Jun. 19th, 2010 09:50 am
And now for some Crac
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fivedayslaterUltimate Football/Soccer Showdown: The complete explanation as to what has been happening during this World Cup.
Word Count: 1,071
“N-no,” England panted as he fell to his knees, “There’s nothing more…I can’t…” Spain, France, and Germany were already lying in defeat not too far away. America was in the same condition as him, conscious but barely standing, unable to do anything but watch as this new opponent did what he pleased over their defeated bodies.
“You bastard!” the American was able to bark, “Don’t you even have anything to say for yourself?”
“America, no!” but it was too late. He turned those dark, soulless eyes towards them, opened his mouth, and…
“BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.”
The walls shook as Vuvuzela continued his unending assault, causing the walls to shake and the very fabric of time and space to distort themselves. America and England covered their ears, but it was a futile effort. Nothing they could do could stop that sound that had already destroyed everything they’ve ever known from penetrating their meager defenses.
This is it, England thought, after everything we’ve been through…to have it end like this… he glanced over and saw his thoughts plastered across America’s face.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a football soared through the air, hitting Vuvuzela smack in the face, shutting him up, for now at least.
“What the…” both he and America turned to see someone stepping through the cracks in the stadium walls caused by Vuvuzela’s last attack, sheep following not too far behind.
“C-Canada?!” America stared in awe. The figure slumped in a fit of depression.
“Idiot! That’s not Canada!” the newest intrusion looked up, surprised but glad that England recognized him, “It’s clearly Australia,” only to sink back into his depression.
“It’s me! New Zealand!” he declared, “Remember? England you raised me! And America, you made all those movies at my house!”
“Oh yeah…” they said in unison.
By this time, Vuvuzela recovered and stood to glare at his new opponent.
“Oh no,” England grit out as America shifted slightly to tack a defensive position, wincing as he did so.
Vuvuzela took a deep breath and exhaled the loudest “BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ” yet, this time forcing the former superpower to his knees as the wall of sound headed straight for New Zealand.
“New Zealand!” England shouted as his former colony was hit head on, thinking the little guy didn’t stand a chance. As the smoke and dust of the attack cleared though, New Zealand was still standing, perfectly unharmed.
“Is that all you got?” he smirked as his sheep coughed up another football, “My turn,” New Zealand pulled his foot back and delivered a mighty kick, sending the ball once again at Vuvuzela’s face.
“You can’t keep changing the fabric of destiny to serve your whims, just because you can!” the nation declared as the sheep coughed up yet another ball for him, “This is everyone’s world, and we have to share it!” Vuvuzela glared and took another deep breath, only to be stopped by a football to the face, “You can’t do this, no…I won’t let you do this!” Another football led to another swift kick to the face.
This time, however, Vuvuzela was able to stop it with an unholy “BZZ” and send it flying New Zealand’s way at a speed that would surely take the island nation out.
“No!” America managed to jump in front of the ball, catching it with the last of his strength and saving the other nation before collapsing back into the dirt.
“America!” England and New Zealand shouted.
“New Zealand…” he pant out, “you have to…stop…him…” America closed his eyes and knew no more.
The last nations standing bowed their heads. “Don’t worry America,” New Zealand muttered, “I will.”
Vuvuzela, during all of this, turned his attention to the completely defenseless England.
“Go ahead, twat,” England smirked, annoying until the end, “do your worst.”
“England no!” New Zealand shouted as Vuvuzela took a final deep breath, preparing the attack that would finally finish off the great United Kingdom once and for all.
Thinking quickly, New Zealand grabbed the football America dropped when he fell and placed it by his feet. He brought his foot back behind him and kicked it forward as hard as he could. This time it hit Vuvuzela in the stomach, winding him once and for all and forcing him to collapse on the dirt in front of England. New Zealand swiftly launched another football at his head, which was followed up by his sheep brutally head-butting the same exact spot until the great evil that was Vuvuzela exploded in a bright light.
Everything that had happened finally caught up with England and he collapsed into the dirt.
