Acknowledgements: Thank you to The-Macer-of-Dale, 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 13
Calais Jail…
"Aidez-moi! Someone help me!" France yelled.
Surely someone, in his own country and not in that heathen, uncultured land of the English, would come to his rescue?
The door of the cell burst open and the police flooded in.
Alfred was ready for them, he karate-kicked one, spun round on the spot and back-flipped, missed but landed on another police officer and then punched another one out cold.
France, who obviously hadn't been beaten up, flung himself at the last one and managed to punch him out. He looked regretful as he did so. "Je suis désolé," he said, and he meant it. "Very 'andsome…" he muttered.
"Come on!" America yelled and pulled him out of the cell.
"Ah L'Amerique. Why do you want me to come with you?" France asked.
"Because I think Britain will want to kick your head in himself," America said. "Also I don't know any French and we're still in Franceland and I need you to translator for me."
"You mean you want me to interpret for you?"
"That as well."
"Pierre, you must come as well!" France called back to the cell.
"Non, merci. I will stay," Pierre replied.
"Mais Pierre, you are looking at ten years in prison!"
"Je sais cela, monsieur," Pierre replied, making himself comfortable in his cell.
France paused and then dashed back in and dragged Pierre out, "You are coming with us, Pierre and you will enjoy it!"
"Ah poo…" Pierre moaned.
Alfred was busy back-flipping and karate-chopping his way through the police station. "Come on you girls! Let's do this!"
In a ferry…
"I hate my life!"
The words could have been spoken by any number of people in this story. Germany certainly echoed these feelings as a conga-line skidded past his table and somehow his papers ended up on the floor.
He scrabbled around trying to retrieve them.
"Stop!" he shouted.
Nobody listened.
"Everybody conga! Everybody conga! Everybody conga!" they were all yelling. The crowd was a strange assortment of truck drivers, holidaymakers coming back from France, a few travelling salesmen and a Nation.
"Scotland! You! My paperwork!" Germany was distraught.
Scotland stopped and looked at his fellow Nation, "Ach yer wee jessie, who does paperwork? I never did paperwork in all my years, neither did Arthur nor Francie. You need to let your hair down!"
Germany was appalled at the idea. He had never let his hair 'down'. He shoved people aside trying to rescue the sheaf of papers now being trampled on by various feet.
"My life is hell," the postman told him.
"Ja? Well, welcome to my life," Germany replied.
Scotland conga'd past him, "Come on Herr Ludwig von German, join in!" he yelled.
"I hate you all," Germany muttered through gritted teeth and chased his papers out onto the deck.
The postman aimlessly followed him. He was very drunk. Drunker than he'd ever been. "My wife is going to kill me," he told Germany.
Germany ignored him.
"I think I might have lost my job," he continued.
Germany stood up and loomed over the small postal worker and shouted, "Listen. I don't care. Do you understand? I have been wrongly imprisoned, assaulted, dragged to France by a Russian half-wit and a Scottish alcoholic transvestite, lost any respect I ever had with my Embassy staff, being forced to go to the wedding of a man who is so incompetent he only won the war by not losing, and then I'll probably finish this day by getting very drunk with my inept younger older brother who lied to me for centuries about who I am and then slow-dancing to some God-awful ballad with a gormless Italian."
The postman misunderstood, "At least you get to dance with a girl in the end!" he said.
"You'd think, wouldn't you?" Germany sighed. In truth he'd never danced - slowly or otherwise - with a girl.
"Well yes! That's how I met my wife!" the postman slurred.
"Really? I've never been married," Germany said.
"No?"
"Not officially, or even to a woman of the erm… other gender… I mean erm… a woman of the female persuasion."
"Wut? I mean er what?"
"Nothing," Germany said, trying to shuffle the remainder of his papers together and shoving them in his briefcase.
"Come on Germany yer big mean bastard!" Scotland yelled from the other room as they conga-ed out of the bar and down to the other end of the ferry.
"I hate all my fellow Nations. They are all incompetent, inept, stupid, inconsiderate, slovenly, degenerate, drunken…" Germany halted when he saw the postman's look of growing horror which wasn't aimed at him but behind him.
Germany slowly turned around and found himself face to face (almost) with Russia. The big Russian glowered down at him. It was really only when you were an inch apart from Ivan that you realised just how big he was, Germany thought as his face met with Russia's huge fist and he sailed through the air backward and hit a wall.
