[Fanfic] The Sea Around Us
Title: The Sea Around Us
Characters: England, Ireland, Northern Ireland, America, New Zealand, Australia, Wales and Scotland.
Rating: 15?
Warnings: England in a waiter's outfit, Irish singing, descriptions of what it's like to drown in a ditch full of mud.
Summary: St. Patrick's day fic. You know what to expect.
Was it really impossible to have a peaceful evening? Was there some unwritten rule in the universe that said "Arthur Kirkland, otherwise known as England, must never be able to sit down and watch reruns of 'Top Gear' on Dave with a cup of tea and some ginger biscuits"? If there was then it was entirely too specific and should be erased immediately.
However, the fact of the matter was that there was some very drunken singing going on just outside his door, and it was extremely irritating. And what's more, as he really should have come to expect from his sister's songs, it was about him.
"The sea, oh the sea is the gradh geal mo croide," crowed Ireland, her voice instantly recognisable and somehow in tune despite the insane blood-alcohol ratio she was probably running on. "Long may it stay between England and me, It's a sure guarantee that some hour we'll be free, Oh, thank God we're surrounded by water!"
England pause the television program, put his tea on the side table, rose to his feet in the calmest way possible, and made his way to the front door where the idiots were singing.
"The Scots have their Whisky, the Welsh have their speech! And their poets are paid about tenpence a week-- provided no hard words on England they speak!" she trilled the note, elongating it while the rest of the group carried on, "Oh Lord, what a price for devotion! Haha!"
The scene he opened the door onto would have made other people turn around and give up. Ireland, Northern Ireland, America and even Australia and New Zealand had shown up on his doorstep, at 11 o'clock in the evening, wearing nothing but green, including green face paint. Australia was spilling cider everywhere, while America choked on his beer due to a poor attempt at singing and drinking at the same time.
"The sea, oh the sea is the gradh geal mo croide," New Zealand's accent matched surprisingly well with the lyrics. "Long may it stay between England and me, It's a sure guarantee that some hour we'll be free. Oh, thank God we're surrounded by water!" she giggled into her beer, stumbling into her brother and nearly knocking his drink out of his hands.
"The Danes came to Ireland with nothing to do, but dream of the plundered old Irish they slew. 'Yeh will in yer vikings' said Brian Boru~!" Northern Ireland's singing voice probably wasn't half bad, if only he wasn't so loud. "Aaaaand threw them back into the ocean!"
"Oh aye!" crowed America, inexplicably gaining an Irish accent.
England folded his arms, eye twitching as he tapped his foot impatiently. "If you are all quite finished-"
"One more verse, pom!" Australia interrupted, belting out. "Two foreign old monarchs in battle did join, each wanting his head on the back of a coin; If the Irish had sense they'd drowned both in the Boyne, And partition thrown into the ocean!"
"Hear hear!" New Zealand laughed, raising her glass to toast the motion.
"Now we're done." Ireland said simply, grinning at her sibling. England sighed wearily.
"Fantastic. Now would you mind telling me why you're here and not at a local pub where you could appropriately blitz yourselves and leave me alone?"
"Beeeeecaaaaaause we didn't want to leave you all alone, Iggy!" America slurred, glasses askew and grinning like a fool. His arm was draped over Australia's shoulder and he looked the drunkest out of all of them. "That, an' we got kicked out of the pub for being too loud."
Ireland took it upon herself to barge past England and into his house, dragging Northern Ireland with her. "You still keep the booze in the top left cupboard, right Artie?"
"Well yes- WAIT A MINUTE!" England pursued, not bothering to stop the other three from stumbling through his open front door. "Hold your bloody horses woman, you're not raiding my supply all for yourself!"
"Course not, here!" she tossed a bottle at him, which he dove to catch. "Drink up Artie! We'll have some fun tonight!"
=======
"I should have left your drunk arse in the ditch I found you in." grumbled an extremely hung over Wales, squinting around his head ache to see the road. Scotland, in the passenger seat beside him, groaned and rubbed a hand over his face, perhaps hoping to get some of the mud off it. Unfortunately, there was just as much grime on his hand, so it only made it worse.
