L Is For Lasers [1]
Title: L Is For Lasers [Part 1]
Originally posted: Here, for windmilltilter
Length: 1,700 words.
Characters/Pairings: Ensemble; pairings include France/England, Russia/America, and Austria/Prussia/Hungary.
Premise: Alien invasion.
Time period: Modern.
Smuttiness: 3/10
Funnyness: 9/10
Wrist slashiness: 0/10
Lolhistoryness: 0/10
Violence: 1/10
Would I like it?: It's about aliens, or slutty nations. I couldn't decide.
---
World Conference. Tuesday, 11:48 PM.
"EVERYONE REPORT TO ASSEMBLY ROOM B IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY."
Germany's voice boomed over the conference center PA system amidst a sear of static and interference. Scattered throughout the various outbuildings, the nations reacted with their customary alacrity.
"He can't be serious," Austria grimaced.
"It's Germany, he's always serious," Hungary sighed.
Which was to say, with none at all.
"Who the fuck let him install a PA?" Prussia demanded as he struggled upright over the back of the couch and hitched up his trousers. Hungary heaved a noisy sigh. "Was it you?" He raked a baleful glower over Austria.
Austria delicately capped the little tube of Astroglide and wiped his fingertips on his handkerchief. "I thought it would be a sensible precaution in the case of an emergency."
"I bet it's not even an emergency," Hungary muttered. She trudged to the hotel room door. She was the only one still fully dressed.
Prussia scrubbed a hand through his hair. "His idea of an emergency is gonna be something like: 'I understand that only sixty percent of you have been taking the complimentary fluoride tablets in your bathrooms--'"
"Hand me my jacket, please," Austria interrupted.
Prussia wadded it up between his hands and shoved it against Austria's chest. He continued, "'As recent studies have shown that neglecting your dental hygiene can have a detrimental effect on your health later in life, I've prepared a slide show that now you all have to watch at quarter to fucking midnight on the first night of the fucking conference--'"
"You've heard this lecture before, haven't you," Hungary observed.
"Christ, sweetheart, you have no idea what it's like, living with this guy. He has a fucking spreadsheet to help him decide what to eat for breakfast based on his estimated caloric output for the day, or some bullshit--"
"What's strange about that?" Austria paused amid tugging on his coat.
Prussia and Hungary glanced at him, then looked back to each other. "So it's probably nothing," Prussia finished. And then, "Fuck, I can't find my chapstick."
---
"EVERYONE REPORT TO ASSEMBLY ROOM B. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. THIS IS NOT A DRILL."
France mused, "I think we should kill him."
"I'm too drunk for an emergency," England groused. He waved his bottle vaguely at the wall-mounted speaker and leaned heavily on his pool cue. "Sod him; you're down three points. Break."
"Easy for you to say. You don't have to sit next to him in the EU." France examined the ceiling for a few seconds, then sighed and tossed his cue down on the pool table. "With any luck, whatever it is won't take long." He ran his hair out of his collar and smoothed down his shirt. "Come along, mon ami."
A string of indistinct muttering followed France to the door of the rec room, and then, louder: "How the hell did my pants come off? When did that happen?"
"I have no idea," France obliged.
England swerved back to the pool table and recovered them. As he yanked them on, he declared, "If I feel a pressing need to vomit, I shall see to it that I do so on him."
---
"EVERYONE REPORT TO ASSEMBLY ROOM B AT ONCE."
Russia and America glanced at the intercom again, then continued to ignore it. They were down to about one full suit between them, and Russia had America's arm twisted up behind his back and pinned against the wall.
Germany's voice continued, "THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE NOT ALREADY IN ASSEMBLY ROOM B HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO GET TO ASSEMBLY ROOM B BEFORE I START READING OUT A LIST OF NAMES."
"Oh, no." America's voice was ragged. "We're gonna get called to the principal's office." Russia jerked his arm higher and sank his teeth into the join of his neck. He groaned.
"ALSO, THE KEY CARDS TO YOUR ROOMS WILL BE INVALIDATED."
