Welcome readers to my first chaptered Hetalia fic "La Tortuga de Oro"! (Or "The Golden Turtle" if you're too lazy to pull up google translate in another tab.) This is gonna be mainly USUK, with a side helping of Spamano, PruCan, RusLat, and so much more! Actually, some pairings may develop/change as it goes. It's still a relatively new project of mine, so really, anything can happen.
Rating might go up for later chapters. Just a heads up.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or the initial idea of Russia being a doorman. I borrowed that from Liete (a fantastic author whose work I love), but I don't think she'll mind. The plot is completely different from the story she has him a doorman for. However, I do take pride in knowing it was my idea to have Belgium and Netherlands work at the front desk together.
Staring up at the building before him, Arthur Kirkland still wasn't able to believe that soon he would be able to call La Tortuga de Oro—home. The words depicting the name shimmered down at him as he stood just outside the taxi he had taken from the airport. He gazed in wonder up at the half hotel, half apartment complex, but all luxurious. Almost like a cliché, there was a red carpet sneaking underneath the glass doors that went further back into the lobby. The front of the building was glass up until about the sixth floor, the rest of the external walls consisting of marble and golden details.
It was still dumbfounding to know he was going to be working and living here now. The hotel-apartment complex was so fantastic that the Englishman was, needless to say, having a difficult time accepting the reality of his good luck. Because, who gets such a cushy job the moment upon graduating college?
"Bloody hell…" muttered Arthur, his green eyes wandering over the expanse of the building, a small grin etching its way over his face as he thought back again to the random e-mail he had received merely a week ago stating that he would be receiving a letter enclosed with plane tickets to New York. Sure, he could've refused the rather forceful job proposal, but his lease was about to end on his London flat and he didn't have anyone else clamoring to get him to work for them.
And that's how he ended up standing before the luxurious La Tortuga de Oro. He had to say, it lived up to the hype of the phenomenal reviews it had received all around the world.
Yeah, Arthur was still having trouble knowing he was capable of good luck when he was so used to the typical bad.
"I can be of help, da?" Arthur jumped at the cheery voice suddenly addressing him, and spun around to find a tall, platinum blonde haired man standing beside him.
"U-Um…I'm here to bartend…" Kirkland winced at how stupid and unprofessional that sounded. Though it's not like he went to college to be a bartender, but he sure as hell didn't want to discredit his amateur abilities before his first day. Especially when he was now stranded in a foreign country without enough money to get back to good ol'England.
"Oh! You are new worker Mr. Beilschmidt talk about! Nice to meet you!" The man smiled widely, but Arthur got the distinct feeling that running was a better idea than shaking the man's now outstretched hand. However, he wasn't British for nothing.
With as much confidence as he could muster, Arthur shook his hand and replied, "Ah, yes. I'm Arthur Kirkland."
"Ivan Braginski, I am doorman during day and sometimes bartender at night." Braginski had yet to let go of Arthur's hand, and the Brit was beginning to doubt his gentlemanly choice. "Would you like me to show you inside?"
"T-That's okay, I'm sure I'll manage. Besides, you're probably too busy…" The Brit decidedly ignored the blatant lack of people walking in or out of the doors. 'Of course the restaurant inside wouldn't be busy until nightfall,' thought Arthur bitterly at his poor word choice. He really needed to think things through more…
"It is no problem. I find you Mr. Beilschmidt, da?" Having yet to let go of the Englishman's hand, Braginski pulled Arthur forcibly into the building, despite the sputtering he was doing about leaving his luggage in the taxi without paying his fare.
"Do not worry. I will get bellhop to fetch your belongings." Arthur was about to object (he didn't want his new coworkers thinking him lazy), but Ivan had already shouted, "Raivis!"
"C-C-Coming!" came a hesitant response and soon a short teenage boy came before them, his blonde hair only obscured by his little bellhop hat. He bowed and said, "R-Raivis Galante, at your service!"
"T-Thank you…" mumbled Kirkland when it seemed Braginski wasn't going to do anything but stare hungrily at the boy.
The Brit's words snapped the doorman out of his stare, and he said sweetly, "Raivis, please take Arthur's things to the room prepared for him. He needs to go see Mr. Beilschmidt now and can't do it himself."
The boy looked past Arthur and Ivan and saw the two small suitcases sitting forlornly at the curb, placed there by the taxi driver, who was standing there irritably tapping his foot. Raivis's eyes were still on the luggage when he wondered out loud, "Why didn't Mr. Ivan do it himself? They look light and it's not like he's doing anything…"
Arthur jumped at the weird 'kol' sound exiting the, what he was now presuming to be, Russian. His first thought was that Ivan was choking until he realized that it seemed to be more of a malicious laugh directed at Raivis along with a murderous stare.
"Eh? Raivis thinks that way? Then how about we take Arthur's luggage up together…"
"A-Ah! M-Mr. Ivan! I-I didn't mean to o-offend!"
