Hi guys! This is my latest fanfic, my first ScotEng! Coz everyone loves a bit of pirate iggy, right~! Just wanted to make it clear, I'm not taking the micky out of the Scottish or Geordie accents - I was born in Northumberland, my family live around Newcastle and I've lived in the highlands of Scotland since I was 4 and half, so as long as I can realistically remember. Plus my ancestral roots are from the highlands and both sides of the borderlands, so... Yeah, I'm not trying to offend people! Hope everyone enjoys this fanfic! One last thing, Scotland's not got an uke personality in this fanfic, but England is the dominant one, coz its pirate England! :)
Alistair McTavish stood on Skinnerburn Road, close to Redheugh Bridge, overlooking the River Tyne. Though he'd only moved to the city a few weeks ago, he decided then and there that he rather liked Newcastle. A city famous for many reasons, (not least of all its' local accent) Newcastle is a bustling city in the North-East of England, falling nicely into the Borderlands (or Border Country, as some preferred) of the Anglo-Scottish borders - the young Scotsman found life in "Geodie Land" to be oddly peaceful; the locals were friendly and welcoming and the nightlife was the best to be had anywhere on the mainland of Great Britain – indeed, many Scots often bypassed Glasgow and the like, preferring to have a dirty weekend in Newcastle – and then there was the sheer scale of local pride felt by the natives. To a Scotsman, pride was far from a foreign concept, but Scots had national pride and while there was nothing wrong with that, Alistair felt somewhat disheartened that local pride seemed less and less important to the people of Scotland, though of course the border regions of England and Scotland had extreme local pride and would rather die than be forced to consider themselves as either English or Scottish. Geordies were much the same in that regard. Yes, he'd quite fallen in love with this notion of local pride that others may have called arrogance or being full of themselves. Mind you, there was a lot to be proud of historically in Newcastle. It was historical industries that had drawn this particular highlander to this historic city and a new job prospect.
To say the twenty-nine-year-old highlander was going through a rough patch would have been the understatement of the year; until one month ago, he'd been living in Newfoundland (having started out as an exchange student sent over there) with his long-time boyfriend Francis Bonnefoy. They'd been in a relationship for four years and known each other for atleast six, so naturally the Scotsman had assumed that everything in his love life was stable and joyous, or at the very least, content – he'd gotten a nasty surprise when he came home early from his part time job to find his French lover in bed with another man. After that…well, Alistair decided he needed to get away from everything and everyone in Newfoundland, so he'd moved in with his childhood friend Howard, who owned a flat in Newcastle upon Tyne. Once he'd settled in, Howard had mentioned a job going at one of the local museums where Howard himself worked and said it would be right up Alistair's street – Alistair had a degree in Maritime History, though his speciality involved pirates and privateers. So, just to satisfy his own curiosity and to shut Howard up about it, he applied for this new job and much to his own surprise, he got it!
The red haired Scot cracked his back as he stared at the river, content to let the world pass him by, even if he was only on a lunch break. Chuckling slightly when he noticed a seal's head pop up out in the centre of the river, he plucked his cigarette from his mouth and squashed it against the heel of his black shoes – he could've sworn that seal just wrinkled its' nose at him! He'd started working at the Great North Museum: Hancock three days ago, though currently he was just helping set up a few new exhibits, after the museum had undergone yet another expansion. These new exhibits were to pay homage to the shipbuilding industry as well as famous ships and sailors from the surrounding areas; everyone knew Britain had ruled the waves and they'd done it – naturally – with ships built in Britain, which were the finest ships the whole world over. Shipbuilding had been a huge industry throughout all of Great Britain and both parts of Ireland, everyone knew that, but not everyone knew that the shipyards of Newcastle had been the third largest producer of ships in Britain. It was shipbuilding that had been an intense interest of Alistair's as a child, which had lead him to develop a passion for the subject and caused him to study it further at university and though he could name a stupid amount of famous ships built across the whole length and breadth of the British Isles, there was one ship he'd adored above all others and when he'd researched her further, he'd become hooked on the life story of one infamous English pirate – Captain "Emerald Eyed" Kirkland. Though Captain Kirkland was not from Newcastle, his ship "Fae of the Isles" had been built on the River Tyne. Alistair was determined to see that ship and her captain featured in the exhibit and he'd nearly cried out of joy when his boss had relented and approved the idea, even going so far as to give him an entire exhibit just based around this weird ship and infamous pirate.
