Nine years later, both Réunion and Mauritius surrendered to overpowering British forces.
Seychelles sighed in frustration upon hearing this news from Quincy. Of course, it was now only a matter of time before the British fleet would make its way north to deal with the pesky, pro-slaver colony that had lingered under French rule for decades.
With all likelihood, the Brits would arrive in a couple of months, and she and Quincy, newly named Justice of the Peace, would have to deal with whiney, prissy, snobby sailors that had only showed up in the first place because they wanted to steal even more land from France.
She ignored a twinge of pain in her heart and banished the related memory from her mind as quickly as a snuffed out candle. She and Quincy now had a political response and strategy to plan, after all.
She shook her head and grabbed a chair for herself and another for Quincy, placing them both at his desk, before sitting down and waiting for him to join her.
Good Lord, I really hope they don't send England himself.
I I I
It was on an unseasonably cool day in April that the Nisus haughtily crawled her way towards the shores of Mahé, like a petulant child, unwilling to meet its occupants. She was flying British colours, of course, and Quincy and Seychelles stood on the beach, equally begrudged, and awaited whoever was to come.
It didn't take the Captain long to bark out a few orders to his men, having them prepare a longboat for himself and another gentleman; his back was turned towards her and Quincy, but Seychelles' heart dropped like a stone at the flash of bright yellow hair hidden behind that monstrous hat.
She waited for the inevitable. And the inevitable came.
Immediately, she switched her mind over to 'English-mode,' realizing belatedly that this would be her first real test concerning the foreign language. And, considering the importance of her audience, this was turning out to be a true test indeed.
The colony had grown large enough by now (it was verging on almost six thousand semi-permanent occupants!) for Quincy to allow Seychelles to roam on her own without hiding, so long as she did not make any permanent acquaintances; the people here, despite forming her colony, were not able to know who she was. This she understood.
And this was why she now stood on the beach in plain sight of anyone who dared watch the confrontation.
The boat drifted ever closer, the British captain at the oars and England (good God, it was England) sitting behind him, legs and arms crossed, an expression of utter indifference expressed by the contours on his face. Finally, the hull touched sand, and the Captain leapt out, dragging the rest onto the shore, so that the ocean could no longer claim it.
Besides England, who perfectly fit the part of one who belonged on a naval vessel, this middle-aged captain's appearance completely boasted seamanship: his short, tousled black hair and sideburns spoke of the South African wind whipping through it, and Seychelles pictured him smiling grimly at the helm, or perhaps confidently standing on the bow of the Nisus, watching the sea swirl past. His naval wear complimented his hair perfectly, being of the same pitch black colour, embroidered at each hem with golden fabric; his brilliant white plants shone almost as brightly as his brass buttons gleamed, and it was obvious he shined his black buckled shoes as often as he could.
Seychelles tried not to stare to noticeably.
Once the oars were safely stowed and the British Nation had followed his Captain gracefully out of the boat, the two turned towards Seychelles and the Justice of Peace, their disregard clearly apparent.
The Captain, deigning not to introduce himself right away, took one look at Seychelles, and raised an eyebrow in disbelief. England stood at attention, hands behind his back, this time sporting a dazzling red, knee length coat over his white shirt and black pants, and opted to stare as well at Seychelles, smirking, as if waiting for her to mess up.
Seychelles, again, had to stop herself from starting, maneuvering her gaze away from his figure and choosing instead to glare right back at the (she could tell already) British snob of a captain.
"And what, pray tell, is this, this girl, this measly little scrap of a thing doing standing beside our great and powerful Seychellois leader," the Captain asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Quincy opened his mouth to answer, but Seychelles beat him to it, stepping forward and answering for herself. She was tall for a girl her age (what a human expression), and she was pleased to find that the Captain only had about five centimeters on her in height, and was equally as delighted to find that she stood on eye-level with the British Empire. She spoke in lilting, lightly accented English.
"You, sir, happen to be conversing not only with my colony's very capable Justice of the Peace, but also directly with this colony's embodiment herself. I can assure you that I am very capable of listening to what you have to say here, and, perhaps later, acting upon it. Take into account that you have already referred to me in an unpleasant manner; for your sake, please do not do so again."
She stepped back and noted with satisfaction the sudden disappearance of England's sinister smile.
