(no subject)
This is stupid.
Title: The King Who Brought Back Partying
Characters: England and Charles II
Rating: PG
Notes: A... crossover? with Horrible Histories.
Summary: idek man. England and King Charles being silly and anachronistic.
“There there, old boy, it's not so bad,” said King Charles II as he poured more wine for the drunken, sobbing heap of a country in front of him.
England looked up at him, face all wet and red, screwed up from the force of his sobs. “I'm just... just...” England stopped and sniffed extravagantly.
Charles pulled his hand out of the splash zone. He had a party to go to later and he wasn't going to let anyone's blubbering ruin his rather stunning new outfit (height of fashion, you know. Or at least it would be once everyone saw him wearing it).
“I'm just so happy!” England wailed.
“Ah, well,” said Charles, not entirely sure what to do with that information, “Jolly good.” He looked for a relatively dry part of England that he could pat and settled for the top of his head. Pleased with his comforting, Charles returned to his own woefully neglected wine.
“Christmas!” England suddenly roused himself to cry.
“No, no,” Charles reassured him, “Not for another few months yet.”
“I haven't had a Christmas for years.” England drained his glass and then returned to drenching the tablecloth.
Charles had to admit, when he'd invited his country for a friendly drink, this wasn't quite how he'd envisioned it going.
“And the theatre!” England turned bleary eyes towards his king. “Do you think we could go to the theatre?”
“Regularly, I should hope!”
England grinned like a fool and grabbed Charles' sleeve. Good lord, he'd wiped his nose with that hand, Charles was quite sure of it. It wouldn't do to be seen with a snot-stained sleeve. “We could see a play! In the theatre!”
“That is,” Charles carefully extricated his arm from England's hold, “What I reopened them for, yes.”
England slid away with a beatific smile on his face. Poor man. If there was to be a definitive argument against countries without kings, this was surely it. It was a good argument against Puritan countries, too. And definitely a resounding argument against Oliver Cromwell in any form.
Charles examined his sleeve. It seemed to have survived unscathed.
England continued burbling to himself about games and music and fun. He hugged the wine bottle to himself as though it could be wrestled from him at any second. Charles had not been king long, but he already knew that it was a foolish thing to try and part England from his alcohol now that he had it back.
Before Charles could call for another bottle something far more interesting came tearing into the room to distract him.
“Octavius!” called Charles, with his arms open wide.
Octavius hurtled over and, with an impressive flying leap, landed right in Charles' lap.
“Oh, what a good boy!” Charles fussed over the excitable spaniel and received many licks in return. “Have you lost Julius? Have you managed to get away from him?” Charles adopted the soppy tone of voice that is customary to all dog owners. It would've been embarrassing if he were the kind of man to get embarrassed. Not to mention that his audience would have to be anything other than one utterly insensible personification.
Octavius wagged his tail frantically.
“Aren't you clever? Oh, yes you are!” Charles scratched behind the dog's ears. “And who's got the best hairdo in all the land? We do, don't we, Octavius? Yes, we do!”
A loud thump cut Charles off mid-prattle. He looked up find that England had disappeared. Or, upon standing, to find that England had fallen off his chair and was now lying in an unmoving heap on the floor.
Charles, dog in arms, cautiously approached. He prodded England with his foot but got no reaction. He stood over England for a moment, in thought. “Ah well,” he decided in the end, “Probably needs the rest, doesn't he?” He crept towards the door. “Had a terrible time of it recently, you know. Ten years and not a single party! It's enough to drive anyone barking mad.”
End.
I like to think England came to a few hours later to find himself covered in dogs.
Title: The King Who Brought Back Partying
Characters: England and Charles II
Rating: PG
Notes: A... crossover? with Horrible Histories.
Summary: idek man. England and King Charles being silly and anachronistic.
“There there, old boy, it's not so bad,” said King Charles II as he poured more wine for the drunken, sobbing heap of a country in front of him.
England looked up at him, face all wet and red, screwed up from the force of his sobs. “I'm just... just...” England stopped and sniffed extravagantly.
Charles pulled his hand out of the splash zone. He had a party to go to later and he wasn't going to let anyone's blubbering ruin his rather stunning new outfit (height of fashion, you know. Or at least it would be once everyone saw him wearing it).
“I'm just so happy!” England wailed.
“Ah, well,” said Charles, not entirely sure what to do with that information, “Jolly good.” He looked for a relatively dry part of England that he could pat and settled for the top of his head. Pleased with his comforting, Charles returned to his own woefully neglected wine.
“Christmas!” England suddenly roused himself to cry.
“No, no,” Charles reassured him, “Not for another few months yet.”
“I haven't had a Christmas for years.” England drained his glass and then returned to drenching the tablecloth.
Charles had to admit, when he'd invited his country for a friendly drink, this wasn't quite how he'd envisioned it going.
“And the theatre!” England turned bleary eyes towards his king. “Do you think we could go to the theatre?”
“Regularly, I should hope!”
England grinned like a fool and grabbed Charles' sleeve. Good lord, he'd wiped his nose with that hand, Charles was quite sure of it. It wouldn't do to be seen with a snot-stained sleeve. “We could see a play! In the theatre!”
“That is,” Charles carefully extricated his arm from England's hold, “What I reopened them for, yes.”
England slid away with a beatific smile on his face. Poor man. If there was to be a definitive argument against countries without kings, this was surely it. It was a good argument against Puritan countries, too. And definitely a resounding argument against Oliver Cromwell in any form.
Charles examined his sleeve. It seemed to have survived unscathed.
England continued burbling to himself about games and music and fun. He hugged the wine bottle to himself as though it could be wrestled from him at any second. Charles had not been king long, but he already knew that it was a foolish thing to try and part England from his alcohol now that he had it back.
Before Charles could call for another bottle something far more interesting came tearing into the room to distract him.
“Octavius!” called Charles, with his arms open wide.
Octavius hurtled over and, with an impressive flying leap, landed right in Charles' lap.
“Oh, what a good boy!” Charles fussed over the excitable spaniel and received many licks in return. “Have you lost Julius? Have you managed to get away from him?” Charles adopted the soppy tone of voice that is customary to all dog owners. It would've been embarrassing if he were the kind of man to get embarrassed. Not to mention that his audience would have to be anything other than one utterly insensible personification.
Octavius wagged his tail frantically.
“Aren't you clever? Oh, yes you are!” Charles scratched behind the dog's ears. “And who's got the best hairdo in all the land? We do, don't we, Octavius? Yes, we do!”
A loud thump cut Charles off mid-prattle. He looked up find that England had disappeared. Or, upon standing, to find that England had fallen off his chair and was now lying in an unmoving heap on the floor.
Charles, dog in arms, cautiously approached. He prodded England with his foot but got no reaction. He stood over England for a moment, in thought. “Ah well,” he decided in the end, “Probably needs the rest, doesn't he?” He crept towards the door. “Had a terrible time of it recently, you know. Ten years and not a single party! It's enough to drive anyone barking mad.”
End.
I like to think England came to a few hours later to find himself covered in dogs.