WICKED- Popular- Hetalia Style!

Tonight was the night. A big formal gathering was being held in the United Kingdom, and Britain was the host. He had to admit: he was anxious. What was he supposed to wear? What was he supposed to talk about with the guests?

France, seeing his problem, invited (or rather dragged) Britain to his house to share some tips of being a party host; he couldn't be happier to give him some helpful pointers.

They were sitting in France's bedroom. France was wearing a suit with a light shade of magenta with a silky, white scarf.

"So, Britain," he said. "since we are Allies, zis gathering is a good opportunity to make you my new project."

Britain felt himself going red in the face. "Y- You really don't have to do that," he mumbled.

"I know," said France, beaming. "Zhat's what makes me so nice."

Britain scoffed. He hadn't forgotten about the time France tried to force Britain to "marry" him, and that wasn't particularly a "nice" approach.

His thoughts were interrupted when France pulled out a harmonica and played a C. Oh, please don't tell me he's going to do what I think he's going to do, Britain thought.

Then, France took a deep breath.

He is. Damn it.

"Whenever I see someone less fortunate than I," France sang, his blue eyes twinkling.

"And let's face it - who isn't
Less fortunate than I?

My tender heart
Tends to start to bleed.

And when someone needs a makeover,
I simply have to take over
I know, I know exactly what zey need.

And even in your case..." He glanced, disgusted, at the Englishman's messy, blonde hair, green military outfit, and really large eyebrows. "...Though it's ze toughest case I've yet to face,

Don't worry - I'm determined to succeed
Follow my lead
And yes, indeed,

You. Will. Be.


You're gonna be popular!
I'll teach you some clever tricks when you talk to chicks
Little ways to flirt and flounce, ooh!
I'll show you what shoes to wear,
How to fix zat hair
(He plucked a strand of Britain's "punkish" hairstyle.),
Everything that really counts to be popular!

I'll help you be popular!

You'll hang with ze right cohorts,
You'll be good at sports,
Know ze slang you've got to know!

So, let's start,
'Cause you've got an awfully long way to go."

Britain glared at him.

"Don't be offended by my frank analysis,
Think of it as personality dialysis

Now zat I've chosen to become a pal,
A brother and adviser;
There's nobody wiser.

Not when it comes to popular -

I know about popular!
And with an assist from me
To be who you'll be
Instead of dreary who-you-were—well are.
Zere's nothing zat can stop you
From becoming populer!"

"Lar," Britain corrected almost on-key.

"Whatever." France started doing graceful twirls as he continued singing.

"Laaaaa laaaaaa, laaa-aa-aa laaaa
We're gonna make You


Britain was trying ever so hard to resist the temptation of stuffing his fist down France's throat. And it got harder when France grabbed a hairbrush and a pair of tweezers and started brushing Britain's hair.

"When I see depressing creatures
With unprepossessing features,
I remind zem on zeir own behalf
To think of
(He emphasized each word by plucking out a couple of hairs from Britain's eyebrows while Britain fidgeted in pain and cursed.)

Celebrated heads of state or
Specially great communicators.
Did zey have brains or knowledge?
Honhonhon, don't make me laugh!

Zey were popular! Please -
It's all about popular!

It's not about aptitude.
It's ze way you're viewed.
So it's very shrewd to be
Very, very popular
Like me!

Britain rolled his eyes and face palmed. "This is never going to work."

"You mustn't think zat way anymore, mon ami," said France, smiling. "You're life is about to change, and it's all because of moi. First thing to go over: hair. Zis is how you toss your hair to make ze women swoon." He then proceeded to toss both sides of his hair saying, "Toss, toss," and doing a sexy French laugh.

He then glanced at Britain, wanting him to try. Britain, feeling mighty foolish partly because his hair wasn't as long and as luscious as France's, flicked both sides of his hair, muttering, "Toss, toss".

"No, no, no! You need to do it with enthusiasm!" said France. "And add a sexy laugh to it. Try mine."

He once again demonstrated the tossing of the hair, including the French laugh. Britain tried again. "Toss, toss," he said, a little more enthusiastically. And, not exactly having own a "sexy laugh" of his own, did a poor imitation of a French one.

France winced, but then he shrugged it off and said, "You'll practice. All right, now, for a new outfit!"

He gave his ally a couple of his (least fashionable, in his opinion) suits, and showed him the changing room. While Britain was changing, France gave him some social party tips, like "always hold out your hand first to shake" and "talk about ordinary stuff, like the weather and the sights and places of your country."

"No chanting your 'hocus pocus' stuff around people," France told him. "It'll scare zem."

"I don't do that in public, you git!" Britain called from behind the curtain.

A minute later, he came out wearing a brown suit with an orange scarf. France raised an eyebrow. Something didn't seem right. "Next!"

The next suit Britain came out wearing was a red one with a frilly, white collar, and was a little bit tight. "Ugh, definitely no," said France, quickly.

A minute later, Britain came out of the changing room, furious and embarrassed. "What the bloody hell is this, you frog?!" He was wearing Princess Aurora's pink dress from "Sleeping Beauty." "Why do you own this thing?"

France had a camera in his hands and a smirk on his face. "Oh, I don't own it. I borrowed it," he said, snapping a picture. "I just wanted to see how silly you look in it."

Britain's face turned a shade of red that would've shamed Spain's tomatoes.

After a brief scuffle with France, Britain went back into the changing room, and came out wearing a nice, dark green suit.

"Hmm," said France. "Not ze color I would've chosen, but it really suits you. Now, for the finishing touch."

He opened a small box and pulled out a pale pink bow tie. After helping Britain tie it, he commented, "Pink goes good with green." He took a step back to look at the Englishman he had just transformed. "Why Angleterre, look at you." He handed him a hand-held mirror. "You look better than I thought you would turn out."

Britain looked astonished and confused. Did France just give him a compliment? He looked at himself in the mirror. Though his eyebrows remained the same, his hair looked a bit neater. And it was a nice color combination for the suit and bow tie. For a whole minute, he stood there, stunned at his reflection; he didn't know what to say.

"I...I..." He suddenly thrust the mirror into France's hands. "I have to go." And he turned on his heel and walked quickly out of the room.

"You're welcome!" France called after him. He stood for a minute, pondering (before smiling at his reflection in the mirror for a second), and resumed his singing.

"And though you protest
Your disinterest,
I know clandestinely...

You're gonna grin and bear it
Your new found popularity!

Laaaaaa laaaaaaa laaa-aaa-aaa laaa
You'll be popular -
Just not quite as popular

"SHUT UP ALREADY, YOU WANKER!" shouted Britain from behind the door. "WE'RE NOT IN 'LES MISERABLES'!"

France smirked and shook his head. The "Black Sheep of Europe" can't get his musicals right. "Not to worry," he thought. "He'll thank me later."