The Misadventures of the Bad Touch Trio

A Fancyass Event

( https://www.regimentvonitzenplitz.com/uniforms.html - Prussian 17th Century Military Uniforms

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1650%E2%80%931700_in_Western_European_fashion#Men's_fashion - European 17th Century Men's Fashion )

(Those links were used in this story although the first one is unnecessary sdkdfjkkjsdjkjk it's interesting as hell that's why I put that shite-)

"I don't want to go- Francey-pants do I have toooooooooo-" The very childish whine came from a person in his late teens who was collapsed dramatically on a bed, his head hanging off the edge upside down.

"Oui, you do, stop whining like a child." 'Francey-pants', or better known as Francis told the first person, Gilbert of course, with a sigh.

The door to the room opened, revealing Antonio, who had the widest smile on his face. "Guess what? There's going to be wine!" He exclaimed, causing Francis to turn around from the mirror he had been previously staring at it. "Quoi? For certain?" When the Spaniard nodded, the Frenchman beamed as the two Latin nations began chattering excitedly about that.

Meanwhile, the Germanic nation scowled at them. "Wine? R e a l l y? Wine is for weaklings!" Gilbert declared, and had two pairs of glaring eyes on him, one indigo and the other olive green. "Beer has less alcohol than wine, weakling." Antonio stated matter-of-factly, to which the albino flipped him off.

"Hm, you know what I want to try? I've heard of Russian vodka, but I can't bring myself to try it, despite a child Russia drinking it with no problem..." Francis mused as he turned back to the mirror.

"If Russia can drink it, it probably has three and a half drops of alcohol." Gilbert said with an eyeroll, yelping as he was dragged off the bed by Antonio who needed to lounge on it and take the entire space.

Never mind the fact that this is Francis's bed.

"Stop lazing around and be useful, tell me if this coat looks good." Francis turned around to the two of them as he adjusted his cerulean coat so it lay perfectly on top of his ruffled white shirt. "It looks girly, who the hell wears knee length inflated... Things? Imagine how inconvenient it is to fight in." The Prussian scoffed as he glared up at the smug Spaniard on the bed.

"Those 'things' are called breeches and are very much in fashion. We're going to a formal event, not a battlefield. And I asked you about my coat." Francis deadpanned, to which Antonio snickered quietly, but fell silent upon the same deadpan glare being turned on him. "Well, I think the coat compliments your eye colour quite nicely." The brunette said with a hopeful smile, relaxing when he got a smile back with a 'merci'.

"Just tell him some kind of shit like that next time." Antonio whispered to an unimpressed Gilbert.

It took about three hours for the trio to be ready, yet they were still not 'fashionably late', rather, they were somehow on time.

Most of the three hours were spent due to arguing between Francis and Gilbert about what the Prussian was going to wear, a normal formal outfit, or his military uniform.

He ended up getting what he wanted and wore his military uniform.

That was not the end of the chaos, though, for the moment they stepped into the hall the event was being held in, Antonio spotted none other than England, a common enemy, really. He was successfully mostly ignored except for a cold customary greeting exchanged between them all.

With all the important people and fancy wine, the only thing that could be discussed would be trade and other boring but somehow sadly important matters. The only entertaining things was Francis's offside comments about how horrid English wine was, in a polite manner of course.

Ahem; "The English have never tasted the joys of true, good wine, I truly pity them."

It took all of the patience Arthur had not to smack Francis there and then, instead only force a laugh and say; "We have trouble caring about our wine as much as you do, for we have other important matters to tend to."

'Unlike some people' was left unsaid, but it hung in the air nevertheless.

While those two argued in a dignified manner, they had a reputation to uphold after all, Antonio was glaring daggers at the Englishman's back, as well as trying to make sure Gilbert does not do anything stupid.

You know, like a babysitter.

Apparently, such multitasking truly should only be left to women, because before Antonio knew it, the albino was gone. Praying he had not set anything on fire yet, the brunette went to look for him, in vain.

That is, until he heard a loud swear in a familiar, slurred voice.

Oh. Oh no.

Following to where it came from, there was Gilbert, arguing loudly and drunkenly with some highly offended looking earls. Just as Antonio was about to drag him away and apologise, the Prussian tore away from the group, then proceeded to run around screaming, effectively catching everyone's attention, about how stupid, stuffy, pretentious and prissy everyone here was.

In only a moment, it was Arthur losing his shit and yelling at him to get down from the tables and stop screaming like an undignified maniacal buffoon, and that if he wanted to embarrass himself, he could do it in his own country and not Arthur's.

Gilbert started bawling like a child, then ran to a slowly escaping Francis, tackling him in a hug and sobbing about how mean England was.

With a dramatic sigh, Francis resolved to his fate, and with flair, of course, for he started yelling at Arthur for upsetting his child.

Antonio thought 'fuck it', took a glass of wine, snuck up behind Arthur, and poured everything in the glass over his head.

That was the cue for the Bad Touch Trio to hightail out of there.

Needless to say, nothing important was achieved in that event, they were banned from England for a decade (they ignored that, obviously), and Arthur practically murdered them every time he saw them.

P.S: Physically fifteen year-old Alfred snuck in and saw all this chaos, and that's what inspired him to become a chaotic dumbass.