|Cops and Robbers
Author: turtur6 PM
Peter Kirkland doesn't realize the importance of what he's stolen, or the catastrophic effects it will have on the gangs, police force, and mobsters of "Earth"...Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Humor - Chapters: 2 - Words: 2,628 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 10-29-10 - Published: 09-25-10 - id: 6351931
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Um, yes. Basically, I wrote this a year ago, lost it, forgot about it, and then recalled the entire plot in a fever dream.
Warning: Um, on this contains tame slash. On Quizilla (for EpicKala 3) it's only a bit slashy.
Disclaimer: Hetalia doesn't belong to me. Obviously.
Part One: The Boy Wonder Strikes Again!
A skinny boy in a threadbare sailor suit raced down the crowded street at an astounding speed, clutching a small bundle to his chest with his right hand and using the other to knock things from the hands of the men and women he passed; they all shouted at him as they scrambled to pick up their spilled groceries, briefcases, cosmetics, and books.
A small mob of policemen pushed these upset bystanders aside as best they could, but their progress was still majorly hindered. Soon the boy was far out of running distance and they were surrounded by furious citizens.
One of the younger, fresher policemen attempted to continue following the young burglar, but a senior officer grabbed his arm, shaking his head to say it was hopeless.
"Not him, Steve. He's the Boy Wonder."
"Boy Wonder? Why's that then? Isn't he just some kid with twitchy fingers?" He scratched the bandage on his nose absently.
The older officer seemed surprised. "You mean you don't know? That child is no ordinary delinquent. He's stolen, and gotten away with, more valuable and important items than any other man in Earth City."
"Really? You're pulling my leg!"
"No, it's true. And what's more, most people agree that it's only because of his amazing speed and small size that he's able to get away with it..." His eyes narrowed. "When he grows up, we'll catch him. Mark my words..."
Steve raised his eyebrows and whistled. "That's pretty hard core, mate."
"I suppose it is..."
The policemen standing in the wreckage left behind by the thief's flight were all thinking of the same thing: how, one day soon, they were going to find and catch that blasted Boy Wonder.
The Boy Wonder was, at that very moment, leaning against the wall of an apparently abandoned warehouse, panting and grinning widely at yet another success. In his bag he had several hundred dollars in paper money, a few heavy rings (heavy was good; he knew that much), and a packet of important-looking papers. Arthur was going to be so proud... not that the Boy Wonder cared what his lowly pickpocket older brother thought.
"Peter? Peter Kirkland?"
The Boy Wonder grimaced at the sound of Arthur's grating voice reached his ears. He turned his head to see a hidden door open from the wall of the warehouse and a scruffy head poke itself out.
Arthur and Peter were obviously brothers. They shared the same dark blond shag of hair, bright green eyes, and thick eyebrows; and both of them were prone to scowling when they were around other people.
Arthur scowled. "Well? You bring home something worth anything?"
Peter scowled back. "I raided a Minister's house! What d'you think, you wanker?"
"Language, Peter." Arthur crossed his arms huffily. "Alright then, what'd you steal for us?"
Peter chucked the bag at him.
Arthur caught it and looked inside. "Some papers, some jewelry, and a bundle of cash..." He coughed and blushed as he admitted: "Maybe you aren't so useless after all. Maybe."
Peter snickered. "Told you so, didn't I?"
"I guess you can come in, then. Francis brought dinner."
As Arthur opened the door all the way, Peter ducked under his arm and entered their gang's secret place of residency. It had once been a manager's office, so it had come equipped with a desk, two bookshelves, a high window, and a fireplace. The gang had added five old mattresses, plenty of blankets and candles, a record player, and a safe that Peter had stolen a few months ago to store the things that they hadn't yet sold. It certainly wasn't much, but it was, as the saying went, home.
The first person Peter saw once he was inside was Francis Bonnefoy, who wore a deep blue shirt and scarlet trousers. His long yellow hair was the best kept out of all the members of the gang. Francis' given reason for all of this frippery was that he made his living off of conning young ladies, but Peter thought vanity was probably the primary reason.
Francis gave a leisurely wave and raised an eyebrow elegantly. This was his code for "did you manage to get anything good today?"
