Acknowledgements: Thank you to IrishMaid, B-The-Geek, Pedro-IS-Madi12, Percabeth is Awsome, cullinane, Go LilixIcy, Missmanda, Einsam-Schatten and of course all my other readers.
Chapter 2
The song "You can leave your hat on" blasted from Belarus' room. Lithuania stuck his head deeper under his pillow and hummed to himself to try to muffle the yells, shrieks of derision and the crying (which he assumed, correctly, came from the Italies).
To be fair, he'd been asked - by both England and Russia - if he wanted to go with them on the stag night. He'd given his apologies. And Poland had asked him to join him at the Spa for a massage and facial. He'd turned that down too as he felt he would just be picked on by Russia. (Poland did not care about such things.)
He'd also been asked by Finland and Sweden if he'd wanted to join them on a shopping trip to 'Tesco'. He'd declined.
In Belarus' room, things were getting out of hand, Estonia noted. He wasn't down to his underwear yet, but the Italy brothers were and the girl Nations' derisive yells had almost caused Romano to slam out - it was only by the appearance of some money that kept him there. Feliciano had managed to stop crying - but only after being given a lot of wine to drink by Ukraine. Greece was very nearly naked and had been passed around the female Nations' laps quite happily. But he did appear to be asleep.
Thankfully, before Estonia could take off his fourth shirt, there was a knock at the door. He and Romano fell over each other to answer it.
Standing in the doorway was a large Italian man in an expensive suit.
"Signor…?"
Estonia frowned, "Can I help you?" he asked.
Romano tried to shove Estonia out of the way. But the Baltic, although not being bigger or stronger than Romano (they were actually quite evenly matched) had not spent centuries living under Russian and Danish rule and not learnt something about standing his ground. Estonia blocked Romano and shoved him into Hungary's arms.
"Si!" said the man in the doorway, "You are not Signor Vargas?"
"Who wants to know?" Estonia said, suspiciously.
"I am!" Feliciano shouted.
"No, I am!" Romano yelled, as Hungary rubbed his hair.
"You are so cute, Romano! Austria should have took you in when he had the chance back in the 16th Century," Hungary said.
"Can I interest you in some property? Time-share? Do you have insurance?" Estonia asked the man.
"I am here to ask Signor Lovino Vargas to step downstairs to see my boss, Don Amaretto," the man said.
Estonia frowned, "Oh I see… Does this Don have insurance?" Estonia said, "I can arrange it for him, I'll get my briefcase. I'm Signor Vargas' legal representative," Estonia continued, never one to miss out on a deal.
"No, he's not!" Romano muffled.
"I'm Signor Vargas!" Feliciano said and launched himself out of Belarus' and Ukraine's attempts to take off his pants. Both were laughing hysterically.
Latvia had decided to ignore them all and was watching a shopping channel and making use of Russia's credit card by buying a brand new vacuum cleaner and a microwave oven. Lily was reading a pregnancy magazine and Belgium was eating chips.
The man looked him up and down and said, "Follow me, Signor."
"Yay! I'm finally important!" Feliciano declared and began pulling the rest of his clothes on. Ukraine grumpily threw him his shoes.
Estonia hurried after the half-dressed Italian, yelling over his shoulder at Ukraine, "Bye then, dear. I'm just going to sort out some business…"
"Dear?" Belgium said suddenly, looking up.
"He calls everyone that," Ukraine said quickly.
"Gay," Hungary said knowingly, and bent down to whisper in Romano's ear, "You're so bloody cute."
Ukraine nodded and rubbed her swollen belly, "Yes, he's very gay…"
Latvia just smiled and rang up to order a food blender. She hoped Russia didn't use at as a weapon and that Lithuania would find it useful in the kitchen.
Over at an obscure service station somewhere in the South of England…
The Nations were trying to explain, badly, to the Police, how their coach had come to explode and why one of their number was stuck inside a Postman Pat van, and if that was not enough, why Scotland had beaten up a man and France was accused of 'sexual perversion'.