It was tantamount to just how tough Germany was that he didn't completely lose consciousness or break any bones. It was also tantamount to just how sensible the German was that he didn't try to hit Russia back.
Russia grunted in satisfaction. "I don't like you, Germany," he said simply. He then turned to the postman, "I need your clothes."
The postman nodded quickly and began stripping.
"Not here. Take them off in the toilets or something," Russia growled. "People will think I am weird."
Germany held up a hand as he tried to get to his feet. His head swam and there were stars in his eyes. "Erm… I suppose that means you don't want me to go with you to Arthur's wedding?"
Russia turned back to him, "You are going to my sister's wedding," he said. And then he delivered the next order that chilled Germany to the bone, "And you will smile."
It would be expected that by now, with just a few hours to go before the wedding, that the absence of the groom, best man and 'father of the bride' (Russia), along with the groomsmen and ushers would have been noticed and caused some alarm. It did not.
The female Nations, comprising Latvia, Hungary, Belgium and Lily, were assembled in a fancy dress shop and were perusing the rails.
"Do you have a Robin Hood costume?" Hungary asked the shop owner.
"Wouldn't you feel more comfortable as Maid Marian?" the man asked.
Hungary growled, "Maid Marian? Has feminism not reached England yet? I will dress as Robin Hood!" she insisted.
"Well okay… yes… I mean… er…" the man stuttered.
"I want to be a man as well!" Latvia said. She held up a costume of a stormtrooper. "This is ace, but I'm not wearing the helmet."
"You won't get in that, dear," the man said carefully, looking at her pregnant belly.
"Don't you oppress her!" Hungary cried.
"Yeah!" Latvia said, but put the costume back anyway.
Lily picked up a rather nice dress, "I want to be a fairy princess," she said.
"Now then… who shall I be?" Belgium picked up various costumes. "Erm… Elizabeth the First - she was great fun," she said.
"Was she? I never met her," Hungary said.
"Yeah, she was okay."
The man gawped at them.
"Her dad was a bummer though," Belgium added. "Mind you I can't remember if I was with Spain or Austria then. That was a long time ago."
"I'm going to wear this!" Latvia announced holding up a costume.
"Hmm… honey…" Belgium began.
"Wut?" Latvia asked, with her hands on her hips.
"Nothing…" Belgium said hurriedly. Really, the small Baltic had become quite a tough nut since becoming pregnant with Russia's kid. (Or at least that's what Belgium thought, the fact that Latvia had always been 'a tough nut' was not really known to the other Nations.)
In Calais
America and France (with Pierre lagging reluctantly behind) ran out of the police station.
"Yay! A 'copter waiting for us!" America yelled.
"Non? Really? For us?"
America was half right. There was a 'copter. But it wasn't waiting for them. It was still waiting for Russia, Germany and Scotland. But they had completely forgotten it and had skidded off in a police car.
America leapt in, "Doverham please and step on it!" he yelled.
"What?" the helicopter pilot asked. No wonder he was confused. He was expecting a stern unsmiling German, a Scottish transvestite and a scary Russian.
"Doverham!" America said, as if this was a taxi.
"Leetle Alfie, instead of Dover, we can go straight to ze church!"
"Oh yeah! Straight to the church, please." (Alfred had been brought up to use his pleases and thank-yous by Arthur.)
"What church?"
"Yeah Francy-pants, which church?"
"Fly to Bedlam Bottom in ze south of England, it is next to the A14."
"Jeez, you Europeans kill me. Bedlam Bottom… A14…"
The helicopter took off.
"It is near ze town of Snoring," France added helpfully.
The helicopter pilot nodded. He was just relieved that the scary Russian had somehow disappeared.
"Do you think we'll get there in time?" Alfred yelled over the noise.
France shrugged.
Down below them, Pierre waved enthusiastically. Finally, he could be free!
On the ferry…
"Do you think we'll get there in time?" Austria asked Russia.
He didn't ask why Russia was dressed as a postman.
The fact was that Russia seemed to think the authorities were looking just for him and thus a disguise was needed. However, it didn't occur to him that a half-naked Austrian in a pink (now very filthy) bunny costume would be any less conspicuous than him. It also never occurred to him to get any clothes for Austria.
"Get where?" Russia asked.
"The church…"
"Oh da!"
"And why didn't you get me some clothes?"
"Did you want to dress as a postman as well?"
"Of course not! What a silly idea!"
Russia frowned. He wondered what Austria's problem was. "Sestra will think it is a fancy dress party."
