School's started again. UGH SCHOOL BOO sad face. And I've gotten what, seven updates during the summer? XD I still have a lot to write. And by a lot, I mean a lot. I wonder if there's an upper limit to the number of chapters...as in, one and a half notebooks full of writing ATM and one has 25+ chapters, the other I haven't counted but it has at least that many. You'd think I'd update faster.
Not mentioning all the embellishments I'm adding to the original plot, because the original was falling into the stereotypical writing formula things that everyone can predict the ending to, and new stuff was released in The Beautiful World that I hadn't previously known about. I suspect this story will conclude under triple digit chapters.. I'm not trying to write a novel here...
Sometimes people write down songs they were listening to when they were updating chapters or something. I can tell you that a large portion of this chapter was formed off of ten thousand repeats of Capricco Farce and World's End Dancehall [V8 chorus version].
Language warning: Contains Prussia, which is less than Romano.
Without further ado, I present; the next chapter.
Prussia was wandering aimlessly, thoroughly lost. There was a big ball of unpleasant feeling lodged in his throat. There was a very real possibility that he would get lost and die here, as there were only four others (not counting a certain sleeping Grecian) and Switzerland wouldn't spare the people to walk forever in these alien halls.
He'd only wanted to see what was around the corner from the Hall of Torture, and then he must've made a couple wrong turns somewhere because now he was absolutely one-hundred percent lost. Lost, lost, lost...He sighed again.
The hall he was wandering in abruptly terminated in a large door made of opaque aqua glass. With a bit of effort, he opened it.
And closed it quickly.
For beyond that door, aliens were everywhere. Not just the tall, slim, scorpion-tailed ones he'd seen, but ones that were thickset and burly, with a mantle of dark fur covering their bodies. He opened it a crack and peeked through.
It appeared to be a kind of factory. Alien overseers (the evil variety) stood tall on short platforms, holding barbed whips in their hands-hands? The aliens he'd seen had had claws- while the furry ones swarmed below them around conveyor belts, a multitude of thin, dexterous arms weaving metal into gray squares that glowed green and blue. Prussia slipped inside, curiosity overwhelming any fear he might've had. He crouched behind a bin and looked closer.
The fuzzy aliens had small hairless snouts and large, bottomless eyes that reminded him of cow eyes. Small, rounded teeth protruded a little ways from the mouth, and a skinny, droopy tail poked out from the tangled fur. They didn't seem overly harmful, more like mindless work animals, except smarter. He was pretty sure cows couldn't assemble whatever the thingies were. He paused for a moment. Now there's an interesting thought... Shaking the thoughts of genius cows taking over the world from his mind, he refocused on the activity in front of him.
One of the fuzzy creatures abruptly fell asleep, dark eyes closing. The blurring arms fell still. A moment later, a whip crack above its head made it jump, and immediately begin reassembling whatever it was. The pale-skinned alien pulled the whip to itself and tasted the transparent fluid dripping from it. The albino shuddered. Eugh.
Prussia noticed a familiar-looking pipe poking out of a bin a little ways away from him.
He hated Russia. Part of his old land had been absorbed into the intimidating nation. And aside from that, the other had strangled him after rescuing him from a dunking in freezing water in winter. But they were all in this together. Maybe bringing the pipe back to him would make the Russian that much less likely to kill him.
He groaned. I'm an idiot. An awesome one.
Carefully tucking Gilbird into his shirt so the bird wouldn't fall out or cause trouble, he began slowly inching his way across the miles and miles of open space. With every jerk of the tall aliens' heads, he flinched and edged closer to the backs of the furry aliens. He found that they didn't pay attention to the stray human in their midst, and after a little expirementation he was able to crawl between their bodies and the conveyor belts without any problems.
A minute later, he popped out of the 'alien express' as he dubbed it, near the bin. A quick dash later and a check to make sure Gilbird was still there, he was at the bin. Without taking his eyes of the aliens, he picked up the pipe. It was heavier than it looked, and he wondered how the Russian could carry it and swing it around with ease. Then he glanced inside the bin. There was a stick of chalk, a rose (knowing France, he left the flower alone), a jumbo-sized pack of 'Just add water, PASTA!', and a scrunched up beer can, mostly empty, but somehow still good.
Prussia finished the beer himself, grudgingly admiring his brother's taste in beer, and pocketed the pasta. Now came the trouble of getting out again. There was the problem of the million-pound pipe he was lugging behind him, and, worse, the alien overseer nearest to him had finished licking the end of the barb and was once again scanning the room.
He took a few steps towards the door. Something gave under his foot, and he looked down.
The skinny, useless little tails of the creature were apparently very sensitive. Also, that made them very strong, in much the same manner as a man -or nation- fueled by desperation could endure for much longer than normal.
The alien squealed and thrashed around, overturning the conveyor belt, and knocking into the other furry ones. They started panicking as well, until the way to the door was blocked by a roiling mass of furry bodies. Without sparing a glance behind him, he knew the alien's eyes were fixed on him.
He ran, swinging the pipe wildly at anything that got in his way, the pale aliens hot on his trail. He burst through the doors, chaos behind him. Prussia ran blindly down the hall, Gilbird flapping after, and the pipe weighing down one side of his body so he lurched awkwardly through the maze. His awesome lungs burned, and he was forced to admit that his awesome plan might not've been so awesome. His arms were starting to burn from the strain of the pipe.
"Fuck!" he yelled as he careened around a corner and nearly fell, counterbalanced by the pipe just in time. "I'm too fucking awesome to die!"
Awesome or not, he was losing ground. A claw snatched the back of his white hair, and something snapped through the space his arm had been a moment ago, which only made him run faster. Gilbird alighted on his shoulder and held on with small claws.
All this running was taking its toll, though; the air whooshed through his lungs in gasps and his legs were burning as he skidded around corners, sliding off the rails of stairs when it was too long to spring down them. He only went down, the wrong direction from what he perceived as safety, in the direction his malfunctioning inner GPS told him Switzerland and his companions were in. But down was the only way he could go.
The variegated shades of white and gray pattering the walls were blindingly bright all of a sudden, the lights increasing in intensity as he ran, and briefly blinded, he tripped and only had time to swing the pipe in an arc above him. He crashed to the ground, but it was worth it; a stinger glanced off of it with a loud ring that echoed inside his head instead of embedding itself in his eye.
The alien nearest to him caught its clawed foot on his calf and tripped as well, landing on top of him, mutant mouth looking ready to tear out his throat. The pipe was pressed between them. For a few, impossibly long seconds, the albino bore the weight of a seven-foot-tall pissed off alien that was scrabbling at where he thought his major blood vessels were.
I can't breathe...
And then the weight was off, rolled to the side, swiping at a yellow burst of feathers as it pecked at is eyes.
"Gilbird!" he cried in a gasp that was more of a gurgle, his lungs opening up again. That distracted the bird enough for an errant swing to knock it out of the air, where the foot was already lifted to flatten his precious, beloved pet into the ground. Without thinking of anything else, forgetting the pipe, Prussia dove forwards, skinning his elbows on the floor to rescue the bird. Three tails whipped overhead, and pain exploded on his back. Rapidly fading into unconsciousness, he reached out with fumbling fingers and wrapped his hands around something, pulling it to his chest.
And then he dropped into silence like a stone.
I swear I love that bird to death. Review! :D