Family Ties [Part 5]
Title: Family Ties
Characters (in this chapter): Lithuania, Poland, England, Scotland, Wales, other assorted Nations.
Rating: 12? I guess? It's another bridge chapter idk.
Warnings: You may start to feel very sorry for Wales. And hate timezones.
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.
Lithuania was quite used to deciphering Poland's emails by now.
His friend was content to spam him with chain mail, which he just deleted, but those were usually at least half-coherent due to the whole copy-paste nature of them. And it wasn't like he particularly minded them. He had worse things to worry about than that, and according to them he should have died 86 times by now.
But Poland's recent email just confused him.
lke wats up w/ engs new bff? hve u seen hm b4?
Which Lithuania translated to mean: "Who is this new ally of England's? Have you met him before?" Frowning, he searched his memory. It wasn't like he and England talked all that much. The blonde Nation didn't ring any bells though. Shrugging, he replied:
I don't know, ask England yourself. I think he said his name was Wales.
He hit send, quietly typing up some business documents before his inbox pinged a few minutes later.
he ttly tried 2 kick me out of teh country last tme i dd. whatev i bet if i wear my bst skirt hell b 2 stuned bi my awsm 2 mke me leave agan. evry1 nos hes a ttl perv. cześć!
... skirt? Toris placed a hand to his forehead, closing the window and praying that he hadn't caused an international incident by accident. Again.
----------
There hadn't been world meetings, when Wales was his own country.
Back then, things had been much more simple, and yet much more chaotic. Naturally, communication was slower and wars were longer, giving everything a balance of good and bad and time to think in-between events.
At the second UN conference of the month, England was barraged with questions. Apparently, people thought faster in this day and age too.
Poland was the first to leap on him. For God's sake, he was wearing a skirt again and everything. "Hey England!" and his voice was loud. And right in his ear. "So that was like, totally rude of you kicking me out of your house last time. But I'm like totally willing to let it go if you answer my question!"
"Would you also let me go?" England stressed, feeling kind of suffocated. Poland did so.
"That was so you couldn't, like, run away from me. Anyway, who was that Wales guy last time? How long has he been around? Was I like, asleep through that one meeting?" the Pole fired off rapidly, making Arthur pull his eyebrows together in a half-confused, half-annoyed frown.
"Wales is older than I am." He said slowly, like he was explaining to a five year old. Poland gave him a look for the tone, but was quickly distracted.
"Well like, how was I supposed to know that?" Feliks rolled his eyes. Arthur tried to find some patience and drew a blank. "So what's the deal with him then? Is he your new boyfriend or something, because I was totally sure America-"
"He's my brother you nitwit!" England nearly shrieked. Poland made a grossed out face.
"Well, like, if that's how you wanna do it, that's cool. Belarus rolls with it."
"It is nothing like that!" Now there was the shriek, something akin to a banshee wail. "Wales and I have been sharing an island for the past 2000 years, been in the Union together for over 1000 years, and there has never been anything like that!"
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much!" heckled an irritatingly familiar voice. England barely squashed the urge to turn around and strangle Scotland.
"You shut your gob, you've been in it for 400 years yourself!" he whirled around and glared at James for all he was worth. The red head simply smirked at him.
"Ye mean "you were in it"." England bristled.
"Fine. Were." he ground out, slipping past Poland to sit heavily in his seat and engage in a glaring contest with France. Only his usual target was a little distracted talking to his idiot brother. Pouting just slightly, he looked around to try and find America, but he was engaged with arguing with Russia over something or other. Japan was talking to Taiwan and Ireland, and even Canada seemed to be having an enjoyable conversation in French with Seychelles.
Silently bemoaning his fate, England let his head land on the table with a fatalistic thud.
------------
Wales hadn’t seen his brother this deep into the bottle since July of last year. Sliding onto the bar stool next to where the other Nation was slumped at the bar, Wales was silently glad that England was so predictable in his drinking haunts.
“Okay, so spill.” He waved off the bartender, indicating the drunk next to him and mouthing ‘brother’.
“N’t a chance in hell. Thiz iz gud beer.” England mumbled. Wales rolled his eyes.
“You’re not that drunk already, Arthur.” He said, watching as England knocked back the other half of the pint he was clinging to like it was his last friend in the world.
“Wish I was.” Burying his face in his arms, England made a suspicious sniffling sound. Oh geez.
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong or am I going to have to guess?”
England stayed silent.
Then, as Wales was about to ask- “Your rugby team is shit.”
Well. What the hell? “Huh. What does that have to do with anything? Also, it’s not.”
“And I think you’re pathetic for writing poetry about how much you miss this stupid island every time we go away.”
“Steady on, Art. What’s this-”
“Your music is crap and grates on the ears worse than Scotland’s bagpipes.”