"…Yes, well… Shall we crack on then? Captain Philip Beaver; charmed," he drawled, taking Quincy's hand in a firm, quick handshake before continuing on. "And you both have the honour of addressing the National Representative of the British Empire, I do hope you realize."
Seychelles must have made a noise in the back of her throat as she tried to stifle a laugh at the official title these humans gave to Nations. Captain Beaver shot her of look of incredulity, and England's frown simply deepened.
She was beginning to really dislike how that frown never seemed to change. But Beaver was talking once more, and Seychelles turned her gaze from England to the Captain, bracing herself for the boring negotiations to come.
"If the slow, but steady growth of this colony is anything to go by, Quincy, it would be daft not to congratulate you on your intelligence, quick wit, and lack of similarity to the National Representative of France."
England's smirk returned full flare, and Seychelles shot him a disgusted look before turning back once more. Quincy blinked and looked surprised, although he showed no hesitation in his answer.
"We do what we must, and, hidden away in the middle of the ocean, Captain, you understand how easily we are able to carry on doing so; but you have my thanks. Therefore…?"
Beaver continued, miffed. "Therefore, I am willing to allow the, ah, particular terms of your special capitulation to stand; I have the necessary documents on my person, to be looked over…perhaps somewhere with a little more privacy, if you would."
Nodding, Quincy gestured for his bizarre little entourage to follow behind him, heading for his cabin. Seychelles reluctantly turned her back on England before pivoting and walking quickly to her friend's side, noting with interest how in her and Quincy's favour this conversation had begun.
They had little distance to walk, seeing as Quincy's cabin was right by the tree line. However, as they weaved between the first few wood and grass huts, they passed a procession of master and slaves, who were, judging from their farming tools, off to an agricultural field to reap what crop they could.
She heard both men scoff behind them as wasn't at all surprised when Beaver took his cue to quash any relief Seychelles might have been feeling.
"But, of course you do realize, that this abhorrent notion of slavery must go, Quincy. The whole business is frowned upon by the world now, and we will not stand for it here upon these islands, you understand."
They had reached the door of the cabin and Quincy waited until the three figures stepped over the entrance way before answering, closing the door behind him. The outside (comforting) noise of home was abruptly cut off.
"'We shall not stand?' I'm sorry, Captain Beaver, but I'm afraid, considering you've so easily agreed to the continued capitulation, I don't really understand your wording."
As he spoke, he opened a cabinet drawer by his desk and pulled out an ornate bottle of eaux-de-vie from its interior, as well as two crystal glasses. He expertly poured the alcohol as only a Frenchman could do and handed the glasses to his two guests.
"Oh come now, Quincy, do not ruin your reputation so - Philip is an important man: quite the conqueror; you do not want this particular Captain taking advantage of you."
Seychelles started as she turned towards England. These were the first words he had said during the entire conversation, introductions and all. She had almost (one could never really) managed to forget he was there. He leant casually against a wooden wall, holding his glass and taking in his surroundings, before his gaze came to rest on Quincy, after casually lingering upon Seychelles, like a lion contemplating whether to kill an animal out of hunger or boredom.
He downed his glass and she suppressed a shiver.
"This man has pried uncountable island colonies from the weak grasp of that bloody frog. I'm quite sure you have not forgotten, dear Quincy: Ceylon, Martinique, Réunion, Mauritius, of course…"
England ticked off these names on his slender fingers, voice dropping to almost a coo. His gaze flicked from Beaver to Quincy and back again, as if comparing the two men. Seychelles was really beginning to see the ruthlessness behind that gaze, how he sized up these men, as if they were nothing more than his puppets to control. She could see just how he would have gained so much power - so wise, cruel, and calculating.
"We have no intent on stopping at Mauritius. Your wits have simply saved us from having to come up with a system ourselves. How I do love a little luck now and again."
His quirked lip fell, making way for another of those frowns, those scowls that just seemed to scream: 'I'm better than you, and I won't let you forget it.' He pushed himself lazily off the wall, walking over to the nearest chair, twirling it around, sitting down like he owned the place, so that he straddled it with his legs, leaning over its back and gazing indifferently up at the rest of them.
"Seychelles has evaded capture for a remarkably long time, indeed. But this negligence on our part stops here. Yes, we will let your capitulation stand, yes, Quincy, you shall remain Justice of the Peace, and yes, you will continue to govern your colony via French traditions, as much as it pains me to say so."
