Some Sad World Cup Stuff
A Glass of Defeat: America takes England out drinking to forget their World Cup woes. It doesn't exactly work.
Word Count: 904
England tilted his head back and downed his pint in one mighty gulp. “I shoulda won!” he complained.
“Hm,” America half heartedly agreed as he played with his own glass, chin resting on the bar. He’d given up trying to protest England on that fact after the third drink.
“It was there!” the island nation lamented again, “It was right there in the goal! And that bloody ref just snatched it away from me! Gone just…poof! Away just like that!”
“Yeah…poof and s’all gone…”
“Exactly!” he exclaimed before sighing and signaling the bartender for another pint, “Ya dunno how it feels to have your goal just snatched away from you in your moment of triumph!” England snatched the new drink when it was handed to him and slammed his fist on the table, “No one knows my pain!”
“Yeah, ‘cause I dunno what it’s like t’have a perfectly legit goal not counted for no reason,” America snorted, “Or have it called off-fucking-sides when s’clearly on.”
Oh yeah…that had happened to him. “Che, those dun count. You beat ‘em in the end.”
“Yeah?” America turned his head to look up at him, “Well even if ya did score, Germany beat ya by three goals,” he sat up and poked England between his eyebrows, “Ya still woulda lost old man!”
“Oh piss off,” England muttered as he batted the hand away, “Ya know as well as I do that I woulda rallied back if it went in.”
“Ain’t it jus’ karma from ’66?”
“Bah, who asked you anyway,” he lifted his glass to take another drink when he noticed what his companion was wearing. He probably noticed before, but wasn’t nearly drunk enough to ask about it, “Why’re ya wearing that?”
“Hm?” America tugged at the white English team jersey he was sporting, “Ya gave it t’me after the first game.”
“I know that git! Why’re ya wearin’ it now?”
The younger nation frowned and contemplated the question as he took another sip of beer, “I was supportin’ ya since I was out ‘n all that…”
The drink was getting to England. That was why his cheeks were so red. “Sorry to disappoint ya…”
“S’cool, least ya didn’ lose to fricken’ Ghana. Germany’s Germany and he's probably gonna win the whole thing ‘nyway. He like, invented the sport or somthin’.”
“That was me wanker!” he drove that point home with a punch to his shoulder.
“Yeah, sorry, forgot. Knew it was someone in Europe. He’s still really good though, and the octopus said he’d win, and you should never doubt the octopus England,” he turned to face the older nation with a deadly serious look on his face, “Never.”
“Duly noted,” they sank into a comfortable silence, dealing with their own frustrations internally, until America broke it.
“Stupid sport anyway…”
“What, football?”
“No, football’s awesome. Soccer’s lame.”
England tilted back the rest of his drink and slammed the empty mug on the counter, “Che, you’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you lost.”
“I only lost ‘cause it’s stupid…” he leaned his chin back on the bar and turned away so he didn’t have to look at the other, “Stupid sport…not like I cared anyway…”
“Ya would say that,” England muttered into his drink, “Jus’ pretend to hide behind your little ‘I dun care ‘bout anyone' attitude ‘n all that…are you even listening to me?” he tugged on America’s shoulder until the other nation turned around to face him so England could clearly see that he was really crying.
Oh…
“C’mon now lad…” he helped the younger nation sit up, “stop yer tears now. S’not that bad.”
“I wanted to win…jus’ once…” America instead rested his head on England’s shoulder and cried there, “Y’all already won…”
“There there,” he rubbed comforting circles into his back, “Everyone wants to win, but only a few of us actually have y’know. ‘N my last one was awhile ago now.”
“But…” America sniffled, “they were all watchin’ ‘n payin’ attention for once…everyone at my house was so happy ‘n now they probably all hate me.”
“Yer people aren’t French. ‘M sure they still like you.”
“I like…playing with everyone,” he muttered into England’s shoulder, “’n now everyone’s jus’ gonna hate soccer again ‘n I’ll never get to play with y’all ever again ever…”
“There not gonna turn their backs on the sport jus’ ‘cause ya lost. America, ya played so well ‘n surprised everyone who thought you couldn’ do anything. Yer gonna come to Brazil with us, I can tell. They'll come 'n cheer for ya again in 2014 again, dun worry.”
America pulled away and wiped the remaining tears from his eyes, “Really? I did good?”
“Ya did well. Very well. I’m, uh…I guess I’m…proud of ya…” he blushed and adverted his eyes.
“Ya did good yerself, for an ol’ man ‘nyway,” his smirk didn’t diminish even after England’s half hearted glare. “So, next round on me?”
“All rounds are on ya t’night remember?”
“Yeah, so ya dun go kill Germany ‘n Prussia…” America grabbed the glass the bartender placed in front of him and waved it in the air. “A toast! To Ghana cracking under the pressure!!”
England grabbed his drink as well, “To Argentina thrashing Germany!”
“To Japan upsetting everyone!”
“To Brazil being Brazil!”
“To Brazil hosting this thing in four years!”
“To 2014!”
“To there always being a next time!”
England knocked his glass against America’s “I’ll drink to that.”
A/N: It was supposed to be England and America comforting each other, but I think it went more just England comforting America because I'm more upset about that. -_-;; Sorry England fans...
-A psychic octopus named Paul has so far correctly chosen the outcomes for all of Germany's games, including the Serbia upset.
-The whole 'they won't hate you because they're not French' thing is actually not supposed to be the whole stereotypical 'French hate Americans' thing, but actually a reference to everyone in France hating on their team. At least, that's the impression I've gotten from the few French fans I've talked to. I feel the need to clear that up.
