[fanfiction] The Checklist
Title: The Checklist
Author: didgeridoodle
Rating: T for swearing.
Genre: General/Bromance/Humor
Characters: America, Australia.
Pairing: None. Platonic!America/Australia.
Word Count: 4,392
Summary: On a whim, America and Australia go all out for a full day of hijinks and misadventures. It was just them, the adrenaline, and then, the world.
Notes: This baby is written for haro as a part of hamburger_st 's Christmas in July fanworks exchange event. I kind of experimented with an entirely new style of writing in this one; I do hope it works out. Please enjoy, everyone! C:
The Checklist
People say that the craziest of misadventures are deliberately planned.
Blokes try their damnedest to come up with The Checklist. You know - that long List that details all sorts of debauchery that the human mind is capable of. It’s that List that riles up that hot-blooded, fire-like feeling everyone from the ages of fifteen to forty seems to crave. Sounds about right, huh? Contained in that List are naughtiest, dirtiest, raunchiest things that someone with an inappropriately creative head can come up with.
Barhopping. Babe-watching (Or guy-watching; whichever you prefer, love.). Shopping ‘til wallets bleed dry. Drinking ‘til our brains swim in beer. Rocking out. Those are the usual casualties of the Checklist.
Time, resources, and energy - the human imagination is boundless and wild as it can get.
Logic simply follows that Nations like me are more than capable of doing this, too.
When I saw America’s Checklist, I shouldn’t have been surprised at the lineup he’d come up with. I skimmed through the list with a teensy little bit of trepidation. He’s the United States of America, after all - the Land of the Free? You should be scared of the implications of that title.
After reading through all of the neatly scrawled words, my heart does that crazy little thumping like before I hit the surf. I quirk my eyebrow in amusement. So, America wants to go through all these, huh? It should prove to be interesting enough.
He smiles at me with that shit-eating grin of his, teeth dazzling with a taunting kind of white, and a roguish wink of his own.
“So, Australia! You think you’re up for the challenge?!” His words leave an echoing ring of finality - like it was a wrap-up line of one of his speeches or somethin’. See, I usually let these things slip by. Challenges? I rarely have a tussle with them - I want to go on my own pace and not let others dictate me. The Pommie bastard’s nagging voice still haunts my sleep, sometimes.
… Makes you shiver, doesn’t it?
But something in America’s words just got me hooked. He looks at me with that chipper way of his, eyes kind of alive with something else other than heaving adrenaline. As much as I’d relish messing and horsing around with his head, I’d hate to see him disappointed.
And besides, the Land Down Under can’t let a solid excuse to goof off pass.
… Say, I can make this a wee bit more interesting than usual, eh?
Huffing, I gawk at America once more with the most defiant and determined of stares - that specific one which would surely ruffle his feathers just a bit. When you know America as much as I do, you’d know that when you press the right buttons, America can transform from the sunshiney, cheerful bloke that he is right into a rampaging, foaming behemoth with critical issues.
“A-me-ri-ca.” I lace each syllable with a mocking sing-song drawl. You know, that tone bullies use?
It works like a charm. America stares right back at me apprehensively.
Being England’s worst nightmare, I’m such a fucking expert at this.
“Shall we make this more interesting?” America’s eyes begin to widen a little. I just know that he’s very familiar with this tone. “How about a bet?”
I can instantly tell that his curiosity is peaking up to a dizzying pitch. A choked giggle escapes his lips, excitement dancing in his eyes. It’s kind of amusing, seeing him like that. It’s like staring at a mirror. Call me weird, mate, but I think I’m starting to see a little of myself in him.
“Yeah? What?”
I could have rubbed my hands with glee. I knew America couldn’t resist the lure of a challenge. And from me, no less. It’s a rivalry of sorts at it’s finest - I know for a fact that he doesn’t like to lose. Justice, freedom, something just as haplessly ideal; I don’t know what motivates him. He’s just that way. In fact, I find it kind of likable, that optimism. No wonder so many people are fond of him.
“We’ll try to outdo each other at every activity on your list. The one with the most points at the end gets one wish that must be fulfilled by the loser.”
That won’t be me, naturally. “Nothing outlandish and unreasonable, of course.”
I could have sworn that America jumped a little from his seat. He sure is one big ball of energy packed into one person. Like that Energizer Bunny. He could barely contain himself. Obviously pumped up, he raises his right fist halfway into the air, level at his shoulders. “You’re on, Australia!”
Smiling with maybe my cockiest grin yet - the one that the ladies seem to like so much, oh ho - I clench my hand and bump fists with him. “It’s a deal, mate.”
America better know what he’s getting himself into. Well, knowing him, he’d go even if it scared the hell out of him. That’s just like him.
Of course, I won’t let myself lag behind!
---
America’s Checklist of Awesome and Daring Things to Do:
1. Surfing!
Yes, there’s an exclamation mark ingeniously tacked on there. It just perfectly conveys America’s misguided enthusiasm to take a dip into the ocean, don’t you think? Can’t blame him, though! They’re a must see for everyone who chances a visit in my home.
It looks like America is already geared up for the first of our scheduled activities. Feet thoroughly anchored on the sand, he assesses the beach and the churning waves with a steady gaze. He’s sizing them up, for sure.
Now there’s a rare sight, if I say so myself. For once, his attention isn’t focused on something that was along the lines of our job. Every time I see him recently, there’s this dead light in his eyes. I can tell that he’s tired. But he wants to remain strong. To seem strong, most like it.
It’s tough being a Nation. You’d get heaps of paperwork thrown at you. You act as a liaison for your countries - your entire population depended on you, in a sense. Not many people can handle the pressure. And for someone as important as America, the workload must be two or three times harder than normal. I wonder how he stands it sometimes. I, for one, won’t last if I were in his shoes.
