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hetalia2010-04-08 10:45 pm
nike2422.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2010-04-08 10:45 pm
Entry tags:
[Fanfic] Nain Rouge
Title: Nain Rouge
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nike2422
Rating: PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): America, Canada, England, France, Ukraine
Warnings: England’s potty mouth mostly, maybe some scary parts.
Summary: A few nations gather at America’s house to watch a new BBC documentary about the death of Detroit, bringing up some atypical emotional behaviors for one of them.
Older Stuff
America leaned over from his spot on the couch, reaching for the remote on the coffee table to stop the DVD. He stared at the blank screen of the TV, speechless, unable to put into words the emotions the program had brought up in him. They had just finished watching the new BBC documentary Requiem for Detroit The other nations who had joined him to watch the program and sat in the room with him were also quiet; except for Ukraine, who was sitting on Canada’s lap in the recliner and bawling her eyes out.
“Oh, what a sad, sad story America! Detroit looks like Pripyat!” Large crocodile tears poured down her cheeks, “Except there was no nuclear disaster in Detroit.” She sobbed and gulped air so hard certain parts of her jiggled more than America cared to see.
“No not a nuclear disaster, but a disaster all the same.” Canada said, rubbing Ukraine’s back. He gave America a look that said, “Way to go, dumbass!”
“Shut it Canada,” America muttered, tossing the remote back on the table. “Like you don’t have ghost towns.” He added, scowling at his brother. He was feeling the sting of the reality of what had once been a large, thriving metropolis in his country was now a crumbling ruin with very little if any hope of being rebuilt. “Every one of us has ruins in our countries.”
France gave America a withering look. “Mon Dieu Amérique, you are an ignorant nation! A large, modern city dying in 70 years because it relied on a single industry for it’s wealth is ‘ardly a comparison to ancient Roman ruins; isn’t that right Angleterre?”
“But they are still ruins.” America insisted. He looked over at England who sat next to France on the couch and frowned, then stared. England still looked at the now dark TV screen, but his lower lip wobbled, and his usual emotionless green eyes … were full of tears? America looked over at Canada with an incredulous look, but the other nation didn’t see him because his eyes were on England as well.
Canada eased Ukraine off of his lap and stood, staring at England. “Is he … crying?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, when ‘ave you ever seen Angleterre cry in public before, Hmm?” France admonished the younger nations, then turned and looked at England when he heard a distinctive sniffling sound. His eyes grew wider when he saw the other nation’s wet eyes and down turned mouth. “Angleterre?”
“I hate that bloody city, I’ve always hated it! That place is cursed!” He sniffed and reached up to wipe his eyes. “When I stood on that accursed riverbank … and saw it …“ England sniffed again even louder. He leaned over and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. Francis put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him sympathetically.
“Riverbank?” Canada asked, “ Detroit hasn’t had a riverbank in centuries. When are you talking about being on the Detroit River when it was a riverbank? Totally understand the part about that place being cursed … Ow!” Canada glared at America, who had just smacked him upside his head. He glared back at his brother and rubbed his head. “Well, what the hell did we just watch? Boomtown of 2 million is now a ghost town with less then half that! Good job!”
America hadn’t heard Canada though; he walked over to England and sat down on the coffee table in front of him. “England, you stood on the riverbank and saw what?”
England looked at America and blew his nose again. “… Nain Rouge.”
France’s stared at England with wide eyes, “Non, mon ami, you didn’t see her, did you?”
“For fuck’s sake I bloody did see her! I’ll never forget the ugly, stunted, snaggle toothed, red headed little wretch!”
“Oui, ‘e saw ‘er.” France said, shaking his head. “Could someone get Angleterre a drink? ‘e needs it.”
“I’ll get him one,” Ukraine said as she walked into the kitchen.
America looked between both nations, frowning. “Uh excuse me, but what the hell are you two talking about? Who is Nain Rouge?”
