Yes, yet another story! This one centered around the life and crimes of none other than Arthur Kirkland!

Please note, this story contains both fact an fiction

I've tried my best to be as historically accurate as I can, but, sadly I will fail at points OTL

Don't be afraid to correct me of I have, and I will change things (as long as such fact means I have to alter half the story)

Anyway, enjoy!


Hello. My name is Arthur Kirland. I am 23 years old and I represent Great Britain and Northern Ireland when dealing with National afairs. I have lived a long and very eventful life. Some for good, some for bad, like anybody. But, my life has been one of great difference to most normal people. And yes, i'm aware many will walk up to you and profess their life to be more amazing and unique to anyone else, so I will understand if you do not believe me. At least not yet. I am now going to spend some time to tell you about my life. And no, I wont be starting with that generic bullshit like 'I was born on blah blah and grew up with my parents in so-and-so, etc'. In fact, i'm not even going to start from the begining. Partly because I forget much of my young life, but also because I am ashamed of parts of it. So, I will be starting from where I am most comfortable. Make sure you make yourself at home, relax and possibly enjoy the tale of how this now great Nation grew...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

July 30th 1588

The day of celebration. The day of good will and joy throughout the Nation. Why? Because just 24 previous, the British Navy had succesfully beaten the 'Invincible Spanish Armada'. So naturally, the whole of the country was beaming with pride. That was, everybody but one. Sir Arthur Kirkland. Whilst the rest of his merry crew were littering the streets, dancing, drinking and being generally noisey, he was sat on a lone bar stool in a now empty tavern. Empty since its previous content was now all outside. The man let out a sharp sigh, rubbing his temples in annoyance at the amount of volume there was. He was all for celebrating a gracious victory and all, but honestly, half the reason they won was because of natural causes. Not them. His emereld eyes glanced back when he heard the doors fly open, only helping in making the racket from outside highten. The perpertrater of this villonous - in Arthur's oppinion - act was none other than his fellow sea-man, William Campbell. The very man who had fought besides him in yesterdays events. But, that did not mean he wasnt going to be scolded for Arthur's headache worse.

''Arty! Why ain't yah outside w'it rest of 'em?''

His ridiculous Yorkshire accent only sounded worse due to his current intoxication. Honestly, was the world out to get him? Arthur wondered as he slumped forwards over the bar. Watching out of the corner of his eye with minimal interest as the older man sat besides him, his grin never foltering once.

''How many times have I told you William, do not address me by that degrading name.''

''And how times h've I told ye to tek that stick from art' yur arse! Los'n up, will yah?''

Most many from down south would have needed a translater at hand to understand a single word from that sentence, but Arthur was used to it. Used to those almost foreign words spilling from both drunk and sober lips. The blonde near slammed his head on the wooden bar he was leant against. And he would have suceeded in bashing his head, had his folded arms softened his blow. An action he was both gracious and unthankful for at the same time. He sat there for what seemed like forever listening to his comrade rant on about useless information that Arthur was not the slightest bit interested in hearing. That was untill another sailor came in to drag him outside once more. That was the first time in years Arthur actually thanked God for anything.

The bartender walked over, placing him another glass of rum besides his arm. His old, wrinkled face twisting into a worried smile.

''Cheer up lad, this ones on the house.''

Arthur thanked him silently, before going back into the half laying position he was previously in. Face burried in his crossed arm, thinking up possible ways of spending the rest of the still young night. He could either leave and go home, maybe read a book and have an early night. Or, he could take the drink, and many more, go outside and join his friends in celebrating their winning against the Spanish. Though it shocked him slightly, he chose the latter. Not because he wanted to, but because if he didnt he would never hear the end of it. So, he sat up, tried to ignore all rational thoughts and downed his drink in one go before ordering another. And another. And another, untill he was near enough wasted. Then he threw the money he owed onto the bar and proceeded outside to join in on the action.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun beamed with absolutely no sympathy as Arthur woke up, grumbling something about his head. He forced himself up into the sitting position, a little too quickly as he instantly felt his headache grow worse. Not to mention his arse hurt. He assumed maybed he'd fallen at some point in the night, as he appeared to ache else-were too. Just great. Maybe he would have been better off just retreating home last night instread. He could have just brushed off any comments he got about leaving, but no, he had to be difficult. His eyes blinked open and he brought his hand up to sheild them from the suns harsh rays. Once he adjusted to the new light, he looked down at himself. He was stark naked besides his socks. Which Arthur thought was odd, but decided it was simply because he was probably too drunk to focus on readying himself for bed properly, and just stripped off. That was of course, untill he heard a noise from besides him. His face twisted in horror. How had he noticed sooner that there was another body in bed with him? More to the point... Who was it? He took a long, sharp intake of breath before wipping the blanket back in one movement. Something he almost wished he hadnt done. There before him, as naked as himself, lay a soundly sleeping Francis.