America runs to the rim of the water, the sea lapping at his feet. “C’mon, Australia! The one who doesn’t wipe out gets the point!”
He has got to make this a challenge for me. Mates, I am the Commonwealth of Australia. Surfing is in my blood.
Well, it is his Checklist. And he did agree to the bet. Not my loss.
After some minor preparations, we were already skirting along the biggest wave before we know it. Maintaining balance is kind of a cinch for me now. My feet are propped solidly on the board, my movements and twists just as unpredictable as the trough and crest of the wave. Technique takes years to perfect, and I have it boiled down to a tee. Boy, I sure know my priorities!
I reach the shore without even getting my hair wet. America shouldn’t have picked this challenge. I scan the shoreline for signs of a wayward board. I know America is athletically capable, but even he can’t handle the intensity of the waves here; America ain’t exactly a professional.
“Yo, what took you so long?!”
No fucking way.
I zip my head to the right and see America munching on a hotdog sandwich (Hah, typical.), looking utterly nonplussed. How he got there so fast, I don’t exactly know. There’re barely any traces of the ocean on his body, too, which means that he didn’t exactly wipe out. Man, America must have some hidden skills right up his sleeve.
America finishes his hotdog in a few more bites. “So, it’s a tie, right, Australia?”
I smile what must have been an ugly crossbreed between a seethe and a twitch.
Okay, no more Mr. Nice Guy.
---
2. Kite-surfing!
Australia looked kinda surprised when I beat him to the shore. And without getting wiped out, too! Little does he know, he isn’t the only one who knows how to surf decently. Maybe he didn’t expect that? It took me ages to figure everything out, though - the right stance, the perfect leaning angle. I even had to do a little research about it! The physics of it made things a little bit more complicated, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I practiced secretly, too, just to get everything down on the wire.
Seems like an awful lot of hooplah for a short vacation, eh?
I just wanted to come on this trip prepared, y’ know. I wouldn’t want to look like a total blockhead in front of him. I definitely know he’s a pro when it comes to this kind of stuff, and the last thing I wanna do is to cramp his style.
The next one doesn’t come across as easy as the first one, though.
Kite-surfing is way cool if you get to experience it; but it’s definitely harder compared to ordinary surfing. The whole ocean rises and shifts right under your feet. The wind is your only saving grace or else, the water’ll swallow you. Hard.
Just thinking about it gives me chills. Not the bad type of chills like when you’re scared or anxious. It’s something along the lines of anticipation. Yeah, that seems more like it.
My whole mind’s been reduced to a blissful blank. It’s just me, Australia, and the ocean. Doesn’t get any better than that!
He’s up first. The challenge was to stay on the board as long as possible. Knowing Australia, he can go on for minutes at a time. Holding on to the bowkite is strenuously harder than most people think. It’s difficult to concentrate on the pulling and twisting of the bowkite when you had to contend with the oncoming waves, too.
His royal blue bowkite soars and cuts violently through the air, but Australia manages to hang on. The waves hammer his board here and there, the sea froth occasionally engulfing him entirely; but he clings onto the handlebar like his life depended on it.
And he does something amazingly cool and stupid at the same time. With nimble flicks of the wrists and dexterous footwork, he pulls off a damn somersault. The show-off. I hear admiring gasps, whoops, and squeals from the ladies watching behind me.
Aussie’s totally one of a kind. I doubt that I could pull off a breathtaking stunt like that, but he makes it look so damn easy! If the guys, and by that I mean everyone, saw him do that, then he’d have more admirers than he could handle. Come on; even England has to appreciate that kind of awesomeness!
Australia sidles onto the shore a few minutes later after a spectacular wipeout. Judging by the way he’s panting heavily, it must have been one heck of a ride. Australia relishes that feeling though; testing his limitations can be considered as one of his hobbies in itself.
“Your. Turn. Mate. Phew.” He mouths each word through his teeth after a deep breath. Yep, he’s majorly tired, all right.
Here I go, then!
The initial swim up to the deeper parts of the ocean is longer than I expected. I know this competition is still in the spirit of fun and adrenaline, but this is way over my head.
Just go with the flow - that’s the key. But the waves prove to be more stubborn than what I’ve expected.
And as I suspected, doing this is a hell of a lot harder than mere surfing. My hand-eye coordination has got to be sharp as a knife. Well sure, blowing successive headshots in zombie survival games helps, but it won’t fine-tune my skills up to snuff.
My arms start to melt and wobble like jelly just after thirty seconds in.
Oh, shit.
Out of nowhere, a beastly wave knocks my grip off entirely. Spinning wildly, I only saw torrents and whirls of blue after that.
The final lap of swimming back to shore is more arduous than any physical activity I’ve ever done. Sure, people keep telling me that my strength is monstrous, but endurance is a highly different matter. I suppose Australia has a penchant for that, too.
I walk sluggishly toward him with flat-footed strides; I’m already expecting a healthy serving of mockery and chastisement, but all Australia’s words did was lift my spirits.
Peering through a half-lidded eye, he says: “You were awesome! You showed a lot of heart there.”
I clap a hand on his shoulder. Hearing those words from him made the cramps on my forearms vanish like magic. When you hear those words from the master of the art, you can’t help but be proud of yourself still, even if you failed miserably.
He has got to teach me that somersault trick sometime. I’ll probably bug him later about it.
---
3. Parasailing!
Jesus H. Christ, I reckon I may have overdone that kite-surfing stunt a bit too much. It’s a damn blessing that America’s next activity in line is just good ol’ parasailing. It doesn’t really require much effort. Just have nerves of steel and you’ll be fine and dandy.
