The Rules of being a Gentleman
"Angleterre! Help him!" France's panicked voice came over the phone.
England blinked in surprised. He had expected his brother's annoyed voice.
"F-France?"
"Le Russie 'as gone off ze deep end!"
"What?"
"'e 'as attacked us!"
"Is Scotland alright?" England asked without really thinking; he had been worrying about the red head all day. Normally his first reaction would to angrily rant at how it was the red head's fault.
"Uh…" France's voice came across unsure.
Finally after a short pause, the blonde's voice reappeared. "'e is in un tight spot pour now…"
England heard lots of sudden movement and arguments with shouting.
There was a sudden clatter though.
England's eyes widened. "Scotland? Frog?"
Only silence replied.
The blonde paused, trying to hear the tell-tale dial-tone of a hanged up phone. He strained his ears before he suddenly heard a heavy Scottish accent.
"Eng…nd? Ye sti… there?"
"Scotland?"
"Ay… Haff ye tho…ht of a reason …et?"
The phone crackled badly, cutting words out, presumably from being dropped.
However England was more annoyed that Scotland was still asking for a reason. Here he was, worried sick for once about his stupid, irresponsible older brother, while Scotland was still messing around with that idiotic bet.
Doesn't that bastard realise how anxious England was!
Ah!...
England blinked in surprised.
Did England actually ever say that?
He and his brother did have a complex relationship; it was a strange mixture of brotherly love, mild dislike and teasing.
Then there were other negative things; like guilt, jealousy, sadness and anger that also made up pieces of their relationship.
England would feel guilty about ways he mistreated his Scotland; Scotland would feel jealous of England's relationships with other countries; England would feel sad when Scotland acted uncaring and Scotland would be angry when England belittled him.
However, despite the hate from their past shadowing them, they loved each other and would even once in a blue moon show it.
Sometimes Scotland would pick him up from a pub when he was too drunk to drive; sometimes England would help Scotland with his paperwork; sometimes Scotland would not bully him; sometimes England would let the red head smoke despite their leader's orders.
Yet this was always a muted agreement.
A silently arranged relationship of mutual dislike and love.
Made because England is too embarrassed to say what he feels and Scotland uses actions far more often than words.
But now the red head wanted a vocal confirmation from the blonde.
England felt his face warm up slightly. He hated saying what he really felt; it was just so embarrassing! Why would Scotland want him to say it out loud anyway?
He had to know that England was so anxious for him! Didn't he?...
"Scotland? You do know that I…. I… I…"
England felt himself turn a deep scarlet.
"… That I… I…"
Come on! He was once the fucking British Empire! Saying something so simple should be easy!
"…I… I…"
He took in a shaky breath before quickly spurt out.
"Iworryaboutyou!" The line crackled slightly.
"Sor…y? T… phone isn… wor...ing rig…t! What d… y…u say?"
England rubbed his temple in stress.
"I worr~" Suddenly he was cut off by a yell.
Then the line went dead.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
Now there are certain rules to being a gentleman that England had learned over the years.
England wasn't by nature polite, posh and civil. No, it was something he had to work at because he chose this life style. The truth was he was more like Scotland personality wise; a delinquent.
However the red head lacked the shame and dignity that the English man had.
He didn't care if he woke up in a strange place with strange people.
He didn't care if he came to work, beaten to a bloody pulp, still drunk or hung over.
He didn't care how much trouble he got into and with whom.
He didn't care what people thought of his life style because to him it was his life.
Scotland only really cared what he and a few other people thought of his self. For the most, he did not give a fuck what others thought.
However England cared what others thought.
He wanted to be respected. He didn't want to be thought of as a drunk or a trouble maker like Scotland. He wanted to be thought of as more than just a punk or a delinquent in the eye of the public. And for the most he was highly successful.
There were occasions where he would lose his temper or get drunk but for the most part he was a gentleman.
