Family Ties [Part 12]
Feb. 24th, 2010 02:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hellzabethTitle: Family Ties
Characters (in this chapter): Wales, Scotland, America, France, Canada, Russia, the World Conference.
Rating: 15
Warnings: Wales reminds people that his National symbol is the dragon. Graphic descriptions of dislocated jaws.
Summary: Uh, I need to be banned from the kink meme or monsters like this happen? Essentially, Scotland leaves the UK, which gives Northern Ireland an excuse to up and out as well, which leaves England and Wales all alone. Oh yeah, and this somehow leads to World War Three.
The conference room was abuzz with noise, gossip and discussion. Rumors that someone had injured, even killed England spread, while others denied that the usual family argument on the British Isles would ever go so far these days. Scotland was keeping oddly quiet about the whole thing, and France and Russia blocked most advances. A few jetlagged Nations dozed in their chairs, but others like Australia, New Zealand and Hong Kong sat wide awake, giving each other nervous glances. Canada paced, unnoticed, by the door, and was almost knocked to the ground when it burst open.
Wales strode in, his face a picture of fury that would make smaller men weep. Scotland stepped out from behind his barricade as his brother made a beeline for him.
“Wales, I-”
There was the sound of a jaw being knocked out of place as Wales slugged him.
France caught the red head as he stumbled back, the others in the room stifling gasps and yells.
“I would call you a son of a bitch, but that would be insulting our mother.”
“Owch. Burn.” Mumbled Prussia. Germany kicked him in the shin. Wales almost advanced on his fallen brother again, but Canada grabbed one arm, Australia leaping up to grab the other.
“Playing mind games with Arthur is one thing!” Wales snarled, still furious. “And there will always be people in one country or another that want to separate and start their own state. That, we can deal with.” He drew a deep breath through his nose. “But bombs, Scotland?”
The use of the formal name was probably a harder hit than the punch had been. “Wales-” tried France, only to have the dragon turn on him instead.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to disown over 2000 of your people all at once? In this modern day?” Australia and Canada had to dig their feet into the carpet. “I did that, for England. For my brother!” A sneer worthy of Arthur himself appeared, the family resemblance startling. “I feel ashamed to have to call you by the same title.”
America chose this point to enter the room. His smile seemed to be at odds with the atmosphere, like he intended to lighten the mood with just that. The gun he was playing with in his hand was a different story.
“How-dee-doo, everyone!” he cheered amicably. “Who’s the suicidal fucker that thought giving bombs to revolutionaries would be a bright fucking idea?” His hand stilled on the weapon. Canada let go of Wales’ arm to turn to his brother with nervous eyes.
“Al, don’t do anything-” He tensed his shoulders as America’s blue eyes, unusually cold for him, met his own. “…stupid.”
“Stupid, Matt?” America laughed. “No, I’m not the one being stupid here. What is stupid is that you two,” he gestured with the gun at Scotland and France, who stiffened. “thought it would be a good idea to bring him” now at Russia, who was still smiling, like he found this entire thing incredibly amusing. Maybe he did. “Into your little fight. Now, given that he’s the established Bad Guy, and I’m the Hero, don’t you think it was stupid of you to pick the wrong side?”
“America, don’t tell me you’re going to declare war on me?” Russia feigned shock, so obviously fake that it was clearly just bait. “Not when you have no evidence that I’ve had any direct involvement with this at all, surely.”
“Bite me, you frozen bastard.” Alfred smirked. Canada groaned, burying his face in his hands. Wales stayed silent, studying the situation.
“So then.” He said slowly, making America notice he was there. “You’re my back up.”
-----
“Okay cher, on the count of trois, this is going to hurt.” France held his hands on both sides of Scotland’s jaw, which hung loose and painfully wide open. The red head glared at him sulkily, eyes demanding he just get on with it already. “Un, deux, trois-” crack-pop, and Scotland let out a rather un-manly yelp of pain, almost falling off the edge of the hotel bed he was sitting on. France leaned forward, looking mildly concerned and interested to see if it had worked. One very interesting thing about James Kirkland; he healed very quickly, always had.
