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hetalia2009-05-03 02:09 am
thecurtain.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2009-05-03 02:09 am
Entry tags:
[FANFIC] Chocolate Wars
Previous fic post: *1*2*3*
Hey, everyone, your favorite(???) Foodie!Author is back with another tasty fic offering~!
Title: Chocolate Wars
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thecurtain
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Germany, America, Switzerland, Belgium, France, N. Italy; definite overtones of Germany/Italy and a surprise OT3 at the end! (Look forward to it! :D)
Rating: PG, for cursing and vague sexual references
Word Count: 3,481
Warnings: Un-beta'd; gratuitous use of the unproven aphrodisiac qualities of chocolate~ Also this is my first time writing most of these characters, so MAJOR APOLOGIES for any OOCness DX Oh, and unimaginative premise is unimaginative OTL;;
Summary: “Ludwig, thank God!,” the younger nation breathed. Aside from the sweat pouring down his face and the panicked flush in his cheeks, Alfred appeared unharmed, yet he stumbled inside Germany’s house with the air of one who had just been mugged on the streets of his own New York City.
Dedication: Tokalisona, who encouraged the writing of this mercilessly and gave the idea for Switz's apron. Happy (eep, slightly belated!) birthday <3~
At 6:30 on the dot, Germany awoke to a quiet house. He took his dogs out for a run, settled down for a nice breakfast and the morning newspaper, and prepared for his day off.
At 8:22, his chores nearly done, Germany took a glance at his clock and sighed contentedly. So much left remained of his day, he barely knew where to start. Or maybe...maybe he should do nothing at all. When was the last time he had had an entire day to himself? Perhaps he should just stay home and relax.
At 9:15, there was a knock on his door.
--
It was frantic, like the call of an emergency, and if Germany didn’t know any better he’d think it was Italy again, bawling that he’d run out of pasta or some such nonsense. But while it wasn’t quite his knock, it was just as urgent, and Ludwig felt himself grow concerned. Was someone in trouble?
He was on his feet at once and rushing for the door. As he neared, he heard the panicked cries of someone in distinct distress.
“Germany! Germany, Ludwig, help, please, hurry!!”
It was a familiar voice, to be sure, but that panic, it didn’t match up...
“PLEASE!” screamed the voice, as if in dreadful agony. His imagination eliciting all kinds of acts of terror being committed on his doorstep, Ludwig hurriedly yanked the door open by its knob to come face to face with...
“--America?”
“Ludwig, thank God!,” the younger nation breathed. Aside from the sweat pouring down his face and the panicked flush in his cheeks, Alfred appeared unharmed, yet he stumbled inside Germany’s house with the air of one who had just been mugged on the streets of his own New York City.
Utterly confused, Germany ended up letting him by before realizing he had moved out of the way, and now the very relieved Nation was panting in his foyer, looking wildly around.
“America, what happened?” Germany’s voice was urgent but calm. First he had to assess the situation, carefully, and then maybe he could do something--but why had America come to him, of all people?
“Germany, it’s horrible,” Alfred responded, wringing his gloved hands. His blue eyes were strangely dull, like those of an alcoholic denied his beer. “It’s all gone, all of it. None left whatsoever!”
“Calm down, America,” Germany said, his voice taking a more commanding tone. The Nation’s voice was nearly loud enough to break the glass in his windows, and right now Germany didn’t particularly savor the idea of replacing them. “Just what is gone?” He sounded calm, but there was a mask over the worry that had begun to rise in his chest. He couldn’t remember America looking so desperate before--was it his economy? Had it finally...finally...
“My chocolate!” Alfred cried, throwing his hands up in the air and nearly whacking the other Nation in the nose in the process. “All of it, even my secret stash of chocolate pumpkins from Halloween! All gone! Germany, I woke up this morning and it was all...gone...” Alfred dissolved into ear-splitting hysterics. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose on it loudly. Germany stared at him, speechless.
“Did...did you not eat it all?” he asked finally, not knowing what else to say.
“I don’t remember eating it...” America sobbed. “...Oh, but...there was that one time I came home from Matty’s place and I had the major munchies and--oh shit, Germany, I did! I totally did, and yesterday I finished all that leftover Easter candy and now...”
He looked as if he were about to begin sobbing like a little girl. Germany forced himself to stay calm.
“America, I...I am truly very sorry for you,” he forced out, not sure he felt quite like that at all. “But I...admit I’m not sure why you came to me.”
Alfred paused, looked up from his handkerchief, and stared at him.
“...Duh? German chocolate?” he told Ludwig slowly, as if he were speaking to a slow child. “You’re like, known for the greatest chocolate in the world, okay? Right? ‘German chocolate cake?’ It’s freaking delicious, I’m serious--I mean, it’s not Hershey, but--”
“America, I think you’re mistaken--” Ludwig tried, but he didn’t get very far. His front door slammed open.
“What the hell is all this ruckus about? I can hear you all the way from my house, shithead!”
“...Switzerland?” Germany asked, feeling faint.
The gun-toting blonde Nation stalked towards them and took a handful of America’s shirt front. “What the hell are you blabbering about now, idiot?” he snarled, “And why can’t you do it quieter?”
“Ah...Switzerland, your neutrality...” Germany tried.
“Switzerland~!” America began again, and Germany covered his face with his hands. “I’m totally out of chocolate! So I wanted to go find some really tasty stuff and--”
“And you came to this guy’s place?” For a moment, the Nation looked so shocked that Germany thought he might actually drop his gun.
No dice.
