Acknowledgements: Thank you to IrishMaid, B-The-Geek, Pedro-IS-Madi12, Percabeth is Awsome, cullinane, Go LilixIcy, Missmanda, Einsam-Schatten,, Becky 999, Kate Marley, Typewriting Fangirl, fishstick1999, Envie Rouge, Laughinthefaceofdanger, Missflutterpie, abbydobbie, saraholly, Draskar, julyza, Deefangirl, for all the reviews, PMs, faves and alerts and of course all my other readers. (If I've missed anyone please give me a heads-up.)
White Wedding Chapter 5
"I want to die..."
"So do I, believe me."
The first speaker was England, the second was Austria. They were stuck in a small toilet cubicle. The former Nation had his head down the toilet.
"Why won't the car stop moving?"
"We are not in a car you imbecilic Englishman. On what planet do you live that has a toilet in a car?"
"I don't know... If we're not in a car where are we?"
"On a boat you idiot and I hate boats."
England managed to make it to his feet and stared glassily at Austria. "I'm never seasick," he slurred. "So why am I seasick?"
"Because you have drunk too much wine," Austria told him. And then tried - for the thousandth time - to squeeze the handcuff over his wrist.
England stared at him, swaying, "I don't want to be on a boat, I'm getting married tomorrow."
"Today…" Austria said, "It's gone midnight."
If England was any more sober he would have panicked. As it was, he stared at Austria and then said, "Where's your pink bunny trousers?"
"They came off in an altercation with Francis," Austria replied. France had obviously come so far down in Austria's estimation that he no longer referred to him with the usual Nation moniker. Austria shuddered from the memory.
"France!" England yelled and swayed towards the cubicle door. "I'm going to kill him."
Austria tried to step out of the way but England stepped back quickly, "But first I'm going to throw up."
"Oh this is just fantastic," Austria muttered as there was a banging on the other side of the door and a very loud Northern English accent yelled at them to 'get a fuckin' move on yer poofs'.
"Is that my eldest son, Yorkshire?" England slurred, briefly lifting his head from the toilet bowl.
"Nein," Austria said, peering round the cubicle door. "It is an oaf of the English variety but not your son."
"I'm not an oaf!" the English oaf said indignantly. "Come outside and say that."
"We are required to step outside, Arthur," Austria said. He now dispensed with calling England 'England'. In Austria's opinion, any Nation who had toilet paper stuck in their hair and the trace of wine-stained vomit down their shirt (no tie either, Austria noted with disdain) had renounced their right to be called a Nation. (He ignored his own state of undress - that was beyond his control.)
Arthur burped loudly and then said, "Oh pardon me, I'm sure."
Austria wrinkled his nose, but opened the cubicle door to face the man outside. Unfortunately, the man outside was joined by his chums. Who were all drunk. In fact, far drunker than Arthur was or probably ever had been.
Austria was also dismayed to see that they were all wearing footballs jerseys and appeared to celebrating or possibly commiserating a win/defeat.
"Oh, football fans," Austria said with as much distaste as if someone had shoved a cowpat under his nose.
The men (all 6 of them and all of them were bigger than Austria and England) yelled some cacophony of football chants. Austria was none the wiser.
"Ah! Manchester United…" England said. "Hmm… I'm a Chelsea supporter myself."
There was silence.
Austria muttered to England out of the corner of his mouth, "Arthur, let's just move quickly and quietly. Don't make any sudden moves."
It was too late, England began burbling some comments about a recent football match which clearly did not please the men in front of him as, to Arthur's surprise (as he honestly thought he was having a straightforward discussion about the merits of certain football players) the men launched themselves at the two Nations.
As England and Austria attempted to fight off the horde, they were saved by an unexpected party.
"Ah mon dieu! Pierre! Come and see what ze terrible Englishmen are doing to my beloved Arthur!" came a rather camp voice.
This alone was not enough to stop the fighting. But just as England landed (he thought in his head) a rather spiffing punch to a hooligan's right cheek, Francis said, "Stop touching each other!"
Everyone sprang apart and looked around shame-faced.
Austria heaved a sigh of relief, "Phew. I thought I was going to actually have to fight there," he said. "With my hands, no less! Imagine!"
The football fans wiped their hands on their trousers with looks of disgust and shame and scuttled out.
"Yes! Be off with you, you scoundrels, before I and my friend here give you a knuckle sandwich!" Arthur shouted after them.