Now, he sat up even straighter that he already was, something Seychelles had previously thought impossible, and stared directly at her.
"But this is now my colony to rule, and I will therefore see fit to rule it by my judgment alone, and no other - do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Seychelles found herself nodding in agreement even before she had fully comprehended his meaning. The calm, calculating tone of his voice was almost hypnotizing, his British accent absolutely perfect; it was as if nothing else other than what it intended could possibly be true.
She stopped herself and blinked as England rose to help himself to another healthy (or not so healthy) portion of the French brandy, emptying it again with a single swallow. She grimaced and stepped forward, hoping to clarify the situation.
"And how, England, to you intend on doing so? Am I to expect your constant presence upon my island from now on?"
Now it was England's turn to blink at her from across the room, and he smiled once more, suave and haughty.
"Why, yes, actually. I shall from now until I see fit be acting as a British Royal Marine, and my job will be to monitor the, ah, Seychelles situation. Slavery at the present is, of course, still legal by British law - do not forget that you are now under the general legalities of the British Empire - although I do very much doubt it shall be for much longer. Slave trading, however, is not, and believe you me, I will be doing everything in my power to assure the bloody business does not continue under my watch."
Seychelles shoulders sagged at the authority in this command, and she glanced helplessly at Quincy, who only shrugged in return, sending the message that there really wasn't anything that they could do, now that their closest allies had surrendered to the most powerful Empire in the current world.
England had not finished however, and she noticed with and odd mixture of amusement and horror the small, hardly noticeable pink tinge that had now adorned his cheeks, which could only have come from the two half-glasses of eaux-de-vie he had just ingested.
"Now, I do believe that it is high time I familiarized myself with the little colony before us, considering she won't be an utter bore to converse with this time. You have taught her well, Quincy, old boy. Don't forget to look over and sign those documents, eh, Philip? I shall return to the Nisus presently, and I wish you all the luck in the world."
And before she could even protest, England had taken her arm in his. Ignoring Quincy's huff of disapproval and Beaver's sigh as he reached into his coat pocket for the documents, he led Seychelles to the door, opened it, and compelled her out onto the beach, closing it behind him with a smart snap.
"Well then." He exhaled and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds before opening them and smiling rather beguilingly at Seychelles before looking straight ahead. She tried to remove her arm from his, but his grip on it only tightened. "I must offer you a congratulatory word at the status of your colony, my dear. Growing, and growing rather quickly for such a solitary archipelago."
It took Seychelles' mind a few seconds to realize that she had just been referred to by her old nickname, only in a different language, however, she couldn't really dwell on the implications, as England continued to drone on. They walked slowly along the shoreline, and the waves lapped at the sand to their right.
"However, I must admit, it will give me great pleasure to lead you around on the very same leash France has so foolishly lost his grip on; maybe I shall even find you a dog collar to wear as I parade you around for the sodding cheese-eater to see exactly what it is he has lost."
The sudden switch from a compliment to such an insult was disturbing, and with this comparison, Seychelles finally did manage to wrench her arm out of England's solid grip, glaring at him as he had the audacity to laugh at her reaction.
"Oh, come now, my dear, you are naught but a colony and this small title boasts nothing but change and discomfort. Your entire existence belongs to those who have led you along the way - my sincerest condolences that you happened to fall under the care of France."
He stepped closer to Seychelles, too close, and placed a hand upon her upper arm, leaning in to whisper in her ear.
"But now it is my turn."
She exhaled at the proximity of this great and terrible Empire, taking perhaps a little too long to shrug off his hold and step back once again, her angry eyes blazing.
"All you want is control and obedience, England. I can assure you that you won't find very much of that here."
She added as an afterthought: "no wonder America fought so hard to get rid of you."
She flinched back as England tensed, livid, and raised a hand as if to strike her, before, with what seemed like a tremendous amount of will-power, lowering it back down to rest at his side, fist clenched, as was the other. She noticed with a certain sense of smug guilt that he was shaking; she had had no idea how greatly this statement would affect him.
"You will never," he said, voice dangerously low, "speak to me about America that way again. Know your place, colony."
And with that he straightened his collar and stalked off, managing a somewhat graceful pivot in the sand, and walked back the way they had come, presumably to re-connect with Quincy and Beaver. He had nowhere else to go, after all.
