Acknowledgements: Thank you to Blackdevil Nightheart, Mely-Val, 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, Pandoala, Hintori-time, Senor Tree, Wandering Authoress for the reviews, PMs, faves and alerts and of course all my other readers. (If I've missed anyone please tell me.)
White Wedding
Chapter 11
England flung himself onto the bench beside the sleeping America in despair. He'd failed to throttle France (Pierre was very grateful that he did not) and he was even more dismayed to find that he was attached by handcuffs to Austria. A half-naked Austria.
"Listen, it's not my fault that I'm only wearing half a bunny costume!" Austria protested when England raised an bushy eyebrow at the Austrian's skinny white legs.
England tried to shake America awake. "Come on, Alfred! We need you!"
But America had once slept through an earthquake, a rollercoaster ride and even a whole NATO meeting (the latter one when Germany had given a two hour presentation about tin openers - complete with demonstration). Alfred rolled over and snored.
"Bugger!" England said, putting his head in his hands. "I'm supposed to be getting married today!"
"Ah mon ami! It is fate!" France said dramatically.
"Fate!" England stood up and glowered at France, "Fate! Are you bloody buggering joking? It was bloody you! You bloody useless, whining, frogfaced…" England ranted.
France backed off and hid behind Pierre.
"I'm going to bloody kill you!" England said, reaching for France's throat again.
"Before Miss Belarus does the job…" Austria pointed out with satisfaction.
But France's life was saved by a very unexpected arrival.
The door slammed open, almost being taken off its hinges.
"Privet!"
"Hallo!"
"Oh God… why me?" came the last voice.
England halted in his tracks and stared. Not in his most drunken moments did he think he would ever see such an unlikely trio.
A large Russian dressed in a police uniform that was too small for him, Germany looking very annoyed and quite embarrassed and Scotland dressed like a middle-aged woman in need of a make-over carrying a tea urn.
The tea was welcome though.
On an A-road somewhere in the south of England…
A terrified teenager in a death metal t-shirt was driving a tiny red Citroen vehicle erratically. The L-plates flapping in the wind bespoke of his learner status. The man in the passenger seat smoothed back his white-blond hair and grinned demonically.
"Faster! You need to drive faster!" Prussia yelled.
"It's a forty limit here!" the poor learner driver said, shaking. "And we're going fifty!"
"Hey Gil? If you see an off licence, can we stop and get some beer?" came a voice from the back.
The teenager looked in the rear view mirror and all he could see was spiky blond hair. "Who are you people?"
"We're driving instructors!" Gilbert told him. "Take the next left."
"Are we?" Denmark asked, his eyes wide.
"Ja!"
"This is the second job I've had in ten centuries! Wait 'til I tell Fin and Su," Denmark yelled.
"Go over that roundabout," Prussia told the teenage driver. The driver attempted, as any normal person would, to drive around the roundabout. Prussia took hold of the wheel and drove the car straight over the roundabout. Grass, flowerbeds and a sign that read 'Britain in Bloom' were obliterated.
"You can't… Oh my God!" the teenager said, shaking and pale.
"I just did," Prussia said with a horrid finality.
They drove on in awkward silence.
"How old are you?" Prussia asked.
"Seventeen," the teenager said, trying hard to think about whether he should just stop the car or not. He didn't. He wondered if he could gesture to the passing motorists that he'd been kidnapped.
"Ha! When I was seventeen I was Commander of the Eighth Most Awesomest Cavalry Division and we took down everyone around us!"
"You need to chill, dude," Denmark said, laying a large hand on Prussia's shoulder.
"Are you German?" the teenager asked.
"Nein! I am Prussian!" Prussia said proudly.
"Is that like Bavarian?" the teenager asked. "I once went on a school trip to the Austrian Alps and…"
He was interrupted by Prussia choking and gurgling in anger.
Denmark shook his head, "Dude…" he said sadly.
"What did I say?" the teenager asked, in panic as he drove on down a one way street.
"He's sensitive," Denmark explained. "What's your name, man?" he asked, putting a hand on the driver's head.
"It's Paul," the driver squeaked.
"I like you, Carl," Denmark said, rubbing his head as the poor boy tried to do a three point turn.
"Paul," the boy corrected, gritting his teeth. Who were these people?
"Ja, just drive us out of here."
"We have a wedding to get to," Prussia said.
