Alexander Rybak shuffling onto my iTunes just reminded me that I STILL need to go listen to all of this year’s Eurovision songs. I’m so behind. ;x; Onward to youtube!
Lately the micronations have been daring each other to go up to one of the stingy nations and yell “Hey Macklemore, can we go thrift shopping?” Austria and Switzerland gave them death glares. Scotland grabbed a tablecloth, wrapped it round himself toga-style and bellowed, “Ask yer grandpa, can I have his hand-me-doons?” Then he scooped them all up and took them thrift shopping.
April 23rd, 2014
England didn’t ask for much in life, and he certainly never asked for a birthday celebration. Of course, he didn’t remember when his official birthdate was, although France liked to tease him that he knew and that England was always wrong when he guessed. Instead, England decided he’d settle for never having one unlike some nations that loved to boast about theirs. This year, though, England found himself being woken by the one nation he thought he’d never see so early in the morning.
“Hey there, sweetheart.”
Hearing these words soothed England, and he settled into his pillow, the covers coming up to his nose, and smiled fondly. The feeling of fingers carding through his hair and caressing down his cheeks had stirred him, and when he opened his eyes he was surprised to see the man that had teased him in his dreams from the night before was still there in the morning. America chuckled with warm, blue eyes and a tender smile as he lay on his side, watching England.
“You’re still here…,” England murmured.
“Of course.” America leaned in a pecked England on the forehead with a chaste kiss. “Where else would I be than on your birthday?”
“My…my birthday?” England lowered the covers and frowned slightly in confusion. “What do you mean? I don’t know when my birthday is.”
“Why can’t it be today? I mean, we have un-birthdays, right?” England opened his mouth to reply, but America continued to talk. “And you can’t always have an un-birthday! So, I’m picking this one.”
“Why St. George’s Day?” England asked quickly, afraid he’d miss his chance to speak with how fast America prattled on.
“Hm? Well. Your people seem to love it.”
“America, loving a specific day doesn’t constitute a nation’s birthday. If that were true, then a lot of nations would share Christmas or Good Friday or Hanukkah.”
“Well…is St. George’s Day a religious holiday?” America began to pout, deterred by England’s objection to the birthday idea. “I mean…I don’t see people going to church more than Sundays or Easter or Good Friday or something, you know?”
England gave a sigh and then sat up. He felt America grab for his arm, but he brushed it aside. Then, he turned to regard America who stared up at him with wide, sad eyes. He looked upset that England had sat up rather than staying on his back beside him. “Dear, St George’s Day is a religious holiday. It’s just not celebrated in many places unless they know of Saint George.”
“Oh.” America pouted again and then hummed in thought. “Well… It just has to be today.”
“Why? Why is today so important?”
America’s face blossomed into a red blush that crept up his ears and slid down his neck. His eyes scampered away from England’s gaze, and he toyed with the edge of the covers. A sly, but nervous smile formed across his lips. “W-well… Because then I can…”
But he trailed off, and England didn’t hear the rest of what he wanted to say. “What was that?” Again, America mumbled until his head hung low and England couldn’t even see his face anymore. “Come again?”
“I said…because then I can give you your present…”
England sat back as if he had been shocked. His eyes were wide, and all he could do was watch as America got up out of bed and trotted over to his suitcase that was on the floor, having been tossed aside and flung open as soon as America got in the room. He rummaged around in it briefly before he found the small box. Then, he returned to the bed, only now he was sitting up like England. Slowly, he offered it out to England.
The English nation looked at the present as if expecting it to explode or do a trick. It was a small gift wrapped up in blue wrapping paper with a red and white bow proudly sitting on the top. A tiny nametag was tapped near the bow that simply said, “Mr. Grump”. England scoffed at the name.
“Who is ‘Mr. Grump’? Somebody else that you give gifts to?”
America laughed loudly once, and then grinned at England. “Yeah, he’s some other Englishman that I flirt with, make love to, and eat his crappy food.”
England blushed, but pretended to be angered by America’s words. “How dare you? And here I work my arse off to make the best food in the world for you.”
America snorted, and then shoved the present into England’s hands. “Just open it, Mr. Grump.”
With a huff, England did just that. The box under the wrapping paper was plain with a removable lid. England picked it up and looked inside. He gasped, nearly dropping the box, but instead pulled out a fragile matching tea cup and plate. The design on the tea cup was rather plain, but it had a gold rim, and on the inside was a small spades symbol. At the bottom was the Union Flag in both gold and silver. The plate had a gold rim as well, and had a large spades symbol in gold in the center.
“Look familiar?” America asked. “Look on the bottom of the cup and plate.”
England did just that. Then, he slapped one hand over his mouth as tears sprung to the corners of his eyes. “Oh my… America…”
America shifted over to sit beside England. He draped one arm around England’s shoulder and kissed his temple. “I’ve taken good care of them. Have ever since you gave them to me…”
“All this time…?”
America only nodded with a tender smile and then pulled England into a tight embrace. England cried softly into his shoulder, clutching the tea cup and plate to his chest.
On the underside of the plate and cup that looked as new as the day England gave it to America it said, Made in Britannia, 1771.