These parts actually won't finish it, I still have more to go, but I wanted to put up what I had. Hope you all enjoy~
.
There was no doubt about it. The universe was conspiring directly against him, Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America – and if not the universe, then at least every single person in this room. It was the only explanation for why a meeting that had so far only been in session for maybe thirty minutes felt like it had been going for hours upon hours. Anything longer than the Gettysburg Address and his focus disappeared, and here there were nations running their mouths for twice as long, or more. Then the others would actually have discussions.
It was the most productive meeting they’d had in a long time. And he hated it.
To be fair, his restlessness probably also had to do with the fact that he’d forgotten his bag back in the hotel room, so he didn’t have his notebook to keep him occupied – and on top of that, Mattie was sitting on the same side of the table as him today, around ten seats up. This made it extremely difficult to stare at him in an absolutely non-stalkerish way; technically he still could, but he would have to lean way over the table and crane his neck and it would be super suspicious.
At the start he’d tried to distract himself with pointless things, like flicking little crumpled up balls from a stolen sheet of paper at Romano, but a very unpleasant threat from the Italian had put an end to that. (Seriously, could you really do so many things with a tomato? He didn’t want to find out.) Eventually he’d settled for drawing right on the table with a pencil he’d snatched from Finland, but it wasn’t the same.
Then China stood up to speak, and Alfred knew something had to be done. It was for the good of them all; if no one stopped him, he could go on for at least an hour. Someone would have to do it. And who was better for the job than him?
“Scuse me!” America’s hand shot up into the air a moment after he’d spoken, which sort of defeated the purpose of raising it at all; he began to wave it around wildly anyway, just in case anyone had missed his shout. “We all know pandas are really cool or whatever, so can we skip talking about it and move on to something that doesn’t put people to sleep?”
The Asian nation looked incredibly insulted, eyes narrowing into a glare. “If you don’t like it,” he began huffily, then was interrupted once more by a bored-looking blond.
“I totally agree,” yawned Poland from halfway down the table, chin resting on one hand while he stared down at the nails of the other in utter disinterest, “Could this be any more of a drag? I’m like, ready to shoot myself.”
“Right?!” America gave him a cheesy grin and two thumbs up for the support, heedless of the collective sigh heaved by about half of the countries. He was ready to say more when England spoke up from the head of the table.
“I agree with America as well.”
And just like that, the slowly beginning buzz in the room died. All heads turned towards the Briton in silent disbelief; even Greece had woken up enough to look vaguely surprised. But no one was flabbergasted as America. He gawked up at the older nation, who had risen from his seat, without even an attempt at subtlety. Hearing that from England was like hearing that Italy had given up on pasta, or that France would stop being a total pervert, or…or…something else that was really really shocking, only times a million!
“Dude…” He drew the word out obnoxiously while he tried to figure out what else to say, but in the end all he could get out was “What?”
England shrugged, looking way too unbothered for someone who had just destroyed the fabric of reality. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he sick? Had he been hit in the head by one of his rock hard scones? Had he been body-snatched? Alfred was totally betting on that last one only because it would be so freaking cool. Plus it meant he would be able to save the day by getting the real England back from the aliens, and then he would so owe him. Tony could probably help. Tony probably knew the aliens that did this. Maybe they were mortal enemies, and this would spawn a huge intergalactic war. That would be so hardcore.
The American was so engrossed in his fantasy that he didn’t realize England had actually been talking again – not until the blond walked up behind his chair and whacked him on the head with a notebook. “Ow! Not cool!” Maybe this really was England after all. America deflated at the thought.
“As I was saying,” snapped the Englishman, a more characteristic frown on his lips as he resumed pacing the length of the table, “I think that a small departure from business is just what we need. I was going to save this until we were closer to the end of the meeting, but now seems like a perfect time, as America has so generously pointed out to us.”
Even if this was the real England, there had to be something wrong here. He never agreed with anything America said, even when he was right (which was all the time) – and besides that, the friendly tone he was using was starting to get creepy. Then he smiled a full-on evil villain smile, and the creepiness factor went through the roof.
