Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.
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Unimaginative Because He Just Took Away the 'North'
It really was a Picasso-esque scene, Canada figured. Surrounded by tall, brown maple trees, hearing only the sounds of his hiking boots crunch in the winter snow. These trees had been saved (and Kumajirou forbid, he would climb one of them to stop it from being cut down – not that he was taking a leaf from the page of America's book) from the doom of all trees that seemed to be sweeping the nations. Lumber was really not worth the loss of all these maple trees. He figured it might be his partiality to the species; after all, his emblem did bear its leaf.
Oh, and he couldn't forget the maple syrup. Syrup needed absolute silence to become tasty. The conditions had to be pristine. No lumberjacks. No kangaroos. No teenage girls and their cell phones. Nay, it had to be this picture perfect atmosphere where the sap could drip calmly into the metal buckets and
"Yo, Canada!" Tunneling through thin air, Canada barely had time to turn when his southern brother barreled him over, knocking the both of them in the snow. He had barely time to mourn the way a nearby tree seemed to hold in its sacrifice of sap when America continued his spiel, that apparently he had not been paying attention to. "I've been calling you for ages! Answer your phone! It's what it's for! And when I call for you, don't just act like you've overdosed on Puff the Magic Dragon and wander around this dead forest!"
"Maple!" Canada shouted, trying to dig his way out from under his brother.
"Anyway, whatever. I haven't hung out in forever with you, baby brother!" Canada didn't know if America was hugging him or suffocating him, but surely the trees would be withering with all the sound they were making. "Sibling bonding is in, my friend. So says Phil Doctor! So let's go! The continent awaits!"
"Fine!" Canada gasped, feeling the snow melt and seep into his clothes. His glasses were askew and his hair was a mess and he was feeling colder now with this new dampness and America was still sitting on him. "But I get to drive."
It should go without saying that Canadians are fast drivers. Zooming down the road like Armageddon is on their heels. America figured himself better than his baby brother at many things, like economy and the housing market and awesomeness and public approval, but he figured that perhaps he ought to give his brother credit. Violent ice hockey. Mooses. Mounties. Eh. Maple syrup. Heart attacks.
"I was going down on my phone just now…"
"I mean I was going down the contacts in my phonebook just now," Canada rephrased, glaring at his brother who was still chuckling at the astounding abilities of his dirty mind, one hand on the wheel, one hand fiddling with the car radio. "But I realized that I haven't called someone in a while."
America had been polite and not spoken, allowing his brother to continue, but when Canada continued staring down at his phone, he had to butt in. "Who, may I ask?"
"No, you may not ask."
"Seriously. You're not just going to leave me hanging?"
"Russia. I haven't called Russia lately."
America nearly sputtered. "Russia? That snowy son of a bastard? Why would you bother?"
"Oh, I don't know," Canada mused, still thumbing down on his phone and making it emit beeping noises that America silently fumed about, "but maybe because he and I were making plans to take back Alaska and beat the shit out of you, but we just lost contact."
"Please tell me you're fucking with me."
"Ew, I would never do that."
Fast food joints were something America took pride in, and now they had crossed the border (Purpose of visit? Damn, I'm the nation, I don't visit!), Canada found himself dragged to a gaudy place America had somewhat taken pride in, although it was not the typical golden arches he had been expecting. Somehow, that golden angle-less M had the seductive abilities of a practiced prostitute and he wouldn't be surprised if it was America's conspiracy to invade other nation's vital regions as subtly as possible.
No – today, the beckon was from a (Americanized) Chinese takeout place. Canada understood why China never came to visit anymore when he saw the cartoony neon dragon and absence of legitimate Chinese characters.
Of course, it was America, so what was he expecting?
Afterwards, America had somehow gotten his hands on a whole stash of fortune cookies ("I created these, you know!" he chirped in a way that reminded Canada awfully of Korea) and was opening all the cellophane wrappers with loud gusto and cracking each cracker open.
"The master may become the student," America read loudly, pausing for effect. "…in bed."
"That's not what it says," Canada scoffed.
"What? You've never heard of the fortune cookie game? You add 'In bed' to the end of every fortune!"
"I thought the only joy you got was butchering China's language on the back, but I guess I was wrong." Canada snapped open his second cookie and extracted the slip of paper. "You will be showered with good luck before your next birthday…in bed."
