You know, everywhere lately, I've been detecting funny mentions of the place which Elihu Burritt described as, "black by day and red by night". And by that, I just mean the Black Country of the Victorian era. References to it as "Black England" brought to mind Hatsuharu from Fruits Basket soo I thought I'd write a bizarre double personality thing, but it's just much more fun to have separate people… so there can be conflict and all that. So that's how this half-arsed OC!Black England story came about! So go on and read it and review please! I'd like to say you won't be wasting your time, but I'm not sure about that… but I'm not quite sure of the opposite either if that's any consolation! My beta-reader is on a secret mission elsewhere (you know who you are, you Russian, you :D), but I proofread this with all of my might! -end of long a/n-

Good ol' Disclaimer: I'm just going to be brutally honest here– I don't own Hetalia, I didn't think it up, or draw it, or anything (shock!). Same goes for the Old Curiosity Shop. And now that I've said so, I do hope I shan't be sued.

Warning: There's likely to be some slight historical incorrectness. Fail Black Country dialect. Fail fail fail.

"Advancing more and more into the shadow of this mournful place, its dark depressing influence stole upon their spirits, and filled them with a dismal gloom. On every side, and as far as the eye could see into the heavy distance, tall chimneys, crowding on each other and presenting that endless repetition of the same dull, ugly form, which is the horror of oppressive dreams, poured out their plague of smoke, obscured the light, and made foul the melancholy air." - Charles Dickens, The Old Curiosity Shop

It was December 30th, 1845, and only just yesterday had Texas been admitted as the 28th U.S. state. Alfred thought it a swell way to brighten up those dreary holiday-less days following Christmas morning, though there was the occasional shock to be expected.

"Oh, god, no! Not today!! Oh my god!" Alfred practically screamed upon opening his eyes that morning. He rubbed them vigorously with the back of his wrists, but his attempts to see properly again were of no use at all. He stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom, tripping and mumbling absurdities all the way. The wood floors were cold against his bare feet and the air from the open bathroom window hit him like a sheet of ice. He shivered as he faced himself in the small mirror above the sink, a shaky ensemble of indistinguishable shapes, like blots of watercolor paint, were all that could be discerned in the situation.

"Nn… Alfred, what are you yelling about?" Came a tired voice accompanied by the sound of socked feet padding along the floor towards him.

"Crap! First I figure out I'm going blind and now I'm hallucinating!? I'm turning into an old man like Arthur! Noooo! Why does it have to happen over night!?"

"Alfred, it's me…"

"Agggghhhhh!"

"Alfred!" Matthew raised his voice uncommonly loud. "It's me! Matthew! Your brother…?"

"Who?"

"Y-You're brother? Matthew… please remember…" And he resolved to believe that Alfred's reasoning for neither recognizing him… nor hearing him at first, for that matter, were due to the fact he had failed to recollect about the admittance of his new state. Certainly nothing along the lines of Matthew himself being easily unnoticed.

"Huh? O-oh. Right, duh. What were you saying again?" Alfred asked in is characteristically negligent tone. Matthew sighed, though, secretly he found it amusing to see Alfred gallivanting through the house in a panic, looking even stupider than usual. Matthew crossed the hallway to Alfred's bedroom and retrieved a pair of round, dorky, wire rimmed glasses that were sadly reminiscent of the pair which rested on the bridge of his own nose. Alfred was vigorously splashing water on his face, upon Matthew's return, apparently reacquainted with his previous dilemma. Matthew tapped him on the shoulder.

"Alfred. Alfred…here." He spoke, gently sliding the glasses into place on Alfred's face once he'd turned around at the mysterious voice calling his name.

"Oh, oh, right." Alfred chided happily. He patted the glasses with remembrance. "I'd almost forgotten you, there, Texas. Well, it's an amazing day today as always, so we'd better be on our way!" And promptly, he clambered down the stairs and out the door in a flourish, somehow having gotten dressed in the flash of an instance between the stairway and the bathroom. Matthew stood in the hallway, looking dumbfounded.

"He doesn't even thank me for helping him remember his glasses! He's such a … a jerk!" He decided, but the only response to his presence was a weak echo of his own words.

"Shhh! Whoever you are, some people are sleeping, you know!" Came a polar bear-like voice from Matthew's bedroom. Matthew crossed his arms and sighed in sheepish frustration. Well… at least someone had heard him.

...

