Hi~

So let's see... someone asked about why America wouldn't want to say something about the watch being magic. While he believes in aliens and ghosts, I don't really think of America as believing in magic. So even having just experienced it, I think he would have a hard time admitting it out loud.

Someone also asked about how America as an average joe might recognize England as the country representative... I actually don't know how that works. Most people have it so they aren't recognized for what they are but in the show people seem to know who they are -laughs- So I really don't know where that line falls... Let that detail slide, you'll be happier for it hahaha~

Oh yeah, and I think I'll do my same deal with You and I will Fall in Love. Every 100th reviewer gets a one shot~ (Currently not taking America and England as a pairing)

England glares with complete revulsion and disdain at the Frenchman who has gone from groping to tickling the chin of the woman on his lap. The other buxom girl presses close to him as he whispers in her ear.

Stopping at the edge of the table, England crosses his arms and looks down at France. "I would prefer if you would refrain from bringing your harlots to these meetings."

Turning at the sound of the voice, France grins up at England. There is no warmth in his smile. His gaze slips past him and light on America curiously. "Ah, bonsoir Angleterre... I could say the very same to you."

America raises his eyebrows and looks behind him. Who is he talking ab- "Wait, do you mean me?"

France smirks condescendingly at him. "Oui."

The girls giggle furiously and America prickles angrily. "I am not a harlot!"

England shakes his head in irritation. "Do be quiet and sit down. Nice to see you are making a total fool of yourself in public as always France."

Sulking to himself, America takes a seat. He is so not a harlot! It doesn't matter how reassuring France is, he's a jerk.

France's eyes meet with England's briefly then return to linger on America. "And it is always a complete pleasure to see you act like the self-important prick you are. Who is this if not your amant?"

England slips into his own seat, looking ready to be completely dismissive of anything France has to say no matter what it might be. "A new sailor I recently picked up. Other than that he is none of your business and you may refrain from so much as looking at him."

So he's lying? America wonders why. Then again it is the easiest thing to say to cut off France's questions. Though it doesn't prevent his next one. "Oh and pray tell where did you pick him up? I want one too."

England sneers at him, ignoring his inquiry. "Send your whores away."

France regards him with a smirk. "Yours may stay if he so wishes."

America stands, slamming his hands on the table. The girls shriek. What the fuck, why is everyone such an asshole in this time period? "Look here mon-si-yer, there ain't no man rich enough in this world to make me his whore, got it?"

For a moment all eyes are locked on him and there is complete silence. France suddenly begins to chuckle. "Oh my, so that's how it is. Your French pronunciation is atrocious mon petit."

"His English is not much better," England states coolly.

America pouts at him. Shouldn't he be on his side? He's not his whore, he had even said he was a sailor or something. It is just like England to lecture him on his grammar or something. "So sorry, there isn't any man rich enough in this world to make me his whore."

France chuckles again. He gives his women a squeeze, speaking to them in a smooth, seductive whisper. They are all giggles once more, each giving him a kiss on the cheek before moving to a table further towards the front of the pub. "There, happy my dear Angleterre?"

"I will be happy once this is over with." England gestures at a barmaid to come over. America sits back, already unhappy to be there. Too bad he can't sit with France's lady friends. He doesn't find them offensive in the least.

As England talks to the barmaid France tsks softly. "Angleterre is so violent. I am guessing he gave you that nasty bruise on your cheek? It is a sin to mar such beauty."

France reaches over to brush his fingers along his cheek. America scowls and starts to pull back when a hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. France winces as England both crushes and twists it. "Do not touch him."

They lock glares for a long moment and America can all but feel the hostility coming off them. It's a little uncomfortable actually. He's used to the two of them fighting and not getting along. That's part of their relationship. But this is... well, it's a vehement dislike for one another he's never seen before.

After a long pause England releases him. France immediately withdraws his hand and begins to rub his wrist. "You English are so very uncouth."

"And the French are nothing but drunkards and fools."

An icy silence hangs in the air and America fidgets. A pint slides in front of him, another placed before England. He picks it up and immediately takes a drink. England takes his own and turns to France critically, eying the goblet of wine in front of him. "I see you have provided for yourself."

France smiles smugly and lifts it, swirling it slowly. "But of course. Why degrade my sensitive palate to whatever swill you may provide? Best to bring what I know is good."

