[Fic] Speaking Easy
Oh hey I still write stuff.
Written for the aph_historyswap.
Title: Speaking Easy
Characters/Pairings: USUK, random humans, mentions of France, Germany, and Romano.
Ratings/Warnings: PG, illegal drinking
Summary: England meets America in a speakeasy to talk about his recent behavior.
England nervously tapped on the side door. Nothing happened for the longest time during which he considered simply walking away and meeting up with him some other time. All of a sudden he heard a grave voice mutter, “Password?”
He flinched at the sudden sound, but cleared his throat and whispered, barely audible, “Stars and Stripes.”
A small window was opened just above his eye level in the door and a pair of eyes scanned him over, sized him up. England stood as tall as he could and glared right back at the eyes, refusing to be seen as weak, despite the butterflies in his stomach.
After a moment the window shut and the door was open proper, “Welcome to the club, Sir,” the door attendant greeted with a bow. England nodded and stepped inside, removing his hat as the attendant closed and locked the first door and opened the second one, bowing again with a sweeping arm motion as England entered the Speakeasy.
The room was dark, as would be expected of such a place, but lively. Tables were haphazardly set up along the side in a way that left a large enough space in the middle for dancing. The multi-racial live band on the stage was playing a new, upbeat jazz number that had most of the young patrons up and dancing. Those who weren’t, the people at the bar, couples hidden away in dark corners, larger groups of people still sitting at the tables, all had an illegal drink in their hand, all clearly enjoying themselves.
England sighed as he gave the room a quick sweep with his eyes and, after not finding who he was looking for, shoved his had back on his head and slunk over to the bar to find an open seat.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked as soon as he planted himself on a barstool, determined to stay there the whole night.
“Whatever you have,” he waved him off, not even bothering to give him eye contact, “the harder the better.”
While he went off to get his order, England took the opportunity to study the crowd more closely. Women with short hair and shorter skirts danced and laughed and drank with men from all walks of life. There was a young business man in a sharp, pinstripe suit chatting up several young ladies at a table over on the right, a few factory workers having a drink after their shift, a young couple on the dance floor, acting as if they’d known each other all their life, although with the way he was struggling to remember her name, England was willing to bet they had just met tonight. It seemed all of young America had gathered here tonight to let loose away from the probing eye of anything official.
“There you are,” a pleasant voice, bubbling with joy, said. America tugged on the brim of England hat, pulling it over his eyes as he sat down on the empty stool next to him, “Almost missed you, hiding in the corner here all by your lonesome.”
“Yes, well,” England crossed his arms and put on a good show of being offended, “Some of us still prefer getting drinks in legal establishments and feel uncomfortable in these kinds of settings.”
“Some of us don’t have that luxury,” he chuckled and signaled to the bartender, “And don’t try and play so innocent; France told me about your pirate days.”
“Been spending a lot of time with France have you?” England tried not to let the jealousy seep into his voice at the mere thought.
“Yeah, a bit,” America chuckled again, a happy, sunshine filled sound, as if the war had never happened. And in a way, he supposed, it never had, at least not to America. Not really.
The bartender brought England something clear in a large glass and he immediately snatched it up and downed about half of it, ignoring the bitter taste of the moonshine as it snaked down his throat.
“Mint Julep please,” America ordered quickly before turning back to England, “So, how are you?”
England raised an eyebrow, “You didn’t call me out here just for small talk did you?”
“Of course not,” he pouted and started drumming his fingers on the bar, “Just being polite.”
“Tired,” he eventually settled on answering, “Busy. Nothing new. How about yourself?”
“As you can see,” America swiveled on his seat, arms spread wide as he gestured at everyone so lively and young and American around him, “I’m doing good.” Just then a young woman, dress flapping around her thighs, short blond hair tucked neatly under her cap, walked right by them. America dropped his arms as his eyes followed her, “Very good.”
The woman stopped and raised her eyebrow. She was quite pretty, England noticed, with a good figure and impossibly long legs. She laughed as she turned back on her heel and sauntered away, “Sorry boys, the bank is closed.”
“Your girls have always been quite spunky,” England remarked as they continued to watch her walk away.
“Of course they are; they’re mine.”
The bartender returned with America’s drink which he started gulping down after thanking the man.
“Don’t choke now,” England grumbled as he took another sip from his drink, wincing at the taste.
