Note: Made for Mancy, a friend. The slew of influences was her idea. C: HOEP U LIEK. Bad language and grammar may be intentional. Story rated M for use of language and... idk. I'll make up some gorey lulzfite scene later. Furthermore, while Hetalia characters will at first appearance be noted by country name, later on they will be referred to by their personal name. Google it if you forgot who it was.

Oh, and by the way, I don't know if I will stick to a certain chapter length. I try to make it at least three pages in Word, but it might be longer. But you'll just see~

Disclaimer: Some characters belong to creators who may or may not be me. I do not own any of the following: Harry Potter, The World Ends With You, Kingdom Hearts, His Dark Materials, Pokémon, Axis Powers Hetalia, Ouran Highschool Host Club, The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, Lucky Star, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, Star Trek, Star Wars or Professor Layton.


"Boy, you need to watch out around other people's Pokédaemons." The nurse shook her head at United Kingdom, who was pouting bigtime since they had been all out of bandages and had had to rip up his flag to patch him up. Whimpering at Nurse Joy in front of him, she seemed to soften up. "Alright, looks like you're all better, but you best beware from now on, Arthur!"

"I prefer United Kingdom, thank you, much obliged." The young Arthur Kirkland replied. Although he was actually so old he could normally not enter the school had he truly been human, he was a first year nonetheless, which made it awkward since he was taller than most for once. "I also listen to Great Britain and England." He instantly got hit upside the head by Nurse Joy in a manner similar to what he had seen a certain Special Agent do to his subjects in an American show about the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Insolence! He should have her dropped from the London Bridge. Or keelhauled. Or keelhauled across the London Bridge.

Fixed up, Arthur was kicked out of the nurse's office, not as much literally, but he still hurt his ass on the way out as the door smacked into it. His face angry, trying to hold back tears and hiding his pout, the boy looked around. People were walking around the hall, each accompanied by one of those strange creatures they called Pokédaemons. His pout grew bigger and he frowned angrily. "Why don't I have a unicorn too? Or a fairy or even a tiny electric mouse god? It's just not fair." Pout. Pout, pout, poutpoutpout.

Then he got smacked in the head again.

"Ow!" He let out and turned to see who the culprit was this time to scold them senseless. The words were stuck in his mouth like half-molten twinkies in the rays of the summer sun when he came to see that it was an old sort-of friend of his. "A-A-America?!"

Before him stood Alfred F. Jones, signifying his heritage proudly with a bandanna in the form of the starriest of Stars and the stripiest of Stripes in the bloodiest of reds, the creamiest of whites and the naviest of blues. Striking a pose like heroes in movies did, his glasses shone in the shadowy light and his eyes shone darkly as his chest stuck out backwards in clear sense of pride. "That's iBrother/i America to you, Arthur!" He said, and laughed jovially, drawing looks from passers-by who were standing still. "I told you not to be so formal," he continued, patting the older of the two of them on the shoulder, "especially not to me, in America!"

Arthur just stared at him blankly. "We're not in America. We're in outer space."

"And yet I've yet to see aliens here," Alfred replied, scratching his chin, apparently oblivious to the Klingon and the Twi'lek making out behind him.

Arthur shook his head, but upon further investigation of his rejoined companion his thick brows as furry as Alfred's obsession with Bigfoot were pointed furrowedly into a frown again. "I don't see one of those Pokédaemon creatures with you either. How come we are the only ones without any?" Looking around, what he saw confirmed what he had said. Every single person he saw had one of those monstrous companions. Except for he and Alfred. "Hmmm, suspicious…" Recalling plots of many mystery novels he had read, it made him rather itchy to don the cap and pull out a pipe and drag Alfred along as his Watson. Turning back to ask him though, he saw the other boy already having abandoned conversing with him and talking in rapid measure with a short blue-haired girl dressed in an outfit reminiscent of a sailor.

