[Archive] War of 1812 [Canada]

[England]

July 1812, Fort Albany

Pacing the small cabin he sighed, breath a shuddering huff of distaste. It wouldn't be long now before he reached the small trading port he'd acquired years prior, though right now the thought of such went little to quelling him. Soothing droplets in a torrential downpour of clamouring disarray. If he was the type he'd have screamed in frustration, stamping about in a state reminiscent to a stroppy child who wasn't getting their own way. This was all assuming he was that sort of man, and of course he was not. Instead he stopped the caged steps, standing all too rigidly with a pensive scowl written into his face. From one war to the next it seemed, leaving one that was far more important to come and dealing with that bloody prat once more! Why? Well he knew why of course, it was his fault. It seemed one could blame everything on he if they tried hard enough. This time one could say he was being oppressive, trying to breach the brat's so called 'freedom'. No, sorry, not freedom. It was 'independence', no? Correct, that's what had been presented before him in such fickle inks. Decelerations given and yet still the same mistakes were being made, and of course he had no doubt that he would be blamed. Or at least his people would be, thus by extension he... Tsk, it all really did come to pointing the finger at a not so jolly old England.

Shaking his head of such trifling idiocy he snatched the envelope from the desk once more, flicking it open as the seal was already cracked for access. He knew what the contained scrawl stated, delivering the news that the troops they'd spared for Canada had been sent, and that he too was to follow in stead. In truth... He didn't want to. A part of him loathed the idea of yet another war in the land that had once been his own, not through any lingering affections... No, rather it was damn old wounds that had never really healed. He didn't want to go there, to him, and face the reasons for all that forced him to sweet liquors. The very reason for this abominational loss of pride. Still, he was ordered to protect the colony he still held in the west. What more could he really do other than that? Nothing of course, nothing but bend over and take it accordingly. Still, it was also an ideal opportunity to put the fool back in his place. England had been far too soft on him in times past, he'd coddled the boy to the point the fool didn't truly know what it was the British Empire could do. He'd find out though, dammit he would! For the sake of his pride England could not lose again.

As he heard a mollified knock upon the door he tucked the letter away, never having had a chance to go over it once more to confirm what he already knew to be there. “Yes?” He demanded, voice clipped in a refined sort of way. It was just so easy to hide behind a barbed mask, or so he thought. Frankly he didn't really give a second thought as to what others thought, not any more.

“We're here, Sir. We're docked and ready to unload when you give the order.”

Swinging the door open he brushed past the other, careful to avoid knocking against him along the way. “Tell them to start. You know what to do.” Unlike his usual ventures the ship this time had not been a grand warship, rather it was actually a merchant vessel, one trading specifically in furs. He'd been lucky really, to put a crew together would have taken too long, wasting time he simply didn't have to squander so freely. “Do as you please from here on out, I thank you for the transport.” The words were so reserved, so clipped. In a way they were monotone, portraying little to nothing of what may have actually been going through his head. None would ever really be able to grapple such an answer out of him at any rate, he was indeed an island after all. Empire yes, but before that he was an island, and of course, islands were the greatest things imaginable at closing themselves off into secrecy.

Taking a deep breath of salty air he straightened the mournfully black suit, running his fingers briefly through untameable blond hair in some vague attempt to smooth it. It didn't work. Obviously.

Striding quickly across the deck he was down onto the dock in a matter of moments. He scanned the small crowd that had gathered, looking for one person, just one. Not seeing them at a glance the scowl that seemed near permanent on his face these days deepened further, leading him to shake his head. So far as he knew word had been sent to the lad before he'd even arrived back to his beloved England from that damned Spanish bastard's turf. Thus he had no doubt that the Canadian should have known England would be here, there was no reason for him not to be after all. Thus he wondered for a brief moment why the other was not here. It was for his benefit that England had pulled himself mid war to actually be here. Granted, it was the fault of the English that this was actually happening in some ways, but by no means had Arthur forced the Americans' hands into trying to screw with what was his. I really was just a whole bitter screwover, one he'd of course deal with using all the eloquence and grace of a gentleman. It was only proper after all. One had to repay debts in kind, did they not? Of course they did.

Catching a glimpse of something vaguely familiar he turned fully, finally finding the blond he'd been looking for. He supposed he could count his blessings that the weather was thus far fine, had a sea fog rolled in there was no doubt he'd have missed the other.

