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PROLOG TO MADNESS
JULY 1ST . . .
Though it was just days before his birthday, America was depressed. He was another year older in 3 days. He was gonna be ooolllldddd . . . but, he wasn't sure how to celebrate this year. He had a lot of ideas bouncing around his head, but none that really stood out, none that hadn't been done before. Tony wasn't being too helpful.
The Grey was sitting in front of the TV, playing a video game, while Alfred moped at the dining room table.
"Just ******** think of something and do it," he said, his voice multilayered and odd. Alfred plunked his head down on the table.
"It's not that easy!" He said, whining. "Everything's been done before!"
"Then just don't do anything," Tony said, shrugging his odd shoulders. America whimpered.
"I can't do that either! I wanna have a party!" He said, feeling worse than ever. The prospect of not having any party was worse than having a lame party . . . "I . . . I just need something that hasn't been done before, that's all . . ."
Tony didn't turn around as America racked his brains. He clutched at his head and went "gah!" throwing himself forward, with effort. Tony did get up and walk behind him, holding a lightbulb. America's eyes snapped open, as Tony held the bulb above his head and it lit up.
"I've got it!" America said, looking to Tony, who didn't seem too amused. "I'll have a sleep over." Tony's expressionless face didn't betray the fact he was pissed. The lightbulb bounced off of America's forehead.
"You made me waste a completely good lightbulb moment, you putz!" He said, waving his arms. America forged ahead, racing to the computer to type out the invitations.
"Okay, um, slumber party. Herm. How do I make this totally rad idea even more awesome so that all the people I really wanna show up, will show up?" America muttered, cracking his nuckles, staring at the blank Word Perfect screen. Tony wavered towards him.
"How many people do you want to come?" He asked, settling back towards the Play Station. America nibbled a fingernail, thinking. The act was a little difficult for him.
"I dunno . . . I guess just my really close friends. Hmm. Er . . . but, just to be nice, I'll invite everyone!" He said, marvelling at his own genius. "I mean, people would be pissed if I didn't invite them. But, even if they don't come, they'll still say they got an invite and won't be mad at me! It's perfect."
Tony was back to playing, not even paying attention anymore.
"Yeah, you're a real ******** genius, there, Al," he said, trying to beat Left 4 Dead . . .
Now that America had a plan, he set to work making it sound interesting. He went through several different fonts and names, before, finally, settling on a name for the event. He addressed the 47 envelopes himself and sent them out that night, rushing to the post office before it closed, paid for the stamps in pennies, nickles, and dimes, and then rushed home. He was pearched by the phone, waiting for the RSVPs to come rolling in.
MEANWHILE, IN CANADA . . .
Matthew was not a graceful creature, on the best of days, but on ice, he was a god. So, sliding on the thin blades that were his skates, he managed to catch the puck with his stick and launched it into the net with surprising speed. He raised his stick above his head and skated a lazy victory lap.
"And Williams scores! That's the gold for Canada . . . d'aw poor Jones is crying . . . mwahahaha!" He said, uttering to himself. "And the crowd goes wild for Williams!" He turned and skated back, headed for the puck, but he was distracted as Kumajirou approached, looking a little lost. Mattie sprayed ice as he skid to a stop, the polar bear looking weary to cross the ice pond to get to him. "What is it, Kumajiri?"
The bear had a letter in his paws. He sat with a plunk and opened it.
"It's addressed to some guy named Matthew Williams. Any clue who that is?" He asked, his claws threatening to tear the letter itself. Mattie blinked and sped forward.
"Hey! That's mine!" He said, snatching the envelope back. It was in Alfred's messy scrawl, but Mattie could read it well enough. "Hmm . . . 'You're invited to . . . ' Huh?!" He had to re-read the header once or twice before he finally was able to say it and comprehend. "'America's Super Mega Awesome Sleep Over Karaoke Dance Part Extravaganza . . .'"
Mattie thought he could hear snow melt.
"Did Prussia write this?!" He asked, staring at the paper. "Well, ya know, if this is his idea of a joke, I'm just gonna call up Al and RSVP this dorky party! Yeah! That way, he'll get what's coming to him, trying to make me feel bad with this crap!"
Mattie stepped off the ice and was suddenly not so graceful. He fell forward, thanful for the snow. He sighed and rolled onto his back, pulling his cellphone from his pocket.
"Hello, Alfred?" He said, after dialling his number and getting a response after the first ring. "I got your letter. I'm coming to your party! So nyhh!" He said, sticking his tongue out and shutting his phone. He laid in the snow some more. " . . . I'm cold . . ."
MEANWHILE . . .
Mexico was lounging in a hammock, tied between two trees. A bottle of tequilla was nestled behind him, and his hat was pulled down over his eyes. It was an easy day, a lazy day. Such was a day in fair, fair Mexico. Matre de Dios, Carlos loved his job. He could hear the sound of a spluttering motor approach and wasn't surprised when an old motorcycle, a mail carrier mounted on it, pulled up along side. He held his hand out for whatever it was he was going to recieve.
"For you, senior~" The guy said, handing him an envelope, and then speeding off. Carlos opened one eye to look at the envelope.
"Eh?" He said, opening and reading the contents. "Jesus, America," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Got enough adjectives, you fruity American bastardo? But, eh . . ." Carlos shrugged and threw the letter over his shoulder. He's probably just inviting me to be nice, he thought. He's just putting on a show for his Ally buddeHEYWAITASECOND!
Mexico sat up and blinked. He grinned. He could finally get back at that pandejo! For taking Texas! For getting mad when he crossed the boarder and being a jerk face! Mexico rolled out of the hammock, tucked the tequilla under his arm and stuck his pinkies in his mouth, whistling.
"Carmen!" He called. Within seconds, a black stead galloped up to him. He climbed a-top her, clicking his tongue. "To town, senora, HA!" And so, he galloped into town, to the little used gas station and, dismounting Carmen, he was already grinning at his fabulous plan. "I need to use the telephone, por favor!" He said, to the attendent, who fetched the old thing and handed it to Carlos. He dialed Alfred's number and then waited. It only rang once before Alfred picked up. "Hola, Alfred! I'm calling to RSVP your stu . . . your party! See you then!"
Carlos hung up and smirked, putting his hands behind his head.
This called for a shot~
 Blakaize · Wed Apr 07, 2010 @ 02:01am · 1 Comments |
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