Arthur loosened his tie slightly at the sight of the large ship coming into port. The playful, salty breeze ruffled his hair, as if it were teasing him. On second thought, he began to tighten the tie again, but on third thought, he dropped his hands from the tail of fabric altogether because there could be nothing more ridiculous than worrying over the looseness of one's necktie at a time like this. Inconspicuously, he began to preen at his coat, smoothing it, and tugging at the hem in compensation for the loss of fidgeting with the tie. The sky was white, smothered with a sheet of cold clouds, and the wind sent the dark waves of the ocean tumbling elegantly among itself in a bloating and sinking traversal. There were the voices of men yelling orders and shouting opinions whilst they loaded dense wooden crates and barrels upon the deck of another ship. Heavy thunks accompanied their unceremonious deposit and thick prickly rope was tossed about between strong masculine hands in the frigid English morning. It was April 25th, 1846, and amongst the shivering red-faced crowds of fancily clad travelers descending from the large oil stained ship, one tall, blond boy, furiously adjusting his glasses, wore a genuinely cheerful smile that couldn't be compared with, despite his poorly informal attire. Arthur sighed to himself as the distressingly, humiliatingly ill-mannered boy careened straight into him, engulfing him in an awkward and embarrassing embrace.

"Arthur!" The boy shouted affectionately, clutching the fabric at the sides of Arthur's suit. It was now evident that the 35 minutes he spent, smoothing every semblance of his already politely ironed garments out was indisputably wasted. He certainly hadn't been nervous in his restless fidgeting and shuffling of his feet! He... wanted to look every bit as nice as he could look! Certainly not by cause of Alfred's arrival, but for propriety's sake as was the rightful and suitable rationale for most things a respectable person did anyway, of course. Upon taking notice of the way Alfred himself was dressed, Arthur couldn't help but feel slightly miffed at his obvious indifference to said morning ritual which undoubtedly gave away to the fact that he had no intentions at all of attempting to impress any person with his appearance. Did he possess no acknowledgment of common decency?! His insufferable air of nonchalance was making Arthur in contrast, feel uncomfortably over dressed and well, stuffy. No, no, what was he prattling on to himself about? Alfred's inconsideration was once again, testament to his severely uncouth nature. This thought soothed Arthur's anxiety and he began to regain his usual air of self-importance mixed with exasperation and cross expression of face. There was a moment of barely concealed sentimental silence before Arthur presumed to hastily peel Alfred off of him.

"G-Get off me, you git!" He snapped, meeting the eyes of one two many a staring passerby. He brushed off a patch of invisible dirt from the shoulder of his jacket, hoping he would soon recede into the background of other men equally pre-engaged with the state of their clothing and hair… something was strangely emasculating about that statement, he thought, looking around.

"But I've missed you!" Alfred replied cheerily to Arthur's previous outburst. Arthur crossed his arms with a dubious expression.

"Why, that makes perfect sense considering you've arrived just a mere four months late." Arthur retorted with a sharp sarcasm. His former colony looked to him apologetically in return, the brightness of his eyes dimming under the scrutiny of Arthur's gaze. Arthur sighed.

"I'm sorry, I really am! I wanted to see you much sooner, but then Mexico and I got into this fight*. See, he thinks he can just start putting Texas on whenever he wants! I mean, we can share a house, we can share a bed (sometimes and I don't mean anything weird by that!), but he doesn't get it that there is such a thing as boundaries! Well, he gets that, I mean, but boundaries that are just completely different from what he thinks they are! Those glasses are mine and even though whenever I take them off, I put them on my nightstand which happens to share a wall with his bedroom, well, it's not part of his bedroom, so yeah. But, I'm sorry, and all I was saying was that I just slightly forgot, getting so involved in that and all. I'm sorry." He finished off in a flurry of contorted drama.

"Well, I could have gone without the life story, but I f-forgive you, I guess, but the lateness is continually unbecoming, Alfred! Come on, then, I'd rather like to escape the dreariness of this port." Arthur deadpanned. Alfred ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Well, of course you'd forgive me! I'm the amazing America!" He laughed brightly. For god's sake, Arthur thought with a small smile, how can someone say that without realizing the stupidity in it?

"Tell me, what was so blindingly amazing about voting to stop sharing the Oregon Territory with me, hm? What about declaring war against me for keeping you away from that French bastard back in…in…" He trailed off, slightly embarrassed about admitting to his still well alive, though certainly quite faint grudge against Alfred for his insufferable nature during 1812. He had mostly brushed it aside since the ending of the war, but it always returned when his mind drifted to the revolution, and that it did, very often, for almost no reason at all. Every fight that had ever occurred between them seemed to resurface at the thought of the revolution, that time when everything became the worst it could manage to be.

