Disclaimer: Of course I do not own the Hetalia characters, those are the copyright of Himaruya Hidekaz, I only play with them.

Acknowledgements: Thank you to the following for reviewing, following and alerting this story: ljepurple6, djlnjdsndjlsnsdj, xXWingedDreamerXx, Lovethehumor101, EchoTasteLightZim, jinxcat99, EJM513, Blanckary, Herr Benzadrine (great user name by the way), MarauderMoony21, missnoodlechan, Petalnose, RAINBOWwORLD5678, Yami-no-Oujo, THE-complete-zelda-fan, Cathrag, Daughter of the Wise One, Hotel of California, DeviousDragons, Frustration, WinterLake25, JuniperGentle, icantthinkofausername, Beelzineff, PhantomPrussia, Nekolandia flippyanimegirl, Azamiblossom, Waverripple of Team Sunrise, button-pusher, Shrapnelgirl, Dogsrule, Chattie 98, Timisafunsucker, Irishmaid, Becky 999, Pedro-is-Madi12, ZeroLuver567, Lilypad The Fourth, Teh Awesome BeastMODE6 (if I've missed anyone please shout). Thank you for all your kind reviews.

Apologies for long hiatus.

Chapter 11: Hullabaloo

Clip clop, clip clop. The slow hoofsounds of Farmer Smith's carthorse echoed along the High Street.

"Prussia… Prussia… God told me to beat you up.. I don't know why…" Elizaveta muttered to herself from the saddle. She felt much better now she was on a horse, a crossbow slung across her shoulder.

"Hey! Liz you old tart!" Feliks yelled from the door of the beauty salon.

With unerring accuracy, an arrow shot past him and embedded itself on the wall behind him.

"Okay… we'll do lunch," Feliks called and slammed the door shut.

"Lock ze door, lock ze door!" Francis all but screamed.

"Oopsy too late!" Feliks said with relish as Officers Kirkland and Jones barrelled in.

"We were told there was a fray!" Officer Jones said, his hands on his hips and trying to look tough. He drawled the final word and tried to extricate his police baton from his belt.

"Gay?" Feliks laughed.

PC Arthur Kirkland's eyebrows twitched, he waved his cutlass at Francis, "You French ponce, prepare for your Waterloo!"

Francis squeaked. "Mon ami! Mon brave Angleterre! I thought you were coming to save me!"

"Haha! I told you he fancied you, dude Arty!" Alfred laughed, slapping his colleague on the back.

Arthur Kirkland, the pillar of the community, a man who thought Gardeners World and a mug of Ovaltine was all the excitement he needed on a Saturday night, was currently looking less and less like an English police officer and more like a reject from a very bad amateur dramatic society production. "Napoleon rot in hell!" Arthur yelled as some kind of war cry.

"Yes, he was a fruitcake as well," Feliks said.

"Mon cher!" Francis protested.

"Hey! There's trouble down at the Co-op store!" Peter told them, his eyes wide. Nothing this exciting had ever happened in Little Snoring. Not even when some local teenagers had (in Officer Kirkland's words) 'gone wild and kicked over some dustbins'.

"Dude! This is just great, c'mon, man!" Officer Jones, who had just got his baton out and was trying to switch his walkie-talkie on, pulled Arthur away.

It was little Peter's next statement that shook Arthur out of his fixed intention of stabbing Francis…. "Someone's just thrown one of the Post Office's hanging baskets at the bank!"

"How dare they? This is a Britain in Bloom village!" Arthur shouted, utterly appalled and they piled out of the salon.

Francis emerged, dusted himself down and flicked back his blond hair, "Ha! I the great Le France… I mean er… Francis… lives to fight another day."

"…Cower another day," Feliks muttered.

There was the sound of splintering glass and the awful sounds of "kolkolkol" reverberating around the town.

"Sounds like big ass Russian dude kicking up shit to me…" Feliks said wisely and in an absurd American drawl and, ignoring his cowering colleague and with distant memories nudging at him. He ran upstairs, returning with a Polish made rifle and a grim expression, he set off down the street to rescue 'his' Liet.

Feliks was correct. The 'big ass Russian dude' was indeed 'kicking up shit'. He'd chased Gilbert into the Co-op store, slamming past the oblivious store assistant who was, with the speed of a tortoise in a coma, stacking shelves. Herakles turned, several moments too late as Ivan tore past him, "Good afternoon…" (it was still morning) "…we sold out of vodka yesterday…" he began.

