Licking the salt seasoning from his lips, Alistair scrunched the now empty packet of crisps into a tight ball and tossed them into a nearby waste bin, satisfied when he'd managed to land the crisp packet into the bin on his first try. The Scotsman hadn't felt hungry enough for a meal but still craved something to eat, and so, when he rummaged through the kitchen cupboards and came across a lone packet of crisps, he'd decided he'd take a break to make some tea and snack.Now that he'd polished off his snack, the brunette felt exhausted, realising he'd hardly caught a wink of sleep given he'd been so busy with back-to-back meetings and deadlines. With an evening free and time before dinner would be prepared, the man sunk down into the sofa cushions beneath him, his eyelids drooping and a yawn breaking free past his lips. In no time at all, he'd fallen asleep and was snoring loudly. Dreaming, the Scotsman relived memories of afternoons spent in meadows with Francis in his youth. A flower crown made of daisies adorning his head, and his comrade poking fun at his younger brother from the edge of a tree branch while Arthur hurled a string of insults in retaliation to Francis's teasing. Scotland sighed in his sleep, shifting so that one arm draped over his eyes and another covering his chest, a small smile apparent upon his features. Oh, how carefree he felt in those early days. What he wouldn't give to be back there, resting amidst the long grass with the wind stroking his hair instead of spending his days locked away in his study confined to his desk. The further Alistair sank into a deeper slumber, the more memories came flooding back into the forefront of his mind. Suddenly, the scene changed from an innocent day spent in the fields to one thrust into the heat of battle with Arthur, fighting for both his people and land. Recalling this, Alistair grunted in his sleep, stirring ever so slightly. How many times had he and Arthur fought? The man could practically taste the gunpowder on his tongue and smell the scent of burning flesh penetrating his nostrils. He'd always had such a strained, strange relationship with the Englishman. Why? Why was it that the two could never seem to get along? From the fields of battle came a change of scenery. Scotland saw himself sitting in a busy, bustling pub with Ireland. Both were inebriated, surrounded by patrons wearing an excessive amount of green ahead of the St. Patrick's Day festival, singing tunes from days long gone. Ah, Cathal. They'd been so close growing up, but as time went on, and under Arthur's tyrannical rule, they'd begun to drift apart. He theorised that he ought to make more time for Cathal, for he missed the days and nights spent joking and laughing over a good pint. Scotland hadn't spent a day with Ireland like that in a long time, far too long for his liking. Elsewhere, Northern Ireland strolled into the UK sharehouse, having just returned from a business meeting in his capital. Instantly, he dumped his suitcase beside the foot of the staircase and headed straight into the kitchen. By his count, there should be some Tayto crisps, his all-time favourite, go to snack, left. Unfortunately, and much to his horror, upon opening the cupboard, which typically housed his beloved treat, the packet was absent with no sign of any individual packets in sight. Cian was bemused, to say the least. The ginger hadn't indulged in so much as a morsel since this morning, so to say he was absolutely ravenous was an understatement. Cian grunted in anguish, searching high and low, but his search came up empty-handed. It was an unspoken rule in the house that Tayto crisps were off limits, so just who had broken this rule? In the absence of his crisps, Cian had to settle for a plate of plain digestive biscuits- which were a poor substitute in his eyes. The young nation entered the living room, with a plate of biscuits and the remnants of an energy drink, only to be greeted by the sight of his elder brother sprawled across the couch drooling and snoring. Cian couldn't help but chortle at witnessing this as even in his sleep, Scotland still wore the same stoic expression he almost always presented with. Placing the plate and can down, Cian motioned to sit in a nearby armchair when something caught his eye from afar. In the rubbish bin sparkled an empty pack of Tayto crisps, illuminated by the light of the sunset. Had it