From Ghoulies and Ghosties - CH1
From Ghoulies and Ghosties
» Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
» Rating: T
» Classification(s): Action/Adventure, Supernatural, Humor
» Summary: The nations celebrate Halloween in their own… special ways. Featuring ‘Denmark and Prussia Go to the Liquor Store’ ©, LindaBlair!Iceland, Belarus as a floor shark, Turkey-nomming Greek cats, and much, much more.
» Author Note: I started this last Halloween and wrote almost all of it in a huge hurry, so I can’t guarantee quality or even readability.
[ Prologue] [ CH1] [ CH2] [ CH3] [ Epilogue]
From Ghoulies and Ghosties
"Alfred, quello che un tempo meraviglioso!!"
The American received Feliciano's flying tackle-hug with grace, using the momentum of the jump to spin them in lopsided circles around his black-and-orange decorated foyer. The bloody lab coat the Italian was wearing flapped around them dramatically. "Hey, Ita-chan, mi casa es su casa, right? You're welcome anytime!"
"That is Spanish," Ludwig said pedantically. He was holding Feliciano's winter jacket and tapping a booted foot impatiently. Somehow, all the moss-green paint and fake stitches covering his exposed skin only gave him a more, rather than less, austere aura. "Feli, your coat." He shook it pointedly.
Feliciano released Alfred and pushed his fake glasses back up his nose, obediently tottering over to the German. "Call me Dr. Frankenstein, Signore Monstro."
Ludwig sighed heavily. "Please put your arms in the sleeves, Doktor Frankenstein."
"You guys could stay longer," Alfred said with a little pout, readjusting his hockey mask where it was tied on the side of his head. He loved hosting Halloween parties, especially Halloween parties that lasted into All Saints Day. "It's totally lame to go home before midnight at least."
Ludwig looked up from forcing the tipsy Italian's limbs into the proper openings and fixed Alfred with an incredulous stare. "You must be joking. MeinBruder and the Dane have been trying to outdrink Braginsky all night, and I for one am leaving before things begin burning. Also, Roderich was kind enough to watch the house and I don't want to keep him and Elizaveta."
"Signore Ludwig-Monster, you're sexy even though you're green~~" slurred the bespectacled Italian, and stood on tiptoe to give him a smacking kiss. "Heehee! Ooooo, my head is spinny. Spinny spinny. Girevole~ ve, ve, Doistu~"
The German scowled, moving to quickly button up the front of the coat while Feliciano wrapped his arms around his neck and babbled happily in Italian. Alfred gave a knowing smirk and said, "Oh, yeah, sure you don't."
Ludwig finished and, much to the drunken Doktor Frankenstein's delight, scooped the Italian into his arms. He turned to the American. "Thank you for the lovely evening, Alfred, and guten Nacht. We'll be sure to invite you for Fastnacht (1)."
Alfred slapped him on the back and got the door for them, his breath fogging immediately in the unseasonably cool night. "Thanks for coming, guys! See you in a couple weeks at the next summit!"
Feliciano bounced and waved energetically in Ludwig's arms, burbling, "Buonanotte! Buonanotte!" all the way to the curb. Ludwig almost dropped him as he fumbled for his keys in his pocket.
"Nighty-night!" Alfred closed the door on the German's frustrated curse and checked the candy level in the red-eyed skull bowl next to the door. Mmm, there were still 100 Grand Bars, he loved those things. He unwrapped one and wandered back into the hall, absently grabbing his chainsaw from where he'd leaned it against the wall. He walked towards the only room left lit in the house and the excited shouts of his remaining guests.
As Alfred drew level with the dark, deserted kitchen, a ghostly white figure appeared in the empty doorway. "HOLY-!" He jumped into the wall behind him with a shriek, chainsaw up and ready.
"Al?" Matthew, wearing dog ears and peeved expression, stared at him over another tray of multicolored jello brain shots.