But by the time he'd finished his sentence, Ivan had already crashed through a pyramid display of value baked beans.

"Kesese fat commie bastard can't catch me," Gilbert panted and planted himself behind a display of Pampers nappies, brandishing his weapon - the Waterblaster 2000 - fully loaded with diet soda.

He fired a stream of coca cola at the huge approaching bear-like figure of the Russian.

This did nothing to slow Ivan down, in fact it did the opposite. Ivan barrelled into the small Prussian with the force of a locomotive.

"Fuuuuck!" Gilbert yelled. Being squashed under a 200 pound plus Russian florist was not his idea of a good day.

Ivan tried to sit up with the aim of embedding his piece of bathroom piping into Gilbert's head and stopping that incessantly annoying grin forever, but he was distracted by the announcement on the tannoy.

"Will Ivan Braginski come to the checkout please - his mummy is looking for him."

Ivan's head shot up, "Mama Russia! Rodina!" he yelled. He jumped to his feet, using Gilbert's chest as a launchpad and ran, his pipe forgotten, to the checkout.

"Haha! What a loon! What a baby!" Alfred all but yelled as he, a wide-eyed Peter and Arthur (now brandishing a dustbin lid as a shield) burst into the shop.

Russia slammed him aside, "Mama Russia?" he said frantically.

"Nah man, but you are under arrest!" Alfred said with a flourish and pulled out his handcuffs.

"By Jove, I'll sort out the evil within this worthy establishment if my name's not King Arthur of England!" Arthur chimed in.

"Which it's not," Alfred said.

Germania depressed the button on the tannoy and nodded at Herakles with satisfaction.

"Poor boy… I hope his mother finds him soon," Herakles said while slowly replacing the baked bean pyramid.

Germania sighed and turned to Arthur and Alfred, trying to ignore the desperate scrabbling sounds coming from the freezer section as Ivan threw packets of frozen peas and fish fingers around, looking for his 'Mama'. "You are England and America," he began.

"Yeah man! Sure we are! I knew that!" Alfred yelled.

"You knew?" Germania was astounded.

"'Course I know who I am, I'm not stupid!" Alfred said, utterly appalled.

"But… but… why didn't you say?" Germania said.

Arthur stared at one and then the other.

Peter shoved Arthur out of the way, "I'm England!" he yelled.

"This is a game show, man! Reality TV! I've won, haven't I?" Alfred said and turned to look at Arthur, then back at Germania and then Herakles.

Arthur turned to Peter, realisation slowly dawning, "You little …"

Peter turned and fled as Arthur ran after him, "You bloody knew! Everyone bloody knew but me!" England yelled. "Bloody wankers!"

Herakles shrugged, "Nations eh?" and continued stacking the baked beans.

"Mama Russia?" Ivan was getting more and more frantic as he searched the store. He stopped dead when he saw Gilbert stood at one end of the aisle. The Prussian stubbed out a cigarette, pumped up his water cannon and took aim.

Russia roared and was about to charge, when Alfred stepped neatly to his side and clipped on the handcuffs.

"Kesese!" Gilbert yelled and was promptly thrown into a shopping trolley and wheeled haphazardly out of the store. "Fucking 'ell, man! I don't need no rescuing… I got fat commie bastard right where I wanted him!" Gilbert yelled. "And now he's cuffed…"

But handcuffing Russia was not a good idea…

Over at the pizzeria…

"Fratello! We're not pizzeria owners!" The speaker, or should one say, the shouter, was Lovino Vargas. He burst into the pizzeria, pausing long enough to see the piano teacher's weird but strangely attractive wife firing arrows at the hair dressing salon. He also almost fell over two arch-enemies - Yao Wang and Kiku Honda - who were sat on the kerb smoking strange-smelling cigarettes and discussing whether the moon had a 'bunny living in it' or something. Lovino didn't wait to hear the details.

"We don't own the pizzeria?" Feliciano began to panic, "But Luddy told me that I kept paying the rent and didn't make any more 24 inch pasta pizzas and give them away to every pretty girl who came in and stop buying so much ice cream from Mr Icy and stop making my pasta cheaper than Mr Wang's and not give so much free Espresso to that pub landlord… but he's always drunk and he needs sobering up and Erik asks me very nicely for cups of Espresso and I sometimes get bottles of wino from him very cheaply and…" All this was said at 100 miles an hour.

"No Fratello! We're Italy!" Lovino said, shaking his brother.

"We're Italiano!"

