AN: I do not own Hetalia or Scotland. This is my interpretation of Scotland as I see him at this exact moment.
"Gae, eh say." Ian shook his head pointing to the other side of the room. Arthur shook his head, not comfortable about the direction his elder brother was telling him to go. Outside, in a blizzard.
"There's a full storm out there, bloody hell." Arthur glared.
"Nyaff." Ian glared. "All ye want'n is tea. I only serve booze, 'ere."
"This is the first place I could reach in this storm, git." Arthur frowned, crossing his arms. "I'd prefer not to be in this bloody pub."
"Fine but ye make meh a sandwich." Ian smirked, pointing toward the kitchen. He took a seat propping his feet on the table. He pulled a cigar out of his front pocket.
Arthur didn't move at first, then Ian glared at him. Arthur fled from his sight to the back kitchen. Ian smirked. He still had Arthur twisted around his finger. He lit the cigar and pulled out his phone. He dialed a number.
"Roma, yer never believe who walked into da pub and is making meh a sandwich." He started boasting. "Yea, didn't even hafta bash his head this time."
Fin