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heroescutiesTitle: The Adventure of the Famous Fiddler (1/6)
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Adventure/Mystery/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: America/England
Word Count: 1,116
Summary: This story truly begins when I first came into the knowledge of not only America’s fiddling exploits, but also when I was presented with the mysterious circumstances of a famous fiddler’s disappearance. [England POV]
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sillyputtie for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_haiti. She asked for A mystery fic. Sherlock Holmesy type (established relationship would be love). So yes. Sherlock Holmes-style USUK it is! It'll probably run a few chapters all together.
It has come to my attention, although a bit delayed in its arrival, that one Alfred F. Jones (better known by some of us as one United States of America. America, for short, of course) has taken a liking to the violin as of late. While not uninclined to musical arts, one might say that the violin is rather a bad choice for him. Or at least, the snobs in Europe might criticize his misuse of the “poor instrument,” as America tends to use it rather jauntily instead of by their standard “proper” methods.
This dalliance in informing me, of all people—well, nations even, turned out to be because it was to be some manner of a surprise for me. One of his, albeit endearing, strange romantic endeavors for me, no doubt. And while I am definitely no snobbish European who scoffs at the mere idea of misusing a violin, the idea that something involving a fiddle is America’s idea of a romantic surprise for me isn’t exactly…well, romantic. Or, at least that is what I believed at the time.
But, I suppose, I am getting ahead of myself. This story truly begins when I first came into the knowledge of not only America’s fiddling exploits, but also when I was presented with the mysterious circumstances of a famous fiddler’s disappearance. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time before I found myself agreeing to look into the matter. Not that America’s flattery of my literature had anything to do with it, mind you. Not at all.
The day began in Washington, DC. I’d flown in for a visit after noticing a rather distraught tinge to America’s tone over the phone. He’d tried to assure me that all was well, but it was quite obvious that it wasn’t. This fact became even more obvious when my knock got no answer and I had to let myself in with my key to the home. “America?” I called out.
A muffled response came from the direction of his study. “England? I’m in here!”
Setting aside my coat and luggage, I crossed the foyer and wound down the hallway towards the study. America’s study was, I will admit, quite the sight to behold. Dusty tomes dotted the shelves, select volumes noticeably receiving more love than others; while the titles he deemed ‘too boring’ were left for the bookworms to consume. Amidst all this, there were stacks of dog-eared pulp novels and adventure journals towering over the floor like miniature skyscrapers, swaying to and fro as I pushed open the door.
On entering, I found America curled up in his favorite armchair with his copy of The Amazing Spider-Man #121 and his eyes glistening with the hint of tears. It was the former of these facts that immediately alerted me to his melancholy state rather than the second. Sometimes I’ve pondered on how he ever got through a rough patch in his life without suffering right along with Spider-Man and the loss of Gwen Stacy.
It was then that I caught sight of his fiddle, all polished wood and vibrantly hued brown, seated across his knees. Something was afoot and it was my duty, as friend and well…as boyfriend, to see to it that America was restored to his usual jovial state as soon as I could manage.
“England?” He queried, setting aside the comic; his hand instinctively going to rest on his fiddle.
I gave a reassuring smile and crossed the room, dodging the towers of books and boxes of comics that dotted the floor. “Did something happen with a musician?”
He nodded, a sad smile on his lips. “Yeah. You know how I finally caved and told you about my fiddle lessons instead of having you freaking out on thinking I was avoiding you?”
I hung my head and shuffled my feet at that. “Yes. Well, it was just…suspicious and…well, what about it?”
“The famous Robert Chafley was my instructor and…he…” America sighed heavily, and he no longer needed to finish that sentence for me to figure out at least a rough idea of what had occurred.
Successfully completing my navigation of the room, I reached out to him; cradling his head against my chest. I was still a tad chilled from the winter air, but he paid that no mind as he clutched me closer. Threading ice cold fingers through America’s hair, I noted how he still held his fiddle close and easily put all the pieces together. “Let’s get you something warm to drink- coffee even- and you can tell me what happened, all right?”
Nodding again, he stood; fiddle protectively clutched in his right hand while he held my hand fast with his left.