"No! You're Veniziano and I'm Romano!"

"He is right, little grandson," came a voice from the kitchen. Grandpa Rome, his big cheery grin still in place, his hands expertly handling pizza dough, smiled at them. "You are my prodigy, the future of the great Roman Empire, future Italian Nation… brave, proud, invincible…"

"Well… I don't know about that…" Romano faltered.

Grandpa Rome raised an eyebrow.

"We're more vincible… than invincible…"

Feliciano looked even less sure, "We are very good at driving and customising cars and eating pasta and kissing pretty girls…" he said hopefully. He omitted that they were also good at manufacturing white flags.

"Anyway vodka bastard is losing it down at the doctor's surgery. It looks as if your boyfriend and his idiot brother are being pounded into the floor," Romano told his brother with some relish.

"Luuuuuudy!" Feliciano ran out of the pizzeria, "I'm coming to save you…" he shouted.

"Fratello!" Romano yelled after him.

Grandpa Rome shrugged and picked up the ringing telephone with floury hands.

"Si? I mean er Feliciano's Pizzeria? Can I help you? Do you want pasta or pizza delivered to your door by our most excellent and polite delivery service…" (Grandpa Rome emphasised polite as if to convince himself) "… we also do the very best pizzas in all of Britain … even the Emperor Constantine would like our pizzas… we also do the best pastaaaaa in all of Britain… but I do not know if Constantine liked pasta… I never saw him eat pastaaaa" (Grandpa Rome paused here, completely ignoring the other person on the end of the line) "… and we do garlic bread… but that is not very good if you want to kiss the ladies…" Grandpa Rome was about to continue when he was interrupted (most rudely he thought later) by the 'customer'.

"Rome! Rome! Will you listen to me?"

"Si si… I'ma waiting to take your order!"

"I don't have an order…"

"Oooh… I'ma so sorry, but you won't get pastaaa this good from Mr China down the road… his noodles are not very good… and he uses too much soy sauce."

There followed a long flow of Russian expletives from the other end of the telephone.

Grandpa Rome held the phone away from his ear and then when it quiet, put it back, "Ah Mama Russia! I know you have always loved me! You haven't? Ah well… I know that one day you will be mine… Ancient Greece and Ancient Egypt are just my exes… I know they love me but … General Winter? He will? If we went on a date?" Grandpa Rome's eyes widened in horror and he pulled a tea-towel around his shoulders and shivered and then finally listened to the speaker. He nodded and said 'si' quite a lot, shook his head, laughed and hurriedly stopped laughing when the speaker obviously told him off and then crossed himself when the speaker mentioned 'General Winter'.

Down the High Street, Gilbert found himself being shoved along in a shopping trolley by his brother, he'd managed to grab some packs of beer as Ludwig wound his way out of the Co-Op and down the road. They passed Alfred and Arthur (the latter shouting something that sounded like "Bloody Krauts") and paused long enough to observe Roderich Edelstein arguing with a traffic warden who was attempting to put a parking ticket on his mobile scooter.

"Bloody commoner! Do you know who I am?" Roderich all but screeched, "I am the great Austrian Habsburg Empire, I am over 900 years old…"

"Bloody fruit and nutcase…" muttered the traffic warden as he wrote out the ticket and then raised his voice, "In that case you'll be able to afford this £50 parking fine won't you?"

"50 pounds?" Austria's voice rose even further.

"Darling? Roderich? Husband of mine?" came a sweet voice.

Roderich turned and looked round and then up … at the woman sat on the horse, pointing a crossbow at the traffic warden.

She was about to fire when the horse reared up, its eyes wide with fright as what appeared to be a large grizzly bear came thundering out of the store.

Elizaveta jumped off her horse and hugged Roderich, ignoring the shouts of "Kolkolkol" receding into the distance and the fainter yells of "Faster bruder… push faster!"

"Lizzy! This ignoramus of a human is trying to fine me…"

"I know dear! Do you have your sword with you?"

"Sword? Of course not, but I do have this…" Roderich pulled out a 12 inch ruler.

The 'grizzly' that scared the horse was of course Russia, still in WW2 mode, now handcuffed to Arthur who was dragged along behind him - yelling.

"Alfred! America! Bloody well unlock these bloody wanking handcuffs!"

Russia was oblivious to the fact that he had an extra burden hanging onto his left arm. As Russia was right-handed this did not seem to stop him from punching a motorist through the man's windscreen and dragging him onto the bonnet and yelling "kolkolkol" into the terrified man's face.

