Hetalia: Axis Power does not belong to me. All rights reserved.
April 5, 1764~
Thomas Brixton is, to say, a very boisterous man. He's said that he was born in Florida and moved to Boston when he was six. Here, he found that there were too many people who didn't know as many things as he did, so he decided to pursue a life of teaching, beginning his career with his very first class of nine at the age of fifteen. He is small, short for his lifetime of thirty-four years, but the lack of self-restraint he has for his own mouth makes him seem less so. His brain, filled with snippets of different information, seems to fire off at all times, convenient or not. Arthur met Mr. Brixton through Davidson—the wonderful man I met about a year ago who I later found out was the sitter/cook who works for Alfred at the house—who'd known him since childhood. After hearing about his very effective teaching methods, Arthur hired him to tutor Alfred and me.
"Wonderful to meet you all. Now, Mister Kirkland—I make sure that my students and I form very close connections with each other. Just me and my students. So you can go about whatever business you need to attend to. I don't need another set of eyes to help me teach." That was how our introduction went. The face Arthur gave when Mr. Brixton told him to, basically, get out was the most hilarious thing I had ever seen. Alfred thought so as well for he ended up rolling on the floor. Ever since then, Mr. Brixton has been one of my closest friends, along with Alfred and Davidson, and a deep irritation to Arthur.
"No, Alfred, that's not how you write a cursive capitol Z. You must close the tail. Close the tail," Mr. Brixton moved his finger through the air in a reverse six, his echoing voice causing Alfred to roll his eyes.
"It looks just like the one you drew on the board, Thomas," Alfred whined, tossing his quill away with a huff.
I looked up from my own papers and smiled slightly as Alfred began pointing accusingly to the board in the middle of the room. Since the month of April is companioned with the first break of spring air, Arthur had permitted Mr. Brixton to take us out on the patio for our lessons this week. Alfred had been thrilled about our new "classroom" —being able to escape our normal study in the living room and all—but soon fell into a slight tantrum as Mr. Brixton told us our lessons for that week. Cursive.
"Look! It's just like yours, Thomas!" Alfred yelled and slapped his paper up on the board. The lovely Z Mr. Brixton had written sat diligently next to Alfred's lopsided squiggle.
Mr. Brixton shook his head. "No, Alfred. The tail, boy, the tail. It needs to be closed or it looks like a three."
Alfred sighed and glanced over at me as Mr. Brixton kept talking. He began mimicking him, his hands on his hips and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. I laughed and looked down at my paper. My Z looked more like the one on the board then Alfred's, which made me smile. Normally Alfred's the one whole does everything right.
"Here, Alfred. Watch me draw this once again. You too Matthew," Mr. Brixton said, picking up a quill and placing it on the paperboard.
I stood up, placing my papers down in my seat, and walked over next to Alfred. We both watched as our teacher wrote down another perfect Z. As I watched, Alfred bumped my elbow with his. "The tail, boy, the tail," he whispered in my ear, his impersonation making me laugh quietly.
Alfred kept at his routine while Mr. Brixton started to write out the entire alphabet, never noticing the poking fun being made of him. "You must hold the pencil like so, dear boy. Do not be like the other fools in town." Alfred began say other things irrelevant to anything that was going on. "You must be smart like me or you will fail in this world."
My eyes began to fog up as the desire to laugh started scratching at my throat. Small snorts sounded out of my nose and my shoulders shook up and down. I wasn't laughing at Mr. Brixton of course─I mean, I love the man─but at the sheer stupidity at Alfred's shenanigans.
Again, Alfred turned to mimicking Mr. Brixton's movements, flailing his arms out in the same fashion as the other man. I laughed quietly, indulging myself in Alfred's act, before a tap of a shoe from behind made me freeze. I looked over my shoulder slightly.
Arthur stood stiffly by the patio's door, his hand smoothing out his tight green vest. He had his head cocked with one eyebrow up, his eyes filled with distaste and amusement as he watch Alfred carry on with his teasing
I turned back around and nudged Al's side with my hand. "Al…"
He stopped moving, his large smile brightening his face and turned around. His face immediately redden. "Arthur!"
Mr. Brixton stopped writing at the sound of Alfred's voice and looked over as Arthur strolled outside. "Ah, Mister Kirkland. Here to try and ruin my class again?"
Arthur stopped walking as Alfred laughed at the comment, his large eyebrows falling over his eyes. "As you were, Brixton. I'm just here to speak with Alfred for a bit." He stopped and looked over to said boy, nodding his head. "If you may Alfred."