“I’m insulted! What gave you the idea this guy had the best chocolate in Europe?! Answer me!” If Vash could have pulled off holding onto America’s shirt with both hands and sticking the barrel of his gun against America’s temple at the same time, Germany felt sure he would have.
“Dude, German chocolate. It’s so good!” Alfred insisted.
“Idiot!” Switzerland settled for giving America a well-aimed smack to the side of his head. “That’s just a term your people came up with for sweetened baking chocolate! It’s not even German! What kind of lies have you been telling this guy?” he demanded, rounding on Ludwig.
Germany withered a little. “Ah...I was about to explain that, only--”
“Wait, so it’s not German? But...” America said, his face growing more and more confused. Ludwig wondered if Alfred’s head was starting to hurt as much as his own did. He seriously doubted it.
“Stupid. Everyone knows Swiss chocolate is the best in the world.”
“Oho?”
Another voice. Germany’s curiosity overrode his caution as he glanced up again at his doorway, certain his house couldn’t take much more of this.
Belgium was leaning against the doorway, a hand on her hip and a smirk on her lips. “Funny you should say that, Switz, since you got it from me and all.”
“Now, cherie, don’t take all the credit for yourself.”
France moved to fill up the remaining space in his doorway, his lecherous smile spreading slowly on his lips. Germany groaned quietly to himself.
“Surely you realize that the famous Swiss chocolate is merely the product of our mutual love, non?” he purred, running the rose--(where had that come from?)--in his hand along Belgium’s cheek.
“Kiss my pommes frites, Francis,” she laughed, elbowing her way into the foyer. “Which reminds me, America, you still haven’t given me credit for inventing one of your favorite foods, you know. ‘Freedom fries,’ seriously? What gives?”
“Wait, so...Germany didn’t invent German chocolate, and France didn’t invent French fries?” Alfred looked extremely put-out. Germany hoped his brain didn’t explode in the middle of his foyer. “I don’t understand! How come they have those names, then?”
“It’s because you gave them those names, isn’t it?” Ludwig mumbled to himself.
“Anyway, the point is,” Belgium interrupted, freeing Alfred from Vash’s grasp with a grin, “if you want some good chocolate, Alfie, you should come to my place from now on. This guy’s got some good stuff,” she acknowledged, jabbing a thumb in Switzerland’s direction, “but it’s nothing compared to the original.”
“Ridiculous! The world would still be consuming that gritty stuff you called ‘chocolate’ if it weren’t for Lindt!” Switzerland countered, his face reddening.
“Lindt?” America brightened at once. “Switz, that’s you?!”
“Don’t call me that,” Vash glowered.
“Dude, Switz,” the young Nation went on, ignoring him, “we get your stuff at home! It’s so good.”
Vash flushed. “It’s not...quite the same...” he sputtered.
Francis chuckled, leaving the door frame to draw closer to the action. “Poor Switzerland. That’s what you get when you start letting others in on your best secrets.” He took Alfred’s other side, opposite Belgium, and tugged playfully on Nantucket. “A-me-ri-ca. Why don’t you come home with me, and I’ll treat you to a taste of some of France’s greatest treasures?”
“You’ll give me chocolate, Francis?” America asked, completely missing France’s blatant overtones. His face broke out into a big smile. “Oh man, thank you so much--”
“Oh, America, honestly,” Belgium sighed. “You’d be better off at my house, I mean it. Neuhaus has both of these guys beat.”
“Neuhaus wouldn’t know chocolate if it beat him over the head with a stick!” ranted Switzerland. “And anyway, the chocolate industry wouldn’t be what it is today without--”
“Ve~ Germany, did you throw a party and not invite me?”
“Italy...” Germany knew he was at the end of his rope, for he actually considered for a moment that someone sane had appeared. Italy didn’t have too much invested in the chocolate industry, right?
“Germany? You look like someone squeezed your head into a little box! What’s going on?” The smaller Nation approached Germany with great concern and felt his forehead. If sanity were heat, Germany thought to himself, he would feel quite cold to the touch. “Ve, Germany, are you okay?”
“I...” Ludwig mumbled, watching with something akin to fear as the three superpowers of chocolate began tugging America in different directions. The ruckus was getting so loud that it was attracting all of his closest neighbors. Oh please, he thought, let Austria be away. Poland, too. And Denmark...no, he couldn’t take much more of this...
“You perverted wino, what in the world makes you think you can even have an opinion on this anyway?”
“Haha, Switz, you’re just angry ‘cuz he got to it before you!”
“I have nothing to be angry about! Or worried about, for that matter. I made your junk better and that’s all that matters!”
“Ve, Germany, what are they arguing about?”
“They’re all trying to convince America that their chocolate is the best,” Ludwig explained, trying to keep his voice steady. Why they had to do it in the foyer of his house was another matter.
“Hmm? But France-nii-san’s food is the best in the world, so shouldn’t it be obv--kyah!”
Switzerland was looking down at him through the aim on his gun. “What was that, pasta freak? And besides that, you walked through my place to get here again, didn’t you?!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Italy stuttered, holding his hands up and shaking. “Germany...! Germany, save me, save me, save me!!”
“Alright, enough!” Ludwig stepped between the two and forcibly removed France’s hand from its dangerously close proximity to America’s vital regions. “This chocolate war is getting completely out of hand. I don’t care what you do, just do it somewhere other than my house!”
“Ahh, Germany is always so strict,” France lamented, sighing.
“But how are we going to settle this?” America wondered. “I’m still completely chocolate-less!”
