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The wonderful work-in-progress. |
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( | as it says, a work in progress. it's nextgen!APH, and I dunno whether or not to continue. you don't even have to tell me what you liked/hated about it. just, if you read it, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TELL ME IF YOU WANT ME TO CONTINUE OR NOT.
thank you. c: | )
Even though since the late 80's it had become a tradition among the nations to all gather in one home for the night before their game of Capture the Flag (lovingly dubbed International Badass Capture the Flag by a certain Spanish boy), it seemed like learning that cramming 45 people was always a painful lesson indeed, and this time was no different.
Especially, it seemed, getting everyone fed and entertained before they all raced to claim the least uncomfortable sleeping quarters- which had been discovered to actually be the bathtub, armchair, and against the stomach of your best friend, under the kitchen table- and try to settle down for the night and get some sleep before the big game.
“So, like.” Poland stood with his hands on his lips and puffed his lips out, looking at the counter. He and a few others had pulled all of the food out of the cupboards to see what they had to work with, though of course all that accomplished was making a huge mess to clean up. It was Greece’s home, though; he totally wouldn’t mind, right? Too bad they forgot about said man’s ‘wife’, though they’d face that fury later.
“I don’t think,” Lithuania started, already gathering a few of the boxes in his arms to put them back, “that we could make enough to feed everyone with just this. We’ll have to ask everybody to pitch in some sort of food so-“
“Oh my gosh, Liet! We could totally make everybody some amazing Polish snacks! Tell them what they have to do, or whatever, and let’s go to the store and buy stuff for Rogaliki! It’s be like, totally yummy. ~” Poland interrupted, grabbing Lithuania’s hand and dragging him out into the livingroom, where half of those who had already arrived were sitting and chatting (or doing obscene things not fit for the eyes of the children who were sitting there too), and cleared his throat theatrically.
Nobody even looked up.
“A-hem!” Poland repeated, gaining the attention of Canada and Ukraine, who were busy playing with their little boy Nicolai- who looked up as well, blue eyes striking in his snowy pale face. They both smiled a bit but resumed their playing, elder daughter Anastasia fixing her attention on them.
“Oh my God! Hot naked men, like right there!” Poland tried again, effectively shushing the whole room and gaining nearly everybody’s attention instantly. He smiled smugly and waved to the disappointed crowd.
“So, like. Dinner, right? We totally need to make it! It’s getting late, and I’m totally starving here! So, like, let’s all get some food together, and we’ll pool it together! We can have, like, one of those potluck things!” Poland clapped once for emphasis, and grinned at the crowd, “So let’s totally get on it! We’ll eat at like, eight, or whatever. And Liet and I totally call the oven first!” He sang as he floated out the door, trailed by a slightly less enthusiastic Lithuania, and was off to find the nearest grocery store.
Twenty minutes later, Poland and Lithuania returned with their arms loaded down with paper grocery sacks to find a scene that was faintly surprising. People were actually doing what Poland had instructed them to. A group of ‘mothers’ (Japan, Finland, Ukraine, and Romano, to be specific) seemed to have taken over the kitchen and were working magic with what they had, obviously preparing something involving garlic, tomatoes, and pasta- it smelled heavenly already, and it looked like quite a bit of it was almost finished, though more looked to be on the way.
Denmark, his look-alike daughter Astrid, and Norway were rummaging through a cupboard at the opposite end of the kitchen, and were having an argument that sounded a lot like they were deciding what brand of cereal to… Lithuania tried to hear what they were going to make, but gave up and glanced around once more. Taiwan and Vietnam were gathering plates and other things that could be used as plates- books (which they covered with saran wrap first), Tupperware, small boxes, and the like. They were preparing them for use and were chatting amiably with those who were preparing the main part of the meal, and Sweden and Satu (his and Finland’s much-loved daughter, Aland Islands), who looked like they were washing all the silverware they were able to scavenge from the house.
Three of Spain and Romano’s eldest children were kneading dough for bread, the two youngest chattering and making sure the surface was well floured. Hungary and her daughter Anastasia looked busy making something like a stew, with a worrying number of paprika heads discarded on the counter beside them.
