Hello~ On a scale of one to I wanted to scream, guess how much research I did for this chapter? But it's the tender loving care that really makes these kind of stories shine, don't you think? Though srsly, if you point out some tiny detail I didn't get right, I very well might kill you~ haha I do like this chapter, though. There's a small bit inspired by Neil Gaiman. Cookie to you if you know what it is.

Also Sakura-con OMFG so excited~!

Once again, America is greeted with the sight of dazzling blue accented with some wisps of white. It's almost beautiful and then the smell hits him. America gags once then takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, takes a few more shallow breaths. He'll get used to it again. With a small groan, he sits up.

Well, it looks the same anyway. As in it looks like he's gone into the past again. The weather is nicer than it had been before. Warmer. That's...interesting. The question of how time moves pops up then America dismisses it when it proves too difficult to figure out off the top of his head. Maybe there isn't even any rhyme or reason to when he pops up. Still, he should check the year just in case first chance he gets.

Tucking the pocket watch away, America gets to his feet and wipes himself off. Another ally way; it seems this thing is an express way to obscure back alleys. He supposes it's better than getting caught in public appearing from nowhere. Now the real question. Just what should he do?

It seems lame to go search out England on his own. Especially considering the circumstances he disappeared under. However, he obviously meets up with him again so... Walking around seems a good starting place, anyway (because it worked so well last time). Dismissing his doubts, America steps out onto a main street. The area is more shady then where he had turned up last time. No gentlefolk here, at least not by the look of it. His clothes probably stick out but a few hardened glances here and there keep anyone from bothering him.

America hasn't been wandering around for too long when he hears shouting. Ever the hero and forever sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, America immediately turns in the direction of the ruckus and hurries towards it. As he turns a corner he finds two adult men cornering a young boy.

"For the last time, give us what you got, lest I be forced to take one of your eyes instead," the first man says, a blade pressing precariously against the corner of the boy's eye.

"I told ya lot, I don't have anything on me!"

"Lying little egg-shell!" The other man hisses. "Hand it over or we'll take it. After killing you of course."

Oh hell no. There's no way America is letting those bastards get away with this. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

The two men look back at him, the boy squirming desperately in the moment of distraction. "Mind your own business! Doesn't concern you."

The other man spits in America's general direction. "That's right. If you know what's good for ya, you'll shove off."

"Leave the kid alone!"

There is a flicker of confusion over his word choice—there's not a goat to be found. It's clear enough what this man with the strange accent is referring to, however, and they don't ask for clarification. "Not 'til he gives us all he's got! We know this little thief has something up his sleeve!"

America strides forward quickly. His body tenses as he prepares to fight. The man without the knife gets a fist in the gut, then is flipped to the ground before he even knows what hit him. It's effortless, not even fun really. The second man releases the boy, knife pointed at America. He grabs the man's wrist, squeezing until he cries out and drops the knife. America flips him onto the ground as well. The two men scramble to their feet, glancing from America to the boy he now stands protectively in front of. They seem to weigh their options, their chances, and determine it's not worth the trouble.

"Best watch your back in the future, you little cutpurse!" One calls behind his shoulder.

"Get thee hence, you bunch of snipes!" The boy shouts, emboldened by America's presence.

America waits until the two men are well out of sight before turning to the boy. "Are you alright?"

When the boy gets a look at America he seems momentarily struck, eyes lighting up for just a second. "Ya, I'm alright. Grammarcy, sir."

"It seems dangerous for someone your age to be walking around in this sort of area. Does your mother know where you are?" Oh great, he's sounding like a nagging Arthur. How lame. But it's dangerous out here, clearly.

The boy represses a snort of amusement. A mum, really. As if she'd care if she was even around. However, he knows he's just lucked out and smiles nicely for the foreigner. "Mm. Mind taking me home? It's not far, I swear."

As if he'll say no to being a hero. "Sure, I'll get you back safe and sound! Do you know which way?"

The boy grabs his hand and, eyes darting around, quickly pulls America once more into the back alleys. This seems more dangerous but it's not like he can't handle anything that might be lurking back here. Abruptly the boy stops and puts a hand up, indicating for America to stay back a moment, then runs to the edge of a doorway and whistles loudly. A moment later a boy around the same age pops out. They talk hurriedly, the other boy hanging out the door to get a look at America. He quickly nods, there's more talking, and in a flash the other boy has run off.

America watches this all with some confusion, at first thinking that maybe it's the boy's brother or something. But no, the boy is returning and taking his hand again. "Sorry about that, sir. We can be on our way now."

