All For One, One For All
By WhiteXConverse
A/N: Hey there people of Earth! :D
Another chapter has been edited, and I did Chapter One as well ON THE SAME DAY! Aren't you proud of me? :D
Happy Holidays! ^^
"I'd like to build the world a home
And furnish it with love
Grow apple trees and honey bees
And snow-white turtle doves
I'd like to teach the world to sing
In perfect harmony
I'd like to hold it in my arms
And keep it company
I'd like to see the world for once
All standing hand in hand
And hear them echo through the hills
For peace throughout the land"
-I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing
Also I apologize ahead (and backwards, sideways, diagonal, hey let's play jump rope! :D) for any OOCness!
Romano looked at his own old fashion red dial phone and mouthed to himself, "Mighty big favor?"
He shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts, "You b*stard, no matter what you say, no matter what I say, that…" Romano couldn't bring himself to say her name without yelling into the phone saying what obnoxious, drunk b*stard France was, "that GIRL is coming over tomorrow and there's NOTHING I can do about it!"
"Uh huh…" France said as he took another large swig or wine, not noticing Romano's choice of words. "So how old is this "GIRL"?"
If Romano was a poet he would've described the anger seeping into him as;
Red drops, that evilly mimicked that of harmless raindrops though the two things happily bared no family traits. The red drops must have been the devil's tears, not its tears of sorrow but of his horrible incriminating laughter. If the drops fell onto the floor any person would have mistaken it as drops of blood from a dead man.
But once it fell on you, the demon that's name spread fear into all that heard it, would laugh heartily at your situation, at you problems, feelings, and once the red drops fell onto your shoulder, your head, your chest, anger would have swept over you like a tidal wave onto a shore.
But like I wrote up above, IF Romano WAS a poet, which he is not, he would've said that. But since he is not he would have said something along the lines of;
I'm angry.
Oh Romano how creative! = =
"DON'T YOU GET ANY IDEAS YOU DRUNKED B*STARD!" Romano yelled into the red phone
"God Romano I was only kidding! …But on an all seriousness, how old is the girl?"
"SHE'S SIX YOU PERVERT! MAY YOU GO AND ROT IN H*LL!"
And before France could give another drunken comeback with a hearty laugh, much like the devil's, Romano slammed his phone onto the receiver, not allowing France to HAVE that chance.
"D*mn you…" he snarled at the phone
WHY did he argue with Germany again? Oh yeah, 'cause he was a fu**ing potato ba****d.
He smiled evilly at the memory of how Germany looked when he told the press who was chosen to foster Elisabet.
"Papa Romano!" the little girl ran to him smiling, her arms stretched out
He looked to the side surprised to see the little girl. Then he blinked and she faded away. The young girl had somehow been able to capture most of her "Papa's" hearts, which just made it odd why some felt so free to let her go.
He scowled as he visualized each person's face who had easily let her go to that b*stard France. He blinked as he remembered HE had started the side of allowing her to go there.
"D*mn it…" he growled to himself
"Stupid France, Lizzie should just go back with ME." he growled
His mind absentmindly went to the order of Lizzie's ex-foster parents (which sadly included him).
YEAR ONE: China
YEAR TWO: Spain
YEAR THREE: England
YEAR FOUR: Japan
YEAR FIVE: Romano
YEAR SIX: Germany
And sadly, YEAR SEVEN was with that son of a b**** France.
He sighed as he slumped into his chair.
Next year might as well be Denmark.
He stuck his tongue out as the visual picture of Denmark came to mind.
He sank further in the chair. Secretly he took a book that the girl had for some reason adored to have read to her from a secret spot underneath his chair. The Prince and the Pauper.
France waited impatiently at the airport. The PUBLIC Airport. Apparently the little brat had wanted to be with other people, which I personally thought was retarded. Why wouldn't a girl get to France, me not the country mon ami, even faster on a high speeded jet?
People stared at me whispering certain things, I smiled flirtingly to the pretty foreign girls, or the ones coming home for the holidays since it is close to Christmas time, and scowled at the boys who followed them close by.
In the corner of my eye I saw a group of people, not surrounding me in amaze and wonder.
I walked over to correct their mistake that I was HERE.
Or at least I was going to until I heard a small but friendly voice call out from the center of the circle.
"Bon-jar! My name is Elisabet! But you can call me Lizzie, what's YOUR name mad-man?"
The person she was talking to laughed happily at her poor attempt at French, "I'm Bridget! Bon~JOUR, mad~AM. Where's your mommy Lizzie?"
I walked over faster.
"She's in heaven Bridget. I'm waiting for Papa France to pick me up right now."
"France? Don't you Francis?"
"No ma'am, it's France." I said annoyed as I walked over to the pint sized midget
She was holding a picture and seemed to compare it with me before hugging my leg and crying out happily, "Papa!"
I blinked with surprise, "And you must be Elisabet."
She looked up at me and nodded, "Everyone calls me Lizzie though Papa."
I noticed her joyful green eyes, but my face didn't waver.
"How DARE you act like that to a sweet innocent girl!" A boy who looked like a male version of Bridget growled
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Yeah!" people, mostly tourists though, began to scold to me and I was suddenly overwhelmed with the idea this might get on France 24, a popular news channel.
"Come on you bra-I mean Lizzie!" I growled as we hurried towards the limo outside
I could see some people having enough nerve to follow us, luckily not throwing things at us. Although it might be for the fear of hurting "Lizzie".
As the long black car drove away I could tell this was going to be a long, LONG, year.