"Monsieur Angleterre…" Pierre began, putting a warning hand on England's arm.
"Moron," Austria said.
Dover Ferry Terminal
A crowd had amassed on dockside to see an unusual spectacle.
A Royal Mail van was floating on its side with a large Siberian cat sat atop it, quietly licking its paws and occasionally looking up to survey the onlookers with an imperious air.
The crowd gasped as a blond-haired man bobbed to the surface swearing in German. "Idiots," he said as he swam to shore.
Then a huge upsurge of water as another blond-haired man came up for air, his arm outstretched. "Dudes! That was totally awesome!"
Someone in the crowd threw the American a lifesaver. But the American batted it away. "I don't need no life-raft thingy. I'm the hero!" he yelled and then swam like a hero to shore.
"What about Russia and Scotland and that poor human?" Germany asked him as they stood drenched on the dock, the German attempting to straighten his tie.
"What about them? Oooh…" America spun round and dived straight back into the water as the crowd gasped again.
Germany did not follow him. In his view, Russia and Scotland, out of all the Nations he had ever been acquainted with, were the most likely to survive something as trifling as a van plunging into the sea.
America re-emerged and trod water, yelling to Germany, "Who am I rescuing?"
Germany shook his head. England was right - the boy had the attention span of a gnat. "Russia, Scotland and the human postman," he yelled back. He then thought about it - 'human postman' sounded very stupid. As if there was any other type. (Although Denmark and had once taken a job - disastrously as it turned out - as a mailman for a while.) He yelled again, "Never mind about Ivan and Hamish - rescue the human."
"What?"
"The human! Rescue…" Germany looked around and felt the eyes of the crowd on him. Someone muttered about the emergency services and someone else asked him who else had been in the van.
Germany sighed, "I'll do it myself," he said and plunged in.
He found himself stood next to America in water just five feet deep. "Why are you treading water?" he asked.
America shrugged.
Germany found out why as he took a step forward and found there was a shelf and he plunged 20 feet down.
"Bastard," he thought as he hit the bottom his eyes tight shut, his mouth clamped shut.
He opened his eyes in the gloom and saw Russia scouring the seafloor, the Russian's coat and scarf floating around him. Germany at first thought that the Russian was searching for the unfortunate postal worker but realised that this was not so when he spotted the poor man tucked under Russia's arm.
Germany swam towards him and gesticulated at the Russian.
Russia opened his mouth to speak and clamped it shut again. He grinned instead and waved and then pointed at the human.
Germany pointed up and then at the poor unconscious man whose life was probably already ebbing away fast.
Russia frowned and then punched Germany.
Germany felt as if he'd been hit by a truck and just as he felt he would lose consciousness and join the Ancients wherever they were, he was rushing up through the water being dragged by one arm. He gasped as his face hit air and then was left as America dived back under with a cheery wave, "There yer go, Germania! Don't thank me!"
"Fucking moron," Germany thought grudgingly.
The sea around him began to bubble and waves crashed over him. The coastguard boat that had been launched swayed dangerously and its crew clung to the side. Waves lapped up against the crowd standing on the shore. Germany had heard stories of kraken and half expected to see some dreadful sea monster emerge from the waves.
It wasn't.
"Privet!" Russia said chirpily as he broke the surface, the sea bubbling and frothing around him. He threw the 'human postman' ashore with one arm. "I found Mr Pipe!" he said as he waved the aforementioned article at Germany.
"Why did you punch me?" Germany gasped, swallowing seawater.
Russia shrugged, "Why not?" he said.
"Where's Scotland?" Germany asked.
"I'm here, yer stupid Kraut goonball," Hamish shouted. He was clinging to the side of the van.
"Can't you swim?" Germany asked, deciding to ignore the Scotsman's insults.
"Aye, I can bloody swim. I learnt to bloody swim before you were even born. I swam in the wee bonny lochs of Scotland. But I'm havin' a wee problem…"
Germany had already guessed the 'wee problem' as to why the Scotsman had not swum ashore.
It was Russia who was to find out. "Where are your undertrousers?" he asked as he swam up to the Scotsman and Russi-cat jumped onto his shoulders. He avoided using the term 'skirt' or 'kilt'. He didn't believe that these were appropriate attire for a male Nation. He was still also unsure whether Scotland was really a man or a woman. He'd been caught out before.
"Ma kilt got lost and I'm a true Scotsman so I havenae any undergarments," Hamish shouted at Germany.