It was not going well.
"I had this covered, man!" America told the Fire Brigade.
"It was like this, chaps… We turned our backs for two minutes and those two morons - the Dane and that idiot Prussian erm I mean German got into that Postman Pat ride…" England was explaining to a Police Inspector while Denmark was being cut out of the ride.
Here Prussia yelled "I am the most awesome Prussia, I am not German!".
"I mean of course you policemen do a fine job… I really would arrest that Frenchie - he is disgusting," England continued as France remonstrated loudly to two policemen and then made things worse by flirting with them. (France that is, not England.)
"I can hire that limo I was telling you about, Artie!" America yelled at England and hurried off to use the telephone.
"I'm sorry Inspector, for that interruption. No, there was nobody on board and nothing of any value…" England continued.
"My paperwork! I'd just finished all my paperwork!" Germany said, utterly appalled.
"I'm sorry, Sir. And you are?" the Inspector said, taking notes.
"Kesese! Bruder will have to say that his homework was eaten by Russia!" Prussia laughed.
"I'm Ludwig Beilschmidt…" Germany said, straightening his tie.
Scotland went past them in handcuffs and was shoved into the back of a police car, "I'm innocent!" he yelled. "Arthur! Tell him I'm innocent…" He tried to fight his way out of the police car, his bagpipes making a wailing noise as he did so.
"The limo is on its way!" America said, "Oh, what's up with your mad brother?"
"Ye'll never take me alive!" Scotland yelled, punching out a policeman and half climbing out of the car.
Help for the older British Nation arrived from an unexpected source, certainly not his younger brother that was for sure. England quite enjoyed seeing Scotland being bundled into a police car (not before time, he thought).
A flash of fur leapt out of Russia's knitting bag and there was a massive yowl. It sounded like a banshee or as Prussia called it afterwards - a cat demon.
Russi-cat, for reasons known only to himself, (Russia later thought that it was probably the sight of Scotland's bagpipes being squashed which Russia thought was an animal) decided to join in the fight.
It was actually quite simple - Scotland's furry sporran looked to the 40+ year old cat/domovoi like a fellow cat who was in distress.
"Boris!" Russia yelled in dismay, "Come back!"
"Fucking hell, man! It can't be that bloody cat?" Prussia exclaimed, his eyes wide. "He has to be at least 30 years old."
But Boris/Russi-cat did not come back. He launched himself with a yowl at the policeman holding Scotland.
"He's a domovoi!" Russia told England.
England frowned, "Is that some Russian breed?" he said.
Russia didn't answer but pulled out his faucet pipe and prepared to do battle to defend his pet.
"Well Mr er Don…" Estonia began.
He was stood in the lobby of the hotel, and was trying to look business-like. This was difficult as he was still wearing several layers of clothing too many and had Feliciano next to him blubbering about female Nations 'ravishing his innocent body'. Estonia put a hand over his mouth, "Shut up, Feli. I'm trying to do business here."
"We're here for the wedding," Don Amaretto said.
"Si!" said a chorus of Italian men in dark suits.
Feliciano's eyes widened and held up his hand as if he were in school.
Estonia kept his hand over the small Italian Nation's mouth and smiled at the man, "Of course you are. And I'm going to ask you for a small contribution to the wedding…" Estonia said.
Estonia turned to get out some papers out of his briefcase, briefly letting go of Italy.
"Those men are the mafia!" Italy whispered to Estonia.
Estonia patted Italy on the head, "Si… and that's why they can afford to attend Miss Belarus' wedding," he told Feliciano.
"Yay! Estonia can speak Italiano!" Italy said joyously.
"Now gentlemen," Estonia began, "Let's talk money…"
Over at the service station, the groom to be was not feeling very joyous. Anything but.
America was trying to cram them into the most ostentatious looking limousine (pink with gold coloured hubcaps) that he'd ever seen in his long life.