"Oh, Iggy, that was back in January. If you wanted to yell at me for it, you should've called back when that was happening. But anyways, I was thinking that since it's at my house, it should belong to me, shouldn't it? And, well, about 1812, well, and I mean I guess that's what you're talking about–" But Arthur had to digress, because it wasn't a subject he wished to discuss, especially considering it might end up going all the way back to the Chesapeake affair. He had mostly brushed it all aside, though, yes, yes, he had. There were more important beatings to be had at that French bastard, that fucking imbecile, t-that– Well, he couldn't just stand there, mentally swearing at a completely absent person. Er, well, someone he hoped was very absent. There were many people who he hoped and almost believed were very much non-present, such as Ivan, for example, or Francis, that idiot, and they always managed to materialize out of nowhere, those stalkers! But to return to the subject of the Oregon Territory for which he was changing the subject with–

"There are countless things that seem like they should belong to one, when in actuality, it's proper etiquette to share them with others. But what do you know of proper etiquette, really? Or of proper anything, at that?" He grumbled.

"Hey, I know a lot of proper things!" Came the objection.

"Such as what?" Arthur wondered rhetorically as they rambled along a mostly amiable side street. It was of such narrow proportions that they were forced to walk together uncomfortably close as a swarm of teeming former passengers brushed past them quite rudely.

"Hm… you! I know you, for example." Alfred smiled cutely at Arthur's abruptly embarrassed face. "So sweet and proper." Arthur could feel himself suddenly warmer at the sound of sarcastic laughter that adjoined the previous statement, his pale face coloring various shades of reddish pink. It was undoubtedly the cold, biting air, he thought. That sweet, innocent laughter…The close proximity of their bodies even more so… No. No. No. How could such an inappropriate and completely obscene thought as that enter his mind? Not even enter, no, but god forbid, approach the fucking doors to his thoughts! The strange metaphors were causing a headache to come on suddenly.

It was pretty damn lucky they ended up in front of his house at that very second. He was prepared to change the subject once again by mentioning if only a bit abashedly that he'd, well, completely lost his way and had no idea whatsoever as to where they were, but luckily, he was spared this degrading confession upon discovering that whilst being distracted by Alfred's infuriating stupidity and lack of consideration for others, he'd wandered successfully back to his house. Thank god for muscle memory. Alfred was, in contrast, slightly disappointed at being denied the sight of Arthur becoming flustered, though. At the moment, the author of this really-becoming-more-and-more-boring-by-the-second-fanfiction decided things were going to get somewhat interesting even if it killed someone in the process. As a result, Arthur reached into his pocket to retrieve his house key, only to discover that he'd strangely misplaced it and they weren't getting into the house anytime soon, because for some other reason, the spare key that was usually hidden in the secret compartment behind one of the third row bricks on the wall nearest the door, was naturally missing, as well.

"What the bloody hell is happening?!" Arthur shouted, though he kept at his inside voice when he said so. Alfred stepped up closer to him, looking quizzically into the empty space where the reddish brick had previously sat comfortably.

"What? You've lost the key or something?"

"How did you you know that I kept my spare key in here?!"

"Well, you were fishing for something in your pocket at first, so I guessed that you were looking for the same thing here… which is the key, right? I can deduce, too, you know." Alfred said, as Arthur continually scavenged about his other pockets, of which he had one too many, Alfred thought to himself. Suddenly, a thought struck Alfred upside the head (oh my!). "Hey, Arthur, you do have that one other key, you know!" Arthur stared at him dumbfounded with minor annoyance.

"…No. No, I didn't! Did I? Damn it! What's wrong with me?!" Arthur shouted again.

"What are you screaming about now?" Alfred sighed. Arthur collected his wits before replying. He smoothed out his jacket, habitually and replaced the brick in the wall.

"I'm speaking of the key across town, you daft fool! How did you even come to know about that?!"

"Well, only a couple years ago. For some reason, you invited me out to drink an–" Arthur interrupted his story with a quick swish of the hand.

"Oh, sod it! This is the last thing I need to hear about right now. Come along, then… I suppose we'll have to retrieve this god forsaken key!" He griped, pulling Alfred by the arm down the steps and out onto the pavement again.