Germany swam ashore and decided he would definitely pretend he didn't know any of them.
He was relieved however, that the poor human postman was alive and breathing. He was unsure though if this would continue as America arrived back ashore and told everyone to "Stand back! I know CRP!"
"You mean CPR?" someone said.
"That as well!"
Germany halted him, putting a hand on the American's soaking wet shirt, "Alfred, it's not necessary, the man doesn't need your help."
Alfred was appalled, everyone needed his help.
The postman would have agreed with Germany as he came to consciousness and pointed at the American in terror, "It was him and his mad friends! They're criminals! They kidnapped me and robbed me and made drive into the water!"
America shook his head as he looked down at the man, "You must be talking about some of the other Nations… sure, some of them are a little crazy…"
"Right, we really must be going…" Germany said and tried to shove his way through the crowd.
"Arrest those men!" the postman spluttered to the police as they got out of their car.
"Us?" Russia said, stroking Russi-cat and watching with curiosity whilst Hamish wrung out his sporran.
"We rescued your ass, man!" America said, appalled.
"You're under arrest for kidnap, armed robbery, theft of a vehicle, criminal damage, assault, affray, disturbing the peace and littering," a police officer told them.
"All of us? Or just him?" Russia asked, pointing at America.
"I've done nothin' but try to rescue ma brother!" Hamish told them.
The policeman looked at the state of the Scotsman's lack of trousers and added, noting it down in his notebook, "… and indecent exposure."
"This is the second time today we've been arrested!" America said, as if this was a good thing.
"Shut up, fool," Germany said and turned to the policeman. "I think you'll find that I am not really with these men… I am just a tourist visiting your wonderful sights and…"
"You're under arrest as well," the policeman said.
"I haven't done anything!" Germany said.
The policeman said, "You're German, my Grandad fought in the Battle of Britain so that's enough reason."
Germany exploded - not literally of course, "It always comes back to the war doesn't it? You and your little island. Little England and stupid America and idiot France and…" he trailed off as Russia loomed over him. "… other people…" he hung his head as handcuffs were clamped on him - for the second time in 24 hours.
"I don't like you," Russia said to him, standing very very close and whispering in his ear.
"Hey! We rescued dudes! We're heroes! I need to call my Pres!" America yelled. It was unsure whether he needed to call his 'Pres' to tell him he was a 'hero' or that he was arrested.
"I am Ludwig Beilschmidt," Germany said slowly to the policeman. "I will spell that and you can get in touch with the West German Embassy in London. That's the West one, not the East one," he glanced at Russia who was breathing down his neck, "… and they will sort all this out."
The policeman looked him up and down and said as he wrote, "East German not West German… got it."
"Nein!" Germany yelled as he was thrown - for the second that time day - into a police van.
"He is a very bad man. I do not like him," Russia told the policeman. A purple aura pulsated around him and Russi-cat growled dangerously on his shoulder.
The police stepped back as an icy blast emanated from the Russian. Ivan's eyes glowed a mixture of violet and silver.
"Can somebody bring in animal control?" a police officer said into his walktie-talkie.
America grabbed the handset off him and yelled into it, "Tell the Pres that Alfred F Jones called and to get my main man in the US Embassy… I can't remember his name… and that I'm in Doverham."
"Dover," somebody corrected him.
"Yay!"
"I'm not going anywhere," Russia said. "I'm going to rescue Arthur."
"Ha! He contradictermanded himself!" America yelled, pointing at Russia and looking pleased with himself.
"Moron," Germany said from inside the van.
"I am not getting in that van," Russia said with a finality that looked dangerous.
"Me neither," Scotland said. "It's time to make a stand for Scotland and for freedom!" he added.
Russia didn't have a clue what the Scotsman had just said but caught the words 'Scotland' and 'freedom' and nodded. "Da! I need to catch the next ferry to Calais to rescue England pound France into oblivion."
"You'll be going nowhere, sonny," a rather over-confident policeman said as he clamped a handcuff on Russia.
Russia frowned, "My name is not 'Sunny'. I have never been 'sunny'." (Indeed there were ominous storm clouds gathering overhead.)
Germany held his head in his hands. He knew, from bitter experience, what was coming.
Russia broke the handcuffs as if they were made of toffee and pulled his pipe from the pocket of his still sodden coat. "Kolkolkol," he began chanting.
"Yes! Kolkykol!" Hamish yelled. "I just wish I had ma bagpipes with me."