One of the rules which he followed to achieve this feat was 'Always act poise under stress or pressure; do not rush and operate calmly in order to maintain your dignity. Composure is key.'
However currently England was breaking that rule.
He was running frantically down the streets of Edinburgh, asking people if they had seen a red haired man with two blondes. In his rush, he had mostly forgotten his manners and lots of the answers were 'no's.
It had appeared no one had seen Scotland.
Until he had finally came across this one man.
"Och, aye? Ye looking fer Iain?"
"Yes!"
"Aye, I saw him gahing doon tha stre~ Hey wait! Dee I ken ye?"
"Just tell which street he went down!"
"Aye! I dee ken ye! Yer tha English yob that keeps bothering Iain!"
"Yes and I am looking for him!"
"Why tha fuck should I tell ye?"
"Because a very tall Russian is trying to fucking kidnap him and take him to fucking Moscow, you bloody twat!"
"Oi! Who ye calling a bloody twat! I'm gonnae fu~"
He was silenced by the blonde grabbing his collar and pulling on it hard.
"Unless you tell me where he is, git, I am going to personally blame you for my bloody brother's kidnapping and I am going to make your life a living hell. You understand me, you bastard? Now which street did my fucking brother, Iain, go down?"
He broke another rule of being a gentleman.
'Always be polite; even to complete gits or people whom tax your patience. And don't lose your temper and swear at them either.'
The Scottish bloke just glared at the Englishman though, refusing to speak. A woman tsked from behind the two.
"Gawds sake, William. Just tell tha mannie where Iain and his friends went. Yer gonnae cause a scene and git arrested at this rate."
The female walked into view, swinging her hips slightly with her arms crossed. The man, William, nodded slowly before pointing at an ally way.
"Doon there, ye git." He muttered mutinously, glancing a glare at the woman but not confronting him.
England's delinquent side was tempted to stop for a moment to mock him for being intimidated by a girl but he resisted. He had learnt the hard way that Scottish women were at a different standard and angering them led to bad endings for all evolved.
After all James V was carried across Dreel Burn by a young Scottish woman when he didn't want to get his stockings wet.
They were strong women in other words.
He sprinted down the alley way, cursing the suit he was wearing. The fabric was too constricting to run properly.
It was a casual suit; designed for small meetings and general work, not chasing stupid drunks and dangerous Russians.
He paused when he came to a part of the winding ally way.
There were knifes everywhere. The majority were lodged in the wall but some had been removed and discarded to the ground. There were still holes in the old wall from the blades.
He gulped slightly when he saw a hand print made of blood. It was slightly smudged but still fresh.
He walked over to it and held his hand just above it.
France's hands were roughly the same size as England's though his finger tips were about a quarter of a centimetre longer. The hand print couldn't be his though as the palm was fair large and the fingers quite a bit longer.
He thought about Russia's hands. The palm size would roughly be the same as would the finger length so it might be. However the fingers on this hand print were slender, unlike Russian large, wide fingers.
Scotland on the other hand had a large palm with long, slim fingers. His hand would fit this print.
It was his hand that was covered in blood against this wall.
Beside his print was a bloodied knife.
The distance between the two was about a shoulder's length, like someone was standing between the knife and his hand. The person who had the hand print would also be probably holding the knife; judging by the way the print was positioned.
That means that the person against the wall was probably being threatened by Scotland with a knife and blood on his hand.
Then the reason why the hand print was smudged was because Scotland probably pushed himself off of the wall after embedding the knife in the wall beside the victim's head.
England glanced at the ground and noticed drops of blood about a foot away from the wall, where Scotland would have been standing.
He wondered who the blood actually belong too.
He also wondered about the knife's origins. He removed one of the other non-bloodied ones from the wall to examine it.
He knew Scotland usually had one hidden dagger somewhere but these were small and light, unlike Scotland's. Plus there were so many of them. They reminded him of throwing knifes.
He doubted France would use them or even Russ~
…
Ah, Belarus, Russia's younger sister… She uses knifes like these… Which meant she was also here.
