Reaching up into an overhead cupboard, Alistair gripped the bottle of non-stick frying oil, then turned and reached for a large frying pan from the pan rack. Today was Shrove Tuesday, otherwise known as pancake day. As such, it was a day to make and indulge in pancakes of varying flavours. Once, it had been a day to call people to confess their sins, and Alistair recalled doing just that in the past. As the only brother who had the slightest scrap of culinary knowledge, and who could cook without setting the kitchen alight, it was down to him to prepare and serve pancakes for himself and the rest of his brothers. "Need any help, Scot?" Medwyn poked his head into the kitchen. Usually, Alistair insisted on working independently since, despite their innocent intentions, his brothers would cause discord, and that in itself would result in screaming matches amongst the four nations. "No, thanks." The Scotsman pulled a ginormous mixing bowl towards him, readying himself to prepare the batter. "OK. Well, if you change your mind, let us know." The blond dipped out of the kitchen, leaving Alistair to cook, and opting to join his other brothers in the living room. Scotland pressed a switch on the radio, selecting a radio station that played tunes from the eighties and whistling to the beat as he mixed together eggs, flour, milk, and sugar. The man added additional ingredients and whisked, pausing to light the stove and add the non-stick oil to the simmering pan. Admittedly, he favoured an old favourite when it came to pancake toppings: lemon juice and sugar. In fact, all of the brothers liked those toppings the most. That wasn't to say they didn't opt to add other toppings from time to time. Arthur also liked to add fruit onto his pancakes, such as chopped strawberries. Medwyn enjoyed pouring maple syrup onto his, and Cian adored having chocolate spread and bananas on his. Alistair had earlier tasked Arthur with organising the toppings in small dishes and laying them out on the table, as well as setting the table, so he only had to focus on the pancakes themselves. Even then, Cian tried to assist by chopping some fruit but ended up cutting his hand on the knife. Sometimes, even the perceived simplicity of tasks was somehow made complicated by his younger brothers. "I can't wait. I love pancake day, so I do." Northern Ireland declared, reacting to a picture Ireland sent him of his own pancakes with a love heart emoji. Like him, Cathal had a sweet tooth, and these days indulged in toppings like chocolate spread. Seeing the elder's pancakes made Cian's mouth water, and he was excited to have his own and, similar to him, make Cathal envious of his. Alistair knew how to make delectable pancakes, that much was certain."Agreed. Though I do feel bad that we couldn't help Scot more in the kitchen." Arthur flicked through the television channels aimlessly, choosing to settle on the morning news as there was nothing on that was worth engrossing himself. "Me too. But he was sure he'd be fine. Besides, at least he let you set the table and handle the toppings." Medwyn spoke reassuringly, tenderly petting the flying mint bunny that lay contentedly on his lap. At this comment, Cian peered down at the cut on his hand, irritated at his own clumsiness. He supposed he inherited his lack of culinary talent from Arthur or Medwyn, as neither Alistair nor Cathal were capable of burning toast.Elsewhere, Alistair carefully spooned some of the pancake batter into the piping hot pan, prodding at it with a spatula at the edges. Once it had turned golden-brown in colour, the nation tightened his grasp on the pan handle and prepared himself to flip. Unfortunately, just as he was about to do so, Cian barged into the kitchen and startled him, causing the pancake to be launched into the air and land, not back in the pan where it belonged, but on Alistair's face. The Irishman gasped, quickly bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that only added to the agitation the brunette now felt. "What's all this commotion?" Arthur arrived at the scene, just as his elder brother was peeling the pancake from his face, his forehead and cheeks most notably tinged red from the heat of it. "Why on earth did you have to come into the kitchen like that? Threw me right off!" Scotland frowned, tossing the now ruined pancake into the rubbish bin and set the pan aside, using a fresh tea towel to dab his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise how hard I'd pushed the door. Are you OK?" Cian eventually managed to ask after catching his breath, wiping tears from his eyes that fell due to his hard, persistent laughter. "Aye. Now do one, the pair of you, I'm busy here." Scotland exhaled audibly, resuming his cooking activities. "But I just wanted to grab a drink-" Northern Ireland warily made a beeline towards the fridge in search of an ice-cool bottle of water."OK, well then hurry up and do so. I'm not having another repeat of what just happened." Cian could sense the Scotsman's frustration from his tone and quickly obtained his desired beverage and retreated, dragging Arthur along with him. Finally, Scotland could concentrate on the task at hand and perhaps he'd be able to complete it. "What was all that noise?" Medwyn probed noisily, watching Arthur and Cian plonk themselves on the couch he was perched on, either side of him. "Cian made Alistair drop a pancake on his face when he was in the middle of tossing." Arthur explained, stifling a giggle. "It was an accident, honest!" Cian interjected, pouting. "Hah! That explains why he sounded so grumpy!" Medwyn chortled. "I can hear the three of you in there cackling like witches, you know! Pack it in!" Alistair's command rendered the three brothers speechless, as they knew the prospect of an angered Scotland was not something to be taken lightly. After a short time, Scotland called everyone together and the four nations sat, gratefully tucking into their pancakes and giving their thanks to Alistair, who lapped it up discreetly. Cian sneakily took a snapshot of his pancakes, chocolate spread slathered on them and chunks of banana littered on top, and sent it to Cathal. Mealtimes were one of the few times during the day that the UK sharehouse was thrown into a state of calm and quiet. "You little brothers... What am I to do with you?" Scotland swallowed down a mouthful, scoffing and shaking his head.