"That fecking wanker!" Oisín Kirkland, better known as the human personification of The Republic of Ireland, swore as he downed another glass of whiskey in bar of the lounge where a conference had been held earlier.
Thankfully, none of the other countries had decided to stay so late, and so Oisín was the only one there.
"Who does he bloody think he is?!" The 'he' in question, as it mostly had been for the Irishman, was his younger brother Arthur Kirkland; otherwise called "England", "Britain" or "The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland" - though the last title was one best not mentioned in Oisín's presence.
It has been after a meeting, where Arthur had made an offhanded comment about Ireland's financial situation, that had caused the red-headed, freckled nation to storm into the bar and begin drinking heavily. What gave him the right to criticise his older brother? These days, Oisín thought, it seems that the natural order of the world had been thrown out of balance. Long, long ago, the Irishman and his brothers liked to "tease" and play tricks on the youngest, little Artie. But now, neither nation really had much of a foot to stand on when it came to taking shots at each other - which only served to infuriate Oisín even more.
His mind briefly scanned over the aftermath of said meeting; Oisín had been fuming, and so decided to drown his sorrows in alcohol as per usual, but had thought about giving Arthur a sock in the jaw first. However, immediately after the supposedly European meeting had ended and the doors to the conference room were once again open, the personification of America - Alfred F. Jones, Oisín's memory provided- had come bounding in, headed straight for Arthur, complaining about how it was "hella boring out there" and Arthur gave him a stern lecture on the virtues of patience and "delayed gratification".
As much as he had wanted to give his younger brother a piece of his mind, Oisín would rather not have come across as that much of a gurrier in front of Alfred; though Ireland's citizens had a history in many different parts of the world, America was probably one of the most prominent. A large number of Americans were quite proud of their heritage - as well they should be, Oisín thought - however, the two countries themselves hadn't really met, nor had the time to even speak to each other at all - well, Oisín did, but Alfred always seemed to be somewhere doing something and so it was incredibly hard to get a hold of the boisterous nation for more than five minutes. Still, Oisín had a kind of admiration for the American; kicking Arthur's arse to gain his independence was only one reason why he found the young man to be charismatic, even charming. His bubbly nature, his stupid but well-meaning smile, those bright blue eyes - Oisín stopped his train of thought, shook his head and took another swig.
"Poor, idiot yank" he said out loud as he mused over how Arthur and Alfred seemed to be around each other a lot lately - at least, whenever Oisín came across one, he'd probably see the other too - "Artie must be planning something, manipulating the poor fella. The American doesn't stand a chance; to give that wanker his fair dues, he is good at that sort of thing".
As Oisín attempted to contemplate exactly what Arthur was apparently trying to get out of Alfred, another walked into the bar.
"How are ya, Matt?" Oisín greeted the blond, bespectacled man who had arrived - Matthew Williams, or as he was known as a nation, Canada.
The Canadian seemed to be a bit taken aback at being noticed so easily, but gave a friendly "I'm fine, thanks" nonetheless.
"What are you doing here?" Oisín asked.
"Oh, I'm actually here on personal business-" Matthew began, but his soft voice was drowned out by the much louder Irishman.
"- Mayhaps it's yer brother?" Oisín said, in reference to Alfred, Matthew's twin.
"For the most part, yes, how did you-" Matthew tried to finish an entire sentence, but was once again cut off.
"-Well tell him that the British are coming!" Oisín said loudly, going to take another drink of whiskey but realising that his glass was now empty.
"I think Alfred already knows that" Matthew muttered under his breath.
"What was that?!" Oisín asked, or rather shouted at, Matthew.
"H-how much have you had to drink this time?" the Canadian said quickly.
"Not enough!" Oisín replied, as he got another glass full of whiskey.
"What's he done now?" The Canadian sighed, getting a drink for himself.
"Who, Arthur? What hasn't that bollocks done?" Oisín angrily replied, taking a swig.
"Come on, eh, it can't have been that bad" Matthew was unsure whether saying this would earn him a punch in the face or not, depending on how drunk the Irishman was.
"Does 800 bloody years of -Big-For-His-Boots thinking he can do what he likes with my own fecking island ring any bells?"
"That does sound bad, but-"
"But what?!"
"But that-" Matthew braced himself in case this was the wrong move "-that surely doesn't have anything to do with right now, does it?"
Oisín glared at him with his deep emerald eyes, which were startlingly similar to his much-condemned younger brother, especially when he was particularly annoyed over something.
"Tch, when you have a point, you have a point" he conceded, much to the Canadian's relief.
"You know, Artie used to be so cute when he was small" Oisín smiled nostalgically, staring into the distance, then finishing his glass in one go.