"Dude's a mental case, man. I'm telling you…" America muttered to the nearest police officer. "If I were you, which I'm not, cos I'm a hero, I'd run, which I won't, cos I'm a hero and an American."
The police did take America's advice and ran. Two of them jumped in the back of the van with Germany whilst the rest - three in all - jumped in the front. One of them trying to radio for 'back up' frantically.
The crowd on the docks were comprised of a dozen locals and a few dozen lorry drivers who had been waiting to get on the next ferry and had been drawn to the sight of the Royal Mail van, all stepped back hurriedly as the Russian launched himself at the van.
"Back-up please! There's a mad… thing… Russian… person… trying to tear our heads off."
"Illegal immigrant." Another said.
"I think we need tranquilisers and…" the man didn't get to finish as a faucet pipe slammed through the windscreen.
In the back, Germany yelled at them, "Just drive… you can't fight him!"
"There's another ferry in ten minutes," America told Scotland.
"How do you know?" Scotland said, finally giving in to some kind of modesty and wrapping a blanket around his waist.
"Somebody told me," America told him, showing a rare moment of ingenue.
"Well, that's bloody marvellous," Scotland said. He straightened his sodden tartan waistcoat and walked up to Russia who was reaching through the shattered windscreen to drag someone out.
"Ivan!" Scotland began, feeling quite confident he could call the Russian by his human name. Surely they were friends and allies now?
Russia's eyes were wild, his hair plastered to his head, his hands blood-soaked, "Wut? Who said you could call me that?"
"He did," Scotland pointed at America.
Russia snarled and dragged another man across the bonnet, dived into the van and kicked open the driver's door. The other policeman jumped out of the passenger side. The radio blared loudly, "Hello car number 224? Did you say back-up?"
"Nyet, he did not," Russia said.
"Who is this?"
"Your worst nightmare," Russia said and ripped the radio out.
"You need a plaster on that," Scotland told him, approaching the hanging off door and pointing at his lacerated hand.
Russia shrugged. Pain was just a minor inconvenience to him. Only minor Nations suffered from pain in his view.
Germany poked his head through the dividing hole between the cabin and the back of the van, "I think you should just give yourself up and get in touch with our respective Embassies," he said.
Russia punched him without even turning round.
"The boy said there's another ferry along in a few minutes," Scotland said.
Russia started the van and nodded, his face grim and set as lorries behind him hooted their horns and police began surrounding the vehicle.
"At least we don't have that prissy German with us, holding us back, Mr Russia," Scotland said, carefully. Noting in the rear view mirror that the unconscious Germany was being carried out of the back of the van by paramedics and shoved in the back of an ambulance along with the poor 'human postman'.
Russia just grunted and stared with a horrid intensity at the approaching ferry.
"Don't we need tickets?" Scotland said - quite reasonably one would have thought.
Russia looked at him and then back at the ferry, "There will be vodka on board. There always is on these boats."
Scotland frowned, "I still think ye need to put an elastoplast on that hand," he said pointing at the pool of blood at Russia's feet.
Before Russia could respond with something totally unconnected (he only understood around one in three words spoken by the Scotsman), America appeared at the driver's window (or what remained of it), "Yo dude! Do you need the help of the hero?" he said epically.
"Aye, the boy could be useful," Scotland said. "We're going into enemy territory. Who knows what devilish traps Francis has concocted to keep ma brother?"
"No," Russia said and revved the engine and barely waited until the ferry's ramp was down before he began to drive on, scattering the police as he went.
America threw himself to the ground dramatically, "But I'm the hero!" he yelled.
"Well this is unpleashant," Arthur slurred.
He was right. It was. The ferry seemed to be full of football fans on their way to a match on the continent. There were also some men on a stag do who were playing some drinking game. The groom didn't look quite as badly off as Arthur but that would have been a tall order.
"Why am I handcuffed to him?" Arthur slurred - he was still quite drunk, and pointed at Austria.
Austria crossed his skinny white legs under the table (they were sat in the ferry bar and everybody was giving them a wide berth). "It's no picnic for me either," he said.
"Everyzing will be okay, mon cher," France purred soothingly and then yelled ear-piercingly, "Pierre, ou est la biere pour mon ami?"
Poor Pierre was stood at the bar amongst a crowd of Englishmen who were chanting some awful drinking song.
"Excusez-moi, monsieur," he said, ever the diplomat.
