Title: British Relations
Artist/Author: KivaEmber
Character(s)/Pairing(s): England, Wales, Scotland
Rating: T+
Summary: OC Nations attempt. Characterisation of Llywelyn, aka Wales, and Edmund, aka Scotland, and their relationship with Arthur. Somewhat Crackish Series of oneshots.
A/N: Don't take this seriously, people. I was planning on introducing OC-tans, Wales and Scotland, into my Re_Born series just because, and then this little plotbunny was brought into life during an MSN conversation and a certain episode of Scrubs. It's silly, borderline crack, really, so, once again, don't take this seriously :D
(Plus, I fail at Scottish accents, so I didn't put it in in case I mangled it horribly beyond recognition. . Imagine Edmund's speaking in an accent :D; *Is shot*)
Enjoy!
X.x.X
BRITISH RELATIONS #1: REMODELLING
Llywelyn nearly protested when his brother Edmund cast down another empty can of beer on his floor. Already that was the fifteenth can he threw down, and Llywelyn did not want to have to deal with one of his precious sheep attempting to eat one again. In fact, one of his Llanenwog breeds was already tentatively sniffing at a can.
"Na, dafad." Llywelyn scolded, nearly tipping his own beer can onto the floor as he leant over to smack the sheep's black snout. The sheep bleated and trotted away, over to chew on an old television guide discarded by the living room door.
Usually his sheep stayed outside of the house, in the pastures - or, if one of his mountain breeds, half abandoned up in the hills surrounding his farm - and his lazy ass sheepdog was supposed to stop them from coming into his house. But, as the name said, Cysgu was the most slothful mutt he had ever had, and only half heartedly barked at the sheep that barged into his house and ate his dishtowels and magazines.
"It's a shame," Llywelyn said out loud, watching the face of Hugh Jackman slowly being dragged into the sheep's maw, "That towels cost more nowadays."
Edmund just blinked at him blearily, looking up from where he had been etching something into the side of his golf club's handle. "Eh?"
"Towels. The defaid..." Llywelyn ran a hand through his shaggy auburn hair, then shook his head, and, after some contemplation, leaned down, picked up one of the empty cans, and threw it at his brother's head.
Edmund squawked out a curse when the can hit him in the forehead. "Fuckin'- ow!"
Llywelyn ignored it. "I found somethin', a week ago."
Still grumbling and rubbing at his forehead, the Scotsman's thick brows furrowed. "Yur sheep?"
"What? No, not my defaid." Llywelyn's flock was all there...should be all there. Lord knows they like to wander off. He made a mental note to count afterwards. "Better, involving the Saes."
"Arthur git?"
"Iawn. Was after that fight last week, the, the Glasgow one. Involving the electric fire, thing."
"Ahhh, aye, I remember that."
"Mm. Well, anyway-"
"Was it when I nearly shanked you?"
"I...I think, but, anyway-"
"I think it was. Remember you hittin' me across the head with that leek of yours. What's that made of anyway? Nearly gave me a fucking concussion..."
"Amaldamite or whatever. Now shut upand listen, brawd." Llywelyn took a quick, last chug of his beer before throwing that down on the floor. "I found his key."
"Who's?"
"Who'd you think? The Saes'!"
Edmund just rolled his eyes, turning his attentions back to the half done etching in his golf club. "No need to bite my head off."
Llywelyn ignored him. "So, anyway, I have the Saes' key." And after a bit of pawing about in his pockets, he brought out a small house key, the broken remains of a metal disc still looping through key's little hole. "And he hasn't changed his locks."
"How'd you know?"
"Checked it last night, and stole all of his forks."
Edmund looked up from his whittling, gave Llywelyn a strange look, then said; "...That's awesome."
"I know."
"Why're we sittin' here then?" Edmund grinned viciously, his green eyes glittering with vindictive glee from under his choppy fringe of red. "Let's go an' give ol' Arthur a visit."
Llywelyn happily agreed, then gave a long pause. "Ah, we're drunk, we can't grab our cars." But he shook his head, and stood shakily, nearly lurching forwards to faceplant into his floor. "We'll take my, my horse."
"Which one?" Edmund stood as well, but, as he could hold his liquor better than the Welshman, his balance was slightly more stable.