I’m pretty sure we’ve both got it covered. Still, that would make our score three to two, me getting one point over him for staying longer on the kite-surfing event.
Those are just numbers, anyway. I don’t really care about it any more than America probably does. They’re just there to psych us up - an additional incentive, if you choose to see it that way.
Right now, we’re both harnessed almost a hundred feet above the Pacific waters. Hearing nothing but the rush of the wind in our ears and the palpable silence, it’s a good opportunity just to kick back and chill.
The challenge is pretty straightforward this time. Remain airborne for at least fifteen minutes. Not exactly one of his more intrepid challenges, but it did give us a chance for a bit of downtime. America’s stretches his arms right beside me, yawning loudly.
We’ve been through grueling physical activity, but his eyes are still vibrant as they’ll ever be. I guess he just craves for that adrenaline rush as much as I do. His physical tenacity can sure take it. And it looks like he doesn’t have many fears to boot. He doesn’t even wink when we rose up, up into the sky. The common man would have shivered. Not America, though.
Then again, he is a bit of an aviation nut. He must be used to flying.
Us being in the air like this reminds me of our olden days. Treaties were treaties, but I didn’t wait for America’s call before I lent a helping hand. When America was in a pinch, I was there right with him together with Zea.
“Hey, America!” I shout. Hovering near the atmosphere isn’t exactly conducive for a scintillating conversation. “This sure is nostalgic, isn’t it?!”
“Yeah! Sure does!”
There’s a tiny mischievous glint behind his velocity goggles. And when America cooks something up with that kind of a face, likely a recollection, it’s definitely not going to be pretty.
“Aussie, I distinctly remember your high-pitched screams of terror when we first flew together!”
I’d have to remind him that we’re dangling hundreds of feet in the air, and that it’s a long, long drop below.
“You performed a goddamn loop out of nowhere, you bloody idiot!”
Well, it’s true! Which pilot in his perfectly sane mind would perform a loop in the middle of war? It’s like he was setting us up as target practice for the opposing side.
“Dude, it was a victory loop!”
America’s love for the thrill is sometimes out of place, but I don’t dwell on that much. After all, he could be saying the same about me. Trust America to inject a bit of fun and excitement in everything he does.
I’ve forgiven him for the most part. We’re still here in one piece, aye?
The parachute begins its slow descent. America and I groan in unison.
We’re just too alike sometimes. Not that I see it as a problem, mind you.
---
4. Four-wheeling!
We’re almost there.
The signs a few meters back there say that there are still approximately fifteen minutes of waiting time. No biggie. Australia and I can wait it out. It’s gotta be worth it. After all, this is the most amazing and complicated ATV course there is in Australia’s country! (He calls ‘em quad bikes, pfft.)
Dense forest trails, complete with creeks and sand dunes - the complicated selections of rugged terrain just makes me look forward to it even more. This is going to be a hundred shades of awesome!
Suddenly, an unwelcome orange glare of light hits my glasses. It’s already afternoon time here, huh? We’d probably have room for the last activity, no problem.
I don’t wanna tell Aussie this, but what lets me down is that the day is almost over. I’d have to go back to Washington tomorrow, straight to another meeting. It’s kind of boring, to be really honest.
Having those brief spells of mundaneness makes me wish I had more time to do stuff like these. Not that I’m complaining about my job - it’s more rewarding than beyond what I can comprehend. It’s just that I need to take a breather once in a while.
You know. Do cool things like these. Just being myself.
Therein lies another problem. There’s no one there in my turf who’d be willing to share this with me. Australia is the only one I know who’s into these extreme outdoorsy stuff.
… Well, you can’t have everything in life, can’t you? I just oughta enjoy this while it lasts.
Australia’s voice interrupts my fancies.
“You havin’ fun so far, America?”
I wanted to ask what kind of question is that. Of course, I’m having fun! Today has got to be one of the most exhilarating days of my life. I don’t know why Australia looks worried. He’s been a cool buddy all day long! I doubt it was because of our scores - he’s in the lead, so why should he be worried?
The burly instructor suddenly waves his hand over my face, looking slightly irate. Well, well, well; it looks like we’re up next. Finally!
“Names, gentlemen?”
“Alfred Jones.”
“James Walker.”
Australia and I strap our gear in a blink of an eye. The engines growl their mechanical, metallic purr and we blast off in a cloud of dust. The challenge is simple this time around - whoever gets to the end of the course first wins the game.
I believe that I have a sizeable chance of winning this time around. Australia’s element might be the water; but when it comes to dense, dry land, it’s my time to shine. Besides, there are ATVs in my home, too! I’ve had opportunities to test these babies out before.
And here’s where that hand-eye coordination brought about by video games comes in handy. Seeing everything with a detailed eye - scanning the beyond and its surroundings, finding the optimum path - it’s my cup of tea. Being a pilot does that to you, I guess.
I zoom ahead of Australia by a long shot.
He grimaces at me with a benign smile on his face as I watch him cross the finish line.
The score is all tied up now.
---
5. Bungee jumping!
Bloody hell, I never expected America to be so fierce when it comes to quad-biking. I suppose that it’s one of his many talents. He’d been totally in the game the whole day. It’s surprising how much that guy can do. Seriously, he could give me a run for my money if he wanted to.
One last thing that’s bugging me, though. He really did look kind of glum when we were waiting for our turn back at the quad-bike course. It definitely wasn’t fatigue; if it was, I would have seen it right away. Slacked jaw, dead-set eyes, limp arms - those are the symptoms I’m looking for, but America doesn’t even show a hint of those.