"But this closet has all the comforts of home," Russia mumbled against his skin. He hissed and pressed tighter against him as America's fingers twisted in his hair.
"ALSO, YOUR ACCESS TO THE HOTEL BAR WILL BE RESTRICTED FOR THE DURATION OF THE CONFERENCE."
Russia paused at that.
"I saw a liquor outlet on the corner," America assured him.
"THE LIQUOR OUTLET ON THE CORNER DOES NOT SELL VODKA."
"Chto za huy," Russia swore. He pushed off of America and untangled his discarded shirt from around the bouquet of brooms. America slumped back against the wall and groaned.
"ALSO, YOUR LUNCH VOUCHERS WILL BE REVOKED. THE DINING HALL IS THE ONLY PLACE WITHIN TWENTY KILOMETERS THAT WILL PREPARE A HAMBURGER. BOTH OF YOU GET IN HERE."
"This is bullshit," America remarked.
"Yes." Russia passed him his belt.
"I mean, what does he think the first night of the conference is for?" He threaded his belt and zipped up his fly.
"Maybe Italy hasn't found a diagram technical enough to explain it to him," Russia muttered. He licked his thumb and smoothed back America's hair. America swatted his hand away.
"Poor Italy. No, that's my tie--this is your tie."
"Perhaps it is for the best. Would you want to fuck Germany?"
America glanced at him as he flipped his collar down. "If the answer was yes, wouldn't you slit my throat?"
"After cutting out your balls," Russia agreed. He pushed the door open and stuck his head out, then nodded to America. They swapped their customary mention this to anyone, and you're fucking dead glare as they crept out into the hallway, and split up.
---
"You can't be serious," France said after a pause.
"He's always serious," Prussia and Austria snapped together.
"Aliens," America repeated.
Germany leaned forward and looked out across a table surrounded by tipsy, disheveled, and increasingly confused nations. "We have detected transmissions of unknown origin in the upper atmosphere. Also, satellite images show…a number of…dish-shaped crafts--"
"Saucers. Flying saucers," America corrected him, in a tone of growing excitement. Canada let out a little sigh and let his forehead thunk down onto his folded arms.
"--Maneuvering over forty-seven metropolitan centers," Germany finished.
"Have they taken any aggressive action?" England did his best to sit up straight. It was a poor effort. His tie was still undone.
"Are they over Warsaw?" Poland demanded.
"I am handing--" Germany scooped up a stack of papers.
"Are they over us, right now?" France asked pointedly.
That set of a clamor of alarm and shouting and scrambling for cell phones and laptops. Germany raised his voice over the din. "I am handing out a list of affected cities now! Please calm down! Yes, they are over Berlin, but this far out in the country, we should be--"
America leapt to his feet and turned towards the door. To either side of him, Canada and England caught his sleeves and jerked him back down into his chair.
"I wanna see," he tried to shake them off.
"They're too high up to see," Canada explained, at the same time that England said the same thing, but with an added "--you stupid git."
"These appear to be major population and administrative centers," Japan skimmed down the list.
"Shanghai, Beijing, Guangzhou, Shenzhen, Dongguan, Taipei…" China muttered.
"Yeah, but like, what about Warsaw?"
"New York…LA…Chicago…" America sounded dismissive, then sat up all at once, both legs squirming onto his chair. "DC, I knew it! Aliens hate democracy!"
"Has any effort been made to contact them?" Austria tried.
"Ah, but, why would anybody want to attack Milan?" Italy sounded crestfallen. "Milan isn't good for anything."
"Warsaw isn't on the list," Lithuania assured Poland, and added in a relieved voice, "Neither is Vilnius."
"Oh, like, awesome, then!" Poland looked towards the head of the table. "So, can I go back to bed?"
Finland stood, unnoticed, and slipped out of the room.
"Hey, I should call Tony--where's my phone--" America patted his pockets. Much further down the table, Russia glanced up into the middle distance with an unfocused expression. "Fuck," America swore, "I must have dropped it in the--uh…somewhere. Canada, give me your phone."
