Oh, hey, look! It's chapter two! Sorry this took so long, folks. I literally wrote this entire chapter while I was at work, on my iPod. It looked like it was longer than the first chapter, until I typed it up on my computer. Go figure. Anyways, now that school is coming to an end for me, this should go a lot faster. This week will be finals and then I have a week off and THEN I have a summer class I'm taking. But it's only Drawing II. It'll be fun.
The day had started off so promising.
Canada had come down a few days before the meeting to visit. This morning, he got up early and decided to make breakfast. So America woke up to the delicious scent of his brother's freshly cooked pancakes. There wasn't much he gave him credit for, but America would hand that one to him on a silver platter, if he could.
Not that he couldn't make them! He did a pretty good job, even Canada had said so. But there was just something about the way his brother made them… Or maybe it was just the fact that America didn't have to make them himself. Instead, he got to lay in bed with the sun shining through the window warming his face while his breakfast was being prepared for him.
Yeah, America loves it when Canada visits.
He then spent the rest of the day going through and organizing the box of old comic books he found in his room. And a day filled with limited edition Batman and Spiderman comics is a day in heaven.
Now, he's standing in Macy's next to Germany and Italy with his own personal hell arriving in half an hour. Any worries he had about Prussia were gone. He probably was, too. He had most likely moved on to terrorize some other place. America figured he'd have to remember to ask the President to give medals to the poor people who have to put up with the ex-nation.
Germany, however, was still worried.
"Well, America, it has been nice seeing you but, we really need to go."
"But, Germany! We can't leave now! Romano's going to meet us here!" Italy's tone turned almost whiny.
"Italy, that's in 30 minutes. We can search the other stores on this end of the mall while we wait"
A beeping noise interrupted them. Italy looked down at the phone still in his hand and, after examining the screen, passed it back to its owner.
Germany glanced at the screen and then began to fiddle with the device.
America just watched silently. He wasn't really in the mood to talk anymore.
The German finally got the phone to do whatever it is that he was trying to make it do and his face melted into a look of alarm as he had a wide-eyed staring match with the screen. That caught America's attention.
"What is it?" he asked, reaching for the phone.
"Ve~ It's a picture message from Prussia."
"Really, huh?" He took the phone from Germany to get a look at the picture.
He promptly decided that Prussia was still something to worry about.
The picture was blurry but you could clearly see Prussia wearing one of his old hats from a couple hundred years ago. Or it was a replica. Either way, he looked ridiculous. It clashed horribly with the black t-shirt he had on. America figured that was his favorite shirt; he was wearing it every other time the two came in contact. It had something to do with the yellow chick on the front, but America didn't understand, nor did he care to.
But there were a couple of other, more important things in this picture. Like the two beer bottles in his hands, or the red stain of alcohol on his face, or even that poor, frightened girl that Prussia had pulled into the picture with him.
Even more worrisome was the place they were at. It was a little shop that he recognized from somewhere in the mall. Well, that was just great. Not only was he still loose in the mall, he also looked like he was completely drunk. Perfect.
Germany took the phone back from America and looked to Italy.
"We have to go now."
"But if you know where he is, why do I need to go? I could just stay here and wait for Romano and you could go get Prussia and meet us here."
He clearly did not want to go get Prussia. America couldn't blame him.
"Italy, I might need your help. You see… he's a bit drunk, and you know how difficult he can be sometimes."
Germany clearly did not want to go alone. America couldn't blame him either.
"He's terrorizing unsuspecting women."
"But, Germany, you can handle him better than I can!"
Ok, Germany, seriously, are you trying to bribe him? America half hoped that the Italian wouldn't actually fall for that.
The other half of him didn't particularly care.
"Ja, mein bruder is harassing women outside a gelato shop. Will you come with me?"
Germany was actually starting to sound desperate. America wasn't particularly familiar with a drunk Prussia, but from the way Germany was acting, it probably wasn't any better than his normal attitude, which is difficult enough to handle regularly. He really felt sorry for the other blonde nation.
"Cosa? Che è terribile! Come os a fare qualcosa di simile! Io non lo perdonerà per questo!"
America wasn't entirely sure what just happened, but Italy was suddenly worked up enough to start spewing Italian. The Mediterranean nation looked at him with one of the most serious expressions on his cheerful face that America had ever seen. Well, since WWII, anyway. Even Italy hadn't managed to be all sunshine and daisies in the middle of war.
"America, we need to go. Ciao."
And, with that, he charged off into the mall, leaving Germany to say a quick good bye to their fellow nation and hurry after him.
America stood there watching them rush back out the way they had come. It was a very different scene from when the two had walked in. He shook his head a little as their retreating forms disappeared in the clusters of cosmetics stations.
He sighed heavily and turned back to the task he had been working on before this whole fiasco had started. He separated the chains and hung them on their stands for them to be picked up and left in strange places by careless customers. Only for him to have to repeat the process afterwards. Such was the nature of his job.
As he rounded the corner into a remote area of the section, he found an elderly woman looking into a glass case. America took in a deep breath and put on a smile. He put the last couple of necklaces down and walked over to her. This was his favorite part of the job: helping people. He didn't know much about fashion, especially jewelery, but he tried his best anyway.
He said a friendly good bye to the woman as she left with her purchase and he turned back to the register. He typed in his ID and code, and pulled up his sales goal for the day: $612. Of which he had made 9%, meaning he still had $550.80 to go. He looked around the desolate section, waved a little to his coworker when their eyes met, and looked back at the screen incredulously. How in Hell was he supposed to make $550 when the place was empty?
He sighed and canceled out of his statistics. Having nothing else to do, he wandered mindlessly around the area, barely dodging displays and counters, contemplating all the ways in which Romano was going to make his life as difficult and/or humiliating as possible. He was distracted from his miserable thoughts by a loud, heavily accented voice coming from the escalators.
"Like, can you believe she said that to me? She totally doesn't know what she's talking about. I look fantastic in pink!"
Because, seriously, how can you have an entire fic set in a mall and NOT include Poland? (I almost forgot to include him when I was doing the small amount of planning I did for this. *shot* )
lol. Can anyone guess where I work? Have I made it obvious yet?
Also, once again, I apologize for the terrible Italian. Google Translate. *cries*
CANADA. I NEVER PLANNED ON PUTTING YOU IN ANY PART OF THIS FIC. WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?