Seychelles was left standing, dumbfounded, as the revelation of discovering the weakness of the world's greatest Empire sank in.
I I I
To her initial dismay, Seychelles found herself spending quite a lot of time with her colony's new Royal Marine, or course, the great British Empire, Arthur Kirkland. Captain Beaver had not stayed for very long at all, seeing to his Nation's comfort before quick 'farewells' and 'be goods' and his return to the Nisus.
It was always England who came to seek her out, walking with her on the beach, or inviting her to watch him tidy up his new quarters, (a cabin that had just been recently abandoned by a family of slaves) and as much as she tried to hate him at first, she grudgingly began to realize how much she missed the company of other beings like her. Beings who had seen the ocean's waves come and go millions upon millions of times, who had fought for the impossibility of recognition, and who understood the burdens of not only themselves, but of their land, their territory, and their people.
She had not forgotten his reference to the dog collar, of course, nor his heated remarks on her status as a colony, but he had not mentioned anything of it since, and, well… she had to admit that she found a kind of wary solace in England's presence.
Seychelles also noticed how different he became when he was not surrounded by important figures, captains, or politicians. Or, for that matter, empty of several shots of liquor. His scowls receded to thoughtful frowns, as did the level of cruelty in his voice. He replaced the utmost precision with simply being correct, and complained rather comically when he did not get his way. Perhaps it was because he felt the need to influence his people into retaining the power they had brought upon themselves, as opposed to himself. Perhaps, when un-needed, he relaxed his Empirical attitude so that its weight would not drive him to insanity. Perhaps…well. Perhaps he was just not as bad as France had led her to believe.
The young colony smiled and shook her head as she sat on the beach by the sheer granitic cliff face, waiting for England to arrive, remembering their first conversation after the one in which they had fought.
After some slightly awkward small talk he had told her that he was to be acting under the name of Bartholomew Sullivan, Royal Marine to Seychelles from the British Empire, and Seychelles couldn't help but burst out laughing at the bizarre combination of first and last names he had given her. They had just fit so well with his obscenely obvious British demeanor, that she had just laughed and laughed, which only escalated at his indignant, overly British spluttering.
Needless to say, their rapport only improved from then on.
It was an odd rapport, to say the least, but England offered Seychelles a sort of challenge, always keeping her on her toes, and teaching her what it meant to have real responsibility. Not that France didn't have real responsibility, but it seemed like England really took his duties seriously. She had often wondered if she was opening herself up too quickly to the likes of such a ruthless Empire, but…
Her thoughts were cut off, suddenly, as England's sure-footed steps sounded on the firm sand, and she turned her head to see him walking towards her, panting and mopping at his face with handkerchief adorned with the Union Jack.
She stood and folded her arms, eyebrow raised as he shot her an indignant look and stuffed the handkerchief back into his shirt pocket.
"This is the third bloody day in a row that I have been positively chasing dropped hints and clues around your entire island concerning the trading of slaves, and each sodding time I find nothing, no evidence whatsoever to help prove that my tip-off was valid. Sooner or later, my dear, I am going to be forced to believe your citizens are nothing but liars and cheaters, the lot of them."
He sulked, as if he did not just insult her entire population, and she regarded him coolly, arms still crossed.
"Although I'm sure you have not fallen hard of hearing this past week, I will remind your once more that we do as we please, and have done so for the past fifty years. I doubt even the great British Empire could control each and every one of our traditions in a week."
England narrowed his eyes at her before smirking slightly and straightening his collar, his shirt sleeves, and the alignment of his cuff links in response.
"Indeed. Needless to say this whole ordeal is driving me mad; you understand."
He held out his arm for her to take and she did, falling into an easy rhythm beside him. She remembered with a pang how opposite her encounters were with France, all fun and games and entertainment. Time spent with England involved politics, enlightened discussion, and English practice - all very intelligent, of course.
She couldn't decide which she liked more.
This thought triggered more memories, memories of France's complaints and hateful remarks concerning this Nation. She was beginning to see that this was a symptom of jealousy, rather than actual truth. She understood how much it had to have hurt France to have his colonies taken from him, but knowing the immoralities of the activities she allowed on her own island to ensure its survival, she was beginning to understand the necessity of strength and what one was forced to do to obtain it.