Not having enough of a barbaric streak to simply yawp at the other. No, instead he edged his way through the crowd until he drew close to the other. “Matthew,” he greeted with a vague tilt of his head. “How have you been?” How have you been with your brother trying to dominate you? Ah, such a foolish question really, but it was a formality to greet and ask. With a vague relent though he uttered a more sincere; “You look well enough.” What else could he really say? After all, this was war. He couldn't very well apologise to the other for it, not at the moment any way. Fuck, he didn't particularly want to at any point, he was damn sick of being sorry. Besides, for now his simply being here was saying enough. Actions spoke ever so much more than words after all.

[maple]

Matthew did not understand war.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen it – On the contrary, he had already seen quite a few small-scale Wars, and sheltered the loyalists to the crown during his brother’s silly Battle for Independence. Sure, the wars had been smaller scale, skirmishes between villages, Native Tribes, and the occasional fight between the French and English on his own soil. It affected him, there was no denying any of that, but it wasn’t as personal somehow as receiving a declaration of war from his own brother.

A booted foot almost slipped in a stray bit of mud during his stalk to the docks, and he pin wheeled his arms slightly to keep himself standing before returning to his hurried walk, teeth grit slightly at the memory.

It had been hard to believe, when he first heard from his men what America had chosen to do. Perhaps hard was not even the proper term : Impossible was a better one. It had been impossible to believe that his twin – the second piece to his whole, the boy that had played alongside of him in the fields, pulled his hair, and rescued him from over-sized buffalo – could possibly declare war upon him…simply because he would not join in the foolhardy idea of independence. Matthew was just as unhappy as any other colony to be a colony, but he would not achieve independence in such a manner, especially when he knew, at a sinking level, that he was not ready to receive the duties and stress of being a separate nation.

Not yet. Just not yet.

Now? He was getting himself immersed in one of his first full-blown wars, and the Canadian couldn’t help but feel that he wasn’t quite ready for it. He was afraid, for once. His brother had seen battle. His brother had seen immense battle against the British army once and, somehow, had managed to succeed in gaining a victory. It boggled Matthew, to be frank. He couldn’t grasp how the other blonde boy had managed to “defeat” their Monarch… Or if there had been as grand of a defeat as what he boasted at all. Matthew had not been there, had REFUSED to cross the boundaries of their countries, and couldn’t say anything to the matter. He could, however, say something to what was going on in his own country…

The Americans were already there. They had began gathering on July 5th… At the time, though it had made Matthew uncomfortable, he had done nothing but watch from Sandwich, one of his small communities 35 km above Fort Amherstburg. Sandwich was nothing, but it would give him a place to observe and alert Amherstburg from. He had paced the shore of the Detroit river for days, watching this man, this General William Hull, from afar. He had spoken to his men, told them to prepare for an offensive… Everything in the man’s body movements had warned the young Colony that something was being planned. His suspicions only deepened when he could see his brother, clad in that blue uniform he recalled from that damned war for independence, speaking to the General.

His fears had been quickly realized. Despite his words of warning to his people, he had not been heeded… And on July 12th, General Hull and his brother had stormed into Sandwich. What had Matthew been meant to do? Fight? There weren’t enough people, let alone milita-based people, located in that small community to do anything against an invading army… They had scattered. Like frightened lambs, he and what little militia that Essex County had been able to spare from the main forts fled from Sandwich. He had urged them along, truth be told – How could his sparse army hold their own against 2500 men? They couldn’t. Not here. He had ordered them to retreat to Amherstburg, to wait there while he waited for England to come.

England would come. Matthew was certain of it.

He continued to tell himself that, even as he felt sick watching his brother erect his American flag on Canadian soil. It had made something deep within him burn, a resentment he couldn’t shake. How dare he-!

The Canadian shook himself off as he finally reached the docks, indigo eyes raising to search for the Englishman in question. He could feel that he didn’t have much time… He needed the man’s guidance. He had already heard from his men whispered rumours of an attack against them. A full-fledged one, not what had occurred at Sandwich. If this held even the smallest grain of truth to it… He needed to be ready. He needed a man who knew what he was doing, and England was that man, no matter how much it made Matthew want to gnash his teeth.