Which means that something else is bothering him.
… I haven’t been a shitty host to him, right? I showed him the sweetest spots this side of my country could offer; I cruised him to the most delicious restaurants. We even took naps!
Well, I won’t take that kind of conclusion sitting down.
I know this final activity is my last chance. And I know exactly what to do.
But the challenge? It's beyond anything we’ve ever done today.
What strikes me is its simplicity; but it’s hard as hell to do. I don’t even know if I can do it - and that’s saying something.
America’s last challenge for the day is to not scream while bungee jumping.
When I heard that, I thought America was some sort of dastardly genius. You can do nothing but scream and hack your lungs out while you’re plummeting. Erm, that was kind of the point of bungee jumping. If you don’t let your voice access a pitch you never knew you had, it’s like you’re sleeping on a roller coaster ride.
This leads me to wonder whether America can really pull it off. I’d be way impressed if he did.
Whether he can do it or not, it doesn’t matter, really. If it would make him somehow feel better about things, then I’d be happy to discard my macho pride just for the rest of the day. Besides, there will be more stuff like these in the future, I’m sure. There’ll be ample opportunities for me to get back at him.
Time to take the high road, then.
… Oh, shit, America’s heroic antics are beginning to rub off on me, too.
No time to dwell on that; America is signing us up for the tandem jump. He figured it would be the perfect clincher for our men’s day out. Not screaming our hearts out into the sunset. Anti-climactic, don’t you think? Well, if that’s how the river flows, then …
Of course, it’s not like it’s stopped me before.
A bloodcurdling scream escapes my throat as soon as our feet left the platform. Swirling color (orangegreenorangeredblue) flashes onto my eyes we dropped, dropped, down and away. There’s even a point where I couldn’t even recognize my voice. America might have been right on the high-pitched screaming thing a while ago. Everything on my mind just freezes to a halt, and everything is reduced to nothing but a blur of electric impulses.
That radiant chilly feeling that’s filling my chest right now. That’s what it’s all about! And I bet America feels the same way, too!
---
“I won, dude!”
Sure, I know what I said, but something feels off. The victory feels a bit piecemeal for me. There aren’t any fireworks in my chest, nor the explosions of the feeling of accomplishment. It’s just as blandity bland, as if nothing happened.
It’s too easy, that last activity. It’s as if Australia intended to lose right then and there. I dunno why he should do that - he’s the one who proposed the bet in the first place. Unless he really was heroic like that.
Maybe he would. Just maybe.
Australia soon bursts back from the bathroom, wearing a cutesy set of koala-print pajamas and toting a bag of McDonalds take-out. Perfect!
“Here’re those Maccas burgers you wanted,” he says, throwing the bag in my general direction.
I manage to catch it swiftly between my outstretched hands. It’s still warm and fresh from the grill. Biting a chunk out of my burger, I start to think about today’s events. And the suitable wish that he promised me when he lost - but I’ll get to that later.
The images dart through my head in full-color. Today was awesome, to say the least! No, it was beyond that. ‘Awesome’ doesn’t even begin to cut it. And as much I’d hate to admit it, I couldn’t have enjoyed it as much without Australia’s company, even if we did try to outdo each other like kids. (That’s his fault, not mine!)
Now that I think about it, it’s been forever since I felt like that - having no worries; just dropping everything and reveling in the spirit of fun. It’s rejuvenating, having to delude yourself in the illusion of youth, even if it’s just temporary.
We’re Nations. We’re ancient and crusty as we could get, compared to our people of today’s generation. Maybe that fleeting illusion is the only thing we need to live through day by day. That unbridled feeling of invincibility does wonders, I gotta tell you. I’d need that additional spark to brighten my life when it’s all dark, gray and full of paperwork.
It gives me something to look forward to.
Gee, I’d have to thank Australia for that. With a stroke of fluid inspiration, the perfect idea pops out onto the forefront of my head.
“Yo, Australia! I know my wish now!”
---
One week after our misadventures, I inadvertently find myself flying onto America’s country via a special private jet. Heh, America sure knows how to pull the right strings to get what he wants.
I arrive at his house soon enough. Setting my suitcase down, I rap my fist on his door with more force than was necessary. He did have a bad habit of sleeping in at the worst of times. Or maybe he wasn’t even home. I’m just making sure.
America’s lighthouse-bright smile appears thirty seconds later. He’s expecting me, after all.
“So, Australia,” he murmurs. Even at that low tone of his voice, I can sense his excitement straining. “Did you bring what I asked?”
He didn’t really need to ask that. This little thing is the whole reason I'm here on his doorstep in the first place. I pull out a single sheet of paper out of my bum bag. At the top of the paper, anyone can see those words emblazoned in big black letters:
Australia’s Checklist of Awesome and Daring Things to Do:
-fin-
Notes:
- "Pommie" is an offensive Australian slang pertaining to the English. The term was derived from a while back when Australia was still a penal colony. Prisoners were brought in wearing clothes with POHMIE emblazoned on them, standing for "Prisoners of His Majesty In Exile". The term has colloquially evolved since then.
- Currently, the USA is a part of the ANZUS tripartite, a military defense pact between USA, Australia, and New Zealand.
- Australia's human name is derived from James Cook, the notable British explorer who landed on Australia's southeastern shores in 1770. He was one of the very first Europeans who made it there. "Walker" is a surname of English origin, and is among the most popular surnames in Australia.
- "Maccas". The Australian slang for McDonalds.
A/N: I think I love this pairing now more than ever, either platonic or otherwise. ♥ Also, Australia's snarky-slash-petulant voice is so hard to capture, I don't even. ||OTL Comments and criticisms will be much loved!