France gave America another disapproving look, but wrapped his arm around England’s shoulders tighter and cradled his head. “Nain Rouge was first seen in 1701 outside of Fort Pontchartrain du Détroit. The story goes that Antoine Laumet de La Mothe, sieur de Cadillac-“
“Hey,” America blurted out, “That’s the French guy that’s named after the car!”
France glared. “Do me a favor Amérique, do not speak again until I say you may. Anyway …” He gave Canada a disapproving glance because that nation had started laughing. “Enough interruptions … as I was saying, Cadillac allegedly encountered the creature on the riverbank in 1701 while ‘e took a walk with ‘is wife. The creature startled ‘er and Cadillac whacked it with ‘is cane. Shortly after ‘e faced scandal and lost ‘is entire fortune.”
Ukraine returned from the kitchen just then with a glass and a frosty bottle of Stolichnaya. She poured some into the glass and handed it to England. “Here, drink this you poor thing.”
“Hey! Where did you find that?” America asked, frowning at her.
“It was in the freezer, my brother told me where to find it.” Ukraine gave him a funny look, “Why do you keep it in there anyway?” She set the bottle on the coffee table and settled on the floor near England’s feet.
America grabbed the vodka bottle and looked at England and France. “Is this more of England’s faeries and unicorns nonsense? None of that is real and I’m really surprised at you France, that you would enable England to believe in that stuff.” Outside a wave of water splashed on the patio and a sudden outburst of loud, high-pitched swearing could be heard as a short, gray figure danced at the edge gesturing angrily at the whale swimming in the pool.
“I thought I told you not to speak.” France said.
America rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen. He put the Stolichnaya back in the freezer then opened the sliding glass door to the patio. “Tony! Watch your language! We have neighbors!”
England shook his head, “He’s never believed France, even when they’re in his own country he doesn’t see them.” He gulped down the vodka and made a face. “I saw it though, will never forget … that horrible face, and what came after … it’s a demon!” Fresh tears welled in his eyes.
“When did you see it?” Francis asked softly, rubbing his shoulders to help him relax.
England gulped down the rest of the vodka and fiddled with the empty glass in his hands. “It was Lammas Eve, 1763. The Seven Years War had ended, but the natives were rebelling.” His eyes closed, then he continued. “They didn’t like the British way of doing things, and wanted the French to return of course. Pontiac-“
America reentered the living room but stopped when the other nations all looked up at him. “What?” He retorted, “I know that’s the name of an Indian, geez!” He flopped back down on the other end of the couch with a sullen expression and sipped at the beer he had brought with him.
England let out a wracked sob, and then continued, “As I was saying, Pontiac had led a rebellion against several settlements and forts since the spring of that year. He couldn’t attack Fort Detroit outright so he laid siege to the place. We were on our way to rout him out.” England held up the glass. “Could I get another one please?” Canada took the glass from him and went out to the kitchen. England blew his nose again and with a faltering voice continued …
~*~*~*~
The day had been hot and muggy, as late summer days typically were. The men were billeted on the bank of the Detroit River just north of the fort on route to intercept Pontiac and his men. England decided to get out of the camp and away from the smells and sounds of soldiers and take a walk along the riverbank after the evening meal. He casually strolled along the path through the tall grass, looking over the water to the other side. He could see a few people wandering to and from the fur trading post and the dwellings - he couldn’t bring himself to call them homes - of natives scattered about. He turned and continued along the path looking through the tall grass for any sign of red. When Captain Dalyell’s ship had sailed up the river, England could have sworn he’d seen a ginger haired child running along the bank, but before anyone could respond to his calling and pointing she had disappeared into the tall grass. He took the usual ribbing and teasing about seeing things that weren’t there, but he knew what he had seen and was determined to find out who the child was.
He walked as quietly as he could, listening for sounds of movement through the grass. He knew his chances of seeing the red headed child were slim, but he still wanted to try. Why was the child running wild out of the fort? It was extremely dangerous for her with Pontiac’s forces so close. As he mused he noticed it had become very quiet; no crickets, no frogs or birds made a sound. He felt a chill and the sweat on his back made him shiver. He turned and looked at the patch of grass he stood next to, then bent over and looked closer. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” He ordered in his most authoritative sounding voice.