"But what about your servants? Can't they let you in?" Alfred wondered. Arthur sighed again. What a day this was turning into…

"No, I sent them out to run errands before I went to meet you." Arthur muttered. So I could be alone with you, you idiot. "I suppose I left so hastily….I f-forgot to take the keys… one of the servants must've locked the doors after they left." Alfred smirked, before trotting happily ahead of Arthur.

"Somehow I'm pleased to know that you forgot your house key in your excitement to see me!" He laughed, teasingly.

"That wasn't the case at all!" Arthur protested weakly. "I just knew that if I wasn't there awaiting you at the milli-second of your arrival, needless you say, you'd run off looking for me and get yourself lost and killed!"

"Still sounds like you care about me!" Alfred chided. Damn it, he was right! That was the most pathetic excuse he'd had ever mustered up, Arthur mentally slapped himself in the face for trying make bitter, an unfortunately considerate action.

"Well, I don't! I was simply doing it for the sake of politeness! For the sake of being a gentleman and all that. Of course, that would go unnoticed by you, or evidently mistaken for something of a different motive entirely!" Arthur yelled up the street at him, eliciting a few awkward glances again. Alfred stopped, allowing Arthur to catch up to him and they ambled along down the bumpy road in silence for once, Alfred wearing a brilliantly dense smile, and Arthur stealing hateful and embarrassed glimpses of it. It wasn't long before they arrived at one of Arthur's usual haunts, some kind of strange looking pub crammed within a row of terraced houses, none of which had building numbers. This reminded Alfred of a time not very much long ago that he'd dropped something off for Arthur at his countryside house, of which also didn't have a number, among other curiosities pertaining to it, there was one thing that made Alfred burst about in laughter.

"WHAT?" Arthur asked.

"Oh I was just thinking of that countryside house of yours, you know, the one that you named." Alfred giggled again. Oh, the sublime moments spent making fun of poor, poor Arthur.

"Sod off." Arthur snapped, reaching for a potted plant that sat atop the thick wooden ledge of a window just above the door. Even on his tiptoes, he still couldn't reach the darned thing! In fact, it seemed that the woman he told to watch for it had set the ceramic pot to a wholly more inconvenient spot, though remaining in the very near vicinity. "Well, fine then! Alfred, could you perhaps reach it?" He hated to ask the favor, but he was finding himself in one of those moods where his pride had amazingly lessened in importance. Alfred reached out his arms as far as they would go, but his fingers barely graced the frame of the window. Now what were they to do? He refused to wait around wasting nice respectable hours on the steps of his villa, especially with the inevitable rainy weather that loomed over the two of them. Alfred continued to jump at it, as Arthur tried to hit on a solution to their dilemma. Well, it wasn't long before he had had quite enough of standing around, unable to think very clearly with Alfred jumping around beside him like that.

"Alfred. Alfred! Alfred, stop jumping up and down, it's a completely futile effort! N-now… I think I could r-reach if you, uh, helped me. P-picked me, u-up, I mean." Arthur stated definitively, with a strong expression of face though he couldn't help the blush that bit at his cheeks.

"Pick you up?" Alfred pondered aloud. "You want me to pick you up?"

"Y-yes, that's what I said, you idiot. Are you deaf?" Arthur said scowling in embarrassment. Alfred chuckled a little and much to Arthur's dismay, he reached out his hand for him to take.

"Okay! If you climb onto my shoulders, you'll be likely to reach it." Alfred said. How can he say that with a straight face?! Arthur thought, incredulously. Okay, the situation obviously needed rethinking, what with this entirely dimwitted plan he'd spoken aloud. Why didn't he more properly consider what he was going to say!? It must've been Alfred's distracting and obnoxious presence, as always. It already made him forget his keys today!

"Uh, n-never mind that! You'll p-probably just drop me if I allowed you to try picking me up!"

"Hey, I wouldn't drop you! I happen to be a hero, you know!"

"Hmph. The absence of politeness and composure were amazingly deluding." Arthur replied. Alfred crossed his arms for a moment.

"What kind of hero has composure and politeness? Heroes are dangerous, on the edge, and taking risks and the like!" Alfred pouted.

"All the more testament to my statement. No one possessing of sanity would allow anyone describing themselves as 'on the edge' to hold them upon their shoulders." Arthur responded with a roll of his eyes to accentuate the point.

"Well, we have to get to the key some way…" Alfred stated the obvious as usual. "You could stop being so stubborn for once. I promise I won't drop you, okay?"

