Stand My Ground (American Revolution) -OPEN-

[America]

Stand my ground, I won't give in
No more denying, I gotta face it
__________________

April 20th, 1764

"Damn it what are you thinking by taxing us England on top of making my people house your soldiers?!" A furious yell and slamming of hands down on a wooden desk could be heard if anyone were outside of the older nation's office. Bright blue eyes were dark and blazing, looking toward the older blond in front of him. The man had practically raised him...Encouraged him to grow and become a strong nation...But now...Taxes and the damn Quartering Act...He was trying to reign him back in. Be loyal to his Queen and Parliment, to be a child forever under his protection...He couldn't do that. Not now...Not when he was so close...

Many of his people believed the imposed taxes as a direct violation of their basic rights, however without proper representation within their own land, they had no choice but to follow these laws...Which angered the young blond. The war against the French was over...And England had taken control of his twin brother again because of the Treaty of Paris. Worse, the Quebec Act...Being raised Roman Catholic himself, he understood completely why the accommodations that were made angered his primarily Protestant group of colonists, as well as himself for the slur of popery.

England was in debt because of the war, the whole war was nothing more than an overbearing squabble between England and France as once again they fought over who would keep and colonize his land...Thus...Leaving England with taxing the people. HIS people. With France gone and no back-up....All he and his colonists could do was go behind England's back and create the provincial congresses.

"Why England...Why are you doing this? We both know you're in debt...But it was all because of that damn rivalry with France! You and me both know that you being in debt is YOUR fault, so why are you punishing ME and MY people? You raised me England, I have always done whatever you asked even if I didn't agree with what you were doing...So why the hell are you pushing all of these taxes on us to pay off your damn debt...And making my colonists house YOUR soldiers?!" His voice continued to rise with every point, hands tightly clenching together so that his knuckles had begun to turn white as his nails dug into the skin of his palm.

He had been hearing talk among his colonists about rebelling against England...Revolution was coming just over the horizon. No matter what, he will always be different from England. He would never ask his colonists to house his soldiers, never impose unnecessary taxes...The anger burning deep within his gut, the festering anger of not only his colonists...But also himself.

Revolution was calling...If this talk didn't work...He would have no choice but to call his men to arms to fight for their freedom...And break themselves off from England as a free nation.

Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don't make it, someone else will
Stand My Ground
__________________

[iggy]

England stared across the table at the younger nation, whose blood was obviously boiling. He really hated that this is what things had come to - the taxing, the quartering, the control that even he thought excessive at times. Whatever his opinion on the matter, though, the Crown and Parliament had spoken... and he would uphold their decisions.

"You apparently have a very short memory, Alfred," he said coolly, not looking up from his work (his eyes had always been too damn expressive). "That war wasn't fought for the sake of some petty rivalry - it was in defense of your land and people. They're my people as well, all Englishmen." He glanced up for a split moment, not quite meeting the other's eyes - he had to stay firm, and if he looked him in the eye and saw the anger that was sure to be there, written all over that youthful face and clear, expressive blue eyes. "Whether you choose to acknowledge this or not, the reason I'm in debt as far as I am is because I've spent the last one hundred and fifty years protecting your coast, because you couldn't do it yourself, and you still can't."

He looked back at his work, the numbers and reports scribbled on the parchment showing him how deep his hole was. God damn that France... If he hadn't been so aggressive in his pursuit of England's colonies - not just in North America, either - things would have been more managable. But bloody hell, it was coming from every side...

That was behind them, though. The Seven Years' War had ended, with the British Empire victorious, and his colonies - America more than the others, he recalled - were proud to call themselves Englishmen.

Until now... but...

"Look," he said simply, though quietly, and without looking up, "I have work to do. I can't do anything right now. So unless there was something else you needed me for... you should go."

[America]

Cause I'm not a pawn for you to play in your fucking game
I've got dignity and I dream that I want to achieve
_______________

Alfred felt his blood rise up through his body, burning heat surging up his stomach up to his throat to the point where it felt as though he were choking. Wasn't for the stupid rivalry, huh? Or that's just what he wanted him to think, though he was sure it was. That's all it ever really was, wasn't it? Some kind of sick, twisted game that he and his brother were caught in the middle of. His hands clenched and shook when he saw England only look up at him for a brief second before back down at the mound of scattered papers on the desk. Couldn't even look at him in the eye.