“Relax, I can handle it. I’m a big boy now remember?” he nudged England with his elbow and laughed, clear and perfect and simply wonderful, simply American.
“You certainly aren’t acting like it,” he nodded towards the dancing couples and the laughing people and everyone having fun, “You’ve spent half this decade gallivanting off in France, shirking your official duties, and getting drunk off of the worst of Romano’s cheap booze.”
“Well excuse me for wanting to live a little,” America frowned and took another huge swig from his glass.
“There’s a fine line between ‘living a little’ and being an irresponsible prat, and you’re pushing it.”
“Hey, I didn’t invite you out tonight to lecture my ear off,” America tilted his hat, smiled, and raised his glass, “I want you to relax and enjoy yourself, since you’re in the greatest country in the world-”
“Where you can’t even get a legal drink,” England swirled the moonshine in its glass.
America chose to ignore him and went on, “With me as your own personal host. Life is good England, you should enjoy it.”
“Yes, life is good now,” England frowned and pointed his glass at America, “but I seem to recall just last decade I was crawling in muddy trenches, watching soldier after soldier get blasted apart by machine gun fire.”
“Which is why you’ve earned this,” he spun around in his stool again and leaned his back against the bar, “You’ve earned all the glamour and wealth, you and France. He’s living it up too, why can’t you?”
“Because I’ve been around, America. I’ve seen the highest of highs become the lowest of lows. Of course France is taking advantage of this high moment; his philosophy is to do so and deal with the inevitable low when it comes. But I’m, concerned about you.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” America winked, “I’m the one saving Europe remember? You should be more concerned with paying me back.”
“I’m getting your money to you at the pace we agreed on,” England downed the rest of his drink and signaled the bartender for another, “You needn’t worry about that.”
“Of course you are,” he swiveled back around so he was facing the bar again and smirked into his drink, “You’re giving my money to me as fast as Germany is giving you yours, but he can only get it to you as fast as I give it to him right? Really England, lecturing me when Europe is in such a state.”
“All the more reason you need a lecture,” he snatched the new drink from the bartender before he had a chance to set it down, “I know you’ve been trying to sneak back into isolation, but it doesn’t work like that. You’re a major world power, and if you don’t start acting like it you’ll get us all in trouble.”
America finished off his drink and slammed the glass on the bar, “Why can’t you just relax and have a good time?”
England ignored the burn and finished his in one gulp, slamming his glass down as well, “Why can’t you accept your responsibilities?”
The atmosphere around them grew tense as they glared at each other. In the background, the jazz kept playing and the people kept dancing, ignoring their staring contest.
Eventually America broke eye contact with a sigh and reached into his pocket, “Since we’re friends now I thought we could just hit the town and have fun while you’re still here, give you a break you know? But if you’re just going to lecture me like I’m still a little colony that doesn’t know about the big, scary world,” he pulled out a large wad of cash and tossed it on the bar, “then forget it. Drink as much as you want, it’s on me.”
England grabbed his wrist as he got up to leave, “Don’t be daft. I’m not lecturing you because I think you’re a colony, I’m doing it because I know you’re not,” he released him and clutched the glass in his hands, “We’re nations, throughout our lifetime we’ll experience highs and lows; it’s inevitable. Everything’s going your way now, but when it all comes crashing down, whether that day be next week or in a hundred years, I’m worried that, at the pace you’re going, you’ll be too far gone to pick up the pieces again.”
America sat back down on his stool, “You’re worried about me?”
“I, well,” England blushed and turned away to try and hide his face, “We are f-friends now. But as you pointed out, Europe is quite dependant on you right now so if you went down we would all be forced to follow you. It’s more out of self preservation than you per say and-”
“I worry about you too,” America rested his chin in his hand as his words halted England’s rambling, “The war took far more out of you than it did me.”
“Git.” Yes his recovery was taking a while, much longer than America’s to be sure. Understandable, considering he lost almost an entire generation of young men, even so, “I’m the British Empire. It’s going to take more than a mere war to bring me down.”
America smiled, and it did funny things to England’s stomach, or maybe that was just the moonshine, “I figured you would be, but I still worry. What do you say to forgetting about our worries and just having fun, relaxing evening, like dapper young men our age do?” he barked out a laugh, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it,” he signaled the bartender, who rushed over to bring them more drinks, more illegal liquor, “and you don’t even have to pay me back.”
“Yes,” England’s smile was sarcastic as he downed more moonshine, “I suppose you will.”