"……Fine. But you'd best live up to that statement." Arthur said. Uneasily, he took Alfred's hand and climbed onto his shoulders. They both blushed furiously as Arthur situated his thighs to straddle Alfred's neck. To balance himself, he put an arm across Alfred's head and assumed to reach his other arm out towards that irksome cluster of potted primroses. He was definitely yanking out every trace of them from his own garden when he returned home, lest he ever be reminded of this mortifying event.

"Well, would you look at that!" Came a feminine voice from behind the window, almost startling Alfred into breaking his promise. The curtains had been pulled aside and a lovely looking woman pushed open the window with only a bit of difficulty. She smiled brightly at Arthur's face, then glanced at Alfred with even brighter expression. "I do believe you're Alfred, am I right?"

"Sure am, Ms." Alfred said smiling back nervously. Arthur tried to inconspicuously remove Alfred's hands from his knees. There wasn't a gap in the woman's smiling despite Arthur's awkward behavior and refusal to meet her eyes. She brushed a strand of white blond hair from her face.

"A-Alfred, may I present you to Ada." Arthur stammered. "Her husband runs the pub that we are… s-standing in front of."

"Nice to meet you!" Alfred called up.

"Likewise!" Ada replied cheerily. Suddenly there was rustling behind her and a muscular man with perfectly disarranged hair and rolled up sleeves whipped the curtains out of the way and looked quizzically down at Arthur.

"Arthur, sir, what are you doing upon the shoulders of a strange man?!" He demanded curiously. And as he began to erupt quite indecently on the subject of buggery laws, Ada gently cajoled him back into the house.

"W-We are not engaged in any r-relationship in the least!" Arthur asserted, flushing bright pink at the humiliating suggestion.

"Really, dear, you ought to get back down stairs." Ada interrupted her husband's episode. "I apologize, he's been so adamantly worked up by even the things which he cares not a tinge for, lately."

"T-there's no need for you to apologize!" Alfred said to Ada, suddenly timid and unusually quiet in tone. His face was so vastly coloring, Arthur could almost feel the heat of the blush on his calves. He sighed. He'd forgotten how randomly homophobic Alfred was. Ada giggled to herself.

"I'm afraid that man across the street from us is, well, particularly disapproving of your… predicament. You'd best fetch the key and be off. " She said lamentably, lifting the primroses to reveal the key. Arthur snatched it up quickly and scrambled to remove himself from Alfred's shoulders, only succeeding in angering the man across the street even further.

"I ought to call the police on you for such vulgar acts in public!" He called, swinging his cane.

"Sod off! We weren't doing anything so indecent as you assumed!" He yelled. "Yelling at his own bloody country! What's the world come to?" He fussed under his breath as Alfred trailed along beside him. In his anger, he hadn't realized until a very long time later that he'd been walking in a very different direction than the one which lead to his own house. Looking about him, he realized he'd never before witnessed a place of such horridly choking scent, or darkness of atmosphere in the light of day. It was so much so, he could barely take in a proper breath or see very much ahead of himself.

"What the heck…? Gee, what's this awful place, Artie?" Alfred asked, bringing up an arm to breathe more commendably into his sleeve. Arthur glared at him for a moment.

"Well, it is a part of me, Alfred, so you'd be wise to stifle the sporadic insults." He admonished, unaware of his own hypocrisy.

"Fine, whatever you say." Alfred chuckled as Arthur stepped further down the grimy street, lined with even more rubbish than what might've been considered normal of his own street.

"V-Visitors?" Someone questioned curiously, from a dark alleyway beside them. Arthur put his hands on his hips as he faced the direction of the voice.

"You might call it that. Perhaps you could please advise us as to where we are?" He asked.

"Why, the Block Coontry, o' coorse!" Came the reply, now decorated by the sound of a smile and a generally unintelligible accent. A frail boy jumped forward, very scarily similar, almost indistinguishable from Arthur, excepting the darker hair and smudges of soot upon his face and tattered clothes. Another of his differing qualities was acting in a way which one could only call "chummy". He immediately greeted Alfred with a shaking of the hand whilst he smirked in great pride. "We doe get visitors too often. 'm chuffed to maik yowm acquaintance, young old. 'ow om ya?" The accent was quite a lot different from Arthur's in an uncouth, yet surprisingly endearing manner.

"Uh, my name's Alfred! Wh–" Suddenly Arthur broke up the conversation, interrupting in quite an uncharacteristically rude manner.

