Before the Play (Hetalian Hamlet Preface)

Before the Production of Hamlet:

. . .

“Alright, alright, time to get serious, all of you!” England cried from his chair, crossing his arms.
This was the play of his dreams, far more dramatic, suspenseful, and tragic than anything that Shakespeare and him had set their minds to. It was produced to perfection. He picked the cast with a mindset for a masterpiece of a performance. England smiled to himself. This might be a tell-tale to last centuries. And he, as the country of Great Britain, would take the credit of being the nation to produce this.
Shakespeare, now a emerging middle-aged man, ran in a panic towards his nation. Though he had done this multiple times, this play was not one to be messed up.
England rose an eyebrow towards Shakespeare. “You’re sweating it out already?”
“Yes, but never-mind that. Where’s Hamlet?”
England turned his head. “Ah... Mathias!!!”
Denmark, trying to get into his tights, fell right onto the floor in front of an impatient England. “Sorry ‘bout that, Arthur... Mr. Shakespeare.” He bowed in front of them, grinning smugly, gripping his hat. “Are we actually ready to go?!?”
England sighed, rubbing his temples. “Yes, yes... just don’t fall on stage like you just did in front of me.”
Denmark saluted, giggling to himself. “Got it!!”
Shakespeare nodded in satisfaction. “Mathias, my good boy... you are the prince of Denmark. You know the play. You know your character.”
Denmark nodded continuously. “Please, you’re makin’ me nervous, Mr. Shakespeare! I know what I gotta do!” He laughed abruptly and hesitantly. The sweat that went off his blonde brow was evidence of his fright. Denmark gripped his hat again, clutching it to his chest.
Shakespeare mused along with England. “Gather all the others, Lord England. I need them with Mathias right now, before he faints from stage fright.”
England held nothing back as his booming voice echoes throughout the backstage.
“LUKAS!! EMIL!! BERWALD!! TINO!!!”
Immediately everyone who was dressing for the performance paused in shock. After a few seconds, Sweden, along with his fellow Nordics, surrounded the two nations and Shakespeare. “Ya. What is it.”
Iceland shuttered. From Sweden, it sounded less like a question, but more like a command. It was definitely appropriate to assign Sweden as the main antagonist of the play.
England sighed. “Just... comfort him. It’s his first play, but the thing is that he’s nervous for the first time I’ve ever seen him.”
Norway huffed apathetically. “Well that’s unlike him. He’s usually blabbing about something irrelevant and isn’t afraid to speak his mind about it-”
“Shut it, Lukas!!! I don’t need any of your crap!!”
“Now calm down, all of you,” Shakespeare announced, “there’s no reason to sweat. My good Nordic brothers... Lords Sweden, Finland, Norway, Iceland... Denmark... you are all wonderful. You’ll do wonders up there. The audience will love the drama, and love you in the process.”
The five countries nodded, slightly smiling.
England interrupted, rolling his eyes. “But don’t slack off. We need this to be bloody spectacular. The Queen’s up there. Don’t disappoint.”
Iceland grunted softly in agreement. “Alright.”
Then the stage was suddenly filled with applause, echoed through the wooden walls of the backstage. England swallowed.
“Nordics...” he murmured, knowing that the introduction was being presented, “Break a leg. All of you, do wonders!!”
The cast and crew applauded, tipping their hats and curtsying towards England and Shakespeare. England started to bow before everyone was called.
Everyone stopped celebrating. France, playing Polonius, was the first to speak. “We’re not applauding to you, Black Sheep of Europe!! Move over!!”
England was then proceeded off the stage by force and foul language and the cast bowed to Shakespeare, who was take aback. Even after all these years of directing, writing, and producing, he had never been given this kind of respect. He bowed to his cast.
“This has been a joy. Go and show the audience a bloody good show. Now... places, everyone!!!”
Everyone scrambled after those words were spoken. Denmark, nodding in self-confidence, ran to the stairs where he would enter in a few scenes. he was so that he could barely contain himself. Norway, smirking, stood next to his fellow Nordic, patting him of the shoulder. “I hate to say it, but good luck. As Fortinbras to Hamlet, I mean-”
Denmark suddenly embraced Norway, and Norway smiled slightly, making sure Denmark wouldn’t see his emotions. “Lukas, thanks a bunch!!”
“Alright, alright, don’t get all excited on me, I already know you peed yourself due to nervousness, you don’t have to come close to reveal it.”
Denmark shrunk back, looked down, and clutched his lower regions known to him as Copenhagen.
“You stink.”
“Yeah, yeah... I just had to point that out before anyone in the audience notices that Hamlet pees his pants.”
As time slowed down, anticipation started building up behind stage. The crowd was silent. Then the curtains opened, revealing Act 1, revealing what would be one of the most famously written tragedies in history.