Alfred was carried downstairs and into the living room, where Medwyn and Arthur resided with a pot of tea waiting for the pair's arrival. Medwyn lowered his eyebrows, a sense of sympathy overriding his previous anger as he heard the small whimpers coming from the child. Arthur, who sat across from Medwyn, let out a sigh and shook his head in disbelief at the child's latest stunt. Alistair sat down, still cradling Alfred in his arms.
"Alfred. We're going to talk to you about vampires now. We want you to know that Cathal isn't a vampire and to put your mind at rest so something like this doesn't happen again." Alistair explained the the boy, adjusting his glasses for him and using a thumb to wipe away the tears from the child's cheeks. Scotland looked to his Wales, to which the latter hummed in response. Medwyn murmured something under his breath, closing his eyes. It was so low that Alfred couldn't decipher what he'd said. But when the Welshman spoke these strange words, red spark flew from the tips of his fingertips and circled the center of the room. In a flash, the sparks all collided with one another and formed an image of a vampire. Amazed, Alfred sat forward in Alistair's arms, mouth agape with wonder. "Vampires in our world, in this day and age, pose relatively no threat. Many tend to reside together, though some live a solitary existence, in towns and cities. If they lived in villages and small, rural areas, it would cause an upset amongst the local community." Medwyn explained, manipulating the sparks to take the shapes of towns and cities as he detailed his point. The display was truly captivating and effortlessly held Alfred's attention, the young country intently watching the way in which each spark weaved and swirled in the air.
Medwyn continued, "nowadays most are 'vegetarian' meaning they consume animal blood rather than human blood. Those who consume human blood either recruit volunteers who willingly give their blood or if they take blood unwillingly, which is rare, they don't take enough to kill the individual." Alistair slurped a quick cup of tea that Arthur had poured for him while America was entranced by Medwyn's lesson. "You may be able to tell a vampire apart from a human based on the presence of fangs, but it doesn't necessarily go by that alone. Things like eye colour and temperature can held determine whether someone is a vampire or not." Medwyn became more animated with his hands, altering the colour of the sparks to reflect the different eye colours vampires may have and forming larger images for Alfred to indulge in.
"Your uncle is not a vampire. He is a country, and your uncle of course. He is not and has never been a vampire. Just because the author of that book was Irish doesn't mean that vampires come from or are based solely in Ireland. In fact, vampires can be found across the globe. Since you're a nation and not human, your blood isn't desirable to vampiresm. So in short, you've nothing to worry about." With the snap of his fingers, Medwyn's magical show vanished and the sparks ceased to exist. America blinked hard, digesting the information he'd been provided. Now knowing this, he knew he should've gone to one of the brothers in the first place as opposed to taking matters into his own hands. His sore bottom reminded him of his mistake. Arthur leaned forward, lifting Alfred's chin upwards so that their eyes met. "If you ever have any questions or worries about mythical beings or entities, you can come to us." America reached out to England, to which the older nation took the boy into his arms and offered the child some water and a biscuit, which America happily accepted. Unexpectedly, a deep rumbling cut through the air, capturing the attention of the room. Medwyn placed a hand to his stomach, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Ah-erm excuse me, that was my stomach. I think I'd better get a start on dinner, it's my turn to cook tonight after all." Alfred chortled at the sound of Medwyn's stomach grumbling, continuing to nibble on his digestive biscuit as the nation went off to prepare dinner.
"Alfred. Please could you go and play sensibly in your bedroom until dinner is ready. One of us will come and get you when it is time." Arthur instructed, to which the country shoved the remainder of his biscuit into his mouth and hurriedly ran off to the refuge of his bedroom. Now, Scotland and England were alone with one another. Alistair still felt bitter about recent affairs, not forgetting this today's spat with his sibling, so he paid no mind to the awkward tension that filled the space between them. Instead, after today's events, Alistair decided that something stronger than tea was required and moved in the direction of the liquor cabinet. "Alistair. We need to talk." Arthur spoke bluntly, crossing one leg over the other with his arms crossed. Alistair, with his back to Arthur, pulled out a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and poured two glasses, handing one to Arthur. "What is it?" Scotland set the bottle down between them, taking a generous mouthful of his own beverage. "I don't appreciate your remarks regarding Cathal. Everything I'm doing is for the greater benefit of the empire, it is a shame Cathal is experiencing famine but I can't see what more I can do for him." Arthur sipped at the whiskey, noting Alistair had already finished his and was pouring himself a second glass.