Just outside, seen through the propped-open back door, it looked like a band of men had constructed a makeshift grill and were roasting some sort of delicious-smelling meat, likely lamb and pork, and seemed to be having a combination of an argument and conversation.
Lithuania was distracted from his observation when Poland pinched him and motioned towards the ingredients he had arranged on the sliver of counter space he’d managed to grab for himself. Lithuania nodded, chuckling softly, and joined in on the jovial conversation as we worked on creaming the butter and sugar together.
An hour or so later saw everyone seated at a long table outside, the whole thing made up of a picnic table, a few card tables and a group of boxes that were all covered by two sheets to make the whole thing look at least semi normal. Those who weren’t occupying a lap or sitting on the ground were sitting on one of the many different chairs assembled around the table- they ranged from the kitchen chairs, to stools, flat-topped rocks, stacks of pillows, luggage, folding chairs, inflatable pool floating chairs, and anything and everything that they could gather to sit comfortably on.
Before them stretched a feast of strange proportions. Plates of different pastries, cookies, and desserts were parked next to pots of hearty stew and sip-worthy soup, which were next to massive plates of cooked pasta and bowls of sauce, with baskets of bread and little plates of butter spaced all around. A platter of cooked meat was located in the center, surrounded by bowls of cooked vegetables and other small side dishes, as well as two bowls of rice and smaller bowls of fish and other additions to complement them.
It truly seemed like an international potluck- the only issue was whether to say grace before. Everyone shifted a bit awkwardly, before Greece took the initiative and joined hand with the people next to him and bowed his head- soon the whole table was doing the same.
“Dear Lord, we thank you for this meal in which we are about to partake and please Lord, grant us the ability to help those in need so they can eat too… We thank you for all that you have done for us and forgiven us for, Lord, and ask for your guidance through the next day or so. We are your humble servants, and in this slice of peace, ask that you be our guiding hand… And please, if it is Your will, let Ay Dios Mio be a little more blessed than the Pornstars. Amen.” He said quickly, and upon finishing raised his head and began to serve himself- the other nations, many of whom were protesting that last bit about Ay Dios Mio, began to do the same.
Conversation was light, arguments were subdued, and laughter was plentiful as bellies filled with foods previously unknown to them and liquor was brought out. Water, milk, soda and wine soon gave way to beer, vodka, and ouzo as the meal progressed, and soon after the last pastry was fought over and finally claimed, half of the nations were drunk and triumphant.
“God, West!” Prussia chuckled, setting his third empty bottle of beer aside and feebly attempting to wipe his mouth. His hand came to rest on Germany’s shoulder via a slap; his brother looked at him with a look of mild distaste, seeing as Italy and their six-year-old daughter Gabriele (called Gabi by almost everyone who had spent more than a few minutes with her) were sitting right near him and his now inhebriated brother.
“Hey papa, can I have some too?” Enzo piped up, grinning charmingly at Spain, Ezio copying his twin’s begging look. Spain barely had time to answer before Romano cut in with a firm ‘no’, the look in his eyes obviously remembering another time in which the identical twins got their hands on more than a small glass of wine.
“Why don’ y’ k’ds go b’fore y’see s’me things yer not m’nt t’ see.” Sweden suggested, nodding towards the house and catching the eyes of most of the children (or at least those able to handle those eyes for more than a few seconds). Yasu and Haruto, Greece’s own children (and Haruto representing the island they were gathered on, Crete), took the cue and stood up, taking their own plates back into the kitchen, to be cleaned by whichever poor soul (Lithuania) was forced into it. The other children slowly followed suit, half of them wanting to leave before their parents slipped into mortifying behavior, the other half because they were simply young, or followers.
Dishes taken care of, the group stood in an awkward silence for a few moments before Yasu glanced to her brother and announced, “let’s go up in the attic! Haru-nii’ll get it ready, and we can get snacks… And have our own awesome party!”
That was met by nods and the separation of the group, half following Haruto to the attic to set it up with the blankets and cushins already stored up there, half helping Yasu raid the cupboards and fridge to look for and prepare snacks.
