Just over one more week of school left to go until Christmas holidays... and I'm really looking foward to it. I'm beginning to dislike school a bit more every day. For one, they just keep on ruining my birthday next week. First I have to go play football (soccer for the Americans here) which I don't like at all, then I have to make a test (thank god it's only English) and I just heard I have to give a presentation which was cancelled earlier this week and replaced to that day. And so on, and so on... And a shitload of tests and deadlines -_-'
But that'll all be over in nine days!
So, now that I'm done complaining, thank you, Crossfire, for the review and MiaCarpenter for the favourites!
Ireland was in Belfast right now for several reasons. He had to keep an eye on the people from Ulster, for one, try to figure out whether they'd be a danger to the war and its main goal. Second, he didn't want to be found for a little while, not by anyone he knew, be it a nation or one of his human pals. And Belfast was about the last place he'd go to at the moment, so it seemed like the perfect hiding place. He'd join the fighting starting in 1920, but for the rest of '19, he'd try to enjoy as much peace as he could. Joining the battles would result in his death or his freedom. Either way, it would be the end of life as he knew it now, and he needed some time to adjust to that thought. Maybe that was a third reason he'd come up North: to remember the days he walked these streets without a single worry, when it had still felt like home to him and when he'd seen the look in his people's eyes as they looked at him as they passed him on the streets. That look that said 'that man walking right there... that's our home'. It was one of the best aspects of being a nation, knowing that your people thought of you as their home and were proud to be your citizens. In fact, it could well be one of the best feelings in the world. Now it wasn't there anymore, not here in Belfast. Any Dubliner that knew who he truly was hadn't changed at all, or had grown fonder of him even, since the Easter Rising. Here the people had distanced themselves from him because of it. Even those he'd never even seen, those that did not know him at all, would avoid him one way or the other.
He decided to go to his favourite pub in the city later in the evening. The owner and employees knew who he was, and as did some of the regulars there, but he didn't mind them. They served some great beer and even better whiskey, and in all honesty, some good alcohol was just what he needed right now. The moment he walked in, the owner, a man in his early sixties, recognised him immediately and said loud enough for the entire pub to hear, "Hey, people, would ya look a'that! Our dear nation 'as come fer a visit!" It was silent in an instant, and all eyes were turned on him. Good, they were trying to make him feel uncomfortable and not welcome here... mission accomplished, but he refused to show it. So with a smirk, he just answered, "Visit? Nah, just some o'yer whiskey! Y'know it's one o'me favourites." He sat down at the bar and added, "Though I could do with some good gossip as well, o'course. Another specialty o'yers. To be honest, I needa catch up on things here in Belfast again."
"Yeah, I bet!" the man replied, pouring a pint for the nation. "Ya 'aven't been in town lately, 'ave ya? If ya 'ad, we'da seen ye more often fer sure!" Ireland grinned and answered softly that they certainly would have before downing his whiskey in one go. Slowly the other people in the pub started talking again as well, but softly, as if they wanted to hear every word their nation had to say. Oh, really now? Ireland thought, glancing around for a moment, mood grim though he didn't show. Well, if ye want to so bad... go ahead and hear the truth. He knew what the old human would ask him next, it was as obvious as that the sun would rise again the next morning. "So, Ireland, just curious," the man began, wiping a glass one of his customers had left on the bar. He didn't look at his nation as he spoke, acting as though it didn't even matter. "Which side are ya on?" There ye have it. Ireland drank a bit from his second pint of whiskey, which had just been set in front of him by a younger lad working behind the bar before answering calmly, "Nationalists."
The silence in the pub fell again, and the nation could feel the tension rising. Were these humans truly so against the idea of independence? What was wrong with being a republic instead of a colony? "Really now?" the owner said, remaining just as calm as the nation, shrugging. "I'm a Unionist meself, but not as fiercely as some others are. Yer a decent lad, Ireland, I'm sure ya know what's best fer ya people." Ireland just nodded, finishing his second drink now. He began to wonder why the man refused to call him Cearul now, but didn't really care either way. "We're bein' take care of," the pub owner said. "The United Kingdom is good fer us. Sure, things coulda been better sometimes, but isn't that always the case?"
"Lewis is right," the younger bartender said, and Ireland turned his attention to him after ordering a pint of stout next. The whiskey tasted a bit off this evening. "An' I've always wondered... What are the Nationalists thinkin'? What are their reasons fer wantin' t'leave? An' to be able to hear it from Ireland himself..." Ireland knew where this was going, and shrugged. "My little brother's a little brat," he explained. "Thinks he knows everythin' because o'the hardships he's gone through in his youth, but he doesn't. It leads to bad decisions and carelessness sometimes, and those things affect me too much. But that's personally. It's not like I hate him, but he only know how to take care of himself properly. Others are a different matter entirely. On a national scale, he's just... a lil' inexperienced sometimes. I know ye weren't born back then, but the Potato Famine in the previous century was a good example. Our crops were rotten, and he just didn't know how to deal with that. I don't think he intended to make us suffer, but he kept importing beef and the crops that did turn out well, leading to us havin' absolutely nothing t'eat, thinking we'd somehow make it through, anyway." He was telling an altered version of the story, obviously, as to not aggravate any Unionists here. He knew from experience over the past few days that some practically idolised the English and England himself. But somehow his words made sense even to him. Perhaps England really had thought his brother would make it through on his own, not just with the Famine, but other things as well. So taking a relatively small sip of his stout, Ireland added more quietly. "Perhaps he just has some remains of that childish thought that 'big brother will make it through anything', however subconsciously. I don't know... But staying with the Empire is not the right thing, that I know."
