This fic is apologetically English. From beer, to football, to the slang, to wanting to punch Chris Tarrant in the face, this is, in my opinion really how England should act once he casts aside his pretentious, holier- than- thou attitude. Thankfully, that's just what happens after he's had his first pint. And who should join him in reveling in pure, blokey fun? Prussia, naturally.

Warnings: Terribly bad language.

Beware the OC.

'It's a fucking joke,' the blond said, leaning against the bar and spreading his hands out expressively at the man standing next to him. 'You don't see fucking Real Madrid getting this shit do you? No, of course you don't. FIFA's out to fucking get me.'

'Sure,' the man he was talking to shrugged, looking half interested and half not. Laura couldn't tell if he was blond. In some lights his hair almost looked silver. Weird.

'Oh come on. You don't think that I have a right to be fucked off?' the first snarled, as if the other had insulted his mother. 'You'd be throwing a fit if this was Bayern Munich we were talking about!'

'Aha!' the second man smiled knowingly. 'And that's where you're wrong. I don't give a shit about Bayern München because, my friend, you should know that I always hated that cunt Bayern.' He paused to snort derisively. 'Not that I should have expected you to remember that, since you were busy playing "la- la- la- not- listening" at the time that I kicked West's arse into shape. Point is you used a shitty example. Now… Berliner FC Dynamo? That's a football team,' he said emphatically, accompanying it with a slam of his palm, flat onto the surface of the bar.

'Umm… can I get you lads anything?' Laura interrupted, seizing upon the momentary lull in order to get a word in edgewise.

They blinked at her, as if they had momentarily forgotten that she was there. She didn't take it personally. It often happened when men got talking about football (which, in a pub, was often.)

The blond(er) one spoke first. 'Sorry, love. I'll have a pint of Newkie Brown, please.' Laura had to fight back the eye roll at how cliché it was when non- Geordies ordered Newkie Brown in her pub. It was pathetic and probably how the Irish felt when people ordered Guinness in their pubs. Still, she considered as she turned to the other man, blondie was obviously English, but fuck if she could place his accent. He was probably a southerner, she reckoned, though he sounded like no southerner she'd ever met before.

'Do you have Beck's?' the not- English one said.

Laura glanced at their beer selection. 'We have Grolsch?' she offered.

He pulled a face at that. 'Just give me whatever then. As long as it's beer I don't really care.'

For the ease of it, she decided to pour him Newcastle Brown Ale too, stealing casual glances at the two as she did so. Much as the English guy was dressed like a ponce, and the… German? was dressed like he was trying to look like a teenager going through an awkward, and half- arsed Goth phase, they were both pretty lush. Personally, Laura preferred the one with weird- coloured hair. She liked foreigners. They always had such sexy accents.

'So…' she said with a well- practiced, flirtatious little smile as she handed him his ale. 'You German or something?'

He pulled a strange expression, but it quickly faded into an oddly proud look. 'Prussian, actually,' he corrected.

Laura, having left high school three years previously with four level A- C GCSEs, (none of which being in History), cocked her head prettily to one side as she pulled the other pint. 'Is that like being Russian?'

The English guy snorted in laugher as the German guy immediately deflated. 'No. No it's not.'

'Look, don't worry about it, Laura,' the English man said, having recovered from his laughing fit, leaning over to drop a ten pound note into her waiting hand. 'Have one for yourself.'

He pulled his companion (definitely German. "Sheiße" had been one of the first words she'd learnt in her first German lesson back in high school) away by the arm and settled into one of the booths opposite the bar.

She smiled after them. At least this shift she'd have a nice view.

She was startled out of her thoughts when she felt nothing but the softness of her left breast under her hand. Looking down at herself, and patting across her chest, she realised that, as usual, she'd forgotten to put her nametag on.

Laura stared at the two men in confusion for a moment before shrugging it off.

They'd probably heard a regular call her by name or something.

'Anything else?' she asked as she handed them their third pint.

The German bloke looked to Arthur ('Arthur!' she'd heard the German shout five minutes earlier, almost making her drop a bottle of Aftershock on her foot, 'you can't seriously think that you're going to win Eurovision next year!') with a questioning look.