He heard the blood-chilling shriek before he saw the flash of red shoot out at him. “AAAHHHH!” England screamed, falling back and throwing up his arm defensively in front of his face. The creature, not a child, hovered over him cackling with a harsh, strangled sound. England looked over his forearm, his heart racing and in his throat as he stared at it. The horrifying wretch had matted, bright red hair; its eyes were a glowing gold color with slits for pupils, like a cat’s. The teeth were rotted and stuck out of its mouth in all different directions. It crept closer to England until their noses almost touched. England gagged and felt his supper roll when he got a whiff of its foul breath and cringed, shaking with fear.
Just as suddenly as the creature had appeared it disappeared, but not before cackling again and shrieking as it jumped back into the grass and out of sight. England was frozen and stared at where it had vanished, the grass falling back into place the only proof it had been there at all. He heard shouts coming from behind him and stood in time to see two sentries running up, muskets in hand. “Did you see it?” England shouted at them.
“See what? A sentry asked, looking around. “Did you see the savages? Are they attacking?”
“I saw something savage, but not the ones we’re here to fight.” England replied, still peering in the grass for a sign of it. He shook his head. “It’s gone now.” He brushed the mud off the back of his breeches and returned to the camp with the guards. He couldn’t stop himself from looking back as he walked, and for the rest of the night as he sat at the officer’s campfire his eyes kept darting about between the tents and horses in the dark, looking for a pair of glowing eyes and red hair …
~*~*~*~
“… Of course what happened the next day is in the history books. We marched across that footbridge over Parent Creek and into a trap.” England shuddered and gulped down the vodka in the glass Canada had returned to him. “The captain was killed, along with about 60 of our men. The creek turned red with the blood that spilled there.” England’s eyes grew moist as he began to shake again. “That creature is a demon, a curse on that place. I’ll never forget those eyes, and teeth … or it’s breath.”
America raised his hand, “Uh, can I speak yet?”
France rolled his eyes, “As if anything could stop you.”
The younger nation ignored him and looked at England, “So because you saw someone’s red headed kid with bad teeth running around you say Detroit is cursed?”
England glared at America. “Bloody hell you ignorant git! It wasn’t a child! Children don’t have yellow eyes like a cat’s. I know what I saw; it was a demon coming to curse us before the battle. So much blood … All the centuries of war I’ve endured, but that battle still haunts me.” The empty glass slipped from his fingers, rolled down his leg and across the floor as he rested his head on France’s shoulder, silently sobbing into his shirt.
Ukraine picked up the glass and held it in her hands, her eyes moist with emotion and sniffing. She looked up at Canada who stood and stared at England. “So much for the stiff upper lip, I guess.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A fic written at the request of a wonderful Arthur role player based on this news article and on this awesome BBC program on my former hometown, Detroit, Michigan:
The Battle of Bloody Run took place July 31, 1763 on the banks of the Detroit River on what is now the corner of East Jefferson and Mount Elliott streets in Detroit. The British had taken control of the French fort and settlement founded by Cadillac in 1701, but unfortunately their methods of dealing with the local native people were less than friendly. Wanting the much friendlier and generous French to return and remove the British from their land, Pontiac led a series of sieges and attacks on forts and trading posts under British control and took control of most of them, except for Fort Pitt in Pittsburgh and Fort Detroit.
Nain Rouge is a well-known caricature of Detroit lore. She is reported as being a short, red haired creature with very rotten, pointed teeth protruding from her mouth. Seeing her usually means some disaster is coming to the city in the near future. The first sighting was by the founder of Detroit, Antoine Laumet de La Mothe, sieur de Cadillac in 1701. After seeing her he lost his fortune and left Detroit a broken man. The second time was 1763, the day before Pontiac’s massacre of the British. She has been seen a number of times since, always before something bad happened to the city. The last reported sighting of Nain Rouge was in 1979.
