Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters – I only borrowed them and put them back after the story was completed.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourite (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): Willow the collie, xxcatxx, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.
Warnings: bit of Austrian angst and then crack... just... crack (naked Germany)
Very late pm, Wednesday
Chapter 22 – Douce France
State Opera House, Vienna
Austria leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Bliss... finally he was in his favourite place (apart from in his own drawing room with his piano that is) – the State Opera House - listening to Chopin Piano Concerto No. 1. He had finally escaped from those buffoons. He rubbed his temples and revelled in the beautiful notes floating up to the royal box where he was sat. He had a season ticket for the royal box – sharing it sometimes with the President and other members of the Austrian Government, but for once, it was empty save for him.
He wondered what was wrong with Hungary and wished she was beside him as she used to be so many years before – in her beautiful evening gown, a fan fluttering at her face, pearls and diamonds at her throat. He had loved having her at his side, the envious looks from the other men – how he, the most boring person on the planet had the most beautiful woman at his side. In Austria's head, Hungary could look beautiful dressed in a sack-cloth, she didn't need gowns or jewels. He loved her just as much when she dressed in men's clothes and riding her horse around the grounds of the mansion. Austria sighed again, he had no idea how to make things right with her. Perhaps, it was really over? But he dreaded to think what his life would be like without her. Music always helped, it had helped before but he didn't really want to go back to playing the piano 16 hours a day to mend his broken heart.
Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, perhaps she'd come to join him? Perhaps that small, delicate hand was hers and she would sit beside him, take his hand in hers and fall asleep and snore like she used to... he looked up and saw Arthur and Alfred.
"Dude! What's this poncy stuff?"
Austria brushed away a tear, hoping these crass buffoons hadn't spotted it, "This 'poncy' stuff as you call it is Chopin," he said haughtily. His prudish, uptight manner came back to the fore.
"Springsteen rocks man!"
Arthur shook his head, removing his 'small, delicate' hand from Austria's shoulder, "I apologise. He insisted on coming here and telling you the plans for tomorrow..."
"Dudes we only have tomorrow to get that painting, man," America all but yelled.
Several shushes were heard from agitated members of the audience.
Austria cringed and all but crawled under his seat. "Keep your voice down, please... Can't we discuss this later?"
"Dude, this music's way too quiet!" America yelled.
There was a slight pause in the music as the conductor turned and glared at the Nations.
Austria gave a very shaky, apologetic smile.
"Alfred, sit down and shut up," Arthur said, pulling the American down onto a seat as if he were a naughty child.
"Do you have any popcorn?" America managed to whisper.
"No, shut up," Arthur whispered back.
"Why are you two here? Can't we discuss this tomorrow?" Austria asked again, his voice rising a little and gaining some angry shushes.
"What about soda?" America whispered.
"I don't have any soda. You'll have to do without your beloved Pepsi rubbish. Besides, it rots your teeth."
America huffed and crossed his arms like an angry child.
"I repeat..." Austria rubbed his temples, "Why are we discussing this here?"
"Italy and Germany have gone doolally," Arthur said in a conspiratorial manner.
"What?"
"Yes, I know. Little Feliciano started strutting around and shouting and Germany... honestly, we thought we'd get out of there."
"No, I mean, what does 'doolally' mean?" Austria asked, his voice rising again.
Somebody shushed him, louder this time.
"Bananas, crazy as a bat, mad as a fish, loopy..." Arthur twirled a finger at his temple.
"Italy? Really? He doesn't have the energy!" Austria exclaimed.
"Dude went mental, man. He kicked us out. Started goose-stepping around the joint. Germany's acting weird and is prancing around like a big ponce." Alfred said and almost jumped up to physically demonstrate before he was shoved back down in his seat by England.
"What about France?"
"Yes, he was acting like France..."
"No, I mean what about France?"
"Well, he's still crying in a corner because he has split ends or something stupid," England explained. Actually, when he thought about it, Italy and Germany only kind of swapped personalities after eating his scones...
"Are the girls alright?" Austria whispered, concerned. None of this sounded right to him.
"They're holed up in that shitty caravan of yours, man. Besides who'd kick them out?" Alfred pointed out the obvious.
"So, here we are..." Arthur said, unnecessarily, "... and Alfred wanted to get the plans finalised for tomorrow's bank job..." he raised an eyebrow at Austria as if to say 'this is going to end in disaster'.
"We need a diversion, the girls will do that..." America said confidently.
