Absolutely Incomprehensible British Gentleman
"You know, I'm really glad you decided to join us, (Name)."
"Only because I know you'll need a ride home."
"HAHAHAHA! Dude, you know him so well!"
Arthur glares at America as he holds the door open for you. To get immediate revenge, he slips through the doors before America and thus resulting in the doors smacking the poor guy in the face. Alfred laughs that off as he swings open the door, whacking England on the back. Arthur staggers forward then turns back to America, yelling,
"Watch it, you idiot!"
You look back at them and sigh, "You haven't even taken a sip of cider and you're already acting irresponsible."
"He started it," Alfred strolls past Arthur and stands by your side, scoping the pub.
The place is lively; filled with music and laughter. The bar glistens from just being wiped down for the nightly round of hoppers. The tables are nearly all completely taken
And it was only 10:00 pm.
"It's gonna be a long night," you mumble. England casually takes a seat at the bar. You sit in between Alfred and Arthur, for the sake of your sanity. The clatter of dishes rings from somewhere in the building.
"So guys, I was thinking we should have a contest to see who can hold the most-"
"Oh please, you already know that I've won that." England crosses his arms.
"Actually," you laugh nervously, "I'm not drinking tonight."
Alfred gasps, "Are you pregnant or something?!"
"No!" You groan. "Who's going to drive you two dummies home?"
"Oh yeah, I didn't think about that
"I've said that more than once, America. Please, try to listen better."
America wasn't paying attention to your words. He was too busy trying to decide what he wanted. England is swiveling the bright red stool a little bit, anxious to get started. It isn't long before Joe, the Allies' favorite bartender, comes to you guys.
"Well look at who's back!" he laughs heartily, wiping his hands on his white apron.
"'Sup, Joe, my man?" America grins. Joe scratches his head.
"Nothing really, just playin' the sax more. You're lucky I'm here. I'd be playin' it now if I could be."
"Why don't you play here, Joe? I'm sure the boss wouldn't mind." Arthur suggests.
"You know how boss is; 'if it's got too much soul, then it's gotta go'."
You all laugh. Joe's boss, Anthony, is really tight and anal, like he has a crab up his arse. Joe started saying that anything too fun was going to be taken away after the peanut fights were banned. Peanut fights: you simply take a bucket of peanuts and toss them around (or throw them at unsuspecting people). Of course America started that trend.
"You're right, Joe," America gasps for air. You look over your shoulder to see Mr.Anthony lurking in a corner before going into a back room.
"Back to my job," Joe wipes away a tear, "What'll it be tonight, groovy cats?"
"The usual for all of us," England says quickly. You begin to protest but Joe nods and says
"Alright, I'll do that. And guys
no more jokes about Anthony, he might've heard us."
You nod in unison with Alfred and Arthur.
"I wonder what France is doing right now," Alfred wonders aloud.
"Probably getting the farmer's daughter pregnant again." England chuckles at his own joke. You can tell that he's really going to have a really bad hangover.
The three of you converse about virtually nothing until the first round is set in front
"This round's on me," Joe's chocolate brown eyes have a mischievous glint to them.
"Sweet, dude! Thanks a butt load!"
"Yes, thank you."
You don't say anything because you didn't want a drink in the first place. You look up at the clock.
It is 10:10 pm. You watch as England takes his first sip.
We'll be out of here in an hour, you think.
[Three glasses later...]
"God save the queen," England mutters, "Do you know how long I've waited to get my Harry Potter cosplay?! I ordered it on E-bay: custom made and everything! And when it came-"he hiccups "it didn't fit right! The waist was too saggy
the same way that America wears his pants!"
America frowns. "I don't wear my pants saggy."
America was even wearing a belt tonight.
"You don't have a sense of etiquette, either! Bloody hell, you're hopeless, America!"
You sigh and swing your feet. Apparently sitting between them wouldn't stop their stupid arguments.
"I'm the Hero! I have a sense of etiquette."
"You would have one if you didn't leave me, America!" England bolts straight up and slams his fist on the counter.
"You just should have stayed with me! But nuh-uh! You had to prove to everyone that you could be so 'strong' on your own! Well, you aren't doing that well, bub!"
England continues, interrupting America. "No! You listen to me! I don't carrreeee who you think you arrrrre! I put so much bludy care into taking care of you and you
you declare INDEPENDENCE!? FOR WHAT?!"
"You kept making me pay to breathe, actually."
England hiccups again and waves a hand dismissively at America.
"It's called responsibility, ol' chap! Learn it, you half-minded bloody git!"
You look over at Joe. He's quietly snickering further down the counter while serving others.