"A friend of yours?" America allows himself to be tugged along.

"Yea, sir."

Things seem to be taking a lot longer than the boy implied; not that America minds. It almost feels like they're weaving in and out of places, killing time. But that's just a silly thought. He does, however, get tired of the silence. "So do you have a name?"

"Of course I got a name. Haven't most people got one?"

America laughs. "Sure, of course. What is your name?"

"James, sir."

"Good name, I've known quite a few in my day. It's uh... The year is still fifteen hundred and ninety five, right?" At least it doesn't feel as silly asking a kid.

"I would think so, unless I've not been paying proper attention. Been sleeping with the faeries and need some reassurance? Or just too much time in the pubs?" The boy laughs, amused by this strange man but not minding him all too much.

"Ah, just checking. It never hurts, right?" America laughs along with him, aware how ridiculous he must seem but not caring. As if he ever has. He's pretty sure he's given some of the others hemorrhages over his lack of knowledge on certain topics.

All of a sudden the boy from before comes running up to them, breathless but beaming. Once he's recovered he speaks in a hushed voice to James, who finally nods. The boy throws something like a smirk at Alfred then takes his other hand. "Good morrow, sir."

"Uh, right." What is going on? America gives them both confused smiles as they tug him forward.

James is quick to reassure him. "Oh it's nothing sir, my friend will just be coming with us if that's alright."

"Oh... Yeah, no problem!" Though even America is starting to get a weird feeling about this. Especially as their hands tighten on his almost simultaneously.

The feeling goes from being a vague notion to being a serious concern as he's suddenly brought to a dead end. "Um... What exactly is going on?"

Both the boys suddenly throw their weight down on Alfred's arm, James calling out, "Is this him? Is it?"

Alfred freezes, on the verge of lifting both kids up (really they weigh nothing at all), and turns his head to look where the boys are facing. It's not quite a dead end, there's actually an open doorway off to the side.

A figure steps out and a very grim-looking Arthur steps out into the light. He's dressed rather well, even better than the last time Alfred saw him. His eyes meet with Alfred's for a moment, expression not changing in the least. "This is him. Good work lads."

With an air of total indifference he pulls out a small pouch from one of his pockets and tosses it to the ground. The boys release Alfred and scramble to get it, cuffing one another as they both try to grab it. They dump the contents out. A few large, silver coins tumble to the ground and they make quick work of dividing them up, squabbling loudly until they're all squared away.

James stands and salutes Alfred. "Thanks for everything, sir!"

With that they're whooping and laughing and disappearing behind a corner. America stares in stunned silence. "...Was I just sold out?"

"You certainly were, poppet. It figures, really. I bribe informants and pay spies to find you and I get nothing. I offer a reward to pauper children and they deliver you to me within a fortnight. They work for cheaper, too. But now that I have you there is something I would very much like to know." Before America can even process what's happening England is striding forward and slamming him against the wall as he brings a flintlock up, jamming it violently under his chin. "Where exactly have you been?"

America stiffens. How is it that he's met past England twice and gotten one of his guns shoved in his face just as many times? "I've...been around."

England cocks the gun and presses it harder into his skin, the metal digging in hard enough to leave a round bruise there. "Oh? You have been 'around' and somehow alluded me for as long as you have? Don't treat me like a fool, Alfred. Where, eh? Some of my men saw you with that whoreson France before he left port. Or maybe with one of my brothers? Thought you might act a spy for Scotland? Ireland? Tell me so that I might send your corpse to the right one."

England really does have some anger issues. This is a sticky situation but America is cool as a cucumber, you can bet your buttons he is. If he already theoretically managed this he can get through it now, right? He just has to act some more. "I have been around, and I swear I haven't done anything! I happen to know someone who has been keeping me in sanctuary and I haven't ventured out."

"Pray tell, who is this 'guardian angel' of yours?" The question is asked in a hiss. "And if you haven't done anything wrong, why have you needed them to keep you in sanctuary?"

America definitely needs to use his best acting skills. Play on England's ego, milk it for all it's worth. Good thing he has practice with this. Alfred manages to put on that kicked dog look that always makes Arthur do whatever he wants him to and begins his song and dance. "Can you blame me for hiding? You're completely terrifying! When I was at your house I got bored and went out to waste some time. I ran into France and he tried to violate me."