"The big one. Shire."
"The huge bastard."
They exited Llywelyn's home, tripping over sheep and lambs as they did (Llywelyn found that one of the rams had shouldered open his back door. He needed to put deadbolts on that thing), and made their drunken way around to the small barn a few yards away that housed Llywelyn's two cows and horses.
They decided to forgo the setting up a saddle, they knew how to ride horses bareback and the only problem was getting onto the monstrously huge animal's back. Admittedly, a Shire horse was not meant to be ridden as it was a workhorse, but Llywelyn did not think there was a law against riding a horse drunk, and if they wanted to get to Arthur's house tonight, they needed to ride it.
They succeeded using the trough as a stepping stool, and, with Llywelyn at the front - it was his horse after all - and Edmund sitting comfortably behind the Welshman, brandishing his golf club as a pseudo-riding crop, Llywelyn dug his heels into the animal's side and they were slowly plodding out of the barn. The two men's weight were nothing to the horse.
"To the English prat's house!" Edmund crowed, pointing the golf club before them and nearly clubbing Llywelyn across the head in the process.
X.x.X
"He has terrible wallpaper." Edmund commented as they ascended the stairs of Arthur's home.
Llywelyn grunted, not really caring, but always latched onto a good ol' Arthur sporking. "Of course he does, he has terrible tastes."
"And terrible hair - he's blond."
"And terrible manners."
Edmund snorted. "I thought he was a gentleman?"
"The rudest gentleman I've ever seen." Llywelyn muttered sourly, both of them now at the top of the stairs and looking up and down the landing. "Invading us like that, or, in his words, civilising us."
"That's true," Edmund scoffed, peering into a nearby door. bathroom. "Remember when he up and made that Act of Union shit? Presumptuous twat."
"Owain Glyndwr," Llywelyn said, somewhat glumly. He really liked that man, on par with Llywelyn Fawr. He had been so upset when his rebellion of liberation had been crushed. So...close.
Edmund patted the slumped Welshman's shoulder. "Never mind." He directed Llywelyn down the landing, and after peering through two more doors, a guest room and a large cupboard, they stumbled upon Arthur's bedroom - and were delighted to see Arthur himself sprawled out on the bed.
They both stood at the foot of the bed, staring intently at their sleeping brother, but Arthur was dead to the world, snoring loudly and his bed sheets all rumpled up.
"How asleep do you think he is?" Llywelyn asked.
In answer, Edmund kicked the bed hard enough that it jolted. Arthur made a vague "Wha..?" noise, half sitting up before flopping back down again, snoring louder.
Edmund and Llywelyn exchanged wolfish grins.
"Well," Llywelyn purred, cracking his knuckles, "Let's get to work then!"
X.x.X
When Arthur woke up, he didn't realise anything was amiss. He sat up, hair sticking up in odd angles, and barely able to keep his eyes open, and crawled out of bed, for once not tripping over his sheets. He blinked at that, and looked at his bed.
It had been stripped clean of sheets, even the pillow cases were gone.
Arthur was a little confused, and in his still sleepy mind, he did not see it as very suspicious. Maybe one of the fairies decided to pull a prank or something?
Putting it out of mind, Arthur shuffled towards his bedroom door, yawning, eyes being squeezed shut, and his hand unconsciously reached for the door knob...
And met air.
"Eh?" Arthur blinked his eyes open, groping at mid air. "...W-What? Where's my bloody door?!"
Indeed, Arthur's door had seemed to be missing. It could've been a prank by the fairies, or, more likely, the imps, but a nagging feeling tugged at the Englishman's head that perhaps supernatural causes did not steal his door, or his sheets.
Marching down his hallway, very much awake now, he noticed that all of his doors were gone, and some items missing, like all the bulbs in his cupboard, his toothbrush in the bathroom - but the guestroom remained untouched.
He went downstairs, his anger and confusion growing with each step, and cried out in anger when all his doors down there too were gone as well. What the hell!? Even his front and back door were missing!
In the kitchen, his fridge had been ransacked of all its alcohol and food, and now, his cutlery drawer also seemed to be missing its knives to go with his missing forks from two days previous (which he had blamed on the fairies).