"I'm trying to talk to my boss," Canada complained, and pushed America's arm away.
"Come on, it's not like any of your cities are on the list--"
"Toronto is, actually--"
"That's like, practically in the United States anyway! I'll fully protect it, I just need your phone!"
"No!"
"England--"
"Piss off. Oh, excuse me, not you, sir--"
Estonia flipped his phone out of his jacket pocket and skidded it down the table towards America. He already had his laptop out, his headsets on, and he was teleconferencing back to Tallinn. America caught it and waved it in the air in thanks.
"This is stupid," Romano muttered. "I'm going back to my room."
"But Romano--Rome is--" Spain scrambled out of his chair and ran up next to him, stabbing his finger against the paper midway down the list.
"Yeah, and what'm I gonna do about it? You guys take care of it."
"Sit down, both of you," Germany barked. "We need to come up with a plan of action."
"Tony says--"
"No more digressions!"
"It's not a digression!" America protested. He shut his phone and put it in his pocket. "He says they're not friends of his--"
"Who's Tony?" Prussia whispered. Hungary shrugged and looked back over Austria's shoulder. He was tapping his finger distractedly over the neat, printed 'VIENNA.'
"--But he's heard about them, and they're supposed to be bad news. Like, really bad news. He doesn't know any details, though."
"That's very helpful, America," Germany said neutrally.
America beamed.
"Do you think I'm ever going to see my phone again?" Estonia murmured to Lithuania, without taking his eyes off the screen.
"Probably not," Lithuania admitted.
"Let's just nuke them," Russia suggested.
England cupped his hand over the receiver of his cell phone. "You know, Russia, there's an expression about how when you have a hammer, every problem begins to look like a--"
"Warheads are better than hammers," was Russia's reply.
"Whether it be with aggression or further attempts at communication, we must decide together what we are going to do next," Germany pitched his voice to cut through the din.
There was a momentary, possibly coincidental silence.
"Well?" he demanded. "Ideas, anyone?
"What are we going to do?"
Originally posted: Here, for windmilltilter
Length: 1,700 words.
Characters/Pairings: Ensemble; pairings include France/England, Russia/America, and Austria/Prussia/Hungary.
Premise: Alien invasion.
Time period: Modern.
Smuttiness: 3/10
Funnyness: 9/10
Wrist slashiness: 0/10
Lolhistoryness: 0/10
Violence: 1/10
Would I like it?: It's about aliens, or slutty nations. I couldn't decide.
---
World Conference. Tuesday, 11:48 PM.
"EVERYONE REPORT TO ASSEMBLY ROOM B IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY."
Germany's voice boomed over the conference center PA system amidst a sear of static and interference. Scattered throughout the various outbuildings, the nations reacted with their customary alacrity.
"He can't be serious," Austria grimaced.
"It's Germany, he's always serious," Hungary sighed.
Which was to say, with none at all.
"Who the fuck let him install a PA?" Prussia demanded as he struggled upright over the back of the couch and hitched up his trousers. Hungary heaved a noisy sigh. "Was it you?" He raked a baleful glower over Austria.
Austria delicately capped the little tube of Astroglide and wiped his fingertips on his handkerchief. "I thought it would be a sensible precaution in the case of an emergency."
"I bet it's not even an emergency," Hungary muttered. She trudged to the hotel room door. She was the only one still fully dressed.
Prussia scrubbed a hand through his hair. "His idea of an emergency is gonna be something like: 'I understand that only sixty percent of you have been taking the complimentary fluoride tablets in your bathrooms--'"
"Hand me my jacket, please," Austria interrupted.
Prussia wadded it up between his hands and shoved it against Austria's chest. He continued, "'As recent studies have shown that neglecting your dental hygiene can have a detrimental effect on your health later in life, I've prepared a slide show that now you all have to watch at quarter to fucking midnight on the first night of the fucking conference--'"
"You've heard this lecture before, haven't you," Hungary observed.
