Random chapter uploads! Fillers are for smart people! /excuses for writing boring fillers
But there has to be something leading to what happens at Areyshland Isles, right? NO, NO RAPE. At least, if there is, don't worry. I won't write details about it. And none of anyone else's characters are going to lose their virginity, if I'm going to have someone raped, okay?
...why would they even rape them in the first place. Pish posh, cheerio, mate, no rape.
Enough of my ramblings. Thank you for reviewing if you do. I read them all.
Chapter 3: One Day Left, Something's Wrong
"Germany, what's wrong?" Italy smiled obliviously, a small smile playing upon his lips. He stretched out a hesitant hand, letting it rest on the German's cheek, as if in a trance.
"Nothing, Italy," Germany replied in his gruff accent. Today was not a good day to disturb him…his Italian friend should know that.
Suddenly frowning, Italy looked up at Germany, opening his beautiful golden-brown eyes. "There is something wrong," he told Germany. "Something is out of place; something that doesn't belong here."
"How…?" Germany's voice trailed off. He didn't know what to say. After all, he had thought Italy was just as innocently ignorant of all the whispers inside his head, even when Germany had struggled to explain the sounds he had heard.
"I hear them, too," Italy said, thoughtfully. "They're so nostalgic. They're familiar, and really sweet for me to hear."
The voices Italy had heard were obviously not what Germany had heard. Sighing, Germany lifted his sky-blue eyes to the ceiling, a feeling of overwhelming defeat falling on him. For some reason, he knew those voices inside his head held nothing but trouble. They were like messages telling him to not do something, but what?
"So, what did you hear?" Italy had pressured him. "Mine say something about 'together' and 'desire'. Do yours?"
"That sounds very dirty, Italy." Germany couldn't help but point that out.
"Not to me," Italy had answered him dreamily. "It gives me a very warm feeling in my chest. I think I miss whoever had told me those words. I miss them a lot."
"Okay," Germany swallowed. "I will tell you what mine said, but do not go and tell anyone else, okay, Italy?"
"Yes, I won't tell anyone else, just tell me, please!" Italy hopped up and down, trying to match the tall German in height.
Bending down, Germany had whispered softly into Italy's ears, quiet enough so no one would hear him. Italy's immediate reaction had been a small but acute gasp, and then followed by a devastated sob. He had begun to shake, his face buried in his hands, and he shook his head in despair.
"Italy. Italy!" Germany steadied the shorter adult. "It's not evil. It's not something to cry over, and you know that."
"No," Italy had sobbed back. "It's evil. It's just…evil." He stopped shaking, but tears prickled his eyes. "Those three words, they're wrong. They can't come true!"
"Italy, I don't see what's wrong with them," Germany shook his head. "They aren't even evil-sounding. Tell me, what do you see- or hear - in them?"
"I don't think you would ever understand." Italy's normally bouncy voice had gone flat and hard. "No, you would never understand." With that, he had swiftly turned his back on his best friend and walked off, the bounce in his step replaced by a limp.
Germany could only watch him leave, confused.
"GERMANY, ITALY!" Mac woke up from her sleep, screaming both said country's names. Struggling to get up from her bed, she blearily looked around her room, realizing that she wasn't in the middle of the conversation she had just seen. Sighing, she leapt up from her bed, grabbing her usual clothes from the top of her drawer. She'd been lazy, Mac noted, and didn't put her clothes neatly back to where they had belonged yesterday. Funny.
Walking downstairs with her usual attire of messy, paint-crusted jeans and her dark blue hoodie that said "awesome", she said a short hello to Jack, her uncle. Her parents had died in a car crash, so she'd moved in with her cousins' family. Jack took care of Dominic, her cousin, and herself. The saddest part was that he had a hand in the Italian mafia, which Mac so bitterly remembered had tortured many of her friends. She didn't want to even think about what happened to her uncle at that time.
"Mac, there you are!" Mac turned around to see Dominic smiling at her, gulping down a breakfast of cereal. "Mmm, usually you wake up earlier than this," he continued, swallowing, and then wiping the milk-stache he had obtained on his sleeve.
"Ah, I had a nightmare, dammit." Mac replied, stoically. She hoped Dominic didn't notice the nervous gleam in her eye.
"Oh? Okay," Dominic flopped down on his chair, and then sat back up goofily. Grabbing his now-empty bowl, he dashed to the sink and washed it down quickly, making sure to erase any sign of grime on the bowl and then placing it delicately in the washer.
