A/N: Alright, this chapter took me several days due stuff going on. We shall meet our dysfunctioning British Isles half-siblings. And Michael is thrown into the mix too. This time England is witnessing everything but I haven't put his thoughts into this. You can think yourselves what is going on in his head.'

This chapter wasn't as good as I thought it would be but I hope you like it. I just want this out of my hands so I can start writing about Felicia and Luciano.

In this one Chelsea is 11, Michael 13, Rhys 15, Thomas 16 and Ethan 18. About.

14. I'm an Irish dammit!

"I hate this!" Rang in the Hyde Park. A scoff followed that and a silence. The personification of England(although he usually represented the entiraty of the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland), Arthur Kirkland, looked up from his book, Macbeth, to see a group of five people walking to his direction. The people in that little group were all young – Was anyone of them even over twenty? – and he couldn't really identify any of them, expect a young man with glasses and black hair. He seemed to be the one who had scoffed earlier.

"I'm serious! If you can behave, you can sod off! No one is forcing you to stay. You just hang around to annoy all of us!" The voice continued. It belonged to the only girl of the group who had… quite interesting hair. Silvery white with bright orange and green stripes.

"I am with you because I need to make sure you won't cause havoc here. This is my hometown after all." The bespectacled boy sniffed.

"Yeah, and I'm surprised tha' the population is still 'ere." The tallest one of them mumbled in Scottish accent. He walked to the nearby bench(which happened to be opposite England) and sat down.

"No one asked your opinion, Ethan!" The Londoner shouted, face red despite his attempts to stay calm and dignified. And naturally failing miserably in that.

"I gave it anyways, you dimwit." Ethan glared, lighting a smoke he had dug out his pockets.

"Ethan, does your father know that you smoke?" A third boy asked, sitting next to him.

"Nay. Don't worry about it, Rhys."

"By the way, did you know that dimwit can be shortened to form twit?" Rhys grinned.

"No, it can't!" Thomas argued.

"Yes, it can." The girl nodded.

"Actually, it can. I heard about it some time ago." Ethan mused.

"Okay, you disgrace of British Isles, sod off." The girl told the boy who seemed to be getting on everyone's nerves. She emphasized her words by making a shooing motion with her hand.

"You are not a person to boss me around, Chelsea." The boy scoffed. "Why don't you and your boyfriend go and mingle somewhere less public? No one wants you Yankees around."

This seemed to anger both the silvery haired girl and the remaining boy with her.

"I'm Irish, dammit!" Chelsea screamed, ready launch at the older boy and would've done it if the other boy hadn't restrained her despite his own angry expression.

"For your information neither of us was born in the States and simply living in New York doesn't make us Americans. And I hope you won't make that mistake again. Tu me comprendre?(Do you understand me?)" He told calmly, his soft, short and wavy golden locks obscuring his icy glare he gave to the Londoner.

"Oh, great, a French. Even worse."

"Shut it Thomas." Ethan sighed but made no move to stop either of them.

"I'm French Canadian. And the name is Michael Willows." The blonde boy stated, letting go of Chelsea who had calmed down enough not to strangle Thomas immediately.

"And who cares?"

"A lot of people actually. They don't want to make the same mistake than Lelouch Bourget. I think they still have him at a mental ward. He is death scared of everything that's smaller than a palm and moves." The Canadian gave a cheery and creepy smile to the boy.

"And I'm supposed to believe you?"

"No, but take it into consideration."

"Fine, it's not like I want to spend time with any you. Especially you, you spawn of a whore!" Thomas spat at Chelsea. This time even Michael didn't try to stop the girl.

"That's it!" And Thomas was on the muddy ground, Chelsea kneeing him and clutching the front of the boy's dress shirt.

"You made three mistakes in that sentence." The girl growled, leaning closer to Thomas's face, The young man was shivering underneath her, downright scared.

"One, you insulted me. Two, you insulted my Mam who just happens to be also your mother. And Three, you singled me out. We work as a group which you don't belong despite the fact we see only once a year. So no one will help you. Not Ethan, not Rhys. Especially not Michael whom this doesn't concern and who you insulted earlier. So be prepared you bastard." A fist swung back to hit the boy square in the face. Then Chelsea swung it back again to hit him in the stomach. Thomas bucked and let out a cry. On the third hit, the girl was stopped though. She looked up to see Michael holding her wrist.

