Disclaimer: First of all, I'd like to thank to thank Fluteorwrite for their helpful warning of the script format that I employed for my first chapter being against the rules. This has been remedied. So, thank you very much Fluteorwrite and no, you will not have to sell your books, for the creeper at the train station was indeed France. You have my eternal gratitude, for what it's worth. Which isn't much. All right, now that's over: I don't own Hetalia or Avenue Q, which is obvious, because if I did, I'd be rolling around making money angels this very moment. Also ,upon request of a one Myrna Maeve, here's a Hetalian performance of Avenue Q's "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist." Enjoy people!
Gilbert threw a furtive, sideways stare at Elizaveta, who was rapidly flipping through a gay erotic novel and spurting blood from both of her nostrils. He took notice of her light brown hair and emerald green eyes. Now that he thought about it, she sort of looked like...
"Hey, Liz?" He asked. No answer; she was too busy reading about shaved-balled, androgynously sexy men buttfucking one another to hear him. Gilbert rolled his eyes and snatched the book, titled "Pink Cheeks and Brown Eyes" out of her hands before tossing it out of the conveniently open window.
Elizaveta wiped the blood leaking from her nose and glared at him. "What was that for?" She demanded. "I was just about to get to the part where Paris was spreading apart Ashton's-
Gilbert held up a hand to silence her. "No Liz. Just no. I don't want to hear about butt pirates swabbing each other's poop decks. But, I do have a question for you."
"Well, what is it?" Elizaveta demanded, still sore at the fact that he'd thrown out her novel.
"You know how that guy Toris from upstairs has brown hair and green eyes?" Gilbert asked her.
Elizaveta folded her arms across her chest. "Uh-huh."
Gilbert ran a hand through his silvery hair, looking hesitant. He didn't want to get a frying pan to the face for this. "Well, you have brown hair and green eyes too."
"And?" Elizaveta said testily.
"So, you know, you two sorta look alike," Gilbert trailed off.
Elizaveta frowned. "What are you implying, Gil?"
The albino teen took a deep breath. "Areyouguysrelated?" He said quickly.
Elizaveta tossed her head indignantly. "What?" She shrieked. "Gilbert, you idiot! Just because two people have the same hair and eye colour does not mean that they're related! I'm Hungarian and Toris is Lithuanian, and they're not the same thing!" She narrowed her eyes at him. "I find that racist."
Gilbert glared back at her. "Well sor-ry!" He snapped. "I was just asking! Geeze, why don't you go clear the sand outta your vagina before you queef out a pearl, Liz?" He added, earning himself a smack to the back of his head. "Bitch," Gilbert mumbled under his breath.
Fortunately, Liz either didn't hear him or just chose to ignore that last remark. "Well, it's a touchy subject," she grumbled. "I've been asked if I'm related to the Greek guy with all of the cats from across the hall, the Spanish guy with the tomato fetish who lives on the third floor, and now Toris! And why? Because we all happen to have brown hair and green eyes! Never mind the fact that we all have different skin tones and accents, no, we must all be from the same race because we have the same hair and eye colours!" She was breathing heavily by the time she was done, as though she'd just run a marathon, or had a long, mind-blowing sex session.
Gilbert had the decency to look slightly sheepish. "All right, all right." He sighed and waved his hands at her in a placating manner. "Sorry. I guess that was kinda racist," he admitted.
Elizaveta looked mollified, although she couldn't help but to throw a final remark in. "I should say so," she said sternly. "You ought to be much more careful when you're discussing the sensitive subject of race."
Gilbert sputtered. "Liz, you fucking hypocrite!"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Elizaveta demanded, looking ready to rip his dick off and use it to stir her drink.
"What about that special club you told me about? You know, the one for Hungarian dance?" Gilbert drawled.
"What about it?"
"Well, could me or Luddy join?"
"Tch, hell no. It's Hungarian dance, dumbass."
"Aha! You see?" Gilbert crowed triumphantly. "Now that I've made my point, I believe that this situation calls for some musical showboating." With that, he leapt up on the table, pulled Elizaveta up beside him and spun her around so that she was facing him.
"You're a little bit racist!" He sang.
Elizaveta grinned. She did love Broadway... "Well, you're a little bit too!"
"I guess we're both a little bit racist!"
"Admitting it is not an easy thing to do!"
"But I guess it's true!"
"Between me and you! I think..."
At that point, the two of them grasped one another's hands, jumped down from the desk and began to dance a sort of can-can while singing in unison.
"Everyone's a little bit racist sometimes! Doesn't mean we go around committing hate crimes! Unless they're against Russians!" Gilbert threw in. Elizaveta rolled her eyes and grinned before they both began to sing again.
"Look around and you will find! No one's really colour blind! Maybe it's a fact we all should face! Everyone makes judgments...Based on race!"
Gilbert smirked at Elizaveta before spinning and dipping her so that her hair brushed against the floor. "So, you're not racist enough so that you wouldn't want five meters of Prussian in you later tonight, right?" He asked, waggling his eyebrows at her.