Alfred clutched at his heart dramatically. "Shit, you scared the crap out of me! And you've smeared your whiskers, by the way."
His brother rolled his eyes. "Francis smeared the whiskers. Here, take one."
"Don't mind if I do."
As they proceeded together down the hallway, Alfred sucked down the fluorescent-green blob and said with his mouth full of alcoholic limey goodness, "'Ey, M'bbie?"
"Yeah?"
He swallowed convulsively. "Yum. Have Gil and Mathias (2) been trying to outdrink the commie bastard?"
"Damn Russian's got to have a limit," the Canadian muttered darkly. His brief scowl, combined with the ears and doggy facepaint, combined to make the cutest angry face imaginable.
"Huh?" Alfred looked over, brows crinkled. He was generally oblivious to cuteness, as he was to most things.
Scowl disappearing as if never there, Matthew only smiled guilelessly back at him. "No, not that I've noticed!"
They reached the source of the raucous noise, and entered the library.
After the buffet and punch bowls in the dining suite had been razed down to the skeleton-printed plastic tablecloths, the party had mostly retreated to the smaller, cozier library, where there was more booze and a louder sound system. The speakers were currently blasting 'Monster Mash' for perhaps the fiftieth time of the evening, but no one was paying attention. Kumajirou had gotten into the 'Spooktacular' black chips and 'Graveyard' guacamole, but no one paid attention to that, either.
The handful left had pushed back the furniture for their more active (read violently soused) games, and now were playing something that seemed to be a strange mix of Truth or Dare, Never Have I Ever, and Gestures. They were also for some reason using Alfred's Apples to Apples cards to do it, or perhaps those were just out for earlier.
Matthew and Alfred had apparently reentered the room on Francis's turn, and the Frenchman was up and gesticulating wildly with a poker from the crackling fireplace. At some point in the night he'd taken off the three-foot-wide floppy hat with the huge ostrich plume, but the remaining acres of lace and ribbon and buckled boots still screamed Dumas.
Arthur, who Alfred had excitedly and repeatedly been mistaking for the Hamburglar the entire night, was slumped tiredly into the armchair closest to the fire, black cape all but swallowing his smaller frame. He had Alfred's Drambouie out and open, and as Alfred reseated himself between Mattie and Ivan, the Englishman swallowed a stiff third and interrupted Francis with, "If you're taking about the Battle of Agincort, I kicked your arse to kingdom come!"
Francis snorted and retorted, but Alfred had already stopped paying attention (he reserved the right to ignore history that predated him) and was trying to locate his gin and tonic in the forest of glasses that surrounded the Russian and, to a lesser extent, his sisters. "Damn it, where did it go?" Natalia was a dark, glowering presence in pure crystalline white from crown to slippers, isolated at the end of the couch from the rest of the party by Ivan's massive frame. Alfred was perfectly happy to keep it that way. She was sipping something thick and bloody-looking, and it turned her lips an unwholesome bergamot crimson.
Katerina, seated across from them and next to the voluble Francis, had been nursing her amaretto sour for the last hour, but until that point had been doing pretty well. She was pink-cheeked and giggling, almost popping out of her red heart-shaped bodice with each heaving breath.
Ivan, in keeping with their theme, was wearing a particolored cerulean top hat and tails ensemble. Occasionally, when Francis's eyes lingered for too long on Katya's bouncing bountiful tracks, the Russian would twirl a cane idly between his fingers and smile a bit madly. At Alfred's frustrated growl, he reached out and picked up a mostly empty highball glass identical to the twenty-odd other mostly empty highball glasses scattered around them and handed it to the American. Alfred sipped and tasted Hennessy. Damn, how did he do that?
The number of glasses and open bottles the Prussian and Dane had between them did not bear counting, but they were eager to add more. As Alfred leaned back to enjoy his recovered cocktail, they accosted him.
