Northern Ireland rested his head into his hands, his elbows propped up on his desk, as he focused on reading the trade document in front of him. The three men had been working for a few hours at this point, with no break aside from the tea break they'd indulged in earlier on. Since then, Cian continually cast a glance to Arthur to see if anything was amiss yet, which would suggest the potion was beginning to work its magic. The nation was unsure of what to expect: would Arthur be enveloped by a cloud of smoke which would reveal his new, smaller form when dissipated? Or would the change be more instantaneous? So far, Arthur seemed his usual self from what Cian observed. Suddenly, Arthur stopped shuffling through the papers he was working through, a hand shooting up to his forehead. Northern Ireland adjusted his position so he could get a clearer view on what was unfolding while Scotland also stopped working, having noticed this sudden shift in England's behaviour. "Everything ok, Arthur?" Cian inquired, feigning obliviousness to the obvious cause of this change in the Englishman.
"My head is spinning...I don't feel well..." Arthur stammered, shutting his eyes tightly as he felt the room around him spin. Alistair scoffed, leaning back in his chair with one leg folded over the other. "You're just trying to get out of doing work. We've no time to waste with this, we need to get a move on!" The Scotsman accused, evidently still bitter from the conflict he'd engaged in with England earlier in the day, helping himself to the last biscuit and taking a ginormous bite. Arthur, though pained, managed to shoot a stern glare at his elder brother, "You think I don't know that? I'm not trying to get out of work, I've no time to be ill! I-" The flaxen haired man was halted mid-speech by a most unpleasant, burning sensation clawing its way up his throat. Arthur lurched forward, a hand clamped across his mouth, eyes widened in alarm. Alistair blinked in surprise, quickly realising that his younger brother was being absolutely serious about feeling under the weather. Instinctively, Alistair threw down remaining biscuit he'd been scoffing, grabbed a nearby waste bin and flew to Arthur's side, handing the latter the bin. Cian had watched the scene play out from his workspace, uselessly standing. He felt somewhat guilty for making Arthur feel so unwell but couldn't help but also feel disappointed, because the potion hadn't worked at all on Arthur. Instead of shrinking him, it made him ill, and with the potion soon about to make a potential reappearance, Cian highly doubted that it would carry out its designed purpose. Thus, his grand plan to pull the ultimate practical joke fell apart.
Arthur hovered over the waste bin, trying not to vomit. Unfortunately, the Englishman's efforts proved futile as he expelled the contents of his stomach. "Och geez, you're really sick eh?" Alistair wrinkled his nose and averted his eyes away from his sickly sibling, roughly rubbing Arthur's back in large circles. Finally, after what felt like an age, Arthur's stomach showed mercy and the man sat panting heavily over the waste bin, his face pale and sweat beading. Scotland felt England's forehead for a temperature, noting it didn't feel as though he had any sort of fever. Arthur placed the waste bin down to one side, pressing a hand to his stomach.
"I think...I need to lie down for a short while." The Englishman rose, albeit unsteadily, and gradually plodded out of the room towards the sanctuary of his bed. Alistair turned to Cian, wearing a perplexed expression whilst simultaneously bending down to retrieve the waste bin Arthur had vomited in.
"We'd better pull ourselves together in his absence. I'll get rid of this first, once I'm back we'll crack on." Alistair commented, moving to leave the room without waiting for any sort of response from Cian, the hand holding the bin outstretched before him to avoid the aroma of sickness. This left Cian alone in the study, the young nation feeling a mixture of disappointment and irritation, for he now had to do additional work while Arthur was absent. Though, he didn't have time to sulk as Scotland burst through the door and swiftly strolled over to England's desk, rapidly shuffling through the papers upon it and dividing them into two equal piles: one for himself and one for Cian. Northern Ireland merely groaned when handed his share of the work, dramatically throwing his head down into his arms.