Author: didgeridoodle
Rating: T for swearing.
Genre: General/Bromance/Humor
Characters: America, Australia.
Pairing: None. Platonic!America/Australia.
Word Count: 4,392
Summary: On a whim, America and Australia go all out for a full day of hijinks and misadventures. It was just them, the adrenaline, and then, the world.
Notes: This baby is written for haro as a part of hamburger_st 's Christmas in July fanworks exchange event. I kind of experimented with an entirely new style of writing in this one; I do hope it works out. Please enjoy, everyone! C:
The Checklist
People say that the craziest of misadventures are deliberately planned.
Blokes try their damnedest to come up with The Checklist. You know - that long List that details all sorts of debauchery that the human mind is capable of. It’s that List that riles up that hot-blooded, fire-like feeling everyone from the ages of fifteen to forty seems to crave. Sounds about right, huh? Contained in that List are naughtiest, dirtiest, raunchiest things that someone with an inappropriately creative head can come up with.
Barhopping. Babe-watching (Or guy-watching; whichever you prefer, love.). Shopping ‘til wallets bleed dry. Drinking ‘til our brains swim in beer. Rocking out. Those are the usual casualties of the Checklist.
Time, resources, and energy - the human imagination is boundless and wild as it can get.
Logic simply follows that Nations like me are more than capable of doing this, too.
When I saw America’s Checklist, I shouldn’t have been surprised at the lineup he’d come up with. I skimmed through the list with a teensy little bit of trepidation. He’s the United States of America, after all - the Land of the Free? You should be scared of the implications of that title.
After reading through all of the neatly scrawled words, my heart does that crazy little thumping like before I hit the surf. I quirk my eyebrow in amusement. So, America wants to go through all these, huh? It should prove to be interesting enough.
He smiles at me with that shit-eating grin of his, teeth dazzling with a taunting kind of white, and a roguish wink of his own.
“So, Australia! You think you’re up for the challenge?!” His words leave an echoing ring of finality - like it was a wrap-up line of one of his speeches or somethin’. See, I usually let these things slip by. Challenges? I rarely have a tussle with them - I want to go on my own pace and not let others dictate me. The Pommie bastard’s nagging voice still haunts my sleep, sometimes.
… Makes you shiver, doesn’t it?
But something in America’s words just got me hooked. He looks at me with that chipper way of his, eyes kind of alive with something else other than heaving adrenaline. As much as I’d relish messing and horsing around with his head, I’d hate to see him disappointed.
And besides, the Land Down Under can’t let a solid excuse to goof off pass.
… Say, I can make this a wee bit more interesting than usual, eh?
Huffing, I gawk at America once more with the most defiant and determined of stares - that specific one which would surely ruffle his feathers just a bit. When you know America as much as I do, you’d know that when you press the right buttons, America can transform from the sunshiney, cheerful bloke that he is right into a rampaging, foaming behemoth with critical issues.
“A-me-ri-ca.” I lace each syllable with a mocking sing-song drawl. You know, that tone bullies use?
It works like a charm. America stares right back at me apprehensively.
Being England’s worst nightmare, I’m such a fucking expert at this.
“Shall we make this more interesting?” America’s eyes begin to widen a little. I just know that he’s very familiar with this tone. “How about a bet?”
I can instantly tell that his curiosity is peaking up to a dizzying pitch. A choked giggle escapes his lips, excitement dancing in his eyes. It’s kind of amusing, seeing him like that. It’s like staring at a mirror. Call me weird, mate, but I think I’m starting to see a little of myself in him.
“Yeah? What?”
I could have rubbed my hands with glee. I knew America couldn’t resist the lure of a challenge. And from me, no less. It’s a rivalry of sorts at it’s finest - I know for a fact that he doesn’t like to lose. Justice, freedom, something just as haplessly ideal; I don’t know what motivates him. He’s just that way. In fact, I find it kind of likable, that optimism. No wonder so many people are fond of him.
“We’ll try to outdo each other at every activity on your list. The one with the most points at the end gets one wish that must be fulfilled by the loser.”
That won’t be me, naturally. “Nothing outlandish and unreasonable, of course.”
I could have sworn that America jumped a little from his seat. He sure is one big ball of energy packed into one person. Like that Energizer Bunny. He could barely contain himself. Obviously pumped up, he raises his right fist halfway into the air, level at his shoulders. “You’re on, Australia!”
Smiling with maybe my cockiest grin yet - the one that the ladies seem to like so much, oh ho - I clench my hand and bump fists with him. “It’s a deal, mate.”
America better know what he’s getting himself into. Well, knowing him, he’d go even if it scared the hell out of him. That’s just like him.
Of course, I won’t let myself lag behind!
---
America’s Checklist of Awesome and Daring Things to Do:
1. Surfing!
Yes, there’s an exclamation mark ingeniously tacked on there. It just perfectly conveys America’s misguided enthusiasm to take a dip into the ocean, don’t you think? Can’t blame him, though! They’re a must see for everyone who chances a visit in my home.
It looks like America is already geared up for the first of our scheduled activities. Feet thoroughly anchored on the sand, he assesses the beach and the churning waves with a steady gaze. He’s sizing them up, for sure.
Now there’s a rare sight, if I say so myself. For once, his attention isn’t focused on something that was along the lines of our job. Every time I see him recently, there’s this dead light in his eyes. I can tell that he’s tired. But he wants to remain strong. To seem strong, most like it.
It’s tough being a Nation. You’d get heaps of paperwork thrown at you. You act as a liaison for your countries - your entire population depended on you, in a sense. Not many people can handle the pressure. And for someone as important as America, the workload must be two or three times harder than normal. I wonder how he stands it sometimes. I, for one, won’t last if I were in his shoes.