“I have a matter of personal interest that I would like to share with you all, and I do believe a great number of you will be personally interested…”
Nearly everyone’s eyes followed the country’s loop back around the table, until he stopped on the side directly across from America. The younger nation looked up at him in confusion, the feeling of what-the-hell only just starting to give way to a nervousness he didn’t quite understand.
Then England lifted the notebook he was holding, already opened, and he only had a second to process that there were some awfully familiar doodles on the side facing him before the Brit carried on walking.
“Now, I don’t know how much any of you would care about someone else’s love life, but what may be of more appeal is the knowledge that what I have here is a series of love poems written by one of our fellow nations…and, while his efforts are admirable, they are far from literary masterpieces.”
A titter rippled across the room, some nations looking amused, others intrigued, and still others puzzled at the news. America, meanwhile, was starting to feel like his chest was slowly being crushed. Those doodles were too familiar. But there was no way he could’ve gotten ahold of his notebook!
It was Italy who asked the obvious question. “Whose is it?”
Having reached the head of the table once again, England turned forward to address the room as a whole. He didn’t answer immediately, instead choosing to hold the notebook out at arm’s length, almost as if he were examining it. Now that he was looking again, Alfred could clearly see the drawing of a lopsided Statue of Liberty, fireworks bursting around it, and on the page facing England was…
The blond opened his mouth to speak, and America panicked. Quickly, he leapt to his feet, slamming his hands onto the tabletop with a bang; several people started. “HOLD IT!” He shouted, mind racing wildly as he tried to come up with a good excuse, “As the hero, I don’t approve of you taking someone’s ultra-secret feelings that no one was ever supposed to know about and telling them to the whole world! It goes against justice!”
And now everyone was staring at him instead. England was wearing a smirk that gave him a very bad feeling. Had he done something wrong? Maybe he’d said too much. Did they all know the notebook was his? Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit –
“Well, you heard it from the man himself, so I hardly need say more,” The Englishman went on lightly, whacking the notebook against the palm of his free hand a few times for emphasis. “Let’s have a read, shall we?” Fuck. Alfred’s throat felt very dry, unfamiliar desperation building up at the thought of his impending doom, because Mattie couldn’t find out, he couldn’t.
“Canada,” England interrupted, raising his voice above America’s; the younger nation’s words died on his lips, and it was all he could do to stare as the Brit read on, heart crashing uncomfortably against his ribcage. “Is kinda invisible, but not to me.”
Confusion was apparent among the vast majority of the nations – who was Canada? – but someone else must have known, because word eventually seemed to spread. Then quite a few people were glancing in the soft-spoken blond’s direction, many of them squinting as though he were difficult to see. Once it looked like everyone had figured it out, England resumed reading.
America had never been a self-conscious person. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt self-conscious – but he knew that it was exactly what he was feeling now, as England exposed his most private thoughts as casually as if he was talking about the weather. Matt was suddenly much too close; ten seats away wasn’t enough. He couldn’t even force himself to look in the Canadian’s direction, despite the overwhelming need to know how he was reacting to this.
As England came upon the big reveal, America found himself terrified – because seriously, what if Mattie really did hate him for this? Yeah, so he wasn’t really a hating sort of person, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t start now! And what would he do without him? Then, just before everything was shot to hell, something came completely out of left field. Well, someone.
“Angleterre! You cannot do this!”
The Frenchman came sweeping towards the head of the table, looking very stern, and America felt a leap of hope – and bewilderment. Was France actually coming to help him? Why would he do that? It didn’t matter why! He almost wanted to run over and hug him, but then he would probably do something weird.
England looked irritated at being cut off. “What are you talking about?” He scowled, watching warily as the older nation approached. “I can do whatever I bloody well want to! I don’t need your permission!”
France shook his head as he drew near, disapproval in his voice. “That is not what I meant, mon cher. Your delivery! It is terrible!”
For a moment, England looked as lost as America felt; then he went right back to scowling. “What?”
“Your delivery! Your performance!” The blond gestured around airily, clearly saying something with his hands that Alfred didn’t get at all – but he was starting to think that the Frenchman wasn’t on his side after all. “You read with no emotion whatsoever, Angleterre; your voice is flatter than a pancake! Please, allow me.”