Arthur shrugged. 'Crisps?'

'Ah!' the other said with a comical widening of his eyes. (They were red. Must be some weird contacts or something. Whatever. He was still fit.) He turned back to her and slapped his hand against the surface of the bar again. 'Crisps!' he demanded.

'What flavour?' she asked politely. 'We have Ready Salted, Ba-'

'All of them,' Mr. Red Eyes interrupted with a slightly manic grin. 'Oh! And a bag of nuts too.'

Laura excused herself for a moment in order to raid the crisp boxes in the stock room, taking a good minute to gather all of the various flavours up and balance them properly in her arms.

'But fuck, really,' Red Eyes was saying as she returned, not noticing as she piled her armful onto the bar. 'You should have seen Romano's face. If Spain stopped buhyoo-ing over him for five seconds, he'd realise that the little shit's practically giving him an open invitation. You don't blush like that if you don't at least want to fuck. Well,' he said, taking a swig of his beer. 'I don't blush full stop, but you know what I mean.'

Arthur shrugged. 'What the fuck can we do about it anyway? Romano shits his pants the moment you or I so much as look at him, and talking to Spain is like talking to a retarded puppy. Either way, I don't give a fuck about the pathetic state of their shitty love life.'

'Then why did you bring it up?' Laura couldn't see the German guy's face, turned, as she was, to pluck a packet of nuts off of one of the shelves behind the bar. She could, however, practically hear the smirk in his voice.

'B- because they piss me off! Just looking at them dance around each other like a pair of school children drives me up the sodding wall. It'd be bad enough if it was just in UN meetings, but it's in the EU meetings too and—urgh,' he finished with an irritated huff.

'The EU?' Laura joined in as she set the nuts down on the bar. She couldn't help it. Part of the reason why she was a barmaid was because she was a naturally chatty person. 'Is that like the European Union?'

Caught off guard, the two men glanced at each other cautiously. 'Uh… yeah,' Arthur said slowly. 'We work for the… commission.'

'Government types, eh? Can't you, like, stop that thing that makes us pay for France's farming or something? I don't like the French.'

The German guy smirked and rolled his eyes. Arthur chuckled around something that sounded vaguely like 'That's my girl.'

Gil ('Go and get the next round in, will you, Gil? I need to take a piss.') was the one to approach the bar next. Rather than order their fifth pint, as she was expecting, he instead looked thoughtfully at where the schnapps hung above the bar.

'Same again?' Laura pushed after a few drawn out seconds of silence.

Gil shrugged and grinned, turning his attention back to her. 'Nah. Get me two shots of peach Schnaps, will you?'

'Sure.'

She was pouring the second shot out when Arthur rejoined them, sliding straight up to the bar to lean against it next to Gil.

'Do you have a beer garden?' He asked, knocking the shot back almost before her fingers had left the glass.

'We don't, unfortunately. Just the car park outside,' she answered.

Arthur nodded, and then inclined his head towards the empty glass. 'Same again, please.' He turned to Gil, who mirrored his gesture, and stared right back at him. 'Fancy going for a fag?'

'Outside?' he grimaced.

'Yes, well, if I don't adhere to my own laws, it won't look very good will it?'

'Stupid law,' Gil muttered (Laura had to agree. Alcohol sales were down since the smoking ban kicked in) before clinking his newly refilled glass of schnapps against Arthur's, gulping it down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Come on then. Let's enjoy the cold, summer air.'

They were gone for more than five minutes before they returned, laughing raucously and talking in stuttering German. It made Laura wish that she'd taken her language GCSE further. She'd all but forgotten everything but "danke" and "kaput".

'Laura!' Arthur grinned as he approached the bar, Gil peeling off to the side to sit back down. 'Grab us another couple of shots of schnapps will you? Oh, and a packet of pork scratchings.'

She did as she was bid, putting the change to one side as Arthur walked off, once again, the second she'd placed the drinks and snack down.

Several minutes later, after shouting 'drei! Drei!'a few times, and waving his hand around while making a strange gesture, Gil got up from his seat and pulled Arthur up with him, dragging him over towards the Who Wants To Be a Millionare game machine next to the bar.