"What the fuck?" Arthur hissed, irritated, and spotted a folded piece of paper on his kitchen table. He snatched it up, not remembering it there the previous night, and unfolded it.
"Dear Gitface Saes,
You may have noticed some things missing, don't worry, it wasn't a burglar, we - your good brothers Edmund and Llywelyn - just borrowed some things.
After all, I needed some more wood to make a corral for my flock, so, I borrowed your doors...and your sheets as towels cost too much. Though, I'm sure you won't mind, brawd, as, after all, we are brothers, and brothers share things with each other. I believe the saying is 'Families stick together', iawn? (Although Edmund says that he stole some of your things because he wanted to rather than out of necessity)
Plus...well, we do still need compensation, brawd :D
With lots and lots and lots of love,
Edmund & Llywelyn
Scotland & Wales"
Arthur immediately went for his phone after crumpling the paper up, intent on giving that Sheepshagger a ring. He needed to show his younger brother who was the boss around here, and if he had to do that by blasting the other's eardrums into submission, so be it. He dialled the number, and waited for his brother to pick up.
He didn't wait long. "Siwmae?"
"Don't you fucking 'siwmae' me!" Arthur spat, "What the fuck have you done to my house?!"
"Ah, brawd!" Llywelyn had the balls to sound fucking cheerful. Wanker. "Bore da!"
"Don't use that heathen tongue with me! Tell me wha-"
Llywelyn interrupted him, voice still sickly cheerful. "Have you had a look outside yet?"
Fear gripped Arthur's stomach at that innocuous statement and he unconsciously gripped the phone tighter. Oh bloody hell, what has he done this time?!
"...Why?"
"Oh, it's such a lovely day, brawd."
With that, Llywelyn hung up the phone, leaving Arthur gawking like an idiot at the ringing handset. Slowly, as if it might break if he handled it too roughly, he replaced the phone. He then sprinted as fast as he could through his doorless house to the outside.
What he saw horrified him.
The front of his house had American flags pinned to it over nearly every inch of surface - even one sticking out of his chimney, oh Christ - and, and this was the kicker, spray painted across the flags, across the wall and even over some of his windows, were the words in bright neon pink "I LOVE YOU AMERICA".
He nearly swooned, and clutched at his hair as he moaned in horror. Oh good fucking Christ they are dead. Dead. When he got his hands on those brothers of his he was going to crush them and he was going to bring them back to life and kill the Welsh bastard's sheep right in front of him and burn down Scottie's pub and, and-
"England?"
Arthur's heart stopped, and veeeeeery slowly, he looked over his shoulder where he saw Alfred - an Alfred donning a very disturbed expression - standing at his front gate.
'Asdfhskslahdh!' Went Arthur's mind before it committed suicide out of mortification.
But Arthur was looking outwardly very calm and relaxed as he stopped tugging at his hair and turned to face Alfred fully, expression mild. Although he couldn't quite stop his fingers from twitching as he imagined wrapping them around his bastard brothers' throats. "Yes?"
"What's..." Alfred looked from the Americanised front of Arthur's house to Arthur himself. It was weird, and...Alfred - the poor, confused American - didn't know if he should be amused, disturbed, or worried.
"This is a prank," Arthur said, still calm, but a somewhat deranged glint sparked in his eyes, "By my bastard brothers."
Alfred stared, before a grin slowly curled his lips. "Ohhhh~ I know what's going on."
Arthur did not want to hear one of Alfred's retarded theories, in fact, he wanted to go into his house, find something very sharp and very pointy and stab two certain people with it. "No, no you don't, you stupid tosser."
"Yes. Yes I do." Alfred struck a horribly corny, 'heroic' pose. "You should've said earlier that you were dazzled by me!"
"...I told you not to read those horrid Twilight books, America. Now piss off, I need to fix my goddamned house and kill my brothers." Arthur snapped, turning away to glower at the monstrosity smeared across the front of his house. Oh, those two are going to pay...
"No need to get defensive, England! I know that you're probably all shy coz you've been turned down so many times coz your eyebrows intimidate people-"
Arthur's eye twitched.
Yes. They were going to pay.
Fin.