His own eyes were blazing, teeth chewing at the insides of his cheeks. The people. His people. He had heard the whispers of the colonists, they were beginning to denounce their loyalty to the Crown, denouncing their status as Englishmen. While they may not have been able to protect themselves in the past, they could now. He knew they could and they would. Now they would and they would have too.

War was imminent.

"Not part of that damn rivalry Arthur?" He asked, tone snide. It was rare that he actually used England's human name, though now he was to angry to even care. "Isn't everything that you do involving France all because of that God-forsaken rivally?! So now you've dragged me and my brother into it! I can handle and protect my people myself, I'm not a kid anymore. You're just trying to cling on tighter and tighter till I finally run out of breath just to stay loyal to the Crown. Or is it just to stay your son?"

His hands continued to shake, soon leading his whole body to tremble. He didn't want to have to do this, he really didn't. But now, he had no choice. All he had ever heard were empty promises, he would no longer follow like a puppy with his master. He had to step off on his own, despite the price he knew that had to be paid.

"No, I have nothing else to say. There's nothing else that needs to be said. Goodbye...Arthur." He spoke in a sharp tone as he turned on heel and left the office, opening the door roughly and slamming it behind him before walking down the hallway toward the front door. He was done. It was over.

He knew what he had to do, answer the call that his people had called for him to do. Bring about Revolution, and fight for their freedom.

Under pressure, you crumbled and you let me down
I'm not deaf and all I hear are your empty promises
_______________

[Canada]

"Damn it what are you thinking by taxing us England on top of making my people house your soldiers?!"

The voices were starting to raise again. A cold shiver crawled down the child-Colony's spine like First Ones running from a Wendigo. The muffled words were angry and far too common nowadays. The seven year old's face was like stone, emotionless. Warm white fur brushed against the tiny breeches clad leg, trying to soothe the worried and upset Colony. Mattieu-no Matthew looked down to his eternal companion and offered a weak smile, cringing at a particularly angry tone. Alfie was gonna boil over... He fought the shaking wanting to take over. Why were they fighting? Why was he acting like such a spoiled brat? Sure he normally was one... but recently... Squatting down he hugged the polar bear half his size and quickly hid his face in the snow colored fur, breathing in the scent of snow, fish, and what must have been the smoke from his current "Big Brother's" "cooking."


Kumajirou snuffled and licked his brother-cub's loose sleeve. He didn't like the taste or how it must not feel as good as the soft white thing TouchyMan had his brother-cub wear or the fur worn before the TouchyMan made them live in the wood and stone caves. Without trying he could taste the raise in salt on the boy just from air alone. They were in the to-the-outside place, so he new the hug wouldn't turn into a wet one... He wouldn't be crying anywhere but under the blankets or outside in his den. It wasn't good for his to cry. He did not like it. He did not like how his would do it more, either in scared or angry... and sometimes both. He knew it had something to do with the now much bigger BossyAlfred and FurEyesPoisonMakerEngland's roars... All he could do is let the tiny brother-cub burrow into his fur.


Why does he keep doing this? He has to know England just wants to keep him safe? And he takes care of him, the least he could do is help a little... Why can't he see how much he Loves him? It's like how Papa-no don't think about him! He didn't-nononononono... He rubbed his face against the fur a bit more vigorously, trying to calm down. A twinge at his chest not from his own feelings had him pause, realizing he had been a bit too rough, and take a deep breath. "S-sorry... K-ku-kuma..." The bear responded with a soft exhale and a nuzzle. How did it get this bad? Alfred HAD to know what he meant to the Empire... How could he not? How could he do this to them? He favored and Loved him so much... It hurt. It hurt to see how Alfred could throw something he wanted so badly away like it was.... He couldn't remember the English, but sorp-ordures? It felt like he was suffocating from all the tension these stupid tantrums created.


"... Know you're in debt...was all... damn rivalry with France!


