Drowning the Past [Scotland]

THE FUTURE HAUNTS WITH MEMORIES THAT I COULD NEVER HAVE

Arthur nearly dropped a small portion of the numerous bags and parcels as he somehow managed to unlock his front door. If any of them had been dropped, his mood would have soured quickly. Most of it was breakable. He had just recently realised that his liquor storage was running a bit low. And of course he can’t have that now, can he? So, it was common sense for him to make an early evening run to buy more. Walking up to his home, the severe clinking of glass vaguely reminded him of the milkman whenever he made his rounds from house to house back in the day. God... He made two trips. Most of them were boxes, others were bags. Wine, Beers, Scotch, Gin, Whisky, Rum, and any other liquors that he was running low on.

Oh—and tea. He was a bit short on that as well, but it wasn’t as terribly squandered as the liquor. Grabbing that was more of an afterthought when he had passed by the selections. Pushing the door closed behind him, he began the tedious process of putting everything in its proper place. He was in a fairly good mood once everything was in order. More out of habit than anything, he prepared a kettle of filtered water over the cooker.

While waiting for it to boil, he began to fiddle with his radio, flicking on the settings until he settled on something alternative-contemporary, but not too loud. Before long, he made a nice cuppa. He reached into the cupboard into the array of the new liquors that he had just bought. A thoughtful pause passed before decisive fingers wrapped around the Cointraeu. Whenever he wanted a splash of alcohol in his tea, he usually gravitated towards orange-based sweet liquors—a little bit went well with Earl Grey.

He sipped at his concoction with quiet relish. The soft lilt of the music could be heard from the kitchen. Spotting a book at the corner of the side table, he gingerly picked it up. It was a volume that he had purchased at a used book shop last week--it had been previously well loved if the worn spine and crinkled pages were anything to go by... Only in the past few days had he finally gotten around to reading it. As he settled down in his favourite chair in the living room, the soft pelting of rain could be heard just outside the nearest window. He didn’t think too much of it. The clouds were thick today and had been gathering quickly, so it really wasn’t a surprise. Within minutes the dreary weather seemed to take a sharp turn for the worse; the light shower becoming a torrent.

Sighing, he went through the house securing the windows, making sure that none were cracked open. Walking back, he stopped briefly in his study to wrap up extraneous work for the day. By the time he put away the last folder of documents, he heard a small noise from the entryway. He couldn’t tell if it was something at the front door, if something had actually fallen over in the entryway, or just an inflated part of the coming storm. He shoved the folder in his records filer before leaving the room to investigate.

WORDS ### TAGGED Scotland! NOTES There we go... enter however you'd like. ;P

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Nov 14, 2012 1:02:40 GMT -5 Arthur "England" Kirkland said:

MEN CAN'T RETURN TO THE PAST. THAT'S WHY THEY DRINK.

It had been storming since a little before noon. Not that it had stopped Ewan. He'd started drinking early in the morning, at first paying for pints and shots by the barrel load. Once his money had run out, he'd carried on with drinks he could get on the house, or get other patrons to buy for him. By the time the storm had started, he had already been sloshed. He had no umbrella, and so had merely scowled at the sky, spat on the cobblestone, and dipped his cap a little lower.

He'd worked his way down from his home in Scotland into Wales, partly on foot, partly by rides given by those kind souls on the road. While there, he'd considered seeing Bran, but decided against it. It was odd, normally he'd love to spend time with his sing songy little brother, but today, he wasn't in the mood for the cheery little twat. And so, he'd carried on, stopping at every bar he could find, with mixed results in the ways of obtaining drinks. At one point, he'd even gotten caught up in a barfight. He vaguely recalled a few men spitting out teeth and blood, but eventually, the horde of Welshmen had overtaken him, and he was thrown back out into the street. At least they had the decency to throw his cap and overcoat to him as he got to his feet.

He'd stumbled along for a while, untill finally collapsing against a building. A few people passed him by, dropping pounds into his lap. Once he had the will to get back on his feet again, he'd used it to buy a bottle of cheap whisky. And so again he ended up stumbling down into the countryside, drunk and wet and lost all to hell.

There's no telling how he made it to Arthur's house, lest it was an act of God himself. But sure as the storm that had followed him, he'd made it. A small part of him thought to knock, but instead he just strode right in, haphazardly shoving the door with his shoulder as he clumsily turned the knob, stumbling into Arthur's living room. It didn't take very long for his youngest sibling to come running down the stairs to see what the commotion was about.