"Christ, sweetheart, you have no idea what it's like, living with this guy. He has a fucking spreadsheet to help him decide what to eat for breakfast based on his estimated caloric output for the day, or some bullshit--"
"What's strange about that?" Austria paused amid tugging on his coat.
Prussia and Hungary glanced at him, then looked back to each other. "So it's probably nothing," Prussia finished. And then, "Fuck, I can't find my chapstick."
---
"EVERYONE REPORT TO ASSEMBLY ROOM B. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. THIS IS NOT A DRILL."
France mused, "I think we should kill him."
"I'm too drunk for an emergency," England groused. He waved his bottle vaguely at the wall-mounted speaker and leaned heavily on his pool cue. "Sod him; you're down three points. Break."
"Easy for you to say. You don't have to sit next to him in the EU." France examined the ceiling for a few seconds, then sighed and tossed his cue down on the pool table. "With any luck, whatever it is won't take long." He ran his hair out of his collar and smoothed down his shirt. "Come along, mon ami."
A string of indistinct muttering followed France to the door of the rec room, and then, louder: "How the hell did my pants come off? When did that happen?"
"I have no idea," France obliged.
England swerved back to the pool table and recovered them. As he yanked them on, he declared, "If I feel a pressing need to vomit, I shall see to it that I do so on him."
---
"EVERYONE REPORT TO ASSEMBLY ROOM B AT ONCE."
Russia and America glanced at the intercom again, then continued to ignore it. They were down to about one full suit between them, and Russia had America's arm twisted up behind his back and pinned against the wall.
Germany's voice continued, "THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE NOT ALREADY IN ASSEMBLY ROOM B HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO GET TO ASSEMBLY ROOM B BEFORE I START READING OUT A LIST OF NAMES."
"Oh, no." America's voice was ragged. "We're gonna get called to the principal's office." Russia jerked his arm higher and sank his teeth into the join of his neck. He groaned.
"ALSO, THE KEY CARDS TO YOUR ROOMS WILL BE INVALIDATED."
"But this closet has all the comforts of home," Russia mumbled against his skin. He hissed and pressed tighter against him as America's fingers twisted in his hair.
"ALSO, YOUR ACCESS TO THE HOTEL BAR WILL BE RESTRICTED FOR THE DURATION OF THE CONFERENCE."
Russia paused at that.
"I saw a liquor outlet on the corner," America assured him.
"THE LIQUOR OUTLET ON THE CORNER DOES NOT SELL VODKA."
"Chto za huy," Russia swore. He pushed off of America and untangled his discarded shirt from around the bouquet of brooms. America slumped back against the wall and groaned.
"ALSO, YOUR LUNCH VOUCHERS WILL BE REVOKED. THE DINING HALL IS THE ONLY PLACE WITHIN TWENTY KILOMETERS THAT WILL PREPARE A HAMBURGER. BOTH OF YOU GET IN HERE."
"This is bullshit," America remarked.
"Yes." Russia passed him his belt.
"I mean, what does he think the first night of the conference is for?" He threaded his belt and zipped up his fly.
"Maybe Italy hasn't found a diagram technical enough to explain it to him," Russia muttered. He licked his thumb and smoothed back America's hair. America swatted his hand away.
"Poor Italy. No, that's my tie--this is your tie."
"Perhaps it is for the best. Would you want to fuck Germany?"
America glanced at him as he flipped his collar down. "If the answer was yes, wouldn't you slit my throat?"
"After cutting out your balls," Russia agreed. He pushed the door open and stuck his head out, then nodded to America. They swapped their customary mention this to anyone, and you're fucking dead glare as they crept out into the hallway, and split up.
---
"You can't be serious," France said after a pause.
"He's always serious," Prussia and Austria snapped together.
"Aliens," America repeated.
Germany leaned forward and looked out across a table surrounded by tipsy, disheveled, and increasingly confused nations. "We have detected transmissions of unknown origin in the upper atmosphere. Also, satellite images show…a number of…dish-shaped crafts--"
"Saucers. Flying saucers," America corrected him, in a tone of growing excitement. Canada let out a little sigh and let his forehead thunk down onto his folded arms.