About ten minutes later saw all of the nation’s children gathered in the attic, cosy in their pajamas and wrapped in their blankets (or snuggies), the only light being a couple of dim lamps and candles. They were all sitting or laying down in different positions, some of them crowdning on bean bags or on the couple of couches, some sitting on piles of blankets or cushins, a few atop some of the old furniture stored up in the crowded attic. They were attacking the snacks, despite having eaten just ten or so minutes prior.
There was a long silence before someone decided to pipe up; it was Abby, America and England’s (technically) eldest child and only daughter.
“We should play a game or something!” She suggested, grinning irresistibly and producing from the pocket of her pajamas a full deck of cards.
“Yeah,” Astrid cheered, “we can play strip Go Fish!” She looked pointedly at Satu, who motioned for Abby to put the cards away to prevent Astrid from getting any more ideas. The little blonde understood and did so, tucking her blanket back up into place.
“So, what should we do?” Nastasiya piped up, getting ignored.
“Let’s play Truth or Dare!” Someone suggested loudly, to be met with a chorus of both groans and excited yelps. Some of the more mature or secretive rolled their eyes, but everyone formed a circle around the candles in the center of the room anyway.
“Who goes first?” Tatiana asked, golden eyes that seemed to have been stolen off of China’s face surveying the multitones of everyone else. Her Russian blood made her give off an intimidating air; it was unintentional of course, like Satu’s stare, but the person she announced to go first would defiantly do so without complaint.
Fortunately for everyone, Yasu piped up to call first turn. She looked at everyone in turn, before selecting her victim.
“Ana!” She grabbed the attention of a currently absentminded Hungarian, who looked at her with an eyebrow lifted high. “Truth or dare?”
“Eh… Truth.” Yasu made a little face of disappointment before it turned to one of deep contemplation- a truly foreign look on her face, indeed.
“Have ya been kissed yet?” She asked, grinning to herself for thinking up a question of that genius. Grumbling and blushing, Ana quickly nodded yes. That was her fatal error; she was answering truthfully to everyone around the circle, and was immediately surrounded and pestered with questions of ‘who, who?!’
“Feh.” She waved her hand, despite her face still being pink, “one of the Freedom Fighters. A long time ago, just an old scar by now.” The answer, though slightly unsatisfactory, worked in fending everyone else off. Anastasia thought a moment before choosing her victim.
“Har-u-to.” The boy looked up quickly, already reddening.
“Dare, I guess.” He shrugged, ever the fearless one. Really, what could he possibly do in this attic that was so terrible? Surronded by people who would never forget it… Never let him live it down… He winced upon realizing his mistake, but it was too late.
“Take your shirt off, in the cheesiest, most bachelorette-party-stripper way you can.” The gleam in Anastasia’s eye was wicked; Haruto glanced down at his plain T-shirt, which hid a slender body underneath, shrugged, and stood up reluctantly.
After a moment, he began to sway, and fingered the hem of his shirt before slowly beginning to pull it up.
“Someone,” he began in a tone only describable as husky, “has been naughty.~” This, of course, he was saying to Satu, his almost-sister, rather than Abby, his girlfriend. It figured; if he’d been doing this to Abby, he’d be too embarrassed to go on. It seemed Japan’s genes decided more than his eldest son’s black hair color (though the texture was curly and uneven, like Greece’s).
The striptease went on, ending in the shirt being spun above Harutos’ head and nearly tossed onto the candles, instead being grabbed up by Gabi and Amaranta, the two youngest females there, and by far the ones with the most uncontrollable giggles.
“Good enough?” he asked, earning a blank look and a nod. He’d been so good at it… Perhaps they did more in this house than nap and pet cats.
“Okay.” Haruto smiled to himself and surveyed the faces, looking for a good victim. “Alba!”
“Dare.” Spain and Romano’s eldest child was wild-haired and beautiful, even in the candlelight. Her green eyes focused on the sea hues as her dare was decided.
“Lean out the window, and sing a good Disney song.” To this, Alba shrugged nonchalantly; she was brave, and a singer already. This wouldn’t be too hard. But what to sing? Most required another person or at least an instrumental accompaniment; oh, ‘Reflection’ wasn’t too bad, was it? She shrugged and stood, adjusting her top, and strode over to the window.