"Shurrup."
"We should have just gone to bother Artie with the others before they left the pub."
"Mmph."
"Then maybe I wouldn't have woken up to some wench and you wouldn't have drowned yourself about twenty times in the night."
"Nrrgh. Dar, shurrup already." Scotland moaned, screwing his eyes shut against the morning light. "Dyin' ain't doin' wonders fer me brain cells." His accent and the slurring made what he said nearly incomprehensible. He coughed. "An' breathin' mud hasn' helped wi' th' hair o' the dog. If that was mud. Tastes o' shit."
"Gross. Thanks for that." Wales pulled up outside England's house, which was surprisingly quiet. Leaving Scotland in the car, he knocked on the front door.
Two minutes later, and still no answer.
With a long suffering sigh, he walked around the back, checked the door, found that certain spot, and kicked it. The door swung obediently open, and he was hit by a wall of pub-smell.
"Arthur?" he called in, wafting a hand in front of his face though it did nothing to help. "Arthur, you alive?" There was a faint groan, which he followed, through the kitchen (which was filled with so many empty bottles he couldn't even count them) down the hall (there were a few items of clothing strewn everywhere which was worrying in and of itself) and into the lounge.
It was an absolute sty. Bottles and bodies were everywhere, a pack of cards and some betting chips were piled haphazardly in the middle of the coffee table, and the TV had a Wii remote stuck in it and fizzed with electricity occasionally. Another groan indicated that England, who was lying on the sofa with his legs over the arm rest, was at least alive.
Though he was, for some reason, wearing a waiter's outfit. Or more accurately, the apron, and only the apron.
"I don't think I even want to know, do I." Wales deadpanned. England grunted a sort of assent. No doubt when he was fully up and awake he would be an absolute monster to be around, as he usually was with hangovers. America, sleeping for some reason half way under the coffee table, grunted something to do with shamrocks. Speaking of which, Wales couldn't see either of the Ireland siblings anywhere.
"Lightweights, huh." came a voice from behind. Ireland, completely sober and looking like she was about to leave, leaned against the doorway, looking amused.
"The bloody hell did y' do to them?"
Ireland grinned mischievously. "Oh, nothin' much. The drinking contest got competative, but nobody outdrinks the Irish apart from the Irish." She called down the hall and up the stairs. "Get a move on North!"
"I'm coming, geez!" Éibhear stomped down the stairs, looking a little worse for wear than his sister, but still better off than Wales felt.
"So you're just gonna abandon them?" Wales asked. The Ireland siblings nodded.
"They're adults, they can handle their own hangovers." Aine shrugged, making her way to the front door. England made a groan in protest, something like 'I heard that'. He was ignored. "We're going home, so it's off to the airport for us."
"Need a ride?" Wales offered. Unfortunately, it came out in the tone one would usually associate with the phrase "please take me with you." The two looked at him.
"It would save taxi fare..." Northern Ireland considered. Ireland nodded with him.
"Lemme just get rid of the spare baggage in my car."
Dumping Scotland on top of a barely clothed New Zealand and in the perfect sight line of Australia when they all woke up, the three other Nations fled.
Notes:
- Dave - a UK tv channel that mainly shows comedy re-runs, Top Gear, QI, Blackadder, Mock the Week, Live at the Apollo etc. But mostly Top Gear re-runs. Named Dave because... apparently, everyone knows at least one person called Dave.
- The Sea Around Us. - this song is epic. It just is. It insults everyone possible, and is therefore appropriate.
- St. Patrick's Day - if you have been living under a rock or are not from one of the Irish Diaspora countries, then allow me to explain the modern spirit of this holiday; if you have even the slightest pinch of Irish heritage, this is your excuse to go out, get outrageously drunk, dance around like a loon and wear a feckload of green. And if you'll excuse me, I shall now go do so, so please excuse any comment replies I make this evening, and the spelling thereof.
- Pub-smell - I always find that pubs have this distinctive kind of smell, especially if they're old. It's kind of smokey, mixed with alcohol, and heat and wood. It's kind of comforting, but it's heavy and can smell bad if there's BO added to the equation.
