AN: So I haven't been writing my other things lately - I kinda of got writers block on it... I lost the inspiration, so at the moment, I don't know if I'll finish my other works - might be a lot of oneshots, because real life and things have messed stuff up. (Mostly because the new Doctor (no offence Matt!) has become too... un-Doctory? I don't feel it so much :/
Anyways, to anyone who want's I wrote some things a while back, so enjoy! Based (ever so slightly XD) on the Horible Histories Dick Turpin - cookies if you recognise the rich guys name!
DISCLAIMER - I DON'T OWN HETALIA BECAUSE IF I DID THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN REAL XD
A country is nothing without its people. The lives of the humans that spend their time within the borders of the land shape the nation; and so shape the nation as a person. One such person is Arthur Kirkland, the blonde haired, green eyed gentleman, who is a tangle of all that defines Britain. The year in which we visit him is 1730, under the rule of King George II. Arthur, due to the nature of his work, frequently aides his King and spends long weekends in the regal grounds. The King admires him and welcomes his help, but Arthur is a little less welcoming. See, no matter his own feelings towards the man on the throne, ultimately it's up to the people. He can think as he likes, but he is so entwined with his people that he'll be swayed eventually.
The people hold some resentment towards the King. Not everybody approves of the mistresses he has, nor his manners, or lack thereof. When Arthur lays down to rest at night, having made sure the small American nation is sound asleep, these are the thoughts that fill him. In dreams he can hear his people clearly, and it is in his sleep that he begins to understand them. With each passing night, he grows a little more tired of the king, a little more agitated by his actions. Surviving the hours in the palace grounds wears him down. It gets boring and repetitive too quickly. He searches for ways to take his mind of the man, and before he knows it, he's found just the excitement he needs.
That's how we arrive here, at the door of Arthur's home where he stands ready to leave. He's checked the boy upstairs is sleeping comfortable, that the maid knows he is out again tonight and so is ready to leave for the night. The floorboards creek slightly as he walks down the corridor, and stop when he turns to face the mirror. His blonde locks have grown long over the months, a simple case of not finding the time or effort to change it. Nimble fingers tie a ribbon through it, pulling it back until it hung just above the collar of his shirt. He has the shirt buttoned nearly all the way up, a necktie covering the pale flesh that would otherwise show. He pulls his jacket on, and the cloak that lays in wait too. The dark fabrics will blend in well with the darkness. Setting the tricorn hat on his head, it's just a matter of sliding his pistol into its holster and his rapier into its sheath before he leaves the house, making sure not to wake the boy.
Outside his horse stands loyally at her post, her reins looped around the fence. With an affectionate pat, he mounts her. They ride for an hour or so, keeping on the straight of the road until they come across the turning. Taking the usual pattern of smaller paths and walkways, he arrives at the edge of the woods, where one other man lays in wait. Emerald eyes sweep the road that winds itself down and into the woods, watching for any sign of life. From years of work together, he knows the brown-eyed man is here already - and there!The glint if moonlight on a blade flashes, quick enough that had Arthur not expected it, he probably would have missed it. He urges his horse on.
"Evening Arthur," comes the soft voice of Richard Turpin, keeping his tone quiet.
"And you, Dick," he replies, nodding knowing the keen eyes of his fellow highwayman will pick out his face among the trees.
"Who's going first tonight then?" asks Turpin, shifting his necktie slightly,
"You may, I'm not bothered," he says, looking to the sky. It's a beautiful night, perfect weather for travel. It's unlikely he won't get a turn anyway. The horses nuzzle each other as the duo sit in wait for a moment, a comfortable silence filling the space around them.
Arthur guess that little over half an hour has passed, before the horses ears prick at the sound of an approaching coach. He smiles to himself; just as he predicted. The light that hangs from the drivers cab illuminates the carriage, a dark red wood, decorated lavishly with ornate patterns. He recognises it, and begins murmuring to his partner,
"Lord Willbond, from the estate off the edge of town. Filthy rich, he's bound to have something on him." Turpin nods, pulling his neck tie up as he moves across the road swiftly covering the smirk that is growing. They lay in wait for the coach.
As rehearsed so many times before, Arthur steers his horse into the road and stands patiently. The driver yanks on the reins, bringing the carriage to an abrupt stop. The annoyed voice of the man begins to shout, so Arthur slides the pistol from his side.
"Another word, and you're dead."
That shuts him up pretty quick, just as the Lord in the blue overcoat sticks his head out of the window. Arthur watches Turpin cock a gun against the noble's head, grinning. The highwayman's voice echoes along the road.
"Now Lord Willbond; stand and deliver - your money or your life"
They take a lot in that night, six stagecoaches passing through, each practically brimming with money, watches - everything. Soon the moon had all but vanished, and the two men stepped down from their steeds to divide their loot. Arthur takes home a bag of coins, a few pieces of jewelry and a rather beautiful pocket watch. They bid each other farewell and part ways, both a little richer than before.
Dawn is almost upon him as Arthur nears the house. He has a few hours, he guesses, until the sleeping nation eventually wakes, early as he only ever is on a Sunday. With the horse safe in the barn, pistol and rapier stowed away he makes his way to his room to retire for a few hours.
Arthur knows he shouldn't do what he does, that he is working with one of the most wanted criminals of the age. But as a nation, he represents his people, all of them. He might be the masses of good, but he's the bad too, the evil. They are just as much a part of him as his King.