Hooray for not being e-mailed my reviews! No, really.
:l
I suppose it's not a good idea to post on Mondays? Or maybe this story actually SUCKS and I haven't realized it yet. Ah, well. I WILL CONTINUE PAINSTAKINGLY ON WITH THIS PAIRING UNTIL I FEEL SATISFIED.
'Til then, readers, you're screwed.
Pairings so far: PrussiaSwitz, SuFin…
Yes.
Enjoy, I guess~
IMPORTANT NOTE: For those of you who are only here for the PrussiaSwitz, I really don't think it matters if you skip this chapter, this is like my minor-character-development chapter because I absolutely neeeed side pairings, no matter what. Feel free to skip it, because next chapter will be entirely PrussiaSwitz centric! Hoorah! And this chapter doesn't matter IMO.
I'll be the Princess, You can be Target Practice
Chapter 3: Of Bushy Brows and Kidnapped Twins
"He's going to kill me, he's going to kill me, he's going to kill me."
Tino continued this chant, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth on the soggy grounds around the castle.
"R'lax, wouldn't l't h'm touch m' wife."
Finland continued with his mantra.
The newcomer glanced around at his new co-workers with a kind of sickened air, because quite frankly, working with these people would nauseate him-he knew it. He had just recently recovered from his fainting spell, and was now sitting alone in his boxers too early in the morning. He was tired, hungry, and above all, pissed off. And it was the fault of two complete idiots.
Glaring daggers at a certain blonde and Spaniard, he swore vengeance of the utmost cruelty.
No one knocked Norway unconscious and got away with it- no one!
Meanwhile, the two members of the Princess Party were wringing out their sopping clothes while standing in just their underwear. For one- a speedo. For the other- boxers covered in tomatoes.
"I think Prussia will like what we've done with the place," said the Spaniard happily- shaking his white, baggy shirt in an attempt to get out any water he may have missed.
"Who cares about that?" Replied his blonde companion, he clasped his hands together and turned to the brunette- abandoning his blue pants for a moment, "did you see that cute little biscuit with the hair clips? I could just eat him right up!"
"Aha!" Laughed his friend, slipping the shirt back on with ease and turning to meet the Frenchman's gaze. "You try it, Iceland seems a bit protective of him, though!"
"Ehh?" France looked utterly put-off by this, and the hearts in his eyes all but disintegrated. "They've known each other for a few hours, how can that be?"
"Hm, dunno, but they seem to be getting along real well, look!"
They turned to see a fully-clothed but dripping wet Iceland pin an angry and nearly naked Norwegian to the grass.
France's nose spouted blood like a geyser while Spain laughed like all was right with the world.
A few yards away, Poland was pouting and glaring at the distraught Finnish boy, who was still rocking himself back and forth on the dewy front lawns. The taller Swedish male tried to calm him down, but all of his advances were stopped short by his lover. It was about this time when Poland decided something more effective had to be done.
So he took off his chef's hat, stomped up to Finland, and started hitting him round the head with his prized cap.
"Ow ow ow! Feliks, what are you doing?!" his small arms lifted to protect himself from the wrath of the cook.
"What am I doing? What are you doing!" he continued the ruthless attack, "you know, like, Prussia will be back soon, right? Not only that, but aren't people, like, stuck inside? I don't know where Denmark is, and shouldn't someone, like, get Prince Ludwig or something? You're being totally un-fabulous right now!" Poland pulled his hat back, and crossed his arms, glaring at the small boy. When Finland did nothing but work his jaw at him, Feliks frowned, and remembered something. "Don't you have a son in the-?"
Finland leapt up, eyes widening to comical proportions.
"OH MY GOD, PETER!"
Berwald shot past the pair and toward the castle like a rocket, Finland was about to follow when a hand clamped down on his wrist.
"Orders, Finny?"
"R-Right!" said Tino, shaken and looking fearful. "Norway! Iceland! Come with me to help find Denmark and Peter! All of the other guards are gone, so those are the only two we must find! Princess Party and Poland, you go and-"
"AMERICA, THE HERO!"
Finland trailed off, as all eyes fell upon a posing blonde not far from their group- beside him was a male with the largest eyebrows that anyone had ever seen, his face lit up like a light bulb, only redder.