"I'll have some breakfast," Mac sighed, before grabbing her own bowl and pouring both milk and Cheerios into it. Dominic handed her a clean metal spoon, and she began to absently mix the two ingredients together.
"Mac…you know your food's going to be nothing but pulp at the rate you're mixing it!" Dominic noted, and Mac blinked as she noticed she'd stirred a bit too much. The cereal was now just a blob of wheat and honey. Something non-edible in her standards. If she was England, then maybe she'd enjoy more squishy foods, too. Actually, she'd enjoy probably every single dish out there, considering his cooking tasted like absolute crap.
As if summoned by Mac's very thoughts, said country burst through their door, with Jeremy slung across his shoulders, struggling to get out of his brother's grasp. England glared at his little brother before dumping him unceremoniously on the ground and giving him a short scolding.
"…What the hell." Mac looked at the two Britons with nothing short of mild interest, as if it happened every day.
"Eep!" Dominic squeaked in surprise. He, for one, did not feel comfortable with people suddenly appearing in his house.
"I'm sorry for the rude entrance, but you have to get out of here." England looked out of breath, now that Mac actually looked at him. His cheeks were rosy and he was panting, if not quietly.
"But why?" Dominic spoke first.
"Now." Something in England's voice told them not to argue.
The Italian cousins exchanged quick glances before following the two British brothers out of their home, but not before locking their door securely. You don't know who is out there nowadays. Thieves and vagabonds are always patrolling each area, looking for prey to steal from.
"Okay, England, I think you should tell us what's going on, dammit," Mac shouted as they sprinted down the empty street.
"Damn Spaniard is missing," Jeremy replied curtly, as if he didn't want to talk.
Mac and Dominic were silent after that short answer. Pablo was missing? For some reason, Mac felt her heart skip a beat. No. It couldn't be true. Pablo couldn't be missing. Pablo was always okay whenever she saw him. Yes. He had to be fine. Nothing could touch him. Only she had permission to injure him.
What was she thinking?
Slapping herself angrily, Mac snarled as she accidentally rammed into a telephone pole, causing Dominic to yelp and the two Britons to turn around and see if she was fine. She was, since the only thing hurting was her broken ego.
"Pablo. Where did you last see him, damn you?" Mac shot the question, her anger blossoming on her face.
"Spain says he returned home in a bad mood yesterday," England told her. "He went straight to bed. When Spain woke up, he didn't see Pablo in his room, and his sheets were torn and messy. Plus," he added bitterly, "There was blood. Lots of it."
Mac couldn't help but gag at the thought of Pablo's perfect flat in such a mess. And the blood! Whose blood could it be? Her immediate thought was directed towards the two people in front of her. She knew the British always had this grudge against the Spanish, or at least the ones in front of her. They were prime suspects. Of course they were prime suspects, they seemed to be on guard, as if wary of whatever questions she was going to throw at them. Oh, she would weedle out the information soon enough, yes! She would castrate them all-
Okay. Enough thoughts. What in the blaze's name was she thinking.
Calming her shattered wits, Mac stared at the sky, realizing that it was raining. Cool rain splattered against her, at first a slight drizzle, then a full blown shower. It cascaded down on the four figures, causing them to throw their coats or whatever clothing they had them over themselves. But not Mac. No, not the sweet tomato Mac. She just sat there, her eyes glued to something unseen.
"Oh my god," Mac gasped, seeing Dominic's worried face over hers. "Nicky, oh my god, Nicky!"
"Mackenzie!" Dominic shouted, using her full name for the first time. "What—what's going on…?"
"Jeremy, you, you're still here, right…?" Mac hiccupped.
"Yes, why, Mac? Are you fine? We can carry you home," Jeremy's voice lingered, distraught.
"You—you can…breathe, right…?" Mac asked.
"Of course! Now worry about yourself, twat." Mac felt something warm being draped over her. Jeremy's coat.
She'd heard it. She'd heard Jeremy gasping for air, saying in a weak voice, "no air". That accent was unmistakably British, and young. It sounded just like Jeremy, or maybe even England. It…it had scared her. She'd felt, for the first time, real fear. How did Mac know it was fear? Because it didn't just knot her gut, make her sweat, and tear up – no, it was just an indescribable feeling of helplessness, drowning her in the darkest depths of hell, as if killing her for her unknown sins. There was no other word or statement that could describe fear. She'd felt it once, when the mafia attacked – now she was feeling it again.
The other two voices? She didn't know. They sounded German, but one was feminine and light, around her 20's, and the other was a more musical, Austrian-like voice mixed with a small amount of Italian-Spanish accent. It wasn't female, either; it had been male.