"Wait a minute... I don't think..." Austria whispered. He really didn't want to get involved with a bank robbery, but he didn't see how he was to avoid it. He also didn't think getting Belarus and Hungary involved was a good idea also.
"... and we need disguises..." America continued, his face shining with excitement.
"...but suppose we get caught..." Austria whispered.
"Hell yeah, man! We're going to wear masks, man. Nobody will know it's us!" America all but yelled.
"Keep your voice down!" Austria yelled at him and was earned by several shushes.
"Oh this is just too much!" Austria yelled and stood up and glared at the audience, the music stopped, the last notes dying away, "Stop shushing me... by your shushing you are interrupting the music more than these two fools..."
"Hey!" America was outraged.
England looked around him to see if Austria meant him and America... surely not?
"I paid good money for this box... and if anyone shushes me one more time I will personally shove this programme down their windpipe," Austria all but screeched.
England shook his head. This is what happens, he thought, when Nations were pushed to the edge.
"Specs dude is having a moment, eh Arty dude?" America finally whispered, leaning his head to England.
They were bodily thrown from the venue by six burly security guards.
"You can't do this to me, I'm American!" America yelled.
"Well! I've never been so insulted in all my long life..." Austria complained, dusting down his jacket.
England shook his head. He actually had been insulted like that – many times in fact - he decided that Austria must go around with ear-plugs in and a blindfold on.
"Come on, chappies, let's get back and see what's happened back at the ranch..." England tried to steer America and Austria away.
"Humph, they will be getting my dry-cleaning bill," Austria fumed.
"Too right, dude. If I had my Jedi lightsabre with me, they'd be toast."
"Or not," Arthur muttered.
Back at the mansion it was almost midnight and things were clearly not right. Not right at all.
For a start, as the three Nations walked in they were met by a sobbing.
"Francis?" Arthur exclaimed. He ran up to the miserable figure hunched in a corner. He was not the great France everyone knew and loved... no strike that... avoided. His usual elegant attire was crumpled and not in a sexy way, his usual blond hair just... hung in a very ordinary, boring, unwashed way as if it had never seen a comb in its life, France's usual seductive blue eyes were red-rimmed and crying. The God of Sex looked like he'd just slept in a skip.
England swung between a feeling of utter joy at his oldest rival and pity for the once great seducer reduced to snivelling in a corner. Granted, it was not the first time England had seen France snivelling in a corner, but it was the first time he'd seen Francis do it in such an un-sexy manner.
Arthur tried the ultimate test and knelt down by the Frenchman and put an arm around him – flinching, expecting a Gallic wandering hand down the front of his pants at any moment. It didn't happen. Francis sobbed, "Oh Angleterre! I have lost eet!" he wailed.
Flipping heck, he even sounded like a whiny, miserable puny pre-pubescent teenager... usually Francis' tears made everyone want to hug him.
"Jeez, dude... what happened to him?" America asked, appalled and set off through the mansion without waiting to find out.
Arthur stood up, "What did you lose, Francis?" he asked, but he already knew the answer as he looked at the rather large pimple sprouting on Francis' once elegant nose.
"Mon sex appeal!" Francis sobbed into his handkerchief and blew his nose rather loudly.
"Arthur! Help! You need to come in here!" America shouted from somewhere down the hallway.
Austria stepped over the prone body of the sex god, shaking his head, "Serves him right, pervert... I have no sympathy. Do you know he was once watching me and Ludwig through a window and I tied him to a chair to punish him and he liked it...?" Austria recounted to England, who looked back at France with a sad look.
Francis wailed again... "Even ze thought of that does nothing for me... I am no longer ze Nation of L'amour."
"Alfred... what on earth?" Arthur followed the sound of America's shouts and stepped into Austria's fire-damaged library.
A rifle with a Swissman on the other end of it was pointing at him, "Explain to me, Englishman, why Germany is running around naked in the grounds and Italy has just Heil Hitlered me?"
"What the bloody hell?" Arthur spluttered.
Austria raised an eyebrow and very carefully pushed the stub of the rifle away, "I don't recall you being invited here, Switzerland," he said carefully.
"Hmmmph, obviously not. If I knew all these... reprobates were here, I would not have come..." Vash answered, but lowered his rifle.
"I have no bloody idea why Germany is... what?" England happened to glance out of the window and saw the German Nation prancing past in all his naked glory, his white bare arse gleaming in the moonlight.
"Haha dude Germany streaking, man! Oh this is just killing me!" America yelled.