Painting himself as the victim might be iffy but it's his best shot. Good, he can see the spark of anger in England's eyes at that. "Some of your men did see that but all I could think about was getting away from France and your boys weren't exactly friendly towards me. I thought they might kill me before I could explain things, so I just ran. Once I got away I was sure that they would tell you what they saw and that you would, well, react like this. I though you very well might kill me on the spot for supposedly consorting with France based on nothing more than false charges. I went into hiding. I didn't still think you would be searching for me."

Why hasn't he won an Emmy or something? His acting is pure gold. This story is so legit he can't even believe it. Or rather, he can. Hopefully England does, too. And it really is pretty crazy that England is still looking for him. It's obvious to him by now that more than the two weeks at home has passed by in the past. He's just not sure how much more.

No time to think about that now, England is sizing him up, considering his story. "And who is this person you've been hiding with? You still haven't said."

"I refuse to give a name. I don't want you hurting anyone on my account. You have me here, don't you? Decide if you want to believe me, what you want to do to me, and leave it at that." No, really, America's killing himself here with how awesome he is.

England clicks his tongue, drags the barrel of the gun along America's jaw slowly, then finally withdraws it. "I suppose I can see the logic in your thinking. For now I will choose to believe you. I was going to kill you for treason against the crown but now I think I might do something else with you instead. It would be too much a shame to blow off such a lovely face."

That doesn't sounds so good considering what England did to him last time. America presses a bit harder into the wall. "And what might that be?"

England puts the flintlock away and grabs America's wrist, gripping it way too tight. It hurts in that bone crushing sort of way. "I am taking you to a play."

It's completely not what America expects at all. "A wha?"

"A play, can't you hear? I was on my way to attend one then had to dash over here to collect you. I shant be letting you out of my sights again so you'll have to go with me I'm afraid." England keeps a very crisp pace as he leads America forward.

"But I don't want to see a play!" The last thing America wants is to be bored to death with a stuffy old play that's probably never even been a movie adaption.

"What a shame," England says without the faintest hint of sympathy. He'd rather not take Alfred or go now that he's found him but he can hardly snub the guests who will also be attending. It might breed ill will and he hardly needs that. "Perhaps you might like it. It's William Shakespeare's latest."

Oh... a name Alfred actually recognizes. "Shakespeare? Which one is it?"

Admittedly England is surprised he seems even vaguely interested. "Let's see, what was the name... Something like 'Midsummer's Night Dream'. About the faerie folk and some other foolishness apparently. I do hope it does not offend the Queen when she sees it."

"I thought the Queen never went to see the plays." That's one thing he vaguely remembers England spouting about on his long winded speeches about Queen Elizabeth and Shakespeare and how his culture is so great—more like boring—blah blah blah.

"Elizabeth? Of course she doesn't go to see the plays. Not in public theaters. She does like them but views them at private indoor playhouses." Though why he's even bothering with telling this fool is beyond him. Especially as he's still a risk of being a spy. That information might even be dangerous, though it is not exactly a secret. He must watch what he says around Alfred. He's just so damned disarming for some reason. "I was talking about a different Queen."

"Ah, of course." What, like the French queen or something? America decides to drop it before he says something that will have England mocking him again.

After that England picks up the pace, preventing anymore conversation between them. They finally arrive at a great wooden structure with a giant open center and three galleries surrounding it. A stage thrusts out from one side and the rest of the yard is wide open, a considerable crowd starting to gather within. England drops two English pennies in a box at the entrance but does not move towards the crowd but rather towards another door. He pays another two English pennies, holding onto Alfred as if he is some sort of naughty child that might run off. And still they are going to yet another door.

Here England pauses and finally releases Alfred almost cautiously, speaking low to the man at the door while he hands him what most definitely is more than just a couple of English pennies. "You have taken care of all of the arrangements for me?"

"Aye, Lord Kirkland. The area is blocked off for you. Shall I be expecting anyone in particular to be joining you?" Curiosity sparks in the man's eyes despite himself.

"That will not be necessary. I...wish to go examine it briefly. Please keep an eye on that one behind me and alert me immediately if he tries to get away. I will be back down in just a moment."

The man looks at Alfred, who raises his eyebrows and grins. "As you wish, my Lord."

He lets England through but stops America. "What's the deal?"

"You are to stay here until Lord Kirkland comes for you. Now wait."

America scowls at the closed door and crosses his arms. What is all this about anyway? Stupid... Arthur is an ass.

England makes his way up the stairs, through the various boxes. Here there are not only places to sit but also cushions. High ladies hiding their identities with masks glance his way while Lords and gentry in fine clothes eat and drink heartily. Towards the end of the row a curtain has been put up, as he requested. It does not matter if someone is to glance across the way, he simply does not want anyone trying to sit down.