He did breathe a sigh of relief when he saw the older Nation step off the merchant ship. Well, at least one thing was certainly working in his favour – The Englishman truly did arrive when he said he would. Slightly cracked lips pulled themselves into a tight smile as he pushed himself through part of the gathered crowd, trying to edge closer to the man. With his poor luck, Arthur probably wouldn’t see him…or wouldn’t recognize him. Matthew couldn’t count on both hands and feet how many times that had happened before…

He glanced back, only once, making sure that the carriage transport he had procured for the other man was still waiting. Yes, good… It had arrived at the edge of the dock and was now waiting patiently for the teenager dressed in red and his…guardian? Matthew wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to refer to England as anymore. As he broke the heaviest crowd, he took just a moment to glance down at himself, checking to make sure he was presentable. Beyond the bit of mud on his boots, and a splash of it across the leg of his pants, he looked fine… He was dressed in the red militia coat that had been provided to his military by the British troops sent to him. It was almost nice to have something so formal and unifying to wear, but it only served to drive the hard reality into Matthew’s head when he looked at it.

He couldn’t wait to take the damn thing off.

He raised his gaze again, only to start slightly as Arthur’s eyes caught his own. No matter how old he got, England always did that to him. Matthew could only hope that someday in the future that habit would wear off… He was relieved to see that a look of recognition passed over the features of the Monarchy, and he barely withheld a sigh of relief as the other pushed their way closer to him.

”Matthew,” Oh, thank God, the man actually remembered his name – Colour Matthew startled. “How have you been?”

Here, the purple-eyed nation set him with an odd look. Had he honestly just asked him how he had BEEN? This couldn’t have been his best idea for small talk, could it? Or was this just a level of formality? Matthew gave a bitter smile and debated whether he would actually answer that question or not, but silenced himself when he heard the quiet, ”You look well enough.”

Well. That was rather nice.

”I’m as well as one can be, given the circumstance,” he settled with as a response after a moment of thought. He voice was slightly bitter, and tone clipped – A significant change from his usual method of speech. ”It’s… It’s good to see you here, though.”

He had begun to turn, not even bothering asking other questions, before he caught himself. War or not, formalities were important…as were manners. And where were his own?

He winced inwardly and turned back, flashing the man a bit of a smile, ”A-And yourself…? You look pretty well for a man who just crossed the ocean… I hope the wars in Europe have not been…too hard on you.”

---

- July 5th : American troops gathered on their side of the Detroit River. They were led by General William Hull, who took his time in plotting an all-out offensive against the Canadians in Sandwich. During this time, there was no real fighting, but there was much intimidation. They refer to it as bombardment, but no history books make any reference to any FIGHTING, as both the Canadians and Americans stayed on their respective sides.
- July 12th : The technical “beginning” of the War of 1812, of sorts. Sure, it BEGANbegan in June, with the declaration of War, but no fighting began until now. The American’s crossed the river and took Sandwich. They received little struggle, as the Canadian’s hurriedly fled and dropped back, most of the militia being sent to Fort Amherstburg. The American’s would, naturally, set their sites on this fort.
- “felt sick watching his brother erect his American flag on Canadian soil” : This references when the American’s took residence in a home (specifically the home of Colonel Francois Baby, a local Canadian militia officer). They turned this home into a headquarters for the American’s and they raised an American flag on the Canadian soil, despite Baby’s attempts to stop them.
- “heard from his men whispered rumours of an attack against them” : This is a sort-of foreshadowing for the fighting that would happen on July 16th. I’m dating this post for the early 13th, so the attack has yet to happen. Matthew also has yet to find out about the reinforced fort that is being built in Sandwich, which will be finished by the 14th. Kid gon’ be pissed.
- “It was almost nice to have something so formal and unifying to wear” : Canadian troops were rather proud to wear the red coat uniform when they received them. They enjoyed the feeling of unity that it gave their troops, and it actually raised morale. Consequently, most shared Matthew’s views of wanting to take it off as fast as possible – These guys have always been pretty notorious for NOT wanting to fight, and tended to take whatever method they could to get out of it.
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[England]

Oh he'd expected the confused look, the one that more or less said 'what the hell are you asking me something so damn obvious for?' Of course he knew the lad wouldn't be at all well. Having a brother declare war on you was always damn hard the first time, it left an unnerved edge to you. After all, if you couldn't trust family then what else was there? Even England himself could never really be trusted, he really wouldn't be the last to admit such a thing. The fact of it all though was this; no nation could be. It didn't matter how big or small they were, at the end of the day they'd always do what was best for their people. It was such a fickle life really.

One couldn't even deny such a thing, not when the evidence was so clearly there. It was written into the flesh of every nation, knotted scars mapping the true history as the national embodiment had seen it. Canada wasn't like that though, not yet. Arthur was well aware the younger had never really fought, he'd yet to be dragged into conflict by the drums of war. The very drums that now thrummed with his own damn heart. How long would it take for him to learn to move to that rhythm? The Empire doubted it'd be too long, not when he was already wearing the bloody red of which he himself was so accustomed.

