21 November 2010

MI6, London

1240 GMT

It hadn't taken long for England to decide that yelling at Hong Kong wasn't worthwhile; he'd always been impertinent. It was probably because of some teenager-y rebellious thing. "My Generation" by the Who hummed through his head unhelpfully.

He got Hong Kong to clean up the broken chair bits and dragged Italy outside. Dragging Italy around had been like weight training; England swore that his biceps had swollen in the past six months. He dumped Italy in the corridor and strolled back in as his Mental MP3 Player reached the bass solo, locking the door.

'There we go,' he smiled serenely. 'Now we can discuss your case in secre– Hong Kong, what are you doing at my window?'

'N'ffin',' mumbled Hong Kong, shuffling away from it.

'Really.'

He gestured for Hong Kong to sit on the second-most uncomfortable seat (as the most uncomfortable was now scraps of wood in the bin) and leaned back on his spinny chair.

'So what's this thing about pasta?'

'Well,' Hong Kong started, scooting over to a more comfortable chair, 'I was developin' a, like, pasta comp'ny and some, like, odd sabotages 'ave happened.'

England raised a substantial eyebrow.

'Why the hell were you developing a pasta company?'

'I dunno; the wri'er thought tha' it'd be to'ally funny.'

'What writer?'

'We're in a fanfic.'

England snorted derisively, rolling his eyes.

'You've been watching too much Hollywood, young lad.'

Hong Kong shrugged.

'In tha' case, it's 'cos we wanted some nice, cheap pasta.'

England frowned.

'You're very strange, Hong Kong, do you realise?'

Hong Kong merely grunted.

'Never mind,' said England. 'Tell me about the case.'

Hong Kong shrugged as if he didn't really care (he probably did, though), then peeled open his satchel, taking out his iPad.

'Well,' he said, pressing a few complicated-looking buttons on the fancy touch-screen and flipping the tablet around. The screen flipped along with it. Rows of Chinese text staggered across the monitor.

Show off, thought England with pursed lips.

'So?' he said aloud. 'You know I can't read that. Tell me what happened.'

'Well,' Hong Kong said, suddenly becoming rather businesslike and leaning forward to place his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands, 'there's this pasta company I've been developing; we've got the stock, recipes, managers, locations and the money. Completely organised and set to launch within a year. However, just this morning, really early, the recipes were somehow completely wiped off each computer, hard drive and any sort of data storage space they'd been on, taste samples were stolen, and a ton of money just disappeared from our account.'

'Wow.'

'Yeh, it's, like, shockin'.'

'No, I meant "wow" as in "wow, you spoke normally".'

'That's 'cos the wri – '

'So,' England interrupted, as he grabbed Hong Kong's iPad from his hands and smacked it onto the desk. 'You're saying that you've lost recipes, samples and lots of money.'

'Yuh.' Hong Kong picked up the iPad, stroked the back somewhat lovingly and placed it back softly.

'Didn't you have hard copies?'

'No.'

'Isn't that a bit dim?'

'Prob'ly.'

England sighed. Talking to Hong Kong was sometimes like talking to a goat. Lots of strange mumbling.

'And you also lost samples?'

'Hmm.'

'Didn't you have others?'

'No' really. We have t' eat 'em eventually.' Hong Kong scratched the back of his ear.

'And,' England said confusedly, 'you also lost heaps of money.'

'Hmm.'

'But can't you just trace it?'

'If I could, then, I'd, like, 've done it a'ready.'

England took that comment as an insult.

Hong Kong, however looked rather nervous all of a sudden.

'S-so,' stammered the young not-quite nation, 'w-will y', like, help...me?'

He didn't have to wait long for the answer.

'Hell no!' scoffed England. 'Seriously, it's about a pasta company. That is completely ridiculous! Why the hell were you targeted, anyway? Who'd target a pasta company? That's just silly. Just use your own intelligence.'

Hong Kong's face slid back into its usual impassiveness.

