Arthur Kirkland (arthurkirkland) wrote,
@ 2009-12-24 16:10:00

Entry tags:

Home for Christmas
Arthur Kirkland stood staring up at the airport's flight tracker blankly. He had been there a good thirty minutes or so, watching flights being delayed one after another, silently hoping--and perhaps even praying--that his would be safe. He had come to New England to escort his boss on official business, and was prepared to get home to spend Christmas his usual way; alone and drunk. However, an unexpected snowfall was making that look highly unlikely.

He glanced down at his pocket watch and bit the inside of his lip. Only ten minutes until the flight was supposed to start boarding. Ten minutes. Inhaling slowly in an attempt to calm his nerves, England sat down and opened his thermos of hot tea, taking a long drink before screwing the cap back on. He had just begun to relax a bit when an unfortunately familiar arm crept around his shoulder.

Knowing he would regret it, England turned his head slowly to his right--and jumped up out of his seat with a horrified look on his face.

"Ah, Angelterre," came the smooth, French-accented voice. "You act unhappy to see me!"

"I am unhappy to see you!" Arthur exclaimed, grabbing his thermos defensively. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Oh, I inquire the same of you." Francis said, still holding his leisurely pose, as if the airport bench were a loveseat. "I merely wished to pay you a visit while you're here. In New England." He put a bit of an emphasis on the last bit, smiling smugly.

England gave him a dirty look. He was amazed that France had the nerve to speak to him with such familiarity after what had quickly become known as the "Great Pie War" not so long ago. He decided it was best to ignore the elder country and simply pretend he didn't exist, but he wasn't even able to start when France spoke up again.

"Well, well, that can't be good, can it?"

Arthur turned around to face what Francis was looking at: a big "ALL FLIGHTS CANCELLED" display on the tracker.

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alfredfjones
2009-12-24 11:34 pm UTC (link)

Alfred was on the edge of his seat. It was the first play of the game. He never knew who to cheer for when watching football. So he just hoped for a good game. Matthew had a soft spot for Baltimore, but that was because Baltimore had played in the Canadian Football League for awhile. The two of them were sitting in Alfred’s living room, drinking Coca-colas and watching the Patriots play against the Cowboys. The Patriots were the home team. There was a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it,” America jumped up as the commercials started. At the door was a man in a brown delivery uniform.

“I have a delivery here for a Matthew Williams. You him?”

“Naw, I’m his brother.”

“Sign here.” The man watched Alfred sign it. “Ya two are brother but have different last names?”

“Oh our parents got divorced when we were really little,” America said with the same story the two always used. It was an easily practiced lie. The man grunted in reply as he put a bouqet of sunflowers into Alfred’s hands. The man turned to walk away as America closed the door against the cold.

“Matty! There is a delivery for you.”

The Canadian brother padded into the hallway and a look of almost terror passed over his face as he saw the flowers. Alfred put them into his arms.

“Hey there is a card-“

Before Alfred could read it, Matthew had snatched the card away. That was when the phone rang. Alfred walked away to answer it, hoping he wouldn’t miss too much of the game that had just resumed on tv.

Matthew opened the card. He shook as he read it:

Roses are red,
Blood is too,
Become one with Russia,
Before I hurt you.
Da?

Meanwhile, Alfred answered the phone on the third ring.

“Oh, hello Francis... Your flight was cancelled.... Yeah, Matty is over here and using one of my guestrooms, but I don’t mind if you use the other... Make sure you bundle up. It is a lot colder here then it is in France.” Alfred hung up the phone and barreled back into the living room where Canada had regained his spot on the couch. “You are going to be happy. France is going to be spending Christmas with us,” he laughed, “looks like your letter to Santa paid off.”

While Alfred was smiling for his brother, who had also brightened up considerably, he couldn’t help but feel sad that someone else wouldn’t be spending Christmas with them.

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arthurkirkland
2009-12-25 12:01 am UTC (link)

England wheeled back around to face France as he got off the phone. "Who did you just call?"

"Amerique. He has invited us over for the holiday." France spoke the lie quite smoothly. He didn't bother to mention how cold it would be outside as he handed one of England's bags over.

Arthur took it indignantly, not the least bit happy that would be stuck in America until further notice. No, that was a lie, but he told himself the lie so well, it was difficult to know how he really felt. "He has room for the both of us?"

"Of course, of course," Francis urged, allowing Arthur out of the airport before him with a polite gesture. Behind the Englishman's back, he was busy pulling extra scarves and a jumper or two on, making sure to pause and check himself out in a window on the way out. Yes, he still looked fabulous, and could continue to the cold happily.

England, however, stopped dead in his tracks as they got outside. His elegant coat and plaid scarf, which had been warm enough before the snow started up, now felt much too thin for the piercing cold. He was about to about-face back into the building, but France wouldn't allow it.

Grabbing England's arm tightly, France thought out loud to himself. "Should we wait for a bus? Walking is fine, too. You have returned your rental car, have you not, Angelterre? Such a pity, we could have driven!"

"N-No," Arthur stammered through his chattering teeth. "Th-The bus wi-will do."

An hour and one bus ride later, a cheerful Francis and half-frozen Arthur were standing on Alfred's doorstep. France rang the doorbell and hummed a romantic tune as they awaited an answer.

	arthurkirkland 2010-01-02 07:03 am UTC (link)
	"What happened last Christmas?" England asked, giving France an odd look. He only remembered drinking himself oblivious, and then waking up the next morning with an incredible hangover. As France produced the first picture, however, he was instantly full of regret for asking. "How did you manage that?" Isabel asked, giving the photo an odd look. (Reply to this)(Parent)