"And who might you be, boy? I don't recall seeing you around anywhere before." Arthur said scrutinizingly. The boy looked at him disdainfully in contrast to his cheery nature towards Alfred.

"Wull'm not surprised, yow rich fooks never nootice the workin' closs 'spite the foct we bin' the ones mokin' yah rich!" He said, crossing his arms with a scowl. "I'm Block England. 've been 'round since the 18th century, yah know. But I guess it it'd 'till now thot I'm gaining notoriety."

"There's no such thing as 'Black England'." Arthur objected. "I am England. This is somewhere around Birmingham, I presume?"

"Ar, tho's a fir guess… but try agin." He said thoughtfully, with a smirk, pulling a cigarette from his pocket.

"Last I checked, I didn't wander down here with the intention of engaging in a guessing game." Arthur retorted. "So where are we exactly?"

"The Block Coontry." Came an impassive reply, the bearer of the voice lit a match, which illuminated his face eerily. Arthur crossed his arms, and glanced behind him, then back around again. This guy was taunting him!

"Dudley, then, perhaps?"

"Ah, now y' right aboot that! Dudley's the cap'tal 'o Block England! 'at's where we be."

"Are you meaning to imply that Black England is a country of it's own?"

"Eh, somethin' 'o the soort!" He replied boisterously, scratching the top of his head. "'ere's no way 'm claiming' relation to those Brummies. Not that I got anythin' against' 'em, yah know, but this's a region 'o it's own."

"I certainly think not!" Arthur responded contemptuously.

"Ah, stop your mytherin'! I think 'll be agooin' bock wum. Care to join me for a dishle?"

"A what?" Alfred asked.

"Cup 'o tay, y' yank." The soot faced Arthur reiterated with a laugh.

"Sorry, but we must decline." Arthur answered, rather agitated. "Alfred's visiting and we ought to return to my house so he might unpack." The reply to such was only a bellowing laugh. Black England slid the leather satchel from Alfred's shoulders and swung it over his own, gesturing ahead.

"Yow woon't be maikin' it bock in toym." He shook his free hand at the shadowy clouds. "It's gettin' a tod block over 'n Bill's Mother's."

"Uh, who's… Bill?" Alfred asked. Black England chuckled again. He put an arm around Alfred in the best way he could manage, being slightly shorter and all, and they walked on forward. Arthur, clenching his fists, gave in and decided it best not to make a scene, especially since he couldn't much place what was angering him particularly.

"So, Alfr'd, me boy, whot might yow be adoin' with a barmy ode man like Arther?" He chuckled. "Shouldn't yah be oot 'n aboot, seein' them pr'tty lil' sights o' England?" He looked over his shoulder at Arthur and smirked as if to bring to the fore, the latter statement, which one might've easily mistaken for a double entendre. Arthur crossed his arms and hid his face with his bangs as he trailed along behind the two.

"Uh… well, you see, Arthur lost his house key, so we had to go down to fetch his other one from the window ledge of this weird bar–" Oh god, he was going to tell him the entire story wasn't he? "–But Artie couldn't reach, so he had me pick him up and put him on my shoulders to rea–"

"G-git, don't tell him about that part!" Arthur intervened desperately.

"Why not?" Alfred asked innocently. "I'm just telling the whole story."

"B-Because, I mean, p-people– not everyone ought to hear about that, t-that, that whole… happening, I mean." He finally managed to choke out. He could feel his face as hot as the burning coal that was dusting the air around them and he couldn't help being plundered of his sangfroid along with it. Not that he really had much of such a thing to begin with, but evidently any tinge of it had slapped his face red and run off to god knows where.

"Ahahaha, 's ata blush on y' faice?!" Black England jeered, but there wasn't a moment left to mock anyone of anything else, for they'd arrived at his house just as the rain had begun to drip from the towering swells of clouds. "Do maik yo'selves a' 'ome." He said, shutting the dark wooden door behind him. He kicked off his muddy boots exhibiting a pair of sour looking feet, small splits in his navy colored socks revealing pale white skin. He clambered across the room to the stove and set a pot over the flames with a wholesome sigh. Arthur glanced at him for a moment before resuming to determine where he might be allowed to sit. Alfred had already plopped himself down upon an overly stuffed armchair, and was gazing happily around the room at the various knickknacks and unusual photographs. As the tea wouldn't be properly heated for a few minutes, Black England returned to his guests, seating himself rather indelicately upon the corner of a side table.

