Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters – thank you to Hima-papa for letting me play in his sand-box (even though I haven't told him – probably cos I don't know who he is...)
Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourite (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .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.
Author's Note: Apologies, apologies – this is what happens when you write a load of chapters and then upload them ... I got them in the wrong order... doh
Warnings: More Russ-Lat fluff (well this is a RussiaxLatvia story), swearing, stupidity.
Chapter 25 -Disguises
Thurs Noon
"Right dudes, here's the final list..." America yelled, slurping his soda through his straw, "Batman..."
"I presume that's for you, is it?" England snorted, shaking his head.
He ignored Belarus who muttered, "And I suppose you are going to be Robin?"
"Of course, I am the Hero and..."
"Can I have a pirate costume?" Spain asked.
"Dude Tony, I got you down as Bananaman!"
"Nooooo! Is there no Tomatoman?" Spain asked.
"Whoever heard of a bloody Tomatoman?" England said, utterly outraged.
"Right, Austria, I put down Tigger or Winnie the Pooh for you..."
"Why on earth...?" Austria looked up appalled. He really did not want to have anything to do with this 'bank job'. He wanted to sit down and talk to Elizaveta and try to work out what on earth was going on... or not, judging by the murderous look in her eyes. He'd seen the plans for this 'heist' as America excitedly called it and they were amateur in the extreme. He doubted they would get past the reception of the bank.
"Masks, dude, masks." America explained, slurped up more of his soda and continued, his face flushed. He hadn't had so much excitement since... well, since the last time he, Prussia and Den had gone drinking and they'd wound up naked in a lifeboat on a cargo boat heading to Peru. "France, I figured you'd be okay as Supergirl – you've got the girly legs and you can act as a decoy seeing as how our girly Nations aren't prepared to help us save the world."
"Just rub it in, why don't you? My sex appeal 'as gone and you are making fun of moi... oh, I cannot take any more!" France wailed and shuffled out.
There was a long pause, silence and then a 'meh' from someone.
"Okay-dokay... Swissland..."
"I am not wearing any ridiculous outfit, costume or mask."
"You don't need one, you already look ridiculous..." Austria retorted. He was feeling awful and if he was feeling awful he really didn't see why other people shouldn't either.
"Also, I am having nothing to do with this bank heist. It will all go wrong anyway." Switzerland said conclusively and started to clean his rife – again.
"You're a bloody banker, you know all there is to know about banks... we need your inside information," England shouted.
Switzerland crossed his arms, "It's against the law - what you are proposing."
Hungary nodded, "I have to say it, and I hate it, but Vash is right."
"Well girly chicks, you're not in on this anyway. We can save the world without you..." America said. "Francey-pants can be the girl decoy."
"You're not saving the world. You're trying to save a bloody painting with our faces on it. How do you know the world's media are going to immediately think it's us?" Hungary pointed out.
America shrugged, "Dunno, Hungaria... it's just totally awesome... dynamite..." America uttered the last word with a look of absolute bliss on his face.
"We don't know if they will, but we can't take that risk, Liz," Austria sighed.
"Don't call me Liz," Hungary said with a snarl.
"It's your name!"
"Sod off, Austria."
"I will not, as you say, sod off..."
"Fuck off, then."
"Achtung!"
"Italy?" everyone looked up as the small Italian stood on his chair and spouted a bizarre mixture of Italian and German, his face bright red, his little fists clenched. Germany sat by his side looked up (with eyes half closed) a dreamy, vacant smile on his face. "Oooh, Italy," the German Nation muttered most dreamily.
"Indeed," England said, "We need to get this show on the road, chappies and er..." here he looked at Belarus and Hungary," Chapesses."
The telephone rang and everyone looked at everyone else to see who would answer it. Finally, England stood up and, scratching his head absentmindedly, wandered into the hallway muttering to himself and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" he said.
"Who's that?"
"Well, I say! How rude!"
"Who is it? Is it that idiotic Italian again?"