Pushing the curtain aside England steps inside the space, and suddenly the air is filled with the scent of apples, sweet grass, dew drops, and wild flowers. Two figures wait in the box. King Oberon, sleek and sharp with strong features and arrogant bone structure. Upon his head sits a crown of great ram horns. Beside him is Queen Mab, the vision of a perfect summer's day. Upon her brow is a simple ringlet of small roses. Both are dressed more finely than any of the bawdy Nobles could hope to be, their clothes carefully spun of spider silk, moss, and fine gauze.

Oberon will not rise to greet him, and Mab waits for him to come to her. He bows low on one knee to each of them. "My Lord, my Lady. As ever I am honored to be in your presence."

Oberon raises his chin and smiles haughtily. "Indeed, young Arthur. It is always pleasing to see your fresh face. Arise."

Arthur stands and goes to Queen Mab, once more bowing his head to kiss her outstretched hand. "You are as radiant as ever."

"Only that?" She caresses his cheek.

"That and more," he adds quickly. "Please forgive me for taking so long. There was something I had to retrieve."

"It is nothing," she says, slipping her arms around his shoulders. She is taller than him, taller even than Alfred stands. Almost as tall as Oberon, if he ever deigned to stand. "I am quite interested to see this work. If this mortal knows what is good for him, he won't have made fools of our likeness."

Oberon speaks, voice bright. "Oh, I hope quite the opposite. I am eager to see how bold this creature is in writing us."

The topic is moving forward quickly and England gently tries to reign it back. "We shall all see for ourselves soon enough. I...have brought someone with me. I must keep an eye on him. I will have him sit in the corner and you may both ignore him completely."

"And shall you ignore us?" the Queen's voice is like the deep chill of a river.

"Never, dear Lady. If you wish for me to speak, I shall at your command. I shall fetch him by your leave alone."

This seems to satisfy her and Oberon is indifferent. "Go then, retrieve him."

England bows slightly as she withdraws her arms from around him and he passes through the curtain again. He takes a deep breath as he does. In no way does he dislike the King and Queen of the faerie court but both are dangerously fickle. For William's sake he hopes the man hasn't bungled the whole thing in his play.

~.

America follows Arthur, slightly irritated. No matter how much he nags the other man seems determined to ignore any questions on just what the hell took so long. What, did he have to examine the cushions for perfect stitching craftsmanship?

As they reach the curtained off area England pauses. "I expect you to sit down at the end, as far down as you can get. Do not sit down anywhere else. I recommend you don't even speak. Just sit down and watch the play."

"You have serious control issues, you know that Arthur?" When England's hard look doesn't waver he rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine! Be all weird and don't even try to give an explanation why."

"Make sure you do as I say." With that England steps passed the curtain and America follows him. He's almost tempted to throw himself down immediately just to irritate England but doesn't feel like getting bitched out.

"Mm, it smells good in here." Like potpourri or some fancy candle or something.

"Sit," England says sharply.

"I'm not a dog!" He meets England's glare for a long moment then takes a seat when he finally feels like it.

Arthur sits stiffly between his royal guests and Alfred. It does not stop Queen Mab from looking him over. "Are you terribly attached to him, my dearest Arthur? He looks like fun to play with. A dab of my ointment in his eye and..."

Oberon's words come off as casual but authoritative. "I think, my Queen, you have enough mortal lovers. And have you not already payed your tithe to Hell? What do you need him for? Besides, I find his voice unpleasing to the ear."

England is infinitely relieved that their argument is interrupted before it can really begin as a man walks out onto the stage, voice booming. Oblivious to the conversation that has just taken place about him, America leans forward and listens. Even he has to acknowledge there's something kind of cool about seeing a legit Shakespeare play. And as they begin he immediately remembers how incredibly boring he thinks it is. It's no good until things get all mucked up with the fairy magic or whatever.

On the verge of drifting off, even with the arrival of Puck and everything, America suddenly notices England has gotten very tense beside him. There's no way he can know how stormy the mood has become with the icy silence of Queen Mab, not helped by Oberon's roaring laughter as the plot unfolds, his counterpart making a fool of his lady love on the stage. "You alright, Arthur?"

England flinches, as if the words almost broke a delicate piece of glass. "Fine."

"Ookay. Just making sure." America tries watching the play some more then starts looking around. It's actually more interesting to watch the audience. The people on the ground level, the poor people he supposes, laugh at strange lines and seem to be having a lot more fun overall. He kind of wishes he was down there instead. The mood is getting weird up here.