They were covered in ashes and dressed in scorched tuxedos. But upon further inspection…
It was noted the two were shamelessly holding hands.
Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince- beautiful blonde locks billowing lustfully in the wind. No man nor woman could resist his unearthly charm, except for one simple peasant. Alas, the prince hated this peasant with all the passion he could muster- so it mattered not. Anyway, onto the prince's perfect body-
"BULLSHIT!"
The exclamation was poorly covered with a cough.
"Excuse me, Alfred? Do you have something against my stories?" A blonde queried in a purely British accent, quirking a magnificently thick eyebrow in the process.
"Well, yeah," said his companion, scratching the back of his neck idly, "where is all the action, the villains, the heroes? Like me!"
"Oh come off it," scoffed the elder blonde, crossing his arms and glaring daggers at the dirt path- he'd been dealing with this blonde nuisance for far too long, and honest to God after being alone with the same annoying person for an extended amount of time you begin to lose your sanity. England figured he'd lost around the last bend, when America started singing 'Just Around the Riverbend,' in an off-key imitation of Pocahontas.
All thoughts of Indians and raccoons were dashed as soon as his eyes settled upon a giant fuzzy caterpillar in their way. He frowned at it, it looked vaguely familiar- he just couldn't put his finger to it…
"Hey, Iggy, that looks like one of your eyebrows!" The other blonde exclaimed enthusiastically, pointing at it just as energetically.
The male deemed 'Iggy' twitched involuntarily.
"Sod off, Alfred!"
As much as he fought it, it still appeared.
He pouted.
"Aww, my Iggy-poo, did I upset you?"
The other grumbled in response, glaring hard at his now-dusty black shoes.
"I'm sorry, Artie!" yelled the louder male, turning and enveloping the smaller in surprisingly strong arms.
Cue tomato-faced Brit.
"Let me down, you bloody git!" squawked England, struggling to get his arms free and trying fruitlessly to lower the temperature in his face.
"Why should I~" came the cheery reply.
England felt like kneeing the boy in a very unholy place.
" Because it's your fault we're in this whole mess!" said Iggy, resentful and flushed. Admittedly, he was losing feeling in his hands from the blood flow constraint- so he'd say just about anything right now that would get the American off while still maintaining his pride. His options were few.
"Nufufu! I think not, Iggy! YOU were driving, remember?"
"And YOU chose to throw a spider at me while I was doing so. Seriously, America? Who enjoys having spiders thrown at them?"
America seemed to seriously contemplate this for a moment.
"Wilbur."
…
"I suppose…"
Alfred released his older 'friend' from the death grip he had on him, and continued walking like nothing had even transpired. Arthur trudged unhappily after the ever-optimistic blonde, wondering with all his heart why he didn't just up and ditch the annoying brat with the hero-complex.
A heavy silence followed, in which Arthur frowned at the now rocky turf and contemplated hanging himself from a tree by his pants or just kicking the other blonde in his jewels and hightailing it down the road. Unaware of his partner's depressing inner struggle, America smiled happily and examined the trees and birds and sky and giant looming castle half-covered in bubbles…
Wait, what?
The American gasped, childish delight filling in every crevice of his young face and an ecstatic smile splitting his features.
"Iggy, look, look, LOOK!" yelped Alfred, jumping up and down, tugging on England's sleeve, and pointing at the giant castle all at once.
England shot a sharp look at America, shaken from his suicidal thoughts and generally pissed off at the other blonde who was wearily prone to juvenile-attacks, "would you please stop acting like a five-year-" Arthur looked up to humor the boy, and "oooohh my gosh."
Arthur stared in complete awe at the bubbly building, allowing himself to get dragged through the thick forest toward it by an over-zealous American- too stunned to move his own legs.
"And there will be heroes, all around, cleaning up the giant mess that the soap-eating sofas caused! After valiantly fighting off the furniture, of course!"
England listened vividly as the American BS'ed an entire story, growing more and more anxious by the second, and the castle getting closer and closer as Alfred prattled on, now with a firm grip on Arthur's hand.
Oddly enough, neither pulled away upon this revelation.
Nor did America falter in his speech.
"…but the bubble bomb that King Futon set up was too large, too strong! The clean-up requires a TRUE hero, none other then…" they burst through the last thicket of trees, "AMERICA, THE HERO!"
