Characters: England, America, New Zealand, Australia, Canada, India, Nigeria, South Africa and Kenya; No pairings.
Rating: K
Warning: Cursing; giving alcohol to little children;
Disclaimer: Don't own
Summary: British Empire times; All of the colonies are in Arthur's house and he has to take care of them whenever he is around.
A loud scream pierced the early morning air. The scream echoed in his brain as the blond slowly came into awareness. He groaned when the morning sun shone painfully in his eyes. Too much drinking again.
His door was thrown open and it hit the wall with a bang.
"Bloody hell!" The blond covered his head with one of his many pillows. He hoped very very hard that if he ignored it, it would go away.
"England! England!" America's voice reached his ears.
"Go away!" His bed dipped and a small body landed on his stomach. "Omph!" The bile that was just waiting for an excuse to crawl up hit him with a force. His morning was already headed for a great start by the looks of it. He took a few deep breaths trying to calm both his stomach and his irritation. It was too early in the morning for this shit.
Grasping around, he found the fragile neck of the thing that was lying on him. He sat up, holding the smiling child in front of his face and glared.
"What do you want?" The dangling child was starting to understand the situation he found himself in. Seeing the start of a crying fit Arthur was tempted to throw it out of his door and close it.
"Just…" Teary blue eyes looked down. The pout was full force now and Arthur felt a little bad for scaring him. Then again it could also be all the acid in his stomach. He definitely needed more sleep.
"Speak up, child." He tried a little more gently. It seemed to work as Alfred looked up and smiled shyly. "We are hungry, England." Oh, right. They were in his house, weren't they…? He was supposed to feed them…
More crashes came from downstairs and America flinched when his glare returned full force. Why did he have to deal with a bunch of brats anyway? Couldn't you conquer without getting new members of your household?
Getting out of the bed, he stumbled down the stairs. The noise levels were already raising beyond what he could stand. His head was pounding and the fucking light hurt. Now he had to deal with a bunch of kids.
"Mine!"
"Noo, give it back!"
"I want to cook too!"
"Don't touch that!"
Another crash. He growled.
"Shut up brats!" All of them froze and Arthur just looked around at the scene in his kitchen. Australia and New Zealand were tugging on a wooden snake toy. India and Canada stood aside, watching the chaos as Nigeria, South Africa and Kenya were standing in a circle around a few broken eggs, looking like frightened rabbits.
Some other brats were cowering behind the counter. He scratched his head slowly. He wasn't sure how many more he had in the house. He really needed to make a list one day.
"Okay, fine. You want food right?"
Frantic nodding of heads.
"Then get the fuck out of my kitchen."
The children quickly scrambled out of the room. He signed at the mess. Grabbing a new bottle of rum, he popped it open and thanked god he had put it so high up the shelf that it was unreachable for the little pests. Taking a big gulp he set out to mix something quick to shut the brats up and go back to bed.
He couldn't wait to be out in the open sea again.
He didn't even look at what he was putting in the huge barrel he had set on the oven. There might have been a pineapple and lettuce in there somewhere and maybe a few hot peppers. He wasn't completely sure. He looked around for anything else that could go in the huge pot when his eyes landed on a barrel of gin.
His eyes darted from the pot to the gin. Gin…kids… alcohol…
Just a little. It couldn't hurt, right?
The brats just needed to quiet down for a bit so he could get his sleep.
He filled a jug of gin and poured it in the pot.
There.
That should help the brats with an early afternoon nap.