My take on what happened between England (Arthur) and Scotland (Allister) before and after the Scottish vote for independence. Hetalia belongs to Himaruya, human names used. France, America, Canada make an appearance. Also, I am trying to make Scotland sound note English, so he is written with an accent. (no offense to anyone. I have my own accent anyways.)
Oh, and the national animal for Scotland is apparently an Unicorn.
Enjoy! (please R&R)
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The first he heard of it, he was having tea at Buckingham Palace with the queen. A servant, dressed in a nice black suit with a Union Flag pin below his left shoulder, right on the heart, walked in. He slowly strode in, not speaking, but making himself known. Placing his cup down on its plate, he nodded to the servant to come closer.
The man did, bowing to the queen first and then to him. He handed over a small letter, "excuse the intrusion. But this came today for you, Sir Kirkland."
He took the letter, "thank you," he looked at the front, not seeing any address besides the Palace's, "do you know who sent it."
"No, sir, I do not. But it seems to have come from Scotland."
"Really?" He looked at the back of the envelope. In the bottom corner he saw a blue outline of a unicorn's head.
His bushy eyebrows started to furrow together, appearing as one big caterpillar.
"Sir Kirkland," the lady opposite him asked, "are you alright?"
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Arthur Kirkland stomped down the hall, running towards his brother's office, "Allister!" he pushed passed people, closing in on his target, "Allister! What the hell!"
He tried to open the door, but it was locked. He gripped the doorknob twisted and turned it, pushing and pulling the door with such a force, the pictures on the wall shook. But the door did not open. He stopped, grunting angrily. He stepped back, lifting up his leg, and kicked the door in, breaking the lock and some of the frame.
"Oi! What did ya do tha' fir?" He heard as he walked in.
Sitting at a desk at the far end of the room, a man with bright, fiery red hair and piercing emerald eyes stared at Arthur. The man was smoking a long cigar - Davidoff to be exact – leaning back in his tall black chair.
Arthur walked up to the large sessile oak desk, slamming his fists down on it, "What is the meaning of this?!"
"Meanin' of what?"
"This!" He lifted up the letter in his hand, "What the hell is this?!"
The man tilted his head slightly to the left, "Why, it looks like a letta'."
Arthur's face went completely red, "THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT YOU WANKER!"
"My, my," he placed his cigar in the ash tray and stood, grabbing a book from the desk and walking to one of the giant bookcases in the corner, "you should watch tha' mouth of yirs. Tha's not what a gentleman wuld say."
"Oh shut it! What is the meaning of this letter, Allister!"
"Well, I thought tha'd be clear to ya. Didn' you read it?" he replaced the book, grabbing another one.
"Of course I read it! But what do you mean by it?!"
"What do I mean by what?" He walked back to the desk, flipping through the new book.
"What do you mean by having a vote on leaving the union or not?!"
Allister, the oldest of the Kirkland brothers, sauntered up to his seat, sat down and slammed his boots on his desk. It was the first time Arthur noticed that he was wearing his old uniform – the dark blue suit with two crisscrossing white bands; it represented the nation's flag, a nation that was supposed to be gone from modern history. It made Arthur even more flustered.
"I'm havin' a vote ta prove ta ya tha' mai people won't stand fir yir government," he stared up at his brother, the seriousness in his words radiating throughout the room.
Arthur would have none of that, "but you'd never survive! The Scottish merk would never support your economy! Hell, your economy wouldn't even support you for a day! If you leave, then you'd – "
"You'd understand!" Allister lifted his feet off the desk, stomped them down on the floor, stood up and slammed his fists on the desk, even harder than Arthur had, "after this vote, you'd understand what I have been trying to tell ya' fir moor than th' last 300 years!"
"Oh come on! You always do this! Ever since 1707, you've always tried to back out of the Union! Why can't you just stop making a fuss about it?!"
"You don' know anythin'! Have you eva' taken the time to think how I feel? What about Whales? Or even young Paddy?"