"Oh ja! I wonder how the guys are getting on? I bet it's been dead boring without us," Denmark said, his eyes wide, remembering they'd left the 'guys' the night before in the service station. Or more precisely, the 'guys' had left them in the service station with Denmark stuck in a toy ride.
"Ja! I bet they were all tucked up in bed with their cocoa by midnight." Prussia added.
"…And that they missed us! We'd have made it wild!"
"Ja. I bet bruder's still doing his paperwork!" Prussia said.
"I really need to do my paperwork," Germany told Russia.
Russia glared at him. He slung England over his shoulder. Or tried to. England protested vehemently. As did Austria who was dangling from England's right hand.
Russia spun round on Scotland, "Get us out of here," he said. But as he spun round he accidentally slammed England's head against the doorway and England fell silent - in the middle of "Bugger!"
"Oh I think I may have killed England," Russia said sadly. He wondered if Belarus would notice that he'd killed her groom. He decided not.
Russia, Germany and Scotland had arrived at the Calais Port Police HQ jumping from a helicopter like something akin to a James Bond movie. Or so Scotland had thought. He'd taken charge immediately. "I'll take charge of this!" he'd said, still dressed as a tea-lady. His ride in the helicopter had not dampened his Highland Warrior spirit (or so he said).
He then had charged through the HQ with a tea urn asking people if they wanted tea. In a very loud, heavily-accented French. (Scotland, weirdly, was quite good at French - several of his queens had been French and he'd had a long and quite odd alliance with France.) Russia and Germany followed him, the latter reluctantly.
"Is this really going to work?" Germany had said. Russia had shrugged.
"How do we know they are even here?" Germany said. It was quite a reasonable question really.
Russia pointed at a large television screen that showed a montage of the 'wanted terrorists' - America grinning at the television cameras, Austria looking outraged, France trying to flirt with a journalist and lastly, England looking as if he had just woken up from the Hundred Years War. France's London representative, Pierre, was the only one who seemed coherent but he'd been quickly bundled into a police van. The news coverage showed the same thing over and over - the four Nations handcuffed and looking their full 1000 years.
Scotland had whizzed into the commander's office and given him a cup of tea. (Russia had no idea where Scotland had found the cups.) "Yer going to help us get our friends out of jail," Scotland told the commander. "Russia do your stuff," he added.
Russia had frowned. They didn't have a plan. They had not discussed anything about what they were going to do once in the police station and he had no idea what 'stuff' was. He did the only thing he could think of doing - he hit the commander in the face.
"Mein Gott!" Germany had said as the commander hit the ground, without saying a thing (apart from "Un café, si'l vous plaît.")
Scotland didn't bat an eyelid. Whether this was what he intended was unsure. He turned to Russia, "Ivan get in his clothes."
Russia nodded and began undressing the man. Scotland shoved Germany out of the door (to the German's relief), "You go on look-out," he said.
And so, somehow they had shoved their way through the police station, Russia scaring the police into saluting him, Scotland wheeling a very squeaky tea trolley and Germany apologising as he went (telling people he didn't know his companions).
They arrived at the cells and the following strange conversation was heard between them and the guard.
"We need to get in and rescue, I mean, interrogate someone," Russia had said.
"They need tea," Scotland had said.
"Qui es-tu?" the guard had asked.
Russia, who couldn't be bothered by now to dredge up his French, answered by knocking out the guard, taking his keys and shoving his way down the corridor, opening each of the cells and when he realised there were no fellow Nations looking back at him, he shut them again.
It was only when he arrived at the Nations' cell that he stopped - he almost slammed it shut again.
"I wish I'd stayed with my bruder and Denmark," Germany said sadly, as Russia pile-drived his way through the police station with England over his shoulder.
Over at the hotel, the realisation that Belarus' once white wedding dress would be white no longer was slowly dawning on Estonia.
Estonia held up the wedding dress. It looked worse than ever. It had never looked nice before. The huge meringue affair had a horrid greyish tinge to it as the bleaching effect had not worked. The strange cocktail Hungary had spilled down it seemed to be actually glowing. Also the silk China had 'given' them made the dress look like a huge parachute.
"This is not going to work," Estonia said.
"We're all dead!" Feliciano cried and sobbed loudly on his brother's shoulder.
China nodded. He had contributed in some way to stitching the silk to the wedding dress to make it somewhat more wearable for a six month pregnant bride, but had also kept stepping back and watching the antics in the manner of someone watching a nature programme.
Ukraine kept whizzing from Estonia's bedroom where the 'action' was taking place (his was the most luxurious suite) back to her sister's. She now stopped and stared, "Oh Ed!" she gasped.