The Colony couldn't fight the shaking any longer, as Alfred's voice kept rising. Confusion, hurt, frustration kept building and keeping the "obedient" Colony in place. He couldn't seem to leave his place on the floor, not that it would matter as the tantrum would be heard anywhere inside and to leave would be alerting the two of his unintentional eavesdropping. Shut up-shutupshutup! We owe him everything you idiot! He spends his money to keep the British here safe-YOU safe most of all! How can you even-No! Why? Why say His name?! You can't-it's not fair! You know you shouldn't-why?! His heart felt like a stone was pressing it as young girls would press flowers of spring to keep for winter. Alfred couldn't have known Matthew was listening, but still the Northern Colony wished he'd kept that man out of the fight. His eyes stung as he listened to the older boy's words. He couldn't make out it all as passion flooded the voice.


...debt is YOUR fault,... punishing ME and MY people? You raised me ... if I didn't agree with... you were doing... Why the hell... pushing... taxes... pay off your damn debt... my colonists house YOUR soldiers?!"[/b]

How can you think that?! After all he's done for you? You have the least of us- he's putting them to protect- why?! The incredible ideas the southern one had were like glass to his ears. Alfred had the gall to look at the Empire's gifts of trained protection as a burden?! The minimal taxing, compared to some, as unfair?! What was unfair was how someone so favored, blessed, spoiled could deem all he was given as not enough when others were left to watch with barely a praise or glance! So what if England wanted a bit of money or goods?! He'd fought to protect, care, and keep Alfred! He did everything-raised him! And then Alfred refuses to assist England?! Sure England was a bastard who tended to be a bit scary or overbearing-but it was all for Alfred, wasn't it?! England sent his people-people that were happy in Europe to protect Alfred's people-British citizens! They were England's people and Alfred acts this!? What did Alfred have? Why? Why can't he see?

"You... very short... Alfred... Fough'... petty rivalry... in def'nse... your l'nd and... my people... 'nglishmen... to ack'ledge... reason 'm in debt... spent... -ifty years protect' your coast... you couldn't... and... still can't."


The "calm" response was "gentlemanly" as usual from the Pirate-Gentleman-Empire. Harder to hear and understand as England tried to keep the situation a conversation, though he had to know it was futile with how riled up the other was. Matthew felt a nausea rising from the continued tension. He wanted-needed to leave unless the Empire noticed him listening. What if he grew upset with him too? England was somewhat fair, but he had a temper. He wasn't able to stand up and demand things he didn't deserve like the favorite. His face felt hot and his throat tight. Alfred was stabbing an angry female dragon and swinging around her hatchlings, and the worst part was he KNEW it! The following ordures was proof.


"Not part of that damn rivalry Arthur? Isn't everything that you do involving France all because of that God-forsaken rivally?! So now you've dragged me and my brother into it!"


Dieu! Why did he keep bringing Him into it?! He knew not to bring Him up! Why-why drag him into this?! Alfred could scream all he wanted and live to see the next millisecond and onward-but to throw him into the fight when he wasn't even there?! Did he want him killed?! England wouldn't likely believe he wanted any part in this surely, but now he'd have to be careful not to give any hint of agreeing with Alfred! Why did he have to be in the middle of it?! Alfred'd be expecting him to side with him and England knew-but would demand he side with him or luckily stay to the side. He'd stay out as much as possible, but if confronted be forced to admit he agreed with England-which Alfred would be pissed over. Why did that idiot have to do this?! Why couldn't he be happy with it all?! He was treated like a prince compared to anyone else under England's rule and anyone, including himself would fight for the treatment he got and recently had begun to throw away and spit on! He knew he had thrown what could have been his away, but he had been scared and angry when He had aban-lef-gone away... He tried to gain it back, but by then Alfred was the world again-the favorite as always.


The overwhelming emotions tore through the small body, making the world burn and blur. Matthew was deaf to the rest spoken by the rebellious favorite. Kumajirou continued to nuzzle, trying to soothe his upset brother-cub, growling at the sound of the door. Matthew couldn't fight the tears, flinching at the slam and staggering backward from his crouch to land on his rear, eyes wet and wide in fear of who was coming closer. The warmth and pressure on his side from the bear was unfelt as he sat in shock. His heart raced and he fought his body to move but couldn't. A Wendigo would be better than whoever it was. Heat and Ice grabbed his throat like the Snake grabbed after souls. Air was too thin and salt burned his vision and face as he cooked inside from the blood in his veins. His breath caught as the blond hair and stronger young body came into his sight.