But then his scenario with Scotland threatening someone wouldn't make sense…
How would Scotland threaten Belarus?
He paused and tried to picture it before deciding his brother was just bat shit crazy enough for it to work.
Though it could have gone either way.
Belarus and Scotland were probably about equally crazy and scary when they wanted to be…
He sighed worriedly and glanced down the alley way.
Now he had to be faster if Belarus was involved.
He resumed his sprint down the twisting alley.
Moments later though, he bumped into someone.
A woman.
Really, this was just silly.
Another rule!
Broken!
'Never harm or upset a female; whether by accident or on purpose. It's a gentleman's responsibility to protect them. Even if they are bat-shit crazy or otherwise.'
Though it appeared this woman was already upset. Belarus glared daggers at him as the English man began stuttering out an apology.
"B-Belarus? I must apologi~"
"Shut it! Where's your slutty red haired brother?" England gulped as a knife was suddenly in his face.
"I d-don't know! I'm looking for him too!"
She hissed angrily before storming back in the direction of the area with the knives. All the way she was muttering loudly like a mad woman.
"That fucking whore! Stealing my big brother away from me! As soon as I find him, we're going to see who is the one who is going to get raped! Then me and big brother can be togeth~" She disappeared from sight.
Wait, did she mention something about raping Scotland amongst the normal insane babble about marrying Russia? What the fuck happened? God – his brother is in so much trouble…
It was so troubling to be worrying about such a delinquent brother who attracts trouble and danger.
Now really, how on earth did he piss Belarus off so much that she wants to bloody rape him!
Seriously!
Even China and America never made Belarus this angry and they had both slept with Russia!
Okay so now he had two things to do.
First he had to save Scotland and France from Russia and second he had to find them before Belarus.
There was a third thing if you counted the fact he was going to kill his idiotic brother at the end of this entire fiasco for being a git.
He heard some noises now, meaning he was close!
He suddenly rounded a corner and saw…
(A/N – Belarus isn't actually planning to rape Scotland; just kill him in the most painful way she can think of. She's just saying that because Scotland was threatening it. She is still saving herself for Russia etc…
However she is completely lost because she has never been to Scotland and Edinburgh can be very confusing, especially its alley ways.
Wow – this was written quickly! I feel so random with my writing speed at times… Sometimes I can write a chapter in a day and sometimes in a month. Wow – you guys must be real patient with me to still be reading this.
I was honestly so happy (and kinda surprised) when I got all those reviews. Honestly I love you guys so much for sticking with such an awkward person like me. Plus I have my bad attitude problem, my temper, my laziness, my Scottish-ness and many other traits.
That mention about the king being carried by a young woman across a small river called Dreel Burn is totally true. It happened in Anstruther in Fife, Scotland. The king was in disguise, visiting parts of his kingdom to check up on it. However he abandoned that notion when he had to cross water because he wanted to keep his socks dry. So he told a poor, young woman to carry him across! Then he paid her a single gold coin for it! She then offered him a benison (which is like a blessing) of
'May your purse naer be toom,
And your horn aye in bloom.'
which has strong sexual cognations to it. In fact it inspired the beginning of a sex club called the Beggar's Bension in Anstruther, which even opened branches in Glasgow. The club started in the early 1730s and was dissolved in 1836.
So remember this – Scottish woman are incredibly strong, accept payment for work and don't mind being or acting sexy, even to a king. (This is reflected in my fem!Scotland by the way. Strong, sexy and just a little bit slutty.)
And yes – I am a total feminist. Girl power, bitches! :P
Scotland and England are very similar while also being very different at the same time. It's actually quite funny in a strange cosmic sort of way. They are both delinquents who like trouble but England is also a posh gentleman while Scotland is more of a soldier.
And it turns out England does worry about Scotland cause he does love the stubborn red head.
And this also means that this story will be ending soon. I feel nostalgic yet happy that it is finally, finally over!
Read and Review!)