The man's transgression? He made the fatal mistake of honking his horn at the blockage on the High Street caused by a runaway horse, an abandoned mobility scooter and the reunion between a 1000 year old former Empire and his ex-wife.

Ivan then grabbed a nearby hanging basket and threw it roughly in the direction of the receding figure of Dr Beilschmidt and the shopping trolley containing his brother/receptionist. Ivan's aim was off, and the hanging basket sailed through the window of the nearby bank.

The village of Little Snoring would not win this year's Britain in Bloom competition.

Ivan rubbed his blond head with his left hand (lifting PC Arthur Kirkland up as he did so) and wondered why he could hear - in stereo - voices shouting at him that he was a 'fucking psychopath'.

He turned and started in surprise at the English policeman dangling from his left hand. "Wut?" he asked.

"You're a fucking psychopath, and you're under arrest."

This was the wrong thing to say to Ivan. Russia did not agree he was a 'fucking psychopath'. He was repelling the Nazi invaders from his beloved Motherland. And he certainly was not under arrest. He crushed the handcuffs with his free hand, picked up Arthur and, quite considerately one might think, shoved him into the police car. Arthur was about to say "thanks" (with some sarcasm) but Russia hadn't finished. He slammed the car door shut with such force the metal buckled and then, pulling a parking meter out of the ground proceeded to hammer on the car bonnet. In Russia's head, he had just disabled a German tank.

Over at Little Snoring's one and only hotel, the Turkish owner Mr Sadiq was trying his best to calm the frantic bride.

"You are a little early, Miss erm…"

"What do you know? Have you ever been married? Brides are supposed to be early!" Natalya waved a knife at him, and tossed her veil back. She looked even more beautiful and deadly than ever.

"By two hours? I do not think…" Mr Sadiq began to say, but was silenced by the imposing school headmistress, 'Miss Rodina'. Besides, Sadiq thought, why wasn't the cookery teacher and the headmistress at school? He also didn't think the unfortunate groom - who Sadiq felt extremely sorry for - would ever turn up. But he certainly wasn't going to tell her that.

"You're not paid to think, you're being paid to host this wedding, Mr Sadiq," the headteacher told him severely, the air around her seemed to grow colder.

Sadiq was about to interrupt and say he hadn't been paid yet but was himself interrupted as Natalya pulled her swathes of white lace around her (many had raised eyebrows at her choice of white) and stomped very unladylike over to the wedding cake. "What in the name of Ded Moroz, is this?!" she yelled.

"Erm yes… The Vargas brothers brought it and I thought…" Sadiq had raised an eyebrow at the sixteen tier 'cake' but had said nothing. He just assumed these strange Slavs just had odd taste in food.

"It's made of pizza!"

"With lasagne as the top tier… Interesting," Miss Rodina said.

"And where's my chief bridesmaid?" Natalya said, and batted the Bulgarian waiter/bellhop's hand away from fiddling with the miniature bride and bridegroom that topped the 'cake'. The 'bridegroom' sank further and further into the cheesy topping until just its head showed…

Nobody answered.

The chief bridesmaid was still at Eduard Von Bock's neat little house, wrapped in his plaid dressing gown and cooking what seemed to the quiet librarian who watched her with wide eyes, yet another fantastic food course. They'd done nothing all day but eat and drink and have sex. And Eduard Von Bock honestly thought he had fallen out of life and into one of the novels in his library. He ignored the telephone which rang twice - no doubt his employers asking where he was. His mobile phone had also bleeped a few times, but he'd ignored these text messages as well.

There were actually three messages (Eduard had never had so many in one day before - in fact he'd never had that many in one week). One was from his friend Tino "Need your advice about Peter." (Eduard would not have had a clue what to advise about Tino and Berwald's adopted son, he concurred with PC Kirkland that the boy was a criminal in the making.)

Another was a garbled text message from the proprietor of the Axe and the Dwarf "Esty my old mate, help! Being attacked by Swe. BTW U is a Nation." It's perhaps as well that Eduard did not read this message as he would not have understood a word.

The third was from his bank - telling him that his bank account was not just overdrawn but over its overdraft limit. This last message would have caused much alarm. Eduard Von Bock was never overdrawn, ever.

But in fact, all the residents of Little Snoring were overdrawn. Every single person.

The reason could be summed up in two words - Vash Zwingli.

Over at the only bank in town, things were getting heated.