Alfred.... oh di-god you bastard... you have to apologize-please apologize to him! Don't leave angry! You can't-please don't?! The words caught inside the cage of his surely squeezed shut throat as his heart fluttered like a rabbit surrounded by wolves. He was frozen for a moment, before the touch of a muzzle registered and he wobbled to a hesitant stance, torso curled nervously. He fought the shaking that had taken him and squeaked like a rabbit, voice continuing the loss of volume to sound more and more faint like a whisper echoed and dissolving like sugar in hot tea, inadvertently backing up to a wall.

"A-alfred..."

------
*sorp- garbage (Icelandic)

Canada was discovered by Iceland and left by him around 1500, but he's getting so frustrated/angry/scared/sad that he's definitely having trouble with his English, as England has only had him for a year or two now and he definitely resisted learning English for a bit, so his former languages are slipping in.

*ordures- garbage (French)

[iggy]

England watched the door quiver as Alfred slammed it closed on its hinges. Calm, he reminded himself, stay calm. Keep your head, Arthur... Anger will do you no good right now. But as soon as the he heard the front door slam shut as though it was the same door he had been staring at for the last several minutes, the facade broke, and before he realised he had moved at all, he had hurled a stationary box at the wall.

Chest tight and face hot, he struggled to calm himself as he stared at the splintered wood. Italian, his mind supplied uselessly, custom ordered, hand-carved inlay, one-of-a-kind. Irreplacable. Broken. He vaguely realised that wasn't just the box he was thinking of.

But why didn't he understand? How could he not see that everything England had done - for almost two hundred years now, every single thing - was for him, for his precious boy? And now with Matthew (passive-aggression at its finest, but not necessarily in a way that demanded correcting), who looked so much like his brother... his boys.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he ran his hand through his hair. There was work to be done, people to see...

But first, tea to calm his nerves. Wrenching the door open, he started out towards the stairs, and nearly tripped over his most recent acquisition. He stopped, blinked down at him with a vague frown. "What are you doing there?" he asked, fighting to keep the frustration from his voice.

Actually done this time.

[America]

Cause I'm not a pawn for you to play in your fucking game
I've got dignity and I dream that I want to achieve
________________

Even as the rattling slam of the door filled his ears, Alfred couldn't make himself let go of the doorknob for a few seconds for reasons beyond him. His whole body shook, his heart pounded in his chest, his legs felt as though they had wanted to cave underneath him. He was done. Completely done. Even as much as he thought that he was, a tiny part of him, the tiniest little inkling telling him to go back and to apologize for what he had said. But what the hell would he do that for? He wasn't the one at fault here, why would he have to go back and apologize for something that was already in motion and was going to be happening?

The shattering of what sounded to be wood against the wall caused the young colony to flinch only slightly, his brows furrowing. So the old man was pissed for the mere reason that he was telling the truth on this matter? He was telling the truth. He was speaking up for his people, speaking up on their behalf for their thoughts. Fine, if the Englishman was going to get angry over something that he was being completely honest over, then fine. If that's how it was going to be, then so be it. He had at least hoped that this would at least be the slightest bit civil, he was wrong. He knew what was going to happen now.

He was done.

Letting his hand drop from the knob before he heard the skirting against the floor against the wall, he turned his head slightly to see his brother pressed back against the wall. His little brother...Dammit. He couldn't leave him here, but at the same time, he couldn't stay. He couldn't stay in this house any longer. Alfred took in a deep breath before he walked down the hallway and down the stairs toward the door. Taking a hold of the handle, he turned for a moment to look back up the stairs in the direction of the office. Maybe he could--

No.

His decision was made.

Wrenching open the door and walking out of the house, the door slammed behind him. Next time he saw the old m-- England, it would be at the end of the barrel of a gun.

Under pressure, you crumbled and you let me down
I'm not deaf and all I hear are your empty promises
________________