Elizaveta shoved his chest playfully. "Prussian? Don't you mean German? Last I heard, Prussia was dissolved and is now East Berlin."
Gilbert gaped at her. "You little bitch," he gasped.
Elizaveta merely smirked at him. "Can't handle the truth, German? Oh yeah, and five meters? More like five inches, if that. Huge penises are more of an African thing, I think."
"Okay, let's not go there frau," Gilbert said. "Let's just get back to the singing, huh?"
"Fine teenie-weenie," Elizaveta quipped.
And once again, the two of them began to sing.
"Everyone's a little bit racist,"
"Today!"
" So, everyone's a little bit racist!"
"Okay!"
"Ethnic jokes might be uncouth,"
"But you laugh because"
"They're based on truth!"
"Don't take them as"
"Personal attacks!"
"Everyone enjoys them..."
"So relax!"
Gilbert leaned against the wall, looking immensely proud of himself. "Stop me if you've heard this one, Liz," he said.
"All right," Elizaveta agreed.
"Okay, so there's a plane going down, and there's only one parachute," Gilbert continued. "And there's a rabbi, a priest-
"And a black guy!" Elizaveta laughed.
Just at that moment, Angelique, the foreign exchange student from Seychelles popped in unannounced through the apartment door. The expression on her face was a combination of disappointment and anger. Mostly anger. Slamming the fish that she always carried around with her onto the table, she turned towards the two of them with a hand on her hip while simultaneously snapping her fingers.
"Mm-hm," she said. "I thought you were better than this, Elizaveta. Sure, I expected Gilbert to be a secret neo-Nazi, but you? Telling black jokes...You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!"
"Uhm..." Elizaveta muttered, looking embarrassed.
Gilbert, however merely rolled his eyes and shot her the bird. "Eh, pull the spear outta your ass and use it to bag yourself a lion, or whatever it is you do for fun in Africa, Angelique," he said. "You were acting like the stereotypical sassy black woman just now anyway. I mean, snapping your fingers while mm-hming? Seriously? Why don't you just change your name to Shaneequa? And in case you haven't noticed, people here in the U.S. tell black jokes all of the time, so quit your bitching."
Angelique crossed her arms across her chest. "I don't."
Gilbert shook his head at her naivety. "Uh-dur. Of course you don't. You're black. But, you just said that you expected me to be a neo-Nazi, and I'm willing to bet that it's because I'm Prussian. That's pretty damn racist, if I do say so myself. And besides, I've heard you tell plenty of Polack jokes, so suck it loser!"
Angelique smiled slightly. "Well, how can I not?" She said. "I mean, have you seen that Polish guy who works at the bodega down the street? He's a total dumbass! Hell, his entire family is composed of dumbasses. All of them together definitely couldn't screw in a light bulb...God, they would probably fail blood tests."
Gilbert grinned toothily at her. "Oh, and what you just said doesn't seem a little bit racist?"
Angelique's face turned thoughtful. "Well damn. I guess you're right," she admitted.
"Of course I am," Gilbert said, nodding sagely. "I'm always right because I am awesome. Now that we've confirmed my awesomeness, join us in song."
Angelique smiled and twirled next to them. "Okay!"
"You're a little bit racist!" Elizaveta sang.
"Well you're a little bit too!" Angelica chimed.
"We're all a little bit racist!" Gilbert belted out.
"I think that I would have to agree with you!" –Angelique
"We're glad you do!" –Gilbert and Elizaveta
"It's sad but true! Everyone's a little bit racist-All right." –Angelique
"All right!" –Gilbert
"All right!" –Elizaveta
"All right! Bigotry has never been exclusively white!" –Angelique
And now, they were all singing together, their voices beautifully harmonizing in song the truth that they all indeed had their prejudices. So touching...
"If we all could just admit!"
"That we are racist a little bit,"
"Even though we all know,"
"That it's wrong,"
"Maybe it would help us,"
"Get along!"
The three of them paused for a breather, beaming at one another. "Jesus Christ, I feel good!" Gilbert declared while scratching his balls. "Man, I've been waiting forever to do that," he added, ignoring the disgusted looks on the girls' faces.
Angelique decided to lessen the awkwardness. "Ah, Jesus. Now there was a fine, upstanding black man!" Her attempt fell on its ass and instead triggered a shitstorm from a disagreeing Elizaveta.
"Uhm," Elizaveta began tentatively, "I'm pretty sure that Jesus was white."
"No, He was definitely black," Angelique said, looking quite sure of herself.
Gilbert jumped in before Elizaveta could get the younger woman in a full-Nelson and toss her through their sixth-story window. "Ladies, ladies! Jesus is Jewish!" He said.
"Oh yeah..."
They all began to laugh it off, but their laughter turned to screams of horror when their burly Russian neighbour Ivan poked his head into their apartment. "Privet, comrades!" He said cheerfully. "What are you talking about?"
"Racism, you dirty drunken Commie," Gilbert sneered, pushing Elizaveta behind him and giving Ivan a dirty look.