England paused, obviously this person, whoever it was, was talking a little sense, "No, do I sound bloody foreign?" England said, and then realised that actually as he was there, an Englishman in an Austrian house, he was the foreigner.
"Well to me, you do," the voice said.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" England almost erupted.
The receiver at the other end was obviously taken by someone else. Hopefully with more brain cells, England thought.
"Is that Mr Austria's household?"
"Of course it bloody well is. You rang this bloody number didn't you? Bloody foreigners..." (Clearly, England should never take up an occupation dealing with telephone enquiries.)
"This is Lithuania. Is it possible to speak to someone in charge?"
"Ah Lithuania... who was that bloody fool? And what do you mean by 'in charge'? I suppose you mean sodding America, don't you? Well, actually the big idiot is here, but you can talk to me. I know what's happening..." England almost shouted. Really, he was fed up of people just assuming he was some sidekick. Robin to his Batman, indeed. He would show them.
"Erm, okay. Mr England... is it true about this painting? Me and Pol saw it on the news..."
"Pol? Who the bloody hell is Pol?"
"Poland and..."
"Oh, I see... well you can tell that silly little cross-dressing so and so that him stealing that sodding painting has caused all this. Damn and blast it, man, that painting goes on sale tomorrow in front of the world's media with our bloody faces on it..." England continued to rant. He heard muttering on the other end of the line.
("I told you, Pol... you should never have..." "I know, like, Liet, but honestly, ten thou... you would have..." "No, I wouldn't...")
"Are you bloody well listening to me?" England exploded (not literally of course – that would cause rather a mess on the carpet).
There was a pause and then a "Yes."
"Well, what the bloody hell is your idiot 'Pol' – honestly, what a ridiculous name – going to do about it, eh? I mean we are all here trying to get this painting back and it's not easy, let me tell you... I'm going to have to dress up as a bloody Robin or some sort of bird or something and... and..." England ran out of steam as America came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Chill, dude..." America took the receiver from his hand, "Hey, yeah, Lovinia... whatever... yep, Polish dude, man... yep, two hours? Right... dude, check it!" and then promptly put the receiver down on its cradle. "Arty, man, if you don't chillax you're gonna have a stroke."
England winced and waited for France to 'honhonhon' and say something about 'oh yes, he can have a stroke with me' or 'I will stroke him, oh yes', but nothing came. Only Francis' wailing "I cannot zink of any sexual innuendo!"
"Well thank heavens for small mercies," England said and wiped his brow.
Warsaw, Poland
Prussia, still nursing his bleeding nose – which was not (however much Denmark thought it was) helped by a bottle of beer, was sat at Pol's kitchen table. He seriously wondered, how he, the great Awesome One, had come to this... after all his planning (all one hour of it in fact), he was sat here with a gormless Dane, a 'fat commie bastard' and 'mad girly dude chick' who was sat on fat commie bastard's knee and Estonia who now called himself, much to Prussia's disgust 'Epicstonia'.
Latvia had no choice but to sit on Russia's knee. She was handcuffed to him and he automatically pulled her onto his lap, her left arm pressed up against his chest. What was annoying her was that he kept sniffling into her left ear and kissing the top of her head. She kept trying to bat him away, but failing as he seemed to think this was 'cute'. It was rather akin to a bee attacking a bear.
The five Nations looked up as Poland and Lithuania came back into the kitchen. The former Nation was filing his nails nonchalantly as if he didn't have anything to do with changing the course of human history, the latter looking annoyed.
"We're off to Vienna as soon as possible," Lithuania told his fellow Nations.
"I'm coming with you," Latvia said decisively and attempted to get off Russia's lap, but found she couldn't so batted him on the shoulder instead.
"Nyet, we are going home. All of us... well, not you Gilbert," Russia told them.
"Wouldn't want to..." Gilbert said, supping his beer.
"Or you, Denmark. You should be going to your home with Sweden and Finland."
"I ain't answering to them."
Russia ignored him, "... or you, Polska. I do not like you."
Poland shrugged, "Meh," he answered.