Alfred blinked then nodded and ran up to Arthur's side, letting the older place his hand on the top of his head and ruffle his blonde hair lightly. I watched them walk back to the patio door and disappear inside the house.
I sat facing the door for a moment before turning back to Mr. Brixton who was standing looking down at me.
"Just us two then?" he asked. I nodded, happy to answer any questions of his. "Well, I suppose we could end the lessons there—" he paused as he saw my eyes grow in agreement, "but tomorrow, rain or shine, we will continue with your papers, do you understand, my dear Matthew?"
I smiled genuinely. "Of course Mr. Brixton."
The teacher rolled the papers he held into a tight cylinder and tapped me on my head lightly. "See. You're respectable. Alfred insists on calling me Thomas while you behave and address me properly. Very good." I let my smile hold as I collected my own papers and asked if I could help clear up the board.
"I'll help 'im Matthew. No need for ya to." A gruff but calming voice came from the other side of the patio. I didn't need to look to know it was Davidson, the sound of chewing tobacco hitting the flooring assuring me it was him. I turned and watched the tall dark skinned man make his way over to Mr. Brixton and thump the shorter on the head. "How are ya Brixton, ya bastard?"
Mr. Brixton swatted at Davidson's hand. "Oh, stop being vulgar, David. In front of Matthew at least."
"Gonna learn sooner or later, ain't he?" Davidson glanced over to me and winked. I smiled as the two childhood friends began talking amongst themselves, small pieces of the news from town escaping Davidson's lips and catching my ears. "They're angry, Tom. Should have seen 'em yellin' and spittin' at the king's boys down by the boardwalk—hell, one of Adam McCallan's ships caught fire 'cause someone tried to use some of his whale oil as a bomb."
"Well what did you expect? You and I knew very well that no one was going to take kindly to this. I'm not even trying to hide my dislike for it. Taxes on paper. What crock."
"You tell me. I bought one of the papers in town and the regular that was standin' by stamped it with a seal when I walked by. Made me pay an extra four pence before he would let me pass."
"Tch, typical. The king's going to have a war waiting right outside his door if he keeps this up any longer."
Davidson scoffed. "Ain't that the truth." Their conversation died, leaving only the sounds of paper shuffling and quills clacking as the make shift classroom was slowly torn down. Davidson left with the teaching board, stopping quickly to pat me on the head and slip a piece of tobacco in my hand. He tipped his hat and raised a finger to his lips. "Don't go tellin' Mister Kirkland now."
I quirked an eyebrow and let the sticky slab fall off my fingertips and onto the floor.
Mr. Brixton finished closing the caps of all the inkbottles and proceeded to beckon me over to him with a twitch of his finger. "Matthew, could you give this letter chart to your brother when he returns. I need him to study it if I even what a chance at seeing my next payment from Mister Kirkland…" he paused, allowing me to laugh at the sheer truthfulness of what he just said—true that if Alfred doesn't learn, Arthur makes sure Mr. Brixton doesn't get paid, from himself or anyone else again. "I would myself, but apparently there is a little…problem down by the docks, which in turn means there is also a little problem near my house," he smiled and tapped the thick paper on my wrist before giving it to me.
"I'll make sure he gets it, Mr. Brixton." I smiled and watched him walk out through the lawn and down the hill.
I looked down at the papers, the lines of letters scribbled in Mr. Brixton elaborate handwriting. Sighing through my nose, I went back to the pair of seats that stayed back under the covered section of the patio and sat down. I didn't try to "sit appropriately" like I do whenever Arthur's around instead stretching out my legs and flopping my head to my shoulder. For a second, with sun hitting my face, the slight breeze coming through the patio, I imagined I was back in France, with Papa…
The door behind me creaked to the side. Arthur's voice came with a small stomp of feet. "Now go and I don't want to hear any more about the issue. Do you hear me?"
I quickly sat up straight and craned my head back over my shoulder. Alfred was standing with his back towards me, Arthur standing above him in the doorway. Arthur turned to walk away but Alfred's call stop him.
"But I still don't understand, Arthur—"
"Do you hear me!"
Alfred's shoulders jumped as Arthur's gaze rushed back around and landed on his. He lowered his head and pulled his hands closer to his chest. "Okay…"
Arthur's lips parted as if he was going to say something more but instead sighed. He raked a hand through his hair and stood there for a moment before moving back into the house.
