Acts of Rebellion (America / England)

[England - Arthur Kirkland]

It had been a particularly aggravating meeting with the other nations, with the majority of them trying to talk over the other. Most of them were wearing work suits today, and Arthur was no exception, with his tie neatly tucked into his sweater vest, the blazer neatly pressed before he'd pulled it over his shoulders. Arthur had given up on speaking and had started a personal work space on his table space while the same couple of nations continued to argue well into the hour. He was penning notes, taking down only the small bits of conversation that were actually pertinent, while also completing his own documents. He would occasionally glance up at whoever happened to be sitting at the table across from him, which of course happened to be Alfred, so he frequently would look up from his work to give him a little smirk, as if to silently make fun of the fact that they were at this pointless meeting along with the ridiculous arguments that were ongoing. The stress seemed to melt briefly from Arthur’s expression in the sparse moments when he happened to catch Alfred looking back. His heart would briefly quicken.

When the meeting had finally concluded, Arthur had given Alfred a look, inviting him to follow whenever he was finished meeting with some of the others. Arthur had packed up his papers, neatly organizing them in his bag before sliding the bag over his shoulder and leaving the main conference room, not bothering to stop for further conversations. Whenever Arthur was in one of these moods, he typically liked to allow Alfred to hunt for where he might've gone, the occasional unspoken game that Arthur had played with him in the past after these meetings. He left a pretty blatant clue for him by leaving one of the doors ajar. No need to leave Alfred guessing for too long.

He ended up in an unused, smaller conference room, the table and chairs neatly in place. Arthur sighed slowly, sitting himself up on the main table, his legs dangling from the end as he dropped his bag from his shoulder, setting it to the side as he finished sorting through a few more documents. It was peaceful enough in here to complete the last bit of work while he waited for Alfred to show up. Even though Arthur did seem to focus intensely on work most of the time during these meetings, he still harbored his playful side whenever he found opportunities to break up the monotony of everything, from the constant disagreements between nations to the half-arsed negotiations to keep some of them from breaking out into further fights until the next meeting.

tag // America - Alfred F. Jones

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

Alfred looked sharp today, but he certainly wasn’t in the mood to act sharp. His feet were propped under the desk somehow to make his posture poorer than usual. His posture was usually less than perfect but today it was clear that he was doing as much as possible to show it. He was bored out of his mind in this meeting and was looking for anything else to do. His body was slouched in the chair and he looked much shorter than most of the nations around him. Germany was drowning out into the atmosphere around them.

Alfred had difficulties remaining still his whole life. There was too much bundled up energy to keep in one place. When it wasn’t appropriate to do anything in the moment he would not even know what to do with himself. With enough time he was able to utilize what he’d learned to keep himself under control. Sometimes he couldn’t help it.

His eyes wandered and found Arthur’s looking at him. He caught the smirk and a soft smirk of his own met it. It seemed like they were on the same page about how boring this was. When the meeting was over he caught his gaze again and caught his drift. What in the world was Arthur on about right now? His curiosity peaked he had to follow. Of course, Alfred didn’t get out the door as smoothly as Arthur did. He was far too popular to not be caught by almost everyone around him. He tried to be short with a few people and had a light conversation with some before he was finally able to slip out the door.

Once he was away from everyone he spotted the open door in the hall. Alfred slipped inside and discretely shut it behind him. He grinned when he saw him and approached him. His hands stuffed into his own pockets and his legs swung wide in his steps to act aloof about being it the room. “You look bored. Sorry it took me so long, you know I’m insanely popular.” Alfred said with a sly smirk and pushed his hair back for dramatic effect.

[England - Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur caught the subtle purposeful hints in Alfred’s posture, some of which was familiar to the sort of posture that he would display when he was somewhere he didn’t want to be. One would never know beneath Arthur’s mostly expressionless face during the meeting that he was a little bit amused.