"I raised you like any good person would do and you go and try to kill me!? Then you liberate your women by letting them wear pants?! Who do you think you arrrre?!" England slouches over the counter, looking into his glass. Then tips back, finishing it off.
"Oi! Joe! I want another!"
"Don't give him more!" You hiss at Joe. America swats away the glass.
"Seriously, he doesn't need anymore."
"Hey, Anthony says I'm not allowed to deny anyone a drink." Joe laughs, pouring more into the glass. You groan loudly, catching England's attention.
"What's wrong, love? You haven't touched a drop in that glass."
"I don't want it."
"YOU SEE, AMERICA?!" England grabs your shoulders. "THIS IS A REAL FRIEND, A TRUE PAL. I KNOW THAT (NAME) WOULDN'T TRY TO HURT ME."
"Actually," you say lowly.
"Let her go, Britain," Alfred sighs, clearly annoyed.
"OH? NOW YU WANNA TELL MEH WHUT TA DOH? I'M THE UNITED BLOODY KINGDOM AND I CAN DO WHATEVER I WON'T."
So soon and his speech is already a mess.
"Joe, do not give him anymore...or I'll break your saxophone." You hiss.
Joe walks away in utter joy, laughing as if he's never laughed before. England lets go of you and focuses on his drink.
"I really wish you could be cute like you used to be, America. Now you're just so
" his voice trails off. America takes another sip.
This sends Arthur over the edge.
"WHUT DID YEH JUST CALL MEH!?"
"YOU BLOODY WANKER! I DON'T BELIEVE YOU! DON'T CALL MEH THAT...Alfie,"
Now America stands in frustration.
"Seriously, England, you need to calm down!"
England laughs and stands as well.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom. When I come back, yurh gonna regret everything yuh said to meh."
The Englishman storms away to the restrooms. You exchange a look of disbelief with America.
"He probably went to go throw up." He scoffs. You can imagine that to be true.
The time is now 10:46 pm.
You're looking at a TV mounted on the wall when England comes out of the men's restrooms.
You jump a mile high as he leans on you from behind and hugs your waist.
"'Ello, gov'nor," he whispers in your ear.
"You ready to go home yet?" you ask impatiently. Alfred doesn't even look at Arthur, clearly still upset.
"It depends," England says seductively. You spin around in your chair only to find that he's run off again.
"ENGLAND!" you shout angrily. He's standing on top of the bar counter; a black apron is all that's covering up Big Ben. He wears white cuffs around his wrists and neck. Of course, he isn't wearing shoes.
Everyone stops and stares at him. England shamelessly flips his hair.
"No." You stand and grab his arm, urging him to come down. "Why are you wearing that?!"
"Oh don't lie, you like it." He pushes your arm away and giggles bashfully. Arthur sits down and his legs dangle from the edge and into your personal space. You push them away and he purrs.
America covers his face on the low, saying "I don't know him."
"Arthur, get down," Joe demands, not finding this funny anymore. England looks in Joe's direction.
"Oi! Get meh anotha glassh. I'm thrishty."
Joe doesn't seem to want to approach England however.
"No? Well I'm the bludy Untied* Kingduhm. I con get mah ownnnnn liqua!" England slides down from the counter and snatches a wine bottle up on the opposite side.
"England!" You shout and climb over the counter, feeling like you have to tame a rabid animal. Iggy swirls out of your reach and hiccups.
"Yuh con look, love, but cha con't touch~" he smirks and slaps his thigh. He raises his eyebrows and does a little sexy dance.
You growl, "Alfred-"
"I don't know him."
"Now you see why I wanted independence."
You look back only to find that the wild drunk has vanished.
A woman screams far off in the bar.
You bolt in the direction. England swirls the wine bottle, arms wrapped around an innocent woman.
"Get off of me!"
"Yuh're on meh, love!"
You yank Iggy off of the woman. He purposely falls back on you, making you stumble into a table.
"Whadaya doin', (Name)? You wont meh for yerself?"
You push him off of you and stand straight.
"We're going home." You say. Arthur looks offended, as if you just said that he was French and not British (of course, the time America said that to offend him, things ended up in a few day's argument and bickering).
"Whai? I'm noht goin'
'ome!" he turns away. Your face heats up and you cover your eyes. His rosy red cheeks are showing.
"THIS IS INDECENT." Someone yells.
"Get him out of here!"
"WHUD YOU CALL MEH?! I BET YOU'RE MOTHA'S FRENCH, AIN'T SHE?!"
Anthony comes out of the backroom looking very agitated, "What's all the noise?!"
Before you can speak, Arthur darts past you to Mr. Anthony.
"I've been lookin' evraywhere for yeh!"
Mr. Anthony takes one look at England and turns the color of England's cheeks.