Author:
nike2422Rating: PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): America, Canada, England, France, Ukraine
Warnings: England’s potty mouth mostly, maybe some scary parts.
Summary: A few nations gather at America’s house to watch a new BBC documentary about the death of Detroit, bringing up some atypical emotional behaviors for one of them.
Older Stuff
America leaned over from his spot on the couch, reaching for the remote on the coffee table to stop the DVD. He stared at the blank screen of the TV, speechless, unable to put into words the emotions the program had brought up in him. They had just finished watching the new BBC documentary Requiem for Detroit The other nations who had joined him to watch the program and sat in the room with him were also quiet; except for Ukraine, who was sitting on Canada’s lap in the recliner and bawling her eyes out.
“Oh, what a sad, sad story America! Detroit looks like Pripyat!” Large crocodile tears poured down her cheeks, “Except there was no nuclear disaster in Detroit.” She sobbed and gulped air so hard certain parts of her jiggled more than America cared to see.
“No not a nuclear disaster, but a disaster all the same.” Canada said, rubbing Ukraine’s back. He gave America a look that said, “Way to go, dumbass!”
“Shut it Canada,” America muttered, tossing the remote back on the table. “Like you don’t have ghost towns.” He added, scowling at his brother. He was feeling the sting of the reality of what had once been a large, thriving metropolis in his country was now a crumbling ruin with very little if any hope of being rebuilt. “Every one of us has ruins in our countries.”
France gave America a withering look. “Mon Dieu Amérique, you are an ignorant nation! A large, modern city dying in 70 years because it relied on a single industry for it’s wealth is ‘ardly a comparison to ancient Roman ruins; isn’t that right Angleterre?”
“But they are still ruins.” America insisted. He looked over at England who sat next to France on the couch and frowned, then stared. England still looked at the now dark TV screen, but his lower lip wobbled, and his usual emotionless green eyes … were full of tears? America looked over at Canada with an incredulous look, but the other nation didn’t see him because his eyes were on England as well.
Canada eased Ukraine off of his lap and stood, staring at England. “Is he … crying?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, when ‘ave you ever seen Angleterre cry in public before, Hmm?” France admonished the younger nations, then turned and looked at England when he heard a distinctive sniffling sound. His eyes grew wider when he saw the other nation’s wet eyes and down turned mouth. “Angleterre?”
“I hate that bloody city, I’ve always hated it! That place is cursed!” He sniffed and reached up to wipe his eyes. “When I stood on that accursed riverbank … and saw it …“ England sniffed again even louder. He leaned over and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. Francis put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him sympathetically.
“Riverbank?” Canada asked, “ Detroit hasn’t had a riverbank in centuries. When are you talking about being on the Detroit River when it was a riverbank? Totally understand the part about that place being cursed … Ow!” Canada glared at America, who had just smacked him upside his head. He glared back at his brother and rubbed his head. “Well, what the hell did we just watch? Boomtown of 2 million is now a ghost town with less then half that! Good job!”
America hadn’t heard Canada though; he walked over to England and sat down on the coffee table in front of him. “England, you stood on the riverbank and saw what?”
England looked at America and blew his nose again. “… Nain Rouge.”
France’s stared at England with wide eyes, “Non, mon ami, you didn’t see her, did you?”
“For fuck’s sake I bloody did see her! I’ll never forget the ugly, stunted, snaggle toothed, red headed little wretch!”
“Oui, ‘e saw ‘er.” France said, shaking his head. “Could someone get Angleterre a drink? ‘e needs it.”
“I’ll get him one,” Ukraine said as she walked into the kitchen.
America looked between both nations, frowning. “Uh excuse me, but what the hell are you two talking about? Who is Nain Rouge?”
France gave America another disapproving look, but wrapped his arm around England’s shoulders tighter and cradled his head. “Nain Rouge was first seen in 1701 outside of Fort Pontchartrain du Détroit. The story goes that Antoine Laumet de La Mothe, sieur de Cadillac-“
“Hey,” America blurted out, “That’s the French guy that’s named after the car!”
