Re: Australia 2.
anonymous
November 23 2011, 00:17:03 UTC
Everybody needs a confidant and Australia had always been fond of Wales. Not as fond as he was of England, of course, but Wales had always been protective of him and Australia could talk with him about things he couldn’t with England - namely, he could talk of England. And while Australia saw New Zealand more often, thanks to their geography, he was just so… straight-laced. And sensible. New Zealand always gave good advice, but not the kind of good advice Australia wanted.
America was coming to England in four days’ time to talk about what he called Super Heroic Free Radio of Europe, a broadcaster that would be funded by his Congress to provide news, information and analysis to countries in Eastern Europe, Central Asia and the Middle East. Not that there was much to talk; it was a done deal already and obvious to Australia that America was taking this opportunity to form closer personal ties with England. He had flown over the second he heard, to meet with Wales and if he happened to crash the “happy family reunion”, well, too bad. For America, that was.
And his own self-respect.
“I hate America. It’s like talkin' with the cad always drops my maturity to a ten-year-old’s level and that’s humiliatin'. It’s like they say, never argue with an idiot. The drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience,” he complained as they hiked up a gravel road barely wide enough two cars might be able to pass each other if the drivers weren’t overweight.
“America’s 'ad toyme ter argue with yaouw lately? I thought Russia took all his toyme nowadays,” Wales asked with grim amusement. Directly after the war England had had worse relations with Russia than America, but never one to be outdone, he had proceeded to bring the argument up to epic levels of “oh shit, is the planet even going to survive this?”
“He accuses me of suckin' up and then goes and glues himself to England’s hip. Which of us remained by England’s side? I’m just askin',” Australia spat. He shivered a little in the chilly wind.
Rural North Wales was mainly hills, valleys, water and fields even these days and even though the day was cloudy Australia enjoyed their hike. It was so calm, so peaceful, and if there was a risk of rain, being a nation-continent where deserts occupied forty four percents of the area had taught him to appreciate rain. Wales was green country and he had three hundreds ninety eight lakes - count them, three hundreds ninety eight. Australia was terribly jealous. But at least Wales wasn’t the type to rub these things on people’s faces, unlike certain other nation.
“What should I do, mate, any ideas? I mean, if it was about bein' worthy I wouldn’t have trouble, but heart doesn’t operate on merit system.” Sadly. “And I’ll be damned if I just roll over because the high and mighty decided to play rapt families for once.”
If it was a merit system everything would be fine. Australia never rebelled for one, he was patient and waited for the world to change (and it wasn’t like it was a hardship, he wasn’t unhappy or anything back then...) He hadn’t been late to two wars in a row. He and England shared not only the language, but the whole heritage of English literature, philosophy, poetry and theatre. They both were good Anglicans. Both had legal systems are based on the common law. The United Kingdom was still his largest source of immigrants. He remembered England’s every birthday and really liked his food, instead of pretending really badly he did - as a cook he was about the same ilk and didn’t know what people were about, it was just food, right? Except apparently no, the jerks. But all this meant little because Australia was the goddammit prodigal brother who was forgiven everything.
Re: Australia 2.
anonymous
November 23 2011, 00:22:19 UTC
“Just ert of curiosity,” Wales drawled, his eyes sharp and arresting when they nailed Australia. He felt naked suddenly, or transparent. At times like these it was easy to understand why people were so intimidated by Wales. “Why yaouw loike Englan' so?”
“What’s there not to like?” Australia asked back, off balance. He had never been asked this before and it was surprisingly hard to put in words. “Well, he made me for one. It’s really, don’t tell England this, adorable how he flails when someone says somethin' really nice to him and gets all huffy, but you tinnie tell he is bloody happy. And he protected me from France and Russia and the Asians when I was small. And he always comes runnin' when I’m sick. It’s fun playing cricket with him… besides, it’s just him. I don’t know, he never laughed at me platypuses! Do I need a reason? I like everything about him.” And this seemed to be the right thing to say because Wales’ smile was sneaky now, not scary.
They had arrived to an old bus stop. It was just an old bench, once painted red, but now more gray than anything else, the paint flaked off like a snake’s skin. Wales sat on it and Australia followed suit. He didn’t tire easily, but they were in no hurry and it was nice to just sit there.
“Bostin ter knoo yaouw aren’t the barmy kind that tells fairy tales. Tell me, 'oo inclined yaouw ood be ter hitten beloo the belt?” Wales’ eyes were twinkling. Australia’s mouth stretched into a grin he feared was a wee bit maniacal. He had known Wales was the people to go to.
“Hey, remember me disreputable origins; I’m a British, not a gentleman. Besides, it’s not like England’s that nice and fair either. Bein' British means you take their lands and mug their languages for spare words and bein' a gentleman means you are polite about it and sup lots of tea,” he quipped.
Wales exploded into laughter. It wasn’t a polite snort or a dignified chuckle, it was deep, rumbling belly-laughter that made him bent double, clutching his stomach, and laugh until his eyes were in tears.
Fairy tales, Wales had said. Australia knew all about England’s old fairy tales, faerie tales, and people got horribly killed, maimed and cursed left, right and centre in those. Being a brother usually meant nothing either, two of those were always good-for-nothings and tried to rip the good brother off… In fact, kind of like America and him. Well, all was fair in love, war and sibling rivalry and he was taking no prisoners.
“Yoo miskin seven kinds of all roight, bruv. Okoy, i’ll help yaouw with this. Big bruv wull teach yaouw 'oo ter ruin other people’s chuffed days an' still luke bostin, just yaouw wait.” Wales’ hand on Australia’s shoulder was firm and steady. If Australia hadn’t despised America so he would have pitied his older not-brother. The mature thing would have been to learn to share and shit, but that point never made the conversation. Love, Wales knew well, makes fool all of us, and not only the romantic kind either. This was why, while England was Australia’s favourite brother, Wales was a close second.