"--Maneuvering over forty-seven metropolitan centers," Germany finished.
"Have they taken any aggressive action?" England did his best to sit up straight. It was a poor effort. His tie was still undone.
"Are they over Warsaw?" Poland demanded.
"I am handing--" Germany scooped up a stack of papers.
"Are they over us, right now?" France asked pointedly.
That set of a clamor of alarm and shouting and scrambling for cell phones and laptops. Germany raised his voice over the din. "I am handing out a list of affected cities now! Please calm down! Yes, they are over Berlin, but this far out in the country, we should be--"
America leapt to his feet and turned towards the door. To either side of him, Canada and England caught his sleeves and jerked him back down into his chair.
"I wanna see," he tried to shake them off.
"They're too high up to see," Canada explained, at the same time that England said the same thing, but with an added "--you stupid git."
"These appear to be major population and administrative centers," Japan skimmed down the list.
"Shanghai, Beijing, Guangzhou, Shenzhen, Dongguan, Taipei…" China muttered.
"Yeah, but like, what about Warsaw?"
"New York…LA…Chicago…" America sounded dismissive, then sat up all at once, both legs squirming onto his chair. "DC, I knew it! Aliens hate democracy!"
"Has any effort been made to contact them?" Austria tried.
"Ah, but, why would anybody want to attack Milan?" Italy sounded crestfallen. "Milan isn't good for anything."
"Warsaw isn't on the list," Lithuania assured Poland, and added in a relieved voice, "Neither is Vilnius."
"Oh, like, awesome, then!" Poland looked towards the head of the table. "So, can I go back to bed?"
Finland stood, unnoticed, and slipped out of the room.
"Hey, I should call Tony--where's my phone--" America patted his pockets. Much further down the table, Russia glanced up into the middle distance with an unfocused expression. "Fuck," America swore, "I must have dropped it in the--uh…somewhere. Canada, give me your phone."
"I'm trying to talk to my boss," Canada complained, and pushed America's arm away.
"Come on, it's not like any of your cities are on the list--"
"Toronto is, actually--"
"That's like, practically in the United States anyway! I'll fully protect it, I just need your phone!"
"No!"
"England--"
"Piss off. Oh, excuse me, not you, sir--"
Estonia flipped his phone out of his jacket pocket and skidded it down the table towards America. He already had his laptop out, his headsets on, and he was teleconferencing back to Tallinn. America caught it and waved it in the air in thanks.
"This is stupid," Romano muttered. "I'm going back to my room."
"But Romano--Rome is--" Spain scrambled out of his chair and ran up next to him, stabbing his finger against the paper midway down the list.
"Yeah, and what'm I gonna do about it? You guys take care of it."
"Sit down, both of you," Germany barked. "We need to come up with a plan of action."
"Tony says--"
"No more digressions!"
"It's not a digression!" America protested. He shut his phone and put it in his pocket. "He says they're not friends of his--"
"Who's Tony?" Prussia whispered. Hungary shrugged and looked back over Austria's shoulder. He was tapping his finger distractedly over the neat, printed 'VIENNA.'
"--But he's heard about them, and they're supposed to be bad news. Like, really bad news. He doesn't know any details, though."
"That's very helpful, America," Germany said neutrally.
America beamed.
"Do you think I'm ever going to see my phone again?" Estonia murmured to Lithuania, without taking his eyes off the screen.
"Probably not," Lithuania admitted.
"Let's just nuke them," Russia suggested.
England cupped his hand over the receiver of his cell phone. "You know, Russia, there's an expression about how when you have a hammer, every problem begins to look like a--"
"Warheads are better than hammers," was Russia's reply.
"Whether it be with aggression or further attempts at communication, we must decide together what we are going to do next," Germany pitched his voice to cut through the din.
There was a momentary, possibly coincidental silence.
"Well?" he demanded. "Ideas, anyone?
"What are we going to do?"