“All right.”
----------------------------------------
The situation was as follows: Mr. Robert Chafley was a renowned fiddler, well known and loved by fans worldwide. But, as the matter stood, I feel I should note, he was rather alone in his personal life. No living relatives and too busy with his profession to make any friends, Robert lived his days alone in a tranquil farmhouse by a lake. America, persistent bloke that he is, had become good acquaintances with Chafley in hopes to learn the fiddle himself. He’d been progressing well until two days ago, when no one answered the door when he arrived for a lesson. Robert’s car was missing and has since been located in the bottom of the lake. But, as America stressed at many points in his tale, no body has yet been found.
“Clearly something has happened, England! Perhaps he was kidnapped and is being forced to teach his rival the secret behind his talent. Or, some megalomaniac intends to hold him hostage until I hand over super secret government plans. Or…or…”
I reached over and patted America’s hand on the table. “I’m not discounting your theory that it isn’t what it seems, but…America, can we think a little more logically and a little less comic book?”
He gave me a sheepish smile at that. “Sorry, but…the police have already said they think I was the closest person to him besides his manager. So maybe…”
“We should look into it. I think I might be able to see some things the local police have missed.”
At this, America’s eyes lit up. “That’s right! You’ve got the best famous detectives in your books. Poirot, Miss Marple and Sherlock Holmes! I bet Holmes could solve this.”
Confidently, I smiled to myself. “I’m no Sherlock, but…I’ll give it a go. You in?”
America took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Of course! We’ll find justice for Mr. Chafley. The awesome team of Kirkland and Jones is on the case!”
-----------------------
Notes:
[1] The Amazing Spider-Man #121 - The Night Gwen Stacy Died. The death of Gwen Stacy shocked the American comic book community. Previously, it had been unthinkable to kill off such an important character - the girlfriend of the main character and a character with a large fanbase. This story arc is considered one of the markers of the end of the Silver Age of Comic Books, and the beginning of the darker, grittier Bronze Age.
And I hope people know these, but just in case:
[2] Sherlock Holmes (by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)
[3] Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple (both by Dame Agatha Christie)
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Adventure/Mystery/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: America/England
Word Count: 1,116
Summary: This story truly begins when I first came into the knowledge of not only America’s fiddling exploits, but also when I was presented with the mysterious circumstances of a famous fiddler’s disappearance. [England POV]
Notes: Written for
sillyputtie for help_haiti. She asked for A mystery fic. Sherlock Holmesy type (established relationship would be love). So yes. Sherlock Holmes-style USUK it is! It'll probably run a few chapters all together.It has come to my attention, although a bit delayed in its arrival, that one Alfred F. Jones (better known by some of us as one United States of America. America, for short, of course) has taken a liking to the violin as of late. While not uninclined to musical arts, one might say that the violin is rather a bad choice for him. Or at least, the snobs in Europe might criticize his misuse of the “poor instrument,” as America tends to use it rather jauntily instead of by their standard “proper” methods.
This dalliance in informing me, of all people—well, nations even, turned out to be because it was to be some manner of a surprise for me. One of his, albeit endearing, strange romantic endeavors for me, no doubt. And while I am definitely no snobbish European who scoffs at the mere idea of misusing a violin, the idea that something involving a fiddle is America’s idea of a romantic surprise for me isn’t exactly…well, romantic. Or, at least that is what I believed at the time.
But, I suppose, I am getting ahead of myself. This story truly begins when I first came into the knowledge of not only America’s fiddling exploits, but also when I was presented with the mysterious circumstances of a famous fiddler’s disappearance. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time before I found myself agreeing to look into the matter. Not that America’s flattery of my literature had anything to do with it, mind you. Not at all.
The day began in Washington, DC. I’d flown in for a visit after noticing a rather distraught tinge to America’s tone over the phone. He’d tried to assure me that all was well, but it was quite obvious that it wasn’t. This fact became even more obvious when my knock got no answer and I had to let myself in with my key to the home. “America?” I called out.
A muffled response came from the direction of his study. “England? I’m in here!”