Word Count: 904
England tilted his head back and downed his pint in one mighty gulp. “I shoulda won!” he complained.
“Hm,” America half heartedly agreed as he played with his own glass, chin resting on the bar. He’d given up trying to protest England on that fact after the third drink.
“It was there!” the island nation lamented again, “It was right there in the goal! And that bloody ref just snatched it away from me! Gone just…poof! Away just like that!”
“Yeah…poof and s’all gone…”
“Exactly!” he exclaimed before sighing and signaling the bartender for another pint, “Ya dunno how it feels to have your goal just snatched away from you in your moment of triumph!” England snatched the new drink when it was handed to him and slammed his fist on the table, “No one knows my pain!”
“Yeah, ‘cause I dunno what it’s like t’have a perfectly legit goal not counted for no reason,” America snorted, “Or have it called off-fucking-sides when s’clearly on.”
Oh yeah…that had happened to him. “Che, those dun count. You beat ‘em in the end.”
“Yeah?” America turned his head to look up at him, “Well even if ya did score, Germany beat ya by three goals,” he sat up and poked England between his eyebrows, “Ya still woulda lost old man!”
“Oh piss off,” England muttered as he batted the hand away, “Ya know as well as I do that I woulda rallied back if it went in.”
“Ain’t it jus’ karma from ’66?”
“Bah, who asked you anyway,” he lifted his glass to take another drink when he noticed what his companion was wearing. He probably noticed before, but wasn’t nearly drunk enough to ask about it, “Why’re ya wearing that?”
“Hm?” America tugged at the white English team jersey he was sporting, “Ya gave it t’me after the first game.”
“I know that git! Why’re ya wearin’ it now?”
The younger nation frowned and contemplated the question as he took another sip of beer, “I was supportin’ ya since I was out ‘n all that…”
The drink was getting to England. That was why his cheeks were so red. “Sorry to disappoint ya…”
“S’cool, least ya didn’ lose to fricken’ Ghana. Germany’s Germany and he's probably gonna win the whole thing ‘nyway. He like, invented the sport or somthin’.”
“That was me wanker!” he drove that point home with a punch to his shoulder.
“Yeah, sorry, forgot. Knew it was someone in Europe. He’s still really good though, and the octopus said he’d win, and you should never doubt the octopus England,” he turned to face the older nation with a deadly serious look on his face, “Never.”
“Duly noted,” they sank into a comfortable silence, dealing with their own frustrations internally, until America broke it.
“Stupid sport anyway…”
“What, football?”
“No, football’s awesome. Soccer’s lame.”
England tilted back the rest of his drink and slammed the empty mug on the counter, “Che, you’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you lost.”
“I only lost ‘cause it’s stupid…” he leaned his chin back on the bar and turned away so he didn’t have to look at the other, “Stupid sport…not like I cared anyway…”
“Ya would say that,” England muttered into his drink, “Jus’ pretend to hide behind your little ‘I dun care ‘bout anyone' attitude ‘n all that…are you even listening to me?” he tugged on America’s shoulder until the other nation turned around to face him so England could clearly see that he was really crying.
Oh…
“C’mon now lad…” he helped the younger nation sit up, “stop yer tears now. S’not that bad.”
“I wanted to win…jus’ once…” America instead rested his head on England’s shoulder and cried there, “Y’all already won…”
“There there,” he rubbed comforting circles into his back, “Everyone wants to win, but only a few of us actually have y’know. ‘N my last one was awhile ago now.”
“But…” America sniffled, “they were all watchin’ ‘n payin’ attention for once…everyone at my house was so happy ‘n now they probably all hate me.”
“Yer people aren’t French. ‘M sure they still like you.”
“I like…playing with everyone,” he muttered into England’s shoulder, “’n now everyone’s jus’ gonna hate soccer again ‘n I’ll never get to play with y’all ever again ever…”
“There not gonna turn their backs on the sport jus’ ‘cause ya lost. America, ya played so well ‘n surprised everyone who thought you couldn’ do anything. Yer gonna come to Brazil with us, I can tell. They'll come 'n cheer for ya again in 2014 again, dun worry.”
America pulled away and wiped the remaining tears from his eyes, “Really? I did good?”
“Ya did well. Very well. I’m, uh…I guess I’m…proud of ya…” he blushed and adverted his eyes.
“Ya did good yerself, for an ol’ man ‘nyway,” his smirk didn’t diminish even after England’s half hearted glare. “So, next round on me?”
“All rounds are on ya t’night remember?”
“Yeah, so ya dun go kill Germany ‘n Prussia…” America grabbed the glass the bartender placed in front of him and waved it in the air. “A toast! To Ghana cracking under the pressure!!”
England grabbed his drink as well, “To Argentina thrashing Germany!”
“To Japan upsetting everyone!”
“To Brazil being Brazil!”
“To Brazil hosting this thing in four years!”
“To 2014!”
“To there always being a next time!”
England knocked his glass against America’s “I’ll drink to that.”
A/N: It was supposed to be England and America comforting each other, but I think it went more just England comforting America because I'm more upset about that. -_-;; Sorry England fans...
-A psychic octopus named Paul has so far correctly chosen the outcomes for all of Germany's games, including the Serbia upset.
-The whole 'they won't hate you because they're not French' thing is actually not supposed to be the whole stereotypical 'French hate Americans' thing, but actually a reference to everyone in France hating on their team. At least, that's the impression I've gotten from the few French fans I've talked to. I feel the need to clear that up.