Of course, seeing Alfred grin at him once he made it to the unused conference room made his heart warm over. He liked seeing Alfred smile at him. He snorted softly in response to his statement. ”You didn’t take that long.” When Alfred approached, Arthur slid his fingers along Alfred’s tie, pulling him steadily closer. ”Although, I’ll admit that you look rather dashing today. I was wondering why you dressed nicer than usual.” When he drew Alfred close enough, his lips brushed over Alfred’s teasingly before he bit softly at his lip, pulling before letting go. ”I think… we need to do something fun. Especially after that atrocity of a meeting.”

His hand slid up against Alfred’s shirt, creating a few wrinkles. It was in that moment that Alfred would have been falling away, the previous warmth replaced with a slight chill, and the natural light filtering in the conference room quickly darkening.

1315

He would’ve fallen directly into a room, perhaps even accidentally ripping down some of the sheets surrounding the bed meant for privacy. This room was larger than it seemed initially, as there were two smaller rooms attached to the main area where a fire had been active in the fireplace. There were also candles and oil lanterns about that gave plenty of light to a room that otherwise would’ve been darkened by the fast approaching evening. The walls and floors were made of stone. The floors were covered with heavy ornate rugs and many thick tapestries hung on the walls in an attempt to preserve as much warmth in the room as possible. There was a large window overlooking an active city and thick forest beyond, but there seemed to be some crudely placed iron bars that had been hastily jammed and hammered between the stone placements on each side to either prevent someone from sneaking in or to prevent anyone passing through the window. The stars were just starting to peek through the evening sky.

The silence would soon be broken by what sounded like a struggle in the corridor outside the main, heavy oaken door. There were shouts and even the sounds of heavy slams against the stone wall before the door was thrown open. Three large men were forcing a younger Arthur with them into the room, while he struggled violently. His face was quite red with anger, and his lack of strength against three normal-sized men didn’t seem to deter him at all. He had always been a fighter; and Francis was aware of that, so the French nation would plan accordingly whenever he wasn’t physically here to attempt to teach, occasionally be nasty to, and subdue Arthur.

French words spilled from the men, most of it sounding an irritated mesh of curses before they left him on the floor and very quickly made it to the other side of the door so that they could bolt it. Arthur scrambled up just as quickly with a cry of rage and immediately started beating against the door with his fists. A string of colorful profanity spilled from Arthur, a mixture of his angry English, some Germanic-sounding words, as well as some of that filthy French, as he turned and grabbed what seemed to be a decorative sword from the wall and started railing against the wood with that as well, all of it to release his frustration.

When that energy had been expended enough, Arthur tossed the sword in the corner of the room. ”How dare he call me a French possession. I am not some fucking French possession! He’ll be sorry that he ever came here, that stupid French bedswerving milksop…” he muttered to himself. Now that Arthur wasn’t raging and had stood a little straighter as he glanced about his room, obviously looking for something, his age could probably be guessed at about 15, somewhere in his teenaged years. He was dressed fairly well, in a dyed tunic, breeches, and a low hanging belt over his hips. He was also curiously wearing long hunting boots as if he were just about to go out. But he still was dressed nowhere near the gaudy, shining fashions that the French were wearing as they dragged him inside. There was clearly a large difference in status.

Arthur made his way deeper into the room, but he paused when he saw the iron bars crudely hammered between the indents of the stones. He laughed, although he still sounded annoyed. ”Oh yes, you’re so clever, Francis…” he muttered once more, sarcasm dripping from his words.

When Arthur turned, he froze when he noticed that he wasn’t alone in the room, although he didn’t quite get a good look at him yet. ”Wha—Who the hell are you? Were you sent to guard me?!” The idea of Francis placing a guard in his room made Arthur even more upset, although he wouldn’t place it above him.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

Alfred grinned as Arthur’s fingers pulled at his tie. It was never straight anyways. Arthur would always make a fuss about the way he looked and he didn’t mind too much now a days. It gave Arthur an excuse to get really close to him. “Oh?” He smirked and shrugged his shoulder to be cool about it. Of course, he’d dressed sharper than usually on purpose. This was specifically to catch attention. It wasn’t that he didn’t always look fly though! Alfred liked to think that he looked good no matter what he was wearing. His lip was tugged away slightly by Arthur and he felt his heart flutter. “What did you have in mind?” He teased playfully with his words as if he had no idea what he was talking about.