“Simple.” Switzerland grabbed America by the wrist and began dragging him out the door. “Since you’re so oblivious, I’ll just have to prove to you once and for all that Swiss chocolate is the best.”
“Oh, a contest, then, Switz?” Belgium asked, grinning. “Sounds like fun. I’ll get my stuff and meet you at your place in an hour. You too, Franics!”
“But of course.” France bowed deeply and exited through Germany’s front door again, with Belgium right behind him. Switzerland shoved America out in front of him at gunpoint, and Alfred, laughing nervously, came along.
With the other Nations gone, Italy clung to Germany’s arm, nearly purring at him. “Ah, Germany saved me again~ Italy is so lucky to have such a good friend!”
“Italy.” Germany glanced down at Feliciano, who was nuzzling his shoulder in deep gratitude. “Italy...!”
“Oh, yes, Germany, shouldn’t we go and watch?”
“What?”
“Si, it sounds like fun, and tasty too!”
“Italy...”
“Please? Please, Germany, come with me! Please, please, please!”
“Very well!” Germany exclaimed, seeing that his free day had all but evaporated into thin air. “Come on, then.” Blushing a faint pink, he offered Italy his hand. Bubbling with unintelligible noises of happiness, Feliciano took his proffered hand and gleefully fell into step with the taller Nation as they left Germany’s place and headed for Switzerland’s house.
--
Belgium had shoved her entire fist in her mouth to keep from giggling. France was not as kind and tittered behind his hand. Germany tried not to look directly at it. It was Italy who brought it up.
“Ve, Switzerland, that shade of pink looks very good on you!”
Vash gripped the straps of his pink apron tightly, his face changing colors to match it as America laughed out loud at Italy’s words. “It was a gift from my sister,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Please direct any comments to my Vetterli,” he glowered.
“Ahah,” France replied, paling. “N-no comments at all.”
“C’mon, Switz, let’s get started. Kitchen’s this way, right?”
“Watch it, Belgium, don’t make a mess!”
Francis giggled quietly after them and prepared to follow, but he turned to America, Italy, and Germany, who all looked a little lost. “You three will judge, oui?” He smiled widely, patting the puffy chef’s hat perched atop his head. “Please be patient. Chocolate is an art that takes time and--”
“Francis, get your wino butt in here already!” Switzerland appeared in the room again, his eyes shooting daggers at the three impromptu judges. “You three just stay here and don’t touch anything!”
“Ah?” America asked, looking up as the sculpture in his hand nearly slipped out of his fingers. Amazingly, it remained intact even after a bullet hole appeared at Alfred’s feet.
--
The next hour and a half passed with the three eyeing each other nervously every time a crash or a shout could be heard from the direction of the kitchen. Over time, the shouts became more and more heated, until they had Italy clinging to Germany’s arm. “Ve, Germany, you don’t think they’re killing each other in there, do you?”
Germany responded that he didn’t think so, but he secretly hoped they might.
“Haha,” America laughed uncomfortably. “Don’t worry, Italy, they’re just having a rival’s squabble. You know, like when England and China and Japan get together and argue over who has the better tea.”
“Hmm, yes,” Feliciano nodded thoughtfully. “Italy is very glad Japan never wants to argue over who has the best pasta--”
“Francis Bonnefoy, please confess your sins now!” came a particularly furious shout from the kitchen, followed by several gunshots.
“Ve!” Italy squeaked, and hid his face in Germany’s shoulder.
“Dammit, Switz, your marble’s cracked!”
Alfred couldn’t remember ever hearing Belgium angry before.
“She’s really getting into this, isn’t she?” America wondered out loud, releasing an uncomfortable laugh.
“Ve, Germany, do you think we should--eep!” A glob of hot, melted chocolate landed inches away from Feliciano’s foot, and he curled into a tight ball of trembling Italian on Germany’s lap. As far as Germany could remember, Switzerland’s kitchen was around several corners, so...
“This might be...”
America and Germany eyed each other warily, then made for the hallway, Italy dragged along behind. They arrived in the kitchen in time to watch in horror as splotches of different shades of brown accumulated on the walls and ceiling and countertops. The three chefs in the expansive kitchen were positively covered in the stuff and were all battling valiantly from behind makeshift forts in what looked to America like a bizarre caricature of a snowball fight.
“Kyah!” Italy squealed, ducking behind Germany as a particularly large glob sailed by his head.
“You’ve insulted the genius of Lindt for the last time!” Switzerland was shouting, flinging nibs of chocolate as if they were bullets.
“Ah, this is such a waste,” America lamented, watching the delicious chocolate splat uselessly onto the floor.
“Oh, America!” Belgium had relinquished her cover behind an upturned table and approached Alfred with a glob of shiny dark chocolate clinging to her index finger. She motioned at him with her head--“Open wide~”--and stuck her finger in his mouth. Alfred’s eyes went from amused to “in heaven” mode in less than a half a second.
“Oh God. Oh God Belgium,” he purred blissfully, his eyes closed as the taste spread on his tongue.
“Oh, you like that, do you?” She traced a war-paint line of chocolate across his cheek and the bridge of his nose.
“Mhm~”
“Do not hog him, Belgium,” Francis sniffed, taking America’s other side. He popped a small truffle into the younger Nation’s mouth with a toothy grin, and Alfred practically melted along with the ganache in his mouth.
“Mmph,” he hummed through his lips, shivering with the taste.
“Italy~” France was purring above him, “you want some of Nii-san’s chocolate, too, don’t you?”
