"What, were you expecting something?" Iceland said weakly.
There was a beat of silence before Iceland found himself tackled into a hug.
"Ari, Ariariariyou'reokayyou'reokayyou'renotdyingohgotte gottegotte" Lilli squeaked, slowly melting into a small puddle of squeals and indecipherable rapid German.
"Liechtenstein, calm down!" Iceland wheezed, some soot squeezing it's way out of his lungs. "I'm fine, I'm not dying but I will be if you don't calm down. Shhhh." he mumbled, hugging her back.
Iceland released Lilli somewhat reluctantly and cast a glance around the room. Anxious eyes were turned towards him, as well as some confused ones from the few humans in the hostel who quickly lost interest.
"Erm..." he said. "Good news first, or bad news?"
There was no reply.
"Ok, well, the good news is that I'm not going to die or choke on any kind of bodily fluid or horrible gas." he said, rather sarcastically. "The bad news is, the volcanic eruption has caused a massive ash plume that's heading straight for Europe and the British Isles which you know, but the real bad news is that it's not going anywhere for a while. America, Japan, you're fucked," Iceland said simply. "The rest of you can likely get trains and ferries down through Europe to get home, or you could if they weren't full of people trying to do just that." Iceland finished.
There were groans from around the room and a few muttered swear words in various languages.
"How long will it be, then?" asked one of the Mediterranean nations.
"Fuck if I know."
"I have s'm better news." offered Sweden from the corner, his gravelly voice startling some people. "I've got a house in Stock'olm not too far from 'ere. 'S got plenty of space f'r all of us." he said. Finland nodded.
"Right! And we can take Ari there to get better!"
"Bullshit!" cried Denmark from the doorway. "Can you handle this?" he called, reaching outside and flinging a handful of snow at Iceland. He spluttered pathetically, before grabbing a pair of shoes and hobbling out the door after the cackling Dane. Italy could've sworn he said "It's on, bitch."
They were silent for a few moments before America cried out, "What the fuck are you waiting for? Francis, Arthur, Wales, and 'kraine, you're on my team. Berwald, Tino, Nor, you go with Ari and Den, Germans with Hungary, and Japan, Ireland, Italies and Scotland are the last team. 10 minutes to construct defences and build ammo, let's go go go!" he hollered. The nations rushed out the door, jackets in hand and separated into their teams.
"Ok, here's the plan of attack," Alfred whispered, drawing with a stick in the thickening snow. "We launch our missiles at Japan's team first. We'll have to watch for Scotland because he's got a good throw, but the rest are shit and Ireland's probably dazed from being whacked in the face with Wales' mythology book. Thank you, Dafydd, moving on. We take them out, then we move on to the Germans, who are dangerous be-"
"Fuck that!" Arthur cut him off.
"Just dodge the Nordics. Prussia and Hungary will be too busy snogging, Switzerland will be shielding Liechtenstein from the obviously pornographic scenes, so the only one left is Germany and he can't abide the cold. They're useless unless by chance they are not snogging. It's the Nordics you have to watch." Dafydd said, England nodding in agreement.
"Quoi? They can't be that good." France said.
"You're such a fuckbrain, Francis. We are fighting against the guy who's name is literally Ice and the four other guys who have lived in the snow for most of their lives." Arthur said with a deadpan, receiving a high five from Ukraine next to him.
"Fuck it, just build snowballs!"
"Do we really need a plan of attack?" grumbled Germany. "It's a snowball fight."
"Yes!" Prussia hissed. "This is crucial! If you lose, your manhood will be forever gone!" he said. Germany scowled. Everyone had seen him baking and of course, the only apron he could find was pink and flowery.
Not like his own apron was much different.
When he stopped glowering at the ground, Prussia was running through the strategy.
"Ok, so Hungary, you deflect snowballs with the pan. Everyone knows the rules; get hit three times and you're out. Luddy, you can make big snowballs or something, you're not throwing anything. God your aim is shi- fuck, let go of the hair! Ok, ok. Liech, you do what you want and me and Swiss can throw. Alles gut?"
The Nordics were so fucking sorted. This was in the bag. Hell fucking yes.
"Ok!" Denmark bellowed, several nations jumping.
"On the count of three, the war begins!"
"One..." he said.
"THREE!" he squawked. Immediately, snowballs came flying from every direction. International cursing could be heard as snowballs hit their mark and defences were smashed down by Finland's little ice balls.
As predicted, with the sluggish Ireland and the two useless flailing Italians, Japan's team was by far the worst. Scotland did indeed have a good throw and he used it to great effect, almost taking out France.
France's team itself wasn't bad, with Ukraine and France working together to make as many snowballs as possible. England, America and Wales would throw them.
The Nordics were definitely the best and there was no question who would win. Finland crushed his snowballs into ice and threw them hard to cause pain, and while the targets were distracted with their sore limb, Iceland and Denmark took them out with two snowballs. Sweden smashed defences with his huge half snowmen and Norway made more ammo. They batted away the snowballs with their hands, like a cold game of volleyball.
By the end of it, only the Nordics and Hungary were left.