Once she’d pried it open, Alba leaned out and surveyed the scene; as having children there apparently held them back from letting loose, most of the adults had given into the liquor and were all caught up in their own unique states of affairs. Greece was apparently trying to get Japan to sit in his lap, or something like that, though Japan was refusing; Denmark and Sweden were draped over eachother and were laughing in booming spurts; Finland looked distracted trying to get Sweden’s attention, and was draped over the man’s lap; America, Germany, Prussia, and Switzerland were singing a rousing edition of a German song (Alba winced for it and promised the poor piece of music to listen to it in it’s proper light); England lay on the table head down; France was getting some from Seychelles, it seemed; Canada and Ukraine were busying themselves with their own flasks of their liquor of choice; Russia and China just seemed drunk as skunks, along with just about everyone else.
Once it was over with, Alba smiled at the feeble clapping attempted by the more sober or polite of the adults and retreated back into the warm cave created by Enzo and Ezio on one side of her, Nico and Alfonso on the other. She surveyed the faces for a moment before choosing her victim.
“Satu-“
“DARE.”
Alba blinked in surprise, but soon replaced her face of calm. It took only a second for her to think of the perfect dare.
“You HAVE to go for the rest of this hour, without saying ‘extreme’.”
This was met with a blank look of shock.
Talk with her friends and other people she knew, for an hour, without saying extreme?! Satu gasped a bit, but nodded. It was a challenge, after all! And she met those head-on, all the time. This was different, but also not! She could do it, easily in fact! For she was Satu Oxenstierna, the Aland Islands! She could do anything!
“Nico.” She chose simply, smiling calmly for what was probably the first time all day.
“Dare.” He smiled nervously, looking her in the icy eyes.
“Kiss the girl you like most, in here. On the lips, please.~” Satu requested, knowing Nico was in an inescapable bind. He had to do it, and Satu knew just who he’d choose.
A slightly awkward silence settled over everything as Nico rose up on his knees and ran a hand through his hair, chuckling slightly. It wasn’t as if getting kissed by him would be bad; Nico was a nice Spanish boy, representing a romantic city, and that was all fine and good, but if he decided to kiss someone like Abby, it’d be sort of awkward, to say the least.
“What’re you-“ Yasu spat, as her jaw was gently eased up by long, warm fingers. Nico’s eyes begged her to forgive him as he kissed her softly, their lips touching for no more than a few seconds. Instead of pushing him into the candles or cursing him out when Nico broke the momentary kiss, Yasu’s instant reaction was of ‘do want more, please!’
A half-minute later, they parted for good, both of them redder than the tomatoes the Vargas-Fernandez family loved so much. Yasu frowned a bit.
“If you’re going to kiss me,” she began, not quite believing what she was saying to her desperate suitor, “don’t be a p***y about it.”
One could practically hear the screaming inside Nico’s head. He’d spent half a decade trying to woo her with serenades, flowers, creative surprises all bearing the words ‘I love you’, or ‘be mine’, or ‘hey sexy’, or any manner of those things, and all he’d had to do was kiss her once?!
Yasu crossed her arms simply, and motioned for him to return to his spot. He did so, and promptly melted into a puddle of happy teenage male.
“Well!” Enzo announced cheerfully, watching his brother roll around a bit, obviously reliving those moments in which he glimpsed
heaven, “he’s not returning anytime soon. So!” His grin was wicked.
“Nastasiya.” The young Canadian-Ukrainian looked up from pondering the wood grain, and promptly adjusted her glasses.
“Let’s test the limits of your invisibility, shall we? Go and steal a bottle of booze from downstairs and bring it back. If you’re noticed, you gotta chug the whooooole thing. If not, you don’t have to touch it.”
Nastasiya blushed at the prospect- she would be stealing, and worse than that, stepping into the middle of a drunken party of horny, or angry, happy, or sad, nations, all more drunk than a redneck on Christmas. But it was a dare, and honestly, she was just a tad bit curious…
She nodded bravely and didn’t bother looking back as she stepped down the stairs, and to her certain doom. Those who weren’t too lazy got up and crowded around the window to see the whole thing take place. Nastasiya quietly opened the back door and gingerly stepped toward the table, paused, and quick as a bee stinging a child, snatched a half-full bottle of Ouzo and flitted back into the house before the person who’d been consuming it knew it was gone.