“Mm-hmm!” Italy agreed readily, opening his mouth so Francis could pop a piece into his mouth. Germany winced at the dirty look France had plastered on his face.
“France...” he muttered, his eyes narrowing protectively.
“Oh, lighten up, Ludwig,” Belgium exclaimed brightly, offering him a pair of pralines. “Chocolate is the flavor of romance, after all. Right?” She winked at him and tilted her head towards Italy.
“Germany~ What’s that?” Feliciano asked, bounding over to peer at what Belgium had given him. “Can I try?” The taller Nation’s face reddened brightly as he offered one of the pralines to Italy, who took it directly into his mouth, along with three of Germany’s fingers.
Switzerland appeared in front of Alfred, glaring him down with sharp blue eyes. “Here,” he snapped, shoving a different kind of truffle into America’s hand. “I am not feeding you.”
America tasted this, too, and by the time the three of them were done with him, he was practically oozing on the floor with the rest of the chocolate.
“Oh man. That was totally amazing,” he breathed, his eyes still closed.
“So? Whose was the best, then?” Switzerland demanded, folding his arms as he stood over America. Their other two judges seemed a little occupied at the moment.
“Oui, America-kun, I’m dying to know.”
“Come on, out with it.”
“Hmmmm.”
The three waited impatiently as America thought over his decision.
“Okay, I think I got it.”
“Yes?”
“And?”
America opened his eyes and looked up at them. “You know, it was really awesome of you guys to go and make this chocolate for me. It was all really really good!”
“Yes, but whose was the best?”
“Oh, well, that’s...” America’s mouth twisted into a difficult face. “I mean...”
“Out with it!”
“I mean, it was totally awesome to try all those different kinds of chocolates, but...”
“But...?”
America picked himself up off the chocolatey ground and shrugged at the three of them. “Honestly, I think I’m good with just a good old Hershey bar. The kind with the almonds in it...yeah.” America tapped his chin. “I think that’s what I’m in the mood for. Anyway, thanks, guys! This was fun!” he grinned, and began heading back out of the kitchen with a wave. “We’ll have to do it again sometime, okay?”
Switzerland’s face contorted into a murderous expression, and if Belgium and France hadn’t each caught him by an arm, they felt sure most of North America would by now be one large crater.
“Switz, chill out!”
“Think about it, Vash, that guy was raised by England. His taste buds aren’t quite...”
Switzerland was still trembling in fury, but Francis did seem to have a point. His blue eyes turned slowly and suddenly pierced Italy with their gaze. “You. Pasta freak.”
“...V-ve?” Italy squeaked, startled.
“Austria’s always complaining you’re so picky when it comes to food, so whose was the best? Answer truthfully!” he demanded, threateningly.
“A-ahh...G-Germany, isn’t it time for us to go...?”
“I do believe you’re right, Italy,” Ludwig agreed hastily. “Thank you for the food!”
Switzerland, Belgium, and France watched them go in silence before Vash’s temper had to be restrained again.
“Come on, Switz, lighten up,” Belgium encouraged, her grip on his arm still quite strong.
“Oui, Vash, perhaps it is best to let this go. When it comes to food, taste will always be subjective, non?”
“Chocolate’s meant to be enjoyed after all, isn’t it?”
Switzerland’s eyes widened a little as warm chocolate lines began appearing on both sides of his face. “What the--?”
“And the more the merrier. Wouldn’t you agree, Belgium?”
“Oh, yes, I think you might be right.”
“What do you say? The three of us in a room full of chocolate? Who knows what might happen?”
They both laughed gently at Switzerland’s bright red face.
“Don’t think too hard, Switz, we don’t want you passing out before the fun starts...”
NOTES!
1. "German chocolate" is an American term for baker's chocolate that has had sugar added to it. Its first usage was in reference to the man who invented it, named Sam German.
2. Chocolate, as most of you probably know, originated in Central America with the Aztecs and was brought by Spain to Europe. At that point, the Belgians, French, and British got their hands on it. Though the British were the first to mass-produce solid chocolate confections, Belgians are still note-worthy today as one of the leading chocolate manufacturers in the world. French chocolate is not as well known, but one of the websites I found while researching for this fic said chocolate is "a delicious secret that the French have kept for themselves for decades." It sounded so FRANCIS that I had to include him in this fic XD
3. As far as Swiss chocolate is concerned, the general consensus seems to be that Swiss chocolate got its origins in Belgian and/or French chocolate. BUT, probably the greatest modern contribution to chocolate products as we know them is "conching," developed by Rudolphe Lindt in 1878. Conching is a method of further grinding the materials for chocolate to produce an even smoother texture. Lindt is now a famous chocolate brand, also owning products under the Lindor and Ghirardelli. Incidentally, the Swiss are the top consumers of chocolate worldwide :)
4. Yep. French fries are actually Belgian. Wikipedia says they were named "French" because the American soldiers who named them during WWI heard the Belgian Army speaking French.
5. Neuhaus, a Belgian chocolate company, is arguably one of the BEST chocolate manufacturers in the world.
6. A "Vetterli" is a kind (brand?) of Swiss shotgun. I GOT THIS OFF WIKIPEDIA AND KNOW NOTHING ABOUT GUNS, please don't hurt me T_T
7. “Dammit, Switz, your marble’s cracked!” In the process of tempering chocolate, a marble slab or table is often used. Cracked marble = not okay :(
8. Though chocolate is known as an aphrodisiac, this has not been proven. Nevertheless, it's a valuable plot device =D
Concrit is love as always ^_^ Especially for characterization...Himaruya-sensei needs to make more Belgium strips, srsly D:
Hey, everyone, your favorite(???) Foodie!Author is back with another tasty fic offering~!