Now standing right beside the shorter blond, France reached forward to pluck the notebook out of his hands – but England yanked it away, seeming downright pissed. “No! It doesn’t matter what I sound like, and it’s none of your business anyway, frog!”
“Non, non! It most certainly does matter. Presentation is everything, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. So if you would be so kind…” France smiled, stepped much too close for comfort, and snatched the notebook while England was caught off guard. Then he slipped safely away, chuckling as the Brit cursed behind him. America thought it was at least a little bit of much-needed revenge.
A number of the nations had lost interest during the small exchange, taking to their own conversations, but most of them looked back again when France brandished the notebook above him – at just about the same time America realized that no, France was most definitely not on his side. The universe really was out to get him.
The Frenchman picked up where England had left off with much more grandeur, leaving Alfred no time whatsoever to prepare himself. And then it was out.
.
And there you have it, for now~ Sorry France invaded there at the end. >3> No, I'm not. But c'mon, he wouldn't be able to stand for such injustice! :3 I just didn't wanna keep you guys waiting anymore, when I had enough here for a perfectly good update, rather than waiting to put it all up at the end. Tell me what you think!! Also, ::HUGS RIGHT BACK FOR OP!!:: <3 <3 <3
*gasp* How could you do this!? Just...just...leave it there? There!? You're an evil A!A, you know that. You are down right diabolical. And, I love you for it. Thank you! I love this fill. I'm totally not the OP, but I adore what you've done with the fill so far. You're merely torturing me a little, I suppose. I eagerly await the last part.
Ooooohhh! *covers face with hands* I know this was my request, but I feel so bad for America right now. XD Aah, but I love it! I'm tortured right now. I need more!!! America is just... so cute. So, so cute. His inner musings - perfect. And his objection to England reading out loud was really cute, but it made him so obvious at the same time XD And I love the fact that he can't see Canada right now, so we can't really see him either...
And that bit with France saying, "You can't do this"? Genius. I really thought for a moment with America that France was on his side. Nope XD Of course not. Rawr I need more so bad!
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Not Quite Robert Frost [6/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-05-15 01:47 am (UTC)(link).
There was no doubt about it. The universe was conspiring directly against him, Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America – and if not the universe, then at least every single person in this room. It was the only explanation for why a meeting that had so far only been in session for maybe thirty minutes felt like it had been going for hours upon hours. Anything longer than the Gettysburg Address and his focus disappeared, and here there were nations running their mouths for twice as long, or more. Then the others would actually have discussions.
It was the most productive meeting they’d had in a long time. And he hated it.
To be fair, his restlessness probably also had to do with the fact that he’d forgotten his bag back in the hotel room, so he didn’t have his notebook to keep him occupied – and on top of that, Mattie was sitting on the same side of the table as him today, around ten seats up. This made it extremely difficult to stare at him in an absolutely non-stalkerish way; technically he still could, but he would have to lean way over the table and crane his neck and it would be super suspicious.
At the start he’d tried to distract himself with pointless things, like flicking little crumpled up balls from a stolen sheet of paper at Romano, but a very unpleasant threat from the Italian had put an end to that. (Seriously, could you really do so many things with a tomato? He didn’t want to find out.) Eventually he’d settled for drawing right on the table with a pencil he’d snatched from Finland, but it wasn’t the same.
Then China stood up to speak, and Alfred knew something had to be done. It was for the good of them all; if no one stopped him, he could go on for at least an hour. Someone would have to do it. And who was better for the job than him?
“Scuse me!” America’s hand shot up into the air a moment after he’d spoken, which sort of defeated the purpose of raising it at all; he began to wave it around wildly anyway, just in case anyone had missed his shout. “We all know pandas are really cool or whatever, so can we skip talking about it and move on to something that doesn’t put people to sleep?”
The Asian nation looked incredibly insulted, eyes narrowing into a glare. “If you don’t like it,” he began huffily, then was interrupted once more by a bored-looking blond.