She sighed and glanced at England from the corner of her eye, straight backed and proper. He picked up on this and raised his monstrous eyebrows.
"What is it, love?"
She bit her lip before answering, deciding to be blunt.
"Why do you even talk to me, England? Isn't your job more important that getting to know a simple little colony like myself?"
England sighed and closed his eyes for a second, opening them again and looking straight ahead.
"I'm honestlyy quite surprised France hasn't managed to scare you away from me after filling your head with his biased lies all these years. The only thing I have against the frog is his inability to see past the wine and cheese and focus on how important his responsibilities really are. I have nothing against the man himself."
Seychelles, hating herself, agreed with him, nodding her head slowly. Again, she counted herself lucky to have been coached by Quincy.
"All he seems to care about is romancing every Nation and colony he can get his dirty little hands on and influencing them to be like him."
Here he paused, eyes distant and full of memories.
"I…I must admit he does seem to create long-lasting relationships with those he claims, while however hard I try, all I seem to get are little rebels and misbehaviors."
An odd look of sadness mixed with amusement flashed across his face, and Seychelles was sure he was thinking of America. The look disappeared quite quickly however and made room for one of his familiar, thoughtful, almost endearing scowls.
"Not that I really mind a little rebellion, of course. It can be a tad, well, irksome, but, ah, I suppose it gives the opposition a sense of, well, himself, um, themselves…"
He looked over at Seychelles a little helplessly before regaining his composure.
"Do forgive me, love - sometimes I feel as if I have too many memories swirling about in my head. Work is important, and necessary; business is business, which is why France and I will never see eye to eye, but I suppose the reason I spend the time I do with you is because I understand your hardships. And as much as I cannot and will not be able to escape doing anything to obtain everything that I can, I find that sometimes, well… most of the time, people assume that I am…ah, quite frankly, heartless, a concept I have never wished to be labeled as. I want to make your transition from culture to culture as easy as possible."
England took a breath, slightly winded from this speech and looked mildly impressed with himself, Syechelles noted with amusement. She squeezed his arm lightly and answered carefully, not wanting to injure his clearly apparent pride.
"Well, thank you, England. Let's just say I'm beginning to have my doubts about some of the stories France has told me."
England nodded once, a curt nod, and continued looking ahead.
"Smashing."
They walked on in silence for a while before England perked up and gestured towards the slowly shrinking distance between them and the village huts and cabins.
"I'm willing to wager you haven't tried a genuine English scone, my dear. What say you to a particularly wonderful international delicacy? Quite an improvement from France's overly rich cuisine, if I do say so myself…"
And Seychelles agreed, following England's lead, wondering what new surprise she would be in for now.
AN - PHEW! Sorry for the delay - lotsa research and drawn out negotiations and talking Nations. I hope you're enjoying my confused England... He's so different from modern England, it's hilarious. And I just adore my confident Seychelles. :3 Omfg, also, the dog collar. See what I did thur?
OKAY! No translations, but history time!
Réunion and Mauritius did surrender to Britain in December of 1810, and they moved on to take Seychelles from there. The day in April was not cold - I just wanted to write that...
Captain Philip Beaver was a cool dude - over a span of about 15 years, he rose through the ranks of the Navy and participated in many conquerings of little islands that belonged to France, or just colonies in general. Ceylon = Sri Lanka and Martinique is a little guy in the Caribbean. He basically just bade his time and kept fucking France's shit up so much he got promoted, and to this day is recognized as an amazing officer who Captained three ships. He died at sea a couple years after taking Seychelles of some crazy foreign fever. Awks.
He left behind a Royal Marine, and Bartholomew Sullivan was a REAL PERSON! But England shall stand as him because I needed an excuse to bring him back. I think it's a really funny name... Oh hon hon hon... His official title is in the chapter, and he basically existed to tell the Seychellois to stop trading slaves, but because the entire island existed on slave trading, he had a hard time doing this. We'll explore this more in the next chapter. Quincy got to keep his status as Justice of the Peace, and Britain pretty much changed nothing whatsoever except for actually owning the entire colony instead of France. But they let the French/citizens who lived there continue to do what they wanted. They left one man to try and dictate British rule. It didn't work so well. :P
And that's about it! Please let me know if you like this chapter. :)
~WhiteWinters