"Hmph. Snob." England gulps down a mouthful of his ale.

The icy mood definitely lingers but the atmosphere feels a bit less hostile. The two fall into a discussion of current events, politics, and general bragging about how great they are. It really is impressive how many ways they find to insult one another, anywhere from using the most delicate subtlety to outright harshness.

America tries to follow but he really knows very little about this time period. He acknowledges that it might prove useful later but it's soooo boring. Even the insults go over his head half the time. That table with those saucy women France brought looks more and more tempting by the minute.

At least he's getting an unlimited round of drinks. He finishes one and another appears just like that. He doesn't even bother paying attention to how many he has. The general rule is once England is smashed and a sobbing mess he should stop and will have nothing worse than a good buzz going.

America tunes into the conversation again. Something about that conflict with the Catholics and the Protestants. He remembers people talking about it in the other pub earlier. He leans his chin on his fist and starts to frown. Finally he can't help but interrupt. "Wait... why is this even a big deal? I mean... who cares what religion they are?"

France and England stop and look at one another. France grins. "He doesn't speak French but can he read it? Have you read the arguments of my great writers? It is so trite. You see Angleterre? You obsess yourself with this issue."

England glowers at France. "I do not obsess myself, it is the people that are interested. The Queen has been gracious in her laws. As for you boy, I might keep that opinion to yourself unless you want to be ostracized."

They seem on the verge of ignoring him again and he will have none of that. "But it's so... it's stupid! Who cares? Let them do what they want."

England chuckles and gives him a look that suggests he thinks he's a complete idiot. "Well, what a refreshingly naïve opinion. Religion is the pillar of conflict. Power and religion are entwined. It's important to know what religion is at the top. It is the one with the power."

America sniffs. "I don't think it has to be that way."

"Religion does not matter in politics where you come from?" England raises an eyebrow, carefully attentive to his response.

America is about to deny it then thinks about it. Well, technically when he was younger the Catholic and Protestant thing had been an issue. And even now someone had to be Christian or something similar to get the really high positions, like president. Not legally, but it matters to the people as England had said.

"I guess it does..." This annoys him and he turns his attention back to his drink. France gives another of his stupid laughs and America feels a flush of embarrassment and anger. France can go fuck himself. When he's in his proper time he's going to punch him right in his French face.

Once more deemed unfit to properly debate the issues and generally not knowing what he's talking about, America is cut out of the conversation. Why did England even bother inviting him? If he wasn't stuck here with nowhere to go he'd take off for sure.

The conversation switches to the New World and America once more tunes in. This time he knows the topic of discussion quite well.

France is whining. "That damned Spain is getting his hands all over the New World. At this rate he'll be claiming all of it."

England snorts. "Like that pathetic wretch can keep his hands on it. Besides, you've certainly been making yourself comfortable down there."

"Ah Angleterre, and you have not?"

They laugh lightly, looking like they might attack one another on the spot. France pours himself another glass of wine, his cheeks flushed red. "I wonder how long it will take to find the representatives. There must be more. Spain found one some time ago after all, in the southern regions."

"It is only a matter of time before someone locates more of them. And of course when they are discovered..." Both France and England get super creepy looks on their faces. America feels a bubble of panic. Oh no, he has to find a boat and go warn himself to stay far, far away from both of them. They are total creeps! He never should have shown England compassion!

"You can't do that to, to-!" He starts to stand and the world begins to tilt violently. The alcohol hits him like a brick and god damn he is drunk. The next thing he knows he is on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling in confusion. "Wha?"

France hits the table, bursting into laughter. "Quel dommage. A bit weak at holding his alcohol, non?"

America starts to sit up, his head fuzzy. He grabs the edge of the table and pulls himself up. "I'm not... not drunk! I can hold my alcohol just fine thanksh."

The slight slur in his words isn't exactly convincing. But how has this happened? England doesn't seem drunk in the least and he's been slamming them back just as long as him! And he's such a light weight. If America is this drunk England should be crying and being all pathetic and sentimental and... and has there always been two Frances?

England stands, tossing some coins onto the table. "It seems this social visit is concluded. Do enjoy the gonorrhea you will undoubtedly get from those tarts of yours."

