Request answers~!
Cande's request: Scotia/Gallia + Albion.
The bushes and brambles scratched Albion's legs and the rocks made him stumble, but the fae dragged him by the arm and the hem of his clothing forward. They were upset for some reason, screeching about an intruder that smelled like iron and those men with crosses that tried to kill them. He could have used the roads Rome gave him, which were much straighter, but the fae refused to travel them. Still, they pulled him ever northwards.
The Wall came into sight, and Albion finally dug in his heels.
No way, oh no no no, he was not going over The Wall. Scotia would kill him. Dead.
But the high, tinkling bells that were the voices of the fae became even more insistent, babbling that it was just over the wall, that's all, just a little further.
Steeling himself, Albion ran through the gateway.
Instant the feeling of alien land made him choke, much more that this was land that didn't want him there. He didn't like not being on what was his land. He had very little power here. Why did the fae think he could help?
He kept running, though he was sure that any second now Scotia and a thousand of his men would jump out from behind a craggy peak or a scraggly bush and chase him home or worse. But as night fell, nothing happened, and Albion kept running.
His older brother had rather enjoyed taking over the castles Rome left on his ill-fated attempt at taking over. While there were scorch marks on the sides, there was dim light from inside, and the sounds of men drinking in good cheer. The little Nation crept around the back, letting himself in a side door. He knew Rome's castles well; it helped that their layout more often than not was rigidly copied from one to the other.
Casting a mild glamor on himself, he tip-toed as quietly as he could through the mess hall to the stairs. Up and up he climbed, until the fae grabbed his hair, stopping him in front of a door.
"W-w-what are you-"
That was Scotia's voice. But he'd never heard him so... flustered. Or mildly terrified.
"Aw, come on, it's not going to hurt..."
A feeling like his stomach had turned to lead took over the little blonde. Gallia, that toady little bastard son of Rome. That's what the Fae had meant.
The second he had spoken, the faeries had screamed indignantly and the gnomes and sprites yelled obscenities. Of course, Gallia couldn't hear them, not since he'd taken Rome's new "one god" religion, but Scotia-
"What the hell was that?"
Deciding he was found already, Albion kicked open the already ajar door.
The scene he found, however, was unexpected.
Gallia, in a rather feminine pink robe, was sitting, nay, straddling his oldest brother on his bed, the ribbons in his hair coming undone. There was one tied to the end of one of Scotia's plaits, a stark contrast to orange-brown hair, as well as his extremely red face. Gallia seemed rather surprised at the intrusion, and then a little miffed.
"Go away, you." he said snootily. Albion felt his face flush.
"The hell are ye doin' here, runt?"
"I-I was going to save you." and the second it was out of his mouth, he knew he'd just said something stupid. Scotia sat up with an angry glare, forcing Gallia to sit back a little in his lap. The European toad simply slung his arms over Scotia's shoulders, locking his fingers behind his neck.
"I don't need savin' from the likes o' you." he growled, which was slightly less menacing thanks to the bow in his hair, but the younger boy was intimidated regardless. He stopped himself from taking an involuntary step back.
"The fae told me to!" he defended, but this made Gallia tut disapprovingly.
"You shouldn't listen to little demons you know, Britannia."
The name made his stomach churn. Scotia's face went from enraged to disgusted. Memories lingered between them, the stabbing, building the wall, burning the villages to watch his brother bleed in kind.
"Besides," and Gallia pressed his lips to Scotia's cheek. "I'm no threat."
Despite how he should have been enjoying the flustered and embarrassed look on his older brother's face at that moment, rage bubbled up and took over. "I thought your God forbid lies!" Albion shouted, fists clenched. "I hope he strikes you both down!"
-----------------
Nena's request: El Dorado with Portugal and Spain. (Video link here, scene starts at 2:03
"Your dice are loaded!" shouted the rather stout and intimidating man. Spain and Portugal backed up slightly, glancing at each other. Looks of "this is all your fault" were exchanged, before a plan was decided upon by mutual agreement that if they wanted to get out of this they were going to have to use some Iberian flare.
"You gave me loaded dice!" accused Portugal, pointing at his brother with a betrayed look. A clang sounded as he bumped into one of his brother's many city guards. They, of course, had no idea who the Nations were, so Gabriel simply looked imploringly at the soldier and cried again "He gave me loaded dice! Guard, arrest him!"
Spain, catching on to the plot, fought down a grin. "You dare to impude my honor?!" he proclaimed in a melodramatic tone. "He was the one who was cheating! Arrest him!" And in a gesture that Portugal thought was a little uncalled for, he pushed him back. "He tricked these sailors and took their money!"
"Oh, now I'm the theif?"
"Yes!"
He swung his brother round and made him look in a nearby soldier's reflective chestplate."Look in the mirror, irmão!"
People were staring as Antonio started looking around with a gleam in his eye that made Portugal start looking for potential weapons too. "You'd better give them that money back or I'll-" he snatched a soldier's sword from it's sheath. "Enguard!"
Grinning, Portugal replied. "Enguard yourself, I shall give you the honor of a quick and painless death!" He grabbed the nearest sword to hand, brandishing it at his sibling.
... this was a rather unimpressive dagger. "But not with that." he hastily added, grabbing the actual sword he'd meant to. "We shall fight fairly!"
Iron hissed as the two blades clashed, locking at the handguards. The two Iberian Nations circled, neither letting up, playful menace sparking in their olive eyes. Spain growled playfully like a dog, and Portugal had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Had he been spending too much time with Arthur? "Well, any last words?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"I will cut you to ribbons."
They broke apart, circling the arena with blade tips pointed in fencing styles, if only for show. Entertain the crowd, play it up, distract them. "Fool, such mediocrity!" Spain went for an easily-parried and very much open thrust, which Portugal took advantage of. "Let your sword do the talking!"
Antonio tossed his head back. "I shall and will be loquacious to a fault!" He lunged again, sword whipping through thin air as his brother dodged, the whistling of metal on the ether and the clangs of sword parries and blocks punctuating their laughter. It couldn't be helped; it wasn't often they got to have proper mock sword fights in front of an audience.
Leaping up onto the table, Spain jumped over the attempts Portugal had at cutting off his feet from the ankle down. "You tomato loving twit!" Portugal yelled, pursuing.
Now the insults were getting personal. Both of them fought their way up boxes and crates and onto a nearby tiled roof. "Hah, you fight like your wife!"
Portugal's eye twitched. Two could fight dirty here. "You've fought my wife. That's a compliment."
He was going to get it for that later. "Braggart!" Antonio bellowed.
"Heathen!" Swords crossed again, the pressure making sparks. Spain pressed forward, strength greater than his brother's, blade coming dangerously close to Portugal's face.
"Hey, 'Tonio, watch it!" the younger of the two hissed warningly. One of the tiles slipped loose and he fell on his back, forced to block and parry blows from a lower position. Eventually, he allowed the sword to be knocked out of his hands before Spain could get too into this. The Spaniard caught the blade by the handle as it flew into the air, bowing to their assembled audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we've decided it's a draw!" he called, to the gasps of the crowd. He tossed the swords to the ground where they clattered in front of the shocked guards' feet.
"It's been nice meeting you, see you soon~!" Portugal added, backing away towards the other edge of the roof.
"Adios!"
And they ran.
-----------------
withgoldensoil's request: England, New Zealand and Australia
England was very used to children. One tended to get to be quite accustomed to a baby's wail or a child's mess after having colonised 1/4 of the world. He liked to think he was a bit of an expert.
But by god, he had never met another child who could scream quite so high as New Zealand. It was practically a weapon. His ears rang with the sound for hours afterward, no matter how hard he pressed his hands over his ears.
And at the same time as having a very stereotypical girlish shriek, she also had quite the rugby tackle.
"For the love of God!" England finally bellowed at top volume, tearing apart the squabbling children. Australia was a proper scrapper, swinging his fists at his sister even as he hung in the air by the back of his shirt. New Zealand struggled upright at England's feet, a nasty red mark on her cheek almost looking like a one-sided blush. The tables and chairs of the make-shift classroom England had set up so painstakingly were scattered everywhere in disarray, and the teacher he had hired had run to him in a fit of tears. "Enough of this farce! Brooke, you are to stop showing poisonous spiders to your sister, and Katherine, for goodness sake, it is not ladylike to attack one's brothers!"
The girl stuck her tongue out at him, and Australia's wild kicking caught him in the side. He should have never sent so many Irish prisoners to them. Now they were just so cheeky.
"Lemme go!" yelled Australia in his hideous half-cockney accent, glottal stops on the end of nearly every word. "Pu' me down! It wozn' my faul'! She star'ed i'!"
See, this is why he tried not to get attached. Because they always rebelled.
"Ah bloody well did no'!" New Zealand shouted back, starting on Brooke again only to find England in the way. She tried to dodge around, when England decided he'd reached his limit.
"I said enough!" he commanded, bringing the power of the empire to his voice. The two children fell silent. "Better. That is the last time I let you alone with a teacher that is not me. Moreover, both of you have detention. And that means no animals."
Once the two of them had gained significantly apologetic expressions, England let both of them go and turned on his heel. "Now, I'm going to go apologise to Miss Tom, and you are to clean this mess up by the time I get back."
England left, hearing the sound of tables scraping across wooden floors. What he didn't hear was this:
"Wow, your plan worked Auss."
"Course i' did. Now 'e'll def'nitely 'ave ta pay attention to us more now!"
-----------------
More to be put up later, right now I'm gonna go do Family Ties~!
The bushes and brambles scratched Albion's legs and the rocks made him stumble, but the fae dragged him by the arm and the hem of his clothing forward. They were upset for some reason, screeching about an intruder that smelled like iron and those men with crosses that tried to kill them. He could have used the roads Rome gave him, which were much straighter, but the fae refused to travel them. Still, they pulled him ever northwards.
The Wall came into sight, and Albion finally dug in his heels.
No way, oh no no no, he was not going over The Wall. Scotia would kill him. Dead.
But the high, tinkling bells that were the voices of the fae became even more insistent, babbling that it was just over the wall, that's all, just a little further.
Steeling himself, Albion ran through the gateway.
Instant the feeling of alien land made him choke, much more that this was land that didn't want him there. He didn't like not being on what was his land. He had very little power here. Why did the fae think he could help?
He kept running, though he was sure that any second now Scotia and a thousand of his men would jump out from behind a craggy peak or a scraggly bush and chase him home or worse. But as night fell, nothing happened, and Albion kept running.
His older brother had rather enjoyed taking over the castles Rome left on his ill-fated attempt at taking over. While there were scorch marks on the sides, there was dim light from inside, and the sounds of men drinking in good cheer. The little Nation crept around the back, letting himself in a side door. He knew Rome's castles well; it helped that their layout more often than not was rigidly copied from one to the other.
Casting a mild glamor on himself, he tip-toed as quietly as he could through the mess hall to the stairs. Up and up he climbed, until the fae grabbed his hair, stopping him in front of a door.
"W-w-what are you-"
That was Scotia's voice. But he'd never heard him so... flustered. Or mildly terrified.
"Aw, come on, it's not going to hurt..."
A feeling like his stomach had turned to lead took over the little blonde. Gallia, that toady little bastard son of Rome. That's what the Fae had meant.
The second he had spoken, the faeries had screamed indignantly and the gnomes and sprites yelled obscenities. Of course, Gallia couldn't hear them, not since he'd taken Rome's new "one god" religion, but Scotia-
"What the hell was that?"
Deciding he was found already, Albion kicked open the already ajar door.
The scene he found, however, was unexpected.
Gallia, in a rather feminine pink robe, was sitting, nay, straddling his oldest brother on his bed, the ribbons in his hair coming undone. There was one tied to the end of one of Scotia's plaits, a stark contrast to orange-brown hair, as well as his extremely red face. Gallia seemed rather surprised at the intrusion, and then a little miffed.
"Go away, you." he said snootily. Albion felt his face flush.
"The hell are ye doin' here, runt?"
"I-I was going to save you." and the second it was out of his mouth, he knew he'd just said something stupid. Scotia sat up with an angry glare, forcing Gallia to sit back a little in his lap. The European toad simply slung his arms over Scotia's shoulders, locking his fingers behind his neck.
"I don't need savin' from the likes o' you." he growled, which was slightly less menacing thanks to the bow in his hair, but the younger boy was intimidated regardless. He stopped himself from taking an involuntary step back.
"The fae told me to!" he defended, but this made Gallia tut disapprovingly.
"You shouldn't listen to little demons you know, Britannia."
The name made his stomach churn. Scotia's face went from enraged to disgusted. Memories lingered between them, the stabbing, building the wall, burning the villages to watch his brother bleed in kind.
"Besides," and Gallia pressed his lips to Scotia's cheek. "I'm no threat."
Despite how he should have been enjoying the flustered and embarrassed look on his older brother's face at that moment, rage bubbled up and took over. "I thought your God forbid lies!" Albion shouted, fists clenched. "I hope he strikes you both down!"
-----------------
Nena's request: El Dorado with Portugal and Spain. (Video link here, scene starts at 2:03
"Your dice are loaded!" shouted the rather stout and intimidating man. Spain and Portugal backed up slightly, glancing at each other. Looks of "this is all your fault" were exchanged, before a plan was decided upon by mutual agreement that if they wanted to get out of this they were going to have to use some Iberian flare.
"You gave me loaded dice!" accused Portugal, pointing at his brother with a betrayed look. A clang sounded as he bumped into one of his brother's many city guards. They, of course, had no idea who the Nations were, so Gabriel simply looked imploringly at the soldier and cried again "He gave me loaded dice! Guard, arrest him!"
Spain, catching on to the plot, fought down a grin. "You dare to impude my honor?!" he proclaimed in a melodramatic tone. "He was the one who was cheating! Arrest him!" And in a gesture that Portugal thought was a little uncalled for, he pushed him back. "He tricked these sailors and took their money!"
"Oh, now I'm the theif?"
"Yes!"
He swung his brother round and made him look in a nearby soldier's reflective chestplate."Look in the mirror, irmão!"
People were staring as Antonio started looking around with a gleam in his eye that made Portugal start looking for potential weapons too. "You'd better give them that money back or I'll-" he snatched a soldier's sword from it's sheath. "Enguard!"
Grinning, Portugal replied. "Enguard yourself, I shall give you the honor of a quick and painless death!" He grabbed the nearest sword to hand, brandishing it at his sibling.
... this was a rather unimpressive dagger. "But not with that." he hastily added, grabbing the actual sword he'd meant to. "We shall fight fairly!"
Iron hissed as the two blades clashed, locking at the handguards. The two Iberian Nations circled, neither letting up, playful menace sparking in their olive eyes. Spain growled playfully like a dog, and Portugal had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Had he been spending too much time with Arthur? "Well, any last words?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"I will cut you to ribbons."
They broke apart, circling the arena with blade tips pointed in fencing styles, if only for show. Entertain the crowd, play it up, distract them. "Fool, such mediocrity!" Spain went for an easily-parried and very much open thrust, which Portugal took advantage of. "Let your sword do the talking!"
Antonio tossed his head back. "I shall and will be loquacious to a fault!" He lunged again, sword whipping through thin air as his brother dodged, the whistling of metal on the ether and the clangs of sword parries and blocks punctuating their laughter. It couldn't be helped; it wasn't often they got to have proper mock sword fights in front of an audience.
Leaping up onto the table, Spain jumped over the attempts Portugal had at cutting off his feet from the ankle down. "You tomato loving twit!" Portugal yelled, pursuing.
Now the insults were getting personal. Both of them fought their way up boxes and crates and onto a nearby tiled roof. "Hah, you fight like your wife!"
Portugal's eye twitched. Two could fight dirty here. "You've fought my wife. That's a compliment."
He was going to get it for that later. "Braggart!" Antonio bellowed.
"Heathen!" Swords crossed again, the pressure making sparks. Spain pressed forward, strength greater than his brother's, blade coming dangerously close to Portugal's face.
"Hey, 'Tonio, watch it!" the younger of the two hissed warningly. One of the tiles slipped loose and he fell on his back, forced to block and parry blows from a lower position. Eventually, he allowed the sword to be knocked out of his hands before Spain could get too into this. The Spaniard caught the blade by the handle as it flew into the air, bowing to their assembled audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we've decided it's a draw!" he called, to the gasps of the crowd. He tossed the swords to the ground where they clattered in front of the shocked guards' feet.
"It's been nice meeting you, see you soon~!" Portugal added, backing away towards the other edge of the roof.
"Adios!"
And they ran.
-----------------
withgoldensoil's request: England, New Zealand and Australia
England was very used to children. One tended to get to be quite accustomed to a baby's wail or a child's mess after having colonised 1/4 of the world. He liked to think he was a bit of an expert.
But by god, he had never met another child who could scream quite so high as New Zealand. It was practically a weapon. His ears rang with the sound for hours afterward, no matter how hard he pressed his hands over his ears.
And at the same time as having a very stereotypical girlish shriek, she also had quite the rugby tackle.
"For the love of God!" England finally bellowed at top volume, tearing apart the squabbling children. Australia was a proper scrapper, swinging his fists at his sister even as he hung in the air by the back of his shirt. New Zealand struggled upright at England's feet, a nasty red mark on her cheek almost looking like a one-sided blush. The tables and chairs of the make-shift classroom England had set up so painstakingly were scattered everywhere in disarray, and the teacher he had hired had run to him in a fit of tears. "Enough of this farce! Brooke, you are to stop showing poisonous spiders to your sister, and Katherine, for goodness sake, it is not ladylike to attack one's brothers!"
The girl stuck her tongue out at him, and Australia's wild kicking caught him in the side. He should have never sent so many Irish prisoners to them. Now they were just so cheeky.
"Lemme go!" yelled Australia in his hideous half-cockney accent, glottal stops on the end of nearly every word. "Pu' me down! It wozn' my faul'! She star'ed i'!"
See, this is why he tried not to get attached. Because they always rebelled.
"Ah bloody well did no'!" New Zealand shouted back, starting on Brooke again only to find England in the way. She tried to dodge around, when England decided he'd reached his limit.
"I said enough!" he commanded, bringing the power of the empire to his voice. The two children fell silent. "Better. That is the last time I let you alone with a teacher that is not me. Moreover, both of you have detention. And that means no animals."
Once the two of them had gained significantly apologetic expressions, England let both of them go and turned on his heel. "Now, I'm going to go apologise to Miss Tom, and you are to clean this mess up by the time I get back."
England left, hearing the sound of tables scraping across wooden floors. What he didn't hear was this:
"Wow, your plan worked Auss."
"Course i' did. Now 'e'll def'nitely 'ave ta pay attention to us more now!"
-----------------
More to be put up later, right now I'm gonna go do Family Ties~!