America runs to the rim of the water, the sea lapping at his feet. “C’mon, Australia! The one who doesn’t wipe out gets the point!”
He has got to make this a challenge for me. Mates, I am the Commonwealth of Australia. Surfing is in my blood.
Well, it is his Checklist. And he did agree to the bet. Not my loss.
After some minor preparations, we were already skirting along the biggest wave before we know it. Maintaining balance is kind of a cinch for me now. My feet are propped solidly on the board, my movements and twists just as unpredictable as the trough and crest of the wave. Technique takes years to perfect, and I have it boiled down to a tee. Boy, I sure know my priorities!
I reach the shore without even getting my hair wet. America shouldn’t have picked this challenge. I scan the shoreline for signs of a wayward board. I know America is athletically capable, but even he can’t handle the intensity of the waves here; America ain’t exactly a professional.
“Yo, what took you so long?!”
No fucking way.
I zip my head to the right and see America munching on a hotdog sandwich (Hah, typical.), looking utterly nonplussed. How he got there so fast, I don’t exactly know. There’re barely any traces of the ocean on his body, too, which means that he didn’t exactly wipe out. Man, America must have some hidden skills right up his sleeve.
America finishes his hotdog in a few more bites. “So, it’s a tie, right, Australia?”
I smile what must have been an ugly crossbreed between a seethe and a twitch.
Okay, no more Mr. Nice Guy.
---
2. Kite-surfing!
Australia looked kinda surprised when I beat him to the shore. And without getting wiped out, too! Little does he know, he isn’t the only one who knows how to surf decently. Maybe he didn’t expect that? It took me ages to figure everything out, though - the right stance, the perfect leaning angle. I even had to do a little research about it! The physics of it made things a little bit more complicated, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I practiced secretly, too, just to get everything down on the wire.
Seems like an awful lot of hooplah for a short vacation, eh?
I just wanted to come on this trip prepared, y’ know. I wouldn’t want to look like a total blockhead in front of him. I definitely know he’s a pro when it comes to this kind of stuff, and the last thing I wanna do is to cramp his style.
The next one doesn’t come across as easy as the first one, though.
Kite-surfing is way cool if you get to experience it; but it’s definitely harder compared to ordinary surfing. The whole ocean rises and shifts right under your feet. The wind is your only saving grace or else, the water’ll swallow you. Hard.
Just thinking about it gives me chills. Not the bad type of chills like when you’re scared or anxious. It’s something along the lines of anticipation. Yeah, that seems more like it.
My whole mind’s been reduced to a blissful blank. It’s just me, Australia, and the ocean. Doesn’t get any better than that!
He’s up first. The challenge was to stay on the board as long as possible. Knowing Australia, he can go on for minutes at a time. Holding on to the bowkite is strenuously harder than most people think. It’s difficult to concentrate on the pulling and twisting of the bowkite when you had to contend with the oncoming waves, too.
His royal blue bowkite soars and cuts violently through the air, but Australia manages to hang on. The waves hammer his board here and there, the sea froth occasionally engulfing him entirely; but he clings onto the handlebar like his life depended on it.
And he does something amazingly cool and stupid at the same time. With nimble flicks of the wrists and dexterous footwork, he pulls off a damn somersault. The show-off. I hear admiring gasps, whoops, and squeals from the ladies watching behind me.
Aussie’s totally one of a kind. I doubt that I could pull off a breathtaking stunt like that, but he makes it look so damn easy! If the guys, and by that I mean everyone, saw him do that, then he’d have more admirers than he could handle. Come on; even England has to appreciate that kind of awesomeness!
Australia sidles onto the shore a few minutes later after a spectacular wipeout. Judging by the way he’s panting heavily, it must have been one heck of a ride. Australia relishes that feeling though; testing his limitations can be considered as one of his hobbies in itself.
“Your. Turn. Mate. Phew.” He mouths each word through his teeth after a deep breath. Yep, he’s majorly tired, all right.
Here I go, then!
The initial swim up to the deeper parts of the ocean is longer than I expected. I know this competition is still in the spirit of fun and adrenaline, but this is way over my head.
Just go with the flow - that’s the key. But the waves prove to be more stubborn than what I’ve expected.
And as I suspected, doing this is a hell of a lot harder than mere surfing. My hand-eye coordination has got to be sharp as a knife. Well sure, blowing successive headshots in zombie survival games helps, but it won’t fine-tune my skills up to snuff.
My arms start to melt and wobble like jelly just after thirty seconds in.
Oh, shit.
Out of nowhere, a beastly wave knocks my grip off entirely. Spinning wildly, I only saw torrents and whirls of blue after that.
The final lap of swimming back to shore is more arduous than any physical activity I’ve ever done. Sure, people keep telling me that my strength is monstrous, but endurance is a highly different matter. I suppose Australia has a penchant for that, too.
I walk sluggishly toward him with flat-footed strides; I’m already expecting a healthy serving of mockery and chastisement, but all Australia’s words did was lift my spirits.
Peering through a half-lidded eye, he says: “You were awesome! You showed a lot of heart there.”
I clap a hand on his shoulder. Hearing those words from him made the cramps on my forearms vanish like magic. When you hear those words from the master of the art, you can’t help but be proud of yourself still, even if you failed miserably.
He has got to teach me that somersault trick sometime. I’ll probably bug him later about it.
---
3. Parasailing!
Jesus H. Christ, I reckon I may have overdone that kite-surfing stunt a bit too much. It’s a damn blessing that America’s next activity in line is just good ol’ parasailing. It doesn’t really require much effort. Just have nerves of steel and you’ll be fine and dandy.
