Bigger Army Diplomacy

II

      "Ack-"

France groaned in displeasure as the servant who was tightening her dress made it as if she couldn't breathe.

"Could you make it a tad loose?" She asked. Bad decision. The maid, presumably having a grudge against her, pretended to loosen it up, but really actually tightened it.

I'll just loosen it by myself, she noted as the servant put the clasps on. She put on a necklace with a pendent on it, engraved with some Latin saying.

She stared at the girl in the mirror, who looked nothing like her. Her toothpaste like hair was pulled back in a tight bun, with a few tendrils hanging out, but painful nonetheless. A white silk dress hung from her figure, seemingly lose but extremely tight on the inside. Two golden clasps hung around her waist, thick as an inch, and of course her necklace. Every aspect of it was painful, and she was expected to wear this for at least a few hours. The most, a day.

What was so bad about this day?

They were going over to the English kingdom to attempt to sort out an alliance with the kingdom, or at least a peace.

Which was something France definitely did not want.

She groaned for the second time that evening as her sister appeared from wherever ghosts likes to hangout when they didn't bother people.

"Is that you?" Monarchy asked in disbelief as she pointed at the girl's reflection.

"Yes, Monarchy. You don't have to look so surprised," France commented as she saw her sisters face.

"Still... the carriage is here,"

"Was that what you were doing?" France teased her sister. "Or were you hanging out with some ghost boys?"

Monarchy turned a deathly shade of white, her way of blushing. "How would you know? I'm a ghost."

France ignored her and continued down the stairs, loosening up her dress as she went.

They arrived at the carriage just as it was about to leave. Their mother looked at them with a disdainful glance. Sitting down on the cushion, France combatted her mother's glare with a snarky look.

Her mother sighed in exasperation. "Why must you always be rude to me? I am your mother, for heaven's sake!"

France didn't have the heart to tell her that in fact, she wasn't. Well, she was, but France's mother never acted like it.

"Because you are my mother, mother." She retorted back. Sadly enough, this was a daily occurrence.

France stared out the window at the rolling hills as her mother continued to scold her about things she'd never do.

She happened upon a map after a few minutes of this. France rolled it open, while looking out the window for any signs that might alert her of where they were. Spotting a sign that said, 'Border crossing 50 miles', she frantically stared at the map, trying to figure out how many miles to the border with the Belgium kingdom. She found it, then started tracing their route to the English kingdom, but stopped when they had stopped abruptly.

"What...?"

"One of the horses was not fed earlier today,"

"Ah,"

"Get your fucking shirt on, Kingdom, we're going to be late," Wales paced around the room as her brother scrambled around the bed, trying to find his shirt.

"What did ma say about girls not swearing?"

"Fuck you, your shirt is right here." She said, holding up his one dress shirt. He looked dumbfounded at her, because he'd searched that place over and under again, but here Wales was, showing him his shirt like it was so obvious.

He swapped out his pajama shirt for the dress shirt, and then he finally looked presentable, or so he thought.

"Get over here," Wales muttered, dragging him by his ear over to the sink. She grabbed one of his combs and swept it to one side, and he looked considerably better. "Now you're ready."

"You're not."

"I'm not the oldest."

"You're still expected to be there!"

"Fine," His sister begrudgingly agreed, walking over to her room. Britain sat on his bed, waiting for his sister to get back so they could go downstairs.

Ah, his sister. He always considered her his favorite of his two siblings, but he never told Northern Ireland, that would crush him. Well, Northern Ireland technically was their cousin, but due to Ireland being missing in action at the moment, they took in Northern and raised him as their own son. What a sob story.

"I'm ready!" Wales called out. Jack walked over to the 12 year old's room, taking notice that Northern Ireland wasn't in his room.

"Have you seen your brother?" He asked the smaller country.

"No, why?"

"Goddamnit!"

"Hypocrite,"

"Ugh, now we need to-"

"Go downstairs and hope he's there and stopped being a sarcastic arse. Yes, I know," Wales cut him off.

They walked downstairs with a strange urgency, spotting Northern at the bottom of the stairs.

"There you are, I've been looking everywhere," Northern said as he fixed The UK's tie. "They're almost here, good thing they're late, you know, here, Wales, put this in your hair," he hurried, shoving a light green bow in her face. She grabbed it, and hurriedly fixed her hair up. "They were supposed to come 15 minutes ago, but complications with their horse slowed them down. Say, Normandy has that daughter, what was her name? France? Try to befriend her, might be helpful," he paused his stream of words to look at the two. "Awe, my little Wales is all grown up!"

"Shut up," she grumbled, but Britain could see she stood a little bit taller.

Northern Ireland lead them both to the place where England and Scotland were standing. "Where have you three been?" England scolded.

"Enough of that, they're here, -the bitches-" Scotland shot back.

"They're here?"

"They're here!"