"Dear Lord!" England said and attempted to remonstrate.
"It's great isn't it?" America said and shoved him, Scotland, France (still wearing handcuffs), France's embassy representative (a rather nervous, twitchy-looking Frenchman named Pierre), Russia (who refused to be shoved and shoved America back sending him flying across the car park), Austria (still in a pink bunny costume), Germany (still bemoaning the loss of his paperwork) and Spain (who was oblivious) into the back of the limousine.
Prussia refused to leave his 'dude' friend. Denmark was still stuck in the Postman Pat van. When asked by Arthur how drunk he was, he'd replied 'Thursday' and belched.
"Step on the gas!" America told the driver. "Let's get outta this town before the fuzz catch us!"
Arthur cringed. "Those 'fuzz' as you so delightedly called them are our esteemed boys in blue, our erstwhile British Police, who got caught up in such an awful melee." Arthur said pompously.
"I have no idea what you just said," America answered.
"That was my pipe!" Russia said, looking at his pipe in wonder and then growling at Spain who was sat next to him who smiled gormlessly.
"Did something happen?" Spain asked.
"Well may you ask!" England said.
"Leave all questions until the end!" America said.
"Shouldn't somebody tell Finland and Sweden that Denmark is stuck in a Postman Pat van?" somebody said.
"Oh God… Do we have to?" England said.
"I gave them what for! I gave them a-kicking and a-stomping they'll never forget in many a year!" Scotland was telling Spain.
"With my help!" Russia interjected, "And Boris!" he added as the large Siberian cat miaowed indignantly on his lap.
"Why did you bring that bloody cat?" England asked.
"He is very old and cannot be left on his own!" Russia said. "You will be pleased I brought him later," he added strangely.
"I've never seen anything so ridiculous," said Austria. And coming from a man in a pink bunny costume this was something else.
"I am undefeated!" Scotland told Spain.
"Except by me…" England muttered.
"What didya say, little brother?" Scotland asked, waving a bottle of Scotch whisky at him.
"Nothing."
"Step on the gas, driver! Before the fuzz come after us," America told the driver.
There was muttering from the front.
"I'm assuming you hired a top chauffeur along with this… erm… charming… erm…" England looked around at the horrid leopard-skin interior and shuddered.
"Is this real fur?" Russia sounded horrified.
"Don't be such a moron! 'Cause it's not real fur! What a bunch of idiots…" came a (very brave) voice from the front.
There was a gasp. Who would be so brave and foolish to call Russia a moron.
England turned to America suspiciously, "Who did you hire? What kind of nutter is driving this car?"
America grinned, "He was cheap! He said he'd do it for free!"
Russia grasped his faucet pipe and shoved Austria and France out of the way on the seats opposite him and tried to get to the driver's seat.
The driver turned round, grinning wildly and waved. It should be noted that the car was currently doing 80 miles per hour down the fast lane of the M6. "Hahahaha! I'm in charge now!" came a rather high-pitched voice.
"Sealand!" England was aghast. He thumped America on the arm, "What the bloody hell?"
The car swerved across two lanes and, leaving many drivers honking their horns, took off again.
"He's not even old enough to drive!" England shouted.
The other Nations clung to their seats.
"Stop the car and pull over!" England yelled.
The car came to an emergency stop in the middle of the carriageway.
"Not here! Over there at that service station!" England ordered. He thumped America again.
"This is not acceptable!" Germany muttered.
"Ach this is some party! I told ya to make me your best man. Me! Your own brother," Scotland said, and swigged from his whisky offering the bottle to Russia. Russia shook his head and clutched Boris.
"Talking of brothers, where's yours, America?" Austria asked America.
"Oh yeah…"
Back at the service station...
"Come back, Kumajero!" Canada ran down the road after the car bearing away his bear. He stopped and sank down to his knees in the middle of the carriageway.