"Let it be, Chels. He is such a big wimp so that is already enough." He said calmly and helped the girl up. "Besides you probably don't want to beat him to a hospital condition like that one guy on July 4th."

"He deserved it though, trying to paint a startstruck stripy handkerchief on my face." The girl grumbled as she glared. "And he deserves it too."

"I'd run now, Thomas." Rhys smiled, glancing at the grey October sky. "Because it'll rain soon."

Ethan had gotten on his feet and was offering a hand to the boy on the ground. Thomas looked at him but swatted the hand away and scrambled on his feet, running away then.

"An' I was just tryin' to be nice." The Scott muttered before grinning.

"Since when he appreciated any nice gestures you gave him?" Rhys sighed. "But it must hurt, being beaten up by his younger half-sister." The Welsh boy smirked at Chelsea who plopped on the bench next to him.

"I don't consider him my brother. Especially not after today." She stated.

"None of us have." Ethan sighed as he sat on the other side of the girl and patted then the place on his right to indicate Michael to join them.

"…Is it really shortened like that? Dimwit to twit, I mean." Michael asked as he sat down.

"Nay, we were just messin' up with the brat." Ethan chuckled. "Say, ya n'ver explained why yer 'ere."

"Ah! Um… Well… I wasn't meant to come. Ms. Sanders had bought three tickets and her current… male friend was meant to come with her and Chelsea but he got held up because of his work. So they asked if I wanted to come."

"How did you and Chelsea meet then? You said you were French Canadian. What were you doing in NYC?" Rhys joined into the questioning circle.

"I'm living with my aunt from my father's side. My grandmother's house is under renovation at the moment so we moved there."

"Ye live with yer granny?"

"Yes, I never got to know my parents. They just disappeared. I've always been with my grandmother. Of course I have a lot of aunts and uncles and cousins but I know next to nothing about my parents."

"Say… who was this Lelouch Bourget you mentioned?" Chelsea asked suddenly.

"No one. I made it up. I'm not very violent but I'm really good at making threats."

"Peaceful Canadians." Ethan chuckled, tossing his cigarette forward. It landed on a puddle and fizzled and died out.

"Hey, I'm not a stereotypical Canadian. For example I hate maple syrup. I hate sweet things in general. Pancakes are fine but I don't up any sugary things a top of them." Michael protested.

"From one thing to other… Chelsea, did you really beat up a kid on July 4th?" Rhys fixed a stern look on the youngest of them.

"Uhh… Maybe…"

"She did, I witnessed it." Michael confirmed with a grin.

"It's not my fault they try to forcefeed me that overly cheery independence and freedom crap. I'm not a Yankee and I never will so why should I scream and shout and celebrate that day. Besides that brat tried to pain my face with red and blue! It goes horribly with my hair!" The last sentences were delivered with a comical air and they all laughed.

"You impossible, Chelsy." Rhys chortled.

"I know and I'm proud about it."

"Hey, anyone hungry?" Ethan asked suddenly. "We could go a crab some fish'n'chips. My treat."

"What you? A Scotsman treating us?" Chelsea laughed when the oldest one of them got up.

"What did we say about stereotypes?" Michael sighed.

"Stereotypes are fun!" The girl grinned.

"But do not define every single person." Rhys reminded them, getting up too. The other two followed the Welsh boy and they started to head towards the entrance of the park, chatting cheerily. Ethan and Rhys walked a step behind, the elder smoking his second cigarette and the younger whistling a children's song. England had no problems in recognizing the tune as he turned back to his book, a small smile on his face.

"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down, my Fair Lady…"

A/N: I hope no one got offended because of this chapter. A bit America bashing and stereotype-crushing. And starstruck stripy handkerchef. Chelsea really knows her ways with words. But she can't beat Luciano who we'll meet in the next chapter. When it comes.

Please review or the Flying Mint Bunny will show you that he is not just a cute innocent bunny but a devil in disguise. And I like reviews. :)