"Bullshit." Alistair uttered under his breath.
"Pardon?" Arthur narrowed his eyes, knowing that Alistair had said something distasteful but not knowing exactly what it was.
"I said BULLSHIT.' Alistair raised his voice, taking a swig of his whiskey. The Scotsman could care less if his comments caused yet another argument, he couldn't let Arthur's cruelness go unchecked. In that instance, Arthur stood and leant against the fireplace, eyeing his brother. "You could intervene and provide more aid. But you won't, because your pride won't let you and because you don't care about Cathal." Arthur scoffed at Alistair's assessment, gulping down his share of whiskey and slamming the glass down onto the table. The Englishman had just about had it with his brother's constantly stream of cycnical comments and snide remarks regaridng his ruling. "What do you expect me to do, Alistair? I can't do everything for him, he needs to find a solution himself. Do you want me to force feed him?" Arthur sarcastically threw his arms up in the air in an animated fashion, knowing no answer he gave would satisfy his elder brother.
"If that's what it takes, then yes. He's your brother and a member of this empire!" Alistair finished his second glass of whiskey and set the glass to one side, glowering at his younger brother and the absolute callousness he showcased for Cathal.
"How pathetic." Arthur sneered, reaching for the bottle to help himself to a second glass of whiskey. Only, his hand didn't reach the bottle as Alistair aimed a swift blow to Arthur's abdomen, sending him flying into the wall where the Scot then pinned the Englishman by his throat.
"Careful Scot, that temper of yours is quite nasty when let loose." Arthur taunted, smuggly smirking, which served only to boost Scotland's rising rage.
"That's our brother. After everything, EVERYTHING we've been through as brothers this is how you treat him. When did you become so sick and twisted? What is wrong with you?!" Alistair couldn't fathom his brother's state of mind. His big brother could very well die, cease to be, and he could care less. Arthur let out a cold, empty laugh which sent shivers down Alistair's spine. Had the Englishman lost his mind with the power that came with leading an empire? Or was this something else entirely?
"Perhaps I've always been this way, who knows. Don't act like you all didn't view me as the reason behind mother's death and think that my existence was futile. Brothers for you, right? Now get your hands off me" Arthur roughly grabbed the arm that Alistair was using to pin Arthur with and twisted it, holding it to his brother's back. The movement was so quick and unexpected that Alistair hadn't a moment to properly register what was happening before it had already occurred. Now the Englishman had the Scotsman pinned against a wall.
"I lead this empire, so I think a little more respect for your leader is in order, lest you need reminding. You should be grateful to exist in such a privileged position" Arthur whispered, twisting Alistair's wrist so tightly he was sure the Englishman would try to break it. "You know, a good leader doesn't demand respect, he earns it." Alistair growled, memories of his history with Arthur flooding his mind. Had this been his doing? Had he unknowingly created a monster? Mother's death had been hard on all of the brothers and Arthur's presence hadn't been welomed graciously by all, particularly Alistair. No. Alistair knew that Arthur was his own being and responsible for his own actions and the actions of the empire as the leader. Before Arthur could respond, Medwym called for everyone to come to the dining room for dinner. Instantaneously, the blond let go of his brother and stepped aside. But as he was leaving the room, he turned and muttered one last remark to the brunette, "you'll do well to remember your place, Alistair." With that, Alistair was left alone. Wrist aching, heart breaking. Alistair hardly recognised his brother and what he was doing to Cathal truly, deeply terrified him. What could he do? Could he do anything? Right now, after that tense interaction with England, Scotland felt powerless and helpless. Alistair reached for the bottle of whiskey, pouring yet another glass and heading into the dining room for dinner. He would pretend everything was fine, even though things were far from it.
It was all he could do.