"I want to withdraw all my savings." The town's mayor sounded and looked desperate. He whispered to his polar bear who was hiding in his briefcase "We're getting out of here, Mr Kimajero. It's getting too rough for me. I failed." (Animals were not allowed in the bank, unless they were guide dogs, Matthew Williams doubted he could get away with saying Mr Kumajero was a guide dog.)

He filled in the withdrawal slip, signed it and shoved it across the counter and then looked up to find a rifle butt in his face.

"No-one will be withdrawing any money but me," the bank teller told him.

"Now look, Vash…" Matthew began.

"No, you look… in fact, look out of the window and tell me what you see?"

Matthew sighed and crossed to the bank's window. He noted that the rest of the bank's staff were out - probably out to lunch, there was no-one else in the bank, the deranged bank teller had locked the doors as he'd come in and he'd obviously just interrupted some bank robbery in reverse.

"Well… it's a nice day and the snow's melted…" he said, lamely.

"Look again," Vash said, completing the electronic bank withdrawal of all the branch's accounts into his own foreign account and waving his rifle at the Mayor.

Matthew sighed, "Well, it's nice to see the Police doing their rounds…" he said with a sigh.

His twin waved at him from the street below "Yo! Canadia! My main man!"

"I have no idea what he means," Matthew said quietly, "Canadia? Besides how the bloody hell does he know?"

"Go on, Mayor Matthews, what else?"

"Well, PC Kirkland has had a nice time at the Primary School dress rehearsal…"

(PC Kirkland was currently trapped inside a car and banging on the windscreen for help. PC Jones was watching with delight, still in the strange belief he was in some kind of reality TV show, and kept waving at what he thought were hidden television cameras.)

"… and I see Roderich and Elizaveta are getting along much better. Such a nice couple…" Matthew winced as Elizaveta was clearly berating Roderich for being a 'wuss'.

"… and it's nice to see Ivan taking a stroll around the village…"

Mayor Williams made it sound like the village florist was sauntering down the High Street whistling happily like a normal, happy person on their day off. Which, of course, he wasn't. Whistling happily, nor was he a normal, happy person.

"It's nice to see the High Street looking so…" Mayor Williams then gave up, he didn't have any words to describe the utter carnage that was now the main street in Little Snoring.

"Take me with you!" he suddenly shouted at Vash and leapt across the counter, shoving the rifle out of the way. "Wherever you're going, I'll go… I've failed as a Mayor. Nobody but a complete imbecile could believe that anyone could control these degenerates."

"No! Back off, or I'll shoot!" Vash threatened.

"I don't care!" Mayor Williams said, "Take me with you!" Matthew lifted Mr Kumajiro up, the small polar bear cub never failed to make people's hearts melt. "For his sake, not mine…" he said.

Vash hesitated, looked at the cute little face of Mr Kumajiro and nodded. He then said, "But you have to do exactly what I tell you and don't touch the money!"

He looked out of the window, expecting armed police to arrive any moment. And then remembered that this was Little Snoring, the only police within 30 miles were Officers Kirkland and Jones. The former appeared to be stuck inside a police car which was being shoved backwards and forwards as if it was nothing more than a toy car by the big Russian, whilst the latter appeared to be talking to an ATM…

In actual fact, Alfred thought he was talking to a 'hidden camera'. "Yeah man! Exclusive interview with the winner of 'Who Wants to be a Nation?' that'd be me… I knew all along and I didn't tell anyone. I thought Arty had twigged when he went a bit mental that time I sat on his crumpet and he said something about the Gettysburg address - wherever that is - and then I thought dude Den would figure it out, but really he's a bit stupid yer know…" (here Alfred, still ignoring Arthur's shouts for help, twirled his finger at his temple.) "Dude Gilbert never twigged either… what a goon! I mean I even called him 'Pru' a coupla times… it was a complete blast, man! So how much have I won?"

"Alfred! You big wanker! Heeeeelp me!" Arthur yelled. His police car was being rocked from side to side by Ivan, who was getting more and more enraged.

"Gotta go, catchya later!" Alfred told the ATM and spun round. He didn't really relish confronting the florist on his own. Ivan was a good few inches bigger and wider than him. Despite Alfred's superhero-like strength and speed (much of it in his own head), he didn't relish being in a one-to-one fight with the huge Russian (despite the fact that he often referred to Ivan as a 'pansy'). But he had a plan.

Author's Note:

Sorry again this has taken so long to write. A Day In the Life Chapter to be published soon.