The stout tasted wrong as well, and Ireland placed it back on the bar, eyeing it carefully. Something about it just wasn't right... "Well, everyone has their own opinions," the old human said, shrugging, as Ireland was beginning to feel a bit shaky, his fingers starting to tremble just the slightest. "An' everyone 'as the liberty of choosing what they believe is wrong or right." Somehow those words made the ever-growing puzzle in Ireland's mind click together, and he glared at the man. "And you chose it would be right t'poison me, did ye now?" His chest felt tight by now, a certain pressure on his lungs that almost disabled him from breathing. The pub owner only looked at him with not even a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Well," he said, smirking. "I did, yes. If even our nation cannot tell what's right fer 'is people anymore, what good is it fer us to still 'ave 'im around?"
Ireland only laughed, his voice raspy by now. The enitire pub was silent, staring at the scene wide-eyed. "Oh, ye'd have liked Arthur, I tell ye! Same bad decisions, same carelessness. Or have I never told ye that a human cannot kill a nation?" The man paled at this. No, he hadn't known that at all, or he'd forgotten it completely. Ireland picked up an empty glass and smashed it, holding a shard of it against the man's throat as he threatened, "This could be seen as treason, y'know. Attacking yer nation consciously -intendedly even- is almost the same as pointin' a gun at yer dear King's head. I could just kill ye now an' be done with it, though, no one in the government would blame me..." With a grin, he added, "After all, the government nowadays is on my side." He then dropped the shard of glass without having cut the human even a little, and walked out of the pub without slowing down. Before walking out the door, he called over his shoulder, "But closing yer business an' lockin' ye up fer attempted murder is fine with me, too." Then, with a bang, he closed the door behind him. He'd never go back there, he was certain of that now.
The way back home didn't go without pain. Ofcourse poison could not harm him, but it was uncomfortable to have in his system, and he felt sick as he wandered the almost empty streets to go home again. It would be a night of hugging the toilet. "Fuckin' hell," he muttered, opening his front door with a bit of difficulty due to his shaky hands. "An' I didn't even drink that much..."
In the afternoon the following day, Wales was glaring at his telephone, arms crossed over his chest. He'd called Ireland -Dublin number and Ballinhassig number three times each- and he hadn't answered yet. "Perhaps he's gone off to a forest," the Welshman mumbled to himself, sighing. "Whichever one is left, that is. Probably not a bay at this time of the year... Maybe some other little town..." He flopped down onto his couch, annoyed with his older brother. Surely he wasn't simply refusing to talk even to Wales? He probably just wasn't home right now... on purpose, most likely. It's not like he didn't wander off and hide away like this more often. The last time had been decades ago, though, sometime after the first Home Rule Bill had been defeated. His usual hiding spots were the ones Wales had just listed, but they seemed unlikely now. There weren't that many forests left like he used to have all over his island, bays and beaches were a little too cold in the winter, and towns... Well, that wasn't impossible, but there were just too many of them to even come up with one likely spot. Wherever he was, Ireland probably didn't want to be found right now.
Wales rolled his eyes and sighed at his sudden realisation that moment, and silently cursed himself for not having thought about that option yet. Ireland hid himself more often than this, yes, but he wasn't particularly good at hiding. Ofcourse he was in Belfast. Picking up the phone once more, he dialed the number Ireland had in Belfast, and after just a few seconds, he heard his brother's familiar voice. "Ireland speakin'. Really not in the mood fer talkin' now, though, make't quick." Wales remained quiet for a little moment, quickly analysing the way Ireland sounded, coming to the quick conclusion that he probably had a hangover. Though, how in the world he'd managed to keep it up until two in the afternoon, the younger nation was clueless. "Have you been drinking again, Cearul?" he asked, amused and somewhat amazed. "It's just me, don't worry. The others don't know where you are... at least not that I know of."
"Good," Ireland replied, sounding a little on edge. "An' yeah, 've been drinking, but really not much. An' ye can tell Al an' Artie where I am, I'm leavin' anyway." Wales blinked, a little confused. Why go all the way to Belfast only to leave again after a few days? When he asked this, Ireland huffed. "My people hate me, that's why! They're too much British, not enough Irish here in Ulster. One of 'em wankers poisoned me last night! If they're abandoning me, I'm abandoning them. Simple, really." Wales gasped soflty at the 'poisoning' part, shocked that any human could hate their own nation that much. Sure, you couldn't get along with each and everyone of your people, but there was always some sort of connection... And, well, it explained how he sounded hungover without having had that much alcohol, especially in Ireland's case, with his ridiculously high alcohol-tolerance. "So, ehm... that poison," Wales mumbled. "Have you gotten rid of it yet, or...?"