The Scotsman just stood there, dripping wet, still wearing his tweed coat and cap, with an almost empty whisky bottle in hand. He raised the bottle, chugging down what precious little was left, before hurling it into the wastebin with enough drunken force to shatter the cheap bottle it had came in. Green, unfocused eyes turned towards Arthur, trying to settle on him as best as they good. "Th' fuck ye gawkin' at?" he demanded bitterly. "Hoo abit ye gonnae-no gawkin' an' offer a man a feckin' bevvy. Rainin' aw tae jobby, an' ye dornt sae much as offer a cuppa tae yer ain brither. Ah raised ye better, ye wee sassenach." he spat venomously. "Fuck it, Ah'll gie mah ain." Shoving passed the smaller British nation, Ewan stumbled into his kitchen. Spying the Cointraeu, he immediately went for it, popping off the top and starting to chug straight from the bottle, his adams apple bobbing as he hungrily sucked down the orange liqueur.

WORDS ### TAGGED England! NOTES I stole your template.

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THE FUTURE HAUNTS WITH MEMORIES THAT I COULD NEVER HAVE

The moment Arthur spotted none other than his older brother, who had apparently stumbled his way in. God—he really needed to start remembering to lock his door—everyone (Ewan, Erin, Bran, and Francis) seemed to think they could just strode in whenever they bloody well pleased. Not that he ever really turned them away... He stared, nonplussed and agitated, at Ewan who just happened to be dripping water all over his living room floor. All over his clean floors… Arthur’s mood darkened, but he didn’t dare say anything about that at the moment. Or even show that he was irritated for that matter. It would probably just make Ewan do something further to peeve him, so he just stared hard. At the moment Ewan rivalled the appearance of any old homeless drunk that could be plucked off the street corner—with his dishevelled, soaking wet self along with the carelessly held cheap whiskey bottle in his grasp.

When their eyes met, Arthur saw just how plastered he really was. Not that it was difficult to see before… but for God’s sake, the man couldn’t even steady himself. ”—The hell happened to you?” Arthur demanded back, unflinching. He didn’t really need to ask, it was clear what Ewan had been doing for probably the entire day and it was also clear that he had been walking the majority of it out in the rain. Damn— out in that weather—soaked through. The full weight of the realisation hit him. He knew what it felt like, though in his case, he had literally been left out in it frequently in the distant past. The smaller nation's countenance softened just a bit.

After Ewan spat a few more choice statements at him—all of which Arthur easily understood, having heard him speak in his odd way for most of his life. He simply rolled his eyes, especially at the bit about having raised him—as if he’d ever had a real hand in that… If his brother weren’t so drunk, Arthur would have something very snide to say about that—irritating, delusional bugger that he believed his older brother occasionally was.

Instead, after Ewan pushed past him, Arthur first shut and locked the front door before making his way over to the hallway storage, gathering an armful of dry towels. As he was about to leave, he also snatched a large sweater on one of the shelves. Just as he was walking back toward the kitchen where Ewan was undoubtedly drinking something, Arthur passed his calendar, which was usually scribbled with all sorts of meticulous notes and to-do’s. He never realised that today was left curiously blank. The English nation paused for a moment, peering at the empty, white square. He rarely had days that were absolutely free unless there was a good reason for it… Come to think of it, today did seem weirdly familiar for some reason. He just couldn’t remember why...

Pushing it at the back of his mind for now, Arthur made his way to the kitchen where he immediately spotted Ewan downing that brand new bottle of Cointraeu as if it were water. Arthur didn’t comment. It was far more common than not for his liquor cabinet to be raided by the others. It’s a fact of life that he’s come to accept. Weekly trips to refill the valuable quota more were usually in order. Not that he really minded.

”Oi, dry yourself off,” Arthur muttered, plopping the towels on his countertop where the Cointraeu was before Ewan got to it. His tone was even. He also placed the dry sweater alongside the towels. Arthur didn’t expect one way or the other if Ewan would take advantage of them, but at least they were offered.

WORDS ### TAGGED Scotland! NOTES Heh, wrote that quickly

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MEN CAN'T RETURN TO THE PAST. THAT'S WHY THEY DRINK.

Ewan scoffed at his brother's inquiries, as if it wasn't obvious what had happened. "Ah dinnae." he replied, sarcasm dripping off his drunken words. "Th' feck 'appened t' ye, ye bloody sassenach?" he then shot back as he shoved passed. Who the hell was Arthur to judge him? The little bastard couldn't hold his liquor if his life depended on it.

Ewan was still steadily downing the Cointraeu when Arthur came in with his towels. At the order to dry off, he took a few more gulps before setting the bottle back down hard, wiping his mouth off on his soaking wet coat sleeve. "Whit? Afraid Ah'll mess up yer precioos wee floorin'?" he asked bitterly. However, he still did as he was told, shedding his coat, cap, and shirt, leaving them in a damp pile of the kitchen floor as he dried off his upper body. "Feckin' rain ne'er stops." he growled as he vigorously ran the towel across his mop of red hair.