Characters: England, Ireland, Northern Ireland, America, New Zealand, Australia, Wales and Scotland.
Rating: 15?
Warnings: England in a waiter's outfit, Irish singing, descriptions of what it's like to drown in a ditch full of mud.
Summary: St. Patrick's day fic. You know what to expect.
Was it really impossible to have a peaceful evening? Was there some unwritten rule in the universe that said "Arthur Kirkland, otherwise known as England, must never be able to sit down and watch reruns of 'Top Gear' on Dave with a cup of tea and some ginger biscuits"? If there was then it was entirely too specific and should be erased immediately.
However, the fact of the matter was that there was some very drunken singing going on just outside his door, and it was extremely irritating. And what's more, as he really should have come to expect from his sister's songs, it was about him.
"The sea, oh the sea is the gradh geal mo croide," crowed Ireland, her voice instantly recognisable and somehow in tune despite the insane blood-alcohol ratio she was probably running on. "Long may it stay between England and me, It's a sure guarantee that some hour we'll be free, Oh, thank God we're surrounded by water!"
England pause the television program, put his tea on the side table, rose to his feet in the calmest way possible, and made his way to the front door where the idiots were singing.
"The Scots have their Whisky, the Welsh have their speech! And their poets are paid about tenpence a week-- provided no hard words on England they speak!" she trilled the note, elongating it while the rest of the group carried on, "Oh Lord, what a price for devotion! Haha!"
The scene he opened the door onto would have made other people turn around and give up. Ireland, Northern Ireland, America and even Australia and New Zealand had shown up on his doorstep, at 11 o'clock in the evening, wearing nothing but green, including green face paint. Australia was spilling cider everywhere, while America choked on his beer due to a poor attempt at singing and drinking at the same time.
"The sea, oh the sea is the gradh geal mo croide," New Zealand's accent matched surprisingly well with the lyrics. "Long may it stay between England and me, It's a sure guarantee that some hour we'll be free. Oh, thank God we're surrounded by water!" she giggled into her beer, stumbling into her brother and nearly knocking his drink out of his hands.
"The Danes came to Ireland with nothing to do, but dream of the plundered old Irish they slew. 'Yeh will in yer vikings' said Brian Boru~!" Northern Ireland's singing voice probably wasn't half bad, if only he wasn't so loud. "Aaaaand threw them back into the ocean!"
"Oh aye!" crowed America, inexplicably gaining an Irish accent.
England folded his arms, eye twitching as he tapped his foot impatiently. "If you are all quite finished-"
"One more verse, pom!" Australia interrupted, belting out. "Two foreign old monarchs in battle did join, each wanting his head on the back of a coin; If the Irish had sense they'd drowned both in the Boyne, And partition thrown into the ocean!"
"Hear hear!" New Zealand laughed, raising her glass to toast the motion.
"Now we're done." Ireland said simply, grinning at her sibling. England sighed wearily.
"Fantastic. Now would you mind telling me why you're here and not at a local pub where you could appropriately blitz yourselves and leave me alone?"
"Beeeeecaaaaaause we didn't want to leave you all alone, Iggy!" America slurred, glasses askew and grinning like a fool. His arm was draped over Australia's shoulder and he looked the drunkest out of all of them. "That, an' we got kicked out of the pub for being too loud."
Ireland took it upon herself to barge past England and into his house, dragging Northern Ireland with her. "You still keep the booze in the top left cupboard, right Artie?"
"Well yes- WAIT A MINUTE!" England pursued, not bothering to stop the other three from stumbling through his open front door. "Hold your bloody horses woman, you're not raiding my supply all for yourself!"
"Course not, here!" she tossed a bottle at him, which he dove to catch. "Drink up Artie! We'll have some fun tonight!"
=======
"I should have left your drunk arse in the ditch I found you in." grumbled an extremely hung over Wales, squinting around his head ache to see the road. Scotland, in the passenger seat beside him, groaned and rubbed a hand over his face, perhaps hoping to get some of the mud off it. Unfortunately, there was just as much grime on his hand, so it only made it worse.