"Wood chair anunst the windeh, mate." He gestured at Arthur. Arthur managed a thank you and picked up the chair, moving it towards the center of the room before seating himself tiredly. There was little request to repeat what one had said on Arthur's part, being that the two Englishman were mostly of similar descent in terms of conversational practices, but in contrast, Alfred was sadly rather oblivious to the points of discussion which had been elaborated on. To Arthur's surprise, he remained in silent ascertainment for a whole two and half minutes.

"Alfred? Is something the matter?" Arthur asked, almost concerned.

"Huh? Um, no!" Alfred smiled. "I just haven't any idea what you're talking about." Black England doubled over in laughter, though not a single word spilt from his lips. Arthur facepalmed in turn.

"We've merely been speaking of the weather…" Arthur murmured. Alfred widened his eyes.

"This whole two minutes, all you two could establish was the weather?" Alfred asked incredulously. "Obviously it's raining outside, and I didn't have to ask anybody for a second opinion!" Arthur sighed.

"That wasn't the point of it, you git."

"Well, what is the point? Wasting time?" Alfred exclaimed. "You know what Francis would say?–" Arthur groaned in frustration at the mention of the man. "He'd say something like, 'Time for some tete-á-tete!' But I guess, since this is three people, he'd say something more like, uh, 'Time for some tete-á-tete-á-tete'".

"When in the sodding hell did you ever learn French?" Arthur asked with the most livid expression of face one could imagine.

"Um, one time or another…" Alfred responded shyly. "You know, I mean I don't know too much, but my people sometimes use some of the phrases to be fashionable and all. Matthew, he just goes around saying stuff like that all the time, too, you know. You catch on…" Arthur crosses his arms and sniffed indignantly.

"And why, might I ask, should three complete strangers engage in such intimate discourse?" Arthur whispered sharply in Alfred's direction. Alfred frowned like a whining child.

"What are you going to do? Tell me to 'kindly hold my tongue'?" He replied sardonically. "People don't become friends by talking of the weather!" Arthur positioned himself in his chair with a slight air of stature and didn't say another word for even the cleverest of comebacks would've received no praise nor granted him an end to the argument.

"Now this is the way to make conversation– " Alfred began, turning to face Black England who raised in eyebrow accompanied by a smirk. "How's life, honestly?" Arthur facepalmed again.

"Life's… a'right." Came the response with a hint of hesitation.

"But how is it, really?" Alfred asked. Black England looked upon Alfred quizzically as if suspecting him of a pun. He stood up and hobbled over to a rocking chair, and taking a mug of something or other from the table he'd previously sat upon, he replied with a hoarse grumbling and a noisy swig of the drink.

"Y'first." He said, a blush dusting his features as he sunk lower into his seat sheepishly, his dark hair having become even scruffier. Alfred looked between the two men seated on either side of him. They were so alike in their appearances, it made him blush in turn, the thought of having two opposite sides of Arthur in his life was strangely wonderful sounding.

"Um… uh…"

"W-Well, enough o' yer ivverin' an' overin'. Get on wi'it!" Black England stammered. The ambiance about the room was like that of a group of females partaking in a game of truth or dare. Arthur leered.

"Alright!" Alfred shouted cheerily. "Well, let's see… I could go on and continue that story I was telling earlier… You know the one about Arthur losing his keys!" Arthur hit him upside the head.

"D-Don't even think of it!" He seethed. Alfred laughed.

"Already did, Iggy!" Came the mocking reply. Black England sat up suddenly, swallowing a mouthful of drink before continuing.

"Well, jis' while we on aboot this', are y'two…yah know–"

"Oh bloody hell! No, we are not, n-not t-toge– w-well, you know what I'm speaking about!" Arthur replied in a frenzy.

"Thot so?"

"Yes it is so." Came Arthur's voice and Alfred, reading the atmosphere for once, began to realize that he had not a say in the matter whatsoever as this wasn't quite about Alfred really, but more so a question of whom was to be laughed it, disguised as an exchange of retorts. He watched the two Arthurs swing insults at each other back and forth and around, the argument suddenly turning from Alfred's relationship with the first Arthur to working conditions to pollution to even some mention of the terrible weather being somebody's fault, all the while, their manner of speaking, their approach to quarreling with the other were so vastly unalike that the entertainment was currently running at a high point. Though slightly worried, Alfred was mostly enjoying himself as at least neither man seemed apt to get at the other with a kick in the face, but rather preferred to make dramatic comments in place of that. Or at least he assumed.