"Do you surrender?" yelled Denmark
"Never!" she cried.
"Nordic Five, attack!" he shouted, and at those words five huge balls of compacted snow hurtled towards the woman across from him. Three seconds later she was buried.
"Well that was interesting." Prussia said bluntly. The pile of snow began to shuffle across the ground and towards the hostel, and the rest of the nations followed suit.
"Ok, 's ev'ryone packed up now?" Sweden said from the corner. "It's a b't of a walk fr'm 'ere to m'house so I hope you're all up t' it." he said, hoisting his own bag onto his shoulder. He turned to check behind him. Everyone was packed up and ready to go, with the exception of Alfred, who, in all fairness, did have to carry Iceland over there. He was still pretty weak from all the eruptions and the general coughing-up-blood-smoke-and-fever thing that came with have dozens of active volcanoes.
"Ok one second! Just one more I swear!" America muttered for the third time. "Aaaand done!" he cried triumphantly, tossing his bag to Germany, who had volunteered to carry it. He hoisted Iceland onto his broad back, wincing at how hot he was, and tramped out the door.
"Right then, which way is it?" Romano asked, twiddling a lock of his hair. "It's cold as..." he glanced at Liechtenstein. "heck, out here. Yeah, heck." England snickered.
"This way." he said, pointing down the alley Sweden was heading down. The pack of nations began to follow, chatting (bickering) with each other loudly, gaining more than a few stares from various tourists and citizens alike.
"You know, for a tiny guy he sure is heavy," America grunted, shifting Iceland on his back. The pale-haired boy was fast asleep on his back, dressed in only a thin t-shirt and puffin-patterned pyjamas to avoid overheating. Even outside in three inches of snow he was sweating, which caused Norway to worry a lot and of course, be teased by Denmark. Liechtenstein was anxious too but nobody dared tease her about fancying Iceland because Switzerland was simply so trigger-happy. Even if he didn't have a gun on him right now.
However, Francis was all set to tease England about his crush.
"Aaangleteeerre!" he sang. England groaned.
"If you're asking me to carry your bag again I swear I'm going to-"
"Non, non, Arthur-" England winced at the mangling of his human name "I am simply coming to tease you about-"
"I fucking knew it."
"Ho, but you would like to talk about it, oui? Everyone does!" France said, slinging an arm around England's skinny shoulders dramatically, gesturing wildly.
"You're worse than Alfred."
"I'm right though."
"...Yes." Arthur scowled.
"Ask them." France said, prodding the grumpy Briton's bony ribs. "Dieu, you're skinny."
"Shut your face."
"I have four brothers and I grew up with you, you know I can do this all day."
"Fuck me with a spanner, are we there yet? You said it'd be a short walk!" grumbled Scotland. "The air stinks like shit out here."
"I can't smell anything, the hell are you talking about?" America asked, puzzled.
"Mmm." came a low mumble.
"English? Or Swedish? Perhaps fucking Lithuanian? I'd like a coherent sentence, thank you!" Scotland snapped.
"Calm yer tits, Scottie, yes, we're here!" Ireland quipped, pointing ahead. "Look!" he said, pointing ahead.
Ahead of them a large, snow-coated house stood proudly against the darkening sky. It had to have at least seven bedrooms, that was for sure. A metal swing stood in the garden and a small pen of chickens flapped anxiously at the party of nations. A rocking chair swung lazily in the wind as it rested on the porch. Polished windows glittered in the sun, brightly coloured curtains obscuring the rooms inside.
"Sweden! Finland! You're back!" cried a young, Essex-accented voice from the attic window. Before anyone (bar England, Sweden and Finland) could identify the speaker, the window slammed shut. They made their way up to the door and it swung open in front of them.
"Wow, you brought company." Sealand said, his face a deadpan but his eyes excited. "Come in then!" he said after a brief pause, gesturing wildly to the hallway.
The nations filed in, one by one. Sealand received many hair rufflings and cuddles as they all poured in. I'm twelve physical years old, he grumbled to himself. I am not cute. But hey, free sweets.
"Christ in a sidecar, how many are there?!" Peter exclaimed, staring up at Finland.
"Let me see..." he said, counting on his fingers. "Nordics, Germans minus Austria, Italy, South Italy... Japan, Hungary, America, all the British guys plus Ireland, and... Ukraine, I believe. So nineteen in all!" he replied cheerfully. Sealand looked a little queasy.
" Do we have enough room for nineteen pissy nations?" he asked.
"Language. And yes, of course!" he replied. "The girls can share a room, as can the Germans, the UK brothers and Ireland, and-"
"Bored now." Sealand giggled, walking off to socialise. On the internet.
In the living room, people were deciding who would purchase and cook food for everyone each night they were here (The UK brothers being excluded due to their inventions of laver bread, haggis and black pudding.) So far it seemed to be decided that there was to be no fast food, except perhaps fish and chips. Cake would be baked each two days and once a fortnight was "do what you want" night. This, of course, was boring Prussia to tears.
"Yo, Sea." he said. "What are you doing?" he asked, throwing a pale arm around the nearly-nation's shoulders and bending down to look at his screen. "Looks pretty boring."