Easily now, Arthur detached himself from Braginski, who had begun making the disturbing chuckling-esque noise again as he approached the stuttering teenager. Positive to some degree that his belongings would make it to his room, Arthur couldn't say he was as sure as to the boy's wellbeing.
"Poor chap," whispered Arthur pityingly as he walked briskly to the front desk (a gentleman never runs), happy to have escaped the off-putting Russian. Placing his hands on the desk lightly, the Englishman asked politely, "Can I see Mr. Beilschmidt?"
His question seemed to meet a wall of silence from the man and woman sitting behind the desk. The man was sleeping in his chair, head thrown back, while the woman was intently, yet dully, staring at the computer in front of her. The only tell-tale sign she was awake was the fact that her hand moved the mouse periodically. Frowning a little at being ignored, Arthur cleared his throat to try and attempt to get their attention again.
The man only shifted in his sleep and the woman merely glared at him before returning to her game.
Arthur felt his frown deepen, annoyed that Braginski, though disturbing, had been more helpful than the people who would be the most useful.
"I was told to see Mr. Beilschmidt upon my arrival," he told them flatly, trying not to express his vocal frustration; he knew it was too late to keep it off his face.
The woman, who had blonde hair that was held back with a black headband, sighed as she finally met his eyes. The man remained as he was.
Kirkland blinked in confusion.
"There's more than one?"
Rolling her green eyes in exasperation, she replied, "Why else would I ask you which one, you idiot?"
Shifting uncertainly, he murmured, "Sorry…I…I don't know which one. I just know he hired me to work at the bar…"
"That makes you the 'awesome' Londoner that asshole was boasting about arriving this morning." It shocked Arthur to hear the man speak when he had thought him asleep. The man's stance hadn't changed, but his eyes were opened enough to look Arthur over. "You don't really look that 'awesome'…"
The woman cocked an eyebrow and glanced over Kirkland herself, nodding slowly. "I agree. Looks fairly average to me; well, except for those massive caterpillars above his eyes."
"Please!" Arthur managed to surprise them and himself with how desperate his voice sounded. He flushed lightly and continued on, softer, "Can one of you tell me where to find the Mr. Beilschmidt who hired me? Please?"
"He's on the second floor last I heard. Bothering the kitchen help again, or…something..." The man's reply was monotone, and his glazed over green eyes seemed to be barely focusing on the spot where Arthur stood.
Tilting his head slightly at them, Arthur said, "Thank you for your help," and walked off in the direction of the stairs. Behind him, he heard the two employees begin bickering about something, though he thought he caught the word 'chocolate' being mentioned.
Now that he didn't have forward Russians or unhelpful front desk people to bargain with, the Englishman was finally able to fully comprehend the interior of the Tortuga.
The color scheme of the entire building was obvious. Paint cans of white, gold, off-white, and red with a greenish tint had practically been thrown everywhere inside of the lobby. The floor was lain with a magnificent marble tile, the sole exception being the red rug that led to the lounge which lay at the very center of the ground floor. The lounge itself was decorated with gold and red furniture with the occasional potted fern or plant sitting about. As he walked further into the decorative lounge, Arthur realized that you could see every single floor from the direct center of the ground floor.
As he was looking up, he noticed that the ceiling was high and rounded—an expensive and detailed (almost obnoxiously so) chandelier dangling from the dome's center. The lighting was, in general, a warm golden glow that seemed to radiate from the inset lamps that sprouted from the walls. Glancing behind him, he saw that the front desk was on the left side upon entering the doors, a fact he hadn't really seen when being drug in by Ivan.
Eyes forward once more, Arthur saw that behind the lobby's lounge was his destination: two staircases. Both on opposite ends, and both leading up to the first and then second floor. A glass elevator was positioned between them.
Nearly completely dumbfounded at the sheer immensity of it all, the Brit steadily made his way to one of the staircases. Climbing the stairs slowly, he began to wonder if he would ever get used to the grandiose nature of it all.
The moment he saw that there was an in-house florist called 'The Scarlet Pimpernel' that took up about half of the first floor, he severely doubted it.
A/N: Oh, and I'm going to be going off to college in about two weeks, so if all the sudden there's nothing-school happened. I don't know exactly how often I'll update, but I'll try to post...weekly? That sound fair? I may post more frequently or less depending on how good of a flow I have on the plot.
I also use pretty much every country in this fic. Most won't be appearing a lot, but they'll be mentioned. I had to make up human names for those who didn't already have them, and I tried to use the ones I've seen a lot in other works. I'll tell you if it isn't obvious.
And yes, the name of the flower shop can be a direct allusion to the novel by Baronnes Orczy, but it isn't. It was originally Primrose.
da (Russian) - yes
Reviews may make Raivis's "punishment" less severe.