International Cooperation

International Cooperation

The four of them—England, Prussia, Austria, and Russia, that is—stare at the captive who sits between them.  The bound Frenchman stares back.  England sort of wants to kick him. They all sort of want to kick him, but England especially because he always wants to kick France and now he has a legitimate reason for wanting to.  

"I say we strip him of all his new territories," England says, glaring down at the seated man wearily.  France gives him a wolfish grin but his eyes aren't in it, they're smoldering with anger and the last vestiges of his ambitions.  

"If you intend to strip me, you should start with my clothes."  England blanches and rolls his eyes.

"Perhaps he should live in my house for a while?  He is a bad child but I'm sure I can teach him properly."  A cold chill runs through everyone at Russia's words, and England, Prussia and Austria exchange glances, wondering if they all hate France enough for that.   France looks ready to cry at the thought.

"I…Don't think it's necessary to put you through such trouble," Austria says, tactfully negating the idea.  France still looks like he's ready to cry, but at least now it's from gratefulness.  Pathetic either way in Prussia's opinion, real men don't show tears!

"We should just occupy France until things settle down there," Prussia suggests, bored and already wishing that this meeting were over.  

"I do hope you'll be gentle with me."

A resounding sigh moves around the room, followed by another exchange of glances between England and Prussia; they'd undoubtedly be seeing each other at a nearby pub later that evening.  They determine based on the way Austria is pinching the bridge of his nose that he'll probably be joining them there, too.  Russia, for the record, has been drinking since morning.  The rest of them are pretty sure he has the right idea here.

000

And to think just a few years ago they were bitter enemies.  

"Th' bloody wankers, ignoring us th' 'ole way through…" England is only a bit sore about the snubbing he'd gotten during their alliance's most recent congress.  So he had a problem with Austria stomping all over little Italy's revolution, did that really mean they had to act like children and ignore him?  Honestly.  

"Oui, they were most cruel to us, making decisions all on their own."  France pours his drinking buddy another glass of wine while topping off his own barely touched glass; he has yet to regain his former taste for the liquid.  Besides, if both he and England get sloshed, then who will drag the other to bed?  France is upset by the day's happenings too, after all, and what better way to show their sympathy for each other than by expressing their deep understanding through intimacy?

"Jus' 'cause I refused to join their lit'le 'oly Alliance I get snubbed.  Wot's so holy 'bout an alliance with Russia and Prussia, fa' Heaven's sake?"

France snorted and took the smallest sip of wine; he had to keep up pretenses, after all.  "What indeed," he replied, and pat the other's shoulder in an agreeing manner.  England was so drunk, he wouldn't even notice if it stayed where it was or moved southward.

"The bloody Pope wouldn't even sign it!  An' 'e should know a thing or two 'bout holiness."

"Perhaps, but we've lived long enough to see our fair share of corrupt popes, oui?" His hand slips a bit lower, just off England's shoulder and onto his back.


"'Ose side are you on 'ere?" The younger nation furrows his brows and gives France a half-hearted, drunken glare, his flush and pout making it much less effective.

"Yours, of course.  I was cast aside, too, you know." Hand goes down more, to the small of his back… and nothing.  Good, this is a good sign for France.  If he makes it all the way that means he's won a lovely prize for the night.  

"As you should be!  I mean really…"  England continues to rant in his own drunken way, and France listens only partially because he's almost there, almost there, just a bit more and he's--

--England straightens his back and gives France a look—he can't tell if it's exasperation or annoyance reflected back at him in those green eyes.  "There's not enough wine in the world, Francis Bonnefoy," he says as he stands up and grabs his coat.  His expression changes to show just how much enjoyment he derives from denying his elder at the last minute like he just has.  "Next time, I suggest you try rum."

000

"Oh you are being quite immature now," Austria says with a hint of distain in his voice as he rolls his eyes.  For quite some time now, England has found it impossible for some reason or other to cooperate with the rest of the group.  They are trying to run a continent, but he's always got something against them.  Still, at least that had been done in such a way as to be acceptable, if not somewhat annoying.  

The medal that was warming in Austria's hand read 'MY TROOPS OCCUPY NAPLES TO CHASTISE THE NEAPOLITANS FOR DARING TO CHANGE THEIR CONSTITUTION'.  While Austria was indeed in the middle of punishing a particularly rebellious Italy, there was no reason to start making medals about it.  Really, England made it seem like there was something wrong with keeping a tight watch on his charge.

England's lips quirk up in such a way as to suggest a smirk, but he doesn't allow the expression to show fully on his face; that wouldn't be very polite of him, after all.   They all know he wants to though, so the courtesy is pointless.

"Well it's not as though I made the thing, you know."

"Not personally, perhaps," France mutters a bit scathingly as he looks at the little medal made in response to his own actions.  Really, England just can't help but comment on everything, can he?  So he was messing with Spain a bit, what's it to England?

England smirks at their ire and proceeds to take his seat at the conference table.  "Well, no use getting upset over trifles now is there?  We should be getting straight to business.  So how about those Turks?"

A sigh travels through the room.  France asks Russia to pass the vodka his way, and the meeting starts.