"Hahaha! It's a Frenchie!" somebody yelled.
"Oui, zis is the ferry to France," Pierre said slowly as if speaking to someone who'd had a brain injury.
"To France?" Arthur raised his head from the puddle of beer on the table. He grabbed Austria by his pink bunny lapels. "I need to get back, I'm getting married!"
"Don't talk to me about it, you drunken slob. I have been de-trousered and my dignity robbed."
France patted Arthur's hand, "Non, mon Angleterre. Zis is the ferry to England. I am taking you back. I rescued you…"
Austria snorted but was fascinated, hypnotised even, by the Frenchman's deceit.
"… from ze nasty big bad wolf Russia. He kidnapped you and I rescued you… but you do not remember mon ami."
"You're such a liar!" Austria said. "You must be living in dreamland. What planet are you on? Even if you pull this off, Russia and Belarus will come after you like demons from hell…"
"Demons…" Arthur slurred and began drawing patterns in the beer on the table. "Demon shummoning…" he slurred as Pierre put a pint of flat beer into his hand.
Everyone ignored him.
"Do they have any tea or coffee?" Austria asked as he eyed the dirty glass of wine sloshed onto the table in front of France.
Pierre was about at the end of his tether. Even his prozac wasn't enough to cope with helping his Nation kidnap another Nation. He was convinced this was grounds for dismissal and then his pension would be gone. He'd had his bum pinched and the gang of men at the bar had made fun of his French accent in the only way Englishmen could. "Get your own beverages, Monsieur. I am not your butler!"
"How can I, you pathetic Frenchman? I'm stuck with this fruitcake!" Austria held up his hand attached to England.
"Scooby Scooby Doo, where are you, we've got some work to do now…" England murmured to himself, drawing pentagrams on the table with a sticky finger.
"Drink ze nice beer, Arthur," France purred.
"Why on earth do you want him anyway?" Austria said disdainfully. "He's bad-tempered, sarcastic, pompous, terrible cook and has the worst haircut this side of the Caucasus."
"I don't know… have you seen Russia's? He has zero style," France said. "Besides I love him…" he added.
"Who? Russia?" Austria all but squealed.
"Non! You fool! I mean Arthur," France's usually lecherous look (his default expression) softened and he looked younger and more vulnerable, almost gentle even, "I've loved him for a thousand years," he said as he looked at Arthur's vacant glassy face.
Austria paused for just long enough and then said, "You're a complete knob."
"…and you are grounded!" Finland was telling Denmark.
The said Dane was sat in the back seat of a hired Volvo in between Prussia and Sealand being driven back to the hotel.
"Fuck," Prussia said. "The police station was better than this."
Sweden mumbled something inaudible as he drove.
"Yeah Dad, that's what I think. Ha! No TV for Uncle Den for a month," Sealand said with glee.
"Shut up, kid," Denmark said.
"I got Catalonia off Spain!" Sealand told him.
"Ha! That's not even a place! What a little idiot," Denmark said.
"Actually it is," Prussia mumbled.
"Ha! Yes! I am Catalonia!" Sealand said, punching the air.
"You'll be catatonic when I've finished with you," Prussia said and high-fived Denmark.
"We need to get out of here," he whispered.
Sealand looked at them, "I heard you and I'm going to tell on you unless you give me some of your land," he said.
"You can have Kaliningrad," said Prussia.
"Really? Is that real? Is it nice?"
"It's beautiful… the most gorgeous place on earth…" Prussia said, gritting his teeth.
"Yes, but is it strategically important and on a crossroads between East and West with a thriving economy and good mineral resources?"
"It has a MacDonalds," Prussia said flatly.
"Really?" Den asked.
"It is part of the Soviet Union, so what do you think? Prussia whispered.
"Erm… no?"
Prussia raised an eyebrow and then said, loudly. "I'm going to vomit epically all over this hire car."
Sweden skidded to a stop and just pointed to the door.
"Now!" Denmark yelled - unnecessarily Prussia felt as they dived out of the car.
"Fucking epic!" Prussia yelled to Denmark as they sprinted down the highway.
"Ha! We showed them!" Denmark answered and then added, "Where are we going?"
In the car, Sweden and Finland watched them go. "Oh well.. At least they're not in a police cell. I hate explaining his arrests to the Embassy," Finland said.
"Mom, Dad… is Kaliningrad a nice place, cos I'm now the personification of Kaliningrad," Sealand said.
Sweden stalled the engine.