The One That Chased the Boys

"Won't someone tell me
What is happen to me?"

-"Must Not Chase The Boys" by Play

Arthur Kirkland liked to think of himself as a man of mild manners and exquisite charms. He was, after all, the personification of the United Kingdom –please, shove aside his brothers and sister– and you'd find a man of such refine allure, filled with rich history and the greenest eyes.

"Green is the color of the monster of jealousy, you know." Francis Bonnefoi tusked as the two peered out from behind a building. Well, Arthur peered, Francis stood out in the open like the dumb nut wanker he is, fanning himself with an antique silk fan, embroidered with gold, belong to one of his long dead French queens. "And you, mon ami, are as green as a those buggish eyes of yours."

Of course, Francis was French so all of that came out with a chorus of z's.

Like so: "Und thew-ou, mon ami, ah az green az dose boo-gish eyez awf yourz"

"Wanker." Arthur retorted, but his heart wasn't in it, at the moment he was watching his little colony speak with someone many years her senior. In his garden no less! And laugh every now and spun her lace white parasol he'd given her around and around against the crook of her shoulder. "What is she doing?"

"I believe Mademoiselle Amelia is flirting."

Another thing. Amelia was Am-ee-leah.

"Fla-fla-fla-fla-flirting! ?" Arthur blushed redder than the roses in the garden. "Not on my watch–!"

"Wait! Mon ami, you'll ruin it!" Francis grabbed a fistful of Arthur's jacket and pulled him back behind the wall he'd previously been attempting to flee from. "A young maiden's first approach to a man is a sacred dance. You mustn't intervene! Amelia wants to speak with Imperial Russie, you shall let her!"

Why did Francis always side with Amelia again?

"Yeah. . .riiiight. Just like you let Mathew 'speak' with Prussia?"

The Englishman flinched when he saw the dangerous glint of the guillotine in Francis's eye.

"We. Will. Not. Speak. Of. Mathieu."

He was practically flaming at the mouth.

"Um . . .okay, old chap. Calm down, there. . .uh. . ."

"I've never been to your place before, what's it like?" Both colonist turn in time to find the pair they'd previously been watching pass dangerously close to their hiding spot. Flattening themselves back onto the flagstones, they stretched their necks to listen.

"The Motherland is very cold in the winter. . ."

"And in the spring?"

"It's. . .warm. . ." Arthur rolled his eyes and glared back at the couple, how America was so obvious with her smiles and kind words, unlike her unruly runarounds on the Great Plains just a few years back –it'd taken him the longest time to finally force her into corsets and skirts again. Her country was so uncivilized. She was wearing a gown now, it was soft, made of pale yellow silk and trimmed with lace, a matching with hat with lacy white flowers and the parasol he'd bestowed upon her as a gift. This expensive outfit she wore for her meeting was very unlike many of her more preferred 'colonial' dresses made of cotton and scratchy lace.

Sadly, Amelia hate hate hated being dressed up and even went as far as accusing England of making her look the China dolls he gave the princesses of his country.

But she looked beautiful. Her gold hair, her gold dress, she was radiating like sunshine. Everyone had said so, he was pretty sure all the servants in his house had become lovestruck fools and were writing poems for her –not that he'd allow them to court her, according to the grapevine, Amelia was his niece– and even Russia was blushing.

Wait Russia blushing?

Amelia had done away with her hat and the parasol as they continued to walk and talk.

Arthur watched as she would glance at her feet, occasionally hoist her skirt to high when walking and lean along with the breeze like she wanted to run with it.

All these little tics and tats and things Arthur couldn't stand, and Amelia had Ivan hooked.

He stared down at her with a soft expression; nodding, no matter what little inane thing she said and seemed to be sincerely paying attention, etching her words into memory. In fact, his entire form seemed to be alternating towards her. As they walked, with each and every grand step made by Imperial Russia's left foot, his body pivoted more towards Amelia like she was the very sun and he was but a seedling flower, searching for her warmth, growing towards her.

Growing to like her.

England batted away those thoughts irritably and continued to watch.

Francis had slowly bled into the back of this picture, making a break for it while England was still sane, and he knew that he wouldn't intervene. The pair rounded back around the garden again and again and with every round, England's nails dug gorges into the stones of the garden wall.

Finally they'd walked around the garden twenty times and Amelia was now laughing carelessly, throwing her head back and let her blonde ringlets tumble down her shoulders to the small of her back where Russia's hand touched. He was getting comfortable with her –a little too much so– brushing his hand across hers, touching her shoulder, the small of her back, again.

Arthur tensed when Russia stopped walking, Amelia stopped too, turning towards him asking if he was alright. Russia nodded and with a pure smile, took one lock of her hair and twisted it around his finger, watching it curl, twist, twine around his stupid gloved finger. And Amelia was blushing!

"It's so amazing," he murmured softy tugging at the blonde curl and then letting it slide out of his hand. "You look like a podsolnechnik. A sunflower."

"Oh!" Amelia blushed, donning all of the unapparent gold lovingness of her. "I, uh, never really thought yellow was my color, you see. . .Iggy decided too–"

"Then I must thank him." Russia interrupted. "You look lovely in yellow, da?"

"Oh, uh, well. . .my country is full of them. . .pod-eh-chenchinick-something or others. . ." Russia laughed, laughed although she was butchering his language. England would have beheaded her on the spot. He couldn't count the times he'd wanted to just have another 'Why-You-Speak-English' standoff with Amelia on the matter. Before all she'd spoke was a platoon of Native American tongues that made little to no sense to his ears.

A slight joke about Russia coming to visit called him back, but soon the two found it was getting dark and decided to head back to their respectable accommodations for the evening.

"It has been lovely talking to, Ms. Amerika."

"Likewise. . ." Amelia's smile was in place and, with a final kiss to her hand. He was gone.

Amelia couldn't stop smiling for days.

In fact, England was sure she hadn't washed that hand at all.

Yes, America knew Russia before she was a country. There was a meeting of Tsar Peter and some other American guy named William Penn met in England to talk. So, I had Russia and America do a little flirting because fem!America is young and viberant and Russia is in the period of rivial with Peter's wife Catherine the Great as Tsar, or Tsarina.

I just love the sound of Imperial Russia, Russia's good too, but Imperial Russia, makes me think of 'Once Upon a December' and the beautiful image of my little Vanya in that one ghost ballroom scene from Anastasia is just lovely and makes me want to do research! And then write about my findings of research! Then turn it into a story.

Anyway, I got this idea from chapter one of XxDamned ForeverxX and her story 'Our Love', which you should read, because it's much more accurate and well-written because it's *glance* one in the morning and I've had a long day and I'm still wearing my (dry) contacts!

I'll fix all and any mistakes tomorrow~ night~

~QueenVamp