“England!” New Zealand shouted as he ran forward to catch his mentor, “England! Are you okay?”
“Yes,” England panted out, “I’m alright…but, the others…” he glanced around the field, eyes lingering on America’s lifeless form.
“They’ll be okay,” New Zealand assured him, “Relax, England…you can sleep now. In the morning, this may all be just a bad dream…”
***
“And that’s why I tied,” England finished explaining, “because the very fabric of the world is being disrupted.”
“Ha!” America laughed, “I think someone’s just making excuses for their horrible performance today.”
“The limey’s gotta point!” Prussia slurred from his seat at the bar, “I’s the only way we coulda…coulda…” he slumped forward in a new fit of tears as Spain tried ineffectually to cheer him up.
“England, you’re being ridiculous,” Greece stated, “sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose. It’s just the way of life, I mean look at France,” he nodded towards the nation who was currently passed out on Spain’s other side for the second time in as many nights, “he was at the final with Italy last time, and this time, well…”
“But that’s my bloody point!” England banged the table, “The only reason all of us decent teams are losing to wankers like the rest of you is because-”
“Oh pipe down old man,” America shouted at him, more than a little tipsy, “It’s the Year of the Underdogs, and you’re just gonna hafta live with that. Besides…New Zealand? Really?” The nations at the bar looked over to where the island was sitting at a booth in the back with his wasted brother.
“Australia…you’re going to have to get over that,” he was saying.
“4-0…it's pathetic,” the Aussie muttered into his arm.
“You have a game tomorrow…please snap out of it…”
The nations turned back to face England, who shrugged.
“Hey, it could happen.”
A/N: He is not the personfication of South Africa. He is the personification of vuvuzelas. Yes, those vuvuzelas. Vuvuzelas on wiki, for those of you still not in the know. It is completely withing Hetalian logic to personify instruments...I think.
France, Spain, and Germany are mentioned in the beginning because, well, they lost! Although to be fair to Germany, he was defeated by the personification of Bad Ref. Spain and France have no such excuse. America and England tied, which is why they can remain standing.
Why New Zealand? Why not?
Word Count: 1,071
“N-no,” England panted as he fell to his knees, “There’s nothing more…I can’t…” Spain, France, and Germany were already lying in defeat not too far away. America was in the same condition as him, conscious but barely standing, unable to do anything but watch as this new opponent did what he pleased over their defeated bodies.
“You bastard!” the American was able to bark, “Don’t you even have anything to say for yourself?”
“America, no!” but it was too late. He turned those dark, soulless eyes towards them, opened his mouth, and…
“BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.”
The walls shook as Vuvuzela continued his unending assault, causing the walls to shake and the very fabric of time and space to distort themselves. America and England covered their ears, but it was a futile effort. Nothing they could do could stop that sound that had already destroyed everything they’ve ever known from penetrating their meager defenses.
This is it, England thought, after everything we’ve been through…to have it end like this… he glanced over and saw his thoughts plastered across America’s face.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a football soared through the air, hitting Vuvuzela smack in the face, shutting him up, for now at least.
“What the…” both he and America turned to see someone stepping through the cracks in the stadium walls caused by Vuvuzela’s last attack, sheep following not too far behind.
“C-Canada?!” America stared in awe. The figure slumped in a fit of depression.
“Idiot! That’s not Canada!” the newest intrusion looked up, surprised but glad that England recognized him, “It’s clearly Australia,” only to sink back into his depression.
“It’s me! New Zealand!” he declared, “Remember? England you raised me! And America, you made all those movies at my house!”
“Oh yeah…” they said in unison.
By this time, Vuvuzela recovered and stood to glare at his new opponent.
“Oh no,” England grit out as America shifted slightly to tack a defensive position, wincing as he did so.
Vuvuzela took a deep breath and exhaled the loudest “BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ” yet, this time forcing the former superpower to his knees as the wall of sound headed straight for New Zealand.