"I ought'a give yah a right lompin' for saying' sooch!" Black England shouted in response to what Arthur considered a deserving insult. Arthur crossed his arms as if he thought the suggestion were entirely childish and thoughtless which he very well did, inducing him to stand virtually frozen in shock when his darker counterpart grabbed at a handful of his shirt and pulled him uncomfortably close. "'nd I bai lyin'." That was when Alfred pulled them apart, being the strong of the three.

"Hey, now, couldn't you two go back to arguing with your little comebacks and all?" He turned to Arthur, eyeing him up and down before shrugging. "And well, Artie, over here's got a frail body. Beating him up wouldn't be fair." Arthur punched Alfred weakly in the chest.

"I am certainly not frail!" He protested. "And I could take on the stinking working class any day." Black England chuckled at this.

"N'need t'show off n'front o' yah boyfriend." And as the world naturally enjoyed being ironic, a comment that was meant to oppose the fight, very much settled the whole affair. Arthur promptly sent a punch to that sneering face and received a laugh in return. "A'right. Gettin' yah honds dirty then? We'll see 'ow much y'cn'hondle!" A choking sound resonated as a foot struck Arthur's stomach and he might've fallen sprawled upon the floor if his back hadn't met the wall. Then there was a punch to his face, he could feel the blood at his lips. A kick to the knees and he could feel himself nearly at the floor before he grabbed at the hair of Black England's head and jerked him around, slamming him against the wall without difficulty. He could feel his blood boiling, his heart hammering at the prospect of fighting for pride and honor with his fists again, like back in his pirates days, days of cocked hats, of celebrated scars and shiny weapons. He shook his head slightly, at sensing the nostalgia pulling the corners of mouth downwards and reminding him of his old age.

"Artie, you didn't kill him did you?!" Alfred exclaimed rushing to the collapsed of the two. "He's pretty drunk." He added at the smell of Black England's breath.

"I certainly don't care what at all happens to the likes of him." Arthur said resentfully though with absentmindedness, and he yanked on the coat that he'd abandoned upon his arrival, turning in the direction of the door.

"But, we can't just leave him lying here! What happened to being a gentleman, huh?"

"Alfred, I'm afraid I'm much too exhausted at the moment to hold up such conduct. We're going home, now, so come along!" He ordered.

"No, wait! Let's just first get him into a chair before we leave." Alfred pleaded and with a sigh of aggravation, Arthur rambled over to the pathetically heaped form and aided Alfred in dumping him into the chair which the former had sat upon before.

"There. We're going." Arthur said, stretching his fingers; he couldn't seem to escape that thrill in his hands from the fight.

"Well, I think we should wait till he wakes up."

"We're. leaving." Arthur replied sharply. "Now."

"No. You can't tell me what to do. You always did it when I was young, but you can't do it anymore, so I'm staying here!" Alfred said. He was upholding justice and honor damnit! Arthur on the other hand decided he ought to just throw caution to the wind for once and make it clear that being the location of Alfred's holiday, he was the one to make the rules. He put his hands on his hips and thought for a moment more before he shrugged to himself and sent an upward punch to the middle Alfred's jawline, knocking him out. He promptly dragged him out the door by the back of his collar. And so went their first encounter with the industrial side of Arthur's country.

*Mexican-American War mention ;)

Um, well, I hope this wasn't so terrible that you– well I can't think of a clever analogy right now, so I hope my hope will do at the moment! Aww gosh- I had fun writing this. C:

I don't mean to say people living in the Black Country are all of the working class! I imagined the character to be a poor blacksmith, so I didn't mean anything offensive by it, I promise.

As you can see, the Black Country accent sucked (it also made me laugh because I was reminded of Sweden) even though I tried very hard with it and went to our downtown to talk to the English lady at the British grocery store when I could. Ugh… I give up on life. But, anyway! I'm trying to decide upon a good fitting human name for this Black England character because calling him "Black England" is starting to sound really weird… So! if you like, go ahead and suggest something in the reviews! I had been considering Tom or Max (those are the names of my sister's cats, I won't lie) Do tell me what you think about the name, okay, and review the story, too?

I named Arthur's friend Ada as a tribute to my dear little 2nd cousin whom I have never met in the whole of my life, but always wished to. This is in no way saying that she'll end up marrying a homophobic pub owner, m'kay?! But I did try to fashion the woman's mannerisms as I have imagined Ada's to be. As a tribute to her little sister, there will soon be a Mei!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING ALL THE WAY DOWN HERE WOW