A police car pulled up next to him, "Sir? You're in the middle of the road, are you okay?" came a voice.
Canada looked up, "My bear has gone off with a talent scout. He's been promised a career in advertising," he said forlornly.
The policemen looked at each other knowingly, got out of the car, and carefully put Canada in the back seat. "Don't worry, Sir. We'll get you a nice cup of tea and our welfare people will sort out your medication."
"I should have listened to him and made him the personification of the Arctic Ocean! If anything happens to that bear, I'll never forgive myself…"
"Yes… we understand…" the two policemen exchanged glances and one put through a call to the on-call psychiatric team.
Meanwhile at Tesco just five miles from the Cock and Gun…
"Do you think that's enough? I mean it's a shame there's not more jammy ones…" Finland was talking and looking at the trolley.
"Hmmm," Sweden answered.
"Why are people looking at us strangely?" Finland whispered to Sweden. "Do you think they are homophobic?" he asked, genuinely concerned.
"Hmmm," Sweden answered and shook his head.
"Perhaps they don't like foreigners," Finland said.
But Finland was wrong. It was nothing to do with the fact that they were so obviously a couple, nor was it anything to do with them being foreigners. It was the simple fact that they had a trolley overflowing with nothing but packets of wagon wheels.
The simple biscuit snack had become an addiction for the two Nordic Nations and the blame could be placed fairly and squarely on England's shoulders. But that is a story for another time.
There came an announcement over the tannoy which interrupted Finland in his ruminations.
"Can a Tino…" here the announcer had the typical English problem of pronouncing foreign names "Thingymajig and …" the announcer stopped again and then added, "Berwold or something… come to customer services please? There's a phone call for them."
"How odd…" Finland said and shrugged. "Come on Berwald, bring the trolley."
The voice on the other end of the telephone was Arthur's. Finland sighed and indicated to Berwald that there was trouble by miming Denmark's mad hair.
Berwald sighed and ignored the customer service assistant's enquiring look.
"Your bloody son is here with us and he's driving a bloody car!" England told him.
Finland was almost relieved it wasn't worse. "How? He wouldn't be able to reach the pedals!" he said.
England was almost shouting down the phone. Indeed, he had to. The Nations around him were all arguing. Germany was trying to grab the phone from him to ring his embassy. Austria was telling France to 'keep his baguette to himself' whatever that meant and Russia was crowding him invading his personal space.
"Well may you ask!" England said and looked over at Sealand who was stood looking very pleased with himself. He had two blocks of wood strapped to his feet so that he could reach the pedals. "He's a disgrace. A complete hooligan. You were supposed to keep an eye on him. Not go off gallivanting in Tesco!"
"We are not gallivanting or whatever that is! We are buying provisions!" Finland said.
"Anyway we are going to send the boy home…" England said.
America groaned.
"Not you… idiot. I mean Sealand!" England hissed.
"Well okay.. It could be worse…" Finland said.
"It is worse. Your idiot brother or whatever he is, is stuck in a Postman Pat van…"
"Postman Pat van?"
"Yes, he's a cartoon character, quite popular actually over here with the kiddies…"
"Who?"
"Postman Pat!"
"No! Who is stuck in the van?"
"Denmark of course! You don't honestly think Norway or Iceland would be so stupid…"
"How did he get stuck in a van? He didn't drive it into an IKEA shop did he?"
"No! It's a small van… a Postman Pat van…"
"Why does this Postman have a van if he's a cartoon character?"
"This is stupid." England sighed.
"So it was a very small van? I don't understand." Finland said, exasperated.
England was almost screaming down the phone with frustration, "It was a children's ride!" he yelled.
"It sounds very dangerous to me. You English are very silly to let your children drive round in vans." Finland concluded.
"It doesn't go anywhere! You have to put bloody money in it to get it to do anything!"
"Well then, I don't believe you. Because it can't have gone anywhere…"
"What? Why?" England was now bashing his head against the wall.