Peter nodded, and Francis answered with a pleased smile.
Their silent conversation was interrupted by the loud-as-ever Alfred Jones.
"Hey, Pete! Have a good day at work?" Alfred was still wearing his red, white, and blue apron from his job as a bookkeeper for an illicit racing operation down at the wharf. His bright blue eyes sparkled from behind his rectangular spectacles.
"Yeah, it was alright, I guess." Peter scuffed a foot, feeling slightly awkward around the young man. He had walked in on him playing tonsil hockey with his brother yesterday, though, so this feeling was completely justified. Alfred didn't know this, though, so he just gave Peter a mystified look and turned his attention to Arthur, now grinning widely and motioning for him to toss over the bag of loot.
"Where's the food, Francis?" Peter inquired, ignoring the way Alfred had just given his blushing brother a tight hug.
Francis gestured at the fireplace. There was a smoking foil packet of sausages resting on the hearth beside a loaf of baguette. Peter scrambled over, belly rumbling. He tore off a large chunk of bread and stuffed it in his mouth.
A quiet voice came from his left. "I think you'd better wait until everyone else is ready to eat."
Peter jumped. Finally seeing the speaker, he swallowed as fast as he could, smacking his lips. "Matty! I didn't see you."
"I'm used to it..."
Matthew Williams had many remarkable differences from his cousin. His hair was darker and much longer and curlier than Alfred's, Matthew was the bigger of the two in both height and girth, and, of course, their attitudes were completely different. When Alfred was outgoing and confident, Matthew was shy and often nearly invisible. Despite this, he was constantly being mistaken for his widely-known (if not widely-liked) relation. There was a certain bartender, one Raul of Missile Crisis Tavern, who had a particular grudge against Alfred for his lengthy unpaid bar tab but held Matthew in some high esteem. This, needless to say, had caused many a number of unnecessary misunderstandings.
Matthew was the only member of the gang that held a legitimate job, but nobody had ever bothered to ask what it was.
As another person often overlooked by the more visible members of the gang, Peter sympathized with Matty, and considered him a friend.
The whole gang was soon gathered around the fireplace, where Arthur passed out the sausages and tore off relatively equal portions of baguette.
Immediately, everyone began complaining about the quality of Arthur's cooking.
"Zis could have been so much bettair, Artur. With a red-wine jus and some pomme de terre, zees could have lived up to their full potential!"
Francis had pulled a bottle of wine from under his pillow and was now drinking from it judiciously.
Alfred's only comment was that Liberty Sandwiches tasted better.
Peter went all out, not being one to miss a chance to tease his brother. Sticking his tongue out, he made a loud noise of disgust. "These are rubbish! I think you've managed to burn and undercook them at the same time! Couldn't you have let Francis cook?" He shoved another sausage into his mouth and chewed with his mouth open. "You couldn't cook a raw fish!"
Arthur snorted. "What does a child know about these things?"
"A lot; I have a fully functioning tongue for starters!"
Arthur took a vicious bite of bread. "That," he said once he had swallowed, "was a rhetorical question."
Peter and Alfred exchanged high-fives.
Arthur, embarrassed at the way his brother was defaming him, hurriedly changed the subject. "Hey, Peter, fancy some ice cream?"
Peter stopped inventing a secret handshake to answer in enthusiastic tones: "Bloody hell, yeah!"
"Language, Peter," the older thief rebuked, but he couldn't mask a smile. "Tell you what: you and Mattias-"
"It's Matthew, actua-"
"You and Mattress can go to the candy shop as a reward for a sort of passable good job today."
Peter jumped up, desire for sweets trumping his desire to mess with his brother. "Right, bye!" He headed for the door.
"Not so fast, lad!" Arthur pulled out the recently-acquired cash and pulled out ten Units. "I expect change, mind."
Peter took the money, and Matthew grabbed the arm of his stuffed bear. Man and bear followed the boy out.
Francis yawned and stretched. "I sink I shall go out for a drink..." He got up and winked lecherously. "Leave you two alone..."
Chuckling at the young men's red faces, he followed Peter and Matthew out of the warehouse.