“Fuckin’ ow.” grumbled the Scot, rubbing at his stubble and wincing at the soreness. “I forget how good his left hook is sometimes.”
“Perhaps it would be in our best interests not to, James.” France laughed weakly, watching the swelling around the sockets go steadily down, fascinated. “We are, after all, at war.”
“Know thy enemy. Ach, do I ever.” Scotland sighed, falling back on the pillows, eyebrows scrunched together in thought. France idly traced a finger down his ally’s leg.
“Ah, but we have started something awful, have we not?” the Frenchman murmured. The red head scoffed.
“Aye, that we ‘ave.” he stared morosely at the ceiling. “Though this was my fault to begin with.”
“Cher-”
“Don’ try t’ tell me it wasn’t, cause it was.” Scotland draped an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the glow of the setting sun as it came streaming through the half-drawn curtains. “T’was my idea t’ get Russia involved, my idea t’ use the Welsh Independence twats, and my idea t’ not warn Artie and Darren ‘til it was too late. Now England’s in the hospital, and he hates hospitals, and I’ve pretty much alienated the world.”
Francis let the other wallow in his own misery for a little while. “So, what is your point, James?”
“My point is that I’m regrettin’ the whole bloody business.” Scotland growled, moving his arm off his face so he could give France a pointed glare for being so stupid. “Not leaving the Union, can’t say I regret that. Just the fightin’. It’s almost… petty, aye? Live on the same bloody island for 2000 years an’ still cannae get on with the bastard.”
“Oui, quite petty.” Francis agreed, planting a small kiss on James’ frowning forehead. “But that is in our nature, non? Petty arguments increase, and get worse, until there are wars. We are not like humans, James.” the blonde Nation flopped down beside him, hair fanning out onto the pillows and the sun behind him giving him an artificial halo. “Our actions have much higher consequences. If that’s the way round this whole thing works.”
“Och, shut up before ye summon Greece.”
France raised an eyebrow, teasingly. “Why don’t you make me, cher.”
-----
When Arthur opened his eyes again, he was still in the hospital. He really, really didn’t like hospitals. He had nothing against the staff (he’d seen worse), or the treatments (he’d had worse), or even the food (he’d most definitely eaten worse). It was the fact that he was pushed into the back seat, coddled like a child and over all weak. He didn’t let many people see him like this either, usually. Only this time, everyone had decided to turn up and see him.
“You wouldn’t believe what Uncle Darren did, pom!” ranted Australia, his hands flying about in wild gestures to illustrate his point. “Uncle Jim just opens his mouth ‘n’ bam! Right in the gob!” He punched his own palm, as New Zealand rolled her eyes and brushed a lock of dark blonde hair behind her ear.
“You’ve only told him about ten times already, Brooke.” Her sheep bleated its agreement. God knows how she got that thing in here. Australia twitched slightly at the mention of his name.
“And you’ve interrupted me ten times too, Katherine.” he taunted back, pulling a face at her and daring to use her full name. His koala, similarly snuck in, made a swiping motion with one of it’s paws.
“I get it anyway.” England broke in before the two could escalate into a fight. “And Scotland?”
“Is a fuckwit.” Australia nodded. So much for staying a neutral party.
“No, I mean, what happened to him?” Arthur pressed. The two siblings shared a perplexed look.
“Why do you even care?” asked New Zealand.
England didn’t answer.
They wouldn't understand right now, England knew. But maybe they’d get it too one day.
Notes:
- Brooke is a gender neutral name. Australia hates it. New Zealand knows this and exploits it.
- The name Katherine is shamelessly stolen from the New Zealand authoress Katherine Mansfield, whom I admire. New Zealand prefers "Kat" or "Kath", these days.
