Of Family and the Proper Way of Eating Ice Cream
Peter sighed.
Why was it so hard to obtain international recognition? He tried his best at promoting himself, resorting to many creative means, but while it did get him some exposure (and Arthur yelling at him, the bully) it was still not enough to obtain the worldwide recognition he yearned for.
Of course, it did not help that Arthur (the meanie, hiss, boo) would glare at whichever nations he tried to talk to. And the few he did manage to befriend, or at least talk to, never did give him official recognition he believed he rightly deserved.
Even Arthur's extended family – the Dependencies, the Overseas Territories, and even the Commonwealth lot – did not recognise him. He had hoped they would, considering that they all shared historical links to Arthur, but no.
And he did have history. So what if Arthur was a pirate? He was a pirate too! Okay, pirate radio, but it was still a form of piracy nonetheless. And wars? Sealand was a fortified anti-aircraft tower, for pity's sake. You did not build anti-aircraft towers for harmless activities like bird-watching or gardening, you built them to shoot things down during wars.
He pointed this out in his latest meeting with the rest of the world – well, he reluctantly admitted, it was more of him sneaking into the meeting – only to receive mostly confused looks before a mortified Arthur scooped him up and carried him out of the room, muttering quick apologies to the other nations. Arthur had set him down on a chair in the next room, scolded him for a bit and then sternly told him to stay put until the session ended and then Arthur would come and get him.
It was an order he was more than too happy to ignore.
He stuck out his tongue – alas, the defiant gesture was unnoticed as Arthur's back was towards him as the man left to rejoin the meeting – and promptly decided that instead of staying put, he would go elsewhere. After all, part of being a sovereign state was that you did not have to take orders from anyone.
So there he was, wandering aimlessly in the streets until he reached a park. He decided that maybe it would be nice to see and feed the ducks for a bit before he had to go back, and was making his way to the pond when he spotted a familiar blond and bespectacled figure seated on one of the park benches, munching on a burger.
"Hello," Peter greeted as he seated himself next to his latest chance of international exposure.
"Hey there," Alfred said in reply, or at least that's what he thought Alfred had said. The man's speech was a bit hard to make out since he had his mouth full.
"Aren't you supposed to be at the meeting?"
"Who, me?" Alfred laughed. "I'll come by later, after they're done with all the suggestions and arguments. Besides, I bet they're gonna listen to me in the end anyway, since I'm the hero!"
Peter blinked.
"Hey, I know you," Alfred said. "You're that kid who's always hounding Arthur."
Peter beamed. Why, someone like Alfred actually recognised him! Perhaps this was just the beginning of international recognition for Sealand. He was about to launch his carefully-prepared speech (he had written and re-written it many, many times, and memorised it so he would be ready whenever a nation would officially recognise him, none of this de facto recognition business) when Alfred's next words brought him and his dreams crashing down in an undignified, ego-hurting heap.
"What's your name again? Andrew? Patrick? George?"
"Peter."
"Oh." There was a long pause. "Who?"
"Sealand!"
Another pause, with a look of utter cluelessness on Alfred's face. Deep inside Peter's mind, a little voice whispered to him that perhaps this was why Arthur was always shouting whenever Alfred was around.
"Never mind."
Perhaps it was the sigh, or perhaps it was the note of disappointment in the boy's voice that made Alfred take another look at the boy seated next to him. The boy – whatshisnameagain – was dressed in a little sailor's outfit. Blond hair, thick eyebrows; if it were not for his blue eyes, Alfred would have thought the boy would be passable for a much, much younger version of Arthur.
The boy was also obviously sulking, staring at his shoes as he dangled his feet. Alfred found himself wondering if Arthur looked just as adorable as a child when he sulked, pouty lower lip and all.
"Hey kid."
"... yes?"
Alfred grinned. "Wanna get some ice cream?"
--x--
Apparently Alfred must have learnt the locations of all McDonald's by heart, for it did not take them long to obtain a vanilla ice cream cone each (as well as to replenish Alfred's own supply of burgers) and then return to the park. The two had just settled down on a bench when a third joined them.
"So here's where you disappeared off to," said a familiar voice; both of them started guiltily. They slowly turned to look to find Arthur standing behind them, his arms crossed and his glare not only containing daggers but also had a couple of Tornado GR4s thrown in for good measure.
"You," the man continued, stabbing a finger at Alfred, "are supposed to be at the meeting." He then pointed to Peter. "And I thought I told you to stay put and..." Arthur blinked, walked closer to them and stared at the ice cream cone in Peter's hand.
"Arthur?" Alfred asked, waving a hand in front of Arthur's face.
"Please tell me you did not just feed him some of that artery-clogging disaster you call fast food," Arthur said, horrified.
"At least my fast food tastes better than your regular cooking – OW! Arthur, that hurt! – and for your information, I just got him an ice cream cone."
"Ice cream?" Arthur repeated as he sat down next to Peter, who was happily ignoring the two men next to him, concentrating on his cold treat. The boy had learnt from previous occasions that there was no point in trying to get a word in whenever Alfred and Arthur were in close quarters, since their yelling would easily drown out everything else.