”I’m as well as one can be, given the circumstance. It’s… It’s good to see you here, though.”

Of course, and the was all that could be expected right now. “Yes, of course.” A dull response really, however right now he had no notion of becoming a conversationalist over this whole thing. In the honest truth he was irked to have been dragged from Spain, the damn Frog needed to be put in his place again. Amusing really, both French and American once more causing him a bother at the same time. More over it was just a bitter irony, but in the end that helped nothing at all. The world was such a cruel mistress really, a fact so clear in the eyes that even one so young as Matthew was being pulled into a war with kin. No fair world would allow for such a vile distortion to cast itself like this.

A part of him really didn't want to give a bitter laugh to the latter of the comment though, people only ever seemed happy to see him when he was bailing them out of something. He didn't wonder why. He knew exactly why it was people had issues with him, he was after all the British Empire. He'd not gotten where he was by playing fair and asking nicely; no, he had been an utter bastard to many people. Even the lad now turning away so rudely was stolen goods. There was no joy for the wicked, so they say. "Yes, well," he mused, still standing despite the other apparently wishing to be on his way. "It'd certainly be unprofessional were I not to do so. This problem needs nipping in the bud now before it can blossom." He knew if it were to do so it would only lead to more weeds sprouting up through the cracks the revolution had caused, and this was something he could not allow. He needed to put a stop to this now, but with war declared he knew so damn well that such a thing would be hard. They were going to have to fight for it, and right now he just didn't have the damn men to spare.

It seemed that the younger's manners finally won through though, it certainly took long enough. Still, after everything past England didn't blame the other's attitude toward him. This wasn't to say he'd accept it if it brushed him up wrong, but he wasn't so deluded that he'd not understand. If only because he'd been controlled before, and thus knew exactly how damn rough it was to have someone else controlling your county.

”A-And yourself…? You look pretty well for a man who just crossed the ocean… I hope the wars in Europe have not been…too hard on you.”

Closing the short distance between he and the other he didn't much ponder the question. “Fine, thank you.” It was an automatic answer really. He was always 'fine'. Even when he was at death's door he was of course fine. Never good, and never bad. Arthur would always seem to be the man who apparently just was.

“The ocean is a kinder mistress when you know how to treat her,” he hummed fondly. He was a man of the sea, and as an island surrounded by waves he had a near affinity for it. Whilst yes sailing could be maddeningly dull, worse with the sharp juice nipping at your tastes, but there was a peaceful serenity to it. Usually the waves would crash in his favour, and it was for that reason he adored that vast blue expanse. “And they've not, no more so than any other has ever been.” How much did this really say though? He as a nation (just as many his age) had been in many bloody wars, and thus that comment perhaps had less merit than it should have done given the circumstances.

Without much second thought he strode in front of the colony, automatically taking to leading the way on things. It was what he did; after all, England did not bring up the rear. “You didn't need to wear that to come up here,” he stated, not looking back. “It was a nice gesture, and I do appreciate the thought. However, save such things for times more appropriate.” 'Only wear it when you have to' was the clear message. One didn't wear such a thing for everyday life, and whilst he was thankful for the gesture (he had to admit, the boy looked good in red. Though there was little doubt this was simply because it was a show of England's own power over him, having the other in his own uniform as a symbol that the other was undoubtedly his) it was only likely to stir up unneeded problems by doing such a thing. Arthur wanted to avoid this.

As the door to the carriage was opened he cave a brief nod, before stepping in and seating himself by the far window. Left leg hooking over the right he once more patted down his clothes, forcing them back into place, before he folded his arms across his chest and waited for the other to get in and seat himself. “You've never been in an actual war, have you, Lad?” No, he was sure he hadn't, and thus the comment was entirely rhetorical. Still, he continued on with the matter. “I assume you know the logistics of how it will go.” It was simple. You just had to win. “Do you have any questions?” For that he'd cast jade eyes back to the other blond, a brow winged in mild questioning. In the end he figure he would. Not only was this the other's first war, but it was also against family. England himself understood both of these things far better than many others could ever hope to, with siblings such as his it was rather hard not to grasp the concept being pounded into you.

