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AmericaxClarinetist!Reader - Mardi Gras Parades

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“Ugh, I HATE PARADES!!!” I stomped off the road to the band trailer after my second-to-last Mardi Gras parade. In case you haven’t figured out by now, I’m not particularly fond of them.

“Aw, c’mon, _____.” Alfred patted my back. “They’re not that bad.”

I glared at him. “Yeah, well you don’t have to march in them.”

Alfred made a thinking face. “Alright, then. I’ll tell you what. I’m gonna march in your next parade.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head, grinning. “Nope. I’m totally gonna march in your next parade. And I’m gonna be marching right next to you.”

“And how, pray tell, are you gonna pull that off when you’re not even in the band?”

A smirk crawled onto my best friend’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ll be a chaperone.”

I sighed, face-palming. “Well, you are over eighteen. . .”

“Exactly.” He put his arm around my shoulders. “C’mon, _____. Let’s get you outta this monkey suit and grab something to eat.”

==========

“Crap, crap, crap, crap!” I hopped out of the parked car and ran toward the band trailer. “I’m late. I’m so late!”

“Relax, _____,” said Alfred behind me. “You’re right on time.”

“Yeah. But when you’re early, you’re on time. And when you’re on time, you’re late. I’m late, Alfie!” I reached the band trailer and gathered the different parts of my uniform together. When I had finally gotten my whole uniform on, I frantically looked around the trailer. “My clarinet! Where’s my––”

I stopped when I turned and saw Alfed standing right in front of me. He held up his hand, my clarinet case in it. I snatched the case from his grip and made him hold it flat as I opened it and put my clarinet together. After putting my case on the trailer, I got in line with my fellow clarinets, winding up on the end of the row with Alfred smirking near me. The woodwinds stood in the back, even behind the percussion, because you know, woodwinds are so unappreciated.

“Okay, Alfie,” I said when he got near me. “You’re a chaperone, so you can’t just look after me, alright? If there’s some other band person that needs help, you help ‘em, okay?”

He nodded. “Got it.”

Soon after, the parade started, and the band began marching down the parade route. I constantly checked my surroundings to see when I was and wasn’t in line, the people around us cheering as we continually played “Dave’s Second Line”.

“How much longer?” moaned Alfred when the drummers were playing their cadence.

I rolled my eyes. “We just passed the one-mile mark,” I answered, still remaining at attention. “Got two more to go.”

He groaned, shoving his hands in his pockets and stalking off.

My fingers twitched, and I got jealous of Alfred for being able to warm up his hands in the cold in-between-Winter-and-Spring air. I ignored the people yelling at us to play something and mocking us. If you’ve never been to a parade, allow me to fill you in: The band is usually the least favorite part of the whole thing. No one likes the band, probably because they either a) don’t want a section of the parade that won’t throw beads and moon-pies at them, or b) are just jealous of our swag. I’d personally go with choice “b”.

One person in particular really annoyed me. When we were stopped, the whole band just sort of went at-ease and wandered out of their spots to mingle with each other. I stood alone (Alfred was momentarily distracted by a few other woodwinds) in my spot with my feet apart and my hand on my hip when I heard a man nearby make a wolf-whistle. I turned to see and spotted a man on the side of the road looking right at me. He had this suggestive-looking face that made me want to puke, and I could easily tell he was more than just a little tipsy.

“Go home, dude,” I said to him. “You’re drunk.”

“Aw, c’mon, girl~!” he slurred. “Don’t be like that~!” Unfortunately, there was no rope on this part of the route to keep the people back, so he staggered toward me.

Lucky for me that he was so drunk, because I could easily fight back. Before he could even lay a hand on me, I smacked him across the face, causing him to lose his balance for a moment.

He glared at me through foggy, bloodshot eyes. “Bitch!” He raised his hand up and, before I could react, punched me, hard. The blow hit me right in the temple, and I immediately fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

“_____!”

Through my throbbing head and blurred vision I could see Alfred quickly make his way toward the man and give a few good punches of his own. He finished off with an uppercut, and the man fell to the ground, where someone near them pulled him back onto the side of the road and lay him on his side.

Alfred turned back around and looked at me, worry clear in his eyes. “_____,” he said as he knelt down in front of me. “Are you okay?”

I closed my eyes and tried to block out all the noise around me. My head hurt. Everything hurt. I opened my eyes to narrow slits. “That guy hit me pretty hard,” I whispered. “Is my clarinet okay?”

“Huh?” Alfred looked around, spotting my clarinet behind him on the ground. He picked it up and looked at it for a second. “Y-Yeah, it’s fine.” He set it back on the ground and gently sat me up, holding me in his arms. “You okay, _____?”

I nodded slowly, but stopped when it made my head hurt more. “Yeah. But I don’t think my head’ll let me march anymore.”

He nodded. “Okay,” he whispered.

A few moments later, a couple of other chaperones came over to see what was going on. The band director came over, and he decided that I shouldn’t march for the rest of the parade. When the band finally began to move again, one of the other chaperones offered to carry my clarinet. I was hesitant at first, because my clarinet is my baby, but I agreed.

“C’mon,” said Alfred softly. He moved to stand up, then grabbed my thighs and pulled me onto his back so that he was giving me a piggy-back ride.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and rested my aching head on his shoulder. “You’re seriously gonna carry me for the next two miles after complaining so much about one?” I said, smiling tiredly.

Alfred made a small, amused noise through his nose. “Yep. Hey, are your hands cold?”

I nodded slightly.

“Look in the left pocket of my jacket.”

I sighed and did as he said, slipping my hand down and searching his left pocket until I touched something soft. I pulled it out and found that it was a bundled-up pair of gloves. I slowly put them on, careful not to accidentally smack Alfred in the head.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “And I got a little treat for you in my right pocket.”

“What is it?”

He smirked. “You’ll have to get it to see~!”

Slowly, I reached into his right pocket and pulled out a small moon-pie. I smiled and quickly opened the package. “Thanks, Alfie,” I said after taking a bite.

I soon finished the moon-pie, jokingly throwing the wrapper at the crowd nearby when I was done with it. I lay my head on the spot between Alfred’s neck and shoulder, then nuzzled his neck. I closed my eyes and relaxed in his arms. “Thank you, Alfie,” I whispered as sleep threatened to overtake me.

He smiled softly. “You’re welcome, _____.”
:iconcommentplz:

Because band and Alfred are awesome, but parades aren't.

Story (c) Me
Hetalia (c) Himeruya Hidekazu
© 2013 - 2024 Ravens-of-Rome
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MusicalPlatina's avatar
Haha! So true!!! OUR INSTRUMENTS ARE OUR BABIES! :3 that's what my music teacher literally says xD and whats funny about this fanfic is that I actually play clarinet too CX