His attention returns to the stage as a young boy comes out in a dress and starts reciting lines. "Why do all the actors have to be men?"

Another flinch. "It's illegal for women to be on stage. That would just be lewd."

"That's ridiculous. It'd be much more appealing with actual women." He should know.

England gives him a ghost of a smile. "How very scandalous of you to suggest."

"Eeh, what's the worst that could happen? Would it put a pox upon everyone's house?" He laughs at the very thought of it.

"It's just the way things... Yes, I'm sure they picked the prettiest man they possibly could to play you." England says suddenly, the second half more mumbled than anything.

America blinks. "What?"

"What." England looks at him, daring him to question the statement.

America slowly looks back at the stage. That... was kind of weird. He frowns but keeps his eyes forward. At least things are better now, Titania finally cursed or whatever and tripping over "herself" for the actor with a head of an ass. He doesn't say anything but he can't help but notice England making quiet comments that are in no way directed at him. What is up with-

Oh. Oh man, of course! That is just the most hilarious, slightly adorable thing ever. England has imaginary friends even now. Pft, acting all badass when he probably throws tea parties for his little fairy friends. The matter settled in his mind, Alfred no longer lets it bother him and drifts in and out of the play.

America suddenly shivers and turns to England. "Is it just me or has it suddenly gotten a little chilly?"

England glances at Queen Mab, who is watching the play with a seething expression. It seems to be too much for her to see herself submit to the Oberon in the play, especially after he has made a total fool of her character. Oberon looks utterly enthralled. "...I have no idea what you could possibly mean."

Finally the final act comes, there is the play within the play, and the faerie folk speak their final words, ending with Puck's monologue, the actor's voice strong and confident. "If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend: if you pardon, we will mend: And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends ere long; Else the Puck a liar call; So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends."

Even as others begin to applaud and call out Mab is standing, laughing sharply. "Oh, so he does not mean offense? I shall certainly not pardon such mockery! Never have I been so offended in my life!"

Oberon yawns. "You take yourself far too seriously, my Queen. I thought it quite entertaining."

America finishes clapping and turns to England. "So what'd you-"

England reaches over and grabs his arm tightly, squeezing hard. "Sh. Stop talking and don't move."

"Wha-"

"Sh!"

England is so stiff, so apprehensive, that Alfred sinks back, staring at him with a baffled expression. How can he know that only a few feet from him an unearthly Queen is in a terrible wrath? Mab is pacing, further antagonized by the continued applause. "This man shall suffer for his insolence! Soon enough I shall make him pay... Trade his son's life for my stolen dignity! Come Oberon, away!"

Queen Mab vanishes on a violent summer breeze that frankly startles the shit out of Alfred. Oberon laughs merrily and stands, majestic in his full height. "She is a hellfire, dearest Mab. Thank you for the entertainment, Arthur. Come visit our court soon. Perhaps we can finally tempt you to eat something."

King Oberon departs on a much more friendly breeze that lightly ruffles their hair then quiets. Arthur lets out a slow breath, releasing Alfred's arm. "It's alright now."

"Oookay. Was that some sort of crazy breeze or what?" He runs a hand through his hair. "So what did you think?"

"I think I need a drink." England stands, glancing down at the stage for a moment. "Poor man. It was not the wisest choice of content. Damn good play, though."

A drink, maybe that means he can get some food. America is determined to be much more careful with alcohol this time around. "It was alright. I like the bits with the fairies mostly. The rest of it is pretty boring. Plus I never have any idea what anyone is talking about."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," England says, still a bit preoccupied with the reaction of his royal guests. It is a shame that Mab had been so determined to see this.

America frowns. He hates that England thinks he's nothing but an idiot. He tries to remember something smart he's heard about the play. "Uh...well... I think it was also interesting how Shakespeare sort of made commentary on the whole process of putting on plays with the play within the play that summed up stuff in the play itself."

England pauses at the curtain and looks at Alfred thoughtfully. "That was rather poorly said but I am impressed you picked up on it. I will have to watch this again. I was too apprehensive to fully appreciate it."

"What was that all about anyway? Seriously, you were so stiff the whole time. You have to take a piss or something?"

Arthur scowls at him, clearly losing any esteem he might have stocked in Alfred for his former comment. "No! It's nothing you have to worry about."

Maybe England was having a lover's spat with his imaginary friends. "Fine, be that way. It's not like you'll have to worry about it anyway. You're gonna get to see this play for forever."

