Thoroughly wearied by the journey overseas, he decided to sit and rest for a moment. A strange sense came over him. This was it. In a few moments, he would meet with the Englishman, and they would travel the last stretch of road. The finality of it all made him rather light-headed. Determination, curiosity, and excitement vied for domination over his emotions. That feeling was the only thing keeping him going; forcing his mind to stay alert, and his eyes on the lookout for the tow-headed Englishman.
After a few minutes of searching, worry started to creep in. There was no sign of the man. He stood back up to see better. To his dismay, another train stationed, and the thickness of the crowd increased immensely. A short, round, business-like man pushed by with an air of importance. His rotund belly jostled two children that were clutching each other's hands. The traveler's green eyes filled with concern as the children slipped through the crowd, but after they broke out to the edge of the mass of people and joined an old, frail couple, he let his gaze wander some more. A robust woman with overly rosy cheeks bellowed over the noise to a man that was probably her husband. His eyes followed them to the exit of the train station, then looked up at the clock above the doors. It read a quarter past one. Didn't the Englishman say he'd arrive ten minutes after the hour? He tried to tell himself that he was being impatient. The man was only five minutes late. But . . . what if the traveler was at the wrong train station? If that was the case, the his location was far from where he wanted—and needed—it to be. He could always ask one of the passers-by which city they were in, in his broken English. But that would mean moving from his spot on the bench and having to risk missing the Englishman if he was, in fact, at the right destination. This was quite a predicament.
Luckily, he didn't have to make the had decision and all of his doubts about the matter were put to rest when he saw a familiar flash of blond hair come through the entrance. The Englishman craned his neck, for he wasn't the tallest man in the world, and his green eyes flashed with purpose as he began to look around. He finally spotted the Lithuanian traveler, who conscientiously beckoned him over with a raised arm.
"My apologies," the Englishman said in his crisp accent once he reached the man by the bench. "Bloody traffic is surprisingly thick for this time of day. Mr. Laurinaitis, I presume?" he asked, making sure he had the name right.
"Taip, that is correct, Mr. Kirkland."
"Wonderful. We should be going, now. My car is waiting outside. I assume you are ready?"
The man nodded and held fast to his suitcase handle as they waded through the hordes of people, which thankfully thinned as they got outside. He slid into the back seat of a black car, followed by the Englishman.
The duration of the trip was spent in silence, save the few directions given and short, polite chat that the Englishman shared with the driver of the car. The muffled sound of the city through the windows' glass and the rumble of the engine as the car pulled away from the curb, slowly pushing through traffic, almost sounded like a foreign lullaby to the exhausted traveler. When it finally picked up speed down a highway, the steady motion seemed to be trying to rock the Lithuanian to sleep. It felt horribly impolite to fall asleep, but the trip was to be a long one, as he knew, and to stay awake for the whole ride seemed hardly imaginable. After a few miles of fighting the oncoming wave of unconsciousness, he finally gave in. The Englishman kindly pretended not to notice the man's head loll forward in slumber.
"—ke up?" The Lithuanian's eyelids fluttered as he caught the end of the question, though the people conversing didn't notice.
"I'm not sure if he will. He was quite tired," he heard the Englishman say.
"Oh? Well, if he's all tuckered out, then I don't really want to wake him."
A snort. "How . . . considerate of you."
"Well I am the—"
"None of your nonsense. I found someone willing to work for you, so you owe me some seriousness, in the very least. And don't roll your eyes at me!"
"Here—" Two hands gently leaned the Lithuanian forward in his seat, followed by arms wrapping around his chest.
"Oi! You're not planning on dragging him out, are you?"
"Of course not! You take his feet."
"Git! You know I know that you know you don't need any help whatsoever with carrying him into your house."
"First of all; what? And second; shh! You don't want to wake him, do you? 'Cmon," said a voice much louder than the Englishman's. The man continued with pulling the traveler out of the car.
"Hey—!" The Englishman exclaimed as he clasped his hands under the backsides of the Lithuanian's knees before his legs dropped to the ground. There was a moment when he made a strange, strangled sound, as he fervently tried to hold back a grunt from the sudden weight in his hands. (Grunting was highly ungentlemanly.) "Git," he managed to gurgle out instead.