I’m pretty sure we’ve both got it covered. Still, that would make our score three to two, me getting one point over him for staying longer on the kite-surfing event.
Those are just numbers, anyway. I don’t really care about it any more than America probably does. They’re just there to psych us up - an additional incentive, if you choose to see it that way.
Right now, we’re both harnessed almost a hundred feet above the Pacific waters. Hearing nothing but the rush of the wind in our ears and the palpable silence, it’s a good opportunity just to kick back and chill.
The challenge is pretty straightforward this time. Remain airborne for at least fifteen minutes. Not exactly one of his more intrepid challenges, but it did give us a chance for a bit of downtime. America’s stretches his arms right beside me, yawning loudly.
We’ve been through grueling physical activity, but his eyes are still vibrant as they’ll ever be. I guess he just craves for that adrenaline rush as much as I do. His physical tenacity can sure take it. And it looks like he doesn’t have many fears to boot. He doesn’t even wink when we rose up, up into the sky. The common man would have shivered. Not America, though.
Then again, he is a bit of an aviation nut. He must be used to flying.
Us being in the air like this reminds me of our olden days. Treaties were treaties, but I didn’t wait for America’s call before I lent a helping hand. When America was in a pinch, I was there right with him together with Zea.
“Hey, America!” I shout. Hovering near the atmosphere isn’t exactly conducive for a scintillating conversation. “This sure is nostalgic, isn’t it?!”
“Yeah! Sure does!”
There’s a tiny mischievous glint behind his velocity goggles. And when America cooks something up with that kind of a face, likely a recollection, it’s definitely not going to be pretty.
“Aussie, I distinctly remember your high-pitched screams of terror when we first flew together!”
I’d have to remind him that we’re dangling hundreds of feet in the air, and that it’s a long, long drop below.
“You performed a goddamn loop out of nowhere, you bloody idiot!”
Well, it’s true! Which pilot in his perfectly sane mind would perform a loop in the middle of war? It’s like he was setting us up as target practice for the opposing side.
“Dude, it was a victory loop!”
America’s love for the thrill is sometimes out of place, but I don’t dwell on that much. After all, he could be saying the same about me. Trust America to inject a bit of fun and excitement in everything he does.
I’ve forgiven him for the most part. We’re still here in one piece, aye?
The parachute begins its slow descent. America and I groan in unison.
We’re just too alike sometimes. Not that I see it as a problem, mind you.
---
4. Four-wheeling!
We’re almost there.
The signs a few meters back there say that there are still approximately fifteen minutes of waiting time. No biggie. Australia and I can wait it out. It’s gotta be worth it. After all, this is the most amazing and complicated ATV course there is in Australia’s country! (He calls ‘em quad bikes, pfft.)
Dense forest trails, complete with creeks and sand dunes - the complicated selections of rugged terrain just makes me look forward to it even more. This is going to be a hundred shades of awesome!
Suddenly, an unwelcome orange glare of light hits my glasses. It’s already afternoon time here, huh? We’d probably have room for the last activity, no problem.
I don’t wanna tell Aussie this, but what lets me down is that the day is almost over. I’d have to go back to Washington tomorrow, straight to another meeting. It’s kind of boring, to be really honest.
Having those brief spells of mundaneness makes me wish I had more time to do stuff like these. Not that I’m complaining about my job - it’s more rewarding than beyond what I can comprehend. It’s just that I need to take a breather once in a while.
You know. Do cool things like these. Just being myself.
Therein lies another problem. There’s no one there in my turf who’d be willing to share this with me. Australia is the only one I know who’s into these extreme outdoorsy stuff.
… Well, you can’t have everything in life, can’t you? I just oughta enjoy this while it lasts.
Australia’s voice interrupts my fancies.
“You havin’ fun so far, America?”
I wanted to ask what kind of question is that. Of course, I’m having fun! Today has got to be one of the most exhilarating days of my life. I don’t know why Australia looks worried. He’s been a cool buddy all day long! I doubt it was because of our scores - he’s in the lead, so why should he be worried?
The burly instructor suddenly waves his hand over my face, looking slightly irate. Well, well, well; it looks like we’re up next. Finally!
“Names, gentlemen?”
“Alfred Jones.”
“James Walker.”
Australia and I strap our gear in a blink of an eye. The engines growl their mechanical, metallic purr and we blast off in a cloud of dust. The challenge is simple this time around - whoever gets to the end of the course first wins the game.
I believe that I have a sizeable chance of winning this time around. Australia’s element might be the water; but when it comes to dense, dry land, it’s my time to shine. Besides, there are ATVs in my home, too! I’ve had opportunities to test these babies out before.
And here’s where that hand-eye coordination brought about by video games comes in handy. Seeing everything with a detailed eye - scanning the beyond and its surroundings, finding the optimum path - it’s my cup of tea. Being a pilot does that to you, I guess.
I zoom ahead of Australia by a long shot.
He grimaces at me with a benign smile on his face as I watch him cross the finish line.
The score is all tied up now.
---
5. Bungee jumping!
Bloody hell, I never expected America to be so fierce when it comes to quad-biking. I suppose that it’s one of his many talents. He’d been totally in the game the whole day. It’s surprising how much that guy can do. Seriously, he could give me a run for my money if he wanted to.
One last thing that’s bugging me, though. He really did look kind of glum when we were waiting for our turn back at the quad-bike course. It definitely wasn’t fatigue; if it was, I would have seen it right away. Slacked jaw, dead-set eyes, limp arms - those are the symptoms I’m looking for, but America doesn’t even show a hint of those.
