Shooting For Saviors
Chapter 2
Massachusetts warily eyed the strangers before settling his eyes on Arthur. Looking him up and down then walking in tight circles around the man, he hummed to himself in appraisal. Standing a few inches away from Arthur, Mass looked the man straight in the face, also proving to be a couple of inches shorter and much leaner, most likely due to starvation and tight rationing. "So this is the one who looks so like me." He grimaced. "Such a shame it is someone so," he fumbled for the right word, "tyrannical."
Arthur internally debated on laughing or punching the person out. He was leaning to the latter as the man ran his eyes up him again and he really needed to learn something called 'personal space' unless he wants his little dome of safety be utterly crushed by a fistful of angry Brit. "Coming from the git who uses something like tyrannical as an adjective." Arthur snorted and rolled his eyes.
Mass puffed out his chest and leaned forward, desperately trying to regain at least some of the difference between their heights. This man had both height and weight difference against him, not to mention a state versus a country was out of the question. Arthur would win not easily per say, but pretty damn close. "So says the snobbish, limey." His glare intensified as he leaned further towards Arthur.
"Bumbling twat."
"Cat-lick cremlin!"
"Rostbif yank!"
"Dirty pommie!"
"Enfants, maybe we should stop this and act like our age, non?" Francis rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation.
"To hell with you, Frog!" Both Mass and Arthur shouted, faces turning shades of red and purple, then looked at one another, preparing for a full out fist fight.
"Before you two amigos turn into gidis, let us all take a deep breath." Antonio took in a deep breath and released it, which was promptly ignored but the two mirror images.
However, before the two men could go at it again, two incredibly strong, callused hands settled firmly onto their shoulders from the flaps of the tent. "Ya'll need to settle down there, cowpokes. Ya gonna pop a vain or two with all that hullabaloo and ruckus ya'll are causing. Now, quit yipping like coons and come take a swig of some fresh brew." Large, crystal blue eyes that rivaled Ludwig's in its icy stare peeked from the flaps of the tent. The man released his hold and faded back into the shadows of the tent.
"Fine, Tex, but seriously, he started this." Mass grumbled and pushed his way into the tent, following the man.
Arthur released a shudder that rippled through his spine. The tall man had scared the wits out of him. The deep, icy eyes of something primal that was alluring and breathtaking, but frightful when angry. They seemed more stoic and more in control then the cerulean of Alfred's dazzling eyes, which were lively and bundles of emotion. Obviously, the taller man was another state with the name Tex, as in Texas, but state by state that appeared, he truly worried for Alfred. If his most beloved glasses now became a strong, independent state of Texas, then how could the young man be fairing? Curious as to see what exactly the tall man looked like, he pushed the tent flaps open to skirt into the edge of the tent, shortly followed by Antonio and Francis.
There on the right side of the tent, that seemed to be sectioned off into small personal areas by little crates that carried treasured belongings, stood the tall Texan. He carried similar traits of Ludwig and the German people, but also with some semblance to his own brother, Ireland. Texas' hair was a silver blond with the hint of strawberry at the roots. Unlike the cold German, the man's hair was partially buzzed cut around the sides, but his hair was long on the top that spiked at all odd angles even without the help of hair gel. Shining brightly in the man's right ear were three bright, silver ball-studded earrings. There in a tight red ribbon was a small barely noticeable ponytail easily hidden by a collar if need be. His clothes were form fitting with a white double button down shirt and rugged blue jeans with knee high, leather brown boots. He screamed part soldier and part rigid cowboy. From where Arthur stood, the Texan had the pronunciation of a German on his v's as f's and his s's like sch's, but he also carried the faint Irish undertone that was not completely covered by the familiar Texan accent and the sharp German accent.
He was leaned over a small man sitting on a beaten up cushion on the ground who faintly resembled a young Francis. His long blond strands pulled into a loose hair tie decked out in a satin blue ribbon. His eyes were a grayish-blue with specks of vivid silver. His thick French accent was mixed with the obvious Creole accent, instantly alerting himself as Louisiana. He wore shades of violet in a Napoleonic era outfit. Black knee high boots met with dirtied white knee length pants with a light violet button down shirt and a deep, lush purple over coat that hung to his knees.
He adamantly pointed to places that on what appeared to be a ragged map. Circles and x's marked the map in sporadic patterns. The Texan nodded and pointed to a few other parts then dragged his finger to a large black x in the center of the map.
A clatter interrupted Arthur's observation that came from a little beaten up metal teapot. Virginia had just dropped it as she tried to juggle the many tin cups in her hand. She chuckled good-naturedly to herself at her little mishap and arranged herself next to a small burner in the middle of the tent. Antonio quickly assisted her with her cups and pot, chatting away and laughing like old friends.
While everyone seemed to be preoccupied, Francis sided up next to Arthur; close enough to whisper in the man's ear. "So there has been North and South Carolina," his head bobbed to the left of the tent as the two siblings sat on a blanket-made mattress chatting merrily and eating their green apples. "Virginia," he nodded to the elderly woman in what seemed to be Puritan clothes. "Massachusetts," his eyes fluttered to the obviously volatile young man that angrily paced in his small division of the tent. "And Texas and, I assume, Louisiana," the two young men pointed to the map more frequently now.