[maple]

Matthew didn’t even object as Arthur moved ahead of him and abandoned him, in a sense, there on the docks. He was used to this behaviour from the Empire – By this point, he didn’t even take it to heart. He knew, deep down, it had nothing to do with trying to shirk him off (not anymore, anyway. Matthew was his last tie to the North American continent.. A last hold on America himself and, in his slightly resentful heart, Canada understood that such a tie was far too great to risk losing now), but just his instinct to take the reins. Truth be told, he appreciated that in-grained nature about England : Matthew himself felt so much more comfortable following and listening than actually ordering and leading himself.

” You didn't need to wear that to come up here. It was a nice gesture, and I do appreciate the thought. However, save such things for times more appropriate..”

For a moment, the blonde boy stopped and spread his arms to his sides as he glanced down at himself. Well. At least he had been acknowledged as issuing a nice gesture, but it still almost came across as a slap in the face to the young Colony. He knew that wasn’t the intended message, but… Matthew sighed and let his shoulders drop slightly as he ran a hand through his curly locks. At least there was the silent statement that he didn’t have to wear it as often as he had initially feared. The uniformity was so nice, but he felt like he was no better than other war-hungry nations in such an outfit. He didn’t like war. He didn’t like fighting. This uniform was practically a symbol of that.

”Thanks for that much…” He quipped slightly as he hurried with shorter legs to catch up with the Empire. How did he walk so fast?

Arthur had already entered the carriage and settled by the time the young colony even caught up with him. It seemed that his previous mood, an almost dark blemish on his usual nature, was lifting just by being in the other man’s presence – Matthew himself found that it was easier to breathe for the time, and he was able to focus on things more clearly. He didn’t understand what drove it, but he had to admit that it was nice to be able to function without having something nagging at him in the back of his mind. Like this, he could almost forget what had taken place..

Could almost forget how his brother was betraying him.

He gnashed his teeth for a moment as he felt the spike of resentment raise, boil, then ebb as his hands grabbed onto the sides of the carriage to haul himself up. He didn’t dare sit beside of England, however. Somehow, even with the current situation, the boy couldn’t bring himself to feel like he really belonged there. Arthur was somewhere beyond him, a level he could only hope to flail, reach, and maybe one day touch. But right now, he was a Colony and Colonies, though unwilling as they may have been, listened to those that owned them and treated with care and respect.

He bit the inside of his lip and sat opposite, subconsciously following the same gestures as Arthur : He took a moment to cross his legs, right over left folded carefully at the knee, and smoothed down his clothing. He wasn’t sure if it was habit, or an attempt to mimic and please the Empire. Either was possible.

” You've never been in an actual war, have you, Lad?”

”N-No..” He admitted quietly after a moment, eyes turning aside. ”Just small skirmishes, but I didn’t really do anything other than hide… I was too young to understand, Francois said…”

He debated on that sentence for a moment, turned it over in his mouth, and decided to settle with it. He knew the subject of the Frenchman usually riled Arthur, but it had been said so casually… Perhaps it wouldn’t raise his ire? Best to continue the conversation.

” I assume you know the logistics of how it will go. Do you have any questions?”

He understood the base logistics, of course. That much wasn’t difficult. He had understood that years ago, but the finer points? How to control troops, how to make strategies, how to ensure that he won? That was all significantly more advanced than what he could struggle to understand. He chewed on his lip slightly, hands fisting in his coat, placing small wrinkled indentions in it as he thought.

”I have tons of questions, Sir,” he commented idly and looked aside. He couldn’t even begin to ask all of them… Perhaps just a brief overview? ”I won’t ask you to explain to me how to run my troops, or how to plan with them. I imagine I will learn as I stand by you. But… How does one fight their own brother? Their twin? I don’t… I don’t understand…”

After he said it, Matthew wasn’t sure if he was asking this about himself or Alfred. He almost cursed himself for asking such a stupid thing and quickly looked out the window to hide his shame. He really was young and inexperienced, and he was showing it in every gesture that he made.

---

Finally got it out. Took forever, but now everything is in order, balanced, and working. c: No more worries about waits this long!

[England]

With the boy in and the vehicle moving there as nothing to do for a time, though as a sharp bump was taken he cursed sharply. He paid little mind to the boy's shifting before him, only really catching it out of the corner of his eye. Despite that he could see well enough the boy's actions, actions that so strongly mimicked his own from only moments ago. It was funny really, once he'd have been glad of such complacence from a colony for it showed a level of rooted obedience. He no longer cared though. He no longer cared that the boy before him was slowly turning himself into the image of a monster without even knowing so. How long would it be until he bared his teeth and hankered for war just as Arthur had done?