'I want to fucking play, so put some coins in, you stingy bastard!' Gil demanded.

'Why am I paying for everything anyway?' Arthur sighed, sounding incredibly put out.

'Because it's your shitty country, that's why. Next time we're in Berlin, I'll pay for everything. Now stop whinging and stick some coins in.'

'You mean Germany will pay,' Arthur muttered, though he did as he was ordered.

Laura had to refrain from tutting. She hated when these government types used the people's hard- earned money to fund their executive lifestyles. After all of the trouble in parliament recently, she would have thought that they would have at least been subtler about it.

The familiar tune filtered out above the music playing in the pub, though it was only be because of her close proximity to it the machine.

Arthur groaned dramatically. 'Did you have to pick this game? It always makes me want to punch Chris Tarrant in the gob.'

'Oh come on,' Gil responded, elbowing Arthur in the side. 'Between us, getting to the million pound question should be a doddle.'

'I suppose so,' Arthur muttered back.

'… So how much do you know about American presidents?' Gil said a few seconds later.

'Errr…'

'We have to put these presidents in order,' Gil explained.

'Oh. This should be a piece of piss then,' Arthur boasted. 'Right, let's see… well America had him around the time that I had Macmillan, and I think that he was around Heath's time… uhh… hang on, was he?'

'Do you want to hurry the fuck up a bit? Gil interrupted him. 'We're running out of time.'

'Shut up! I'm thinking!' Arthur snapped.

'Fuck it,' Gil shrugged, before slamming his hand down onto the screen.

'Oh well done. Now we have no lifelines,' Arthur moaned, as if it was one of the worst things to occur in human history.

Gil grinned and shrugged. 'We don't need no lifelines anyway. We aren't pussies.'

'What does that have to do with- oh look! What month did the Berlin Wall fall in?' Arthur said excitedly.

'The month of Not- soon- e- fucking- nough,' Gil crowed, bashing the screen with a painful- looking jab.

'What the—Jesus Christ, Prussia!' Laura recognised the word from earlier. She'd have to wiki it when she got home. 'How the fuck could you get it wrong!' Arthur sounded incredulous. It made Laura feel a bit stupid for not knowing it herself, but hey, she grew up in the nineties.

'Wha-? Oh shit. My finger slipped.'

'Don't fucking smack the machine then, you prat!' Arthur argued back.

'Stop bitching at me already, Jesus! Put some more money in the machine will you? I'll go and grab us some more booze,' Gil said dismissively.

'Maybe we'll actually get past a hundred quid without your stupid, clumsy fingers jabbing at everything,' Arthur snorted.

'You won't be saying that later,' Gil grinned at him, before turning back to a rather perplexed Laura. ''Nother round, girlie!'

An hour before closing time, Gil and Arthur were lounging against the bar awaiting their tenth drinks. She was considering telling them to slow down, but they weren't being particularly aggressive, and they were still gorgeous, so she let it go. They looked pretty wankered though, so she kept a close eye on them regardless.

When she placed their shots of tequila down upon the bar, Arthur (or England as Gil had started calling him around their eighth drink. Stupid nickname if you asked Laura) nodded to her and slid another tenner over towards her. They continued to lean on the bar though, ignoring their drinks a moment in favour of crowding around Gil's mobile phone, Arthur pressing his cheek to the other man's as they both shuddered with silent giggles.

'He~llo~' Gil drawled in a creepy, put- on voice. 'Is- is that Lith~u~ania~?' England pulled a face as if he was about to die from his withheld laughter. 'It is~? This is Russiaaaaaaaaa. I'm coming for you! I'm right outside your windooooooow KOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOL!' With that he hung up and exploded into a fit of raucous laughter along with Arthur. Laura didn't get it, but smiled amiably at them anyway.

'Prussia, you're such a fucking legend!' Arthur practically sobbed with laughter.

'I know!' Gil laughed back. 'Who next? Who next?'

'Uhhhh. Oh! I got it! Gimme the phone!' Arthur said, even as he snatched it up. He quickly cycled through the phonebook before selecting a name and pressing it between himself and Gil again.