Part 13
Characters (in this chapter): Wales, Scotland, America, France, Canada, Russia, the World Conference.
Rating: 15
Warnings: Wales reminds people that his National symbol is the dragon. Graphic descriptions of dislocated jaws.
Summary: Uh, I need to be banned from the kink meme or monsters like this happen? Essentially, Scotland leaves the UK, which gives Northern Ireland an excuse to up and out as well, which leaves England and Wales all alone. Oh yeah, and this somehow leads to World War Three.
The conference room was abuzz with noise, gossip and discussion. Rumors that someone had injured, even killed England spread, while others denied that the usual family argument on the British Isles would ever go so far these days. Scotland was keeping oddly quiet about the whole thing, and France and Russia blocked most advances. A few jetlagged Nations dozed in their chairs, but others like Australia, New Zealand and Hong Kong sat wide awake, giving each other nervous glances. Canada paced, unnoticed, by the door, and was almost knocked to the ground when it burst open.
Wales strode in, his face a picture of fury that would make smaller men weep. Scotland stepped out from behind his barricade as his brother made a beeline for him.
“Wales, I-”
There was the sound of a jaw being knocked out of place as Wales slugged him.
France caught the red head as he stumbled back, the others in the room stifling gasps and yells.
“I would call you a son of a bitch, but that would be insulting our mother.”
“Owch. Burn.” Mumbled Prussia. Germany kicked him in the shin. Wales almost advanced on his fallen brother again, but Canada grabbed one arm, Australia leaping up to grab the other.
“Playing mind games with Arthur is one thing!” Wales snarled, still furious. “And there will always be people in one country or another that want to separate and start their own state. That, we can deal with.” He drew a deep breath through his nose. “But bombs, Scotland?”
The use of the formal name was probably a harder hit than the punch had been. “Wales-” tried France, only to have the dragon turn on him instead.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to disown over 2000 of your people all at once? In this modern day?” Australia and Canada had to dig their feet into the carpet. “I did that, for England. For my brother!” A sneer worthy of Arthur himself appeared, the family resemblance startling. “I feel ashamed to have to call you by the same title.”
America chose this point to enter the room. His smile seemed to be at odds with the atmosphere, like he intended to lighten the mood with just that. The gun he was playing with in his hand was a different story.
“How-dee-doo, everyone!” he cheered amicably. “Who’s the suicidal fucker that thought giving bombs to revolutionaries would be a bright fucking idea?” His hand stilled on the weapon. Canada let go of Wales’ arm to turn to his brother with nervous eyes.
“Al, don’t do anything-” He tensed his shoulders as America’s blue eyes, unusually cold for him, met his own. “…stupid.”
“Stupid, Matt?” America laughed. “No, I’m not the one being stupid here. What is stupid is that you two,” he gestured with the gun at Scotland and France, who stiffened. “thought it would be a good idea to bring him” now at Russia, who was still smiling, like he found this entire thing incredibly amusing. Maybe he did. “Into your little fight. Now, given that he’s the established Bad Guy, and I’m the Hero, don’t you think it was stupid of you to pick the wrong side?”
“America, don’t tell me you’re going to declare war on me?” Russia feigned shock, so obviously fake that it was clearly just bait. “Not when you have no evidence that I’ve had any direct involvement with this at all, surely.”
“Bite me, you frozen bastard.” Alfred smirked. Canada groaned, burying his face in his hands. Wales stayed silent, studying the situation.
“So then.” He said slowly, making America notice he was there. “You’re my back up.”
-----
“Okay cher, on the count of trois, this is going to hurt.” France held his hands on both sides of Scotland’s jaw, which hung loose and painfully wide open. The red head glared at him sulkily, eyes demanding he just get on with it already. “Un, deux, trois-” crack-pop, and Scotland let out a rather un-manly yelp of pain, almost falling off the edge of the hotel bed he was sitting on. France leaned forward, looking mildly concerned and interested to see if it had worked. One very interesting thing about James Kirkland; he healed very quickly, always had.