Mulling it over he realised that perhaps he never would. He was cut from a cloth that had not been sullied by thousands of years of war, hate, death, fear... and loss... He didn't have the same spirit in him those of Europe did. He knew now that he likely never would and that his views would remain to be something more than someone like England could ever muster. He was for the sun, and in the sun would dear Canada stand.

”N-No. Just small skirmishes, but I didn’t really do anything other than hide… I was too young to understand, Francois said…”

Growling slightly his eyes narrowed sharply, acidic green no longer truly taking in what was passing them by. He never could truly break the Frenchman's influence, the perverted bastard had influenced things in such a way that he was forced to damn see it. Even now there were certain mannerisms Canada had perfectly reflected the bastard, something only amplified by the fact he even stated the Frog's name in his tongue. It was an abomination, and whilst he knew well enough the young boy meant nothing by it he couldn't help but feel a stab of betrayal. It was a notion he was frightfully familiar with.

“Understandable,” was the even response. He'd expected that much really, it was what he himself had asked of Alfred at such times. Yet no, he refused to think of the other, the one that had caused him so many problems for which made him utterly furious as to the fact he dare to do this once more. Had it not been enough the first time? Was once not enough for the greedy little arse? No, it it had not, and thus he was sat here now with the boy's near clone. It was a kick in the teeth, it was a damn atrocity that he had to deal with an innocent party that he wanted to push away because even looking at him reminded him. It was cruel to Matthew and he knew it, but really it changed nothing. It never had.

He'd come to dread the day he'd snap at the boy with the mistaken belief that he was not Matthew, because it would happen and he knew it. It was a matter of time, and the suspense was digging at him all too awkwardly.

“You'll pick most of it up within time, they say there's no better way to learn than to do... And I suppose that's true here.” Indeed, things would be picked up in time. They would be gained through the skill of having to survive. Knowledge was power, and in his age he'd come to posses a damn fair amount of that gift... Though perhaps it was a burden. “Watch and do. If you make a mistake then it's a pity but it can't be changed.” Such cold words. He coddled the boy and yet didn't, he didn't allow for himself to get close enough to Canada so that his heart would depend on him. In the end such a dependence would only spurn him, he was England after all. He'd always simply end up alone, even if it merely took a while for such an occurrence.

”I have tons of questions, Sir. I won’t ask you to explain to me how to run my troops, or how to plan with them. I imagine I will learn as I stand by you. But… How does one fight their own brother? Their twin? I don’t… I don’t understand…”

He'd fought with his own brothers time and time again, beaten them and been beaten countless times. In the end he'd never really cared for the bastards though, so such things could not been comparable. Yet he had fought with a brother that he'd loved, and that had perhaps lead to to the biggest mess of his life. It was easy to fight someone you hated, family or no. Yet was it ever really possible to face someone you cared for and maintain the needed degree of savageness war would call? For some, but not he, and if he himself were incapable then it was infallible that Canada would no doubt have more issues than he, and so he sighed. Such heartfelt answers, what place did they have to a stonecold empire? He was expected to be strong and knowing, not weak and uncertain. Life could be a total bugger at times, really it could.

“You do it because you must. If it protects our people or is ordered of us by our leader then we have no choice, regardless of how much you want to do it.” Tugging his cuffs into place he cast his eyes to the boy. Perhaps somewhere one would see sympathy in them, an immeasurable amount of guilt for the fact this was his fault. Fear could also be perhaps seen, even if only fleetingly. Yet in the end it was hidden under countless masks of anger and rage, because how fucking dare America do this? It was rather unforgivable, yet the question of who he thought needed forgiveness was a mystery unto itself.

“It's not easy, though war itself is never such. In the end though all you can do is treat him like another yank, because he's done nothing more than the same to you.” Such an insufferable bastard he was. Francis had done much the same as Arthur, and yet it was Arthur that was the one being pulled into another blasted war with him. He was once more siding with the Frenchman, even if subconsciously. Such a notion was hated, because in the end France had won America despite the fact the child had chosen England. Child and adult had much different needs it seemed, and he was no longer needed at all it so seemed. “However... Don't worry about it. If it comes to such direct things I will deal with America, there's no need for you to fret over it,” because he wasn't a monster. He wasn't so much of a bastard that he expected Matthew to do what he himself could not even do, and indeed could no doubt still not do.

It was all a matter of pride though, and this time Arthur had no notion of losing such a thing upon his knees to someone so thoroughly ungrateful.

---

PFT, you know I don't mind waiting for you *-*
IloveRPingwithyoutoomuchtocarehowlongittakes;-;<3