Gil leaned in eagerly as Arthur fetched a hankie out of his pocket and covered the mouthpiece with it. He glanced at Gil, grinning suddenly. 'Amerrrrrrricaaaaaaa,' he rasped in a faintly American accent. 'This is the ghost of Benjamiiiiiin Frankliiiiin. I haunt that chessboard in your officccccccce. Sometimes you think you see the pieces moooooooving. That is meeeeeeeeeeeeee. I'm watching you, Americaaaaaaaaaaaaa.' Gil and Arthur erupted into somewhat hysterical laughter.

'Did you hear that? He fucking screamed!' Gil choked.

Arthur keeled over the bar and nodded as tears streamed down his face.

'Oh! Pass me the phone!' Gil demanded, already recovering from his laughing fit. Arthur did as he was bid, though he still shuddered with laughter.

After a couple of seconds of scrolling through his phonebook, Gil put the phone to his ear, beckoning Arthur to get closer. 'Hi! Oh my God, Spain you'll never guess what! No, I don't mean actually try and guess, no, no, Spain… Spain shut up for a second! Listen! Shit! I was around Ita's house, and Jesus fucking Christ, Romano comes up to me, looking like a little, slut and practically begs me to have a threesome with him and Ita'… No, I'm serious! I swear to God! And me being the awesome friend that I am, I thought, "Prussia, you know who'd appreciate this more? Your old buddy Spain." So I'm phoning you right now to tell you about this. Romano and little Ita are gagging for a threesome and I think that you can be the man for the job! Honestly! Go around right now and ask for it! They'll say yes! Romano started pulling on that curl of his the second that I said your name. Se- oh I think he's gone,' Gil smirked.

Arthur grinned and picked up his tequila. 'A hundred Euros say that Spain turns up at the G20 meeting tomorrow with a black eye.'

'I don't make losing bets,' Gil snorted in amusement as he picked up his shot glass, clinking it with Arthur's and then knocking it back.

Arthur pulled a face. 'Oh God, I felt that one go down.'

'Don't puke,' Gil cheerfully advised him.

'Fuck off. Who we phoning next anyway?' Arthur pushed on, though he still looked a little queasy.

'Do West! Do West!' Gil clapped his hands excitedly.

'What do you want me to say?' Arthur asked, already tapping away on the phone.

'Get him to give me Brandenburg back!' Gil urged him.

'Ffff. Yeah right. Oh, it's ringing. Yes, Germany. This is your conscience speaking. Give Prussia Brandenburg back, you know that he- oh yes, I'm fine thank you. Just sitting in a pub with your brother. I love the new Audi by the way. Yeah. Yeah, no I agree. Yeah. Well you're welcome to come and join us. Oh is it? That's a shame. I suppose so. Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow,' he hung up and turned back to Gil. 'He figured out that it was me.'

Gil gave him a steady look. 'Perhaps talking in German would have convinced him that it was his conscience a little more.'

'Oh yeah. Didn't think of that,' Arthur looked genuinely as if he were considering it deeply.

'Whatever, that was fucking shit. My turn.' He grabbed the phone back. 'Who next, hmmmm… oh! What about Portugal?' he grinned.

'No. He's my best friend,' Arthur frowned.

Gil looked wounded. 'I thought that I was your best friend, England.'

Arthur frowned, looking a little dazed. 'Oh. Well you can be my other best friend then.'

'I don't want to be your shitty second- best friend. I want to be your first- best friend! Don't you think that I'm awesome enough?'

'What?' The booze must have been starting to catch up with Arthur, because he was beginning to look increasingly confused. 'Fine, you can be my first- best friend.'

'Cool! I knew you'd see it my way!' Gil laughed in response, though now that she thought about it, Laura realised that he was starting to look really wasted himself.

He pressed the phone to his ear and waited. 'Hello! Portugal!' he paused to laugh triumphantly. 'It's me, Prussia! Guess what? England said that I'm his first- best friend, and that you're only his shitty second- best friend. Don't worry though! I still think that you're cool, even if he doesn't… Ahahah! See you around!'