/Oh, shit!/

The Brit shifted back as far as he could, leaning on his headrest, knees pulled up to his chest. He fought desperately to try and remember exactly what had happened last night after he left the bar. But his head was simply not cooperationg the way he hoped.

''Oh, so you're awake... Mon cher?''

Arthur's head wipped around to look at the man currently invading his bed. Another action he wasnt proud of. As his previously forgotten headache came thumping back with avengeance. The smug look on the French man's face was enough to make Arthur want to punch it repeatedly. Sadly though, he was currently in too much pain and shock to do much.

''Fr-ancis... Why are y-ou...''

''In your bed? My darling, do you remember nothing of last night?''

For some reason, the way he said those words made Arthur's stomach knot painfully. He didn't remember anything, and he was starting to think maybe he didn't want to find out either. The older man chuckled at the look of pure distress on his friends face. It was too cute, he thought. Francis sat up, seemingly without any effort at all. Did he not have a hangover at all? Or was he so used to them that they simply didn't bother him anymore? Either way, this only made Arthur more angry.

''Well, you obviously don't remember, so about I enlighten you?''

His smirked only hightened as the other dirty-blonde seemed to flinch a little.

''In short. You came out of the bar, pissed off your head. Then you went with a few others from your ship to drink yet more. Thats when I found you, near passed out on the floor, holding a glass of spilled gin. I brought you here and after you threw up a couple times, you seemed to regain more composure...''

When Francis paused, as in trying to remember the events himself, Arthur wasn't sure is he should be releaved, or worried. The way the blondes smirk spread into a devilishly evil grin made Arthur shiver, and decide it was the latter. He should be worried, very worried.

''Thats when it got good. You were still a little tipsy, so I couldn't tell if you meant what you said or not, but I am not the kind of man to pass up on what you were offering.''

/Oh, fuck!/

The Brit wanted so badly to ask what he had said to him, even though he knew Francis was going to tell him anyway. But his words just caught in his mouth, and all he could manage was a few muffled, incoherent sounds. Oh dignity, how thou has forsaken me!

''You were clinging to my shirt, beging me to fuck you. And oh my dear. I did. I gave it you nice and hard, on the couch, in the kitchen, on the stairs... And right here.''

Well that explained why his arse hurt, if nothing else. But right now, that wasn't Arthur's primary concern. His eyes were now painfully wide, staring straight at the man before him. And the worst part was; he wasn't joking. He had known Francis long enough to be able to tell when he was lying. Sadly, this was not one of those times. He felt his headache grow more painful, not that it mattered right now. Right now all he wanted was to search every gesture the other blonde had made for signs that he wasnt being honest. But, there were none. Not a single one. Said man laughed, pulling himself closer to the now shivering Arthur, moving to place a soft kiss on his cheek, which resulted in Arthur jumping so much he fell off the end of the bed.

''Ow! For fucks sake! Why does God hate me so!''

Francis could only laugh as Arthur's naked form writhed in pain, trying his best to stand whilst tangled up in the blanket that had come crashing down with him. Once back on his feet, the dirty-blonde man pulled the blanket around his waist, pointing an accusing finger at his unwanted guest.

''You! You son of a bitch! How could you do that to me when I wan't in a proper state of mind! You... You bloody wanker!''

This only helped in making his headache worse, and in maker Francis more amused. Francis smirked, getting up to fetch his clothes before returning to get dressed. His current state had caused several maids to blush and freeze at the sight as he did so. Once he was fully clothed once again, he placed another chaste kiss on the Brit's cheek before leaving quickly, as if trying to ascape him. Normally Arthur would have chased after him, or even killed him before he had chance to move, but he was in too much pain to do little more than sit on his bead and spew out threats and curses. Francis was going to pay! When his head and arse stopped aching, anyway.

Translations:

''Arty! Why ain't yah outside w'it rest of 'em?'' = Arthur! Why aren't you outside with the rest of them?

''And how times h've I told ye to tek that stick from art' yur arse! Los'n up, will yah?'' - ''And how many times have I told you to take that stick from out of your arse! Losen up, will you?

We Yorkshire speak funny, ne?