Re: Do You Have a Flag? [Part 4b]
anonymous
July 13 2011, 01:37:18 UTC
“I know! I thought he trusted me-m-miii…meh? Huh? Other woman? What?!” America crashed to his feet, tried to step back, and instead tripped into the back of the couch, and promptly was sent head over heels down the back of the couch to finally splutter on the other side of it, on the floor, in an untidy heap. “Oof?” He looked up at the blurry shape of England who was standing over him, arms crossed across his chest. Alfred blinked, and gently pushed his glasses back into position.
“What on earth are you doing; are you trying to destroy my living room, you wanker?” Arthur’s fingers tapped on his arm, and he gave a very slightly twitch. “I honestly can’t leave you alone for five fucking minutes before you end up getting yourself into trouble.”
America rolled over, and clambered to his feet, laughing nervously. Francis, attempting to swallow up his laughter, helped America right himself, and quickly scooped up the suit jackets. “Here, Angleterre~” France smiled, and collapsed into subdued guffaws.
“Thank you.” England stiffly answered, accepting the jackets, he passed America’s back to him. “What were you two discussing?”
“You have a lover!” Alfred blurted out, eyes bugging slightly.
“I was just telling L’Amerique here about your…” Francis paused, tapped his chin lightly as he looked for words, then clicked his fingers in delight. “Special relationship with Mademoiselle Portugal. How many years has it been now, my dear friend, five hundred or so? Half a millennia, goodness.” Alfred closed his mouth, suddenly quieter, looking between Arthur and Francis. “You and her are practically married, after-all.”
Arthur shrugged, “The Anglo-Portuguese Alliance is not exactly a secret matter. Just as I was telling Alfred here.” He pointed at a nearby bookshelf. “I’m sure I have the records somewhere, feel free to borrow some texts.” He pointed at a counter. “The files are there.” England crossed his arms.
America tipped his head at England, mouth set in a hurt line.
“Ah, Angleterre, you’ve upset our good friend here by being so secretive.” Francis smirked. “Ohh, but what pos-”
“Can you get out of my house?” England asked harshly.
France and England looked at each other steadily for a few moments; apparently an armistice was found, because Francis shrugged with a non-particular elegance. “Oui, bonsoir.”
Alfred and Arthur met eyes, listening to the creaking sound of France leaving the house. Clearing his throat, America shuffled his grip on the suit jacket; “Arthur it-”
“I meant you too.” Snapped England. Almost straightaway the isle softened. “Forgive me, I’ve had a long day. I would appreciate you leaving me in peace.”
America nodded awkwardly, and stepped over to the bookcase, crouching down and scanning the shelves. Arthur was sure Alfred was taking more time than he might need, and just as Arthur was about to aggressively demand Alfred take his leave at that exact moment, America stood up, a book clasped in his hand, and with an uncommon nervousness, shuffled away.
“Night, England.” Alfred mumbled, and England listened to his footsteps echo away. Before sinking into one of his armchairs, and flopping back in it, sighing, eyes closed and finally alone. He gave a groan, and stretched out; long day did not begin to cover it.
“What on earth are you doing; are you trying to destroy my living room, you wanker?” Arthur’s fingers tapped on his arm, and he gave a very slightly twitch. “I honestly can’t leave you alone for five fucking minutes before you end up getting yourself into trouble.”
America rolled over, and clambered to his feet, laughing nervously. Francis, attempting to swallow up his laughter, helped America right himself, and quickly scooped up the suit jackets. “Here, Angleterre~” France smiled, and collapsed into subdued guffaws.
“Thank you.” England stiffly answered, accepting the jackets, he passed America’s back to him. “What were you two discussing?”
“You have a lover!” Alfred blurted out, eyes bugging slightly.
“I was just telling L’Amerique here about your…” Francis paused, tapped his chin lightly as he looked for words, then clicked his fingers in delight. “Special relationship with Mademoiselle Portugal. How many years has it been now, my dear friend, five hundred or so? Half a millennia, goodness.” Alfred closed his mouth, suddenly quieter, looking between Arthur and Francis. “You and her are practically married, after-all.”
Arthur shrugged, “The Anglo-Portuguese Alliance is not exactly a secret matter. Just as I was telling Alfred here.” He pointed at a nearby bookshelf. “I’m sure I have the records somewhere, feel free to borrow some texts.” He pointed at a counter. “The files are there.” England crossed his arms.
America tipped his head at England, mouth set in a hurt line.
“Ah, Angleterre, you’ve upset our good friend here by being so secretive.” Francis smirked. “Ohh, but what pos-”
“Can you get out of my house?” England asked harshly.
France and England looked at each other steadily for a few moments; apparently an armistice was found, because Francis shrugged with a non-particular elegance. “Oui, bonsoir.”
Alfred and Arthur met eyes, listening to the creaking sound of France leaving the house. Clearing his throat, America shuffled his grip on the suit jacket; “Arthur it-”
“I meant you too.” Snapped England. Almost straightaway the isle softened. “Forgive me, I’ve had a long day. I would appreciate you leaving me in peace.”
America nodded awkwardly, and stepped over to the bookcase, crouching down and scanning the shelves. Arthur was sure Alfred was taking more time than he might need, and just as Arthur was about to aggressively demand Alfred take his leave at that exact moment, America stood up, a book clasped in his hand, and with an uncommon nervousness, shuffled away.
“Night, England.” Alfred mumbled, and England listened to his footsteps echo away. Before sinking into one of his armchairs, and flopping back in it, sighing, eyes closed and finally alone. He gave a groan, and stretched out; long day did not begin to cover it.
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