"You must be joking." England looked back at his Prime Minister with an incredulous look on his face.
David Cameron splayed his hands as if the idea wasn't completely preposterous.
"Arthur, the truth is that the Better Together campaign is functional enough but we still can't sneeze at anything that would help improve the relationship on both sides of the border. Plainly put, we need to improve relations between Scotland and England if we want to quell the surge of pro-independence voters."
"Mr Cameron," – Listen you twat, "I've informed you several times," – bloody hammered it into your thick head, "that it doesn't work that way. Our people influence us. We don't influence them."
Cameron ducked his head in a show of having listened to England.
"I do remember that, Arthur. But Salmond has made a good case for secession and we need to respond to that."
You mean you're bloody terrified Scotland could actually leave.
"Would you like me to help the Better Together campaigners then?"
"I'd rather you and your brothers interacted more – "
England drew an exasperated breath to speak –
"I know it won't influence our people, Arthur, but perhaps if feelings between you and Bruce were a little more…cordial, then you might both be a little less susceptible to the…more radical feelings of our people." Cameron responded.
Jesus, we're not that desperate yet.
"And has Sc- Bruce agreed to this?"
Cameron faltered almost imperceptibly. "Dylan has."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, formality forgotten this late on a Friday evening.
"Clegg is taking to Bruce as we spe-"
Arthur snorted derisively. He couldn't help it. "Clegg? Clegg's persuading Bruce?"
Cameron's wince wasn't as imperceptible this time. "We felt that I should speak to you while he spoke to Bruce. In any case," he rushed on, "This won't be too strenuous. I rather think you would want Bruce to remain in the Union?"
I rather think you should get your Etonian arse home so I can go to mine.
"Of course, Mr Cameron," At least that wasn't a total lie.
Cameron smiled politely. "Excellent. The three of you are due in Westminster for all of next week, we'll have someone drop the three of you off at a pub or something immediately afterwards, perhaps?"
Hang on a bloody minute, I haven't agreed to – "A pub, Mr Cameron?"
Cameron pushed his lips out in that innocuously polite expression that England hated.
"A more informal environment may help. Unfortunately, Patrick is still physically underage so this may not be something he can participate in."
You mean he's not ruddy voting for his independence so you're not concerned.
Before England could reply with politely-disguised ridicule, there was a knock on the office door.
"Ah, that'll be Clegg. Come in,"
England turned in his annoyingly comfortable leather chair to face a shorter man with mousy brown hair.
"Mr Clegg," Cameron said cordially.
Clegg walked into the room. "Arthur, Mr Cameron," he greeted. "Bruce has agreed to our, ah, idea."
England snorted again, but mentally. More like he did what had to to escape back to Edinburgh.
"Excellent," Cameron smiled again, "So this has been settled, Arthur?"
England groaned silently. He was defeated, then.