Title: Chocolate Wars
Author:
thecurtainCharacter(s) or Pairing(s): Germany, America, Switzerland, Belgium, France, N. Italy; definite overtones of Germany/Italy and a surprise OT3 at the end! (Look forward to it! :D)
Rating: PG, for cursing and vague sexual references
Word Count: 3,481
Warnings: Un-beta'd; gratuitous use of the unproven aphrodisiac qualities of chocolate~ Also this is my first time writing most of these characters, so MAJOR APOLOGIES for any OOCness DX Oh, and unimaginative premise is unimaginative OTL;;
Summary: “Ludwig, thank God!,” the younger nation breathed. Aside from the sweat pouring down his face and the panicked flush in his cheeks, Alfred appeared unharmed, yet he stumbled inside Germany’s house with the air of one who had just been mugged on the streets of his own New York City.
Dedication: To
kalisona, who encouraged the writing of this mercilessly and gave the idea for Switz's apron. Happy (eep, slightly belated!) birthday <3~At 6:30 on the dot, Germany awoke to a quiet house. He took his dogs out for a run, settled down for a nice breakfast and the morning newspaper, and prepared for his day off.
At 8:22, his chores nearly done, Germany took a glance at his clock and sighed contentedly. So much left remained of his day, he barely knew where to start. Or maybe...maybe he should do nothing at all. When was the last time he had had an entire day to himself? Perhaps he should just stay home and relax.
At 9:15, there was a knock on his door.
--
It was frantic, like the call of an emergency, and if Germany didn’t know any better he’d think it was Italy again, bawling that he’d run out of pasta or some such nonsense. But while it wasn’t quite his knock, it was just as urgent, and Ludwig felt himself grow concerned. Was someone in trouble?
He was on his feet at once and rushing for the door. As he neared, he heard the panicked cries of someone in distinct distress.
“Germany! Germany, Ludwig, help, please, hurry!!”
It was a familiar voice, to be sure, but that panic, it didn’t match up...
“PLEASE!” screamed the voice, as if in dreadful agony. His imagination eliciting all kinds of acts of terror being committed on his doorstep, Ludwig hurriedly yanked the door open by its knob to come face to face with...
“--America?”
“Ludwig, thank God!,” the younger nation breathed. Aside from the sweat pouring down his face and the panicked flush in his cheeks, Alfred appeared unharmed, yet he stumbled inside Germany’s house with the air of one who had just been mugged on the streets of his own New York City.
Utterly confused, Germany ended up letting him by before realizing he had moved out of the way, and now the very relieved Nation was panting in his foyer, looking wildly around.
“America, what happened?” Germany’s voice was urgent but calm. First he had to assess the situation, carefully, and then maybe he could do something--but why had America come to him, of all people?
“Germany, it’s horrible,” Alfred responded, wringing his gloved hands. His blue eyes were strangely dull, like those of an alcoholic denied his beer. “It’s all gone, all of it. None left whatsoever!”
“Calm down, America,” Germany said, his voice taking a more commanding tone. The Nation’s voice was nearly loud enough to break the glass in his windows, and right now Germany didn’t particularly savor the idea of replacing them. “Just what is gone?” He sounded calm, but there was a mask over the worry that had begun to rise in his chest. He couldn’t remember America looking so desperate before--was it his economy? Had it finally...finally...
“My chocolate!” Alfred cried, throwing his hands up in the air and nearly whacking the other Nation in the nose in the process. “All of it, even my secret stash of chocolate pumpkins from Halloween! All gone! Germany, I woke up this morning and it was all...gone...” Alfred dissolved into ear-splitting hysterics. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose on it loudly. Germany stared at him, speechless.
“Did...did you not eat it all?” he asked finally, not knowing what else to say.
“I don’t remember eating it...” America sobbed. “...Oh, but...there was that one time I came home from Matty’s place and I had the major munchies and--oh shit, Germany, I did! I totally did, and yesterday I finished all that leftover Easter candy and now...”
He looked as if he were about to begin sobbing like a little girl. Germany forced himself to stay calm.
“America, I...I am truly very sorry for you,” he forced out, not sure he felt quite like that at all. “But I...admit I’m not sure why you came to me.”
Alfred paused, looked up from his handkerchief, and stared at him.
“...Duh? German chocolate?” he told Ludwig slowly, as if he were speaking to a slow child. “You’re like, known for the greatest chocolate in the world, okay? Right? ‘German chocolate cake?’ It’s freaking delicious, I’m serious--I mean, it’s not Hershey, but--”
“America, I think you’re mistaken--” Ludwig tried, but he didn’t get very far. His front door slammed open.
“What the hell is all this ruckus about? I can hear you all the way from my house, shithead!”
“...Switzerland?” Germany asked, feeling faint.
The gun-toting blonde Nation stalked towards them and took a handful of America’s shirt front. “What the hell are you blabbering about now, idiot?” he snarled, “And why can’t you do it quieter?”
“Ah...Switzerland, your neutrality...” Germany tried.
“Switzerland~!” America began again, and Germany covered his face with his hands. “I’m totally out of chocolate! So I wanted to go find some really tasty stuff and--”
“And you came to this guy’s place?” For a moment, the Nation looked so shocked that Germany thought he might actually drop his gun.
No dice.