"Hej, Alfred," the Dane slurred, patting his arm several times. "Tell me, do you have any Gammel Dansk?" The paint covering his face, which had began the night as an atrocious smearing mess of white, black and red, was now if it was possible in an even worse state: all over his purple lapels and green tie, streaked through his hair, and dappling the surface of the low table in front of him. Incongruously, his tiny steepled hat remained perched perfectly on the part of his slicked-back hair.
"Nein, nein, muth eth Jägermeister werden!" the Prussian next to him insisted. His fake fangs and rather advanced state of drunkenness made him lisp noticeably.
The Dane waved him away dismissively. "Of course, it must be Gammel Dansk. Do you have it?"
"Er, no," Alfred said bemusedly. "What's wrong with what I bought?"
Gilbert glanced significantly at the Russian seated next to Alfred, whose attention was apparently wholly caught up in the argument brewing between Francis and Arthur, and waggled his eyebrows.
"We've tried everything else," the Dane said petulantly, folding his arms and smearing white across his chest. "Øl,vin,vodka,cognac-"
"I was saving that," Alfred muttered.
"-but nothing's working. We obviously need good Danish bitters-"
"German bitterth," Gilbert insisted.
"-and so! Gilbert and I will go get them." The Dane leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Just keep him drinking."
Matthew, holding the unofficial fourth corner in their little tête-à-tête, asked sardonically, "And Everclear, I suppose, wouldn't work nearly as well? I think 191 is legal here."
The two nations just stared at him. "I'm thorry, who are you again?"
"It's Canada," the Canadian sighed. "Just bring me back some maple liquor."
Natalia, unnoticed by anyone and foreboding icy scowl still in place, slid slowly into a graceless heap on the floor.
The Dane slung an arm around Gilbert's thin shoulders and said more loudly, "Well, then, Gilly, let's go."
"Eh? Are you leaving?" Francis said, frowning. "MonPrusse, not you too! Antonio at least has the excuse of Lovino."
Gilbert scowled at him. "Halt die Klappe, Franthith. We're picking up more alcohol."
The Frenchman's face cleared. "Ah, une bonne chose toujours. Please, more wine. A Carmenière this time."
Ivan smiled through it all. Alfred looked at his angelically innocent expression and knew without a doubt that the nation knew what they were up too and found the entire exercise greatly amusing, perhaps as amusing as he found scaring the Baltics-and in perhaps the same mean-spirited vein.
As they walked to the door, Alfred heard Gilbert ask, "Oi, Dänemark. Where did the retht of those Fickerth you hang out with go?"
Mathias laughed, a chilling thing to behold with a deep red slash of paint across his lips from cheek to cheek. "Oh, Norge an' them? Those lamerøver! They're probably watching a movie or something. Jeg er så glad for at jeg flygtede!"
[quello che un tempo meraviglioso - what a marvelous time; mi casa es tu casa - my house is your house; girevole - spinning; buonanotte - goodnight; hej - hey (pronounced the same); Nein, nein, muss es Jägermeister warden - no, no it must be Jagermeister; Øl, vin, vodka, cognac - beer, wine, vodka, cognac; Halt die Klappe - shut up; une bonne chose toujours - always a good thing; Fickers - fuckers; røver - asses; Jeg er så glad for at jeg flygtede - I'm so glad I escaped]
Tino watched a kneeling Lukas (3) finish setting out the drinks, mixers and liquors standing in a neat row down the center of their IKEA coffee table and asked bemusedly, "But didn't you not go to Amerika's party because Mathias said there'd be drinking?"
The stoic nation looked up at him. "I want to drink. I just don't want to drink with Anko."
"Annoying," Iceland added loyally. The brothers shared a nod, and Lukas rose to grab the plastic cups from the kitchen.
Berwald was on the couch, legs drawn up under him as he carefully examined the dustjacket of the old VHS tape the Norwegian had dug up from somewhere. The title, Exorcisten, was scrawled across the black background in bloody red print, the lone shadow of a man in a dark, dark alley the only other adornment. As Tino came to sit next to him, the Swede looked up with his customary scowl, tinged to the Fin's knowledgeable eyes with distinct discomfort.