been Scotland, who'd devoured the last packet of Tayto?Cian presumed so given, upon closer inspection, the crumpled packet appeared to be recent and judging by the crumbs around Alistair's lips, which looked like fragments of crisps. This immediately made Cian's blood boil. He'd been looking forward to indulging in some crisps now, there were none left, and Tayto could be hard to get ahold of in England to add insult to injury. Hovering over Alistair, Cian decided to give the elder a piece of his mind and began to shake his shoulder to rouse him. When Alistair blinked blearily, he quickly stiffened when he saw Cian staring him down. "Cian, you're back. Everything OK?""No, not really." "What's the matter?""What's the matter?! Oh, so we're playing dumb now, are we?" "Huh?" "You ate the last packet of Tayto, MY Tayto, you cheeky bastard!" "Uh...""I don't want to HEAR it! You owe me a pack, you dick!" "It's just crisps, Norn Iron, please settle down.""I BEG your fucking pardon? Do you see me chowing down on your haggis? No, no you don't. Don't eat my shit, eejit!" "Hey! The fuck you think you're talking to?" "YOU." "You little-" Just as Alistair sprang up from where he lay, Cian lunged forward, gripping the Scotsman by the collar of his shirt. Stunned, Alistair ripped Cian's hands off him and shoved him aside, but not before dodging a swift kick from Cian to his right leg. Undeterred, Northern Ireland aimed a swipe at Alistair, striking his cheek. This infuriated the Scotsman, whose deathly glare bore into the Irishman's soul. Yet, at that very moment, Cian couldn't have cared less. Rather, Cian delivered a blow to Alistair's abdomen, resulting in the Scotsman wheezing. By this point, Arthur emerged from the basement with Medwyn in tow, the pair having been engaged in potion creation only to be brought to an abrupt halt by the commotion sounding above them. "The pair of you, pack it in right now!" Arthur commanded, attempting to insert himself between the two men only to be sent flying, his back hitting the wall, and sliding down to the floor. Horrified, Medwyn tried to tug at Cian's arm, begging him to cease his behaviour. "What's going on? Both of you stop it! You've hurt Arthur!" The Welshman pleaded. However, his pleas fell on deaf ears, for Cian shook the man off him and directed a punch to Alistair's jaw, only for the elder to stop the blow before it made contact. Then, tightly grasping Cian's wrist, Alistair dragged the younger to his side and thrust him down to the ground, planting himself atop the Irishman so that he was unable to stand. "Explain...now..." Arthur wobbly rose, detecting an ache at the back of his head. Though, the Englishman was unsure as to whether this was from where he'd hit his head or was an oncoming headache from the men's altercation. "He ate the last packet of Taytos! He broke the rules!" Cian bellowed, feedbly flailing his limbs to try and fling Scotland off him, but to no avail. "Alistair..." Arthur began, folding his arms across his chest, his tone accusatory. "I thought there was more! And... I was hungry." Alistair admitted, scratching the back of his head. It was true. He hadn't thought to see if there was another bag of crisps, especially given Cian typically had the goods in large supply. "Yeah, well, I haven't eaten since this morning and I'm fucking famished!" Northern Ireland continued to squirm under his big brother's weight, letting out an agitated groan at his failure to pry himself from his grasp. "Ah, that explains it." Alistair taunted, reaching around and ruffling the Irishman's hair. "Shut it!" Cian tried to bite Alistair. Alistair rapidly retracted his hand at this, amused at the nation's outburst."Norn, this is a bit much. Why don't you -" Medwyn was cut off by a scary stare from the younger. "Don't you DARE tell me to calm down. And get off me, Scot!" Cian slammed his fists down on the oak floorboards beneath him, trying to push himself upwards, only to crash back down onto the ground. "Not until you simmer down." Alistair asserted, stifling laughter. "GET OFF ME!" Cian screamed at the top of his lungs. "Right, Norn, I'll run to the shops and get you some more Tayto, OK? But you need to promise you won't attack Scot again." Arthur proposed. "I can't promise that. You see that plate over there, I had to settle for ordinary digestive biscuits! You might as well just say you want me dead!" The