“I totally agree,” yawned Poland from halfway down the table, chin resting on one hand while he stared down at the nails of the other in utter disinterest, “Could this be any more of a drag? I’m like, ready to shoot myself.”
“Right?!” America gave him a cheesy grin and two thumbs up for the support, heedless of the collective sigh heaved by about half of the countries. He was ready to say more when England spoke up from the head of the table.
“I agree with America as well.”
And just like that, the slowly beginning buzz in the room died. All heads turned towards the Briton in silent disbelief; even Greece had woken up enough to look vaguely surprised. But no one was flabbergasted as America. He gawked up at the older nation, who had risen from his seat, without even an attempt at subtlety. Hearing that from England was like hearing that Italy had given up on pasta, or that France would stop being a total pervert, or…or…something else that was really really shocking, only times a million!
“Dude…” He drew the word out obnoxiously while he tried to figure out what else to say, but in the end all he could get out was “What?”
England shrugged, looking way too unbothered for someone who had just destroyed the fabric of reality. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he sick? Had he been hit in the head by one of his rock hard scones? Had he been body-snatched? Alfred was totally betting on that last one only because it would be so freaking cool. Plus it meant he would be able to save the day by getting the real England back from the aliens, and then he would so owe him. Tony could probably help. Tony probably knew the aliens that did this. Maybe they were mortal enemies, and this would spawn a huge intergalactic war. That would be so hardcore.
Not Quite Robert Frost [7/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-05-15 01:53 am (UTC)(link)“As I was saying,” snapped the Englishman, a more characteristic frown on his lips as he resumed pacing the length of the table, “I think that a small departure from business is just what we need. I was going to save this until we were closer to the end of the meeting, but now seems like a perfect time, as America has so generously pointed out to us.”
Even if this was the real England, there had to be something wrong here. He never agreed with anything America said, even when he was right (which was all the time) – and besides that, the friendly tone he was using was starting to get creepy. Then he smiled a full-on evil villain smile, and the creepiness factor went through the roof.
“I have a matter of personal interest that I would like to share with you all, and I do believe a great number of you will be personally interested…”
Nearly everyone’s eyes followed the country’s loop back around the table, until he stopped on the side directly across from America. The younger nation looked up at him in confusion, the feeling of what-the-hell only just starting to give way to a nervousness he didn’t quite understand.
Then England lifted the notebook he was holding, already opened, and he only had a second to process that there were some awfully familiar doodles on the side facing him before the Brit carried on walking.
“Now, I don’t know how much any of you would care about someone else’s love life, but what may be of more appeal is the knowledge that what I have here is a series of love poems written by one of our fellow nations…and, while his efforts are admirable, they are far from literary masterpieces.”
A titter rippled across the room, some nations looking amused, others intrigued, and still others puzzled at the news. America, meanwhile, was starting to feel like his chest was slowly being crushed. Those doodles were too familiar. But there was no way he could’ve gotten ahold of his notebook!
It was Italy who asked the obvious question. “Whose is it?”
Having reached the head of the table once again, England turned forward to address the room as a whole. He didn’t answer immediately, instead choosing to hold the notebook out at arm’s length, almost as if he were examining it. Now that he was looking again, Alfred could clearly see the drawing of a lopsided Statue of Liberty, fireworks bursting around it, and on the page facing England was…
The blond opened his mouth to speak, and America panicked. Quickly, he leapt to his feet, slamming his hands onto the tabletop with a bang; several people started. “HOLD IT!” He shouted, mind racing wildly as he tried to come up with a good excuse, “As the hero, I don’t approve of you taking someone’s ultra-secret feelings that no one was ever supposed to know about and telling them to the whole world! It goes against justice!”
And now everyone was staring at him instead. England was wearing a smirk that gave him a very bad feeling. Had he done something wrong? Maybe he’d said too much. Did they all know the notebook was his? Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit –
“Well, you heard it from the man himself, so I hardly need say more,” The Englishman went on lightly, whacking the notebook against the palm of his free hand a few times for emphasis. “Let’s have a read, shall we?” Fuck. Alfred’s throat felt very dry, unfamiliar desperation building up at the thought of his impending doom, because Mattie couldn’t find out, he couldn’t.
