Hello~ Are you all well? I hope so!
Oh my, let's see... I would just like to mention a few things. First of all, this is a Pengland story but it's not the one you always see in fanart, this is Elizabethan Era Pengland which is a little different. While he is not the one from the golden age of pirates (sometime in the 1700s) he is when they were fighting against the Spanish and what not. He is his Majesty's pirate~ I don't know if it matters, I just thought I'd emphasize that.
Once again, I only know a few things about that time period. I am doing research but I can't get everything. I acknowledge in the story they had a certain way of talking back then but in no way will I attempt it. Please do not mention the dialogue if you see something that is really off because you have no idea, me with my OCD personality, how painful it is to write this story knowing the details are probably wrong in many places. You'll just give me a panic attack.
I am trying my best with the details and letting some of the small ones go so please, I beg you, be kind to me. (though like I said before, if you see something important that's off do mention it) That is all.
America slinks back into the alley, slumping against the wall. Okay, now is not the time to lose his head. Had to keep it cool. After closing his eyes and thinking for a moment he comes up with a conclusion. One of two things is occurring here:
1. He had actually slipped and hit his head down in that basement room and is now comatose on the floor, having some sort of crazy ass dream.
2. That pocket watch has magical properties or something and has sent him back in time.
The second option sounds much more interesting than the first. He decides to go with that as the explanation until proven otherwise. Now it's like he's in some sort of awesome adventure movie! Right, so he has to keep his wits about him.
Okay, rules:
First of all, if he is in the past then he has to hide the fact he's from the future. He absolutely cannot let information slip about things that haven't happened yet. He doesn't want to cause the butterfly effect or whatever the fuck it is called where doing one little thing will make bloodsucking dinosaurs rule the Earth.
Secondly, he can't let anyone know who he is. Especially when he isn't sure what the time period is yet. So, he has to get some information.
Thirdly, he has to try not to talk like he's from the future. Or act like it.
Damn it, this is going to be hard. At the same time he feels that tingle of anticipation from earlier. That feeling of adventure. Speaking of which, does he still have the watch? He pats himself down, pulling something bulky from his pocket. It's the watch! Somehow he feels relieved to have it. Maybe if it got him here it can get him back.
Looking at it in the sun he can't help but be impressed. It fits the role of crazy magical item that might take one back in the past perfectly. It's still bright silver despite its somewhat aged appearance, the engravings in the top now visible. An intricate, blank crest with olive branches surrounding it rests at the bottom. Languid waves roll all the way along the border except at the very top where a small star rests above everything.
He considers it. Maybe he should try opening it? It doesn't have that weird pulsating feeling from before but it still might take him back to his own time. Or it will send him even further in the past. Frowning, he weighs his options. He can play it safe... but that's boring. He clicks the watch open again, holding his breath.
It harmlessly opens. America feels a little disappointed. Oh well, there has to be a trick to it... The inside is a lot more impressive in the light of day too. The backing is definitely mother-of-pearl and shines softly as he moves it back and forth. There are only four roman numerals on the face: twelve, three, six, and nine. Small diamonds stand in place for the rest. The black hands have a slight curve to them.
He looks at it thoughtfully. He could have sworn both hands were at the twelve but now the long hand seems just a bit past that. Must not have been enough light in the basement to see it properly.
Upon close inspection the watch is pretty enough... but that isn't really helpful. America holds it to his ear listening for a faint tick. Nothing. He shakes it and listens again with the same result. Sighing, he snaps it closed and stuffs it back in his pocket.
Well this sucks. Oh well, onto the next step! If he can't immediately go back he has to find out what time period he's in. Might as well have fun with it. Imagining himself the dashing protagonist in a movie, he creeps back to the entrance of the alleyway. Waiting for the opportune moment, he grabs a man walking by, clamping a hand over his mouth and dragging him back into the shadows.
The man struggles but America has a pretty good hold on him. "Look, I have a question for you. Answer and I'll let you go safe and sound."
He releases the man who turns and looks at him, awe-struck. He starts talking about his appearance or something and with a groan America realizes he's speaking that flowery English used in those plays England likes so much. Fuck. He hates that kind of English. Well he remembers how to speak it a little bit from when he was little.
"So, um, what is the year good sir?"
It seems to take the man aback, hearing him talking in a bastardized form of the current English. At least he understands. Probably. "...Fifteen hundred and ninety five."
Damn, that is before he was even a colony. Where was his past self? Dreaming as little more than a child alone in the woods of the New World, as they had called it. Still innocent, still unclaimed. Living alone and sharing the space with the Natives. He feels a wave of nostalgia. Suddenly he comes back to himself and realizes the man is saying something again.
"-unhand me at once you knave!"
America gives him his most winning smile. "I am really sorry about this, but I need your clothes."