Written for the aph_historyswap.
Title: Speaking Easy
Characters/Pairings: USUK, random humans, mentions of France, Germany, and Romano.
Ratings/Warnings: PG, illegal drinking
Summary: England meets America in a speakeasy to talk about his recent behavior.
England nervously tapped on the side door. Nothing happened for the longest time during which he considered simply walking away and meeting up with him some other time. All of a sudden he heard a grave voice mutter, “Password?”
He flinched at the sudden sound, but cleared his throat and whispered, barely audible, “Stars and Stripes.”
A small window was opened just above his eye level in the door and a pair of eyes scanned him over, sized him up. England stood as tall as he could and glared right back at the eyes, refusing to be seen as weak, despite the butterflies in his stomach.
After a moment the window shut and the door was open proper, “Welcome to the club, Sir,” the door attendant greeted with a bow. England nodded and stepped inside, removing his hat as the attendant closed and locked the first door and opened the second one, bowing again with a sweeping arm motion as England entered the Speakeasy.
The room was dark, as would be expected of such a place, but lively. Tables were haphazardly set up along the side in a way that left a large enough space in the middle for dancing. The multi-racial live band on the stage was playing a new, upbeat jazz number that had most of the young patrons up and dancing. Those who weren’t, the people at the bar, couples hidden away in dark corners, larger groups of people still sitting at the tables, all had an illegal drink in their hand, all clearly enjoying themselves.
England sighed as he gave the room a quick sweep with his eyes and, after not finding who he was looking for, shoved his had back on his head and slunk over to the bar to find an open seat.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked as soon as he planted himself on a barstool, determined to stay there the whole night.
“Whatever you have,” he waved him off, not even bothering to give him eye contact, “the harder the better.”
While he went off to get his order, England took the opportunity to study the crowd more closely. Women with short hair and shorter skirts danced and laughed and drank with men from all walks of life. There was a young business man in a sharp, pinstripe suit chatting up several young ladies at a table over on the right, a few factory workers having a drink after their shift, a young couple on the dance floor, acting as if they’d known each other all their life, although with the way he was struggling to remember her name, England was willing to bet they had just met tonight. It seemed all of young America had gathered here tonight to let loose away from the probing eye of anything official.
“There you are,” a pleasant voice, bubbling with joy, said. America tugged on the brim of England hat, pulling it over his eyes as he sat down on the empty stool next to him, “Almost missed you, hiding in the corner here all by your lonesome.”
“Yes, well,” England crossed his arms and put on a good show of being offended, “Some of us still prefer getting drinks in legal establishments and feel uncomfortable in these kinds of settings.”
“Some of us don’t have that luxury,” he chuckled and signaled to the bartender, “And don’t try and play so innocent; France told me about your pirate days.”
“Been spending a lot of time with France have you?” England tried not to let the jealousy seep into his voice at the mere thought.
“Yeah, a bit,” America chuckled again, a happy, sunshine filled sound, as if the war had never happened. And in a way, he supposed, it never had, at least not to America. Not really.
The bartender brought England something clear in a large glass and he immediately snatched it up and downed about half of it, ignoring the bitter taste of the moonshine as it snaked down his throat.
“Mint Julep please,” America ordered quickly before turning back to England, “So, how are you?”
England raised an eyebrow, “You didn’t call me out here just for small talk did you?”
“Of course not,” he pouted and started drumming his fingers on the bar, “Just being polite.”
“Tired,” he eventually settled on answering, “Busy. Nothing new. How about yourself?”
“As you can see,” America swiveled on his seat, arms spread wide as he gestured at everyone so lively and young and American around him, “I’m doing good.” Just then a young woman, dress flapping around her thighs, short blond hair tucked neatly under her cap, walked right by them. America dropped his arms as his eyes followed her, “Very good.”
The woman stopped and raised her eyebrow. She was quite pretty, England noticed, with a good figure and impossibly long legs. She laughed as she turned back on her heel and sauntered away, “Sorry boys, the bank is closed.”
“Your girls have always been quite spunky,” England remarked as they continued to watch her walk away.
“Of course they are; they’re mine.”
The bartender returned with America’s drink which he started gulping down after thanking the man.
“Don’t choke now,” England grumbled as he took another sip from his drink, wincing at the taste.
“Relax, I can handle it. I’m a big boy now remember?” he nudged England with his elbow and laughed, clear and perfect and simply wonderful, simply American.