“Arthur?...Wait!” He shouted as he felt himself slipping away from the warmth of his touch. This couldn’t have been a more inconvenient time to have one of these.

Alfred shouted as he fell and grabbed on to the first thing he saw. His fingers caught onto the heavy fabric of long ceiling to floor curtains. Not being able to hold his weight they quickly pulled off the wall and brought the bar holding them with him. He hit the floor hard and groaned as he tried to untangle himself from the curtain. His fingers grabbed ahold of the wooden rod and he swung it to the side to get out from underneath it. Another crash startled him and when he peaked out from the curtain he saw that the wooden brace had impacted into a side drawer. The drawers had completely been crushed by the impact and nearly cleaved in two.

“Oh shit.” He stood up and walked over to the damage. Alfred couldn’t help himself sometimes. What could he say? He was accident prone. Just as he tried to assess the damage he heard the scuffle outside. He didn’t even have any time to hide before he saw a very familiar body forced into the room. Arthur? Was that Arthur? He looked so young, way too young. As French left his mouth it only took a few moments for Alfred to decipher a rough timeline. Arthur as a teenager….Somedays he thought Arthur never experienced teenage years.

The tossed sword made him jump but he stayed where he was as the much more vibrant Arthur boasted his anger about the room. It wasn’t until he caught eyes with him that his heart lifted in his chest. Arthur’s eyes were so emerald and filled with fire. There was such a spark there that was so rare in present times. Almost forgetting himself he stammered and tried to think up something. “No no, I’m just… Uh… Visiting. IN HERE too. Yeah I’m in here too. Damn French am I right?” He cringed at his own words with that one and stood awkwardly near the desk. He had to recover this somehow. “Oh yeah this dresser… “ He looked at it and tried to pull one out. It crumbled the moment he touched it and made an even bigger mess. “Might have to get that fixed.” He mumbled.

“ANYWAY. I’m Alfred. Alfred F Jones.” He stuck out his hand to hopefully shake the young teens hand. All of his confidence and charm came flooding back to him. Something about seeing Arthur this way was so liberating for him.

[England - Arthur Kirkland]

Hearing the accent of the strange man, while he also spoke in English, made Arthur relax the smallest bit. It was already clear that this couldn’t possibly have been a French guard. The closer that he got to this man; however, he noticed just how eccentrically he was dressed. The material didn’t look like wool or crudely dyed English or the only slightly more refined French linen. He was also wearing a strip of dark cloth down the front of his outfit that seemed to serve absolutely no purpose. What a strange fashion. Arthur took another step closer, very curious when he noticed that this man was also wearing eyeglasses of all things! They had just been invented about ten years ago in Venice, and they were now selling for a very pretty price. Due to the cost of merchants traveling all the way to Britain; however, they were even more absurdly expensive. Arthur, himself, had only ever heard about this new invention. This man was either well-traveled or extremely wealthy. But that didn’t make sense. Why would an Englishman have wealth like this? He would have to be a French noble to be able to hold onto that kind of money if he lived here. Maybe that would account for the strange accent? Or perhaps he was simply a foreigner who just happened to know English.

All of these thoughts surged through Arthur’s mind as he inspected this man. Arthur did give him an odd look when he said that he was in here too. ”Why would they lock you up in my room? I mean… the French are quite stupid and brutish to anyone they don't like. They probably didn’t know where they were in this big, stupid castle that their King ordered them to build,” He muttered the rest, looking rather sour that this castle had existed at all. It was a bribery from France, a ridiculous attempt at trying to win Arthur over into being less of a pain in his tyrannical, French arse. When the man pulled out a chest drawer, Arthur was startled when it crumbled, and took a slight instinctual step back. His widened eyes were now assessing all the damage surrounding this man, noticing the full extent of it for the first time. ”You did all this?” He didn’t sound upset, but sounded like he was rather impressed. He’d never met someone this intensely strong.

