And now for something completely different!
Verteigiger01: Yeah, it was pretty fortunate for the sea battles that the Navy, though young, had already seen action. Not to mention the fact that New England especially was very ocean- and fishing-based at the time... My head!canon on the subject is probably just me projecting my opinions of mostly-land-locked current America on the much-more-coastal younger one. Yet I can't seem to shake it for some reason. Something about the dichotomy between seafaring England and land-based America appeals to me, I suppose. Oh well. Won't be the first time I've believed some waaay inaccurate stuff ;D
Dar-Fate17: I'm glad you're finding this engaging-sometimes after I re-read and re-edit for the bazillionth time I worry that it's too boring. I'm looking forward to posting my favorite flashback of all, which shouldn't be *too* long now... It's actually not only the last chronologically, but also the first one I wrote! My mind works in weird ways sometimes...
misanthrope1: *grins shamelessly*I love it when history backs me up on this stuff. I swear that poem had to have been written with a personal familiarity with England, it's too perfect not to be. I'm definitely considering writing that "No man is an island, even England" fic now...am thinking to set it during WWII after France surrendered and before the Ruskies and 'Mericans joined in, when England was fighting alone against the Axis. That kind of situation could make any bombed-out nation gloomy and introspective.
Washington D.C. August 24, 1814
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" America screams. It feels like he has raw, fiery heartburn, which he finds darkly, distantly amusing since that is quite literally what is happening. Washington D.C. is aflame, and the two culprits stand in front of him. They stand in matching British uniform, hateful ember-red reflections of each other in the burnt umber of the setting sun.
"Ah, there you are, America," England says pleasantly, as if the three of them are having tea in his rose garden rather than standing in front of the Presidential Mansion with an intent to commit arson. Canada just glares, fingers clenched around a torch. A low, continuous growl emanates from his soot-dusted bear.
"Why are you doing this?" Every beat of his heart hurts.
Canada is shockingly loud. "What, don't you remember what you did to York? You burned the parliament of Upper Canada, and now we're returning the favor."
America is beginning to feel lightheaded. "What are you talking about? Why would I burn New York's parliament? He's a nice guy."
"You-!" Canada steps forward, his usually gentle face scored by rage, and punches America in the stomach. Great, now he's even more nauseous. "What kind of nation attacks his own brother?"
England laughs bitterly. "A very European kind of nation, of course. I thought you hated the kind of backstabbing we did on the Continent, America. I suppose you inherited more from me than I thought. What's next, are you going to start your own empire?"
America's frown deepens. "I'm not—you know what? Screw it. Look, you've already got the Capitol building and everything else. Ju-Just don't burn the Presidential Mansion too." Pain is creeping down his left arm, and they're going to burn it despite his words, but there's no way he's going to say 'please' to these bastards.
"I can burn whatever I want, and you're certainly in no position to stop me," Canada snaps, and with that he throws the torch through a window with a crash of expensive glass. It doesn't take long for flames to start licking up the walls. America just watches in dull horror, his chest feeling like it's wrapped in acid flame. He stands stiff and straight, though. He's not going to let them see his weakness if he can possibly help it.
They watch the fire grow for a few minutes, silent but for the crackling of the burning house. America tries to blink the sweat from his eyes but only manages to add spots to his vision.
England daintily brushes soot off his uniform. "Well, it's been fun, Canada, America," god, that smirk, "but I've got to finish mopping up after an upstart Frenchman." He gives them a little bow and saunters off, the red of his clothing standing stark and dark before the light of the flames.
Canada smirks back and turns to America after a moment. It's only then he notices how worn out Canada looks, as exhausted as he feels. "Well, America, if you're as tired as you look and I feel, then why don't we just call this a tie and go home? You burned my government buildings, I burned yours, call it even?"
America smiles slightly, ruefully. What a time for their weird twin mind-reading thing to kick in. Why couldn't it have happened when he needed to know Canada's battle plans? He can't manage to stop panting for long enough to reply, so he just nods woodenly.
"I'm sure England will agree to peace; he never really wanted to bother with this war in the first place, not when he's busy fighting Papa—er, France. I'll see you around, eh?"
He walks away too after a polite little bow, and it is only then that America allows himself to unlock his knees and fall to the ground, the pain washing through his chest with every throb of his scorched heart. So this is what a heart attack feels like…He blinks, but only sees darkness when he opens his eyes.
It is only after he regains consciousness in safety with the Madisons that he learns D.C. has not been razed to the ground, learns that someone high in British command has ordered only public buildings be burned. Private homes and businesses would have been left untouched but for that tornado that came out of nowhere.
America rubs the new charred scar on his chest and frowns thoughtfully. He wonders how many times a city as old as London has burned.
~o0O0o~
America found himself wrapped in the same thoughts he always had at the sight of Red England. Did the red embolden him to show his inner self, strip away the pretense, the cultured, gentlemanly, caring veneer to reveal the true England of bared tooth and crimson steel? Was the England of his youth just a persona, a costume like Britannia Angel? America always refused to admit that he feared this, insisted to himself he did not feel enough for the old man to care either way.
Or is it just an act, thrown on and off with the red itself? When America was young England had always maintained this was the case. America dearly wishes this is the truth, yet despite all the theater in his blood England's never been much of an actor.
I don't know about you, but I love pissedoff!Canada.
York: A little city later called Toronto. Funny story: you know that silly "Don't Mess with Texas" slogan? Well, if you piss off Canada, he can and will mess with Texas. However he Damn. Well. Pleases.
Heartburn and Heart Attacks: It's canon that a nation's capital city is his heart. So when the capital city is torched, what does the nation feel? Heartburn, of course! *slaps self for pun* Throughout this scene, America's progressively feeling some of the warning symptoms of a heart attack. I feel it's an appropriate equivalent for having your federal government burned to the ground, especially with the chaos and the loss of control.
"...start your own empire." : A bit of foreshadowing here. Ever heard of the way America met and absorbed the Philippines, Puerto Rico, Hawaii, Alaska and Cuba? Not to mention stuff like the Louisiana Purchase and the Mexican-American War.
Presidential Mansion: The White House, of course! But it was only nicknamed that after it was rebuilt after the war.
"...an upstart Frenchman." : A certain Corsican named Napoleon. England's been too busy trying to put him into a full Nelson (heheh *slap*) to be able to spare much attention for the American War, which is partly why we lasted as long as we did. As soon as Napoleon was shipped off to his own personal island adventure in 1814, Great Britain was able to send a ton more troops into the Americas. This resulted in their victory at the Battle of Bladensburg and the subsequent D.C. bonfire night.
Random tornado: For realz guys, there was a heavy thunderstorm that swept into D.C., doused the fires, and leveled up into a cannon-juggling tornado. The burning of D.C. was surprisingly civil and bloodless, due particularly to British soldier discipline. The tornado forced the British to retreat to their ships as well, and so the occupation of D.C. only lasted 26 hours.
British orders to burn only public buildings: When I read about this, I audibly squealed because that's just the sort of thing England would do, be unable to throw America's heart into an inferno. Have I mentioned I love it when history backs up my thoughts on characters?
Wanna hear an awesome story? Look up what Rear Admiral Cockburn's creative solution to media slander was. No, I'm not going to tell you ;3