This new job was like a new burst of life to Alistair and he readily threw himself into it, happily forgetting all about his troubled love life and everything else back in Newfoundland, often working late hours before collapsing into his bed at night, exhausted but pleased with his progress. Howard was happy for him but he did point out every now and again that he should probably phone Francis at some point – Alistair ignored that particular piece of advise each and every time. If he were to be perfectly honest, Alistair really didn't want to talk about his cheating boyfriend or what he was going to do about it, mostly because he really wasn't sure what he wanted to do about it in the first place. Fair enough, Francis had cheated on him and he should dump the Frenchman's arse just on principle, but…they had been together for four years…so that was…well, a long time. Wasn't that worth something…?
The red head was pulled from his musings by his mobile suddenly bursting into life and song, Alestorm's song "Shipwrecked" screaming out of his phones' built in speakers. He did a frantic scramble with his hands, trying to yank his phone out of his pocket which of course deemed it necessary to get stuck in his pocket lining, which required more tugging and by the time he'd wrenched his phone free he'd succeeded in snapping his phone charm and more than probably ripped his pocket lining. It was one of those days.
Groaning in annoyance, Alistair answered his phone. "What?"
"Well someone's in a bad fettle this afternoon." Came Howard's reply.
"A bad what? The feck is a fettle?"
"Heh, yee still canna taak like a local yit?" Howard liked to tease Alistair, especially if he could show off his grasp of the Geordie dialect. Well, what he thought was a good grasp of it, anyway.
"Scottish, Howard!" Alistair snarled into his mobile. "Do ye no' speak it?!"
Howard fell silent for a moment, before he sighed, dropping the local lingo. "Alistair, I'm sure I've mentioned this before but…Scottish is not a language! We have an English language – the dialect is known as Scots, which originated in the North-East of England and was introduced into Scotland."
"…Yer gettin' sich a hidin' when I see ye…" Alistair huffed. "Fecking smart arse…"
"See? You are in a bad fettle…" Howard sighed again.
Alistair groaned, before threatening to hang up on his friend. Howard was originally from Scotland too, Aberdeen to be specific, but he's gone to a university in Italy, which had completely ruined his Scottish accent (and, Alistair liked to point out, Howard's personality and sense of humour), but once the Aberdonian had finished his studying, he realised he really didn't feel like Italy was a place he could call home, so he moved back to Aberdeen, only to end up getting a job in Newcastle, so he had to move again…Still, Newcastle seemed to have knocked some Britishness back into Howard, atleast.
"Whey aal reet, man! Thor's nee need fer that…" Howard huffed, before continuing. "I was only calling to remind ye about that delivery you've got coming tod-!"
"SHITE!" Alistair wanted to kick himself now. "I'll be there in a tick! See ye soon."
"See ye soon pet~!"
Howard had cooed just to be annoying and Alistair hung up on him, sprinting back to the Hancock museum. On the way, he tripped and tore a hole in the knee of his trousers on his right leg and the heavens suddenly decided to open up too, drenching the highlander to the bone. It really was one of those days. Even so he made it just in time, for as he reached the museum, a Royal Mail van appeared and Alistair sighed in relief – he'd been eagerly waiting for this parcel for weeks and his patience wasn't all that great at the best of times. He waited patiently as the van drove up and parked, before walking over to it.
"Another delivery for ye lad." The mailman chuckled. Alistair had been getting a lot of parcels lately.
"Aye? Cheers very much." Alistair was doing his very best to hold back a smile.
The mail man handed Alistair a large, rectangular shaped object, covered in brown paper. It was surprisingly heavy, but the red haired Scotsman treated it with great care, afraid of damaging it. Now the smile couldn't be held back and he grinned widely, toothily, at the mailman.
"Cheers mate." The red head nodded, friendlily.
"Nee bother bonny lad." The mailman replied, before pointing at the van door. "If ye can manage it, there's something else for ye in there. I'll give you a moment to fetch it."
That confused the Scotsman, especially when the mailman winked at him and walked a few paces away, lighting up a cigarette. Frowning, Alistair carefully tucked the parcel under one arm before opening the door at the back of the van. He immediately wished he hadn't.
"Mon cherie amour!" Francis flung himself at the Scotsman from inside the van, arms wide and lips puckered for a big kiss.
Alistair slammed the van door shut and took a deep breath, before walking over to the mailman, as Francis banged his fists against the door from inside the van, throwing an indignant tantrum.
"You can return that to its' country of origin." Alistair informed the mailman before turning around and marching straight up the huge sandstone steps and into the Hancock museum. It seriously was one of those days…!