The next day, Alfred decided to set his plan into action. The plan being that he would conduct a series of tests to determine whether Ireland was a vampire or not. According to the young boy's research, one method was to use garlic as he'd read in one book that vampires were unable to tolerate garlic in any form. With this in mind, the boy pondered how he would go about testing this. But was interrupted by Arthur loudly clearing his throat at the breakfast table. "Alfred, eat your breakfast please, we haven't got all day" America knitted his brows together in annoyance at the interjection from the elder, digging a spoon into the thick bowl of porridge that had been placed in front of him. The breakfast table was eerily quiet which was odd, given that there was usually some small talk that would bounce around and often general disagreements and grumblings, usually concerning Arthur and Alistair.
Alistair sat sipping on a cup of tea while examining a broadsheet newspaper with Arthur, as usual, sat at the head of the table studying documents whilst simultaneously consuming breakfast. Medwyn was also examining a portion of the documentation Arthur had set onto the table, the Welshman occasionally casting an eye up to Arthur. The child felt more like he was in a formal meeting than at his family's breakfast table and quite frankly, the environment was making him feel uneasy so he quickly made short work of his breakfast and asked to be excused. In response, Arthur merely nodded his head and thus with his approval, the American gladly swung his feet around to the side of his chair and hopped down, grateful to be exiting such a tense atomostphere. However, he couldn't access the kitchen supplies with the others in the dining area, it would be too suspicious and would draw up too many questions. So, Alfred decided for now to retreat upstairs to his room and wait patiently for the grown ups to leave the area.
The moment Alfred had left the room, and it was certain that he was out of earshot, Alistair folded his newspaper up and directed a look to Arthur. Arthur, who could feel his elder brother's gaze burning into him, opted to ignore the latter and without lifting his head from his mound of papers called out, "Yes, brother?" The Englishman's lack of acknowledgement irritated the Scot deeply, leading to the brunette slapping his reading material onto the table in an expression of his distaste. This action made Medwyn bolt upright in his seat, the blond sending a glare to Alistair in pleading with him not to engage in a confrontation with their brother. However, the Welshman's efforts were ignored. Releasing a deep sigh, Arthur cast his eyes up to meet Alistair's to which, Alistair Rose from his seat and leant across the table with both hands to narrow the already short distance between himself and his sibling. "You really don't care do you? You're acting like Ireland doesn't exist!" Scotland, though his emotion allowed his voice to be raised, still kept it to a low enough volume so that Alfred wouldn't be able to hear him. As though feeding into his already boiling temper, Arthur's chosen response to Alistair's query was to simply roll his eyes and scoff. Wales, who'd watched the pair intently and who knew the conflict would do nothing but result in nothing but bloodied fists and wounded egos, braced himself for what he knew was to follow.
"Are you being serious right now? You really don't have any sort of heart, do you? You should be ashamed of what you've done to our sibling!" Alistair fumed, slamming a hand onto the surface of the table all the while Arthur maintained eye contact, the blond raising a thick brow as though he were confused. "Now Alistair, its a little early for you to be firing such cheap shots isn't it? And how hypocritical! What exactly have you done to help him?" In that moment, Wales raised a hand up to call the attention of his feuding siblings, "both of you stop this at once! Who is this benefitting?" Both Alistair and Arthur turned to face Medwyn and for a brief second it seemed the two had considered Medwyn's remark. However, the peace lasted mere seconds as Alistair stormed out of the room, leaving Arthur and Medwyn in a stunned silence. A few seconds passed, after which Arthur finished his breakfast and uttered to Medwyn that he'd continue working in his office, with the Welshman responding that he'd be taking a short break.