"S'n 'Meric'n film," he offered after a bit, looking down and shrugging.
"Oh?" He hadn't really looked at it. "What year?"
"N'nt'n s'v'ny thr'."
"I think I saw it once. It's pretty scary."
His 'husband' fixed him with an utterly blank look that somehow still managed to convey a sense of growing panic. Tino made himself reach out and give the larger nation's shoulder a comforting pat, and instantly regretted it when the Swede seized his hand and pulled him into a tight embrace.
Iceland appeared at their side with cups, and Tino accepted one and took a sip; his eyes watered a bit as the familiar fumes and sting of aquavit assaulted his senses.
"This is the game (4)," Lukas intoned emotionlessly. "You must drink every time a cross is shown, anyone bleeds, another language is seen or spoken, a priest is shown in uniform, the coin is shown, anyone swears, the little jente and her mor go to the doctor, anyone says demon, or anyone cries. Er dette klart?"
"Um," said Tino, looking doubtfully down at his aquavit. He'd seen the movie a long, long time ago, but even his hazy recollection suggested that following those rules would get them rather drunk rather quickly.
"Hn," grunted Berwald. His arms tightened minutely around Tino. With his legs framing the Fin's and his chin resting on the top of Tino's head, the Finnish nation was effectively surrounded.
"God,god." The Norwegian nodded at Iceland, who had a finger posed over the play button on their old machine. "Bror, start the movie."
After a bit of hissing static, the film began, eerie music swelling as the lights in a window winking out before the camera panned to a dark street corner. Iceland sat cross-legged on the ground next to the coffee table and close to the television. Tino felt Berwald twitch and his fingers dig painfully into his arms when Lukas flicked off the lights, and resigned himself to a long, long night of damage control.
[Exorcisten- Exorcist; jente - girl; mor - mother; Er dette klart? - Is that clear?; bror - brother]
"Preussen, did you see that?"
"Hah? What?"
Mathias pointed. "Over there. In the trees, I thought I saw-Vent! Der!"
Their epic quest for bitters, made all the more epic by the fact that they had forgotten to ask where the nearest liquor store was, had taken them beyond Alfred's cozy neighborhood and into the larger urban nightscape of his capital. At this point in the night, there were fewer people and fewer people out celebrating and the patch of boulevard they now wandered across was particularly deserted. It was lined with trees on both sides of a central cobblestone walkway, and the historically accurate lampposts some well-meaning civic servant had insisted on meant that the street was more in shadow than light.
They passed through the soft orange glow of one such lamp, and Gilbert saw the barely noticeable flicker of movement through the tree trunks just as the Dane shouted, "There, you see him? Jeg kan se dig, din lille svin!"
Gilbert grabbed the Dane's arm as he made to dash off after it. "Chill, Dänemark. It'th probably just a cat or thom- MEINE FRETHE!"
The maybe-movement he'd seen had been at least twenty feet away, so when someone leapt out at them from behind the nearest tree trunk the Prussian gained three feet of altitude and landed clutching Mathias. It didn't help that the person was dressed entirely in green, was wearing a thin black mask and was aiming an enormous crossbow at them.
"Who goes there?" the vision in green demanded pompously.
"Why so serious?" the Dane retorted with a huge, lopsided grin. He'd been assaulting people with the phrase all evening, as a required part of his costume.
"What the fuck, you thtupid fairy!" Gilbert lispingly screamed, from his piggyback position.
The bowman stared at them. "What?"
"Why so fucking serious, forest fairy?" Mathias repeated.
The fairy scowled. "I'm not a fucking fairy! And who the hell are you supposed to be, Ronald MacDonald on acid?"
The Dane just laughed. "Fuck you, forest fairy!"
Gilbert tugged the Dane's hair. "Nein, nein, Dänemark, he'th Robin Hood! Robin Hood!"