Arthur turned away, grunting and grabbing at his hair, "I can't believe you! You're the one that gave me this job!" he spun back towards his brother, pointing his finger, "you and Whales tricked me into becoming the representation of this! And now, like always, you're blaming me for everything that goes wrong!"
"Damn it, Arthur! You're not listening!"
"Damn you, Allister! You never listen to anything I have to say! You never do anything, until I try to fix our problems and you don't like what happens! How can I fix anything when you don't like it! When you always put up a damned fight about it! You say I don't know anything! What about you?! You know nothing of what I put up with every day, every meeting! All you do is pretend to work on official documents! But honestly, you don't do anything!"
"Me?!" Allister grabbed a stack of papers, "What the hell do you think these are?! Party invitations?!"
"They might as well be!"
"No!" he ran up to Arthur, "these are papers for yir damned government! Every month I get moor and moor!"
"Our government, brother," Arthur spat.
Now the two were inches away from each other, each breathing hard. Their emerald eyes, bursting with fury, stared at each other in a death lock. Neither wanted to back down.
"Ya have no right to call me that," Allister gritted through his teeth.
Arthur sickeningly smirked, "too bad. We're brothers, unfortunately."
"Ya have no right, because ya don' even know ma real name," Allister walked away, replacing the papers on the desk.
Arthur's smile faded, his eyebrows furrowing, "What do you mean? Your name is Allister. It always has been."
"No."
"Don't be ridiculous. It clearly – "
"If ya can' even remember mai own name, ya' can' begin to realize why I'm havin' this vote," he sat back down, grabbing his still burning cigar and crossing his legs, "Maybe afterwards, you'll understand why."
Arthur had enough of his brother's bickering, "Fine then! If you say so, then fine!" He started walking towards the door, "I don't care! Even if the vote passes, you'll be begging to come back soon enough!" He faced his brother, right before he walked out the door, "And believe you me, your old Scottish merk and fifty percent unemployment right will starve you within a month!" He slammed the door shut, making a picture or two fall off the walls.
"You'll know soon enough, Arthur," Allister sighed, "hopefully then you'll understand."
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The last of the votes were being counted. Arthur Kirkland was smoking his last cigarette, standing in front of the television with slight anticipation."
"Mon petit lapin~ If you don't come over to ze table, you'll miss your turn again~," Francis delicately spoke. He had come with Alfred and Matthew to try and support . . . whatever it was they were trying to support.
"Oh shut it, you wanker," he sucked another long drag, reveling in the foggy essence. He only smoked when he was depressed or agitated beyond words. It explained how he could get rid of a whole pack within half a day . . . especially for today.
"Come on, dude," Alfred cheerily said, "don't worry about the vote. Either way, you'd still come out on top, right?"
He did not say a word.
Alfred sighed, "Should we just deal him out?"
At that moment, the door opened. A tall figure walked in, trailing right towards Arthur, "ready for th' end?"
He did not even looked to his side, knowing who it was, "Shut it, Allister. Whether you win or lose, it won't matter to me."
"Is tha' why yir suckin' on those shit sticks?"
"Uncle!" Matthew spoke up, "please don't be mean!"
Allister walked towards the table, "Mattie! How're ya' doin', boy?"
"Uncle!" the young man stood up, hugging the other, "I've been fine. And you?"
"Just tryin' ta set things right."
Arthur grunted.
"Hey, Allister!" Alfred got up, readying himself for a hug.
"Sit down ya' moron. I'm not huggin' ya."
"Ah, come on! You never want to hug me! Aren't we family?" he pouted.
"Maybe. But I don' want ta' die from ya' huggin' me too hard. I saw what ya' did to Francis tha' one time."
On cue, Francis whimpered, over exaggerating, "He nearly squeezed all the love I have out of me! My sight was darkening! I didn't know what to do!"
"Please," Alfred sat back down, snorting, "like anyone could get all the love out of you."
"Why~, you'd be surprised, mon ami~"
Alfred ignored his response, turning back to his cards.
Right then, an announcer came on the television, "I am here today to announce the results of the Scotland vote."
The room grew silent, everyone looking at the announcer.