"Why are you doing it?" he asked.
"Nothing else to do."
"Bullshit!" Prussia exclaimed loudly. He quickly covered his mouth. "Fuck, sorry, but really. You have a huge kitchen, a box of crayons, and like sechs-hundert Länder hier!" he said, arms flailing as he spoke.
"I guess I could make a cake..." Peter murmured thoughtfully.
"Now hold one, aren't you practically English? Do you think that's a good idea?" Prussia asked cautiously, stepping back.
"If I'm honest, England and his brothers aren't bad at baking." Sealand said truthfully.
"Ok, I'm putting this to the test. ENGLAND!" he hollered. "Get your ass to the kitchen, Sea has a hypothesis here!" Prussia beckoned to him, and a short blonde man rounded the corner. French cursing could be heard and a few nations followed him to Prussia to see what was going on.
"Hypothesis is an awfully long word from such a dreadfully tiny brain." Arthur snickered, a smirk edging its way onto his lips. "What do you want? I thought you were scared of my food? Last time you ate it you went into a short coma."
"Sea here says you and your brothers actually have the ability to make edible confectioneries. Discuss." the albino said, motioning to the small cluster behind him.
"'course we can!" Wales cried. "We can prove it! In't that right, Scottie?"
"You bet your albino ass. How about we do it now?" agreed Scotland.
"Oh dear Lord..." England murmured. "Okay, what are we doing?"
"What the fuck." America groaned.
"Ok, this is bad." Alfred said through a mouthful of Spotted Dick and custard.
"You ate half the pudding you deliberately irritating dunderfuck."
"Shut up, you bitch."
"What's even going on in here..." a groggy voice came from the doorway. Heads snapped around, grins spreading on faces.
"He lives!" cried Denmark. Iceland gave a weak glare and made his way to the window seat. He flopped down and pushed the window open, hanging a leg out of it lazily.
"It was hot in my room and the window got jammed." he groaned, rubbing sweat from his eyes. His brow glistened with beads of sweat, and small particles of black soot dusted the front of his shirt. He grabbed a chunk of snow from the window, balancing it on his forehead and closing his eyes.
Cold, ice cold water began to drip from the snow and down his face, and Iceland breathed a sigh of relief. He could feel ten pairs of eyes watching him closely, but he had reached the point where he didn't care. He was melting. Melting.
He exhaled a small puff of ash and black smoke, scowling a little and casting his violet eyes upon one of them.
"Got an eyeful?" he snapped. They turned away sharply, going back to their various business.
He moaned pitifully. Every bone in his body ached and his skin blazed with heat despite the snow melting on his face. His usually pale skin was flushed pink and his lovely white fringe was darkened with soot.
"Fuck volcanoes..." he mumbled to himself, rubbing at a sore spot on his chest. He pulled his shirt off, tossing it out the window with a loud curse, and allowed himself to roll off the windowsill and into a snow bank with a soft thump.
"Dramatic." commented Denmark, staring after him.
"Fuck you, I'd like to see you coping with that shit." Romano said.
"Ah." he mumbled, and shut his mouth.
All was silent for at least half an hour, save for the buzzing of the T.V in the background and the sound of Romano and France playing Go Fish until Scotland sniffed the air.
"Does anyone smell that?" he asked.
"The smoke." Scotland said. "Doesn't anyone else smell it? I've smelt it since we were in the hostel,"
"I can, just." England and Ireland said together. They stared around the room waiting for a response, but were met with a room of bewildered faces.
"Really? Can nobod-" Scott began, before pulling a strange face and clutching his chest.
"Alba?" Wales said, concern in his voice. "Scottie? Scot, you're scaring me." he said, dark green eyes widening.
At that moment, Scotland started to cough. He coughed again and again, pulling out a white handkerchief and hacking into it for a good five minutes. When he finally stopped, a small cloud of black smoke rose from the hanky and soot was smudged around his face.
"Iceland, where did you say the ash plume was blowing again?" he croaked. England's heart dropped.
A/N: Yay cliffhanger to motivate me to continue writing
I'm not even going to try and formulate an excuse for not updating for like 300 years.
So hi, I'm back. This is really just full of bullshit because I wanted to write. A lot. So I did, plus I felt the need to make a decently long chapter to try and compensate for God knows how long of being off the face of the Earth.
Some things you should know:
Ash plume did indeed blow down through the British Isles
English puddings are brilliant
All Sweden's furniture is from Ikea
This could be better
Iceland is lying shirtless outside right now
Yes I will update soon
You can say thanks to Julchen M Liddel (Hatsu Yukiya) and KokoLolo for making me update. They were actually very happy look at what the two lovelies said:
Me: guys im doing it
the volcano thing
Lolo: CAN YOU HEAR THE ANGELS SING
Me: omg you guys
Julchen: SINGING THE SONG OF FUCKING UPDATES
IT IS THE MUSIC OF THE PEOPLE WHO NOT BE FORCED TO WAIT
Julchen: *death metal scream*
I love them. Ok bye no,w please rate and review thank you all.