America let out an unnecessary loud wolf whistle, earning him suspicious glances from the owners of the restaurant and other visitors. "You're finally getting a sex life, Mattie!"
Canada snorted, holding out a cookie to America. "Your turn."
The cookie was forcibly pulled from the wrapper and nearly crumbled in America's tight grip. "Pride may be your undoing…in bed. Hey, that's not true!"
"England might tell me something different," Canada chortled.
It took the combined efforts of both brothers, a couple dozen uneaten and unwrapped fortune cookies, and several loudly discussed inappropriate bodily function jokes before the two were shown the door. Of course by then, America had taken to proclaiming the strength of his people and patriotism and Canada had started on his role as America's landfill and no one in the restaurant was sorry to see them go.
When the car broke down in New York, the brothers were forced to take public transportation to get to the car rental place. America had skipped on, saying hello to everyone on board and dragged Canada to the very back. Canada had to bite back a quip about the schoolboy mentality of his brother, and decided that an argument was not a healthy thing to engage in in such an enclosed space.
Canada had kept his eyes forward and was making sure that they did not miss their stop when he realized America was waving frantically out the window. Perhaps he had seen a friend, but when this behavior persisted for several blocks, Canada had to interject.
"What on earth are you doing?"
"Playing Friends and Enemies!"
"What is that?"
"It's a car game. You wave out the window and if the person who sees you waves back, they're your friend. If they don't, they're your enemy. It works best on a school bus, since there's a door at the back, but whatever. Wanna try?"
"It's a stupid game," Canada sniffed.
"Yeah, well, I bet I've got more friends than you."
So with a flurry of sore arms and a couple of flipped birds, they were politely discharged from the bus and had to walk a couple of blocks to get to the car rental place, which stop they missed completely. Of course, that was no excuse not to continue the tirade, much to the chagrin of innocent passerbys who had to tolerate grown men waving hands in their faces.
The twins learned it was not wise to play the peen game while waiting in line for the disgruntled tellers at the banks, which unknown to them, had already had a bad day before they came in. They learned that "Security!" was not a shout for a new game, nor were the men dressed in black at the doors tolerant of any jokes America made about talking dogs and aliens from outer space.
Somehow they had just found a theater that still showed reruns of classic, chic-flick movies. Canada had been unwilling but America thought it was a great way to bond and he found himself seated next to his brother in the darkened theater. Not only was America making comments about the movie (sadly, Pride and Prejudice) but at moments of tense, romantic silence, he broke out in lines like:
"Dude, where's my car?" And
"Luke…I am your father." And
"Precious bodily fluids." Plus
Throwing popcorn at the screen, and subsequently raining the buttery snack on the viewers below.
Chortling at the actors' accents.
Sneezing loudly (and fakely) during dramatic moments.
And when the movie finally ended, Canada was sure for all his 'All my people love me!', America had made a few enemies of his own. And perhaps it was him who burst out in Oh Canada! in the middle of a particularly tearful monologue.
When they walked into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Ohio, Canada felt someone tap him on the shoulder, but when he turned, he saw no one who acknowledged him. Not that this was anything new, but he smacked his brother across the head anyway.
"That's not funny!"
"Yeah, but watching you is."
So when America bent over to read a plague commemorating one of his precious rock and roll bands, he saw two fingers stick out from the top of his head and spent the rest of his time trying to give Canada a wedgie. Which resulted in a headlock. Which resulted in a piggy back ride. Which resulted in the two of them being politely escorted out (again) while singing Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go, I wanna be sedated!
"Do you know what I don't understand?"
"What don't you understand, Mattie?" America asked as they poked around the vendors at Disneyworld. He was itching to buy a Mick Mouse hat, but he was two dollars short and he didn't know if he wanted to hear Canada's speech about exchange rates again to borrow a few bucks.
"That song that you like. Your ringtone."
"What? Party in the USA?"
"Yeah. What is that about? You realize that you can't play that song anywhere out of your house?"
"Whatever, man! It's great! So I put my hands up, they're playin' my song, the butterflies fly away…"
"Noddin' my head like yeah, movin' my hips like yeah…"
"Answer your phone, Alfred."