"The Scottish people have voted," he opened an envelope, "the Scottish people have voted no. Scotland will stay in Great Britain!"
There were a mix of cheers and cries as the announcer went on to say something else. The eyes in the room moved to Arthur's back, all waiting for his response.
There was a low chuckle, which transformed into a loud laugh. It suddenly cut off, as he turned to face his brother, "see Allister! I told you this would all amount to nothing!" he charged, stopping right in front of the other, "It always amounts to nothing! All of your little whims and cries always amount to nothing! I am Arthur Kirkland, the true representation of the Great British Isles! Ha!"
Allister did not say a thing. There was an eerie silence between the three other men as they sat by, waiting for bloodshed.
Breaking his silence, Allister spoke in a calm voice, "What is mai name?"
Arthur's blood boiled, "What the hell do you mean?! Your name is Allister Kirkland!"
Allister just stood there with something akin to pity in his eyes, "No."
"Don't tell me no! It's always been that and always will be!"
"No. . . You are Arthur Kirkland, the youngest son of the Great Britannia, the national representation of England, the national representation of his brothers' lands for the Great British Isles, Great Britain, the United Kingdom. Arthur Kirkland – Artie, Iggy, petit lapin, etc," he stopped, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, "I know all of yir name. But you do not know mine. Which is a pity . . ."
Before anyone else could speak, Allister – Scotland – left. He walked out of the room, without saying another word.
As the door closed, Arthur huffed, "What a pity it is to have a brother like you!" he grunted and snorted, walking to the table, "so what game are we playing again?" he sat down, grabbing his cards.
Alfred looked over, with a sort of sadness in his eyes, "You . . . you don't mean that do you?"
"Mean what?"
"You . . . don't mean that it's a pity to have him . . . as your brother . . .?" Alfred shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "You've been brothers forever. Shouldn't you be just a little –"
"Oh, just shut it Alfred," Arthur grumbled, "I'm not in the mood."
"Oh . . . okay . . ." Alfred got out of his chair, "hey, uh, I've got to go. Forgot about things in D.C." he grabbed his coat and darted out of the door.
Arthur did not even look up, "I wish he wouldn't be like that. It's so annoying."
Just then, Francis slammed the table with his hands, "how can you say that?! Obviously the boy is upset! Can't you tell?!"
"He's always upset about something! And I'm not in the mood to deal with it right now!" Arthur moaned, "how about you go deal with him, if you're so worried."
"You-you," Francis' cheeks were flustered with anger, "you are so heartless Arthur! He's your brother too!"
With that, the Frenchman left the old grump behind.
Arthur just kept to himself, "like I care right now."
Arthur was alone. Or at least he thought he was, until the last one spoke up, "Arthur."
He looked up, a little spooked by the voice, "Oh," he thought as he saw his former colony, "Matthew. I forgot you were there. Sorry about that."
Matthew, a young man who was still just as sweet as the day he was found, even through all the trials he had undergone in his life, spoke softly to his former father, "do you honestly think Uncle really wanted to leave the Union?"
"Of course he did. Why else would he have that stupid vote?" he started to gather all the cards, "now where were we? Would you like to play poker, frustration, or what . . ."
Matthew shook his head. He stood up and walked over to Arthur's side. Laying a hand on the man's shoulder, he spoke, "he never really wanted to."
"What are you talking about?" he kept gathering the cards.
"He wanted you to see how much you don't know. How much you ignore him. He wanted to show that to you."
"Now don't start that, Matthew, I'm not in the mood!"
Matthew leaned down, whispering in Arthur's ear, "The name his family calls him is Alba."
Without another word, Matthew left.
Arthur hesitated in collecting the last of the cards. He was alone. There was no one to play a game with.
After a while, he finally took up the rest of the cards. Before placing the last one in the deck, he looked at it.
Arthur – England – was alone.
Feeling uncomfortable in the silent room, he sat down the cards. He stood up, grabbed his coat and left, leaving the Joker face up on the table.
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I promise I'll add some notes to this later. But here's something on old Scottish money:
. /knowledgebase/topics/moneyandbanking_