'Prussia!' Arthur snapped, trying, belatedly to wrestle the phone off of his friend. 'Don't listen to him, Portugal! He's drunk!' he wailed down the phone. Gil laughed even harder and waved the phone around some more.

'Errr, lads, can we calm it down a bit, please?'

They looked surprised at the strange voice interrupting their fight and, upon seeing a worried looking Laura staring right at them; they calmed down a little and sat back down.

Arthur muttered an apology to her, before fixing Gil with an unhappy look. 'What did Port say?'

Gil shrugged. 'Dunno. It was his answerphone.'

When Laura rang the bell and called for last orders, Gil and Arthur finished the night off (ironically) with a quick drink of port wine.

Stumbling out of his seat, Arthur staggered over towards the bar with a pleasant smile. Laura felt her cheeks heat up and her heartbeat race a little. Sure, she liked Gil more, but she'd happily settle for Arthur- even if he did have an old- man name and quite thick eyebrows.

'Thank you, my dear,' he said with a halting bow that would have been quite dashing if he wasn't struggling to retain his balance. 'I have most enjoyed my stay in this fine establishment. I shall be sure to return here one of the days.'

'Yeah, it was awesome,' Gil said to her, before hoisting Arthur back up by his arm, sending them both swaying to the right slightly as he did so. 'Come on, you stupid tosser. I hope you're not too drunk that you can't get it up tonight, because I want to fuck.'

Arthur snorted. 'Fuck off. You still owe me that blowjob from that stupid bet you made earlier.'

'No, I paid that back earlier in the loos. You must have forgotten, you silly bastard, you,' Gil grinned.

'Oh you can piss right off, Prussia. I'm not that drunk, you know.'

'Damn,' Gil smirked. 'It was worth a try.'

'Now can we please go back to mine?' Arthur sighed; swaying unsteadily as he regarded the other with half- lidded eyes.

'Eager, are we, England?' Gil leered.

'Partially. But it's more to do with the fact that we're giving that delightful young lady quite a shock,' he drawled, pointing towards a rather stunned looking Laura.

'Ah, right. I suppose it's not ever day you get awesome countries like us in a little bar like this!' Gil laughed, obviously finding his weird joke hilarious.

Arthur slapped his palm to his forehead and groaned. 'I told you to stop telling people about who we are.' He turned back to Laura. 'Look, don't tell anyone, okay? I'll know if you have! Not that that's a threat at all, but I know about everything that happens on my soil. Everything.'

'Come on,' Gil cackled, tugging on Arthur's arm, trying to drag him away. 'Let's get the fuck out of here. I'm drunk and I want sex.'

'Oh, all right. I suppose so,' Arthur nodded, suddenly compliant, finally allowing himself to be led along. He was singing Jerusalem rather loudly before he'd reached the door. Even when they'd exited, Laura could hear him in the car park for a few moments.

She sighed, surveying the devastation of empty glasses and crisp packets that they'd left behind. So much for it being a good shift.

Why were the rich, handsome men always gay, or crazy?

Outside, England bellowed out a tuneful 'Bring me my arrows of desiiiiiiire,' in response.

Prussia fell over laughing.

I am of the opinion that the 'human' names of the nations are used when in human company. Because calling someone by a country name looks a bit strange. However, remembering all of this gets harder and harder to do the more and more drunk you get. Hahaha.

A quick guide to the slang used:

Lush/ fit= attractive

"four level A- C GCSEs" = basic high school qualifications. Four being okay.

Tenner= £10

Wankered= drunk

Loos= toilets.

To be honest, I see Prussia, and England (both being of Germanic stock) to be pretty blokey, and more interested in munching crisps, drinking beer, and talking about football, than visiting art museums, or drinking coffee in cafés. I thought it'd be a nice change to have England cutting lose a bit, especially since (and no disrespect to them) a lot of fanfic writers who write about drunk England have either never been drunk themselves, or have never spend their time around drunk, English men. In both cases, it's a lot of fun. 8D

(BE SENSIBLE, KIDS. STAY IN SCHOOL.)