At least America had the decency to not curry favour with him. Because that would have been scary.
To Be Continued School will sadly take more of my time in the near future so updates will come slower, but never fear, they shall come!
America was coming to England in four days’ time to talk about what he called Super Heroic Free Radio of Europe, a broadcaster that would be funded by his Congress to provide news, information and analysis to countries in Eastern Europe, Central Asia and the Middle East. Not that there was much to talk; it was a done deal already and obvious to Australia that America was taking this opportunity to form closer personal ties with England. He had flown over the second he heard, to meet with Wales and if he happened to crash the “happy family reunion”, well, too bad. For America, that was.
And his own self-respect.
“I hate America. It’s like talkin' with the cad always drops my maturity to a ten-year-old’s level and that’s humiliatin'. It’s like they say, never argue with an idiot. The drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience,” he complained as they hiked up a gravel road barely wide enough two cars might be able to pass each other if the drivers weren’t overweight.
“America’s 'ad toyme ter argue with yaouw lately? I thought Russia took all his toyme nowadays,” Wales asked with grim amusement. Directly after the war England had had worse relations with Russia than America, but never one to be outdone, he had proceeded to bring the argument up to epic levels of “oh shit, is the planet even going to survive this?”
“He accuses me of suckin' up and then goes and glues himself to England’s hip. Which of us remained by England’s side? I’m just askin',” Australia spat. He shivered a little in the chilly wind.
Rural North Wales was mainly hills, valleys, water and fields even these days and even though the day was cloudy Australia enjoyed their hike. It was so calm, so peaceful, and if there was a risk of rain, being a nation-continent where deserts occupied forty four percents of the area had taught him to appreciate rain. Wales was green country and he had three hundreds ninety eight lakes - count them, three hundreds ninety eight. Australia was terribly jealous. But at least Wales wasn’t the type to rub these things on people’s faces, unlike certain other nation.
“What should I do, mate, any ideas? I mean, if it was about bein' worthy I wouldn’t have trouble, but heart doesn’t operate on merit system.” Sadly. “And I’ll be damned if I just roll over because the high and mighty decided to play rapt families for once.”
If it was a merit system everything would be fine. Australia never rebelled for one, he was patient and waited for the world to change (and it wasn’t like it was a hardship, he wasn’t unhappy or anything back then...) He hadn’t been late to two wars in a row. He and England shared not only the language, but the whole heritage of English literature, philosophy, poetry and theatre. They both were good Anglicans. Both had legal systems are based on the common law. The United Kingdom was still his largest source of immigrants. He remembered England’s every birthday and really liked his food, instead of pretending really badly he did - as a cook he was about the same ilk and didn’t know what people were about, it was just food, right? Except apparently no, the jerks. But all this meant little because Australia was the goddammit prodigal brother who was forgiven everything.
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“What’s there not to like?” Australia asked back, off balance. He had never been asked this before and it was surprisingly hard to put in words. “Well, he made me for one. It’s really, don’t tell England this, adorable how he flails when someone says somethin' really nice to him and gets all huffy, but you tinnie tell he is bloody happy. And he protected me from France and Russia and the Asians when I was small. And he always comes runnin' when I’m sick. It’s fun playing cricket with him… besides, it’s just him. I don’t know, he never laughed at me platypuses! Do I need a reason? I like everything about him.” And this seemed to be the right thing to say because Wales’ smile was sneaky now, not scary.
They had arrived to an old bus stop. It was just an old bench, once painted red, but now more gray than anything else, the paint flaked off like a snake’s skin. Wales sat on it and Australia followed suit. He didn’t tire easily, but they were in no hurry and it was nice to just sit there.
“Bostin ter knoo yaouw aren’t the barmy kind that tells fairy tales. Tell me, 'oo inclined yaouw ood be ter hitten beloo the belt?” Wales’ eyes were twinkling. Australia’s mouth stretched into a grin he feared was a wee bit maniacal. He had known Wales was the people to go to.
“Hey, remember me disreputable origins; I’m a British, not a gentleman. Besides, it’s not like England’s that nice and fair either. Bein' British means you take their lands and mug their languages for spare words and bein' a gentleman means you are polite about it and sup lots of tea,” he quipped.
Wales exploded into laughter. It wasn’t a polite snort or a dignified chuckle, it was deep, rumbling belly-laughter that made him bent double, clutching his stomach, and laugh until his eyes were in tears.
Fairy tales, Wales had said. Australia knew all about England’s old fairy tales, faerie tales, and people got horribly killed, maimed and cursed left, right and centre in those. Being a brother usually meant nothing either, two of those were always good-for-nothings and tried to rip the good brother off… In fact, kind of like America and him. Well, all was fair in love, war and sibling rivalry and he was taking no prisoners.
“Yoo miskin seven kinds of all roight, bruv. Okoy, i’ll help yaouw with this. Big bruv wull teach yaouw 'oo ter ruin other people’s chuffed days an' still luke bostin, just yaouw wait.” Wales’ hand on Australia’s shoulder was firm and steady. If Australia hadn’t despised America so he would have pitied his older not-brother. The mature thing would have been to learn to share and shit, but that point never made the conversation. Love, Wales knew well, makes fool all of us, and not only the romantic kind either. This was why, while England was Australia’s favourite brother, Wales was a close second.
At least America had the decency to not curry favour with him. Because that would have been scary.
To Be Continued
School will sadly take more of my time in the near future so updates will come slower, but never fear, they shall come!
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And I can't even edit. The price of anonymity, I guess.
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