The large Russian man was totally nonplussed by his aggressive posturing and simply smiled. "Oh, that sounds very interesting," he said.
"IVAN! If you're going to be my roommate, you take lecycuraburs instead of standing around chatting, aru!" Yao, Ivan's roommate/suspected fuck buddy shouted from down the hall.
"Kesesesese! The fuck are lecycuraburs? Some new strain of herpes?" Gilbert snickered.
Ivan rubbed the back of his head. "Er, recyclables," he murmured, looking embarrassed for Yao. Then his face darkened and he let out an ominous laugh while a strange purple aura began to flare around him. "Kolkolkolkol...It's not very nice to laugh at people's accents, comrade. How many languages do you speak?" He demanded.
Gilbert, still holding his sides, looked up at Ivan. "One, I'm not your comrade, you Borsch-slurping Chernobyl motherfucker. And two, I speak three languages, so you and your little eggroll butt buddy can lick mein balls and tell me their flavour!"
Elizaveta jumped between the two before Ivan could pull his trusty water pipe out and cave in Gilbert's skull. She really wasn't in the mood to drive anyone to the hospital today. "Quit it you douche-nozzles," she said sternly. "Gilbert, stop being such an asshole all of the time. And Ivan, come off your high horse. Everyone's a little bit racist, you know."
Ivan looked considerably calmer, although he still frowned at her last statement. "I'm not," he argued.
Angelique raised an eyebrow. "Oh no?"
Ivan shook his head, grabbing Yao, who had just appeared holding a bag of empty cans, and pulled the short Chinese man close to him, causing Yao to look pleadingly at them for help. "How many Oriental roommates have you got?" He asked smugly.
At that, Yao's face reddened with anger and he somehow managed to pull away from the other man's vice-like grip. "Ivan!" he growled.
Gilbert pumped his fist in the air. "It's song time again!" He, Elizaveta, and Angelique got in a line while Ivan and Yao unconsciously followed suit.
"Yo, Ivan, you dickhead, where you been? The term is Asian-American!"-Gilbert
"I know you are no"
"Intending to be!"
"But calling me Oriental..."
"Offensive to me!"- Yao
Ivan tugged at his scarf, looking rueful. "I'm sorry Yao. I love you!" He cried.
"WHAT?" Yao shrieked, an expression of the utmost terror crossing his face. Elizaveta immediately began to nosebleed.
"But you know, you're racist too," Ivan reminded Yao, as though he hadn't just made that disturbing proclamation.
Yao gave him a "you are so out of my apartment when this is over" look but shrugged and calmly said "I know." He then stood in the center of the room while everyone else gathered around him in a circle.
"The Jews have all the money,"
"And the whites have all the power!"
"And I'm always in taxi-cab,"
"With driver who no shower!" – Yao
"Me too!" Gilbert shouted
"Me too!" Elizaveta said, wiping blood from her nose and looking like a coke addict.
"I can't even get a taxi!" Angelique growled.
"Hey, I'll have you fuckers know I took a shower just this morning!" Sadiq, the local Turkish taxi driver snarled at them from outside the building. Evidently, he'd heard them while driving by.
"Yeah right," the sleepy voice of Heracles called down from his apartment. "Your ballsack probably smells like a feta-ripening factory."
"You want a whiff of them, you pita-munching pansy?" Sadiq shouted back.
"Eh, I'll pass," Heracles said. There was the slamming shut of a window and then a series of Turkish curses were heard for three straight minutes before Sadiq floored his cab and sped down the street with a vicious screeching of tires before crashing into a fire hydrant.
"SON OF A BITCH!" He screamed, causing all of the neighbourhood dogs to howl.
Elizaveta blinked. "Uhm...Okay. Where were we?"
"How we're all a little bit racist despite our vehement denial?" Ivan said.
"Right!" Elizaveta said. She clapped her hands. "All right people, all together now!"
"Everyone's a little bit racist,"
"It's true!"
"But everyone is just about"
"As racist as you!"
"If we all could just admit,"
"That we are racist a little bit!"
"And everyone stopped being so PC"
"Maybe we could live in..."
"Harmony! –The five of them all belted out.
"Evlyone's a ritter bit laciest!" Yao finished.
Ivan cocked his head in a puppyish manner. "The Prussian rat is right; you're accent is funny, Yao!"
"Fuck you, Ivan!" Yao snapped.
"I've been waiting for you to say that for the past six months!" Ivan said happily. He grabbed Yao, tossed the struggling man over his shoulder with a hasty "See you tomorrow comrades" and ran inside of their apartment, slamming the door shut. For a few seconds, there was silence, which was soon broken by a scream and the high-pitched glissando of shattering glass.
Gilbert looked concerned. "Uh, should we call the cops?" He asked. When he got no answer, he turned around to find Elizaveta passed out on the floor with blood gushing out of her nose and staining the carpet burgundy and Angelique desperately attempting to stem the flow with the hem of her dress.
He slapped his forehead. "Mein Gott," he muttered, wincing when another scream reverberated down the hallway. "What the hell is Ivan doing to him?"