"And ... Italy is... oh Hell's bells!" the last exclamation was made as Italy also went past the window, very un-Italy-like, the small Italian's eyes were wide open, his arm stuck in a 'Hitler' salute and was he... no, he couldn't be... goose-stepping?
Francis slouched into the doorway, drew on a cigarette and coughed like an old man, "Zay ate your blue scones, Angleterre..." he said. His usual sexy voice sounded like a teenage boys that hadn't broken yet.
England sighed heavily, why did everyone blame his baking? He went down to the kitchens, followed by Austria, Switzerland (the two Nations bickering the whole way) and America. Sure enough, two scones were missing from the plate...
He picked one of the remaining scones up. They hadn't been blue when he'd taken them from the oven...
Switzerland raised his rifle and pointed it at England's face, "Put down the scone and step away from the table..."
"Honestly, Switzerland... you're being ridiculous..." Austria began and shut up quickly as the rifle swung around to point at him.
"Am I? Am I really? I blame Mr England for what's happened to my Lily..." the Swissman said.
"What? What's happened to Miss Lily?" Austria asked, concerned.
"Oh God, this is just killing me... you guys are so funny," Alfred laughed, "Sweden-dude and his girly gun and Arthur's scones... dude... they're always blue... or green... once they were purple..."
"Shut up," England hissed as Switzerland took the safety catch off his rifle and aimed it at America. The Swissman did look seriously pissed. In fact, the last time England had seen him look this annoyed was when he'd dropped that Swiss franc in a meeting and Russia had picked it up...
"Is there a problem? Oh, bruder, honestly... you need to lighten up... hey guys! How's it hanging?" this voice belonged to Liechtenstein, but not the Liechtenstein they all knew and loved and kept away from because they were all terrified of her big brother.
"In the name of cricket, what happened?" England was the first to speak. Everyone, even America was speechless.
"Well may you ask..." Switzerland said and rubbed a hand over his face.
Little Miss Lily (as most of the Nations affectionately called the small female Nation) was dressed in a black leather mini-skirt, ripped fishnet stockings, high heel boots (that she still could barely walk in), her usual blond hair which was normally tied up in a cute ribbon was dyed a horrid pink and she had several piercings in both ears (actually, they were magnetic ones and Lily kept losing them).
"Girl chick rocks out!" America yelled and was promptly batted around the head by England.
"Do you want to die?" England hissed as he saw how the land lay.
Austria, weirdly, was outraged, "Why on earth is she dressed like that? You're a fine big bruder... she looks like a... a..." Austria almost had a heart attack.
"She says she's got a new lover... and... oh... I don't know..."
Lily smiled softly, although her feet were killing her, she hoped to God she could conclude this ridiculous charade very soon. "Hmm, is this a world meeting?" she asked.
"Nein, it's not. Why are you dressed like that? You're a lady!" Austria almost shouted.
Switzerland shook his head, "I tried to tell her..."
"Yes, he did... all the way from Bern..." Lily said.
"I need your help, Austria," Switzerland said, "You've got more experience with the younger Nations than I have... I mean..."
England turned to look at France, concerned. No sexual innuendos, no honhonhons, no mentions of Lily's attire? Clearly, the French Nation was not himself.
France just shook his head sadly and shuffled out, "I don't know what to say!"
"Well, I suppose... you would never have found Feliciano dressing like that in my house... or Hungary..." Austria pointed out, unhelpfully.
"So, this is all that's here? No more male Nations are here?" Lily asked.
"No, just us... Miss Lily, why are you dressed like that?" England asked gently.
"Well, seeing as he," here, Lily nodded her head curtly at Switzerland, "doesn't think Iceland is good enough as a husband for me..."
"Iceland is a respectable young man and perfectly nice..." Austria interjected.
"What has it got to do with you?" Switzerland said, looming up to his neighbour.
Lily sighed and gratefully sat down and took off her shoes, rubbing her aching feet, "I've got myself someone else... another lover... a real man... who even he..." (she indicated Switzerland again) "... can't bully."
Switzerland cocked his rifle again. "And when I find out who it is, he's going to have a face full of bullets."
"Hola!" came a cheery call from the doorway. "Do you know, signores, that Signore Germany is running around outside with no clothes on?"
Author's Notes:
Doolally – as Arthur explains doolally is an English slang term that means crazy
Also would like to thank ShrapnelGirl who suggested personality swaps...
Next chapter: we find out who has got France's 'superpower' and a take a visit to Poland's house...