“Hey! That’s not fair, the hell did I do-” Arthur abruptly stood up on his barstool, wobbling way too much to be safe, and yelled out to the rest of the pub. “What do you call a sheep tied to a lamp post in Wales?!” The rest of the patrons replied with varying degrees of “what” until England answered. “A fucking leisure centre!”
Wales tackled him off the stool.
---------
The bar fight got them both kicked out, with black eyes and bloodied noses as souvenirs. The two brothers stumbled down the street to the next pub, which surprisingly let them in despite their looks. The bar maid even gave Arthur an ice pack for his eye and a tissue for Darren’s nose, and settled them within sight of the television, which was playing a footie match between Portugal and France.
“So what was that bullshit about?” Wales sniffed, still tasting blood in his mouth. England gave him a miserable stare.
“Just tryin’ to see what it would take for you to leave me.”
The unspoken “like everyone else” lingered in the air. Wales rolled his eyes, then ruffled his younger brother’s hair, ignoring the squawk of indignation.
“You’re a stupid little midge sometimes, Art. What made you think I’d leave?”
As the two of them nursed a beer each, Arthur explained what had happened at the meeting. The tone was depressing enough that even Wales started knocking it back by the time it got to even Canada ignoring his brother.
Unfortunately, as both of them got progressively drunker, there occurred steadily worse and worse solutions.
“Can’t kill Jimmy, he’s-” Wales gestured for the word.
“A barbarian?” England slurred, accent going strangely Kentish. It was always amusing when England was drunk; his accent jumped all over the place, Liverpool to Devonshire.
“Fam’ly.” decided Wales. England pouted.
“Our fam’ly used to be a lot bigg’r.” Sommerset, this time. “Bah, should take it all back. ‘r start a new one. Old one hates me.”
“W’ld that make you stop bein’ such a whiny sod?” rumbled Wales, downing another Strongbow. England kicked him under the table.
“Mmph. Don’ be a dick, Dar.” But the island Nation seemed to be considering it. “Yeh, it would. Wh’re do we start?”
On the nearby TV, the French team scored a goal.
“Brittany will do.”
Notes:
- Brittany: Once owned by England, during the 100 years war. Additionally, it's considered one of the 6 Celtic nations, with Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Isle of Man and Cornwall. (So like, England's right leg is more Celtic than the rest of him? Whatever, he's a mongrel, which is another reason for his siblings to hate on him.)
Part 6
Characters (in this chapter): Lithuania, Poland, England, Scotland, Wales, other assorted Nations.
Rating: 12? I guess? It's another bridge chapter idk.
Warnings: You may start to feel very sorry for Wales. And hate timezones.
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.
Lithuania was quite used to deciphering Poland's emails by now.
His friend was content to spam him with chain mail, which he just deleted, but those were usually at least half-coherent due to the whole copy-paste nature of them. And it wasn't like he particularly minded them. He had worse things to worry about than that, and according to them he should have died 86 times by now.
But Poland's recent email just confused him.
lke wats up w/ engs new bff? hve u seen hm b4?
Which Lithuania translated to mean: "Who is this new ally of England's? Have you met him before?" Frowning, he searched his memory. It wasn't like he and England talked all that much. The blonde Nation didn't ring any bells though. Shrugging, he replied:
I don't know, ask England yourself. I think he said his name was Wales.
He hit send, quietly typing up some business documents before his inbox pinged a few minutes later.
he ttly tried 2 kick me out of teh country last tme i dd. whatev i bet if i wear my bst skirt hell b 2 stuned bi my awsm 2 mke me leave agan. evry1 nos hes a ttl perv. cześć!
... skirt? Toris placed a hand to his forehead, closing the window and praying that he hadn't caused an international incident by accident. Again.
----------
There hadn't been world meetings, when Wales was his own country.
Back then, things had been much more simple, and yet much more chaotic. Naturally, communication was slower and wars were longer, giving everything a balance of good and bad and time to think in-between events.
At the second UN conference of the month, England was barraged with questions. Apparently, people thought faster in this day and age too.
Poland was the first to leap on him. For God's sake, he was wearing a skirt again and everything. "Hey England!" and his voice was loud. And right in his ear. "So that was like, totally rude of you kicking me out of your house last time. But I'm like totally willing to let it go if you answer my question!"
"Would you also let me go?" England stressed, feeling kind of suffocated. Poland did so.
"That was so you couldn't, like, run away from me. Anyway, who was that Wales guy last time? How long has he been around? Was I like, asleep through that one meeting?" the Pole fired off rapidly, making Arthur pull his eyebrows together in a half-confused, half-annoyed frown.
"Wales is older than I am." He said slowly, like he was explaining to a five year old. Poland gave him a look for the tone, but was quickly distracted.