Irishman nodded towards the plate and drink set aside, his tone holding a note of sorrow. "Scot." Arthur looked to the brunette. "What?" Alistair raised an eyebrow to the blond."Don't you think you owe Cian an apology?" Medwyn interrupted. "The wee ned tried to deck me!" Alistair gasped at the suggestion. Why should he apologise? Sure, he broke one of the house rules, but it surely didn't warrant such a reaction, did it? "I know, but you still broke one of our house rules." Arthur called out from the hallway, having moved to put on his coat and shoes to leave for the nearest supermarket. "Oh for fucks sake..." Scotland grumbled under his breath. "Scot!" Medwyn frowned, placing both hands on his hips, like a parent scolding their child would. "Fine! I'm...sorry I ate your precious crisps. But did you really have to attack me?" Alistair gave in to the pressure from the two men, rolling his eyes and scoffing as he apologised. "Apology not accepted until I have a packet of Tayto in my hands!" Cian declared, still wiggling to try and free himself. "Oh, COME ON!" Alistair threw his hands down dramatically in exasperation, casting a look of disbelief at Cian. "Right, I'm going to the shops. Alistair, let go of him and Medwyn, keep an eye on the pair of them. Make sure they don't kill each other." Arthur instructed, popping his head around the door before collecting his car keys from the console table and departing, the sound of his car driving down the street could be heard.Reluctantly, the Scotsman stood, enabling the Irishman to do the same and to take a deep breath at long last, free from his brother's crushing weight. For a moment, Cian stared at Alistair. Alistair didn't know what to make of this. The brunette readied himself, preparing for a verbal barrage of abuse or another punch to be thrown his way. Evidently, Wales anticipated this too as he moved closer to the pair so that he now resided between them. To Alistair's astonishment, Cian slipped out of the room, nabbing the energy drink he'd brought with him as he did so. This left Scotland and Wales alone, who could only exchange a series of relieved, but wary, glances with each other. Meanwhile, Arthur had bombed it down the road, likely incurring a speeding ticket, to the nearest supermarket where he knew Tayto crisps were sold and bought a basket full of them. The Englishman kicked the door to the UK residence open with his foot upon his return, armed with two plastic carrier bags stuffed with Tayto crisps, dumping them out in front of Cian, who'd been sat in the dining room staring into space. Arthur's sudden appearance had startled him, but this was quickly replaced by an overwhelming happiness at the sight of his beloved treat. "Thank you, Arthur, you're the best!" Cian jumped up and embraced Arthur tightly, then picking up a packet and ripping it open to retrieve a bag. When Cian popped that first crisp into his mouth he could have sobbed from sheer bliss. At last, this is what he'd been looking forward to all day. Satisfied a crisis had been averted, for the most part, Arthur headed to the living room to check on Medwyn and Alistair. The two were sat watching an episode of Doctor Who, likely at the Welshman's insistence. "He's settled down. Are you OK, Alistair? To this question, the brunette raised his head. Admittedly, his younger brother could pack quite a punch, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. "Aye." Was all Alistair had to say. "Scot..." The sound of Northern Ireland's voice, now laced with remorse and regret, caught the attention of all. Alistair remained silent as Cian sheepishly brushed past Arthur and perched himself beside the elder on the sofa. Upon seeing this, Wales hit the pause button on the television remote. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking...are you hurt?" The Irishman asked, biting his bottom lip. Truly, he hadn't thought about his actions, instead letting his anger and frustration dictate. "No. Don't go doing it again, you hear? Or next time, I'll put you in the back of an ambulance." Scotland growled, the latter part of his statement causing Cian to shudder. He didn't doubt the Scotsman meant it. "Yeah, fair enough." Cian uttered, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Right, who wants a cuppa?" Arthur awkwardly clapped his hands together, in the hopes of dispersing the tension that still hung in the air.