Arthur's eyes settled once more on the pacing Massa. The young man seemed anxious and ready to spring at anyone within a three-meter radius. Finally being able to look at the man and not get his eyes ripped from his skull, he noticed that the colonial styled clothing also had the traits of his ancient pirate gear. Two large, bright rubies caught his attention and made his thieving pirate side immediately start to calculate the price on the real, good God, rubies that sat gracefully in the man's ear lobes. Now if only he could figure out his look-alike's characteristics…
"For the love of God Almighty, Dallas, when can we get moving!?" Massachusetts bellowed from his pacing.
The Texan huffed and looked at his watch and then to his map. "Prolly bout 'nother three hours or so, give or take a spittin' minute, Salem."
"Monsieur, maybe you should take a moment to have a sip of firewater, non?" Louisiana looked up from marking on his map.
Dallas apparently, or Texas, nimbly walked over to Massachusetts and laid a strong, calming hand on him. "Who put a burr under your saddle? Will be movin' when we get movin', but 'til then, ya gonna have ta' kick up 'em boots and tilt ya hat. 'Sides, most 'em boys feel like they were rode hard, and then put up wet."
Besides Louisiana, everyone's eyes were locked on the figure in then tent. As the confusion settled in on the obvious Texan idiom thick speech and the not so quiet giggle from Francis about the boys being 'rode hard, and then put up wet,' Louisiana got up from his cushion and folded his arms. "Monsieur, he means to say that you shouldn't be so impatient. The men feel exhausted and need to take a break. A small nap couldn't possibly be bad, non?"
Arthur palmed his face with both hands, rubbing small slow circles over his eyes. This was just too much at once. Knowing that Alfred had been terribly hit, Ivan running around doing who knows what, the States now a separate entity from their country, not to mention look-alike States, and now it seemed that the group of migrating survivors were about to start their grand movement again. He needed sleep and a good cup of tea would be greatly appreciated.
Francis was also weary. The long ship travel put a strain on their nerves when moving to avoid the sea patrols. He glanced over at Antonio, who had excitedly returned to chattering like housewives with Virginia. It was also troublesome that it appeared each State that had some sort of Eastern Hemisphere influence took on the characteristics of that country. No surprise came to him that Louisiana, his former providence, looked how he did a couple of hundred years ago. It felt like he had a dashingly handsome clone walking around. He was a little frail looking and not as downright sexy as he, but still pretty in the face.
Dallas looked over the two countries with hesitance, now appearing to notice that they had new company. Mass taking the hint, looked over with disdain. "Those two and him," Mass jerked a thumb towards the oblivious Antonio, "Are the European nations who decided to grace us with their Godly presence." He rolled his eyes.
"I know we've howdyed, but we ain't shook." Dallas extended his hand after crossing the few steps for him that would have taken twice as many for any of the others. "M' names, Dallas, and I guess ya'll know I am the person who is what Texas is."
Just watching the muscles under the tight fitting shirt scared the hell out of both Arthur and Francis. Even though the man was lean and lanky looking, the man was nothing but muscles in every inch of his body. He would probably rip his shirt if he flexed fully. Not to mention though, that this may possibly be the only State that could very well take down a country. After all, Dallas used to be his own country.
After they gingerly shook hands, too scared that they might break their hand in what appeared to be seven feet tall man, Dallas pointed to two empty makeshift beds. "Sorry we ain't got any royalties for ya'll, but ya gonna have to cover your back with your bellies."
Taking on the deer in headlights look, the two nations waited for a quick translation. Louisiana came giggling over to the two. He patted the taller man's chest friendly and smiled. "Don't mind him, mes cheris. He truly is just as lovable as a big puppy." Winking secretly to the two, he leaned closer. "He meant you two can go sleep in those two beds, we just don't have any blanket."
Sighing in relief, the two nodded their thanks and plopped down on the vacant beds. Francis pointed over to Antonio with a smug grin, "He is such a housewife. I wonder if mon cheri, Lovi takes advantage of that."
Glaring without a real edge behind it, Arthur slapped the man in the back of the head before lying down in the surprisingly comfortable makeshift bed. As he stretched, out and then curled in on himself, Arthur started to drift. The fluent German and the French replies made a steady background noise. As he slowly felt his consciousness start to ebb away, one final thought lingered. Where was Alfred?
A/N: Some of these first few chapters will seem a little long winded because I'm bringing in some major OCs. I'll be making a running list and may even draw some of them later. Anyway, review.
Names:
South Carolina - Carol
North Carolina - Carl
Massachusetts - Salem
Virginia - Alexandria
Texas - Dallas
Louisiana - Jean-Pierre
Rude ethnic slurs:
Cat-lick : Catholic
Cremlin : A European
Rostbif : Term used for an American based off of the idea of Roast Beef for Sunday dinners
Yank : Term for New England Americans
Pommie : POM-Prisoners of Mother England; used in Australia
Gidi : Spanish term for drunken Brits who start beer fights
Texan Translations:
Now, quit yipping like coons and come take a swig of some fresh brew - Quit fighting and come drink beer
A spittin' minute - Roughly 5 minutes or so
Firewater - Heavey alcohol
Who put a burr under your saddle? - What is your problem?
Ya gonna have ta' kick up 'em boots and tilt ya hat. - Take a nap.
Were rode hard, and then put up wet. - Exhausted.
I know we've howdyed, but we ain't shook. - We've met, but not formally.
To cover your back with your bellies. - Sleeping with no blankets.