Just some completely random plotless crack I wrote up in my spare time. Very fun to write, this was. ^^
the disclaimer goes here: hetalia doesn't belong to me.
When England opened the door to the meeting room, the first thing he saw was Russia quite obviously creeping on a quite oblivious America and Latvia shivering in the corner, clutching at something that looked-
Never mind then.
England closed the door and began walking calmly back along the hall. That was something he never wanted to see, right up there on the list with Germany ruling the world and France singing karaoke to Sexy Back.
Well, he supposed, that was the danger of arriving early. One saw things that should never be seen or spoken of thereafter.
He wandered down the halls, wondering what to do until the meeting started at three. It was only 2:40, and he wanted to get somewhere that was safe.
There was a disused room at the end of an annex hallway that had been a function for some expo, long ago, and the way the old lights kept flickering and the layer of the dust on the floor were comfortingly out of the spotlight. England meandered down the hall and pushed open the door cautiously. No one was inside; just a few old desks stacked in a corner and a large cloth covered object.
England tugged the cloth off the shape eagerly, but instead of the Mirror of Erised that he had been hoping for, it was just an old map of the world that, disturbingly enough, had 'Russia' printed in small, neatly foreboding letters over every country.
England flung the cloth back over the map hastily and decided to forget all about it and to start building up his nuclear arsenal.
He sat down gingerly on a desk chair, sending up a cloud of dust that swirled around him. There were no windows in the room, and the single light gave it the air of an interrogation room such as those that appeared in America's mafia movies so much.
England sighed and leaned back against the back of the chair. It was so peaceful, so calm here, that he almost expected America or France or someone to barge in at any moment and destroy his rest.
He waited, tensed, just knowing that it was going to happen soon.
No one came in.
England relaxed again. Alright, so maybe he was being paranoid. No one was going to come into the room.
The door smashed open, swinging wildly on its rusty hinges. England jumped about three feet into the air.
A tall figure in a long robe-type thing stormed in, then twisted and shouted back out the door, "WELL, MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO BE PART OF YOUR STUPID EUROPEAN UNION, ANYWAYS!"
Then he slammed the door, and stood there a minute, staring at it.
Then, he slumped forward, smashing his forehead against the door, and leaning there, with a groan. "Damn…"
Turkey (for of course it was Turkey) jumped, and turned, looking at England, surprised, through his mask. "Oh, England! Didn't see you there!"
"Erm…why yes. I was just…"
"No, no, it's alright, I'm going," Turkey bowed elegantly, and, straightening his mask, swept out of the room, with a wave.
A little shell-shocked by the random appearance and prompt exit of the Eastern nation, England tried to relax again on his chair, but found that now he was too jumpy to sit, and so got up and paced a bit.
England had perfected the art of pacing long ago, sometime during the War of 1812, he remembered, and so now he just shut down his brain and let his feet move him in agitated circles.
Presently, his wandering brought him over to the old blackboard on the wall, and he scooped up the ancient and cracked piece of chalk on the ledge and held it, poised over the slate.
For a moment, a few choice phrases flashed through his mind, a few quite nasty, that he was pretty sure would be safe in this rarely entered room, but he passed over them, and went instead with writing out "Something is rotten in the state of Denmark" on a mere whim.
He sighed, put down the chalk, and dusted off his fingers on his jacket.
England checked his watch and found that it was five to three. He ought to get going.
The island nation stepped out the door, and carefully closed it behind him.
He strode down the hall and got into the conference room. Germany was sitting next to Italy, patiently letting the babbling nation happily play with his hair, a pained expression on his face.
England sat down between America and France and a second too late wondered why he had thought that that particular place would be suitable, as the Frenchman immediately winked at him and America poked his shoulder.
"Hey, hey, Iggy! You got chalk dust on your jacket!"
England brushed it off, irritated already.
Germany called for half-hearted order.
England could feel his brain cells frying at the constant chatter that America was streaming into his ear.
Next time, I'm coming late and I don't care who yells at me.
Some years later.
A certain Nordic country stared in indignation at the dusty chalkboard. "What! Lies! Blatant lies!"
Norway sighed and patted Denmark's shoulder, comfortingly. "I'm sure he wasn't really thinking of you. Just quoting."
"There's absolutely nothing wrong with my country! Goddamn it, I'm the happiest motherfucking place on Earth!"
"I'm sure you are."
Keep trying, Turkey; I'm sure you'll make it to the EU someday.