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JULY 2ND
Fidel was bored out of his head, but that didn't mean he could forsake his usual duties. Checking the mail was one of them. In his mailbox, aside from bills and some YOU JUST WON junk mail, he found a letter from America. Chewing the end of his cigar, he flipped it over a few times, unsure if he could trust the blond twit.
Finding no fault in the letter, he opened it and read the contents. Cuba rolled his eyes and felt his dread-locks starting to unravel with the stupidity in the letter, no, no, the invitation.
"What the heck is this crap?" He muttered, scratching his head. RSVP . . . Cuba smirked. He walked back into his house and lifted the little red phone receiver off the base. It was an old spin dial one, so he had to wait a while before he was able to hear a ring tone. "Hello? Yeah, America, I got your invitation. Yeah, put me down as coming! Ha!" Cub hung up the phone and chewed the end of his cigar some more, pleased with himself. Kid's not gonna now what hit 'im, he thought.
MEANWHILE . . .
England sipped his tea and read the paper. Nibbled at a scone here and there, but it was mostly a lazy morning. He barely noticed when the post came, and he flipped through them, not paying much attention. When he came to America's letter he groaned.
"That's right," he muttered, glaring at the paper. "His birthday is coming up. Damn. Well, I suppose, as his guardian, I have to attend what ever . . . silly . . . little . . ." as he muttered to himself he had opened the letter and began reading it. His shoulders slumped and his eyebrows twitched. "Dammit, Alfred!" He swore, going to the phone. He dialed America's number and, when he answered, he tore into him. "A party?! A big a** party? Alfred what are you gonna do if they ALL show up?! I, gah, er . . . ah!"
England had to sit, had to massage his temple with one hand.
"Talk slowly, talk slowly," Arthur said, wincing. "Yes . . . yes, you're very popular . . . yes . . . yes, Alfred . . . yes . . . yes, alright. No, No, I'll be there, I . . . " England sighed. "No, I'll be there, Alfred. Don't worry. I'm sure it'll be fun . . . yes . . . yes, can't wait . . ."
He hung up the phone and slumped in his seat.
"Great," he mumbled. "Now I have to buy a gift and dig out my sleeping bag . . .
MEANWHILE . . .
Annie was combing shoulder length copper hair in the mirror, getting ready to braid it and tuck it away under a beret, when the mail came. Ireland stood and took it from the mailman. She sat and talked to him for a bit, mostly about Mrs. McCallister's bunyuns and Farmer McGreggor's crop of potatos. When she had it inside her house, Ireland flipped through them and paused at America's invitation. After reading it, she flew to the phone and called him.
"Al? Hullo, this is Ireland. Yeah. I'm callin' ter RSVP that party of yers!" She said, smiling. "It'll be fun! I can't wait!"
MEANWHILE {still} . . .
America was starting to get worried. The phone was ringing a lot, and so far, not many of his close friends had RSVP'd. No sooner had he hung up on Ireland did the phone ring again.
"Erm," he said, picking it up. "Hello?"
"Bonjour, mon ami!"
"Oh. Hi, France."
"Oh, you sound dejected, mon petite lapin," Francis said, on the other end, the phone balanced on his shoulder. He was sewing, trying to hem a coat or two before Brunch. "Talk to Papa Francis, Papa can help~"
"Well . . . this party . . ." America said, tugging on his cowlick, thinking. "I dunno how I'm gonna get my house ready AND answer this phone. It's been ricking off the hook!" Tony was no help, either. Playing his Play Station, being dilbretly in the way. France tutted.
"Oh, mon petite lapin, the solution is easy," he said. "Just plan for everying to show up, fix your home accordingly, my pet~"
America blinked, starting to get a little suspicious.
"And how do I do this while I answer the phone constantly?" He asked, tapping one foot. On the other end, France smiled.
"Blue tooth~" He said. "I'll see you on the fourth, mon petite lapin. Au revoir for now~"
CLICK
Alfred cocked her head to one side. In the span of about fifteen minutes, he had cleared out most needless furniture in the grand living room, where the sleepover would take place. There was enough room in there for all of them. He hoped.
His blue tooth head phone rang and he only had to reach up and touch it to answer, leaving his hands free to make sure the TV was in the right place, that the floor was clean.
"Hello, America here!" He said, starting to feel better about his perdicament. "Seychelles? Hi! Okay! I'll see you on the 4th! Bye!" He hung up by tapping the ear piece again and went about his work, whistling, and a little more cheery.
MEANWHILE . . .
Germany hauled off and tossed the tennis ball, as hard as he could. His three dogs took off after it, and they fought over who got to bring it back to their master. They dropped it at his feet, and he picked it up, threw it again. It was a hot summer day, and he wore his usual cargo pants and black tank top. His brother, Prussia, visiting from the East, was a little less conservative.
He lounged on a beach chair, shirtless, trying to catch some sun to his pale skin. His red eyes hid behind large shades. He brought a margaritta glass to his lips and took a hearty sip.