"Shurrup."
"We should have just gone to bother Artie with the others before they left the pub."
"Mmph."
"Then maybe I wouldn't have woken up to some wench and you wouldn't have drowned yourself about twenty times in the night."
"Nrrgh. Dar, shurrup already." Scotland moaned, screwing his eyes shut against the morning light. "Dyin' ain't doin' wonders fer me brain cells." His accent and the slurring made what he said nearly incomprehensible. He coughed. "An' breathin' mud hasn' helped wi' th' hair o' the dog. If that was mud. Tastes o' shit."
"Gross. Thanks for that." Wales pulled up outside England's house, which was surprisingly quiet. Leaving Scotland in the car, he knocked on the front door.
Two minutes later, and still no answer.
With a long suffering sigh, he walked around the back, checked the door, found that certain spot, and kicked it. The door swung obediently open, and he was hit by a wall of pub-smell.
"Arthur?" he called in, wafting a hand in front of his face though it did nothing to help. "Arthur, you alive?" There was a faint groan, which he followed, through the kitchen (which was filled with so many empty bottles he couldn't even count them) down the hall (there were a few items of clothing strewn everywhere which was worrying in and of itself) and into the lounge.
It was an absolute sty. Bottles and bodies were everywhere, a pack of cards and some betting chips were piled haphazardly in the middle of the coffee table, and the TV had a Wii remote stuck in it and fizzed with electricity occasionally. Another groan indicated that England, who was lying on the sofa with his legs over the arm rest, was at least alive.
Though he was, for some reason, wearing a waiter's outfit. Or more accurately, the apron, and only the apron.
"I don't think I even want to know, do I." Wales deadpanned. England grunted a sort of assent. No doubt when he was fully up and awake he would be an absolute monster to be around, as he usually was with hangovers. America, sleeping for some reason half way under the coffee table, grunted something to do with shamrocks. Speaking of which, Wales couldn't see either of the Ireland siblings anywhere.
"Lightweights, huh." came a voice from behind. Ireland, completely sober and looking like she was about to leave, leaned against the doorway, looking amused.
"The bloody hell did y' do to them?"
Ireland grinned mischievously. "Oh, nothin' much. The drinking contest got competative, but nobody outdrinks the Irish apart from the Irish." She called down the hall and up the stairs. "Get a move on North!"
"I'm coming, geez!" Éibhear stomped down the stairs, looking a little worse for wear than his sister, but still better off than Wales felt.
"So you're just gonna abandon them?" Wales asked. The Ireland siblings nodded.
"They're adults, they can handle their own hangovers." Aine shrugged, making her way to the front door. England made a groan in protest, something like 'I heard that'. He was ignored. "We're going home, so it's off to the airport for us."
"Need a ride?" Wales offered. Unfortunately, it came out in the tone one would usually associate with the phrase "please take me with you." The two looked at him.
"It would save taxi fare..." Northern Ireland considered. Ireland nodded with him.
"Lemme just get rid of the spare baggage in my car."
Dumping Scotland on top of a barely clothed New Zealand and in the perfect sight line of Australia when they all woke up, the three other Nations fled.
Notes:
- Dave - a UK tv channel that mainly shows comedy re-runs, Top Gear, QI, Blackadder, Mock the Week, Live at the Apollo etc. But mostly Top Gear re-runs. Named Dave because... apparently, everyone knows at least one person called Dave.
- The Sea Around Us. - this song is epic. It just is. It insults everyone possible, and is therefore appropriate.
- St. Patrick's Day - if you have been living under a rock or are not from one of the Irish Diaspora countries, then allow me to explain the modern spirit of this holiday; if you have even the slightest pinch of Irish heritage, this is your excuse to go out, get outrageously drunk, dance around like a loon and wear a feckload of green. And if you'll excuse me, I shall now go do so, so please excuse any comment replies I make this evening, and the spelling thereof.
- Pub-smell - I always find that pubs have this distinctive kind of smell, especially if they're old. It's kind of smokey, mixed with alcohol, and heat and wood. It's kind of comforting, but it's heavy and can smell bad if there's BO added to the equation.