He threw his arm out flippantly at the end, smiling so brilliantly that his eyes closed with the effort, and giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up with the hand that wasn't occupied by Arthur's.
The latter's face reddened.
The pair received five identical blank looks-
And one torn between seething hatred and immense fear.
America cracked open an eye.
There was an awkward silence that settled between the two parties.
Someone snorted.
"What, no cape?" said a voice sarcastically, "what kind of hero are you?"
America's smile returned full-force, blinding nearly everyone in the clearing. He turned and winked at Arthur- who gave him an odd flustered look- and replied, "the fairy tale kind!"
Once upon a time, the prince hated the peasant.
Once upon a very, very different time.
"I can't believe they abandoned us."
"Oh~ They didn't abandon us! I'm sure they'll be back soon, brother!"
"Bullshit! I bet the two of them frolicked off to have sex in the forest."
His nearly identical brother gasped, "brother!" while his older sibling merely sniffed.
"Um, you two…" came a timid voice near to their right, both seemingly ignored it.
"I'm in a right mind to just go and find help myself!"
"Oh! Oh! We could hop from tree branch to tree branch, like in that one ninja show!"
"Guys…?"
"Hell. No. You can have fun getting a concussion, I'll just walk, thanks."
"Aww, you're no fun~"
"Hey, are you even listening to me?" whispered the ignored boy again- staring down at the two arguing (which was one-sided, really) twins before him. Both were seated on silk cushions dragged out from the burning wreckage of their carriage.
Knowing he was fighting a losing battle with their attention, he switched his gaze to the charred mass of wood that had been their transportation, and sighed.
Somehow the carriage had spontaneously combusted after hitting a tiny dip in the road.
True to his self-proclaimed nickname of 'hero,' Alfred had dragged them all out of the flames before any real harm was done. Well, mostly unharmed- their clothes had been burned off.
Luckily for the twins, that had an extra set of clothes which were generally unscathed by the inferno.
Unluckily for one of the twins, that extra set consisted of two dresses.
But at least they were clothed. The poor left-out blonde was in nothing but his slightly sooty underwear.
He turned his attention back to the pair, and clung to his stuffed bear tightly. Dealing with these two sure was a lot of work, and he hoped his own twin would return soon with help. Until then, they could only wait.
"Jesus, Feliciano, would you grow a pair? We are NOT going to have to 'sell our bodies' for money to get wood for the carriage! You are being an idiot!" scolded the elder, jabbing a finger into his now-sobbing counterpart's laced chest.
"But-but!" wailed Feliciano, rubbing at his eyes as tears trailed down his cheeks, "brother! What if they don't come back? I don't wanna get my dress all dirty!"
"Feliciano!" he yelled angrily, smacking his brother upside the head, which produced a new set of cries, "guys don't wear dresses in the first place! Now get off your pansy ass and start walking, we can find help ourselves!"
With this said, the older twin promptly stood up, wiped down his frilly pink dress, and started stomping off proudly in the wrong direction.
Feliciano, in the meantime, choked on the clouds of dust sent up by his brother's heeled shoes.
"W-W-Wait! Brother!" yelled the younger brother, recovering from his spluttering and reaching a hand out toward his brother desperately.
The nearly invisible blonde, in the meantime, was shouting as loud as he could for him to come back.
Sadly, for him, his shouts sound like whispers.
And he was again ignored.
'Romano,' as the blonde had called him, was a good ways away now, and just when the two he'd left behind were going to follow, there was thunder. Deafening, conspicuous thundering that shook the dirt road- and so Romano stopped.
The three waited in abstract horror as the pounding got louder and louder, and closer and closer- until finally, they spotted something in the distance.
A red and white carriage hopping wildly on the dips and rocks in the road as it was dragged violently by two huge black horses, steered by a laughing masked man, who whipped the horses every few seconds to keep them going. Upon closer inspection, he reminded the elder twin of Tuxedo Mask from Sailor Moon. He stood there a few moments, wondering if Sailor Moon was in the carriage behind Tuxedo Mask, when he heard his brother scream.
"HIEEE! RUN, BROTHER! YOU'RE GONNA BE RUN OVER!"