"O-oh, was he?" Matthew laughed awkwardly, now beginning to regret checking in on Oisín. Truth be told, the Canadian was here for his brother, but was also here for the Irishman, after Alfred had informed him of how much of a huff Arthur had been in about earlier - apparently, the Englishman had called Oisín a "broke wanker" far too many times to count afterwards. It seemed that the meeting mustn't have gone as planned, Matthew had thought, and so went to the first place he figured he'd find Oisín. The two countries actually shared a good relationship; apart from the many Canadian-Irish that could be found, more recently on a personal basis the two had begun to get to know each other better. It all started with a wild party that Alfred had thrown and invited essentially the whole world to, and suffice to say that somehow, under extremely unusual circumstances probably involving alien technology and fairy magic, the only two who weren't passed out and whose hair wasn't glowing in neon multicolours were Matthew and Oisín. Since then, they had gone out for a few drinks together on occasions, and were seeing each other an increasing amount. Matthew would be lying if he said he didn't feel something for Oisín - but, with the Irishman being a Kirkland, and therefore having an inbuilt mechanism specifically against any kind of warmth towards others, Matthew knew that he'd have his work cut out for him.
"Yeah…Mam would tell us off for bullying him, but sure, 'twas only messing we were doing with him" Oisín went on to describe some of the 'messing' he and his brothers used to do to Arthur, and Matthew began to understand somewhat why Arthur didn't hold a high opinion of his siblings.
"But sometimes we got along! And we'd sing a little ditty, if I remember the words-" Oisín proceeded to sing, or rather, create noises which sounded sort of like words but more so like a cat getting its tail pulled.
Matthew could do little but down his drink and uncomfortably attempt to mumble along with Oisín; he'd actually heard this supposed ancient Celtic 'hymn' before, and though Oisín's singing seemed to have somewhat improved since then, the Canadian still felt like his ears were being assaulted.
Mercifully, the alcohol took more affect and cut short Oisín's drunken song as he suddenly paused, then fainted into Matthew's lap.
"Why does this always happen?" Matthew sighed heavily. He looked down at the sleeping Irishman, and felt tempted to stroke his messy, but soft bright red hair, but decided against it for fear that Oisín woke up - something which had also already happened, much to the Canadian's embarrassment on that occasion.
"Again?" the bartender commented - it would seem that after meetings, Oisín actually frequented this bar, and would often drink until he dropped. Apparently, he had worked up quite a tab, too.
Matthew told the bartender that he would pick up what Oisín owed, and that he would take the Irishman back home; "N-not in that way, though, haha…".
-Author's Notes-
Well, here goes something: my first fanfiction (well, sort-of-kind-of, it's a long story), and it's of Hetalia. Somehow I'm not surprised with myself. Being Irish I've always been a bit annoyed about there being no official character to represent our island, and so in tradition of many other authors who've probably done a much better job than me at portraying what Ireland would be like as a character, I decided to create my own. I'll just formally apologise here and now to all of my fellow Irish who more than likely want to throw things at me *dodges knives*.
And so, begins my first journey into the world of Hetalia fanfiction, and into vaguely serious writing though most of this can and probably will end up becoming entirely ridiculous. Ridiculousness notwithstanding however, I hope you enjoyed this and if you leave a review I will love you forever. In a platonic way, of course.
-A few notes on slang, Ireland's name and some other stuff I might as well get out of the way now-
Slang:
Fecking - A somewhat milder version of "fucking", commonly heard in Ireland.
Gurrier - A particularly unruly individual, usually in reference to a young male. This one may be a bit archaic since I've only ever heard people over the age of 40 use it, but it was all I could think of that would work.
On Names:
Oisín - Comes from the Irish myth "Oisín agus Tír na nÓg/Oisín and the Land of Youth" (google it if you're interested, I'm too lazy to detail it here). It was the first Irish name that came into my head when deciding on what to call him, and I figure it works at least decently well.
Other Stuff:
- Yes, Oisín uses a lot of slang you'd expect to hear from Arthur, but a lot of slang words in England have pretty much the same meaning and frequency of usage in Ireland, in my experience anyway.
- Yes, I'm shipping Matthew with Oisín. I like to think that it sort of makes sense; but if you want to murder me with garden implements for it, I understand completely.
- Yes, this will have UsUk, again I understand completely if you're in the process of sharpening a trowel or something right now. Can you kill someone with a trowel? Hmm, there's an opportunity…
- Yes, Oisín has an entirely one-sided crush (well, more like infatuation) on Alfred - more on that later, and how Matthew will fit into things *grins evilly*
Chapter 2 ought to be up soon, so check that out if you're completely bored and have nothing better to do than to humour an amateur writer.
Oh, and don't ask about the America's-party-turing-into-a-mess-of-neon-multicoloured-hair thing - I literally just came up with it on the spot, so don't go asking for a prequel chapter or something, because I have basically no clue how that could plausibly happen.