An idea seemed to be forming in Arthur’s cheeky, impulsive thoughts and he glanced quickly between the bolted door and the iron-clad window. ”You can…” He didn’t finish his spoken thought, that fire was rekindled in his gaze, intense with purpose and eagerness. He was barely contained wildness at this point in his life, having only ever relied on himself for survival.

His attention was diverted and something in Arthur’s expression softened and saddened slightly when the man told him his name. ”Alfred?” Of course, when Alfred held out his hand for him to shake, Arthur couldn’t help feeling the smallest bit flattered, since that was a gesture of respect. Certainly, none of the French ever thought him important enough to want to shake his hand. He reached over to grip at his hand, shaking it. ”You’re named after a really great man,” He commented, a small smile touching his features in remembrance. This stranger had a uniquely Anglo-Saxon name, one that foreigners rarely ever wore, so how bad could he be? He didn’t necessarily present as a dangerous person either, even if he had clearly smashed some of the furniture in here. ”I’m Arthur.”

After he dropped his hand, he did draw closer once more to continue his inspection. ”So… where are you from, Alfred? Your accent is very strange… And these are very bizarre clothes you’re wearing…” Arthur boldly took a hold of Alfred’s strip of fabric hanging down his chest, feeling the fabric and looked very confused as he lifted it up to inspect underneath it. What was the actual purpose of this? Was it holding his shirt up at the neck?

Arthur put the fabric back down, incidentally making it crooked, and he glanced up, his eyes meeting Alfred's. He reached up to briefly and delicately graze the side of Alfred’s glasses before drawing back his fingers. He’d never seen eyeglasses in person, never so much as touched a pair before. ”Those eyeglasses must’ve cost a fortune… Did you get them in Venice? Are you a traveler? I’ve never been off the island myself…” He added the last part somewhat sheepishly. This man was interesting in his oddness, seemingly worldly and not like anyone Arthur had ever come across before.

He also noticed that Alfred looked very healthy, no pox scarring on his face and no other indications of past illness or famine that were very common on everyday people. It was also clear that Alfred bathed regularly, and furthermore, seemed to be wearing some kind of perfume, sort of like the French nobles who were always dabbing something smelly on themselves. It was annoying on a Frenchman, but Arthur didn’t mind this scent on Alfred. Arthur could feel a peculiar heat growing in his cheeks the longer that he gave this man a once over, his gaze kept going back to the blue of his eyes behind the glasses.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

This was getting more difficult by the second. It was weird standing in a room with his former mentor, caretaker and eventual overbearing tyrant as a completely different person. Well, maybe he wasn’t completely different but he seemed to be in a little bit of trouble. He just wasn’t quite sure how to act around him. In the real world they were in the middle of a romantic relationship, but right now Arthur didn’t even know who he was. He was actually the older one in this instance. As much as all of that was terrifying it was freeing in a way, it could actually be fun. Alright…. He just had to not screw this up…..More than he already had.

“Well…You know.” He gave a blanket statement with a blanket shrug to his question and hopped he’d move on. He honestly had no idea why France would lock him up, given that France had no idea he was even here right now or who the hell he was. That was probably a situation that was best avoided for the moment. “Oh.. Uh….Yeah.” Alfred sheepishly looked around at the damage he’d caused. “I didn’t mean to tear the place up.” He laugh laughed and scratched the back of his head. He’d literally just dropped in on the situation. All of Arthur’s energy was intoxicating though. He felt like he wanted to match it at any minute but was locked on whether he might say the wrong thing or seriously confuse him as to where he came from.