With little to no room left between he and the carriage, he promptly turned around, hiked up his dress, and ran for his life.
And he would have gotten away, too! If it weren't for those meddling heels.
The crazy man seemed to have other plans for Romano, for rather than running him over, he positioned the horses on either side of the fleeing twin and…
Romano was scooped up expertly by the driver as he overcame him- the twin struggled but the older man held fast, chuckling as insanely as ever.
"YOU'RE THE WORST TUXEDO MASK COSPLAYER EVER! LET ME GO! FELICIANO! CANADA! SAVE ME! EEEE!" the now kidnapped boy screamed, punching the older man fiercely in the chest as they neared his two only possible saviors.
Feliciano thought fast.
"PUT MY BROTHER DOWN! HE'S NO FUN TO KIDNAP, MISTER! HE-HE YELLS AND HITS YOU AND HE'S MEAN AND- AND-"
Without further ado, the carriage sped past at full speed, causing Feliciano to squeak as his pink dress flew up to reveal his lacey undergarments- meanwhile, Canada's last piece of clothing tore off.
Poor, poor Canada.
The carriage rode off into the distance, now accompanied with the screams of the other twin along with the thundering of hooves and carriage wheels and the cackling of the driver.
"HIEE! NO! GIVE BACK MY BROTHER!"
Feliciano lifted up his dress and chased after the long-gone carriage, and Canada followed slowly, covering his privies with his hands and sincerely contemplating a new job.
"GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE~"
The albino threw his arms around the smaller male's neck and dragged him down into the bed with him. There was a brief scuffle before the blonde settled.
"I-Idiot! You shouldn't be moving around so much! I just got your wounds to close!" Switzerland didn't struggle anymore, for fear of opening the wounds that he had stitched up the night before.
The King, however, translated the lack-of-opposition differently.
"Aww~! You care for me so much! Oh my darling, where have you been all my life?"
"Your sarcasm eludes me. Now let go, I have to make breakfast," he was mysteriously avoiding the other's eyes.
Gilbert thought for a moment.
"I'm hungry for Swiss blondes, got any in stock?"
"Oh, screw this!" the blonde pulled away harshly as the Prussian howled with laughter, "one more word out of you and there will be more bullets in your system than I can mend!"
"Aww, don't be like that Swissy!"
"Don't call me that! My name is Vash!"
He regretted it as soon as the last syllable had left his mouth.
"Vash…."
Shit.
"Vash, Vash, Vash…"
SHIT SHIT SHIT.
"Va~sh."
SHIIIIIIIT.
"VAAAASH-CHAAAN."
"OH SHUT UP. JUST CALL ME VASH OR I'LL PUT THIS GUN UP YOUR ASS AND SHOOT."
"Is that a threat or a promise?"
Vash stormed out of the room- flushed and indignant, as the albino cackled madly in his wake.
Vash… huh? Thought Gilbert, smirking at the door that had just been slammed. Gonna be a challenge, are you? Well I like challenges. And once I get you back to my place my plan will commence phase one!
Plan: Get Switzerland to fall in love with me by exploiting the talents of my friends!
It's fucking foolproof!
Or so the Prussian with the IQ of zero thought.
ALOON:
Man did I crank this one out fast. I wanted to get it out on Friday rather than Monday again since that's not a particularly popular posting day. Wow, alliteration fail.
Not principally sure how well this one turned out, I'm starting to fail at humor so I make unnecessary and random references.
Honestly though, Turkey reminds me of Tuxedo Mask. Don't ask why.
BUT BUT BUT-
The plot is kind of moving along! The Princess Party is finally revealed! Hoorah!
Don't worry, the next chapter is going to be PrussiaSwitz centric, rather than all these side stories. Sorry for this, I guess I have an obsession with the countless possibilities of pairings in Hetalia.
I also apologize for the Canada abuse in this chapter, he is just so fun to write- and even more fun to abuse!
QAPY:
What will Turkey do with Romano?
What will become of Canada and Feliciano?
What will happen at Prussia's place?
Where are Denmark and Peter, and who will find them?!
What does Canada have to do with the two Vargas twins?
TUNE IN NEXT WEEK FOR THE HORRIFYING CONCLUSION.
Yeah, not really. But feel free to read next week anyway, if I have a chapter up that soon.