"West, you're in my sun," he whined. "I won't look nearly as awesome if you ******** this up." Germany gave him a hard look.
"You're just skirting the issue, not answering my question," he said, hands on his hips. Gilbert lowered his sunglasses to look at his brother.
"West, you're getting on my nerves. Don't make me pwn you," he said. Ludwig maintained his icy stare. Gil made an extremly exasorbated noise. "Alright, alright!" Prussia set his drink down and sat up. "Okay. So . . . let's NOT go to that lame-o America's party, okay? We're . . . I'm way too awesome to let him cramp my style!" Ludwig gave him a hard look.
"Well, I sort of want to go," he said. "I haven't been to one since I lived in Austria's house." Gilbert frowned at him.
"But it's so lame! You're fractionally as awesome as I am, by association, and you wanna go in there and be lamer-ized?!" He said, looking upset. Ludwig glared at him.
"Fine, I guess, I'll just go by myself!" He said. Prussia snarled.
"Oh, and just leave me at your house?! Again?! Nuh uh!" He accused. "I'm going with you, and the party will be a fraction less Lame, because I'll cancel out America's dorkyness with my coolness!"
Ludwig turned and, his back to his brother, grinned. He walked back into house, seeking out the phone to RSVP.
MEANWHILE . . .
Hungary was traversing the halls of Austria's mansion. It was big, but empty now, just him and hear. The haunting tinkle of piano keys drifted from the drawing room where Austria spent most of his time. She sometimes figured he drowned his real feelings in the music, or that he fed the music with the emotions he struggled in. The mail had come, and Elizabeta was excited for it. They had gotten two, uncommon letters from America.
"Roderiech," she said, knocking on the door and opening it at the same time. Sure enough, the young master of the manor was pouring over his piano, a fierce melody of his own invention. Elizabeta could already tell he was in a sour mood.
"What is it?" He snapped, striking the keys. "I'm very busy at the moment, Eliza."
Elizabeta sighed.
"You've gotten a letter, from ----"
"Place it on the table, I will see to it when I am finished," he said, returning full attention back to his piano. Elizabeta frowned.
"It's from America and it needs to be seen to now," she said. She flinched when Austria slammed his hands down on the keys, making a harsh sound and spun around to glare at her.
"Elizabeta!" He snapped. Hungary had her hand on her right hip, and gave him a 'just try it' look. Austria's expression turned from angry, to softened, to impatient. "Fine, fine, hand it here." He held his hand out for it and Hungary gave it to him, unceremoniously. He used a letter opener to slice the envelope open and read the letter, his lip curling in distaste. "This didn't need my immediate attention. It's just some silly party he's throwing in honor of himself."
Hungary favored him with a cold glare.
"Well, I'm going, so, I guess you'll just have to sit there, and have your paino for company that night!" She said, turning and storming off. Roderiech sighed. He heard her storming down the hall and grit his teeth.
"Fine! Fine! You go ahead and go!" He called. "See if I care!" Hungary waited in the kitchen, reading a magazine, for a little over fifteen mintutes, before Asutria stormed in. He saw her sitting beside the phone and glared. He opened his mouth to say something, but Elizabeta cut him off.
"I already RSVP'd for the both of us," she said, not looking up from her magazine. Austria winced, realizing he had played into her hands. He turned on his heel and stormed back into the drawing room, leaving Hungary to smirk, triumphantly, at her Woman's Day.
MEANWHILE . . .
"Brother?" Liechenstein said, lifting her skirt slightly as she moved. Switzerland was in the back, sitting against the stone wall in the garden. Vasch looked up at her when she approached.
"Lily?" He said, patting the space beside him. She sat, her skirt billowing as she did so. She spoke in a high, soft voice, and she always sounded younger than she was.
"We both got letters from America," she said, handing her brother the one addressed to him. Vasch could see that she had already torn her's open, but had left his nice and neat. He took it from her and opened it with his knife. Reading the contents, he frowned a little. "It looks like fun. May we go?"
Vasch chewed his tongue. He had never had any troubles with America. The hyperactive country seemed to enjoy his chocolates, clocks, and knives. His weaponry, even though he barely ever used it. Still, it seemed a little . . . He couldn't find the right word for it.
"Do you want to go, Lily?" He asked, looking at his younger sister. Lily seemed to think about it for a moment, before nodding, her ribbon bobbing up and down. Vasch sighed. "Well, then, I suppose we can. Will you pack, if I go RSVP?" He said, getting to his feet, and helping Lily to hers. She smiled at him, charmingly.
"Of course! Shall I pack the pajamas I made for you?" She asked. Vasch's smiled faltered for a moment. The pink pajamas? He thought, wondering just how many people were going to be there . . . But, looking at Lily's smile, he couldn't fight it.
"Yes. Yes, that will be nice," he said, forcing a smile himself. Lily clapped her dainty hands and went inside. Vasch followed behind her, heading for the phone.
 Blakaize · Wed Apr 07, 2010 @ 05:44pm · 1 Comments |
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