“I’m insulted! What gave you the idea this guy had the best chocolate in Europe?! Answer me!” If Vash could have pulled off holding onto America’s shirt with both hands and sticking the barrel of his gun against America’s temple at the same time, Germany felt sure he would have.
“Dude, German chocolate. It’s so good!” Alfred insisted.
“Idiot!” Switzerland settled for giving America a well-aimed smack to the side of his head. “That’s just a term your people came up with for sweetened baking chocolate! It’s not even German! What kind of lies have you been telling this guy?” he demanded, rounding on Ludwig.
Germany withered a little. “Ah...I was about to explain that, only--”
“Wait, so it’s not German? But...” America said, his face growing more and more confused. Ludwig wondered if Alfred’s head was starting to hurt as much as his own did. He seriously doubted it.
“Stupid. Everyone knows Swiss chocolate is the best in the world.”
“Oho?”
Another voice. Germany’s curiosity overrode his caution as he glanced up again at his doorway, certain his house couldn’t take much more of this.
Belgium was leaning against the doorway, a hand on her hip and a smirk on her lips. “Funny you should say that, Switz, since you got it from me and all.”
“Now, cherie, don’t take all the credit for yourself.”
France moved to fill up the remaining space in his doorway, his lecherous smile spreading slowly on his lips. Germany groaned quietly to himself.
“Surely you realize that the famous Swiss chocolate is merely the product of our mutual love, non?” he purred, running the rose--(where had that come from?)--in his hand along Belgium’s cheek.
“Kiss my pommes frites, Francis,” she laughed, elbowing her way into the foyer. “Which reminds me, America, you still haven’t given me credit for inventing one of your favorite foods, you know. ‘Freedom fries,’ seriously? What gives?”
“Wait, so...Germany didn’t invent German chocolate, and France didn’t invent French fries?” Alfred looked extremely put-out. Germany hoped his brain didn’t explode in the middle of his foyer. “I don’t understand! How come they have those names, then?”
“It’s because you gave them those names, isn’t it?” Ludwig mumbled to himself.
“Anyway, the point is,” Belgium interrupted, freeing Alfred from Vash’s grasp with a grin, “if you want some good chocolate, Alfie, you should come to my place from now on. This guy’s got some good stuff,” she acknowledged, jabbing a thumb in Switzerland’s direction, “but it’s nothing compared to the original.”
“Ridiculous! The world would still be consuming that gritty stuff you called ‘chocolate’ if it weren’t for Lindt!” Switzerland countered, his face reddening.
“Lindt?” America brightened at once. “Switz, that’s you?!”
“Don’t call me that,” Vash glowered.
“Dude, Switz,” the young Nation went on, ignoring him, “we get your stuff at home! It’s so good.”
Vash flushed. “It’s not...quite the same...” he sputtered.
Francis chuckled, leaving the door frame to draw closer to the action. “Poor Switzerland. That’s what you get when you start letting others in on your best secrets.” He took Alfred’s other side, opposite Belgium, and tugged playfully on Nantucket. “A-me-ri-ca. Why don’t you come home with me, and I’ll treat you to a taste of some of France’s greatest treasures?”
“You’ll give me chocolate, Francis?” America asked, completely missing France’s blatant overtones. His face broke out into a big smile. “Oh man, thank you so much--”
“Oh, America, honestly,” Belgium sighed. “You’d be better off at my house, I mean it. Neuhaus has both of these guys beat.”
“Neuhaus wouldn’t know chocolate if it beat him over the head with a stick!” ranted Switzerland. “And anyway, the chocolate industry wouldn’t be what it is today without--”
“Ve~ Germany, did you throw a party and not invite me?”
“Italy...” Germany knew he was at the end of his rope, for he actually considered for a moment that someone sane had appeared. Italy didn’t have too much invested in the chocolate industry, right?
“Germany? You look like someone squeezed your head into a little box! What’s going on?” The smaller Nation approached Germany with great concern and felt his forehead. If sanity were heat, Germany thought to himself, he would feel quite cold to the touch. “Ve, Germany, are you okay?”
“I...” Ludwig mumbled, watching with something akin to fear as the three superpowers of chocolate began tugging America in different directions. The ruckus was getting so loud that it was attracting all of his closest neighbors. Oh please, he thought, let Austria be away. Poland, too. And Denmark...no, he couldn’t take much more of this...
“You perverted wino, what in the world makes you think you can even have an opinion on this anyway?”
“Haha, Switz, you’re just angry ‘cuz he got to it before you!”
“I have nothing to be angry about! Or worried about, for that matter. I made your junk better and that’s all that matters!”
“Ve, Germany, what are they arguing about?”
“They’re all trying to convince America that their chocolate is the best,” Ludwig explained, trying to keep his voice steady. Why they had to do it in the foyer of his house was another matter.
“Hmm? But France-nii-san’s food is the best in the world, so shouldn’t it be obv--kyah!”
Switzerland was looking down at him through the aim on his gun. “What was that, pasta freak? And besides that, you walked through my place to get here again, didn’t you?!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Italy stuttered, holding his hands up and shaking. “Germany...! Germany, save me, save me, save me!!”
“Alright, enough!” Ludwig stepped between the two and forcibly removed France’s hand from its dangerously close proximity to America’s vital regions. “This chocolate war is getting completely out of hand. I don’t care what you do, just do it somewhere other than my house!”
“Ahh, Germany is always so strict,” France lamented, sighing.
“But how are we going to settle this?” America wondered. “I’m still completely chocolate-less!”
