64 Prompts, 62 and 63
Title: Chime
Genre: Humor, AU
Pairings/characters: UK, US, US -> UK
Rating: PG
Warnings: Language
Summary: A late night at Arthur's workplace, in which last minute customers ruin everything.
62. Chime
Arthur had to fight every base instinct not to slam his head against the counter when he heard the cheerful tinkle of bells. He would swear to any god, that stupid chime would be the death of him. He’d been just about to close up too, and of course, a stupid customer had to walk in. Of fucking course.
“Welcome to McDonald’s,” Arthur ground out, pasting what was probably the fakest smile in the world on his face. “How may I help you?”
The young man who’d walked in deliberated, as if there was anything even worth ordering on the god-forsaken menu. It was really just a choice of whether you wanted to kill yourself with greasy unidentified meat product, or greasy unidentified meat product with the illusion of bacon on it. Still, the man took his time about it before answering.
“I’ll have…two Big Macs, please,” he rattled off, eyes on the menu board. “And a large order of fries, one of those apple pies, and…a small Diet Coke.”
Arthur felt his jaw drop slightly. One, this idiot was clearly suicidal. The only man he’d previously seen able to pack away two Big Macs with fries was twice this man’s size and looked like a trucker or amateur wrestler. It was like eating four bloody sandwiches! And two, he was clearly an idiot. Because, really, did he think the choice of a small Diet Coke was going to excuse the massive intake of calories in the rest of his meal?
Shaking himself, Arthur punched in the order while the customer dug in his jeans and pulled out a wallet.
“You really shouldn’t be eating that much,” Arthur commented lowly. He wasn’t supposed to talk to customers outside of his script anymore, but he couldn’t resist, and besides, Arthur was closing up with no other witnesses in sight.
The man laughed and flipped blonde hair out of his eyes behind his glasses. “Don’t worry, I totally work it off,” he said confidently, handing over his money. Arthur had no doubt he did. The man was trim and if he hadn’t encountered him at his shitty job in McDonald’s, Arthur might be willing to admit he was attractive. As it was…
“Will that be for here, or to go?” Arthur asked blandly.
“To go.”
He nodded, took the money, handed the customer back his change, and ordered him to wait while Arthur got his order. Luckily they kept a few mostly-pre-made sandwiches at all times and Arthur had to do little but heat up and assemble the meal. The fries had to be made, though, so he dunked a basket into the machine and tried not to wince as the frying fat sizzled and popped slightly.
“My name’s Alfred, by the way,” his customer called back to him.
“That’s wonderful,” Arthur called in reply. They weren’t supposed to interact with customers besides making sales, and definitely not allowed to be interested in them. Not since Cindy quit to get run off with some dweeb she’d sold a McFlurry to.
“Arthur, right?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, that would be my name.” Arthur wished dimly that the stupid last-customer-of-the-night would just stick to the script of welcome, order, pay, deliver, thank you, and have a nice day/night. The fries finished a few seconds after the meat product was heated up, and Arthur moved to put it all together, setting the apple pie to heat up as well.
“So last shift of the night, huh?”
Arthur sighed deeply at the burgers he was preparing. “Yes. What possibly motivated you to order two Big Macs at nearly midnight, I can’t guess.” A few more seconds and the burgers were ready and wrapped, French fries put next to them in a paper bag, the apple pie out of the microwave and slid into its cardboard pocket to join the rest of the (ridiculously large and unhealthy) meal.
When Arthur returned to the front counter, Alfred was leaned over it, trying to see into the back of the restaurant. He rocked back onto his heels as Arthur approached, a moronic grin on his face. “You’re open until midnight, so I figured why not take advantage? I’ve never been the last customer before.”
Arthur resisted the urge to glower at Alfred’s cheeky smile. Instead, he filled a small size cup of Diet Coke, jammed on the lid, and shoved the man’s meal at him. “Have nice night, sir. And, please, come again.”
Alfred kept smiling at him, grabbed the bag and drink, and was eating his apple pie before the door closed behind him. Of course he would eat the sugar first, Arthur thought. Still, the store was empty and he could finally get out.
Closing up was a quick process, as he’d already cleaned everything but the small mess made by his last customer’s order. Other than that, all he had to do was make sure everything was turned off, lock the door, and he was done by fifteen minutes past midnight.
The door clicked locked quite satisfyingly, and Arthur turned to locate his bike. He froze instead. There was a big gold Toyota in the parking space just next to his bicycle, and sitting in the driver’s seat was his stupid last customer of the night. And it fit that Alfred had a truck just as well as his bold grin fit on his face.
“You want a ride?” Alfred asked, exiting the vehicle as Arthur approached his bike, head held high.
“I do not,” he answered curtly. Really, was he going to get a McDonald’s themed stalker out of this? His paycheck was so very not worth that, even if Alfred wasn’t some creepy fat guy who probably lived with his mother.