"What the hell-"
"WHUT THE BLUDY 'ELL IS RIGH! Whut kinda pub do yeh think you're runnin?!" Arthur points an unsteady finger in Joe's direction.
"Thot good man ova thair is an ace saxo-player. No, not 'Saxony', I said 'sax' yeh git! Joeh is a giftad 'nd intellihent yung mahn, 'nd he deserves betta thon to work ot yehr stupid, tasteless, unauthentic, despecabhel, French-influhanced place yeh wanna call a 'pub'! YEH DON'T KNEWR THE 'IRST TH'NG 'BOUT RUNNIN' A PUB. YEH NEED TO TAKE DOWN TH' UNION JACK OUTSHIDE, 'CUSE TH'S PL'CE 'NT W'TH 'T."
You stand completely still, looking from Mr. Anthony to Arthur; and the rest of the pub is, too.
Anthony spits out the words, "Leave. Don't come back."
Arthur sways a little, and then smirks again. "I con due whut I wont."
"Who's goin' ta make meh? Yehr mummzie? 'ell cl'rly, I d'nt 've two bl'dy f'cks 'bout yeh or yeh d'mn 'p'b'! Joeh!" Arthur whips around to see Joe's face a distance away.
There are groans of disgust.
"Joeh! P'ck yeh b'gs, yeh n't com'n here 'nym're!"
Joe is about to respond, but Arthur begins rambling again.
"Oi! Fryin' mhent bhunneh! Wh'r ya beeeeeeeennnnnnnn? I've loooookkkkkkkeddd everrrrrywherrrre for yeh! D'd yeh kn'w thot th' 'ld, d'rty bostard thot run's th' pl'ce 's a pr'ckly wanka? 'ell yus 'e is, Fryin' mhent bhunneh. Oi! T'nk'rb'll! C'n yeh t'll Sp'rkly corn thot yeh d'n't p't p'an'tb'tta 'n sc'n's!? D'mb arse p't peanut buta 'n mah sc'ne y'sta deh! 'nd yeh d'nt ICE TEA! YOU DON'T ICE TEA. EVER."
You see Alfred slowly creeping up behind Arthur, a metal tray in his hands, ready to attack.
"Oh! 'nd (Name)! I m'nt to t'll yeh thot I-"
Alfred swings the tray, hitting Arthur on the head with a loud crack. The United Bloody Kingdom crumples over and onto the ground. People clear away, not liking the view. Alfred sighs and tosses the tray, kneeling next to the drunk.
"Joe? Do you think you could get his clothes out of the restrooms? I guess I have to drag him to the car."
" Joe agrees and jogs to the men's restrooms. Mr. Anthony announces,
"Nothing to see here, people! Sorry about all of this mess."
You kneel besides Alfred.
"Will he be alright?"
"Eh, he's had worse," America shakes his head.
Joe is back in no time, handing you Arthur's bundle of clothes.
"Be careful, his underwear is-"
England's Union Jack undies fall out of the bunch and land on your foot.
"Oh that's nice," you mumble sarcastically.
"I don't want to touch him."
"Maybe this would be easier if we put his pants on him."
England mumbles, "Oh shuttup yeh ninny, my legs are-"he begins to snore mid-sentence.
[Time: 11:15 pm]
"I'm not suggesting we have drinks together anymore." America says from the passenger's seat. You glance over at him. You look back at the dark road.
"It happens every time
but this was the worst
I'm so going to tell everyone about this."
I can. I'm the Untied Bludy Shtates of 'merica!" he mocks England's voice. You laugh a little.
"Okay, you tell everyone about this and I'll show everyone those 'embarrassing photos' from last year's Christmas party."
Alfred's face turns into that of horror.
"Yes, I would, Alfie."
"Don't call me that!"
"Alright, alright. So will you keep your mouth shut?"
It takes America a moment of thinking, but he nods.
How long are you gonna keep those pictures to black mail me anyway?"
"Who knows? I still have the pictures of England from the year before that
Remember when he got so drunk he chased his invisible friends into the cake?"
"Yeah! And the whole cake fell over on France-"
"-and Italy started to eat the cake off of him?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah! I forgot about that! And do you remember when Canada split milk on Russia's scarf-"
"-And Russia didn't know who did it-"
"And blamed Prussia for it!"
"Never has a punch to the gut ever looked so painful, dude!"
You both laugh, stirring England in his sleep.
"Quiet down, I'm sleeping-" more snores.
America continues to laugh and you do as well. Clearly, the drinks America had were beginning to affect him. You're glad you didn't drink anything tonight, because you were going to get prime footage of them for more black mail.
You had your camera in your pocket this whole time and couldn't wait to use it.