Something about the way he looked at him after he said his name brought Alfred into a more comfortable zone. Maybe he could wing this afterwards? England was totally digging him right now and why wouldn’t he? He was dressed sharply, looked fantastic and had all the charisma and charm like always. “Thanks, I like it too. It’s an American name. The guy that named me it was pretty cool too sometimes.” He added and shook his hand firmly before letting it go. Now that he was comfortable he wasn’t paying much attention to the amount of slang and jargon he used. “America. It’s pretty great. The best actually.” He beamed and puffed out his chest a little. What was the harm in saying that? Arthur didn’t even know what America was at this time. “Oh these?” He touched the side of his rims not thinking much of them. They were designer of course but nothing that couldn’t be gotten at a local Vision Works store. “There nothing really. You could say I get around.” Alfred winked with the last part. The best thing to do right now would be to just remain level headed and calm. "The suits Armani." He added just for flair. This was kind of fun.

“So I couldn’t help but notice you seem to be in a bit of a bind….Uh like myself. Since we’re both here.” He looked around as if he’d just gotten here too, which he did. “I doubt you want to be here any more than I do.” Alfred added and moved away from him a little to inspect what parts of the room he hadn’t turned into a mess. All of this was almost frustrating to take in. Seeing Arthur locked up and put in this kind of state was infuriating. If Arthur had often felt like this, why did he end up repeating the same things with him? Too many questions he couldn’t even begin to ask him right now.

[England - Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur huffed when Alfred shrugged his response with why France had locked him in here as well. ”Well, if he did lock you in here, then I may as well break you out. I’m sure that’ll upset him,” spoken as if upsetting Francis would make his day a bit brighter. He did laugh a little when Alfred looked ashamed over having made a mess. ”Oh, don’t worry about it. None of this is really my stuff anyway. He gave it to me, as if to bribe me into being his compliant little possession. I’d prefer if it was all broken,” Arthur muttered, a rather darkened tone. ”I don’t care if you break this entire sodding castle.”

Of course, Arthur’s features shifted into confusion when Alfred said that his name was American and that he was from America. ”What? Where’s America? …And whoever told you that the name Alfred was anything other than English would’ve been lying to you… It means ‘elven counsel’ in Old English.” Although this Alfred didn’t seem particularly wise, like the name suggested. If people from this America place spoke English and were healthy and had money, then perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad place to visit at some point. Of course, if it happened to be in Europe, then Arthur might not be so inclined to visit. ”I wonder why you speak English, then. You must have some kind of connection here?” A flush covered Arthur’s face when Alfred winked at him. What an oddly charming man.

Arthur gave him another peculiar look when he told him that his clothes were called Armani. What the hell was an Armani? He broke from the thought when Alfred brought up their predicament. ”Yes, we’ll break out of here soon enough… the stupid bastard thinks he can lock me up whenever he pleases…” he grumbled, reaching over to take the strip of fabric hanging down the front of Alfred’s Armani and tugging him along. ”Here, I’ll let you come with me. But you really need to change your clothes. I will not risk being noticed or being robbed once we make it onto the streets. You’re a walking bloody target.” Arthur eyed Alfred once they were in a different room, looking through the wardrobe and picking out items that looked to be about Alfred’s size. A set of trousers, a shirt, a set of boots, and a cloak.

”I hope you can see without your eyeglasses. Everyone will want to take those from you,” Arthur commented as he leaned back against the post of the second bed in the spare room, watching him curiously. Prior to France’s invasion, Anglo-Saxons all lived in close quarters with each other, some of them sharing long-houses where privacy wasn’t quite a thing. Men and women would dress, undress, relieve themselves, and be intimate with each other all in front of others. So, Arthur in this timeframe didn’t think it was odd that he was casually watching Alfred undress.

”If we go out the window, we’ll attract less attention. I don’t really want to take on any guards. Arthur slung his bow and quiver of arrows over his shoulder, giving Alfred a rather wicked little smile. ”You don’t mind breaking those bars on the window, do you? If you can shatter a table, I’d like to see you try iron.”