Slipping his Apple brand cell phone out of his ass pocket, America pressed the green accept and put the phone up to his ear. "Yellow? Oh, it's you. What do you want, old man?"
Canada glanced at him before buying a large cup of Dippin' Dots and refusing to share a bit with his brother. America pouted at him before continuing his discussion on the phone. "I'm at Disneyworld, you jerk! What do you want? No, I'm not just having fun. I'm with Mattie. No, I do not want to ask him something! Or borrow anything! Can't we just hang out! He's my brother!"
"Miles Cyrus or Joany Brothers?" Canada asked.
"I'm going to have to go with Justin Beebs," America answered on the fly, as if he wasn't talking to England in the first place. "No, England, I don't mean I want him to be my new Secretary of State. Why are we talking about this?"
"One time," Canada prompted, knowing his brother's unbreakable habit.
"Your world, is my world, and my fight is your fight!" America sang, in uncharacteristically high octaves. Yes, his brother was never one to not sing when he heard one part of a song lyric. Even when it wasn't part of the conversation, like when England had said, "I believe…" one time and America had broke out in, "…I can fly!"
Canada fished the phone out of America's hand and pressed it to his ear, hearing England fume while America kept singing. "Sorry, England, he's a bit predisposed to start with."
"I don't suppose you can stop him?"
"I don't think I could make you break out in Hot squared Heat?" America asked as Canada sped up the turnpike. "Like you made me sing Justin Beebs and Miles Cyrus."
"You would be right," Canada agreed. "Nor Celine D."
"Damn. How can that happen? We're brothers."
"I don't see you befriending a bear."
"I thought Tony made up for that." America stared out the window, before suddenly screaming and nearly making Canada turn the car into the next lane. "You have a store called the Beer Store! Canada, go! Go there!"
"I was under the impression you had them at your house too," Canada grumbled; America always was like this, as if his house was someplace foreign and not in any way connected to his larger house. "But yes, I suppose I could bring you there."
When they stepped in, America inhaled deeply, as if he could take in all the alcohol with one breath. "Don't tell me this is Germany's claim on your lands."
"No more than those little prices on the back of your books that say 'US $12, Canada $15'."
"I knew it!"
They had promised to help each other avoid the worst hangovers the next morning, so they agreed to force-feed each other cups of water and munchies through the night to help the alcohol's effects lessen. But when Canada couldn't see straight enough to pour even an ounce of water, he knew they were in trouble.
"Oh say can you see, by the dawn's early light…"
"Shut it, eh?"
"What so proudly we hailed, were so gallantly streaming…"
"Kumajirou, feel free to scratch him. I won't blame you."
Kumajirou, who America was hanging off of, growled menacingly.
"Whose broad stripes and bright stars...ouch, Mattie, your bear attacked me."
"I ran out of Advil," Canada groaned, barely reaching the cupboard to see that indeed, the bottle was empty, before slumping down next to his brother on the kitchen floor. "So we're in massive shit tomorrow."
"I think I have rabies now."
"It's your fault, eh."
The bottles of cheap American beer were already in the trash and they had gotten started on the imported cans from Germany.
"Dude, your face smells."
"Maybe you would be talking to my feet then, eh."
"That's not…well, no difference."
"That's horrible, America."
"Horrible? Is it? Horrible?"
"Not in the mood to make those kinds of jokes, America, eh."
"Isn't it fun?" Canada watched groggily as two Americas tackled two chairs in his line of vision, apparently mistaking the wooden seats as his brother. "Having this kind of bonding time? I love it! I love it!"
"Yeah, I guess," Canada sighed, closing his eyes so five Kumajirous would stay out of his eyes. "But we're staying in my house next time."
America would have objected, but he didn't have time before hurrying to the bathroom to puke.
Note: I hope you'll excuse my cracky crack. But I wanted to write something about the N American brothers! Some of these games I have played. I avoided using names to avoid lawsuits. But I have high respect for all artists mentioned. Except maybe Beebs. And Miles. And Joany. Think long and hard before you ask what the peen game is (it does not involve touching, just shouting. A word). Perhaps if I knew more landmarks of Canada than just the small city I visit, I would have put this on both sides of the borders. But America would hate me then. Review, please.
PS if you caught the Strangelove reference, you get 100 points, redeemable for a smiley face.