Alfred, from the upstairs landing, heard muffled voices and heard the dwindling movements below, signalling the brothers were on the move. Upon hearing England's footsteps draw closer, Aldred lept for cover in his bedroom. Thankfully, the Englishman seemingly didn't hear or see America as he briskly strutted to his office and shut the door hard. Alfred let out the air he'd been holding in, relieved. The child waited a few moments more before he exited the safety of his bedroom and crept down the stairs, his movements mimicking that of the cartoons he adored watching. So far, so good. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs and peering into the dining room, the child assessed that the coast was indeed clear and wasted no time in making a beeline to the kitchen where the country gently closed the kitchen door behind him to conceal his presence. The journey to the kicthen was relatively simply, now the somewhat arduous part would be figuring out where the garlic was kept. The kitchen was a relatively large size, given the home was a sharehouse and was used by multiple people, thus shelves were stacked with jars and tins and there were several cupboards spread out across the room, not to mention the large refrigerator. So where would the garlic be kept? The boy pulled a small stool up to a nearby counter, kept for Arthur and Medwyn to reach for things on the higher shelves, clambering up to begin pawing away at the spice rack and the fruit kept in the fruit basket. Nothing. Alfred hopped down from the stool and, with his might, pulled the hefty refrigerator door open to examine its contents. No garlic as far as his eyes could detect. The child then began to open and close each of the cabinets that lined the bottom of the marble countertops. He was close to giving up after opening yet another cupboard to see a stash of pots and pans until the next door he swung open yielded results. Stored with some other vegetables out of direct sunlight was a handful of fresh garlic bulbs. Perfect! America, not wanting to draw attention to the fact he'd taken some, decidedly plucked two of the smallest pieces from the back and, holding them carefully in his hands as though they were going to explode at any given moment, nimbly shut the cupboard door using his foot. Suddenly, Alfred picked up on movement and voices coming in his direction at a quick pace. There was no time to hide and even if there was, there was no where he could do so without being seen and if he turned to put the garlic back he'd be caught red handed. In a panic, the boy shoved the garlic deep into his pants pocket, dragged the stool over to the sink and perched himself on top of it, so it would appear as though he were grabbing a glass of water and not up to anything suspicious.
"Ok, Arthur wants me to pick up some more breakfast tea from the store and Alistair wants more whiskey. I just need to check-" Wales paused in his thinking, though he still tapped his pen lightly against his pad as though to keep his line of thought open. The man blinked in surprise at the child's appearance, tilting his head, "hello there Alfred, grabbing yourself a drink there?" the elder questioned, opening the fridge and scribbling the names of items he was going retrieve from the store. "Uh yeah" Alfred mumbled, reaching for a nearby glass and filling it up with cold water, "what'cha doing?" the country questioned as he took small sips from the tall glass. "I'm making a grocery list, it's my turn to do the shop this week. Can you think of anything we may need?" Medwyn asked Alfred, kneeling to peer into each of the cupboards and continually scribbling away onto the pad. America paused for a moment and then decided to try his luck, being the cheeky chap he was. "How about some chocolate?" Wales smirked and turned to Alfred whilst knelt down, "you know the rule about sweets. Arthur would have a fit and you'd be bouncing off the walls with the sugar." America pouted, he knew the answer would be no of course, but he still held out hope that there would be a chance the answer would be yes. The Welshman stood, checking over the list and, content with what was listed, set aside the pad and pen and ripped off the page he'd been scrawling on. "I'm off out Alfred, do you want to come with me? Or would you prefer to stay here?" Usually, Alfred would have jumped at the chance to go out to the grocery shop but today, there were more pressing matters afoot so as much as it killed him internally to do so, he shook his head no to the nation. This change didn't go unnoticed by Wales. "Hm? Usually you'd bite my arm off at the chance. Then again it is raining, so I suppose you'd rather be dry and warm, yes?" That wasn't the reason for Alfred's choice but of course, Medwyn didn't know this so the boy went along with his act and nodded his head, giggling as the man bent to playfully ruffle the boy's hair. "I'll be back in around an hour, behave yourself please as Arthur is not to be disturbed whilst he's working." Medwyn called over his shoulder as he left the room, peeling his coat from the coat hook and stepping out into the grey, drizzling world beyond the house.