The man's eyes widen in horror and he opens his mouth to cry out. He doesn't even get a peep out before America swiftly knocks him out cold. A guy has to do what a guy has to do. He makes quick work of stripping the man down before pulling off most of his own clothes. With great difficulty he attempts to dress himself in this new attire. Why are there so many pieces? Not to mention he feels like a total idiot. If it wasn't for the fact he's so scared of fucking up history there is no way he would even attempt to wear such lame stuff. And ew, is that a codpiece? No way he's taking that. He's going to criticize England about his fashion sense next time he sees him.
Not to mention this guy's clothes reek and now he smells bad and dear lord it's all he can do not to just pass out right there. All he can do is remind himself that there had been a time when he had no problem being so dirty himself. He doesn't even want to think about what else might be lurking in the clothes. He gives an involuntary shiver as he unpacks a bag the man had been carrying and shoves his regular clothes inside. No way he's leaving them behind.
Putting the man's hat jauntily on his head he salutes the unconscious nearly nude figure. "Thanks a lot. Hope I didn't just cause Hitler to win World War II by stealing this stuff from you!"
Just as he is about to leave the alleyway he pauses. Did they have glasses during this time period? He doesn't know. Best to be safe than sorry. He takes Texas off and carefully stores them away. Had to be extra careful with those.
Confident that he will at least pass, even if he gets an odd glance for something or other, America merges into the hustle and bustle (and smell) of the crowded street. For a while he walks around, taking everything in. Now that his sense of smell has been murdered it isn't bothering him so much. It's kind of exciting, seeing this period of time. He might be old but he isn't so old he had ever seen any of this.
All the while he digs in his memories and England's many boring lectures to find context for what time period he is in. He snaps as it comes to him, startling a woman nearby. Of course, Shakespeare! Elizabethan Era! ...Right? Yeah that sounds right. He doesn't exactly know how far into it he is or anything but he's pretty sure Shakespeare was alive during 1595. One more mystery down!
Now the ultimate question other than how to get home...What should he do now?
This makes him pause. Just because he knows the year doesn't mean he knows anything about it or where he should go or who he should talk to. Usually in a movie this would be about the time a plot device would come around and lead him to the next step.
...
Yeah okay this isn't actually a movie. He sighs and continues to wander. After a while he is starting to feel hungry, tired, and quite frankly bored. Really, the charm wears off quickly when one is blindly walking around like a hopeless idiot.
"Stupid England and his stupid magical items," he mutters.
Ah! That's it! England, why hadn't he thought of it before? Maybe he should try to track down England, pretend to be a wandering soul with a question about a magical item. England helps him (hopefully) get back to his own time period none the wiser. Awesome plan!
Of course he has no point of reference but he's sure to find him eventually... Then again, maybe he can ask? The inspiration strikes him when he spots what he hopes to God is a tavern or pub or whatever they were called in the day. People always know things in 'Ye Olde Pub' so someone is sure to be able to tell him where he can find England. And maybe he can beg a little food or something. Damn he's hungry.
Pushing through the crowd, America ducks into the dim building. A few people look up at his arrival but are immediately disinterested. Most don't even bother, nursing drinks or keeping up lively conversations. He looks around for a moment then takes a place at an empty table behind a rowdy group.
A woman makes her way over, smiling prettily at America. "How may I serve you?"
Bar wench? He doesn't quite dare call her that in case it's the wrong term. Besides, maybe barmaid would be the politically correct term? He puts on his sweetest smile and he can just see her heart melt. Booyah he still has it even in 1595. "I am waiting for a friend. Alas I have no money on me and I need him to pay my expenses. Thank you for asking."
She colors as he smiles again. "W-well I am sure I can get you a drink. Unless your friend would object to you starting before he arrives?"
America gives her a grateful look. "I doubt he would, if you can put that trust in me."
She giggles flirtatiously. "Of course sir."
As she disappears to the back of the pub America wonders if he should feel like a terrible person. He decides he'll just make England reimburse this place later. A while later she brings him a mug, pausing to speak flirtatiously with him. It tastes interesting but he will certainly not complain. Anything that quenches his thirst is good enough. He lightly flirts back until she is called away. Nice girl.
He slowly sips the ale, looking at the door from time to time mimicking someone waiting for a friend. All the while he keeps his ears open for anything. Mostly the conversations are about things he has no background on. Some debate about an issue having to do with the Lutherans and the Catholics, discussions of people that sound important that he's never heard of, everyday conversations about how to put enough food on the table and keep businesses going. Nothing useful to him. Suddenly the group behind him says something that makes him freeze, back straightening as he attempts to push out all other conversations.
"Captain Kirkland led the Queen's armada brilliantly in that last assault on those Spanish bastards. Got a decent amount of plunder from it too." They laugh.