“Simple.” Switzerland grabbed America by the wrist and began dragging him out the door. “Since you’re so oblivious, I’ll just have to prove to you once and for all that Swiss chocolate is the best.”
“Oh, a contest, then, Switz?” Belgium asked, grinning. “Sounds like fun. I’ll get my stuff and meet you at your place in an hour. You too, Franics!”
“But of course.” France bowed deeply and exited through Germany’s front door again, with Belgium right behind him. Switzerland shoved America out in front of him at gunpoint, and Alfred, laughing nervously, came along.
With the other Nations gone, Italy clung to Germany’s arm, nearly purring at him. “Ah, Germany saved me again~ Italy is so lucky to have such a good friend!”
“Italy.” Germany glanced down at Feliciano, who was nuzzling his shoulder in deep gratitude. “Italy...!”
“Oh, yes, Germany, shouldn’t we go and watch?”
“What?”
“Si, it sounds like fun, and tasty too!”
“Italy...”
“Please? Please, Germany, come with me! Please, please, please!”
“Very well!” Germany exclaimed, seeing that his free day had all but evaporated into thin air. “Come on, then.” Blushing a faint pink, he offered Italy his hand. Bubbling with unintelligible noises of happiness, Feliciano took his proffered hand and gleefully fell into step with the taller Nation as they left Germany’s place and headed for Switzerland’s house.
--
Belgium had shoved her entire fist in her mouth to keep from giggling. France was not as kind and tittered behind his hand. Germany tried not to look directly at it. It was Italy who brought it up.
“Ve, Switzerland, that shade of pink looks very good on you!”
Vash gripped the straps of his pink apron tightly, his face changing colors to match it as America laughed out loud at Italy’s words. “It was a gift from my sister,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Please direct any comments to my Vetterli,” he glowered.
“Ahah,” France replied, paling. “N-no comments at all.”
“C’mon, Switz, let’s get started. Kitchen’s this way, right?”
“Watch it, Belgium, don’t make a mess!”
Francis giggled quietly after them and prepared to follow, but he turned to America, Italy, and Germany, who all looked a little lost. “You three will judge, oui?” He smiled widely, patting the puffy chef’s hat perched atop his head. “Please be patient. Chocolate is an art that takes time and--”
“Francis, get your wino butt in here already!” Switzerland appeared in the room again, his eyes shooting daggers at the three impromptu judges. “You three just stay here and don’t touch anything!”
“Ah?” America asked, looking up as the sculpture in his hand nearly slipped out of his fingers. Amazingly, it remained intact even after a bullet hole appeared at Alfred’s feet.
--
The next hour and a half passed with the three eyeing each other nervously every time a crash or a shout could be heard from the direction of the kitchen. Over time, the shouts became more and more heated, until they had Italy clinging to Germany’s arm. “Ve, Germany, you don’t think they’re killing each other in there, do you?”
Germany responded that he didn’t think so, but he secretly hoped they might.
“Haha,” America laughed uncomfortably. “Don’t worry, Italy, they’re just having a rival’s squabble. You know, like when England and China and Japan get together and argue over who has the better tea.”
“Hmm, yes,” Feliciano nodded thoughtfully. “Italy is very glad Japan never wants to argue over who has the best pasta--”
“Francis Bonnefoy, please confess your sins now!” came a particularly furious shout from the kitchen, followed by several gunshots.
“Ve!” Italy squeaked, and hid his face in Germany’s shoulder.
“Dammit, Switz, your marble’s cracked!”
Alfred couldn’t remember ever hearing Belgium angry before.
“She’s really getting into this, isn’t she?” America wondered out loud, releasing an uncomfortable laugh.
“Ve, Germany, do you think we should--eep!” A glob of hot, melted chocolate landed inches away from Feliciano’s foot, and he curled into a tight ball of trembling Italian on Germany’s lap. As far as Germany could remember, Switzerland’s kitchen was around several corners, so...
“This might be...”
America and Germany eyed each other warily, then made for the hallway, Italy dragged along behind. They arrived in the kitchen in time to watch in horror as splotches of different shades of brown accumulated on the walls and ceiling and countertops. The three chefs in the expansive kitchen were positively covered in the stuff and were all battling valiantly from behind makeshift forts in what looked to America like a bizarre caricature of a snowball fight.
“Kyah!” Italy squealed, ducking behind Germany as a particularly large glob sailed by his head.
“You’ve insulted the genius of Lindt for the last time!” Switzerland was shouting, flinging nibs of chocolate as if they were bullets.
“Ah, this is such a waste,” America lamented, watching the delicious chocolate splat uselessly onto the floor.
“Oh, America!” Belgium had relinquished her cover behind an upturned table and approached Alfred with a glob of shiny dark chocolate clinging to her index finger. She motioned at him with her head--“Open wide~”--and stuck her finger in his mouth. Alfred’s eyes went from amused to “in heaven” mode in less than a half a second.
“Oh God. Oh God Belgium,” he purred blissfully, his eyes closed as the taste spread on his tongue.
“Oh, you like that, do you?” She traced a war-paint line of chocolate across his cheek and the bridge of his nose.
“Mhm~”
“Do not hog him, Belgium,” Francis sniffed, taking America’s other side. He popped a small truffle into the younger Nation’s mouth with a toothy grin, and Alfred practically melted along with the ganache in his mouth.
“Mmph,” he hummed through his lips, shivering with the taste.
“Italy~” France was purring above him, “you want some of Nii-san’s chocolate, too, don’t you?”
“Mm-hmm!” Italy agreed readily, opening his mouth so Francis could pop a piece into his mouth. Germany winced at the dirty look France had plastered on his face.