"Are you giving her away?" Austria asked, looking him up and down.
"Da," Russia said. He really hoped their real father didn't turn up…
Austria declined to comment.
Arthur mumbled, "Damned pirates."
At the hotel…
"Pirates and nuns?" Ukraine stared at her fellow female Nations. "Are you all kidding me? She is going to kill you all."
"I'm a fairy," Lily said defensively.
Hungary patted Lily on the shoulder. "I'm not a pirate, I'm Robin Hood," she pointed out.
"In what universe is Robin Hood the same as a pirate?" said the nun - actually Belgium.
"And you, Latvia, I thought you had more sense!" Ukraine cried in frustration.
"I always wanted to be a genie!" she said.
"That jewel wouldn't fit in your belly button though would it, hun?" Belgium said, busy accessorising her nun outfit with a Belgian flag. "You know I should wear headscarves more often," she mused.
"You're just pissed because you have to wear that awful bloody bridesmaid dress," Hungary said.
Ukraine frowned, "You all look bloody ridiculous," she told them.
"Is Mr England back yet with Vanya?" Latvia asked, partly out of interest and partly to take Ukraine's mind off their costumes. She was also starting to regret the genie costume. It wasn't conducive to a good look if you were six months pregnant. Also she was a bit worried about what Russia would think. He could be a bit of a prude if people showed too much flesh.
"No, he's not and neither is young America…" Ukraine said.
"Wasn't he supposed to be the best man?" Hungary asked, heading back into the bar and asking for a non-alcoholic cocktail.
"Yes, but what on earth Arthur was thinking asking that young idiot to be best man, I will never know," Ukraine replied.
"They're not back yet? The groom?" Lithuania asked, as casually as he could, emerging from the hotel dining room.
"No, what's it to you, anyway?" Belgium asked.
Lithuania decided to ignore the fact he was being asked by a nun and just smiled. He bounded up the stairs two at a time, "Excuse me, Miss Ukraine, I just need to get my best suit…" he said cheerily as he went past her on the stairs. This might be it, he thought. After five centuries, he might just be able to marry the woman of his dreams…
Ukraine sighed, how could she delay her sister long enough and 'sell' the idea of a fancy dress wedding?
On the ferry - which was just coming into Dover (or Doverham as America called it)
"We need to ditch the police car as it's what the police will be looking for," Austria told Russia.
"Yes, because it's a police car," Russia said simply.
"No, because you stole it."
"I borrowed it," Russia corrected.
"Okay, borrowed," Austria replied with a sigh. He cleaned his glasses and then wondered why he bothered. "Let's just get on with this, get him…" (here he prodded England with his foot) "… to the church and hope we're not late."
Austria looked down at the unconscious groom-to-be with distaste. He personally thought England was a boorish oaf and Belarus was a psychopath. So in his eyes, they were well suited. He thought they were better off making each other miserable than making two more people's life a misery.
"There!" Russia pointed at a forty foot long articulated lorry.
"No."
"Why?" Russia said, his face a picture of disappointment.
"Too conspicuous," Austria said.
"You're good at this," Russia said.
"Are you saying I'm a thief?" Austria asked, utterly appalled by the insinuation.
"Da. And probably quite a good one!"
Austria didn't know quite what to say to that. The awkward silence was broken by Germany and Scotland who arrived - one looking very very drunk and the other looking very very annoyed.
The postman followed. Or more accurately he staggered after Scotland in a zigzag pattern. "Do you think I've losht my job?" he slurred at Germany.
"I don't care," Germany replied.
"I care," Russia said. "It is good you have a job. Germany here has never had a job."
"Well, I have never had a job. And I am proud," Austria said, standing as proudly as he could in his half bunny costume.
The ferry doors opened and Russia advanced as if going into battle.
Scotland put a hand on his arm and Russi-cat jumped on the Russian's broad shoulder. "Ach, yer cannae go oot that way, Ivan, that's for lorries!" Scotland slurred in his broadest Glaswegian accent.
Russia didn't understand what the Scotsman had said and glared at his hand on his arm. "Don't touch me," he growled.
They all stepped out of the way of the lorries and cars heading out of the bowels of the ferry.
"If we go upstairs we can go out with the rest of the foot passengers," Germany suggested.
"We need a vehicle," Russia insisted.
"Or… we could go out with the rest of the foot passengers," Germany said again.
Russia turned and looked pointedly at England who was still unconscious, Scotland who was drunkenly dancing a jig, the postman who could barely walk and Austria who could barely walk because he was attached to England.
