Chapter 3
In the city that used to be a capitol. In the blue building with the white and blue lobby and the brown haired receptionist. In a little apartment with neutral walls and nice view. A figure finishes eating the dinner it had prepared and leaves the unremarkable apartment.
As the figure walks down the hall it glances in a hand held mirror.
Auburn hair. Light hazel eyes. Pale skin.
Female.
She smiles and strides down the hall once more.
She arrives at a lavish and expensive bar. Walking in she goes directly to the back, to the bar itself and enters. The bartender looks at her with a slightly surprised and mostly annoyed expression.
"Hey, what are you-"
He never finishes his question as his eyes reflect a brilliant blue and then goes back to the stormy gray they were before. He acts more kindly this time.
"Good evening, Sarah, you're just in time for your shift," He smiles warmly at her, like dear old friends.
"Thank you Mr. Oliver, I'll take over from here," The woman smiles back with earnest... ness...
"Thanks, Sarah, goodnight."
"'Night."
Mr. Oliver then took off his apron and left the bar. He never thought once about how he never met her before.
Sarah, as the woman was referred to, put on a different apron and a name tag saying 'Sarah McAlisson.' She tosses her braided hair across her shoulder and flashes a dazzling smile at the nearest bartenders who can't help but stare. Business increased by twenty percent that night.
Finally, around ten o'clock the reason why Sarah is here arrives. Well, reasons.
"You bloody frog! Can't you ever keep your hands to yourself?"
"I simply cannot resist l'amour! Ohonhonhonhon~"
"Don't touch me there, wanker!"
The woman sighed. She wondered why she came here tonight and vaguely remembered a desire. To see... She couldn't remember. The decision was made in a different mind, a different form.
"Mademoiselle, come over here, sil vous plait?" A French voice called her.
She comes over and flashes them her dazzling smile, her signature for tonight, "Good evening, gentlemen. Would you like something?"
"Well, yes. There is a certain something I would like..." The Frenchman gave her a seductive look than would work on anyone. Except for non-humans. So, instead, she shuddered.
"You frog!" The Englishman smacked him on the back of his head and turned to the woman with an apologetic look, "I'm terribly sorry for that."
Don't worry, you'll be worse than that after a couple drinks.
"It's fine, sir. Happens a lot in bars these days." She gives a genuine smile that only a truly happy human could give. Too bad it was a fake.
England ordered and went back to arguing with France. For a second her look softened, then hardened, and then she turned her attention to another customer.
"The wanker! I just wanted to help him but he, he, he..." The drunken Englishman trailed off.
"Honestly, l'angleterre, you must learn how to hold your liquor," France shook his head sadly.
"I can hold my bloody liquor, you frog! Or did you forget that I'm the great British Empire?" He rants.
"You haven't been the British Empire for quite some time," France chuckled.
"What did you say to me, you scurv? I'll have you walk the plank!" England had seemed to enter pirate mode.
"Whatever you say, angleterre," France laughed, "Now be a good boy while I, ahem, talk with the ladies."
With that the infamous French pervert left, probably to molest the nearby females. Obviously to molest the nearby females, or males, or inanimate objects, or... It depends...
The woman shuddered once more.
She looked at England, who was now muttering something about his religion or whatnot and remembered why she was here. She went to the nearest bar patron. He was a, presumably, single young man with cornflower colored hair.
She knew him.
"Hey Robert, how've you been?"
He had never seen her before.
"I'm fine, Sarah. Is it my shift yet?"
But he felt that he knew her.
"Yeah, I got to go."
His eyes reflected a brilliant blue for a split second then became their normal dark green again.
"Of course, 'night Sarah."
"Bye, Robert."
He enters the bar and puts on an apron and begins taking orders and fetching the drinks. He forgets that he has never worked in a bar before.
The woman smiles at him and takes off her apron. She leaves the bar and heads toward a drunken Englishman who has moved to a lone table in the corner of the room.
"Hey, Iggy!" A cheerful, happy voice cuts through the air. One that hasn't been heard in years.
The called man looks up, startled. Being completely uncoordinated while drunk, he also falls from his seat and drops his glass of alcohol. The man with the happy, if annoying, voice helps him up and puts him back in his seat. He dusts off England's shoulders and grins.
"Really, drunk already? You haven't even been here that long!"
"I-I... You aren't.. wh- Why? H-how are you-" England's cut off.
"HAHAHA! Speechless in my heroic presence? Don't worry, everyone gets like that to the hero!"
"No! It's not that you git!" England's still drunk but frustrated enough to finally make a comprehensible sentence, "How are you-"
The man laughs loudly, once again cutting off England, "Well, I just wanted to see you face to face again, England!"
With that the man leaves, a blink and he's gone. Vanished. Like the ghosts that he was so afraid of.
England finally finds the words he's been trying the say.
"How are you here?"
Only the chatter of the bar answers him.
"I thought you were dead."
The man could have never been there.
"America."
France sashayed over the table, having narrowly avoided an arrest for... stuff. France could never understand why some people were so shy about amour. He tutted, they must be so depraved.
Spotting his old acquaintance, enemy, friend, rival, business partner, partner, etc, he makes his way towards the lone table and figure that positively screams pathetic. However, when he arrives he's not prepared for the scared and shocked and sadgreen eyes that frantically look around, completely missing France.
"Angleterre?" He asks, "What are you looking for?"
"He was here! I swear France! He was here, he could still be here! We got to look for him!" England tried to get up but fell into a mess of beer and glass shards, cutting up his hands. He didn't seem to notice the shards digging into his hands. France, on the other hand, winced.
"England, stop moving, who was here?"
"Him! He should have died years ago! We- we-" He was using his hands to motion and making the glass dig deeper into his hand and dripping the blood everywhere. He still didn't seem to notice that he was injured.
"Stop moving, Arthur!" Who was here? Stay still, I got to get the glass out," France tried to restrain the thrashing man.
A pair of deep green and scared eyes looked at him.
"I saw him, Francis, he's here."
"Who?"
"America."
There was a brief moment of silence.
"You're drunk, Arthur. America's been dead for fifty years starting the Fourth."
Sky blue eyes watched the two countries from a hiding spot in plain sight.
And Alfred's been dead for longer.
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