France glared. “Do me a favor Amérique, do not speak again until I say you may. Anyway …” He gave Canada a disapproving glance because that nation had started laughing. “Enough interruptions … as I was saying, Cadillac allegedly encountered the creature on the riverbank in 1701 while ‘e took a walk with ‘is wife. The creature startled ‘er and Cadillac whacked it with ‘is cane. Shortly after ‘e faced scandal and lost ‘is entire fortune.”
Ukraine returned from the kitchen just then with a glass and a frosty bottle of Stolichnaya. She poured some into the glass and handed it to England. “Here, drink this you poor thing.”
“Hey! Where did you find that?” America asked, frowning at her.
“It was in the freezer, my brother told me where to find it.” Ukraine gave him a funny look, “Why do you keep it in there anyway?” She set the bottle on the coffee table and settled on the floor near England’s feet.
America grabbed the vodka bottle and looked at England and France. “Is this more of England’s faeries and unicorns nonsense? None of that is real and I’m really surprised at you France, that you would enable England to believe in that stuff.” Outside a wave of water splashed on the patio and a sudden outburst of loud, high-pitched swearing could be heard as a short, gray figure danced at the edge gesturing angrily at the whale swimming in the pool.
“I thought I told you not to speak.” France said.
America rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen. He put the Stolichnaya back in the freezer then opened the sliding glass door to the patio. “Tony! Watch your language! We have neighbors!”
England shook his head, “He’s never believed France, even when they’re in his own country he doesn’t see them.” He gulped down the vodka and made a face. “I saw it though, will never forget … that horrible face, and what came after … it’s a demon!” Fresh tears welled in his eyes.
“When did you see it?” Francis asked softly, rubbing his shoulders to help him relax.
England gulped down the rest of the vodka and fiddled with the empty glass in his hands. “It was Lammas Eve, 1763. The Seven Years War had ended, but the natives were rebelling.” His eyes closed, then he continued. “They didn’t like the British way of doing things, and wanted the French to return of course. Pontiac-“
America reentered the living room but stopped when the other nations all looked up at him. “What?” He retorted, “I know that’s the name of an Indian, geez!” He flopped back down on the other end of the couch with a sullen expression and sipped at the beer he had brought with him.
England let out a wracked sob, and then continued, “As I was saying, Pontiac had led a rebellion against several settlements and forts since the spring of that year. He couldn’t attack Fort Detroit outright so he laid siege to the place. We were on our way to rout him out.” England held up the glass. “Could I get another one please?” Canada took the glass from him and went out to the kitchen. England blew his nose again and with a faltering voice continued …
~*~*~*~
The day had been hot and muggy, as late summer days typically were. The men were billeted on the bank of the Detroit River just north of the fort on route to intercept Pontiac and his men. England decided to get out of the camp and away from the smells and sounds of soldiers and take a walk along the riverbank after the evening meal. He casually strolled along the path through the tall grass, looking over the water to the other side. He could see a few people wandering to and from the fur trading post and the dwellings - he couldn’t bring himself to call them homes - of natives scattered about. He turned and continued along the path looking through the tall grass for any sign of red. When Captain Dalyell’s ship had sailed up the river, England could have sworn he’d seen a ginger haired child running along the bank, but before anyone could respond to his calling and pointing she had disappeared into the tall grass. He took the usual ribbing and teasing about seeing things that weren’t there, but he knew what he had seen and was determined to find out who the child was.
He walked as quietly as he could, listening for sounds of movement through the grass. He knew his chances of seeing the red headed child were slim, but he still wanted to try. Why was the child running wild out of the fort? It was extremely dangerous for her with Pontiac’s forces so close. As he mused he noticed it had become very quiet; no crickets, no frogs or birds made a sound. He felt a chill and the sweat on his back made him shiver. He turned and looked at the patch of grass he stood next to, then bent over and looked closer. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” He ordered in his most authoritative sounding voice.