"We're going to Vienna because of this painting... it was by Leonardo da Vinci and it shows the Nations. It's going to be sold tomorrow and all the world's press and television are going to be there. America, England, France, Austria, Spain..." Lithuania continued, ignoring Russia – for once he didn't feel at all frightened of his huge boss – not with Latvia perched on the Russian's lap.
"Woooah, there... hold your horses, dude... what did you say?" Prussia suddenly pulled the cotton wool out of his bloodied nose and perked up, his mind flitting away from how to cause Russia's immediate demise to what the Lithuanian had just said.
"Tomorrow... it's going to be sold tomorrow. A lot of the Nations are on this painting," Lithuania told him.
"Am I on it?" Russia asked suddenly. "This Mr da Vinci... I don't think I ever met him..."
"No, Sir. You didn't," Estonia piped up. He hadn't been under Russian control then, but from his encyclopaedic knowledge of Russian history (he found it extremely useful at times) he thought it highly doubtful Russia had met the Italian master.
"Nah, dude... guy didn't have a pipe in his head... so you couldn't have... Nations, eh? Who's on this thing? Hey! That means... I was a Nation..." Prussia's red eyes gleamed with the memory.
Russia started kolkolling, growling. Latvia shivered on his knee as she could feel the growls emanating from his chest and rumbling through her body.
"Erm, well, from what I can gather... it was in Austria's possession, but Francis I of France and Francis... our France, I mean, had it painted," Lithuania said, trying to piece together what he'd heard from the newspaper and what Poland had told him.
"So Specs went and lost it? What a goon! Kesese!" Prussia laughed long and hard at this.
Everyone knew who Prussia meant by 'specs'.
Russia growled at Prussia's laugh.
"Well, he didn't exactly lose it, it was stolen," Lithuania said and glanced at Poland.
"Phew, man... it's gotta be worth something," Denmark said and then added with a dreamy look on his face, "You could buy tons of beer..."
"It's not all about beer, man!" Prussia said – to the amazement of everyone, not least Denmark.
Denmark fell off his chair, "How can you say that?" Denmark wailed.
"I bet I'm on that painting! I was the major power in those days..."
Many people around the table growled at that, obviously Russia (that was a given), but also Poland and Lithuania, even Denmark looked at his friend with a frown.
"...and if the world's press see it..." Prussia stood up, picked up Russia's pipe, jumped on the table and yelled "I, the great Prussia will rise again and be a Nation!"
Russia snarled, stood up, slamming his chair behind him, Latvia slid off his knee but dangled at his right hand like a little marionette as he tried to grab the Prussian.
"Kolkolkol!" Russia growled, trying to grab Mr Pipe from the idiotic ex Teutonic knight.
Prussia danced around on the table, kicking over Poland's best china "Kesese! Get in!" he yelled.
Russia attempted to swipe at the Prussian, Latvia trying desperately to keep from being swung around on the other end of the handcuffs and batting Ivan fruitlessly on the shoulder.
And then the door was flung open and a small, much irritable Italian charged in, his face as red as a tomato, his amber eyes flashing, "Why won't you die?" he yelled. "Dammit! I tried everything. Drowning, dynamite, cutting your brake cables, death by Murphy bed... and now poison... rat poison and... and..." Romano threw himself on the floor, face down and started battering his hands and feet against the carpet, yowling in utter rage.
Behind him, a stern-faced looking young woman who looked vaguely familiar was holding a gun.
"Romano was trying to kill you, Sir," Estonia murmured to Russia as everyone froze where they were – like a movie being on 'pause button'.
"Mr Russia, Mr Lithuania, Mr Estonia and Miss Latvia you are all to come with me," Miss Bollockoff said, "Under the orders of the KGB," she added hurriedly.
Russia, the poisoned vodka finally having some sort of effect on his body (his stomach had been roiling for the past half an hour, but he'd put that down to the effects of love and having Latvia snuggling on his knee), opened his mouth to say 'Nyet' or 'Kolkolkol' but instead gave forth such a large belch that the house shook, the glass in the windows buckled and all the occupants (apart from Russia) were knocked off their feet.