"Yeah, 'cause there's nothing like good old ice cream when you're feeling down!" Alfred exclaimed. "The kid looked like he needed it, and since I'm a hero who never ignores anyone in need—"
"I get the idea, thank you."
"How did you find us?" Alfred asked.
Arthur shrugged. "Magic."
"Suuuuuure. So what did I miss?"
"Francis being a pervert, Kiku agreeing to everything, Ivan being creepy, and Ludwig shouting for order before everyone decided it would be a good time to break for lunch. Just the usual." Arthur patted Peter's head – or rather tried to, since the boy's hat was in the way – and asked, "So what's gotten into you?"
Peter squirmed away from Arthur and grumbled, "What do you care?"
Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed. "Not that recognition nonsense again...."
"It's not nonsense!"
Needless to say, things went downhill from that point.
Alfred coughed. "I'll just go get everyone more ice cream, okay?" he said as he got up to leave, but this was lost amidst the shouts of, among others, how someone was being 'a mean old codger', and how someone should watch his mouth especially since he was 'a mere stack of rusty milk tins just a stone's throw away from the Suffolk coast'.
By the time he returned with the ice cream, both Arthur and Peter had stopped shouting, much to his relief. The two were still seated on the bench, arms crossed and pointedly Not Looking at each other. He chuckled in amusement and sat down between the two.
"Come on," he said and offered them each an ice cream cone, "there's plenty for everyone."
Arthur took his ice cream, mumbling his thanks, while Peter was a bit more gracious and smiled at Alfred.
"See? Nothing some good old ice cream can't fix!" Alfred announced.
"You're not just letting him eat it like that, are you?" Arthur said, disgusted.
"Huh? Why, I don't see anything wrong—"
"Oh, for pity's sake." Arthur grumbled. "If you're going to eat a vanilla ice cream cone, you're going to do it properly. Here, hold this for a bit." He gave his ice cream cone to Alfred, then stood up and searched his pockets, muttering to himself. "I could have sworn I brought some..."
"What, you mean there's a 'proper' and 'refined' way to eat ice cream?" Alfred was really confused now. He turned to Peter, but the boy was not much help, for he looked just as puzzled as Alfred was.
"Here!" Arthur exclaimed in triumph, holding up a packet of—
"Chocolate?"
"Yes. Cadbury Flake, to be exact." Arthur deftly tore off the yellow and purple wrapper to reveal a long, crumbly-looking, thinly-folded chocolate bar. He broke it in two, careful not to let the chocolate crumble away too much, and stuck one half of the chocolate bar in Alfred's ice cream and the other half in his. He repeated the gesture with another Flake, but this time sticking both halves into Peter's ice cream. "Can't let it go to waste, so you might as well get a double 99," he chuckled and then retrieved his ice cream from Alfred.
"Arthur, what's this?" Alfred asked, staring at the concoction.
"A 99."
"A ninety-nine what?"
"It's yummy!" Peter announced.
"Are you sure, kid? This is Arthur we're talking about here."
"Shut up and just try it, you big pansy," Arthur growled.
Alfred took a deep breath, and he did. The crumbly bits of milk chocolate, coupled with the soft vanilla ice cream, it was just—
"Well?" Arthur asked, smirking.
"It's actually really good," Alfred said, impressed. "Messy," he continued, eyeing the crumbly bits of chocolate on his shirt, "but good. So if this is your 'proper' way of eating an ice cream cone, I wouldn't mind eating it 'properly' every time."
Arthur laughed. "Thought you'd see it my way."
"Why is it called a 99?" Alfred asked.
Arthur blinked. "Search me. It's always been called that."
"Can I have another?" Peter asked.
Arthur was about to say no, thinking that Peter has had more than enough ice creams for today and the last thing the boy needed was an upset tummy, when he realised that both Peter and Alfred were giving him puppy-eyed looks.
He could feel his resolve crumbling away just like the chocolate bar in his ice cream, so he sighed and simply gave in to the inevitable. "Oh, all right."
And then he gave out the most undignified squeak when Alfred threw him over one shoulder and Peter over the other, the man dashing off to the nearest McDonald's to get some ice cream in order to make more of those 99s.
"Alfred you bastard, I never got to finish mine!"
--x--
"What do you know, the powder monkey's fast asleep," Arthur said, turning to look at Peter, who was dozing on the man's back. Arthur had given him a piggyback ride after the boy tried unsuccessfully to hide more than just a few yawns. Once the sugar from the 99s wore off, Peter had a hard time staying awake.
"You want me to carry him?" Alfred offered.
Arthur shook his head. "No, it's fine. It's not that far back to the meeting anyway. Besides," he said, chuckling, "I'm used to carrying little boys around. This one's lighter than you were though."
Alfred laughed. "Hard to believe those skinny arms of yours managed to carry this little boy back then!"
"My arms," Arthur said, giving Alfred a well-aimed kick to the shins, "are not skinny. And I bet I can still give you a piggyback ride."
"What, now?"
"And drop the poor thing on my back here on the ground? Don't be stupid."
"Oh, yeah."
A long moment passed before Alfred broke the silence.
"Arthur?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you think those Flakes would go well with burgers?"
The look of pure horror on Arthur's face was more than enough to make Alfred burst out laughing.