Which means that something else is bothering him.
… I haven’t been a shitty host to him, right? I showed him the sweetest spots this side of my country could offer; I cruised him to the most delicious restaurants. We even took naps!
Well, I won’t take that kind of conclusion sitting down.
I know this final activity is my last chance. And I know exactly what to do.
But the challenge? It's beyond anything we’ve ever done today.
What strikes me is its simplicity; but it’s hard as hell to do. I don’t even know if I can do it - and that’s saying something.
America’s last challenge for the day is to not scream while bungee jumping.
When I heard that, I thought America was some sort of dastardly genius. You can do nothing but scream and hack your lungs out while you’re plummeting. Erm, that was kind of the point of bungee jumping. If you don’t let your voice access a pitch you never knew you had, it’s like you’re sleeping on a roller coaster ride.
This leads me to wonder whether America can really pull it off. I’d be way impressed if he did.
Whether he can do it or not, it doesn’t matter, really. If it would make him somehow feel better about things, then I’d be happy to discard my macho pride just for the rest of the day. Besides, there will be more stuff like these in the future, I’m sure. There’ll be ample opportunities for me to get back at him.
Time to take the high road, then.
… Oh, shit, America’s heroic antics are beginning to rub off on me, too.
No time to dwell on that; America is signing us up for the tandem jump. He figured it would be the perfect clincher for our men’s day out. Not screaming our hearts out into the sunset. Anti-climactic, don’t you think? Well, if that’s how the river flows, then …
Of course, it’s not like it’s stopped me before.
A bloodcurdling scream escapes my throat as soon as our feet left the platform. Swirling color (orangegreenorangeredblue) flashes onto my eyes we dropped, dropped, down and away. There’s even a point where I couldn’t even recognize my voice. America might have been right on the high-pitched screaming thing a while ago. Everything on my mind just freezes to a halt, and everything is reduced to nothing but a blur of electric impulses.
That radiant chilly feeling that’s filling my chest right now. That’s what it’s all about! And I bet America feels the same way, too!
---
“I won, dude!”
Sure, I know what I said, but something feels off. The victory feels a bit piecemeal for me. There aren’t any fireworks in my chest, nor the explosions of the feeling of accomplishment. It’s just as blandity bland, as if nothing happened.
It’s too easy, that last activity. It’s as if Australia intended to lose right then and there. I dunno why he should do that - he’s the one who proposed the bet in the first place. Unless he really was heroic like that.
Maybe he would. Just maybe.
Australia soon bursts back from the bathroom, wearing a cutesy set of koala-print pajamas and toting a bag of McDonalds take-out. Perfect!
“Here’re those Maccas burgers you wanted,” he says, throwing the bag in my general direction.
I manage to catch it swiftly between my outstretched hands. It’s still warm and fresh from the grill. Biting a chunk out of my burger, I start to think about today’s events. And the suitable wish that he promised me when he lost - but I’ll get to that later.
The images dart through my head in full-color. Today was awesome, to say the least! No, it was beyond that. ‘Awesome’ doesn’t even begin to cut it. And as much I’d hate to admit it, I couldn’t have enjoyed it as much without Australia’s company, even if we did try to outdo each other like kids. (That’s his fault, not mine!)
Now that I think about it, it’s been forever since I felt like that - having no worries; just dropping everything and reveling in the spirit of fun. It’s rejuvenating, having to delude yourself in the illusion of youth, even if it’s just temporary.
We’re Nations. We’re ancient and crusty as we could get, compared to our people of today’s generation. Maybe that fleeting illusion is the only thing we need to live through day by day. That unbridled feeling of invincibility does wonders, I gotta tell you. I’d need that additional spark to brighten my life when it’s all dark, gray and full of paperwork.
It gives me something to look forward to.
Gee, I’d have to thank Australia for that. With a stroke of fluid inspiration, the perfect idea pops out onto the forefront of my head.
“Yo, Australia! I know my wish now!”
---
One week after our misadventures, I inadvertently find myself flying onto America’s country via a special private jet. Heh, America sure knows how to pull the right strings to get what he wants.
I arrive at his house soon enough. Setting my suitcase down, I rap my fist on his door with more force than was necessary. He did have a bad habit of sleeping in at the worst of times. Or maybe he wasn’t even home. I’m just making sure.
America’s lighthouse-bright smile appears thirty seconds later. He’s expecting me, after all.
“So, Australia,” he murmurs. Even at that low tone of his voice, I can sense his excitement straining. “Did you bring what I asked?”
He didn’t really need to ask that. This little thing is the whole reason I'm here on his doorstep in the first place. I pull out a single sheet of paper out of my bum bag. At the top of the paper, anyone can see those words emblazoned in big black letters:
Australia’s Checklist of Awesome and Daring Things to Do:
-fin-
Notes:
- "Pommie" is an offensive Australian slang pertaining to the English. The term was derived from a while back when Australia was still a penal colony. Prisoners were brought in wearing clothes with POHMIE emblazoned on them, standing for "Prisoners of His Majesty In Exile". The term has colloquially evolved since then.
- Currently, the USA is a part of the ANZUS tripartite, a military defense pact between USA, Australia, and New Zealand.
- Australia's human name is derived from James Cook, the notable British explorer who landed on Australia's southeastern shores in 1770. He was one of the very first Europeans who made it there. "Walker" is a surname of English origin, and is among the most popular surnames in Australia.
- "Maccas". The Australian slang for McDonalds.
A/N: I think I love this pairing now more than ever, either platonic or otherwise. ♥ Also, Australia's snarky-slash-petulant voice is so hard to capture, I don't even. ||OTL Comments and criticisms will be much loved!