"Bloody America…" Britain sighed.
Last night the plane had landed late because of the storms. Thank goodness they had cleared up early this morning, Britain was within walking distance of the World Meeting building and didn't want to pay for a three-block taxi ride. His hotel room was nice, at least, but it was right next to France's. He blamed America. A sound brought him out of his thoughts. The country almost missed the weeping as he walked by the alley next to where the meeting was being held, and back-tracked. "Hello?" He entered the space, looking around. Yes, that was definitely weeping. "Are you alri…" England's voice faltered, seeing a small lump of white sticking out from behind a trash can. He came forward slowly, the portfolio case holding his notes for the meeting held out in front of him as a weapon just in case. Last time he came into an alley in America, for a seemingly homeless person asking for help, he was almost mugged. But this was obviously a child by the sound of the cries. Now he could see her. It wasn't just any child. It was a TINY child. Though Nations didn't interact all that much with their citizens, they still caught up on what was going on. So he was aware of Tinies existing. He studied the child. A small girl with long, amber colored hair, slumped against the wall and wet. Her body shook with sobs and probably shivers, it wasn't exactly a warm March day. A long sleeved white dress was plastered against her skin, still wet from the night of rain. Had she really spent the night out here? In a fucking dress in March? "Hey," he said softly, kneeling down in front of her. "Hey, do you need help?" She looked up at him through teary eyes, and he blinked at the beautiful color in them. She couldn't have been older than four. Her mouth moved once, then twice. "I-I nweed…C-Cwan ywou…Cwan ah-I h-hwave f-fwood?" Scratch that. She was younger than four by her words having a babyish tone to them. His heart melted. "Oh, Poppet. I'll do better than that." He set down the portfolio case, cupping a hand around behind her freezing body and felt her burning forehead with the other. "You're sick—what's your name? How old are you?" It took a moment to think. "I'm tw-two. The s-shwopkweeper cwalled me mwany nwames." Ah, a Tiny that must have gotten out of a pet shop. "What does he call you most often?" Another second to think. "Hwe cwalls me W-Wittle Mawggot a l-lot…Or Bwug. Or Wittle shit. Or twiny Owne sweventween."…Oh. This time England's heart simply shattered. He sat there in silence, curling his hand around her itty bitty body, and proceeded to pick her up. Filthy wet clothes or no, he hugged her shivering form tightly, yet carefully so as not to crush her. "Do you have a real name?" "Momma and Poppa cwalled me Kwylwie…wat, lweast, twhat was what wother Twinies twold me…I-I rwan away fwr-fwrom thwat pwace, pwease dwon't t-twake me bwa-ack." She began to cry again. Kylie. Such a pretty name for such a sweet child. "Well, Kylie, believe that I don't plan on it." He took his handkerchief and wrapped it around her like a blanket. "My name is Arthur. Arthur Kirkland," Britain picked up his case, walking out of the alley now. "I'll take you somewhere safe."
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Healed By Love
FanfictionFor as long as little Kylie could remember, Tinies had become pets for humans. The pet shop she calls home is practically killing her slowly. But then she gets tossed out with the trash, and into a violent world. But what happens when she is found a...