Setting aside my coat and luggage, I crossed the foyer and wound down the hallway towards the study. America’s study was, I will admit, quite the sight to behold. Dusty tomes dotted the shelves, select volumes noticeably receiving more love than others; while the titles he deemed ‘too boring’ were left for the bookworms to consume. Amidst all this, there were stacks of dog-eared pulp novels and adventure journals towering over the floor like miniature skyscrapers, swaying to and fro as I pushed open the door.
On entering, I found America curled up in his favorite armchair with his copy of The Amazing Spider-Man #121 and his eyes glistening with the hint of tears. It was the former of these facts that immediately alerted me to his melancholy state rather than the second. Sometimes I’ve pondered on how he ever got through a rough patch in his life without suffering right along with Spider-Man and the loss of Gwen Stacy.
It was then that I caught sight of his fiddle, all polished wood and vibrantly hued brown, seated across his knees. Something was afoot and it was my duty, as friend and well…as boyfriend, to see to it that America was restored to his usual jovial state as soon as I could manage.
“England?” He queried, setting aside the comic; his hand instinctively going to rest on his fiddle.
I gave a reassuring smile and crossed the room, dodging the towers of books and boxes of comics that dotted the floor. “Did something happen with a musician?”
He nodded, a sad smile on his lips. “Yeah. You know how I finally caved and told you about my fiddle lessons instead of having you freaking out on thinking I was avoiding you?”
I hung my head and shuffled my feet at that. “Yes. Well, it was just…suspicious and…well, what about it?”
“The famous Robert Chafley was my instructor and…he…” America sighed heavily, and he no longer needed to finish that sentence for me to figure out at least a rough idea of what had occurred.
Successfully completing my navigation of the room, I reached out to him; cradling his head against my chest. I was still a tad chilled from the winter air, but he paid that no mind as he clutched me closer. Threading ice cold fingers through America’s hair, I noted how he still held his fiddle close and easily put all the pieces together. “Let’s get you something warm to drink- coffee even- and you can tell me what happened, all right?”
Nodding again, he stood; fiddle protectively clutched in his right hand while he held my hand fast with his left.
“All right.”
----------------------------------------
The situation was as follows: Mr. Robert Chafley was a renowned fiddler, well known and loved by fans worldwide. But, as the matter stood, I feel I should note, he was rather alone in his personal life. No living relatives and too busy with his profession to make any friends, Robert lived his days alone in a tranquil farmhouse by a lake. America, persistent bloke that he is, had become good acquaintances with Chafley in hopes to learn the fiddle himself. He’d been progressing well until two days ago, when no one answered the door when he arrived for a lesson. Robert’s car was missing and has since been located in the bottom of the lake. But, as America stressed at many points in his tale, no body has yet been found.
“Clearly something has happened, England! Perhaps he was kidnapped and is being forced to teach his rival the secret behind his talent. Or, some megalomaniac intends to hold him hostage until I hand over super secret government plans. Or…or…”
I reached over and patted America’s hand on the table. “I’m not discounting your theory that it isn’t what it seems, but…America, can we think a little more logically and a little less comic book?”
He gave me a sheepish smile at that. “Sorry, but…the police have already said they think I was the closest person to him besides his manager. So maybe…”
“We should look into it. I think I might be able to see some things the local police have missed.”
At this, America’s eyes lit up. “That’s right! You’ve got the best famous detectives in your books. Poirot, Miss Marple and Sherlock Holmes! I bet Holmes could solve this.”
Confidently, I smiled to myself. “I’m no Sherlock, but…I’ll give it a go. You in?”
America took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Of course! We’ll find justice for Mr. Chafley. The awesome team of Kirkland and Jones is on the case!”
-----------------------
Notes:
[1] The Amazing Spider-Man #121 - The Night Gwen Stacy Died. The death of Gwen Stacy shocked the American comic book community. Previously, it had been unthinkable to kill off such an important character - the girlfriend of the main character and a character with a large fanbase. This story arc is considered one of the markers of the end of the Silver Age of Comic Books, and the beginning of the darker, grittier Bronze Age.
And I hope people know these, but just in case:
[2] Sherlock Holmes (by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)
[3] Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple (both by Dame Agatha Christie)
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