France smirks slowly. "Shall I wish you the same?"

Giving France a tight smile, England puts an arm around America, hoisting him upright. America stumbles then leans heavily on England for support. America mockingly salutes France. "Viva la France!"

France blows him a kiss, chuckling as he sips his wine. A few patrons turn to give him a dirty look which of course he doesn't notice in the least.

"Wait, my bag..." America mumbles, glad he has remembered it. Must be that mention of Mexico that jogged his brain. England quickly scoops it up and shoves it at him. He fumbles and manages to hold onto it.

England turns quickly and America wishes he hadn't. The world is spinning so much already. France's lady friends or whores or whatever are already making their way back to the table and they pass each other. The girls smile flirtatiously at America. He gives them a smile in return but that's about all he can manage. Hell, he can barely stand. It's a fair assumption that he would be staggering all over the place if not for England's arm around his waist.

The cool air as they enter to the open street, bathed in the waning light, feels soothing on his flushed face. "Sorry about thish. Usually know my limit better, y'know? Oh god I'm dizzy...Where are we goin'?"

"My home. There is nowhere else for you to be is there?" England glances at him from the corner of his eye.

America laughs loudly. "Ah no way... Not a place in this world."

England's lips curl up into a smirk. "Very well, there should be fine then. It's not a problem correct?"

"Nah, nah! Whatever ish fine." After all, where else is he going to sleep this off, a gutter?

England's grip around America's waist tightens as they start down the street waveringly. America puts an arm around his shoulder for good measure and that helps steady him more. This is good, maybe America can walk himself closer to sobriety. The open air feels like it's already clearing his head some.

"You uh... sure can hold your liquor can't ya?"

"Of course, I can drink the best of them under the table. Well... Most. There are a few that can even out drink me but they are hardly worth mentioning." There's that snide, arrogant tone again.

America really doesn't get it. This is the man England once was. Powerful, offensive, contemptuous, confident, so many things England hardly seems anymore. And he can drink without turning into a mess of pathetic goo. And he's sort of... no, he's really awesome. Even if he is a total jerk. What happened?

Whenever America tries to overlap this England and his England it just doesn't work. And while there is still some time left before the two of them are going to meet for the first time, it's really not that far into the future. While the scary as hell face England made that day both he and France tried to win him over as a child can conceivably be attributed to this man, the crying and vulnerability sure can't be.

And why hadn't he ever known England was like this once upon a time? Sure France had thrown out a few stories from time to time and Ireland, Scotland, and Wales were all happy to tell him what an unbelievable dick he was, but this... This is beyond anything he has ever imagined.

And...actually America is kind of fascinated by him, this England.

Damn... a drunken guy shouldn't have to think about all this stuff, it's too hard.

While England's place can't have actually been too far away from where they were it feels like it. Even subtracting the break they took so he could take a piss against some building or other it seems to take forever to arrive. And boy has America never been so happy to see England's house.

America brightens as he catches sight of it. "Huzzah, I thought we'd never get here! I've never been more excited about the idea of a bed."

"I do not doubt it." England chuckles to himself.

Confused at what the joke is America laughs with him, a high somewhat obnoxious sound. His drunken laugh is the worst, definitely. Though even it is awesome because everything about him is amazing.

This thought gets stuck on loop as England drags him into the house.

Translations:

Bonsoir Angleterre-Good evening England

amant-lover

mon petit-my little one

Quel dommage-what a pity

Historical notes:

Spain discovered Mexico, but I am not really sure if they called the area Mexico yet so... mreh. Everyone was sniffing around the New World -laughs-

There was a big to do about the Catholics and the Protestants back then. It didn't really get super violent until after Queen Elizabeth died and James I took her place. He was severely Protestant and didn't tolerate the Catholics as much as Elizabeth. The U.S. was majority Protestant for a long time and it wasn't really until about the 1800s during the Great Potato Famine that the U.S. started getting a ton of Catholics with all the Irish immigrants. There was a group called the Know Nothings that thought such ridiculous things as the Pope was sending them in to take over the country -laughs- Oh jeez religion...

AN: I think England was probably better at drinking back then -laughs- And this would have been longer but there is a certain saucy scene coming up and this was the only real good cut off place without the chapter being really long. (which I didn't feel like doing haha)