England raises an eyebrow. "You think it's good enough to last so long? I thought you weren't that impressed."

Oops. That had kind of slipped. "Uh, I mean... Well, Shakespeare's work strikes me as something that's going to last. Call it a hunch."

"You think so? He's not bad. I do rather like some of his plays. But you think he'll be the one to last?"

America is somewhat surprised. Arthur loves to brag about Shakespeare, totally champions him in the present. So what's with this nay saying? "Sure! In fact, I pretty much know so."

England is mostly curious why Alfred seems so sure when he doesn't even seem that interested in theater. "And why him over Marlowe, Jonson, Beaumont, or even Fletcher? They're all great playwrights."

"Who...? Look, I bet you...uh... some large amount of money that he totally will! I swear, even like, over four hundred years from now they'll still be putting on his stuff."

England laughs. "Quite confident in yourself. And how will you be able to collect even if you are right? You'll be long dead by then."

"I dunno, doesn't matter. I'm right." Of course he is. Sure that makes it cheating that he's from the future but it's true and he savors being right around this arrogant prick.

"I see." England smirks. "Then sometime 'over four hundred years from now', if you are right, I will throw 'some large amount of money' into the ocean if I can be bothered to recall this. Sound fair?"

America almost misses the last step on the staircase and has to steady himself against the wall. Throwing money in the ocean for a bet... That date on England's calender that he had been all weird and secretive about... "You remembered."

England pauses and turns to look at him curiously. "Remembered what?"

"Ah... I- I mean you had better remember that! Because the idea of you tossing money into the ocean is just so hilarious!" He laughs but he's still shocked. Why would England remember such a stupid little bet made a little over four hundred years ago?

England clasps him on the back as they make their way from the theater, mostly to keep him from bolting. "Shall do, lad. Now let us see about that drink and see if I can't get more information out of you."

America hesitates. Maybe he should actually take this more seriously. Maybe he should be responsible, think things through and- Nah, that's boring. He'll go with the flow. "You won't get a thing from me!"

"Your secrecy only makes you more alluring," England says bluntly. At this point America isn't a throwaway conquest so much as a puzzle he's obsessed with solving.

"Gross," America says, making a face.

"You weren't complaining last time," England almost purrs, enjoying the flustered blush that comes to America's cheeks.

"Be quiet, no one asked you!" That's not fair, he was drunk at the time, a victim of date rape!

England chuckles, settling his hand on the back of Alfred's neck and steering him forward. Even if he can't get more information he has full intention of getting another taste of Alfred himself.

Terminology:

Egg-shell – Worthless thing

Cutpurse – Pickpocket

Get thee hence – Get out of here

Snipes – Fools

Grammarcy – Thank you

Good marrow – Good day

Fortnight – About fourteen days

Whoreson – Fellow, dog

Research Notes:

England's relationships with his brothers at the time (kindly provided by my friend):

Wales: England had them since the 1200s.
Scotland: Not owned by England, they had their own monarchy and proved a pain in the neck. Scotland wouldn't be joined in a union with England until 1707.
Ireland: Were in the middle of working on conquests of it.

Midsummer's Night Dream: This play is thought to have been first performed somewhere between 1594 and 1596. Obviously I put it in 1595. It was performed first in The Theater (where Al and Artie saw it) then was later performed at The Globe.

Queen Mab and King Oberon (because why not): Mab, queen of the fairies. She was thought to be beautiful, seductive, cold, and deadly. She is said to have payed tithe to Satan, supposedly sacrificing her mortal lovers for this cause. Oberon, king of the fairies. In my mind he will always be a sexy black man (because of the version I saw performed).

Dab of ointment in the eye: This might be more of an Irish thing but whatev. A dab of a special ointment in the eye would allow mortals to see fairies and their magic, which was usually not a good thing in the least.

Puck's monologue: Shakespeare's plays were actually written on the fly, so I'm sure his monologue wouldn't have been this perfect at this stage but surely no one is that picky.

Hamnet: Shakespeare's son, Hamnet, died at the age of 11 on August 11, 1596. I have no idea how Mab knew he had a son. Because she's cool like that.

Get Arthur to eat something: Again, this might be more Irish. Eating faerie food leads to eternal captivity in the faerie realm.

Playwrights: Christopher Marlowe, Ben Jonson, Francis Beaumont, John Fletcher were all famous playwrights around the same time of Shakespeare. Christopher Marlowe is even said by some people to be the true writer of Shakespeare's plays.