America, who watched Wales leave, anticipated the moment the front door latch locked itself behind the man and immediately set to work. The boy pulled the stool up once more and set out the hidden garlic onto the counter. Now, all he had to do was get Ireland to sample some but how? If Ireland was really a vampire, he wouldn't willingly take a chunk out of a hunk of garlic just for the hell of it. That's when an idea struck the child. He'd transform the garlic into a drink for his so-called uncle to drink. An alcoholic drink was out of the question, since all the booze was stored under strict lock and key in the home. But what about a sweet drink? Alfred did enjoy, as a rare treat, a milkshake. 'Milkshake it is then!' the blond declared to himself. America adjusted his glasses, rolled up his sleeves and got to work. The country started by cutting the garlic into small cubes, then using a cheese grater to further wittle down their size. Then, Alfred poured a glass of milk and scooped the garlic into the glass. The boy was unsure as to whether a blender was in possession, so decided to grab a mental teaspoon and mix, believing that would do the trick. After a minute or two, Alfred removed the spoon from the glass and assessed his creation. Right now, it looked like a plain glass of milk and he could see the garlic beginning to sink to the bottom of the glass. It certainly didn't look appetising. 'Oh, it could do with something sweet to conceal the taste of garlic' Alfred hopped down from the stool and once again prised the fridge door open, spotting a bottle of maple syrup within his reach. America left the fridge door open as he grasped the bottle and poured a generous dollop of syrup into the glass, putting the bottle back where he found it and stirring the glass yet again. The drink began to thicken and it's colour changed ever so slightly from milk white to a caramel colour. It was done. America marvelled at his work, but cringed at the mess he made in the process. He couldn't leave the kicthen in such a disarray, that would for sure land him in a world of trouble! The boy instinctively grabbed a rag and mopped up droplets of milk and syrup spilt, closing the refrigerator door he mistakenly left ajar, scrubbing the sticky syrup and garlic remnants from his hands and lastly putting the stool back where it was kept. Alfred reached for the glass on the tips of his toes, holding the cold beverage between his warm palms. This was the moment of truth, where his hard work would pay off. Now all he needed to do was convince Cathal to drink the concoction to reveal the truth. Alfred played through several scenarios in his head in the event it did turn out his uncle was indeed a vampire. If Ireland tried to attack him in his vampiric state, Alfred decided he'd fight him like a true hero whilst getting Arthur or anyone for further help because surely, they'd know what to do right? Maybe they didn't need to drive a stake through his heart, since nations can't technically die like that, but the brothers might know of a spell or potion to make Ireland well...not a vampire.
Alfred, focusing on not spilling the beverage, slowly and steadily set a mental course for Cathal's bedroom, hearing the country's hacked coughing even from downstairs. As the child reached the halfway point of his journey, Alistair emerged from the back garden. The Scotsman was clad in wellies and a thick raincoat, appropriate for the weather as he stepped back into the house drenched from head to toe. Scotland kicked off his footwear and peeled the coat from his body, running a hand through his damp hair. The country found that spending time in the outdoors, whether it was tending to the garden or taking a walk, usually did the trick in lowering his temper. Of course, the anger still resided, but it was for now subdued. Alistair flicked the kettle on, feeling himself beginning to drift away as he focused on the steam billowing from the spout, his mind replaying this morning's events over and over until something caught Alistair's eye and threw him back into the present. In the sink was a dirtied, soaked rag that had slivers of what appeared to be garlic stuck to its seams. 'What is that? I'd better not get the blame for it.' Alistair thought to himself, pouring boiling water into a cup for himself. Garlic? Who had been cooking garlic and what for? There was nothing cooking or that had been cooked from what the Scot could see in the kitchen and, on top of that, it was still early in the morning so its not like anything had been prepared for lunch yet. Scotland reached for the milk only to quickly withdraw his hand immediately, the neck of the milk bottle was coated in a strange, sticky substance that, upon closer inspection, seemed to be syrup. Alistair hummed to himself, raising a thick eyebrow in thought. Arthur was a neat freak, most of time anyway, but the younger always tidied up after himself and insisted the kitchen be kept in a clean, orderly manner. Medwyn sometimes would forget to put a pot or plate away, but still cleared up after using the kicthen. Alistair certainly hadn't been rustling anything up and Cathal was bedridden. By process of elimination, that left Alfred. What was the child up to? Knowing the boy had a knack of making mischief, Alistair poured some milk into his tea and washed both the bottle and his hands. Once he'd had his cup of tea, he'd get to the bottom of this mini mystery.