War was hardly England's favourite thing in the world, but it certainly ate up his time, even the Cold War. It was the 17th of May, 1960 when the whole mess started; a day England could never forget. He, France, America, and the ever-terrifying Russia all occupied the same room in Paris to discuss the situation in Berlin. They were supposed to talk about allowing minimal military presence from other powers as well as concluding a peace treaty with Germany; but, as England expected, the topic wasn't touched. Instead, America and Russia took this time to display their hatred for each other; though they had very different ways of showing it.
Russia wore a cold smile as usual, amused by the anger in the American before him who scowled darkly; it was a rare sight of the usually cheery man, but the constant fighting had taken their toll on him since the First World War began. Meanwhile, England and France simply tried to stay out of the verbal crossfire.
"I didn't invade your airspace!" America insisted, still in denial about the fiasco that sparked up this particular argument between them.
"All I ask is for simple apology, comrade." Russia stated in a rather calm, almost playful tone to further upset America.
"I have nothing to apologize for!"
"Flying in my airspace is something to apologize for, da?"
"You shot down my plane!" He protested with an angered huff.
"Ah, so you did fly through my airspace?" Russia countered, earning a groan in defeat from America. "I want apology and assurance that you will not be stupid enough to do it again." Russia demanded before clasping his hands neatly over his lap.
"Like hell!"
As they continued, the quiet France and England were regretting seating themselves in between the bickering countries, having hoped it would prevent them from arguing with America to one side of England and Russia on France's other side.
"Bloody children, the pair of 'em…" England grumbled under his breath before crossing his arms tightly, hardly audible over the arguing.
"Oui, but it is a miracle they haven't strangled each other already." France replied with a light chuckle, just relieved Russia kept his focus on America instead of them.
"They both have enough weaponry to wipe out the planet twice over, yet they sit here bickering."
"Well, you're one to talk, still building your own nuclear weapons."
"Not here-" England started only to catch a glimpse of America stand along with Russia. Here we go again.
Before England himself could stand to calm them down, as he usually did, France had stood, wearing a slightly forced smile.
"Ah, pardon moi, but, shouldn't we get back to the meeting?" He questioned with a quick glance between the two. "This meeting's focus is on Berlin after all."
Though his plight had pure intentions, he was quickly ignored as Russia simply offered a chuckle before leaving without another word on the subject of the spy plane, much less Berlin. America soon followed after him, ranting about personal safety from a communist threat.
"Well, if that's all, I'd like to return to my hotel; we can try to pick this up in the morning." England stated before standing as well.
"Yes, before those brutes return for another round."
"Honestly, I don't know where they got such behaviour."
France smiled at that and parted his lips to speak only to be nudged out of the way by England.
"Don't you start, frog!" He snapped at him before hurrying out of the room to have France trail behind.
Once in the hallway, the shouts and quarrelling became audible once more, though they were distant.
"This would be the time that they make their rivalry public." England commented with a shake of his head.
"Be quiet and maybe we can sneak past without the press seeing us." France offered with a small shrug.
"Not that we have anything to tell them."
However, as they turned the corner to leave, the door opened to reveal Russia once more; causing the duo to stop in place. After a moment of silence between the three of them, Russia started walking again, offering a friendly wave as he passed. Once he was out of sight, the two exchanged worried looks before stepping outside.
They were immediately greeted by the flash of cameras and the constant flurry of questions. However, they weren't surprised to see America taking the centre stage to share his thoughts of communism against democracy.
"I mean, no one wants another Pearl Harbour, am I right?!" America questioned with a toss of his arms in aggravation. "If there's a need for a little bit of reconnaissance, what's the harm of us doing some if it prevents another surprise attack?!"
England gave a quiet sigh at that and shook his head. Looking off towards his hotel, he spotted a few rainclouds and cursed to himself.
"I forgot my umbrella in the conference room…" He groaned, earning a raised brow from his old friend.
When he turned to retrieve it, he was pulled back by the ever-theatrical France.
"Don't go back, you empty-headed fool! Russia will pound you into dust!" He cried, nearly feigning tears to make a scene.
England, however, simply scoffed at the teasing warning and shook him off. "Come off it! I don't need some decrepit old man telling me what to do. Don't worry grandpa, I won't take long; how about you go hobble off for a right, good wank, seeing as that's all a man at your age will ever get."
France parted his lips for a retort but fell silent for a long moment before crossing his arms. "Fine, go on and get pulverized by that brute Russia, see what I care!" He huffed in defeat before retreating with his hands buried in his pockets.
Recalling the press and America just in front of them for the entire debacle, England suddenly grew a bit flushed and retreated back inside without risking a glance back to his former colony. Once inside, he let out a small huff and made his way down the silent halls in search of the conference room where he had left the umbrella that had caused such a fuss; all the time watching for Russia as he went. Then he peered in through the opened door, giving a light sigh in relief to see the plain, black umbrella waiting for him propped up beside the table.
It wasn't until he stepped inside that he saw Russia sitting in the chair closest to it. For a moment the two stared at each other before Russia let out a playful laugh, causing England to jolt a bit.
"Ah, you are one missing umbrella?" He questioned in the broken English that set the Brit on-edge every time; as if America's grammar wasn't bad enough. "I was thinking it was belonging to the weakling Clement Atlee."
"Yes." England replied after a moment, ignoring the statement about one of his previous bosses, but hesitated in claiming it, seeing as it was so close to the
Russian.
"Then take it." He insisted with a cheery smile before motioning to the said umbrella.
After a moment to examine the situation, Arthur stepped forward and reached out for the umbrella, only to have Russia snatch it away.
"But, you must do one thing for me." He added, making England joggle a bit; the Russian's smile widened a bit at the sight of his uneasiness.
"And what's that?" England questioned with a slight frown.
"I want to meet with you, just you; maybe if America doesn't show up, we can accomplish something."
England paused at that and simply blinked. It seemed like a reasonable plan if you ignored the fact that this was Russia offering to meet him alone. Before he could reply however, Russia stood, towering over him.
"Nowhere private. Here." He reassured him before handing him a small card with an address scrawled on it along in his rather sloppy penmanship. "We meet here." He insisted before handing back the umbrella.
Still musing over the idea of meeting Russia privately, England could only nod as he took back his umbrella, earning a pleased look from Russia. What did he do? He didn't honestly agree to meet some psychopath alone in some location he didn't know, did he?! Had he gone mental from sitting in a room with him for too long?
However, in this time thinking off the offer, Russia pat England roughly on the shoulder and sauntered out of the conference room once more.
Still a bit in shock and confused by the encounter, he glanced to the card before reading it over again; the address seemed familiar to him. It simply read:
Chez Marcel
13 rue Bezout
Come alone,
Львенок
Your dear ally,
Россия*
Russia
Suddenly recalling the name, he gaped and read it over once more.
"He invited me to a bleeding pub!" He yelped in shock.
What had he gotten himself into?
*Lion Cub