"Thought I would," Ireland answered, still sounding uncomfortable. "But haven't yet. An' 'twas some damned strong stuff that wanker used. A human wouldn't even have made it out of the pub, most likely. But dun'ye worry 'bout that, I'll be fine by tomorrow, if not sooner. All that's left of it is a stomach ache an' a bit o'nausea, nothin' much." A short silence fell after that, and after it Ireland was the first to speak again. Wales was relieved by this: at least his brother was willing to talk. "So, any reason ye called, lad?"
"Not really," Wales said, a smile playing at his lips as he spoke. "I just wanted to know how you were doing. At America's place you seemed so distant, not just from us but from the others as well. Considering the situation, I'm allowed to worry about you, right?" Ireland hummed on the other end of the line, followed by a quiet "Ye didn't think I'd... start cutting again, did ye?" Wales shook his head immediately. "Ofcourse not! You haven't done so in over two years now, and... I trust you. I know with all my heart you'd never do so again, so it's nothing like that. Just... regular worry. But ofcourse, everything will be fine sooner or later."
"You know, lad," Ireland interrupted him at that point. "A positive attitude might pull ye through some really tough times... or 't might come back to bite ye one day." At this, Wales started laughing. That was ridiculous! "When has a positive attitude ever come back to bite anyone, Cearul? That's nonsense!" But Ireland was persistent on this matter. "I mean yer hope might be crushed one day. Things might not turn out the way ye hope even if ye hope with all yer heart and truly believe in somethin'... It has been like that in the past, an' it will be like that in the future, Dylan. I'm not saying this won't all turn out just fine again, I really hope it does, but... Don't let yerself get too hurt if it doesn't. Because, ye know what the thing about this war is, laddie... Ye'll lose me either way. If I win, I'm leaving. If I don't, I won't survive. 'Fine' or not, things will never be like they used to once this war is over." Wales nodded, knowing his brother's words were true, though a bit exaggerated. So with a smile and warmth that Ireland just had to pick up on even through a telephone, he answered, "You leaving doesn't mean we lose you, Cearul! If you won't abandon us once you're out of the UK, if you'll keep contact with us, though maybe not regularly... We won't lose you." Ireland was completely silent on the other end of the line, listening intently. "The only way we'll ever truly be seperated, the four of us, is through death, and let's be realistic..." Wales went on, laughing a bit by now before finishing. "Death isn't coming for us anytime soon! Not you, not Artie, not Al and not me. We'll never lose eachother, at least not for hundreds of years yet."
Another silence fell after that, a relatively long one, until Ireland let out a shaky sigh. "If only I could share yer optimism, dearthair. I'm afraid I've used all o'mine up an' wasted it on things that went wrong in the end, anyway... Home Rule, but family matters also. I just wish things could be different... that nothing bad had ever happened to Allistair at the front, that Arthur wouldn't nearly have died and that ye wouldn't have all that on yer shoulders... And I'm sorry for makin' it all even worse with me own useless depression back then, ye really didn't need that." But Wales shook his head once again and put in, "That was in the past, Cearul! Look at the future instead for once. Will you please try that for me?" When Ireland promised he would, the two said goodbye and went to do their own business again, but not before Wales practically ordered his older brother to take it easy until the remains of the poison were out of his system. With a short laugh, Ireland promised him he'd do that, too.
After that, Wales went to his stables to take care of his two horses for the day. He'd also go for a walk through the hills with Cythraul, as someone else was borrowing Rosie for a week, needing an extra set of four legs on his farm. Rosie had never been the type of horse who thoroughly enjoyed having a human or nation on her back, and was more comfortable with ploughing and other such things. Her son was the complete opposite, loving to race through the fields like he'd lost his mind. Somehow, he also enjoyed jumping a lot, which most horses didn't like by nature.
"You just like the feeling of the wind, don't you?" Wales mumbled to him as he was brushing his short black fur. He smiled then, patting the animal on his neck. "As do I. So how about we go for a nice ride into to hills, hm? You may run as fast as you want." The horse then placed his nose against his owner's shoulder, pushing him a bit, and Wales laughed, stroking his head for a moment. "Yes, I like you too, Cythraul. You little demon!" He loved this animal almost as much as he did his brothers. He loved it that, no matter how harsh you could be with them sometimes out of anger or frustration, they'd never yell at you, they'd never hate you. An animal always forgave even the worst things and continued loving their owners and viewing them as their family and best friends at the same time. And that, to Wales, was one of the most important qualities of a good friend. And aside from his family, without a doubt, Cythraul was the best friend he could wish for. Even better than any of his people...
Unionists don't really like the Republicans and the other way around... even to this extent. Physically it didn't really harm him much, but it's like your own kid (or something close to it) is trying to kill you, so... 't sucks.
But there's always Dylan to cheer everyone up~! Or try to~!
Anyways, I agree with Wales on the 'animals are sometimes better friends than humans can ever be' thing. I love my cats to bits and they're the best friends I have. Along with two human friends and my family, that is!
Well, whatever. I hope you liked the chapter, and thanks for reading!