The notably drier Scotsman tossed the towels down to the ground as well, snatching up the sweater once he noticed it. He was somewhat surprised to find it was a snug fit, but at the same time wasn't. Leave it to his anal retentive bastard of a little brother to keep clothes his size. "Noo, Ah'll ask again, can a man gie a feckin' cuppae tea aroond haur?" he asked again, slumping down into one of Arthur's chairs. " It's freezin' tae bits in 'at rain, an' eh'd raither nae die freezin'."

Snatching up the bottle of Cointraeu again, Ewan looked at it, snorting. "Hae tae aw but beg fur a cuppa. Guess tha's usual, though. Isnae loch onie a body ay ye bastards ever did anythin' fur me unless it benefitted ye." he growled bitterly, staring hard at the liquor. There was something on his mind, something dark and cold that was making him bitter and foul. Ye, Bran, Erin, Francis, ainae nane ay ye e'er dain a thin' fur me jist fur th' sake ay daein' it. Gie everythin' but mah reit arm, an' it's still ne'er enaw fur anyain ay ye ungrateful bastards." he spat resentfully, pushing the bottle away. "Oi, th'feck ye got stowed away 'ere?" he demanded to know, pushing himself out of the chair to stagger to England's liquor pantry. It didn't take him long to find the scotch, it never did. Slumping back down again, he popped the bottle with his teeth, a practice he'd been told time and time again would ruin his jaw one day, and started back to his heavy drinking spree.

WORDS ### TAGGED England! NOTES I stole your template.

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THE FUTURE HAUNTS WITH MEMORIES THAT I COULD NEVER HAVE

Arthur’s frown deepened at Ewan’s sarcastic reply, but he bit back hard on a nasty response to that. Lord knows he had quite a few to throw at Ewan, but obviously, the older nation was too plastered for it. Only an idiot would rile a drunk who had a history of being just as vicious in retaliation. Arthur eyed the Cointraeu rapidly being drained as he reentered the kitchen with the towels. ”Of course. Can’t say that I necessarily want your stink on it either,” he responded with a flat tone. Despite Arthur’s dry words, there was no sting in his voice, as Ewan was actually doing as he was told for once. If it wasn’t necessary, then Arthur would limit the insults and be halfway civil with his brother. Maybe even play along. He watched with distaste as Ewan dropped his sopping wet clothes on the floor, followed by the damp towels. Wordlessly, he gathered everything, draping some over his arm, uncaring that some of it was already dampening his sleeves. ”I’ll just toss these in the dryer,” he muttered, fairly sure that Ewan was far more interested in the last of his Cointraeu than anything he had to say.

After doing just that, he came back as Ewan slumped in one of his chairs and started complaining about how freezing it was and how much he wanted a cuppa. Arthur could already feel the pull of a headache. ”It’s your own bleeding fault if you’re freezing—walking all this way in this weather doing God knows what—“ he snipped, but he was quick to turn towards the leftover tea that he had prepared beforehand. His back was facing Ewan as he reached for another cup, but he continued to speak. “Why the hell are you here of all places? Did you already clean out Bran’s liquor storage?” It's not as if Ewan was a regular. In any case, he might as well get as much as he can from the drunken lout before he passed out. He poured the steaming black tea into the cup— quite strong, just the way Arthur usually liked it.

Turning back, he continued to listen to Ewan spew his angry words. Arthur handed him the tea with a neutral expression, staring at Ewan as if figuring out a puzzle while the other continued to glare at the bottle. Something was setting his brother off, well, more so than usual.. One of the only benefits to knowing someone for centuries is catching details that were usually overlooked. Everything from Ewan’s manner, his harsh words, to the way he downed the liquor. Arthur retrieved his own cuppa that he was enjoying before Ewan’s abrupt entrance, cold fingertips brushing against the hot porcelain. The blond took the seat next to Ewan’s, eyes following him as he began to rummage through his liquor pantry. ”Help yourself,” Arthur said, his voice deadpan. Though, really, he was far more used to this than he cared to admit. It wasn’t uncommon for random siblings to show up solely for their interest in his well-stocked pantry.

Arthur settled comfortably in his seat, feeling that he was going to be here for a while, watching and listening to Ewan spill whatever poison was brewing inside of him. It might take a few more bottles of liquor for it to seep, like an infection from a badly healed wound, but it would come eventually.

At the moment, Arthur warmed himself with his tea, glancing at Ewan as he opened the scotch with his teeth. Terrible habit. But Arthur wisely kept his remarks to himself for now. Despite their complicated relationship, Arthur couldn't help the heavy concern resting in the back of his mind. He knew something was wrong. There was a long pause as Ewan relished in his scotch before Arthur spoke up once more, calm and collected, not expecting any straight answers. At least it might get him talking. "Care to tell me why you're taking the piss out on the world?" He set down his now empty cup, prepared for whatever the smarmy git decided to throw at him next.

WORDS ### TAGGED Scotland! NOTES :3

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