She hoped it wasn't Pablo's.
"Dude, you okay?" America's worried voice drifted over Mac, who was feeling nauseous. It was weird, lying on the American's bed, and even more weird with two Britons and a frowning cousin by her side.
"Yeah, yeah, dammit," Mac answered, rolling over. This was not her idea of a good day at all. In fact, she should've been having fun, preparing for tomorrow.
Suddenly throwing off her covers, Mac stood on the bed, now about as tall as tall as America, if not a bit taller. "America, we can't go tomorrow," she told him stiffly.
"Eh? Weren't you super psyched about going?" America's shocked face resembled England's.
"No! Something's wrong, terribly, terribly wrong!" she shouted. "They're here. They're coming, and they might kill us. I don't know if it's mafia, or some other crappy organization, but they'll kill us. They'll do things to us, dammit, listen to me, and don't go!"
"Mac," England said, in a very restrained but calm voice, "You're just feeling ill. Rest a while, and you'll feel better. Then you might be able to tell us why you don't want us to leave to Areyshland Isles. We'd have to explain it all to our bosses, you know, and they wouldn't be very happy."
"Dude, take a chill pill," America instructed Mac. "Nothin's gonna go wrong. Nothing at all. So just, you know, chill, take a rest like Iggy here said, and then ya might tell us what you mean. Deal?"
Mac swallowed, hiding a small smile as England's caterpillar eyebrows connected angrily, obviously annoyed by America's English. "I'll do that," she sighed. "But…Pablo?"
"Don't worry, we'll find Pablo by the end of the day," Jeremy piped up. He looked quite honest for once.
"Damn it, you don't have to reassure me or something," Mac gritted her teeth. "I-I don't care about him. He's just a burden, dammit." She felt reassured that Jeremy was actually saying that. He'd even referred to Pablo by his first name, for once, instead of Spaniard.
"I get it, yes," Jeremy waved her off and began to walk out the door. England followed suite, giving America a look that said don't die.
"Don't let those two idiots die," Mac sighed, falling back into America's huge hamburger bed. "I don't want them to die by someone else's hand. Not the bushy-brows; they're my prey."
"Ahahaha! Don't worry, the hero will save Brow-man and Little Dude for you," America laughed. Dominic chuckled along with him.
"Mac, we're still leaving tomorrow," Dominic told her. "You're just tired after you heard Pablo was missing. You might've thought the trip was at fault, but it's just coincidence. So calm down, 'kay?" he nodded.
"I'll take care of her," America declared. "I'll give you a call later today when you can pick her up."
"Thank you," Dominic smiled, before walking out the door like England and Jeremy. "Get well, Mac," he cooed flakily, receiving a babble of Italian curses behind him.
Laying back into the bed, Mac blinked a few times, sleep suddenly looming over her. She would take a nap…just for a bit.
After all, there was nothing wrong. Just voices she thought she heard.
Mac shuddered awake again. The clock said 3:24 pm. Good, she'd only been out for an hour. But what had she heard in that dream? She only remembered four words, and she didn't like them. Ah, just a dream, she waved them off.
America called for Dominic to pick her up. As she walked out the door, she noticed a few figures standing near the bushes. But when she blinked, they were gone. God, she thought, her imagination was really playing tricks on her today. First the voices, now this?
When she got home, Mac sat down, still a bit drowsy. She took out a notebook, then jotted down the words she'd heard previously, both from chasing after the Britons and from her nightmare, or dream. Then, she proceeded to draw a picture of what she thought the shadowy figures had looked like outside.
It was tedious work. Soon, it was already time to go and meet up with everyone. Tired as she was, Mac followed Dominic out to meet her friends, passing the day uneventfully. She didn't even have the energy to chase Hailey or even argue with Himuro about lovechildren. She couldn't even flip Jay off when they'd seen each other, or hold a good conversation with Jordan and Benoit.
She didn't see Jeremy, either.
By the time she got home with Dominic, it was already 9. She showered, then got dressed for bed. She was all packed and prepared, since Uncle Jack helped her yesterday already with the packing. Closing her eyes for sleep, Mac drifted off into a dreamless sleep for once. Her last thought was of Pablo and Jeremy, and how they were doing. She hoped they were well.
How wrong she was.
End of chapter 3. Chapter 4 is where, like the wise Mac once said, "shit hits the fan".
Oh. Don't worry. Shit won't hit the fan in the next chapter...at least, not too hard.
Stay tuned. Review, again, because Prussia will make you awesome. Wait, you're already awesome...nevermindguys.
Signing out, Rainy!