Not Quite Robert Frost [8/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-05-15 02:04 am (UTC)(link)“Canada,” England interrupted, raising his voice above America’s; the younger nation’s words died on his lips, and it was all he could do to stare as the Brit read on, heart crashing uncomfortably against his ribcage. “Is kinda invisible, but not to me.”
Confusion was apparent among the vast majority of the nations – who was Canada? – but someone else must have known, because word eventually seemed to spread. Then quite a few people were glancing in the soft-spoken blond’s direction, many of them squinting as though he were difficult to see. Once it looked like everyone had figured it out, England resumed reading.
America had never been a self-conscious person. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt self-conscious – but he knew that it was exactly what he was feeling now, as England exposed his most private thoughts as casually as if he was talking about the weather. Matt was suddenly much too close; ten seats away wasn’t enough. He couldn’t even force himself to look in the Canadian’s direction, despite the overwhelming need to know how he was reacting to this.
As England came upon the big reveal, America found himself terrified – because seriously, what if Mattie really did hate him for this? Yeah, so he wasn’t really a hating sort of person, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t start now! And what would he do without him? Then, just before everything was shot to hell, something came completely out of left field. Well, someone.
“Angleterre! You cannot do this!”
The Frenchman came sweeping towards the head of the table, looking very stern, and America felt a leap of hope – and bewilderment. Was France actually coming to help him? Why would he do that? It didn’t matter why! He almost wanted to run over and hug him, but then he would probably do something weird.
England looked irritated at being cut off. “What are you talking about?” He scowled, watching warily as the older nation approached. “I can do whatever I bloody well want to! I don’t need your permission!”
France shook his head as he drew near, disapproval in his voice. “That is not what I meant, mon cher. Your delivery! It is terrible!”
For a moment, England looked as lost as America felt; then he went right back to scowling. “What?”
“Your delivery! Your performance!” The blond gestured around airily, clearly saying something with his hands that Alfred didn’t get at all – but he was starting to think that the Frenchman wasn’t on his side after all. “You read with no emotion whatsoever, Angleterre; your voice is flatter than a pancake! Please, allow me.”
Now standing right beside the shorter blond, France reached forward to pluck the notebook out of his hands – but England yanked it away, seeming downright pissed. “No! It doesn’t matter what I sound like, and it’s none of your business anyway, frog!”
“Non, non! It most certainly does matter. Presentation is everything, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. So if you would be so kind…” France smiled, stepped much too close for comfort, and snatched the notebook while England was caught off guard. Then he slipped safely away, chuckling as the Brit cursed behind him. America thought it was at least a little bit of much-needed revenge.
A number of the nations had lost interest during the small exchange, taking to their own conversations, but most of them looked back again when France brandished the notebook above him – at just about the same time America realized that no, France was most definitely not on his side. The universe really was out to get him.
The Frenchman picked up where England had left off with much more grandeur, leaving Alfred no time whatsoever to prepare himself. And then it was out.
.
And there you have it, for now~ Sorry France invaded there at the end. >3>
No, I'm not.But c'mon, he wouldn't be able to stand for such injustice! :3 I just didn't wanna keep you guys waiting anymore, when I had enough here for a perfectly good update, rather than waiting to put it all up at the end. Tell me what you think!! Also, ::HUGS RIGHT BACK FOR OP!!:: <3 <3 <3Re: Not Quite Robert Frost [8/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-05-15 02:26 am (UTC)(link)Re: Not Quite Robert Frost [8/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-05-15 10:15 pm (UTC)(link)I kind of wish you'd go through the poems as England/France do...
OP
(Anonymous) 2012-05-17 03:15 am (UTC)(link)And that bit with France saying, "You can't do this"? Genius. I really thought for a moment with America that France was on his side. Nope XD Of course not. Rawr I need more so bad!
♥ you authoranon! Thank you so much for this ^_^
Re: Not Quite Robert Frost [8/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-05-29 12:14 am (UTC)(link)Re: Not Quite Robert Frost [8/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-04 11:09 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Not Quite Robert Frost [8/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-07-29 05:36 am (UTC)(link)