“You certainly aren’t acting like it,” he nodded towards the dancing couples and the laughing people and everyone having fun, “You’ve spent half this decade gallivanting off in France, shirking your official duties, and getting drunk off of the worst of Romano’s cheap booze.”
“Well excuse me for wanting to live a little,” America frowned and took another huge swig from his glass.
“There’s a fine line between ‘living a little’ and being an irresponsible prat, and you’re pushing it.”
“Hey, I didn’t invite you out tonight to lecture my ear off,” America tilted his hat, smiled, and raised his glass, “I want you to relax and enjoy yourself, since you’re in the greatest country in the world-”
“Where you can’t even get a legal drink,” England swirled the moonshine in its glass.
America chose to ignore him and went on, “With me as your own personal host. Life is good England, you should enjoy it.”
“Yes, life is good now,” England frowned and pointed his glass at America, “but I seem to recall just last decade I was crawling in muddy trenches, watching soldier after soldier get blasted apart by machine gun fire.”
“Which is why you’ve earned this,” he spun around in his stool again and leaned his back against the bar, “You’ve earned all the glamour and wealth, you and France. He’s living it up too, why can’t you?”
“Because I’ve been around, America. I’ve seen the highest of highs become the lowest of lows. Of course France is taking advantage of this high moment; his philosophy is to do so and deal with the inevitable low when it comes. But I’m, concerned about you.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” America winked, “I’m the one saving Europe remember? You should be more concerned with paying me back.”
“I’m getting your money to you at the pace we agreed on,” England downed the rest of his drink and signaled the bartender for another, “You needn’t worry about that.”
“Of course you are,” he swiveled back around so he was facing the bar again and smirked into his drink, “You’re giving my money to me as fast as Germany is giving you yours, but he can only get it to you as fast as I give it to him right? Really England, lecturing me when Europe is in such a state.”
“All the more reason you need a lecture,” he snatched the new drink from the bartender before he had a chance to set it down, “I know you’ve been trying to sneak back into isolation, but it doesn’t work like that. You’re a major world power, and if you don’t start acting like it you’ll get us all in trouble.”
America finished off his drink and slammed the glass on the bar, “Why can’t you just relax and have a good time?”
England ignored the burn and finished his in one gulp, slamming his glass down as well, “Why can’t you accept your responsibilities?”
The atmosphere around them grew tense as they glared at each other. In the background, the jazz kept playing and the people kept dancing, ignoring their staring contest.
Eventually America broke eye contact with a sigh and reached into his pocket, “Since we’re friends now I thought we could just hit the town and have fun while you’re still here, give you a break you know? But if you’re just going to lecture me like I’m still a little colony that doesn’t know about the big, scary world,” he pulled out a large wad of cash and tossed it on the bar, “then forget it. Drink as much as you want, it’s on me.”
England grabbed his wrist as he got up to leave, “Don’t be daft. I’m not lecturing you because I think you’re a colony, I’m doing it because I know you’re not,” he released him and clutched the glass in his hands, “We’re nations, throughout our lifetime we’ll experience highs and lows; it’s inevitable. Everything’s going your way now, but when it all comes crashing down, whether that day be next week or in a hundred years, I’m worried that, at the pace you’re going, you’ll be too far gone to pick up the pieces again.”
America sat back down on his stool, “You’re worried about me?”
“I, well,” England blushed and turned away to try and hide his face, “We are f-friends now. But as you pointed out, Europe is quite dependant on you right now so if you went down we would all be forced to follow you. It’s more out of self preservation than you per say and-”
“I worry about you too,” America rested his chin in his hand as his words halted England’s rambling, “The war took far more out of you than it did me.”
“Git.” Yes his recovery was taking a while, much longer than America’s to be sure. Understandable, considering he lost almost an entire generation of young men, even so, “I’m the British Empire. It’s going to take more than a mere war to bring me down.”
America smiled, and it did funny things to England’s stomach, or maybe that was just the moonshine, “I figured you would be, but I still worry. What do you say to forgetting about our worries and just having fun, relaxing evening, like dapper young men our age do?” he barked out a laugh, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it,” he signaled the bartender, who rushed over to bring them more drinks, more illegal liquor, “and you don’t even have to pay me back.”
“Yes,” England’s smile was sarcastic as he downed more moonshine, “I suppose you will.”