"Well like, how was I supposed to know that?" Feliks rolled his eyes. Arthur tried to find some patience and drew a blank. "So what's the deal with him then? Is he your new boyfriend or something, because I was totally sure America-"
"He's my brother you nitwit!" England nearly shrieked. Poland made a grossed out face.
"Well, like, if that's how you wanna do it, that's cool. Belarus rolls with it."
"It is nothing like that!" Now there was the shriek, something akin to a banshee wail. "Wales and I have been sharing an island for the past 2000 years, been in the Union together for over 1000 years, and there has never been anything like that!"
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much!" heckled an irritatingly familiar voice. England barely squashed the urge to turn around and strangle Scotland.
"You shut your gob, you've been in it for 400 years yourself!" he whirled around and glared at James for all he was worth. The red head simply smirked at him.
"Ye mean "you were in it"." England bristled.
"Fine. Were." he ground out, slipping past Poland to sit heavily in his seat and engage in a glaring contest with France. Only his usual target was a little distracted talking to his idiot brother. Pouting just slightly, he looked around to try and find America, but he was engaged with arguing with Russia over something or other. Japan was talking to Taiwan and Ireland, and even Canada seemed to be having an enjoyable conversation in French with Seychelles.
Silently bemoaning his fate, England let his head land on the table with a fatalistic thud.
------------
Wales hadn’t seen his brother this deep into the bottle since July of last year. Sliding onto the bar stool next to where the other Nation was slumped at the bar, Wales was silently glad that England was so predictable in his drinking haunts.
“Okay, so spill.” He waved off the bartender, indicating the drunk next to him and mouthing ‘brother’.
“N’t a chance in hell. Thiz iz gud beer.” England mumbled. Wales rolled his eyes.
“You’re not that drunk already, Arthur.” He said, watching as England knocked back the other half of the pint he was clinging to like it was his last friend in the world.
“Wish I was.” Burying his face in his arms, England made a suspicious sniffling sound. Oh geez.
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong or am I going to have to guess?”
England stayed silent.
Then, as Wales was about to ask- “Your rugby team is shit.”
Well. What the hell? “Huh. What does that have to do with anything? Also, it’s not.”
“And I think you’re pathetic for writing poetry about how much you miss this stupid island every time we go away.”
“Steady on, Art. What’s this-”
“Your music is crap and grates on the ears worse than Scotland’s bagpipes.”
“Hey! That’s not fair, the hell did I do-” Arthur abruptly stood up on his barstool, wobbling way too much to be safe, and yelled out to the rest of the pub. “What do you call a sheep tied to a lamp post in Wales?!” The rest of the patrons replied with varying degrees of “what” until England answered. “A fucking leisure centre!”
Wales tackled him off the stool.
---------
The bar fight got them both kicked out, with black eyes and bloodied noses as souvenirs. The two brothers stumbled down the street to the next pub, which surprisingly let them in despite their looks. The bar maid even gave Arthur an ice pack for his eye and a tissue for Darren’s nose, and settled them within sight of the television, which was playing a footie match between Portugal and France.
“So what was that bullshit about?” Wales sniffed, still tasting blood in his mouth. England gave him a miserable stare.
“Just tryin’ to see what it would take for you to leave me.”
The unspoken “like everyone else” lingered in the air. Wales rolled his eyes, then ruffled his younger brother’s hair, ignoring the squawk of indignation.
“You’re a stupid little midge sometimes, Art. What made you think I’d leave?”
As the two of them nursed a beer each, Arthur explained what had happened at the meeting. The tone was depressing enough that even Wales started knocking it back by the time it got to even Canada ignoring his brother.
Unfortunately, as both of them got progressively drunker, there occurred steadily worse and worse solutions.
“Can’t kill Jimmy, he’s-” Wales gestured for the word.
“A barbarian?” England slurred, accent going strangely Kentish. It was always amusing when England was drunk; his accent jumped all over the place, Liverpool to Devonshire.
“Fam’ly.” decided Wales. England pouted.
“Our fam’ly used to be a lot bigg’r.” Sommerset, this time. “Bah, should take it all back. ‘r start a new one. Old one hates me.”
“W’ld that make you stop bein’ such a whiny sod?” rumbled Wales, downing another Strongbow. England kicked him under the table.
“Mmph. Don’ be a dick, Dar.” But the island Nation seemed to be considering it. “Yeh, it would. Wh’re do we start?”
On the nearby TV, the French team scored a goal.
“Brittany will do.”
Notes:
- Brittany: Once owned by England, during the 100 years war. Additionally, it's considered one of the 6 Celtic nations, with Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Isle of Man and Cornwall. (So like, England's right leg is more Celtic than the rest of him? Whatever, he's a mongrel, which is another reason for his siblings to hate on him.)
Part 6