"Matthias is not allowed any money."
Berwald nodded in agreement.
Finland was about to argue some more when England all but screamed down the phone at him, "Get back to the hotel, I'm sending the boy back with Spain," and slammed the phone down.
"Yay, I'm finally important!" Spain exclaimed and proceeded to dance around singing happily. "I'm finally important… I'm finally important… I'm finally important…"
"To the pub!" England shouted, he gave Spain some money and told him to get the next bus to Bedlam Bottom, and ushered his fellow Nations back to the limousine.
The pub was a sorry affair. There was a one-armed bandit in a corner (not an actual bandit but a gambling machine - Russia had to be reassured that English pubs did not have disabled criminals in corners). There was sawdust on the floor, the dartboard was missing its '1' and there was no wine.
This latter point did not bother England but France and his countryman, Pierre (the Embassy official assigned to bail Francis out of predicaments) were distraught.
"Eet eez terrible!" France wailed.
"Take it or leave it," the gruff barman said.
"But there is vodka?" Russia asked carefully.
"We're all drinking good old English beer," England said, attempting to get into the spirit of things.
"That is not alcohol," Russia stated and took a sip. "It is pop. Like lemonade," he concluded and drained the pint glass.
England was appalled, "This is finest English beer from a local brewery! What is this particular brew, my good sir?" he asked the barman.
"Sheeps Knackers," the barman said, glaring at the them all.
"I say!"
"It tastes like feet," America said.
"It is like your Western rubbishy cokey-cola," Russia said.
"Coke, dude," America corrected.
"Da. My Baltics like coke but we can't get it in Soviet Union."
"Nah, cos it's a boring place," America said, looking appalled.
France was drinking the beer in sips whilst holding his nose.
Scotland, already drunk, had poured whisky in his beer and Austria had for some reason, got his his beer in a lady's half pint glass. He complained that it wasn't as good as German beer but had his back smacked so hard by America that he fell over and due to the bunny costume had grave problems getting back up.
Germany, having moaned for the past two hours about losing his paperwork, finally seemed almost happy, and was drinking his beer but told England that this did not equal any 'recompense for the loss of his paperwork'.
"Right, chaps!" England said as they all shuffled around a large table in a corner of the pub.
"Speech!" America yelled.
"How long is this going to take?" Germany sighed, looking at his watch.
"Less time than your boring speeches about recycling, I imagine," France said and then added, "Pierre mon cher, go and ask that wonderful proprietor if he would go to the supermarket and buy some wine?"
Pierre popped another valium in his mouth, "Oui, Monsieur Le France, but I doubt an English supermarket do anyzing of any worth…"
America stood up, "Speech I hear you say? Well I have to say I never thought Artie dude here would ever get married…" here America paused and took a sip of warm beer, "… to a proper girl!"
"I say!" Arthur said.
"The speech should be by the groom to be," Austria pointed out, his arms crossed, his bunny head on the seat next to him.
"Yes, you would know. You have been married more times than all of us added together," France said.
"And I never thought old Artie would marry Belarussia!"
"Belarus," Russia corrected.
"Yup… I mean she's kinda…" America struggled to find the right words.
"…Scary?" Russia said, taking a big gulp of his beverage and then supplementing this with his emergency vodka.
"…Psychotic?" France suggested.
Pierre interrupted, "Monsieur Le France!" he shouted from across the pub. "The monsieur says that you are a…" here Pierre listened intently to the barman and then shrugged, and shouted, "… a completely wet behind ze ears girly poof git!"
"He's not wrong there," America said.
Russia nodded.
"I am ze great Le France!" France said indignantly.
"Hey, great Le France… you're fly's undone," Germany said.
"I know zis," France said with a leer.
"…Anyway, when I heard Artie dude was going to marry Belarussia…" America continued.
"Belarus," Russia corrected, again.
