He had many things to do (assisting Greece with his own war of Independence was one of priority). He was just a little bit more cautious about forming bonds with anyone, though he didn’t stop colonising.
American and British Governments stayed close. That sickened England to the core. He was expected to get to know this imposter in his son’s place, and he was expected to befriend him. England kept his distance; America decided to try and get closer.
It’s no different now.
Every time the America who is not England’s son dares to say, “C’mon, let’s make up already, England!”, a part of England ignites with rage and burns to ashes. It’s probably his compassion.
Regardless of what people might think, it’s not the War of Independence that irks him. New America wanted to leave, fine, let him have his own place in the world without the option of calling upon England’s assistance. It’s the fact that whoever this man is, he claims to be England’s brother- the brother than evolved into something like a son. He claims to be the boy that England adored.
The America that is not England’s son doesn’t give up, claiming, “I’m still your kid. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. But now, I’m just living by myself permanently. Flown the nest. Grown up. Let’s think of it that way.”
England is adamant, insisting, “You’re not my son.”
America treats it like a joke. “But I am- you know I love you, Pops, but you’re so stubborn sometimes.”
There is no way this thing with America’s voice and America’s smile can possibly be the infant that clung to England’s coat tails as they walked through the streets of London. There is no way this ruffian is the teenager that still craved England’s stories at bedtime to drift off with peaceful dreams in mind.
“Leave me in peace.”
This time, he storms away.America perseveres.
It seems being ignored and insulted does nothing to deflect his fraud that is deluded enough to think England still cares about him. If England could, he might forgive him and accept him, but every time he sees America’s face he sees that toddler running around in the fields of South Carolina, screaming “England!” at the sight of his guardian and leaping forward to embrace him.
The innocent love of a child. It’s a love that this America doesn’t have.
“I don’t know what you want from me. Why do you bother coming here? I can’t help you. Speak to my Prime Minister if you want to set up trade, or speak to my Chancellor if you want to consider economics...”
“I’m here ‘cause I missed you, Pops; how’ve you been?”
England freezes, tries not to drop his handful of important Exchequer documents. “Stop calling me that.”
The Confederate America smiles. “You’re always so cantankerous, Dad. Don’t ever change.”
He seems blissfully unaware, even now, of how much England hates him.On rare occasions, England has no choice but to speak to America, representing the United Kingdom in a political matter because Wales can’t be bothered and Scotland’s fishing for Loch Ness Monsters.
Today is one of those occasions.
England picks up his cup of steaming tea and looks politely at his guest, an emotionless stare of recognition rather than connection. “I’ve been discussing the recent issue of the Chino-Japanese War with my fellow European nations, and-”
“Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?” America interrupts, clearly disappointed.
“Why did you think I invited you here?” England snaps. “The Chino-Japanese War, though insignificant to us now, could cause problems in the future and-”
America interrupts again. “I thought you wanted to finally reconcile our relationship.”
“Our relationship,” England says, through gritted teeth, “is not of any importance currently.”
“Our Governments are close,” America says. “Why can’t we be? I miss being able to talk to you without you being all weird about it. I can’t believe you’re still hung up on the Revolution.”
“It’s been over one hundred years, and we’ve worked together fine since then,” England says. “I’ve been fighting my South African colonies over their Revolution. What makes you think I care about your silly little revolt?"
He had many things to do (assisting Greece with his own war of Independence was one of priority). He was just a little bit more cautious about forming bonds with anyone, though he didn’t stop colonising.
American and British Governments stayed close. That sickened England to the core. He was expected to get to know this imposter in his son’s place, and he was expected to befriend him. England kept his distance; America decided to try and get closer.
It’s no different now.
Every time the America who is not England’s son dares to say, “C’mon, let’s make up already, England!”, a part of England ignites with rage and burns to ashes. It’s probably his compassion.
Regardless of what people might think, it’s not the War of Independence that irks him. New America wanted to leave, fine, let him have his own place in the world without the option of calling upon England’s assistance. It’s the fact that whoever this man is, he claims to be England’s brother- the brother than evolved into something like a son. He claims to be the boy that England adored.
The America that is not England’s son doesn’t give up, claiming, “I’m still your kid. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. But now, I’m just living by myself permanently. Flown the nest. Grown up. Let’s think of it that way.”
England is adamant, insisting, “You’re not my son.”
America treats it like a joke. “But I am- you know I love you, Pops, but you’re so stubborn sometimes.”
There is no way this thing with America’s voice and America’s smile can possibly be the infant that clung to England’s coat tails as they walked through the streets of London. There is no way this ruffian is the teenager that still craved England’s stories at bedtime to drift off with peaceful dreams in mind.
“Leave me in peace.”
This time, he storms away.America perseveres.
It seems being ignored and insulted does nothing to deflect his fraud that is deluded enough to think England still cares about him. If England could, he might forgive him and accept him, but every time he sees America’s face he sees that toddler running around in the fields of South Carolina, screaming “England!” at the sight of his guardian and leaping forward to embrace him.
The innocent love of a child. It’s a love that this America doesn’t have.
“I don’t know what you want from me. Why do you bother coming here? I can’t help you. Speak to my Prime Minister if you want to set up trade, or speak to my Chancellor if you want to consider economics...”
“I’m here ‘cause I missed you, Pops; how’ve you been?”
England freezes, tries not to drop his handful of important Exchequer documents. “Stop calling me that.”
The Confederate America smiles. “You’re always so cantankerous, Dad. Don’t ever change.”
He seems blissfully unaware, even now, of how much England hates him.On rare occasions, England has no choice but to speak to America, representing the United Kingdom in a political matter because Wales can’t be bothered and Scotland’s fishing for Loch Ness Monsters.
Today is one of those occasions.
England picks up his cup of steaming tea and looks politely at his guest, an emotionless stare of recognition rather than connection. “I’ve been discussing the recent issue of the Chino-Japanese War with my fellow European nations, and-”
“Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?” America interrupts, clearly disappointed.
“Why did you think I invited you here?” England snaps. “The Chino-Japanese War, though insignificant to us now, could cause problems in the future and-”
America interrupts again. “I thought you wanted to finally reconcile our relationship.”
“Our relationship,” England says, through gritted teeth, “is not of any importance currently.”
“Our Governments are close,” America says. “Why can’t we be? I miss being able to talk to you without you being all weird about it. I can’t believe you’re still hung up on the Revolution.”
“It’s been over one hundred years, and we’ve worked together fine since then,” England says. “I’ve been fighting my South African colonies over their Revolution. What makes you think I care about your silly little revolt?"
Reply
Leave a comment