The response was a hearty laugh that seemed to shake the other man's whole figure. The Lithuanian could feel it reverberating through the man's lungs and into his back. His eyelids fluttered once more, and his head flopped to the side before he was able to look up.
"Hello, there," said the American's friendly voice. Two bespectacled eyes smiled down at him, matching the toothy grin lower on the face.
He blinked mutely back at the man carrying his torso. If the situation were different—normal, perhaps—then he would have greeted him back. But his situation seemed anything but normal. "Um, could you . . . " he started, groping for words and trying to arrange them into a coherent sentence. It was difficult to wake up to listening to an unfamiliar language, let alone try to speak it. "Could you—please—put me down?"
"Yeah, sure, buddy," the American said easily. He glanced over to the Englishman, nodding his head in his direction. "After you, Artie."
Green eyes narrowed with irritation, but he complied by carefully lowering the legs until the Lithuanian's feet were on the ground. Then he stood up, brushed his hands against his slacks and turned back to his car, taking the traveler's suitcase from the driver, who was politely waiting in silence.
The American gave a small push, sending the Lithuanian to his feet. "Leaving already?" he asked, grabbing the suitcase being held out to them.
The question was met with a frown. "Yes. Though . . . I suppose I should formally introduce you two." He brought both men to face each other. First gesturing toward the disoriented Lithuanian, he announced, "Alfred, this is Lithuania, also known as Toris Laurinaitis—" his gesture turned to the direction of the American "—and, Mr. Laurinaitis, as you well know, this is the United States of America. Or Alfred Jones."
"Alfred F. Jones. Don't forget the 'F'."
"Alfred F. Jones. You'll now be working for him. I dearly, dearly wish you a good stay." With that, the Englishman shook the Lithuanian's hand, giving him a pitying look, and ducked into his car.
Though their bodies were still turned toward each other, the head's of the two on the sidewalk swiveled as they intently focused on the automobile burbling out of sight.
"Aw, don't mind him. He's just a real Mrs. Grundy," Alfred said with a bat of the hand. "My place is great! The cat's pajamas for sure! You're going to have a really fine time. I know it. 'Cmon, I'll show you to your room! A personal tour of the house for my new friend Toris," he declared, giving a firm pat on the back. The Lithuanian lurched forward slightly and stared up at the American as he bounded up the porch steps. " You coming?" he asked over his shoulder.
The Lithuanian shook the dazed expression from his face, only for it to be replaced with one of awe and realization. He grasped the railing with a clammy hand. His stomach felt tickled and clenched. This was it. As his foot made contact with the first porch step, he entered a new world of hope, freedom, and one where cats apparently wore pajamas. He walked up and into his new life as America's housekeeper.
AN;;; Okay. Hello, all. This is my first attempt at a fan fiction, so if it's horrible, I'm terribly sorry. D :
Um . . what to say . . .
Well, if you haven't noticed, yet, the characters mentioned so far are Lithuania and England. I think I'm going to stick with using human names. Or maybe not. I haven't decided.
The story is pretty much going to be about Lithuania's outsourcing and his time at America's house. More so, my interpretation of it.
WORDS THAT ARE NOT ENGLISH:
Taip (Lithuanian): Yes
Mrs. Grundy (American): A priggish or extremely tight-laced person
Cat's Pajamas (American): Something splendid or stylish; similar to bee's knees; The best or greatest, wonderful
EDIT Ah . . . hahaha. Well. The new part was supposed to be the start of the first chapter, but me, with my indecisive mind, decided to just add it to the prelude. Mostly because I've decided to just make this a compendium of Liet's experiences at America's and not really in chronological order, because I don't exactly have the time to research and scrutinize every little detail of the decade.
Oh, yeah—now America is one of the characters mentioned, too. I guess you could include the driver, though he isn't a country . . .
That said, I hope you enjoy! And a review, maybe? I'm not going to ask yo uto be nice, or anything. I just want your honest, truthful opinions. : )