“Ha~!” She cheered, clambering back up into the attic and gently pushing away a few of the younger kids who wanted a taste of the beverage. She’d gone totally unnoticed, so she wolnd’t have to chug the vile liquid that sloshed around in the bottle. But who would?
“Lemme get that! ci salveremo per dopo, eh Ezi?” Enzo pried the bottle from Nastasiya’s hand and winked, setting it atop a tall box for safekeeping.
“Don’t drink it tonight, you two. We wanna win tomorrow, right? We can’t have you guys stumbling around on hangovers like our parents are gonna be. You gotta be at your best!” Alba both scolded and encouraged, something it seemed only she was capable of.
“Yeah, are all of them gonna be out of commission?” Abby asked a little fretfully, worrying that her Daddy wouldn’t be able to play with her, since they’d lucked out and they were on the same team for once.
“Don’t worry,” Alba assured her, flashing a big-sister smile, “we’ll make them get up and we’ll make them eat a good breakfast and we’ll make them do a little workout beforehand. Doesn’t matter how hungover they are, they’re going to play.” She winked.
“Besides, they owe it to us! They’re all a bunch of old whiny bitches sometimes, and this is like the only time we’re all together and at peace… We can totally guilt trip them. It’ll be great, si?”
That speech seemed to assure everyone back into calm, and they gathered in a loose circle once more. It seemed, though, that the interest in Truth or Dare was lost, so Haruto set to find something to play.
Rifling through boxes only turned out old cameras and boxes of photographs, as well as old furniture and some fancy hats that made him wonder why his dad had in the first place. More intense searching and being joined by a few others produced a pack of Uno cards and a Candyland game. Haruto hesitantly placed them in the center, not quite sure whether or not everyone would want to play-
“UNO! I CALL UNO OH MY GOD UNOUNOUNO!!” Satu screamed immediately, grabbing the pack of cards and nearly knocking over the candles in the process. Anastasia, Yasu, and Astrid, the ones sitting next to her, were used to it; the cards were soon divided between them and
URGH. D:<
A quick glance at the clock and Yasu found it was almost eleven.
“Oh s**t.” She muttered, just before she heard the back door slam open and a cacophony of voices in mixed languages poured into the house. It was time for everyone to race (and for half of them to nearly break their necks) to claim the least uncomfortable sleeping spots they could.
“MY BED IS SO MINE OH MY GOD!” She screamed, joining the mad scramble for the door and nearly twisting her ankle dashing down the stairs, whipping around the corner, and sailing onto her bed, claiming it immediately. Beds were precious commodities, and it wouldn’t be above any of the other nations to steal it right from under her. Soon Yasu was joined by Haruto, Satu, Astrid, Anastasia, Nastasyia, and Tatiana, all of them squeezing in under the same blanket.
It was silent for a moment before the door was slammed open and a slurred cry of “aiyaa!” was heard as the person opening the door saw that the bed was filled and the floor was, like throughout the rest of the house, hardwood.
“Eet’s better than sharing floor vith Korea, da?” Russia’s overly cheery voice came, the large man stepping in behind China. He looked markedly normal, though he likely downed a good bottle of vodka during the merriment that had taken place just a few hours prior. Everyone instinctively cuddled closer to Haruto and Tatiana, convinced that those two alone would protect them through the night. Soon after Russia and China set up shop on the floor, making do with the few blankets they’d brought, the door opened again.
An obviously drunk Denmark stumbled in, trailed by Norway and Iceland, who seemed to be the only things keeping him upright and not screaming aloud.
“Have fun.” Was the only thing Norway said as they deposited the Danish drunk on the floor, where he promptly fell over and cuddled the floor lovingly.
“Far!” Astrid called, immediately assuming her precious father had died. She nearly bolted out of the bed, had it not been for the bodies and wall stopping her. Denmark snorted a little, in doing so relaxing Astrid a bit.
“Do you think mana and
 men getting pregnant · Mon Oct 19, 2009 @ 06:16am · 4 Comments |
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