"Yes. At first I was like oh no and then oh my god and then wow and then this is amazing man and then I hope he loves her and then I hope she loves him and then I thought I bet she's knocked up and then I thought I bet Ivan's going to kick his arse and then I thought I gotta get tickets for that and then I thought I don't need tickets for that…" America went on and on waving his arms around, his voice (never an indoor voice anyway) getting louder.
Russia covered his and Boris cat's ears when America began to tell them about the time he'd arrived at England's house uninvited and found England dressed in a pirate's costume and Belarus in a maid costume. "Scarred for life!" he told the person next to him - who happened to be Austria.
"Oh do shut up!" Austria said.
America looked appalled.
"The condemned man should make a speech," France said.
"I do not see it as condemned, more as blessed," England replied. He stood up and smoothed out a sheet of paper.
Someone groaned.
"I am going to make this speech in Russian in honour of my bride to be," England said.
Russia frowned, "She is Belarussian," he said.
"That's what I said, man!" Alfred said. "Dude…" America was in awe. As a man who had problems conversing in his own mother tongue the foreign languages were a mystery to him.
"This should be tres amusant," France muttered, knowing full well the horror that overcame England when he attempted his oral butchery of the French language.
Germany nodded, "His idea of speaking German is shouting 'ja' and pointing a lot," he sighed.
England ignored them. "Russia if you don't mind interpreting into English for me for these ignoramuses."
And Russia did, with increasing confusion, as England read out his speech in Russian.
England was inordinately pleased with his speech. It combined the romantic poetry of Shakespeare, Shelley and Byron (he thought). He was wrong. But it wasn't wholly his fault. He had paid Estonia to translate it into Russian, who in turn had 'sub-contracted' it out for a much smaller fee. Obviously this person was a complete moron. Or someone who was a grade A troll. That was the reason for what Russia now translated word for word.
"Ladies and gentlemen! As a princess of the highest honour…"
America laughed out loud at this. France sniggered.
England glared at them and then at Russia, who glared back.
England hurried on, thinking Russia must have misheard his own Russian, "I am about to embark on the most perilous journey any man can ever endure…"
There were nods.
"To infinity and beyond… to go where no man has gone before. Please fasten your seatbelts, extinguish all naked ladies' flames and prepare for landing…"
England halted, looked at his piece of paper, and then at Russia. He drained his beer mug. Thought about telling Russia off, thought better of it and glared at France and America who were almost crying with laughter.
Scotland was nodding and drinking whisky (already so drunk he had no idea what was happening). Austria just looked bemused. Only Germany alone appeared satisfied with the speech and seemed to understand.
England ploughed on. "Ground control to Major Tom!"
"I love that song!" America yelled.
"I would ride my rainbow unicorn across the seven seas to grovel at the feet of one so minty…" England said (in Russian).
Russia frowned and stared at England in disbelief, who in turn stared back.
England, realising his beer mug was empty, took a swig from Germany's and was now well and truly sloshed.
"Don't mention the war!" England yelled, in English and burped. Bizarrely, Russia translated this into Russian.
Germany and Austria glanced at each other uneasily. France stopped grinning. This was usually one of England's verbal tics and was a sign of bad tidings.
But then England continued his speech - in Russian.
"And so my friends…" he began, slurring badly, "I love some of you better than I should, and more of you less than I do and all of you less than you do. And so this is the end. Please leave the plane quietly. Thank you for flying with Air Bollocks. The toilets are over there!" and with that singly useful piece of information (the only bit of the speech that actually made any sense), England passed out.
Author's Note:
Russi-cat or Boris was first introduced in Day in the Life Chapter 'Domovoi' where he was found by Russia as a stray kitten. Whether this is indeed the same cat or whether he is indeed a 'domovoi' - a Slavic house spirit that takes on the form of an animal - is uncertain.
And yes, the coach exploding at the end of the last chapter I stole from 'Only Fools and Horses' - love that show.
More silliness and perhaps more arrests in the next chapter…