“C’mon,” the man wheedled. “Your bike’ll fit in the back and it’s late. I know you were just working, so you’ve gotta be tired. Not safe to be driving around like that.” His grin turned a little more charming, as if he was actually trying to be sweet or suave or something other ridiculous thing. “Besides, I’d be worried about a pretty thing like you out alone this late.”
Arthur flushed, as if he was embarrassed or slightly flattered or something ridiculous thing. “You sound exactly like the kind of person I’d be worried about encountering alone late at night,” he said huffily. It wasn’t true, because even though that had been an admittedly very creepy comment, Alfred was leaned against his truck in a very relaxed position, but his fingers were tapping nervously, and Arthur had caught the subtle look down before Alfred had made his last comment.
The idiot had been embarrassed, and was still looking just a little insecure about hitting on Arthur. He’d winced slightly at the rejection and Arthur thought he looked (almost endearingly) like a high schooler being told his crush didn’t want to go to the Spring Fling with him. The expression slipped into offense soon after.
“No way!” Alfred defended. “I’m a hero! And you are alone with me, late at night. If I wanted, I’d have done something evil already, right?” Alfred looked like that was the best logic in the world, and his nervousness lifted slightly.
“Please?” he tried again. “I’ll drop you off at a corner of your street or something if you’re worried about me finding out where you live. I just…I worry about people, okay?” The smile that went with this one was tipped sideways, honest and showing that he was worried, about Arthur or about being rejected again, it couldn’t be said. Perhaps both.
“Alright, fine,” Arthur conceded after a few more moments of hesitation. Alfred’s smile broke into triumph. “But if you say one more word about me being pretty, I’ll fling myself from the car into traffic and take my chances.”
Beaming, Alfred agreed, and helped Arthur put his bike in the back of Alfred’s truck before holding the passenger door open for him. Arthur snapped at him and complained that he could do it his own damn self, but was just the tiniest bit flattered, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
Title: Laugh
Genre: Slightly odd humor
Pairings/characters: US/UK, Prussia
Rating: PG
Warnings: Silliness
Summary: Because only America would confess his love with a song called "Kick Some Ass"
63. Laugh
Upon finding out what America’s presentation is, England has the odd mixed urge to both laugh and weep. And perhaps to knock some sense into America. And maybe the slight want to wrap America in his arms and ask why he never said anything before.
Mostly though, England is stuck on how ridiculous America is to have confessed via music video. So when the song ends and the lights come up, most of the world is silently shocked and England has his forehead on the table, silently laughing himself sick.
Prussia is his saving grace, and also what keeps America from feeling entirely horrible about the reaction he’s received. The not-really-a-nation-any-more shouts that he should have been in the video more, and though Hungary instinctively tells him to shut up, England replies as well.
“It’s not about you,” England snaps, still trying to recover from his laughing attack. “You’re lucky you were included, you ungrateful twat.”
Prussia squawks that of course he was in the video; it’s about kicking ass and Prussia is quite obviously the most kick-ass nation ever!
“That’s not the point, you idiot,” England replies quickly. He’s still missing the slightly crushed look on America’s face however, still preoccupied with getting over how silly the object of his affection is, and defending his silly actions. “It’s about being protective toward someone you love. I’m sure you can’t comprehend how there might actually be some emotion buried beneath those lyrics.”
“So you got it?” England turns to look at America, who is now leaning over the opposite end of the table, looking hopeful but uneasy. “I mean, you understood what I was saying?”
“Of course I did, you ridiculous boy.” Despite the fact that it’s out of character, England feels the giddy urge to start smiling and laughing again, even though he’s moved past the hilarity of America’s choice of confession. “Though you could have said something a little more subtly, and perhaps without implying I’m a girl.”
There’s a tiny twinge of anger at that, actually, and England starts to work his way into being affronted and embarrassed, but is cut off by America.
“So is that a ‘Yes, America, I like you too?’” he asks with a half-cocky, half-insecure grin.
And England has left behind his laughter at this point to give way to frustration in America’s direction, but America also just told the world that he still wants England and will protect him from anyone else. So despite the fact that he’s now being put on the spot to admit his feelings in front of everyone, England simply turns a little pink, faces the ceiling, and nods.
--
A/N: I really have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote Laugh, possibly a combo of cold medicine and the fact that I still can't breathe through my nose. But it sort of makes sense in my head. The chorus for "Kick Some Ass" actually has decent emotions behind it, even if it's blunt and masculine and stupid (kinda like America):
How many people wanna kick some ass?
I do, I do
And how many people sick of holding it back?
I am
Well, I am too
So don't lay another finger on her
She's mine and I still want her
If you put your hands upon her
You're a goner, goner
See? Anyway, next post will be the last of this series!! ...and may or may not be posted from my new dorm.