Upon being noticed as well, the girl leapt at him and pulled him down to her level by the collar. "Hey hey, you're new here too right?! I can see because you got the 'new guy' look in your eyes! Since you're new you must be not familiar yet with this school! Let me show you around and tell you how it all works! Better yet, why don't you join my club?! The Brigade was made for new people to fit in faster and it provides tons of fun stuff everybody likes!" Bam, instantly she had produced a stack of paper out of… somewhere, and stuffed it into his hands. "That is a schedule for the coming week! I'll expect to see you and your friend at dance practice next Thursday at 8! Don't be late, or the bed bugs will bite you!"

Then he was released and the girl had run off again. "Who… what?" Arthur showed visible confusion upon his poor little British face. Alfred patted his shoulder again. "Girls were never your strongest point."

Naturally, Arthur hit him in the head, partly because of that comment, partly as revenge for earlier.

"Hey now, not so violent, brother!" Alfred defended, but he couldn't help a smile as he held up his arms in defense. "Anyhoo, she told me her name is Konata, and she's the head of the Sopping Original Salsa Brigade." Holding up a booklet Arthur hadn't spotted before, Alfred began to read. "The Sopping Original Salsa Brigade is the grandest of clubs that Piloswinewarts has to offer. Of greatest class above all, we enforce school rules and make newcomers feel at home. Boasting the greatest number of members of all the clubs in the school, the Brigade provides schedules and advertisement for sport events and leads the cheering at these events. Skimpy-but-deliciously-cute outfits and pompoms must be purchased upon acquiring membership. Sounds nice!"

Arthur disagreed and showed this by walking away before Alfred was even finished. Dramatically goose-stepping and kicking a few asses on accident just to reinforce his point of "YEAH AMERICA I AM WALKING AWAY FROM YOU".

Without either knowing or noticing it yet, the stack of papers Arthur still held in his hands also contained his class schedule and lots of random tidbits of information about the school. How? Why? It is a mystery to all but Konata.

Alfred stayed behind and thought of going after Arthur for a bit, but then remembered he had an appointment with another dear friend of his. As the memory sprung back to his mind like a frog into a pond, he grinned with teeth shining like full moons and stars, rubbing his hands. "Kiku Honda, tonight is the night you shall meet your doom at the hands of my Navy SEAL ninjas!" He turned around and ran off while laughing like a maniac for no apparent reason. He didn't have any fireworks stuck in his ass, nor had he won found a Golden Ticket to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, but apparently whatever he was thinking about incited such feelings in him that it warranted a maniacal laugh of tremendous proportions, once again pulling all eyes towards him, but not too hard, because he didn't want to pull them out.

- - - {insert epic scene change here, gaise} - - -

The pen flew across the pages and with fluid motions like water cascading from mountaintops in riverlike motions it smacked the ink down and drove it into the paper like a sword could be driven into a heart and slay its owner with avengeance. Held firmly shown in hands invisible it penned like no other pen could, a pen mightier than a sword because it was very sharp and very big, names were written alongside words and made into sentences, as if he were the writer of a wicked story of wicked wickedness. Delegating it like a master strategist would move the pieces along a bored game of chess that he had mastered long before even having started, he only required one hand as aided by the power of magic that flowed through his veins since birth, embedded deeper into his being than the salsa chips he reached for with his free hand, snapping one in half as he ate it with glee sparkling in his eyes hidden from view by way of thick black visor obscuring it from outsiders. None might look upon his visage, the leader of the most diabolical and demonic club of all, and yet the most elegant and intelligent, not to mention numerous. Cult-like in status almost, he was the legendary leader of the loveable boys of the Ice Cream and Cookie Club, officially known as the Oreo Highschool Host Club, often simply dubbed "IC3". He, too, began to laugh maniacally as he wrote down another set of names. "Arthur Kirkland, Miles Edgeworth, Uzumaki Naruto… you're going to be the pawns of my new game."

The maniacal laughter resounded through the entire school for a brief moment before the figure realized and turned off the telecom.