“Fuckin’ ow.” grumbled the Scot, rubbing at his stubble and wincing at the soreness. “I forget how good his left hook is sometimes.”
“Perhaps it would be in our best interests not to, James.” France laughed weakly, watching the swelling around the sockets go steadily down, fascinated. “We are, after all, at war.”
“Know thy enemy. Ach, do I ever.” Scotland sighed, falling back on the pillows, eyebrows scrunched together in thought. France idly traced a finger down his ally’s leg.
“Ah, but we have started something awful, have we not?” the Frenchman murmured. The red head scoffed.
“Aye, that we ‘ave.” he stared morosely at the ceiling. “Though this was my fault to begin with.”
“Cher-”
“Don’ try t’ tell me it wasn’t, cause it was.” Scotland draped an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the glow of the setting sun as it came streaming through the half-drawn curtains. “T’was my idea t’ get Russia involved, my idea t’ use the Welsh Independence twats, and my idea t’ not warn Artie and Darren ‘til it was too late. Now England’s in the hospital, and he hates hospitals, and I’ve pretty much alienated the world.”
Francis let the other wallow in his own misery for a little while. “So, what is your point, James?”
“My point is that I’m regrettin’ the whole bloody business.” Scotland growled, moving his arm off his face so he could give France a pointed glare for being so stupid. “Not leaving the Union, can’t say I regret that. Just the fightin’. It’s almost… petty, aye? Live on the same bloody island for 2000 years an’ still cannae get on with the bastard.”
“Oui, quite petty.” Francis agreed, planting a small kiss on James’ frowning forehead. “But that is in our nature, non? Petty arguments increase, and get worse, until there are wars. We are not like humans, James.” the blonde Nation flopped down beside him, hair fanning out onto the pillows and the sun behind him giving him an artificial halo. “Our actions have much higher consequences. If that’s the way round this whole thing works.”
“Och, shut up before ye summon Greece.”
France raised an eyebrow, teasingly. “Why don’t you make me, cher.”
-----
When Arthur opened his eyes again, he was still in the hospital. He really, really didn’t like hospitals. He had nothing against the staff (he’d seen worse), or the treatments (he’d had worse), or even the food (he’d most definitely eaten worse). It was the fact that he was pushed into the back seat, coddled like a child and over all weak. He didn’t let many people see him like this either, usually. Only this time, everyone had decided to turn up and see him.
“You wouldn’t believe what Uncle Darren did, pom!” ranted Australia, his hands flying about in wild gestures to illustrate his point. “Uncle Jim just opens his mouth ‘n’ bam! Right in the gob!” He punched his own palm, as New Zealand rolled her eyes and brushed a lock of dark blonde hair behind her ear.
“You’ve only told him about ten times already, Brooke.” Her sheep bleated its agreement. God knows how she got that thing in here. Australia twitched slightly at the mention of his name.
“And you’ve interrupted me ten times too, Katherine.” he taunted back, pulling a face at her and daring to use her full name. His koala, similarly snuck in, made a swiping motion with one of it’s paws.
“I get it anyway.” England broke in before the two could escalate into a fight. “And Scotland?”
“Is a fuckwit.” Australia nodded. So much for staying a neutral party.
“No, I mean, what happened to him?” Arthur pressed. The two siblings shared a perplexed look.
“Why do you even care?” asked New Zealand.
England didn’t answer.
They wouldn't understand right now, England knew. But maybe they’d get it too one day.
Notes:
- Brooke is a gender neutral name. Australia hates it. New Zealand knows this and exploits it.
- The name Katherine is shamelessly stolen from the New Zealand authoress Katherine Mansfield, whom I admire. New Zealand prefers "Kat" or "Kath", these days.
Part 13