"Phew! Better out than in!" Russia said, his face flushing a little. He bent down to pull Latvia back up, smoothing her down a little too thoroughly, she thought.
"Fucking hell!" Prussia yelled, picking himself up off the floor, "What the bloody hell do you feed that big idiot, Toris?"
Romano jumped to his feet and yelled, "Is that it? Is that it? Half a bottle of rat poison and all he does, dammit, is burp?" He flung himself to his knees, "I have failed..."
"Indeed you have," Estonia said quietly and put a hand on his shoulder.
Miss Bollockoff tried to retrieve her gun which she'd dropped when she'd been knocked over by the shockwave.
However, Lithuania got there first and held her tight, "Not so fast, Miss... erm...?"
"Bollockoff... Major Bollockoff... KGB," she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
"Kesese! That figures!" Prussia said, enjoying himself very much.
"You can't do this to me! I'm the grandson of the Great Roman Empire!" Romano yelled as the ropes tightened around him.
"Da, I can..." Russia said, cheerfully as he, Estonia and Lithuania tied the most incompetent assassin in the world and the KGB Major together, back to back.
"You are the grandson of the Roman Empire?" Major Bollockoff asked him.
"Si... I am South Italy. Fratello is North Italy. I only took this job on to make some lira, si."
Russia stood in front of him, waving his pipe in the air, ignoring Latvia's pleas for restraint, "Who paid you?"
"I will tell you nothing!" Romano said, most dramatically but flinched as the pipe sailed over his head.
"Da, it's true, if your head meets Mr Pipe then you won't be saying anything for a very long time," Russia said, using logic.
"Okay, okay... it was the Mafia... You hurt one of their bosses and so they came to me."
Lithuania and Estonia exchanged looks.
"You were going to kill Mr Russia?" Latvia was appalled.
"Si... well... just make it look like he was dead," Romano flinched as the pipe whizzed just a few millimetres from his head. "Fratello needs the money for treatment for potato bastard!"
"Okay, now you know... that this mentally subnormal small Nation tried to injure you, Sir. I, on the other hand, am an esteemed officer of the KGB..." Miss Bollockoff began.
Russia snarled. Mentioning the word 'KGB' did not elicit much sympathy.
"Okaaaaay..." Miss Bollockoff decided to shut up, wisely.
"You are both staying here until we get back from Vienna. And then I will decide what to do with you," Russia said and then bent down so his nose was almost touching Romano's face, "Be thankful that my little Latvia is here or I would have pounded you into dust..." Romano whimpered and he tried to pull away, "I don't like you," Russia whispered in the Italian's ear as Romano started to cry.
Elsewhere in the house, the telephone rang.
"Can someone get that?" Lithuania shouted, "I'm busy up here," he was about to add that he was busy trying to stop Russia from killing Romano and a KGB officer (he wasn't that bothered about the latter – however, she was a girl, and that was probably the only thing that saved her) and trying to prevent Latvia from being dragged around too much.
Poland was sat at the kitchen table, not painting his nails for a change – there were no Nations present so his usually cheery, gay facade had slipped and instead he was cleaning and reloading his Nagant pistol. "Busy, sweetie!" he called in his best campish voice.
"Yo, bro," Denmark answered, "You've reached the household of gay dude... Nah mate, you're talking to me, the King of Northern Europe... I bloody well am... I am... I'll come across there and kick your arse... don't tell me to shut up..."
"Who is it, sweetie?" Pol called, holstering his weapon and swaggering in to find Denmark yelling down the telephone.
"I am the King of Northern Europe... well, you're not. I'm not under any medication... only Carlsberg... Sweden and Finland aren't in charge of me... Well, okay then, Norway is... but he's not here so nerrr to you..."
Poland stood next to him and said softly, "If it's the KGB, tell them they can go piss up a flagpole and then hang up, quick."
