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Post by England on Dec 17, 2012 1:35:29 GMT -5
"Right, and I suppose god created hangovers because he favoured the keepers of the drink?" England groaned, plopping down on a chair and propping his bare feet on the table with a sigh. "Cheers to disgusting mornings," he chuckled, stretching, and then ran his gaze across the bottles lined in front of him. The expensive selection was calling him temptingly, though the ones Scotland had picked for himself were not bad as well. He wondered if Scotland would be so pissed by the end of the night that he would be able to get away with stealing some of that fine-looking whiskey he'd brought.
"When I said 'others', I meant a whole lot. I don't think our livers, as tough as you say yours is, will be able to take care of so much liquor at one time. Why not call over other nations that would appreciate the invitation?" he knew he was trying to distract Scotland from his suggestion to bring in America, of all people, and he hoped his brother would, for just this once, take the bait. He really didn't need America around to poke at him when he got drunk, and considering that the boy was one of the sources of trouble that he wanted to forget for a while, having him around would slightly beat the point of drinking himself to oblivion.
"Besides, I didn't mean 'eating' like in 'dinner', just something to avoid drinking on an empty stomach. I don't need anybody to go get a slice of bread for me. I'll go," he sighed, pushing himself off the table with a discontent grumble.
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Post by Scotland on Dec 24, 2012 13:26:43 GMT -5
"Hangovers were invented by the English," Scotland offered, giving his brother a level gaze and a calm voice. "Then ye invaded an' bred it inta me people."
With that accusatory statement, he put the bottle back to his lips for another mouthful of whisky. He looked over at England's bare feet on the table and his upper lip curled just a bit, like he'd smelt something bad.
"Bah, invite who ye want. There's plen'y ta go aboot. When it runs oot, I'll run oot fer moor." He didn't expect to drink all of the alcohol in one sitting, as his brother seemed to think was his intention. This was a supply. However, they had left plenty of drink still back in the store. Plus, now he knew exactly where to go to get the rest. Scotsmen weren't stingy with drink. It was always better to drink with company.
"Eat wut ya want." He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face. "But I'm still tellin' the lad ye need ta eat moor o' it."
[Sorry for the delay. Holidays are busy. Merry Christmas!]
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Post by England on Dec 31, 2012 3:02:30 GMT -5
"Please, no Englishman with common sense would ever want to sleep with a Scottish woman." He offered no further explanation, though, as he refused to admit that Scottish women were scary more often than not. To dispel the image he'd created for himself, he grabbed a bottle of rum off the table and opened it with his teeth before unscrewing the cap off and taking a swig. His intention was just that- to invite others so that he wouldn't have to be stuck with Scotland all night long. It was awkward to get drunk with his brother. His intention was to forget bad memories, and his brother would just purposely aggravate him. And since he would definitely not be in the mood to hear it, he'd throw his bottle at Scotland's face, who would, hopefully, be drunk enough not to see it coming and the bottle would break on his face and maybe his nose but that would be a waste of perfectly good alcohol.
His rambling thoughts drew back when he mentioned America for the umpteenth time, and sighing and wishing to get things clear, he turned around and crossed his arms.
"Damn you, won't you understand that I don't need to be babysitted? I am a perfectly grown man and am perfectly capable of making my own choices, so will you please just lay off with the blackmail? If I want to eat more, I'll eat more, and I don't need America's care, nor your pity, to convince me," he huffed irritably, and spun around to leave, hand on the doorknob.
((Merry Christmas and happy new year! Here, have a crappy reply as a belated Christmas gift hahaa~))
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Post by Scotland on Jan 14, 2013 0:21:57 GMT -5
The redhead couldn't help but break into laughter, repeating "Englishman wit' common sense!" and decided this was another of the things his little brother would like to pretend didn't happen. Scotland could do along with that, for now. He would save that injustice for a more serious moment, when he really needed something to punch the blonde in the metaphorical gut with. Not to mention he was in a good mood and wanted to laugh more than fight. Not that he wouldn't still enjoy himself if England launched a bottle at his face. It would just be better if England was interested in continuing the aggression. Striking Scotland was an invite to play. Having England refuse to play back after the invite was like having someone grab him by the tie and pull him close, give him bedroom eyes and a whisper in his ear, and then just walk away without giving him a location to meet up.
"Fuck ya too, ya tosser," he rumbled after the other, letting his family's signature eyebrows draw together in an expression of disapproval. Let England think he had won. The war wasn't over. Scotland's victories had been small since he lost his independence, but he still had them. He would bide his time and wait for opportunities.
[Merry late Christmas and Belated Happy New Year to you too! This first week was busy and I bet this coming week will be too. Hopefully I'll be able to post when I get home in a week. Washington DC is going crazy over the inauguration.]
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