'OK then,' he said blankly. A bit too blankly, in fact. Was he trying to implement reverse psychology?

'W-well, the answer's still no.'

'You said tha' already.'

'I did?'

'Righ' then, bye.'

Taking shuffling steps in his blindingly red shoes, Hong Kong picked up his iPad and headed for the door...

21 November 2010

MI6, London

1252 GMT

SLAM!

The door sprang open, revealing England sitting behind his desk looking surprised and an odd groaning sound from mid-air.

'THEN I WILL!' screamed Italy ardently.

'What?' said England, shock plastered all over his face.

'I SHALL TAKE ON THE CASE!'

'What the hell are you talking about?'

'THE CASE!'

'What case?'

'THE CASE!'

'What case? A briefcase?'

'PAAAAAAAAAASTAAAAAAAAAA!'

England flinched as Italy poured his soul into the beautiful word.

'Of course you're not taking the case!' snapped England when Italy stopped. 'That's bloody ridiculous. You haven't even finished training, and you still suck like goodness-knows-what.'

'But my beloved pasta!' Italy wailed. 'It needs my help!'

'How did you get in here anyway? I locked the door.'

'I picked the lock! And I also eavesdropped!' Italy declared proudly.

'You're bleeding on my carpet!' England yelled.

Italy glanced down, frowning. 'Ve?'

'I'm usin' tissues,' mumbled someone, and from behind the door stepped Hong Kong, holding a tissue stained entirely with dark red blood to his nose in one hand, and a smashed iPad in the other.

'Hong Kong!' Italy cried, stunned at Hong Kong's dishevelled appearance. 'What on Earth did England do to you?'

'N'ffin',' Hong Kong grunted, glaring intensely at Italy.

Italy couldn't imagine why.

21 November 2010

MI6, London

1305 GMT

The hospital wing was bright and clean-looking, positively sparkling with a lack of dirt and germs. It was there Italy, Hong Kong and England now found themselves, after England had managed to persuade Hong Kong to not do kung fu on Italy just yet, and get something done about his broken nose.

The doctor had stuck layers upon layers of plaster on Hong Kong's face, and now the latter was staring cross-eyed at the massive white lump.

'Like, geez thanks, It'ly,' he was now mumbling sullenly. 'I look to'ally ugly now.'

I'll get you a new iPad,' England ventured nervously. 'And you look OK.'

The last part was obviously a lie.

'Yuh, bu' still,' Hong Kong grumbled, pretending to look like he wasn't that chuffed about getting a new iPad. 'I've lost all th' da'a.'

'The what?'

'Da'a.'

'Da'a? What's that?'

'No, da'a!'

Italy coughed. 'Um, data?'

Hong Kong reaffixed his glare onto the careless nation. 'Yuh.'

There was a silence (a rather awkward one at that), and unusually, Hong Kong was the one who broke it.

'So,' he began, patting his nose cast.

'Hmm?' said England, blinking out of his reverie.

'Will y' do the case n'w?'

'YES!' shrieked Italy, hair suddenly sticking out everywhere.

'NO!' England roared at Italy. Italy cowered, and his hair flattened again. Hong Kong felt glad that the wing was more or less empty. England turned his undesired attention back to Hong Kong.

'You twit!' he said forcibly. 'Why'd you have to say that? You know Italy'd be like that.'

'Yuh.'

England pinched his lips, looking uncannily like a toothless old woman. Well, with thick eyebrows. But still. There were probably toothless old women with thick eyebrows.

'Please?' Italy whined. 'If you don't take it, I will! I'll definitely help you, Hong Kong!'

'Oh, really,' muttered Hong Kong sniffily.

'I will do anything for my beloved pasta!'

'I don't doubt that,' Hong Kong grumbled, pointedly looking at his nose.

Convincing England to take on the case took ages of persuasion, the details of which do not need to be divulged, because, as everyone is sure to know, England obviously refused.