America turns, voice cutting through their rowdy conversation. "Do you mean Arthur Kirkland?"
A silence settles over the group as they turn to look at him suspiciously. One of them finally speaks, eyes narrowed. "And who are you that you go around throwing the Captain's name so familiarly?"
"Er... Just a friend. I'm actually looking for him, you think you could tell me where he is? I have something important I need to discuss with him."
They look at one another and quickly convene. America catches a few whispers here and there.
"-talks weird-"
"Do you think he is one of-"
"-does not sound like-"
"-take care of this ourselves or-"
"-left to him I think."
They finally turn back to him, one of them standing. "I will take you to him."
Great! He was making awesome progress! America grabs his bundle as he stands. "Thanks! Hey, just give me a moment will you?"
He beelines to the barmaid and pulls her close, speaking softly to her. "I am afraid I must depart milady, but these lovely gentlemen are so kind as to pay for my drink. Add it to their tab."
She smiles dreamily at him and he winks, sending her into a fit of giggles. "Please do come again sir."
"If I get the chance I intend to." Damn he is charming.
She waves as he heads towards the waiting man. Now he doesn't have to worry about her or the pub getting screwed out of some money. Conscious clean, he follows the man once more through the crowded streets.
America tries to make some conversation but the man only grunts or keeps his silence, looking at him with utmost suspicion. Eventually he gives up and walks along in silence, wondering what their problem is. He just said he's England's friend. What, does he not have friends or something?
Captain Kirkland though, that's not something he's used to hearing. Then again he did sail a lot back in the day, even when America was his colony. It will be kind of interesting to see England before he came into his life. But really, how different can he be?
The man gestures for him to go into what seems to be another pub. As they enter the atmosphere seems quite a bit different though. Things don't seem as casual. Not tense necessarily, just... it seems like the kind of place you go if you're supposed to be there.
The man brings him in and sits him down. "You wait here and do not move."
America watches his progress as he walks through the room, briefly stopping to talk to some more men. They give him decidedly unfriendly looks. Seriously, what the hell did he do? A moment later he disappears into a back room, two of the men he had conversed with walking towards America. He feels himself tense then forces himself to relax. Look casual, be ready to kick ass.
They sit on either side of him. "We hear you have spoken very flippantly about Captain Kirkland. You claim you are a friend but I have never seen your face."
America smiles lightly, looking down at the table. "You think you know all his friends? Who are you to be so presumptuous?"
He snarls and the other man leans in closer. "Personally I think William is right. You are one of that cur's men, are you not? If you have some message for Captain Kirkland then why not give it outright? Why the secrecy?"
At this point America has no idea what they are talking about. "Whose men? I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar! Who else would have the nerve to search for Captain Kirkland in such an arrogant manner except one sent by that vile fiend?"
America frowns. "Look, you have me mistaken for someone else. Back off already, it's none of your business."
The man grabs his collar. "Watch your tongue!"
"No, you watch yours! I don't advise you start a fight unless you're prepared to lose!"
The next thing he knows things have escalated out of control. The guy goes to throw a punch and he yanks his head out of the way, resulting in the other guy getting hit instead. There is a moment of confusion which America uses to slip out from between them and onto his feet. These guys have no idea how hardcore he can beat the living daylight out of them but he has to remember restraint.
The two men have recovered and are on their feet, circling him. By now they have caught the attention of some of the others, who make their way closer. They can all bring it on as far as America's concerned. This really is like a movie, so freaking awesome!
The guy who had thrown a punch before comes at him and he easily throws him into one of his approaching opponents. The other comes at him, hoping to catch him off guard. With a smirk America rams his elbow into the man's stomach, sending him reeling back. He makes a 'come on' gesture at the rest. "Give me your best shot."
For a moment they are still, perhaps put off by his intense self-confidence. It isn't long before they seem to shake it off. America makes short work of them. They're barely a workout let alone a challenge. He laughs as he sends another one sprawling. "Is that all you've got?"
Something hits the back of his knees and he's down like a brick. He whirls quickly to counterattack whoever had done that and freezes. A flintlock pistol is pointed right in his face.
"How irritating."
"Huh?" The voice is eerily familiar and he focuses his eyes past the flintlock and up to the holder.
It's England wearing an expression that is a mixture of apathy and displeasure.
"If that sniveling coward France sent you to tell me he is not going to make our appointment I will kill you here and now."
...Huh?
Is this seriously England?
"I am waiting boy." England presses the barrel against his forehead, looking down at him with cold eyes.
What the hell is going on?
AN: Glasses did actually exist back then but they wouldn't have looked anything like Texas. Clothing was a super big deal back then actually... Like you have no idea -laughs- It's because class mattered so much back then.
Oh well, hurray Pengland! And I love how ridiculous America is, the fool~