Estonia sighed. It was not good. He took his glasses off, cleaned them with the hem of his shirt and put them back on.
"If we leave now, we can get a flight to Shanghai. She will never follow us there," China said.
"Ve! Mr China is right!" Feliciano said.
"Come on fratello, this is nothing to do with us," Romano said, trying to pull his brother away.
"It has everything to do with you!" Ukraine told him. "If your idiot brother had not put the bloody dress on and sat in the bath, it would not have shrunk!"
"Well.. Technically…" Romano began.
"Sono morto!" Feliciano cried and buried his head in his brother's shoulder.
"Katya… I really think…" Estonia began to say, feeling a little sorry for the Italy brothers.
The Italy brothers were rescued by an unusual person. "Oh no! Is there something wrong, little Italies?" came a Spanish voice.
"Big brother Spain! Miss Ukraine says that I ruined Miss Belarus' wedding dress and I really didn't, honestly. I'm not a bad person… I know I'm very silly sometimes but I can cook and clean and Mr Austria says that one day I can have my pinny back and go back to work for him only not this century because all his tapestries are still being repaired after last time and I really miss Luddy-kins, when do you think he will come back? Do you think he has gone with his brother on a drinking competition in Bavaria like last time where they smashed bottles over each others' heads and dressed as Alpine milkmaids but that was all hushed up but Luddy talks in his sleep and…" Feliciano said in one big rush, clinging to Spain.
"I do not think, Miss Ukraine, Mr Estonia and Mr China that you can blame the little niños for this." Spain said slowly. He tried to hug Romano, who pulled away from him with a face like thunder.
"Don't touch me, Tomato bastard and I am not your little niño!" Romano said, his face red.
Spain seemed unconcerned, "I think what you have is a little problem with a dress, but you can get another dress. I bet there are lots of dress shops in the town and you can just…" Spain began talking.
No-one was listening.
"Did you say Prussia and Germany dress as milkmaids when they're drunk?" Ukraine asked Feliciano.
"Si… Ne… No… Maybe… I might have done."
"… Because a dress is just a dress. I would imagine when England gets out of jail from Calais with the rest of them that…" Spain carried on. (Bizarrely, he was the only one - along with Greece - to know what had happened to the groom and his party.)
Nobody was listening to Spain, only Estonia caught the gist. "What? They're in jail?"
"Si. You can get another dress," Spain continued. "I personally don't wear dresses and haven't worn one in four centuries but my queens all wore a dress. I remember the first time I met Hungary, she wasn't wearing a dress. She was wearing a man's costume. Well, it wasn't a costume. It was trousers."
"What are you blathering about? We need to know about Germany wearing a milkmaid outfit!" Ukraine said. Something like this might just assuage her sister's rage at her ruined dress.
"Costume… Yes… that could work…" Estonia said, thinking aloud.
"Is nobody else bothered about the Germany and Prussia in milkmaid outfits thing?" Ukraine cried.
"I am bothered. The imagery is too much to bear for me," China said, shuddering.
Estonia picked up the phone, "Receptionist, can get you me the number for the nearest dress shop?" he said.
"You're so masterful!" Ukraine said and was about to hug him when she realised everyone was staring at him. "Or so I heard…" she said lamely and hurried back to her sister.
"I like you, Carl," Denmark told 'Paul' the teenager, as he jumped back in the back seat of the small car with a six pack of lager.
"My name's Paul," Paul said. Again.
"Ja!" Denmark said, pulling open a can. He offered one to the teenager, who declined politely. Denmark burped loudly in his ear.
They'd stopped at a Co-op and caused havoc by attempting to purchase beer with only limited amount of Deutsche marks. Denmark offered to pay by stripping. Prussia had finished by shouting loudly in a mixture of German and English about their current dire situation and how they really needed beer to get through an awful wedding they had to attend.
The shop staff had assumed they were dangerous criminals and had given them the beer and also the contents of the till.
"English people are very generous!" Denmark said. "Look at all this money they gave us!"
Sirens were heard down the street.
"Hit the accelerator, Mark," Prussia said, knowing full well that they were probably looking at a jail sentence.
"My name is Paul."
"Ja ja ja, whatever, just drive!"
Denmark put a large hand on the teenager's shoulder, "You can come to the wedding with us, Carl!"
"Are we still going?" Prussia asked in surprise
"Ja! I love weddings!" Denmark said.