"Ah, I see." Germany said.
"Da."
"But don't you think we should get some clothes that are less conspicuous for these two?" Germany pointed at Austria (who nodded enthusiastically) and Scotland (who was showing far too much leg).
"Da. Conspicuous…" Russia said. He'd heard this word a lot in the last 24 hours and he liked it.
Belarus swirled around and around in her princess dress. "My wedding day… the most wonderful day of my life… the happiest day of my life… I thought it would never come… the day I marry my one and only love of my life… Ivan… I mean er… Arthur…"
"Arthur!" Ukraine insisted, applying her own make-up, batting Poland's helping hands away. She really didn't want any of his help to look like her sister. She had never seen so much make-up. Her sister had always looked like a pale beauty, but now looked like she'd just been on holiday to the sun.
"What happened?" Ukraine had asked Poland.
"She needed more colour in her cheeks!" Poland had insisted. "Besides I had more spray tan than I expected so I thought I'd use it up."
"Is the horse and carriage ready, sestra?" Belarus asked sweetly.
"Horse and carriage?" Ukraine almost fell off her chair.
Poland slumped out in a sulk. He ran into a fellow Nation who no longer wanted or needed their fancy dress costume and Polska thought "Why not?" and thus went to change from his own suit to something he thought was more "eye-catching".
"Yes! Horse and carriage! It's what I always wanted and Ivan.. I mean Arthur…. We planned it from the start!" Belarus pulled out a huge ring binder, flicked through to a sub-section 'Church - Arriving at' and pointed at the picture of white horses pulling an elaborate carriage. "There!" she said.
Ukraine closed her eyes and would have drunk some vodka if she wasn't six months pregnant. "Yes yes, I'm sure it's all sorted," she said soothingly. She then leapt to her feet (or as quickly as a six month pregnant woman could leap anywhere) and hurried out, down the stairs and found a bunch of Nations stood around in the hotel foyer making the place look untidy and generally doing what they did best - arguing, almost causing a war, getting drunk and gawping aimlessly at the poor humans who were actually working.
"Anyone got a horse and carriage?" she asked the assembled Nations desperately.
Perhaps if she got the horse and carriage and everything was perfect, Belarus might not notice her groom was not actually there. She noticed Lithuania coming down the stairs after her dressed in his best suit.
"Toris? I need your help!" she said, grabbing him by the lapels.
"Yes of course, Miss Ukraine!" he said, his eyes shining.
"England still isn't here and I really need you!"
"I'm your man!" Toris said. "After so many years…"
"I need you to do me a real favour…"
"It would be an honour, I know how much today really means to Miss Belarus…"
"Yes yes whatever…"
"I mean can I call her Natalya today?"
"Yes, whatever you like…"
Toris flung his arms around Ukraine, "Oh Miss Ukraine! I'm so happy! This is the happiest day of my life and I will do my utmost to make Natalya happy."
"Oh Lithuania, you're such a sweetie and I will love you forever if you would just…" Ukraine began, trying to extricate herself from Toris' arms.
Estonia skidded in, straightening his tie, saw his fellow Baltic, did not misread the situation but gently tried to pull Toris away.
"Yes, Arthur is such an idiot and…" Ukraine tried to continue.
"Oh Miss Ukraine… but can I call you Katya as we'll be related and…" Toris was being pulled away by Estonia who was whispering in his ear.
"Toris… it's not going to happen…" Estonia hissed in his ear as the rest of the Nations watched in amazement, amusement and some confusion.
"Yes but I just want you to…" Katya was trying to say and then stopped dead as someone walked in. "Never mind… Yorkshire! I need your help, can you get me a horse and carriage?"
Yorkshire, England's eldest son, a man so grumpy he made Scotland and Switzerland look like little rays of sunshine, frowned heavily. He wore very muddy wellington boots, a tweed jacket, a flat cap and something was wriggling in his trouser pocket. It was his pet ferret.
Toris sobbed on Estonia's shoulder, "Nooooooooooooo!"
Estonia dragged him away to the bar.
Katya was totally unaware of any chaos she might have caused, "Well, Bob? Can you get me a horse and carraige?" she asked.
"Aye, I can. But where's my dad?" he asked. "And why am I not the best man?"
Author's Notes:
Someone had asked where Yorkshire was… so I included him (he is in some of my other stories, briefly).
Next chapter - Will Belarus get the wedding she deserves?
Will England get to the church?
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