitting bag with him. He had to pause though when he heard a squeaky little voice.
"Mr Russia! Wait for me!"
It was Mr Kumajiro, who turned back to his hapless owner and said, "I'm the personification of the Arctic Ocean and I'm going places, I don't need you anymore, you've always held me back!"
Canada hurried to catch up and remonstrate with the bear.
Denmark and Prussia had found a children's 'Postman Pat' ride and were haranguing Austria for some coins to put in it.
"Give us some of your money! You need to spend it!" Prussia yelled, sitting atop the ride, Denmark inside, his Viking Helmet askew.
"I don't have any money! Go away you uncouth louts!" the pink bunny yelled back at them.
"Bruder!" Prussia yelled at Germany, "Hey West! Do you have any spare change?"
Germany ignored him and hurried into the Costa Coffee, ignoring France's bewailing of the lack of 'decent coffee' in the establishment.
Spain dreamily followed Scotland into the men's toilets, the Scotsman passing Spain his bagpipes before entering a cubicle telling the Spaniard to 'guard them as if his testicles depended on it'.
"Si!" Spain said, having no clue whatsoever what the Scotsman had just said to him.
"Hey! Give the awesome me some money!" Prussia yelled at America.
America, his mouth full of hamburger, shrugged, "Only got ma credit card," he mumbled.
"Here!" England threw some coins at the two, "And shut up, will you and stop drawing attention to yourselves!"
There was always attention drawn to the Nations. Whether this was because of the aura they projected - one of dread in Russia's case - or the fact that many of them acted like imbeciles.
It was probably the latter, England thought as he stepped into WHSmiths and perused the newspapers. He tried to ignore the Russian looming behind him. And the polar bear cub stood next to the Russian holding Ivan's hand.
Canada sat outside on the floor, his head in his hands, "My own bear cub won't talk to me…" he said to America as his brother passed by.
"Whatsat, bro?" Alfred stopped. He was always sympathetic to his brother and was genuinely often surprised when Canada was upset about being mistaken for him (America thought it was a compliment being mistaken for him - the best superpower on earth) or about him throwing balls at him too hard across their shared border. "Here dude…" America said and tossed him a bag of fries.
"What's that purring?" Arthur said, while perusing the Times newspaper. He glanced over his shoulder at Russia, who was stood uncomfortably close to him. "Are you purring?" he asked.
Russia blushed red and shuffled and then said, "Wut?"
"Wut?" England said.
"What?" Russia asked.
England put the newspaper back and frowned, trying to think of something to say when there were yells from outside.
There were several things going on. All of them quite alarming and sure to bring the police and, even worse, their respective embassies down on the Nations.
Firstly, it appeared from the yells emanating from Denmark and Prussia that the Nordic Nation was stuck in on the 'Postman Pat' ride. Evidently, his Viking frame was too large for a children's ride. But he did not have the wit to understand this.
There were other yells coming from the small Boots pharmacy - mainly French ones. It sounded as if the French Nation was protesting about the variety of condoms the pharmacy stocked.
But the most worrying yell was from the coach driver who hurried into the service station waving his arms around.
"Oh no…" England muttered. "What the bloody hell have they done now?"
But, for once, it was not the Nations' fault.
"My coach is on fire!" 'Ron' the coach driver yelled.
America dashed out with a fire extinguisher, "Stand back men! I'll deal with this!"
England just raised an eyebrow and went to the nearest phone booth. Russia stood open-mouthed watching America, armed with a fire extinguisher, attempt to put out a full-blown vehicle fire.
"Please state the nature of the emergency?" came the voice over the phone.
"It's difficult to say really…" England looked around. First at Denmark stuck in a miniscule mail van, then at France who was still yelling at the pharmacist, then at Scotland who was about to play a lament on his bagpipes and finally at America who was bravely (or moronically depending on your own point of view) aiming a lank drizzle of foam at the coach which was now ablaze.
"Fire and possibly an ambulance… perhaps the police as well… to be on the safe side…" England said as Scotland punched out a man who had insulted his bagpipe playing.
"Everything is going to be okay… don't worry," Russia said soothingly behind him. "I'm glad I saved you." (Unbeknown to England he was talking to his knitting bag.)
England was really worried now. Russia had obviously got some kind of fixation on him.
America dashed passed him, "Don't worry dude! I just need another fire thingy and I'll put this mother out!" he yelled.
The coach exploded.
Next Chapter:
Misinterpretations, Viking invasions, the most boring pub in England and fish and chips.