Canada Abandons Monarchy! [2/3]
anonymous
July 2 2009, 23:14:04 UTC
“England, please, calm down,” Canada tried to say, holding up his hands as if the sight on them would tranquilize the older nation.
“And without me and the French,” the smashed nation continued, unperturbed, “you are just an American.”
Canada flinched at the accusations and looked at England with his infamous passive anger. For once England was completely unbothered. Canada’s fourth mental note was that when England was smashed his usual tactics would not likely work.
“And, yes, it’s truuue.” England snorted a little at the sound of the drawn out “u”. “And America, he only wants you for one thing. Your body.” Canada made an incredulous noise, because not even France was that bad. (Although, yes, lately some nations had been regarding his ample supply of fresh water enviously.)
“He doesn’t love you like I loooove yoooou,” England said, lifting one leg and place his foot on his chair. Something hungry was sitting in his glazed-over eyes now. “I loooove you,” he repeated loudly. Maybe if England hadn’t been so distracting, with his sudden declaration of love, Canada would’ve noticed France telling Belgium to pay up or Hungary rummaging for her cell phone camera. Instead he just wore a very startled expression, his heart rate shooting up and his face turned a very bright red. Surprise had never really suited Canada well.
“There, I’ve said it.” England looked distinctly relieved. “I love you.” He seemed to recognize Canada’s surprise. England had never said he’d loved the boy before, even where the feeling was familial and Canada was a new colony. “I know, I’ve never said it before, but that’s because…” He voice dropped a little. “You know I’m English. I have a hard time with my emotions, you must know what I’m saying.” A bit of a hysterical giggle infiltrated his voice. He leaned over the table, his hands planted firmly on the wood. Scotland and Wales, sitting on either side of him, edged away.
“But there it is!” He had one knee on the table now, and steadied by that his hands went up to make hand motions. “I love you!” he declared again. “I-I love your real maple syrup! Your Mounties, your Ukrainian dancers, your fiddlers…” He brought his other knee on the table, his hands coming back down so that he could move towards Canada. “I love your moose, and your trappers, and your couer de boooois,” he cooed. Canada was much closer now, and that pleased England. Not that the poor, shocked nation had moved an inch since the first “I love yoooou”.
“I love those fury little woodland creatures, and your hockey players, and Wayne Gretzky!” He made a little giggly noise and got off the table. Now the slightly taller nation was only a metre or two away, which was much better. “Wayne Gretzky takes Pierre Trudeau into the boards, Trudeau’s down, good!” he said, now not even thirty centimetres away from Canada and reaching for his tie. Canada stared down as if England had come from a different planet.
His mind was now full of mental notes, including teaching England who was a hockey player and who was a politician and finding out what England had drunk and where he could find some for later.
“And the maple syrup,” England repeated, perhaps a little hysterically, now tugging at Canada’s tie with little success. “Bears are riding down the beautiful…” He thought for a moment. “Saint Lawrence River.” He noises became more giggling and hysterical than coherent as Canada gently took his hands away from the red tie.
“Let me see the tabloid, please,” Canada said, trying his hardest to contain his voice and not let England return to undoing his tie. Germany passed it up.
Canada read it as best as he could, both the English and French sides, before declaring the paper a prank.
“The English uses American spelling. The French is Parisian, not Québécois,” Canada pronounced. Oh. Oh. What brain cells England had left to use quickly brought him to the (correct) conclusion that America and France had created the paper to get a rise out of him.
England began muttering darkly and turned to France. The Frenchman was already standing and trying to quietly make his way to the door.
“And without me and the French,” the smashed nation continued, unperturbed, “you are just an American.”
Canada flinched at the accusations and looked at England with his infamous passive anger. For once England was completely unbothered. Canada’s fourth mental note was that when England was smashed his usual tactics would not likely work.
“And, yes, it’s truuue.” England snorted a little at the sound of the drawn out “u”. “And America, he only wants you for one thing. Your body.” Canada made an incredulous noise, because not even France was that bad. (Although, yes, lately some nations had been regarding his ample supply of fresh water enviously.)
“He doesn’t love you like I loooove yoooou,” England said, lifting one leg and place his foot on his chair. Something hungry was sitting in his glazed-over eyes now. “I loooove you,” he repeated loudly. Maybe if England hadn’t been so distracting, with his sudden declaration of love, Canada would’ve noticed France telling Belgium to pay up or Hungary rummaging for her cell phone camera. Instead he just wore a very startled expression, his heart rate shooting up and his face turned a very bright red. Surprise had never really suited Canada well.
“There, I’ve said it.” England looked distinctly relieved. “I love you.” He seemed to recognize Canada’s surprise. England had never said he’d loved the boy before, even where the feeling was familial and Canada was a new colony. “I know, I’ve never said it before, but that’s because…” He voice dropped a little. “You know I’m English. I have a hard time with my emotions, you must know what I’m saying.” A bit of a hysterical giggle infiltrated his voice. He leaned over the table, his hands planted firmly on the wood. Scotland and Wales, sitting on either side of him, edged away.
“But there it is!” He had one knee on the table now, and steadied by that his hands went up to make hand motions. “I love you!” he declared again. “I-I love your real maple syrup! Your Mounties, your Ukrainian dancers, your fiddlers…” He brought his other knee on the table, his hands coming back down so that he could move towards Canada. “I love your moose, and your trappers, and your couer de boooois,” he cooed. Canada was much closer now, and that pleased England. Not that the poor, shocked nation had moved an inch since the first “I love yoooou”.
“I love those fury little woodland creatures, and your hockey players, and Wayne Gretzky!” He made a little giggly noise and got off the table. Now the slightly taller nation was only a metre or two away, which was much better. “Wayne Gretzky takes Pierre Trudeau into the boards, Trudeau’s down, good!” he said, now not even thirty centimetres away from Canada and reaching for his tie. Canada stared down as if England had come from a different planet.
His mind was now full of mental notes, including teaching England who was a hockey player and who was a politician and finding out what England had drunk and where he could find some for later.
“And the maple syrup,” England repeated, perhaps a little hysterically, now tugging at Canada’s tie with little success. “Bears are riding down the beautiful…” He thought for a moment. “Saint Lawrence River.” He noises became more giggling and hysterical than coherent as Canada gently took his hands away from the red tie.
“Let me see the tabloid, please,” Canada said, trying his hardest to contain his voice and not let England return to undoing his tie. Germany passed it up.
Canada read it as best as he could, both the English and French sides, before declaring the paper a prank.
“The English uses American spelling. The French is Parisian, not Québécois,” Canada pronounced. Oh. Oh. What brain cells England had left to use quickly brought him to the (correct) conclusion that America and France had created the paper to get a rise out of him.
England began muttering darkly and turned to France. The Frenchman was already standing and trying to quietly make his way to the door.
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