“France...” he muttered, his eyes narrowing protectively.
“Oh, lighten up, Ludwig,” Belgium exclaimed brightly, offering him a pair of pralines. “Chocolate is the flavor of romance, after all. Right?” She winked at him and tilted her head towards Italy.
“Germany~ What’s that?” Feliciano asked, bounding over to peer at what Belgium had given him. “Can I try?” The taller Nation’s face reddened brightly as he offered one of the pralines to Italy, who took it directly into his mouth, along with three of Germany’s fingers.
Switzerland appeared in front of Alfred, glaring him down with sharp blue eyes. “Here,” he snapped, shoving a different kind of truffle into America’s hand. “I am not feeding you.”
America tasted this, too, and by the time the three of them were done with him, he was practically oozing on the floor with the rest of the chocolate.
“Oh man. That was totally amazing,” he breathed, his eyes still closed.
“So? Whose was the best, then?” Switzerland demanded, folding his arms as he stood over America. Their other two judges seemed a little occupied at the moment.
“Oui, America-kun, I’m dying to know.”
“Come on, out with it.”
“Hmmmm.”
The three waited impatiently as America thought over his decision.
“Okay, I think I got it.”
“Yes?”
“And?”
America opened his eyes and looked up at them. “You know, it was really awesome of you guys to go and make this chocolate for me. It was all really really good!”
“Yes, but whose was the best?”
“Oh, well, that’s...” America’s mouth twisted into a difficult face. “I mean...”
“Out with it!”
“I mean, it was totally awesome to try all those different kinds of chocolates, but...”
“But...?”
America picked himself up off the chocolatey ground and shrugged at the three of them. “Honestly, I think I’m good with just a good old Hershey bar. The kind with the almonds in it...yeah.” America tapped his chin. “I think that’s what I’m in the mood for. Anyway, thanks, guys! This was fun!” he grinned, and began heading back out of the kitchen with a wave. “We’ll have to do it again sometime, okay?”
Switzerland’s face contorted into a murderous expression, and if Belgium and France hadn’t each caught him by an arm, they felt sure most of North America would by now be one large crater.
“Switz, chill out!”
“Think about it, Vash, that guy was raised by England. His taste buds aren’t quite...”
Switzerland was still trembling in fury, but Francis did seem to have a point. His blue eyes turned slowly and suddenly pierced Italy with their gaze. “You. Pasta freak.”
“...V-ve?” Italy squeaked, startled.
“Austria’s always complaining you’re so picky when it comes to food, so whose was the best? Answer truthfully!” he demanded, threateningly.
“A-ahh...G-Germany, isn’t it time for us to go...?”
“I do believe you’re right, Italy,” Ludwig agreed hastily. “Thank you for the food!”
Switzerland, Belgium, and France watched them go in silence before Vash’s temper had to be restrained again.
“Come on, Switz, lighten up,” Belgium encouraged, her grip on his arm still quite strong.
“Oui, Vash, perhaps it is best to let this go. When it comes to food, taste will always be subjective, non?”
“Chocolate’s meant to be enjoyed after all, isn’t it?”
Switzerland’s eyes widened a little as warm chocolate lines began appearing on both sides of his face. “What the--?”
“And the more the merrier. Wouldn’t you agree, Belgium?”
“Oh, yes, I think you might be right.”
“What do you say? The three of us in a room full of chocolate? Who knows what might happen?”
They both laughed gently at Switzerland’s bright red face.
“Don’t think too hard, Switz, we don’t want you passing out before the fun starts...”
NOTES!
1. "German chocolate" is an American term for baker's chocolate that has had sugar added to it. Its first usage was in reference to the man who invented it, named Sam German.
2. Chocolate, as most of you probably know, originated in Central America with the Aztecs and was brought by Spain to Europe. At that point, the Belgians, French, and British got their hands on it. Though the British were the first to mass-produce solid chocolate confections, Belgians are still note-worthy today as one of the leading chocolate manufacturers in the world. French chocolate is not as well known, but one of the websites I found while researching for this fic said chocolate is "a delicious secret that the French have kept for themselves for decades." It sounded so FRANCIS that I had to include him in this fic XD
3. As far as Swiss chocolate is concerned, the general consensus seems to be that Swiss chocolate got its origins in Belgian and/or French chocolate. BUT, probably the greatest modern contribution to chocolate products as we know them is "conching," developed by Rudolphe Lindt in 1878. Conching is a method of further grinding the materials for chocolate to produce an even smoother texture. Lindt is now a famous chocolate brand, also owning products under the Lindor and Ghirardelli. Incidentally, the Swiss are the top consumers of chocolate worldwide :)
4. Yep. French fries are actually Belgian. Wikipedia says they were named "French" because the American soldiers who named them during WWI heard the Belgian Army speaking French.
5. Neuhaus, a Belgian chocolate company, is arguably one of the BEST chocolate manufacturers in the world.
6. A "Vetterli" is a kind (brand?) of Swiss shotgun. I GOT THIS OFF WIKIPEDIA AND KNOW NOTHING ABOUT GUNS, please don't hurt me T_T
7. “Dammit, Switz, your marble’s cracked!” In the process of tempering chocolate, a marble slab or table is often used. Cracked marble = not okay :(
8. Though chocolate is known as an aphrodisiac, this has not been proven. Nevertheless, it's a valuable plot device =D
Concrit is love as always ^_^ Especially for characterization...Himaruya-sensei needs to make more Belgium strips, srsly D: