The Promised Mutiny (3/14)
anonymous
May 23 2010, 23:47:13 UTC
England stood there, arms crossed, staring at America expectantly.
America’s grin faltered slightly. “I can’t do it right now, England. It’s gotta be totally unexpected. You don’t stand around waiting for the mutiny, right?”
“Do you even know what you’re talking about?” England drawled.
“I had pirates, too, ya know,” America protested.
“Of course,” England said, and started walking. “Let’s leave this store-there’s no costume of worth here. If you tell me what you want, I can make you a costume.”
“Kay,” America said, perking up and following after England. A hand breezed over the small of his back briefly and America said, perfectly innocent and grinning, even though the words weighed down with a promise, “You better prepare yourself, England. You never know when I might be boarding your ship.”
“That better not be part of your act,” England said primly as they left the store. He couldn’t help but shiver, slightly, however.
---
Halloween came and went, but still no sign of America’s promised piracy. The party held between nations, at least some of them, was a great success. It always was, because in the end it didn’t take the nations much to have a good time-booze, basically. And there was a fair quantity of alcohol at the party, as always. England was, as expected, a magician again, just as he had been for the past few hundred decades. America ended up going as a cowboy, after digging around in his storage and finding an old outfit he wore back before the taming of the Wild West, but spent most of the party hiding in the closet because the ghost of Canadians past kept scaring the fearless cowboy to near tears.
England, admittedly, had half-expected America to show up as a pirate to the party, or even the day following when they’d collapsed together in England’s bed, making quick work to rip off their aged clothing and get down to more important (and fun) business. But waking up in the morning, England was greeted only with the sight of a sated, obliviously happy America snuggling into his chest and clinging to him, pressed so close to his chest that his cheek bunched up in a comical way. England had spent the morning stroking his fingers through America’s hair before the younger nation had woken up, shared a quick, morning-breath ridden kiss, and had to dart away in order to get back to work.
So the days passed and England did his work and did some things unrelated to work (namely, going to the bar with France).
It was a few weeks after Halloween when the promise finally came to fruition. England came home utterly exhausted. He slumped into his house with a small sigh, toeing off his shoes and dropping his briefcase near the table where he left his car keys. Loosening his tie, England wandered absently through his house towards the kitchen, to fix himself a cup of tea. The entire day had been long, tedious, and obnoxious. He worried he was getting a migraine the size of Wales or perhaps coming down with a cold-it wouldn’t be the first time, considering the state of the world. His fabulous plans for the evening were to take the tea to his bed, get comfortable, and read a book until he passed out. He had the day off tomorrow, at least, so perhaps he would indulge himself and sleep in an extra hour before getting to the work waiting for him in his briefcase. Regardless, it was shaping up to be a completely uninspiring and unexciting weekend, and that suited England just fine. He was dead tired, and his back ached.
Sighing, he made his way to his bedroom and set his tea down on the bedside table. He pressed a hand to his face, sighed once again, and slumped his way to his closet. Pulling off his tie completely now and undoing a few of the buttons, England reached out his hand and opened the closet door.
And then nearly had a heart attack when America was there waiting for him.
America’s grin faltered slightly. “I can’t do it right now, England. It’s gotta be totally unexpected. You don’t stand around waiting for the mutiny, right?”
“Do you even know what you’re talking about?” England drawled.
“I had pirates, too, ya know,” America protested.
“Of course,” England said, and started walking. “Let’s leave this store-there’s no costume of worth here. If you tell me what you want, I can make you a costume.”
“Kay,” America said, perking up and following after England. A hand breezed over the small of his back briefly and America said, perfectly innocent and grinning, even though the words weighed down with a promise, “You better prepare yourself, England. You never know when I might be boarding your ship.”
“That better not be part of your act,” England said primly as they left the store. He couldn’t help but shiver, slightly, however.
---
Halloween came and went, but still no sign of America’s promised piracy. The party held between nations, at least some of them, was a great success. It always was, because in the end it didn’t take the nations much to have a good time-booze, basically. And there was a fair quantity of alcohol at the party, as always. England was, as expected, a magician again, just as he had been for the past few hundred decades. America ended up going as a cowboy, after digging around in his storage and finding an old outfit he wore back before the taming of the Wild West, but spent most of the party hiding in the closet because the ghost of Canadians past kept scaring the fearless cowboy to near tears.
England, admittedly, had half-expected America to show up as a pirate to the party, or even the day following when they’d collapsed together in England’s bed, making quick work to rip off their aged clothing and get down to more important (and fun) business. But waking up in the morning, England was greeted only with the sight of a sated, obliviously happy America snuggling into his chest and clinging to him, pressed so close to his chest that his cheek bunched up in a comical way. England had spent the morning stroking his fingers through America’s hair before the younger nation had woken up, shared a quick, morning-breath ridden kiss, and had to dart away in order to get back to work.
So the days passed and England did his work and did some things unrelated to work (namely, going to the bar with France).
It was a few weeks after Halloween when the promise finally came to fruition. England came home utterly exhausted. He slumped into his house with a small sigh, toeing off his shoes and dropping his briefcase near the table where he left his car keys. Loosening his tie, England wandered absently through his house towards the kitchen, to fix himself a cup of tea. The entire day had been long, tedious, and obnoxious. He worried he was getting a migraine the size of Wales or perhaps coming down with a cold-it wouldn’t be the first time, considering the state of the world. His fabulous plans for the evening were to take the tea to his bed, get comfortable, and read a book until he passed out. He had the day off tomorrow, at least, so perhaps he would indulge himself and sleep in an extra hour before getting to the work waiting for him in his briefcase. Regardless, it was shaping up to be a completely uninspiring and unexciting weekend, and that suited England just fine. He was dead tired, and his back ached.
Sighing, he made his way to his bedroom and set his tea down on the bedside table. He pressed a hand to his face, sighed once again, and slumped his way to his closet. Pulling off his tie completely now and undoing a few of the buttons, England reached out his hand and opened the closet door.
And then nearly had a heart attack when America was there waiting for him.
“Jesus-!”
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