Elsewhere, Arthur was perched on the edge of his bed, clutching his abdomen while it churned and cried in protest. The blond shut his eyes tightly in response to the pain, internally retreating to a calmer place in his mind to distract from the overwhelming nausea that was making a reappearance, causing the man's mouth to salivate excessively. Then, feeling as though he were about to vomit again, Arthur abruptly shot up only to be held back by a sudden dizziness that made his vision swim. Swaying and stumbling, Arthur desperately attempted to make his way towards his door however, through the cloud of confusion that engulfed him, he began to notice that on top of the unwelcome swinging motion of the world around him, it also appeared that the environment that surrounded him was also becoming enlarged, as though he were shrinking. After a brief moment, the realisation dawned on England that he was, in, fact decreasing in size. He tried to call out for help to his brothers, or anyone who happened to be in earshot, but found his voice sounded incredibly small. In the blink of an eye, the nation had been reduced to the size of a ladybird and his screams were quite muted, suited for a being of his small stature. In a panicked frenzy, Arthur attempted to summon some of his own magic in the hopes of returning to full size. How had this happened? Was this why he'd been feeling so unwell? Was this the work of a curse or a hex? Unfortunately, Arthur's frantic spell casting did nothing to remedy the situation. It was at around this time that Arthur suddenly remembered that Medwyn had been creating a shrinking potion, which had him holed up in the basement for the past day. But, Medwyn had gone to sleep shortly after finishing his latest project, as Arthur had seen the tired Welshman on his way to his bedroom. So this couldn't have been Medwyn's doing. This deduction narrowed it down to two brothers: Northern Ireland and Scotland. But, he couldn't be sure of which brother would commit such an act, since both would have motive. Arthur fought to remain composed, decidedly planning to make his way to Wales's room and alerting him to what had occurred: this seemed to be the safest option. Summoning all of his courage, Arthur sprinted towards his bedroom door, determined to restore himself to full size and discover the culprit behind his misery. Approaching the enormous, wooden door, Arthur initially wondered how he would reach the door knob to open the door, but found much to his unamusement that he was so tiny that he needn't bother, for he could fit through the crack that separated the bottom of the door from the floorboards.
Adjusting his glasses so that they sat on the bridge of his nose, Alistair reached for his tea and gulped down the remaining remnants, throwing his pen down to stretch his fingers as they ached from the excessive amount of writing he'd been doing. Likewise, Cian polished off yet another packet of crisps, scrunched the bag up and launched it in the direction of a bin, which he missed. It had been a little over an hour since Arthur had left the trio, making the other two a duo, to rest after taking a strange turn. Whether Alistair was genuinely concerned or simply wanting an excuse to abandon his desk for a moment, if only briefly. Whatever compelled him, Scotland pushed back his chair, his joints crying out as he stood and stretched his limbs.
"You ok?" Northern Ireland questioned, using the back of his hand to clear his mouth of any lingering crumbs.
"Aye. I'm going to check on Arthur. Let's have a break when I'm back, yeah? I'll make the tea this time." The Scotsman murmured, peeling the glasses that now felt like they'd molded into his face and placing them on the desk. The ginger hummed at Scotland's suggestion, rubbing his eyes to ready himself to begin reading yet another policy document. Alistair paced down the hallway towards Arthur's room, stopping just in front of the door and rapping his knuckle gently. Unbeknownst to him, his 'little' brother was at his feet, having been thrown off his own feet by the quaking of Scotland approaching, diving back under the safety of the door to avoid being trodden on.
"Arthur, you ok in there?" Alistair called out, listening for a moment for any sort of movement.
"Scot, I'm down here! HEY!" Arthur yelled at the top of his lung, leaping out from his shelter and jumping up and down, waving his arms hysterically in the air. Sadly, Alistair did not hear him. Instead, the Scotsman creaked the door ajar and peered in, before pushing the door wide open at the absence of Arthur's expected presence. The wind from the opening door caused Arthur to fall unceremoniously on his backside, the nation darting to the side to cling onto a part of the skirting board beside the door frame to avoid his elder brother's ginormous feet.
"Arthur? Arthur! The bloody hell...?" Alistair scratched his head, casting an eye around the room in the hopes that his younger brother was hiding, but all he saw was a vacant room.
"Arthur if you're hiding to get out of doing work, I'll find you and drag you back to your desk kicking and screaming! Me and Norn have been splitting your paperwork for the past hour on top of our own, so I'm really not in a good mood!" Alistair stomped out of the room, pausing outside before making his way down the stairs; he figured if England would be anywhere other than his room, it'd be in the kitchen at the kettle. Arthur braced himself as Alistair stormed off, clutching onto a groove in the wood while his whole body bounced with the movement of his giant brother. Now, he was outside of the room and one step closer to getting to Medwyn. But how was he going to get Medwyn's attention when not even Alistair could hear his cries for help? Once Scotland was out of his radius, England continued in his effort to reach Medwyn. Thankfully for him, the Welshman's bedroom was located right next to his so he didn't have to travel too far, though his altered appearance made what would be a journey spanning a couple of seconds usually take twice, if not three times, as long.