yousei-san (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flair) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
metamorphosis2010-05-15 11:40 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2010-05-15 11:40 pm
Entry tags:
101;
Title: Just Because You Can, Doesn't Mean You Should
Characters: Spain, England, random pirates
Rating: PG
It's based off the little comic of Spain being beaten up... It shows Spain going to England, thinking he needs help from the piratesand maybe it'll get him back to the Catholic Church, except that isn't what's meant by it, but sees England cohorting with the pirates instead.
Spain was tired of it.
Pirates were ransacking his ships, jeering under the English flag (and sometimes, but not often, the French flag as well), sending his crews away with nothing but a row boat and rope, changing such flags and fooling his poor merchants. He could tell their nationality by the lilt of their tongues, the way they sounded each word - they sounded similar to the nations they came from.
Of course, they couldn't all be under those laws, right? Some of them must just be evil, through and through, and while he'd love to see that dirty Protestant dog kicked to the ground, Spain felt a small hope rise in his breast. Perhaps - just perhaps - if he helped England get rid of them, he would come back to the Church. He'd get rid of that heretic queen, he'd hold his hand again and recite the words of holy matrimony as they had at Mary's and Philip's marriage.
And most of all: He wouldn't hate him anymore.
So, poised to knock on the door to England's study, Spain heard voices. Not voices of nations, which sounded like rivers that ran across the land and of too many years spent on Earth, but of humans, with their quick voices of little age and little thought. He pressed his ear against the large oak door, straining to capture the words.
“...so we'll keep doing this...”
“...how mu...pay us?”
England's voice was softer (too soft to hear; if he hadn't heard the tell-tale clap of his hands, Spain might've thought he hadn't spoken), as if he knew Spain was there, and the voices immediately hushed. Silence stretched thin across time, almost to the breaking point, and he opened the door slightly, just enough to peer through and bite his tongue at the scene.
There he was, amidst a band of rouges and thieves, writing out what he could only assume were terms, bags of gold (his gold) beside the desk. His heart ached for just a moment – first splitting from the Church, and now endorsing such piracy? - and he pushed the door open more, stepping inside and pursing his lips at the sound of swords being drawn.
England glanced up once, twice from his document and set the quill down, careful enough not to let extra ink wander onto it. He smiled slightly and inclined his head, white gloved hand disappearing behind him and gripping something.
“I wasn't expecting you, Spain.”
Of course not.
“Can I... help you with something?”
“Dismiss your piratas.”
“I can't very well do that. They haven't signed the agreement.”
As if they were commenting on the weather and not why England had twenty thieves in his study.
“Why?”
England's grip on the-- whatever it was behind his back loosened and he spread his hands, palms up, innocently.
“Why what?”
Spain crossed the room and drew back his fist – then let it drop, fingers tightening on the edge of the desk and blood leaking from the small wounds of splinters from the pressure. England watched with a vague mixture of amusement and irritability, drawing his fingers together in a steeple and flicking his eyes at the newly assigned crew, smile growing into a smirk as they moved closer, swords raised and pressed against Spain's back and neck.
Even through it, Spain didn't waver.
“Why do you encourage these men to steal?”
“Simple.”
A beat. England lifted Spain's hand and pressed a kiss to it, dropped it and threaded his fingers together across the back of his neck.
“Because I can, and that's the beauty of it.”
Characters: Spain, England, random pirates
Rating: PG
It's based off the little comic of Spain being beaten up... It shows Spain going to England, thinking he needs help from the pirates
Spain was tired of it.
Pirates were ransacking his ships, jeering under the English flag (and sometimes, but not often, the French flag as well), sending his crews away with nothing but a row boat and rope, changing such flags and fooling his poor merchants. He could tell their nationality by the lilt of their tongues, the way they sounded each word - they sounded similar to the nations they came from.
Of course, they couldn't all be under those laws, right? Some of them must just be evil, through and through, and while he'd love to see that dirty Protestant dog kicked to the ground, Spain felt a small hope rise in his breast. Perhaps - just perhaps - if he helped England get rid of them, he would come back to the Church. He'd get rid of that heretic queen, he'd hold his hand again and recite the words of holy matrimony as they had at Mary's and Philip's marriage.
And most of all: He wouldn't hate him anymore.
So, poised to knock on the door to England's study, Spain heard voices. Not voices of nations, which sounded like rivers that ran across the land and of too many years spent on Earth, but of humans, with their quick voices of little age and little thought. He pressed his ear against the large oak door, straining to capture the words.
“...so we'll keep doing this...”
“...how mu...pay us?”
England's voice was softer (too soft to hear; if he hadn't heard the tell-tale clap of his hands, Spain might've thought he hadn't spoken), as if he knew Spain was there, and the voices immediately hushed. Silence stretched thin across time, almost to the breaking point, and he opened the door slightly, just enough to peer through and bite his tongue at the scene.
There he was, amidst a band of rouges and thieves, writing out what he could only assume were terms, bags of gold (his gold) beside the desk. His heart ached for just a moment – first splitting from the Church, and now endorsing such piracy? - and he pushed the door open more, stepping inside and pursing his lips at the sound of swords being drawn.
England glanced up once, twice from his document and set the quill down, careful enough not to let extra ink wander onto it. He smiled slightly and inclined his head, white gloved hand disappearing behind him and gripping something.
“I wasn't expecting you, Spain.”
Of course not.
“Can I... help you with something?”
“Dismiss your piratas.”
“I can't very well do that. They haven't signed the agreement.”
As if they were commenting on the weather and not why England had twenty thieves in his study.
“Why?”
England's grip on the-- whatever it was behind his back loosened and he spread his hands, palms up, innocently.
“Why what?”
Spain crossed the room and drew back his fist – then let it drop, fingers tightening on the edge of the desk and blood leaking from the small wounds of splinters from the pressure. England watched with a vague mixture of amusement and irritability, drawing his fingers together in a steeple and flicking his eyes at the newly assigned crew, smile growing into a smirk as they moved closer, swords raised and pressed against Spain's back and neck.
Even through it, Spain didn't waver.
“Why do you encourage these men to steal?”
“Simple.”
A beat. England lifted Spain's hand and pressed a kiss to it, dropped it and threaded his fingers together across the back of his neck.
“Because I can, and that's the beauty of it.”