"Fuck you, Robin Hood!"
"I'm the fucking Green Arrow, you stupid fucks!"
"Who the hell is that?" they said practically in chorus, Gilbert sliding off Mathias's back and landing on his own with an "Omph! Robin Hood!"
"The Green Arrow! GREEN ARROW, damn it! Do you not see the 'G' on my belt and the quiver FULL OF ARROWS?"
"Warte, is that the black guy who doeth forthe fieldth?" wondered Gilbert from his position on the ground.
"That's the Green Lantern!"
"Fuck you, Green Lantern!" the Dane wheezed out around his laughter.
The Green Arrow brought the crossbow up, but the Dane kicked out and suddenly the weapon was sailing through the air, landing on the cobblestones with a sad dry crunching noise. "Hej, Robin Lanternhood, that's fucking dangerous!"
And that was when the Green Arrow jumped screaming out of the bushes with an ax.
[Vent! Der! - Wait! There!; Jeg kan se dig, din lille svin - I see you, you little bastard; MEINE FRESSE - equ. HOLY SHIT]
Ten minutes into the movie, it finally occurred to Tino to ask, "Are we drinking every time anyone speaks in a different language, or just at each different language spoken?"
By the looks of things, the two western Scandinavian nations had adopted the former approach. Norway was already opening a new bottle and Iceland was quite noticeably having trouble finding the rim of his cup with his lips.
Lukas shrugged. "Samme hva du velger."
Iceland finally found the rim, but on the wrong side, so that his drink spilled down his chin to his chest. "Oops," he mumbled, cup dropping from his mouth to roll across the carpet.
Tino glanced at Lukas, but the Norwegian nation appeared to have missed the episode entirely. "Norja!"
"Hva?"
The Finn nodded significantly at the smaller nation, which might have been enough if Lukas had taken his eyes off the screen for a moment. A priest's white collar flashed across the screen, and he took a drink.
"Lukas, your brother!" Iceland was at this point struggling with the seal of another bottle, still dripping all over the place. "Maybe you should get him a washcloth or something?"
Lukas finally looked at him. "Hei, bror, hva gjorde du?"
Iceland looked vaguely apologetic. "Fyrirgefðu…"
"Let's go to the kitchen, then." The Norwegian took him by the hand and they left the room.
Tino looked up at Berwald's face and was not very reassured by what he saw. In the dim flickering light of the screen, the Swede sat motionless, attention utterly captured by the film. His eyes were a little wide behind his lenses, and the aquavit sat untouched in his hand. As Tino watched, someone screamed onscreen and the big nation jumped, drink sloshing over the rim to wet his hand and Tino's leg. "S-s'ry."
A jarring crash and Iceland's giggle rang out from the kitchen, and Tino winced. He gently took the drink away from Berwald and put it on the far side of the table, where he'd set his. The very last thing he wanted to deal with tonight was a Sweden as drunk as Iceland.
[Samme hva du velger - do what you want; Norja - Norway; hva - what; Hei, bror, hva gjorde du? - hey, brother, what'd you do?; Fyrirgefðu - sorry]
A/N: I might give you a prize if you can tell me everyone's costumes. :-)
1 - (Fastnacht in Germany): the most fun you will ever have without dying.
2 - (Mathias as Denmark's human name): I saw this name in a fic once, but I wasn't sure if it was spelled right, etc, so I went to the wiki, wherein I found that DENMARK HAS NO HUMAN NAME. This was such a great shock that I even thought the word 'what' grammatically incorrectly: "WUT?" Anyway, Mathias is the sixth most popular baby boy name in Denmark, according to babynamefacts dot com, and so I used it.
3 - (Lukas (Lu-KAH) as Norway's human name): Somewhat less surprised that Norway doesn't have a name too. Top 2008 baby boy name in that country. After this point, though, I give up. Iceland is Iceland.
4 - (The Exorcist Drinking Game)