He heard the blood-chilling shriek before he saw the flash of red shoot out at him. “AAAHHHH!” England screamed, falling back and throwing up his arm defensively in front of his face. The creature, not a child, hovered over him cackling with a harsh, strangled sound. England looked over his forearm, his heart racing and in his throat as he stared at it. The horrifying wretch had matted, bright red hair; its eyes were a glowing gold color with slits for pupils, like a cat’s. The teeth were rotted and stuck out of its mouth in all different directions. It crept closer to England until their noses almost touched. England gagged and felt his supper roll when he got a whiff of its foul breath and cringed, shaking with fear.
Just as suddenly as the creature had appeared it disappeared, but not before cackling again and shrieking as it jumped back into the grass and out of sight. England was frozen and stared at where it had vanished, the grass falling back into place the only proof it had been there at all. He heard shouts coming from behind him and stood in time to see two sentries running up, muskets in hand. “Did you see it?” England shouted at them.
“See what? A sentry asked, looking around. “Did you see the savages? Are they attacking?”
“I saw something savage, but not the ones we’re here to fight.” England replied, still peering in the grass for a sign of it. He shook his head. “It’s gone now.” He brushed the mud off the back of his breeches and returned to the camp with the guards. He couldn’t stop himself from looking back as he walked, and for the rest of the night as he sat at the officer’s campfire his eyes kept darting about between the tents and horses in the dark, looking for a pair of glowing eyes and red hair …
~*~*~*~
“… Of course what happened the next day is in the history books. We marched across that footbridge over Parent Creek and into a trap.” England shuddered and gulped down the vodka in the glass Canada had returned to him. “The captain was killed, along with about 60 of our men. The creek turned red with the blood that spilled there.” England’s eyes grew moist as he began to shake again. “That creature is a demon, a curse on that place. I’ll never forget those eyes, and teeth … or it’s breath.”
America raised his hand, “Uh, can I speak yet?”
France rolled his eyes, “As if anything could stop you.”
The younger nation ignored him and looked at England, “So because you saw someone’s red headed kid with bad teeth running around you say Detroit is cursed?”
England glared at America. “Bloody hell you ignorant git! It wasn’t a child! Children don’t have yellow eyes like a cat’s. I know what I saw; it was a demon coming to curse us before the battle. So much blood … All the centuries of war I’ve endured, but that battle still haunts me.” The empty glass slipped from his fingers, rolled down his leg and across the floor as he rested his head on France’s shoulder, silently sobbing into his shirt.
Ukraine picked up the glass and held it in her hands, her eyes moist with emotion and sniffing. She looked up at Canada who stood and stared at England. “So much for the stiff upper lip, I guess.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A fic written at the request of a wonderful Arthur role player based on this news article and on this awesome BBC program on my former hometown, Detroit, Michigan:
The Battle of Bloody Run took place July 31, 1763 on the banks of the Detroit River on what is now the corner of East Jefferson and Mount Elliott streets in Detroit. The British had taken control of the French fort and settlement founded by Cadillac in 1701, but unfortunately their methods of dealing with the local native people were less than friendly. Wanting the much friendlier and generous French to return and remove the British from their land, Pontiac led a series of sieges and attacks on forts and trading posts under British control and took control of most of them, except for Fort Pitt in Pittsburgh and Fort Detroit.
Nain Rouge is a well-known caricature of Detroit lore. She is reported as being a short, red haired creature with very rotten, pointed teeth protruding from her mouth. Seeing her usually means some disaster is coming to the city in the near future. The first sighting was by the founder of Detroit, Antoine Laumet de La Mothe, sieur de Cadillac in 1701. After seeing her he lost his fortune and left Detroit a broken man. The second time was 1763, the day before Pontiac’s massacre of the British. She has been seen a number of times since, always before something bad happened to the city. The last reported sighting of Nain Rouge was in 1979.
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