Warning: There be fanfiction.
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The continuing adventures of France, the UEFA coefficient
France was furious as she stood staring at Russia's house. She had transferred her anger from her younger sister Portugal onto a more deserving target in Russia. Italy had unceremoniously rejected France's younger sisters advances anyway. He claimed that he wanted to stay single for now and had no desire get closer to Portugal, plus he still had his sight set on Germany, who had been so successfull last season. Even if the shine was starting to come off slightly.
France though had bigger problems than thinking about the unhealthy love- hate relationship between Italy and Germany. Russia was stalking her and this being Russia we're talking about it was quite a scary situation to be in. She had realised this with quite a shock during the last couple of month. First it had been nothing but a vague feeling, the one that somebody is watching you while you are not looking. Eyes staring when your back is turned. She had told herself not to be paranoid, but then she had noticed a figure moving in the shadows, following her where ever she was going. France's delicate nervous costume, already not in the best of shapes after the stunt her younger sister Portugal had pulled on her, was close to a breakdown.
One day she had met Ukraine while shopping. Ukraine was an easy guy to talk to, and needing someone to share her worries with to she had told him about her suspicions. Ukraine nodded. "Ah, yes, I know who is stalking you, you are not paranoid. It's my sister Russia. She seems to have developed an...unfortunate obsession to coming closer to you, overtaking you, as she put it." Poor Ukraine blushed and looked very uncomfortable. He didn't dare tell France that he was somewhat crushing on her too.
But France was not interesting in Ukraine anyway. Instead she was furious, first her sister Portugal, now she was being stalked by Russia?! It was too much.
So she had marched up to Russias house in righteous anger and knocked at the door loudly. It took sometime before Russia came and opened the door. She was dressed quite richely (a symbol of her new found wealth and status since the end of communism), and there was something about her smile that set France on edge. Russia was scary. "Oh France, how lovely to see you. How may I help you?" Russia said.
France took a deep breath: "I noticed that you were stalking me and I want you to stop it!" Russia just kept on smiling amicably. "Oh, you noticed me following you? Don't worry about that, I have since decided I'd rather go out with your sister Portugal, she is much more attractive than you." And with that parting shot Russia closed the door in France's face.
France fell to her knees, a terrible wail of anguish forcing itself from her throat. "Poooooooortuuuugaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!"
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Over in Romania's house, the support group for depressed leagues was meeting to welcome their new member Netherlands, a pretty girl prone to anxiety attacks. Unlike Romania, Norway and Scotland who by now had arranged themselves with their fate (with the help of some Whiskey generously provided by Scotland for those occasions). There had been some discussion whether Netherlands even qualified as a depressed league, considering her still comparatively high standings, but Scotland had argued that your position didn't matter, it mattered how you felt. Netherlands downwarde slide was recent and she was still in the stage where every result was watched with apprehension.
"Just relax and let it come to you," Scotland advised sagely. "There is no needs to stress yourself over the results, just enjoy the European nights against the big teams. Being the underdog is fun, and if you have success against the odds everyone will praise you." Netherlands wrung her hands. "It's just so difficult to let go when you had such good times, you know? Ajax and Feyenoord and PSV, I used to have such excellent clubs represent me in our competitions. And now, I have to be glad when my clubs make it through the qualifiers!"
Norway nodded in understanding, he had gone through a similar development (though on a smaller scale) with Rosenborg. Scotland and Romania looked at Netherlands sympathetically and Scotland handed her the Whiskey bottle without comment.
Netherlands accepted the bottle and took a deep mouth full of Whiskey. She ignored the moving coffin lid behind her.
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At the top, Spain was still regarding the squabbling of the other leagues with faint amusement.