I let my back slouch when he was gone and slid my legs over the side of the seat. I peered over the back of the chair and watched Alfred let his arms fall to his sides. We stayed like that for a while, the thought that Al didn't even know I was there or was just refusing to turn around gnawing at the back of my brain.
I stood up slowly and walked over, landing my feet down a little harder to see if that would finally make Alfred looked around. It didn't. "Al―"
Alfred quickly turned and grabbed one of my wrists making me drop the sheets on the ground. I looked at him and saw something I've never seen with Al; anger.
"Mattie, can you come talk with me for a sec?" he asked, his voice cracked and high.
I opened my mouth, actually to say "no", but with Alfred, you never get say anything, let alone no.
He pulled me through the door he just came out of, joggling me behind him. He looked down the hallway Arthur had gone down when he left with narrowed eyes then walked down the opposite one. We trudged past the living room and turned to the back hallway that lead to the laundry room.
Al pushed open the door and pulled us in. The heat of steaming water and the smell of fresh washed clothing closed around my throat, making me cough into my sleeve. We passed baskets of sheets and tubs of different soaps and brushes before we came to the room's closet.
Alfred finally let go of my wrist and opened the door. The inside was dark but I could see shelves full of fabrics. The bottom shelf looked like someone had taken it down and covered it with towels. "You go in first, Mattie."
I looked over at Alfred. He stared back at me, his blue eyes bright but irritated. I nodded and dropped to my hands and knees so I could crawl under the shelves. I got myself seated in the corner—my head just missing the bottom of the shelf above me—and watched Alfred copy my same movements. He took the other side of the floor and shut the door. Everything went black except for the lines of light that came through the bottom slit of the door.
"Can you keep a secret?"
I blinked and looked over at Alfred, his thin face shadowed. "What?"
"Can you keep a secret," he repeated.
I hesitated before pulling on my collar and swallowing. "Yes—"
"I hate Arthur."
A moment of shock and confusion crossed me. "Huh?"
Alfred stayed quiet for a while, dropping his head and moving his hair down over his eyes. "I said I hate Arthur. He's a mean person who does mean things to good people for no reason."
I stared at him, the words just then sinking into my mind. I, and everyone else who knew me, and knew of what I've been through with Arthur, could understand my hatred for the man but Alfred? Alfred and Arthur were close, extremely close. "Why would you say that, Al?"
Even in the dark I could see Alfred's eyes flash. "Because, he doesn't tell me anything, ever. He always sails off to talk with Parliament and his stupid king and never lets me know what they're doing," he shouted. "He has let my people work for themselves for years and not once has he stepped in. And we were fine with that. Really. But ever since that war, all he and the rest of his people," he stressed, "have done nothing but crawl about all the damn day and get in the way of the colonies lives."
I didn't know whether to be surprised at the swear or at the fact that Alfred had finally started modeling his role as a nation. I do have to admit that I haven't been that thrilled of my special occupation as a personification of a colony, normally I just don't even think about it. Think that I will never die unless Canada "dies". That I will never be able to live a normal life. "Your people, Al?"
Alfred clenched his fists and frowned deeply. "Yes, Mattie, my people. The people who are out there right now angry at how their week has taken such a turn, angry at how terrible Arthur's good-for-nothing soldiers treat them, angry that people they've never even seen before, who also happen to be more than three-thousand miles away, have started bossing them around!"
Alfred's voice bounced off the walls of the small room, all words coming back to echo in his own ears. He sat there frozen almost letting what he had said sink in. He glanced between me and his feet dozens of times before his back bent and his head went limp.
I can't say that my brother was one for crying. Any time you'd think he would, he'd just stand up straight and close his eyes, breathing in, out, in, out… I always admired that of him; he never let the world get to him. But this time, hidden away from the world that has so many times given him such hell, he allowed himself the tears.
"Oh, Al." That's all I said before scooting closer to him and placing my hand on his knee. Even though the issue, which upset him so much, didn't reach me in the same way, I couldn't take seeing my brother cry. He laid his head on my shoulder and complied with letting my arms go around his. We stayed like that for the rest of the day. Only until Davidson found us did I let go of Al and only then did he stop crying.
Author's note: Hello everyone! I am very sorry to have been gone so long. My computer was stolen and i had to wait a bit to get a new one. But here you have it, chapter 3! Thank you all who have read my work. I am truly honored.