"I'm not... Well, so are you..." Denmark was clearly having a running argument with someone on the other end of the telephone and was waving his beer around dangerously, ignoring Poland.
"Who're you arguing with?" Pol asked, finally.
Denmark glanced down at the small Polish Nation stood next to him and rolled his eyes, "West German Government... bunch of pricks."
"Why are they ringing here?" Poland frowned. He tried to think, had he conned anyone lately in the German Government?
Denmark turned back to the telephone, "What you ringing here for? ... Nah, I'm not being rude... well... oh... hang on..."
"Tell them that Ludwig is not here... but tell them that Ivan is..." Pol said, his mind going back to 1939, he was about to head down to his basement and begin getting out sandbags. Painting his house or attaching large rockets to launch it into space was clearly not going to work if a German invasion was on its way.
"Ivan's here... yeah... he is... and me, Denmark... so you can't go around invading little countries again... well I don't care that your Government is all green... Pol's is lilac but he doesn't go around gobbing at people smaller than him."
Denmark might have carried on all day, berating the West German Government official about his views on the War, when the poor unfortunate person at the other end of the line obviously outshouted him (Germans can usually outshout most people, even Danes) and actually asked for someone else.
"GILBERT! PRUSSIA! DUDE MAN!" Denmark yelled, making the windows of the house shake.
"In the shower!" Gilbert yelled back, in the process of creating a shampoo mohican.
"Telephone! Some totally un-awesome German wants to speak to you!" Denmark yelled.
"Ooh!" The shower was turned off as Prussia scrambled out, wrapping a towel around his waist to conceal what modesty he liked to think he had and bounded down the stairs (passing Latvia and Russia, the latter Nation was on her way up for her third bathroom break of the past hour – the manoeuvrings of this requiring a great deal of ingenuity, swearing and Latvia punching Russia – which Russia seemed to find 'cute', even though he couldn't understand why she kept having to use the bathroom so much).
Prussia snatched the phone from Denmark. "Hallo?" He listened intently for a while, before yelling "Danke! Yes, of course I'll do it! You can count on the awesome me!" and hanging up.
Denmark, Poland, Estonia and Lithuania watched in mild horror as the dripping Prussian began dancing about the room, gyrating his hips, moving his arms in an... odd... fashion and generally making Toris, in particular wish that he had the power to unsee things.
Denmark danced along with the Prussian and they did a mad polka up and down the hallway yelling 'Kesese!'.
It was only when this had been going on for around five minutes (at which point Feliks had left the room, deciding that he required more caffeine and Toris had settled himself down on the sofa and put the TV on) when Denmark finally asked, "What're we celebrating, dude?"
"I'm gonna take over as Germany, man!"
"Woo!"
Russia and Latvia walked in then, just in time to witness Prussia's towel coming undone from around his waist and falling off onto the floor. But before Raivis could catch a glimpse of anything, however, Ivan's hand descended over her eyes and everything went black. "I never get to see anything!" The young nation complained.
Denmark, meanwhile, looked over at his friend's groin area, shook his head and just said, "Dude..."
"There's not a whole lot to see, Aija," was Ivan's cutting reply. Gilbert turned to glare at the Russian.
"It was a cold shower, okay?"
Pol walked in at this point, drinking a new cup of coffee, and took one look at Prussia before having an attack of the giggles. "Gil, honey, that looks just like a penis, only it's really, really small..."
"C'mon, I wanna see it so I can make jokes, too!" Latvia whined.
Author's Note:
'Epicstonia' – regretfully, I did not come up with this (although I wish I did) – that genius nickname is from the fanfiction 'In a word: Epic' by Anon Fishy-chan
1939 – the year Poland was invaded by Germany (and the Soviet Union). Sorry guys. I've mentioned the 2nd World War a lot in this fic, but I think it must still resonate with the Nations even 40 years later.
Next Chapter: Romano's charm is tested, Viktor Braginski, the problems of being sexy, the problems of being handcuffed to Russia and the problems of being stuck in a toilet cubicle...