A bored Alfred is a menace to Society.

What is it about being three centuries old that leads to such sheer childishness? I told him to stop bothering me while I wrote, to go occupy himself. Then he promptly lodged himself in my chimney, covered in God-knows-what under the soot and clutching a live chicken tightly to his chest. I didn't even ask. I don't want to know. I just want him out of my house.

Unconditional love stemming from patriotism can only go so far.

As such, I am now teaching him the violin. He mentioned having known the basics from his mentor, who demanded a general education in such things as writing, mathematics, Latin, classical thought, and musical theory.

With someone such as Alfred, it is not hard to figure out why he left. Even if they were not Avatars acting out the whims of their people, I would have not have been surprised if Alfred had eventually left of his own accord. He strains against the yoke of authority so fiercely!

I almost fear what he will do when we replace the British Empire's leadership with our own.

And that was where the passage ended. Remembering the rabbit incident that had happened only yesterday, Theodore Roosevelt dearly wished to know what ran through America's head when he did something like this. It was apparently a common occurrence, under normal circumstances.

'And he's doing it again. He's becoming comfortable.'

A heartwarming thought, though not entirely true. Alfred still tended towards scarcity, and still would not open up. The all-too-recalcitrant Nation will have made no significant progress by the end of the term, at this rate. They needed to speed the process.

He set the fragile old parchment back into its folder, making to move it aside to a less obstructing part of his desk. However the hour was late, and he was very tired. His movements were sluggish, and as such he ended up with assorted papers scattered on the floor due to a careless action.

"Bully," Roosevelt grumbled under his breath as he stooped down to gather them. "Marvelously bully."

Thrusting crumpled stacks back up onto his desk without a care to the order they'd previously been in, his fatigue-clouded eyes caught something odd.

An envelope, with a faint watermark that indicated someone's personal stationary, however with stamps that said foreign and official.

Matthew Williams.

Ontario, Canada

He scooped it up, other papers forgotten in his curiosity, and sliced it open with his preferred silver letter-opener. It contained three folded letters, each with a different name on them.

First was his.

President Theodore Roosevelt

Then one rather oddly addressed and in a gilded font that didn't match the rest of the stationary.

Mister United States of America

And a third, poignant in its simplicity.

Alfred

Not one to read another's mail, he only read the one addressed to himself. He read it several times, as it enlightened him to several very, very important things that he wished he'd known immediately after taking office. What was worse, was that it was dated at about the time he'd actually found America sulking in a California jail. It'd been here, on his desk, the whole time. It had probably been under something.

Cursing the unenviable clutter of bureaucracy and politics, as well as whichever servant had put this vital correspondence somewhere it might be overlooked, he slid the two other letters back into the envelope, and placed it right atop his desk. It would be his first order of business in the morning.

He'd found his catalyst.

SO SORRY FOR THE LENGTH! I just churned this out real quick because I was kinda having a panic attack (emotions and I do not get along at all). Writing tends to help. And tea. So here you go. A product of treacherous nerves and leaf-juice.

No history tidbits for this chapter, I'm afraid.

THANK YOU for all the favs, follows, and reviews, mon copains. They're awesome. I'd love to hear what you thought of this little quickie!

Later dudes. ^J^