“New Zealand!” England shouted as his former colony was hit head on, thinking the little guy didn’t stand a chance. As the smoke and dust of the attack cleared though, New Zealand was still standing, perfectly unharmed.
“Is that all you got?” he smirked as his sheep coughed up another football, “My turn,” New Zealand pulled his foot back and delivered a mighty kick, sending the ball once again at Vuvuzela’s face.
“You can’t keep changing the fabric of destiny to serve your whims, just because you can!” the nation declared as the sheep coughed up yet another ball for him, “This is everyone’s world, and we have to share it!” Vuvuzela glared and took another deep breath, only to be stopped by a football to the face, “You can’t do this, no…I won’t let you do this!” Another football led to another swift kick to the face.
This time, however, Vuvuzela was able to stop it with an unholy “BZZ” and send it flying New Zealand’s way at a speed that would surely take the island nation out.
“No!” America managed to jump in front of the ball, catching it with the last of his strength and saving the other nation before collapsing back into the dirt.
“America!” England and New Zealand shouted.
“New Zealand…” he pant out, “you have to…stop…him…” America closed his eyes and knew no more.
The last nations standing bowed their heads. “Don’t worry America,” New Zealand muttered, “I will.”
Vuvuzela, during all of this, turned his attention to the completely defenseless England.
“Go ahead, twat,” England smirked, annoying until the end, “do your worst.”
“England no!” New Zealand shouted as Vuvuzela took a final deep breath, preparing the attack that would finally finish off the great United Kingdom once and for all.
Thinking quickly, New Zealand grabbed the football America dropped when he fell and placed it by his feet. He brought his foot back behind him and kicked it forward as hard as he could. This time it hit Vuvuzela in the stomach, winding him once and for all and forcing him to collapse on the dirt in front of England. New Zealand swiftly launched another football at his head, which was followed up by his sheep brutally head-butting the same exact spot until the great evil that was Vuvuzela exploded in a bright light.
Everything that had happened finally caught up with England and he collapsed into the dirt.
“England!” New Zealand shouted as he ran forward to catch his mentor, “England! Are you okay?”
“Yes,” England panted out, “I’m alright…but, the others…” he glanced around the field, eyes lingering on America’s lifeless form.
“They’ll be okay,” New Zealand assured him, “Relax, England…you can sleep now. In the morning, this may all be just a bad dream…”
***
“And that’s why I tied,” England finished explaining, “because the very fabric of the world is being disrupted.”
“Ha!” America laughed, “I think someone’s just making excuses for their horrible performance today.”
“The limey’s gotta point!” Prussia slurred from his seat at the bar, “I’s the only way we coulda…coulda…” he slumped forward in a new fit of tears as Spain tried ineffectually to cheer him up.
“England, you’re being ridiculous,” Greece stated, “sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose. It’s just the way of life, I mean look at France,” he nodded towards the nation who was currently passed out on Spain’s other side for the second time in as many nights, “he was at the final with Italy last time, and this time, well…”
“But that’s my bloody point!” England banged the table, “The only reason all of us decent teams are losing to wankers like the rest of you is because-”
“Oh pipe down old man,” America shouted at him, more than a little tipsy, “It’s the Year of the Underdogs, and you’re just gonna hafta live with that. Besides…New Zealand? Really?” The nations at the bar looked over to where the island was sitting at a booth in the back with his wasted brother.
“Australia…you’re going to have to get over that,” he was saying.
“4-0…it's pathetic,” the Aussie muttered into his arm.
“You have a game tomorrow…please snap out of it…”
The nations turned back to face England, who shrugged.
“Hey, it could happen.”
A/N: He is not the personfication of South Africa. He is the personification of vuvuzelas. Yes, those vuvuzelas. Vuvuzelas on wiki, for those of you still not in the know. It is completely withing Hetalian logic to personify instruments...I think.
France, Spain, and Germany are mentioned in the beginning because, well, they lost! Although to be fair to Germany, he was defeated by the personification of Bad Ref. Spain and France have no such excuse. America and England tied, which is why they can remain standing.
Why New Zealand? Why not?