Bigger Army Diplomacy

III

      "Have you met my son The UK?" Scotland asked the bored teen. The meeting had just started, yet they could already hear the familiar shouts of the other two- Normandy and England- bickering again over useless things. Despite her mood, France answered back; "No, I don't believe I have."

The older country sighed and leaned her head back against the chair. France took a look at the queen and was surprised to see she had bags under her eyes. In fact, Scotland looked like a regular person, if you don't count the dress. She had unruly red hair the was shoved into a messy bun. Freckles dotted her blue and white face, covered with natural makeup.

"Alright, come with me, dear," The other stepped up. "Ow! Sorry," she added as she cracked her back.

"No, you're fine!" The girl quickly muttered as she saw Monarchy come back from around the corner.
They walked up into a room on the top floor of a tower. It was spacious and cool, with two couches, a rocking chair, and a simple seat. Someone was occupying the seat, so she took the rocking chair on the opposite side.
"Hey," the other muttered. They made small talk, but nothing too interesting. She sat back and started to drift off to her own thoughts.

"I think we're both bored." The UK muttered. "Can I just talk to your ghost sister?"
"What tHE-" She jumped out of her chair. The sight was more than comical. "Yeah, actually, maybe she'll stop bothering me," she sat back.
For some reason, Kingdom found that incredibly rude. He looked at her with an offended look, then turned to the ghost.
"So... You're dead."
"Yep."
"How'd you die?"
The ghost jabbed her thumb toward the bored girl."That idiot stabbed me."
They both turned to France.
"What?" She asked in confusion. "Oh, yep. She was being mean and taxing the poor, so I killed her.
"Which, may I add, is not how you solve your problems!" She glared at France.
"I like you!" Britain remarked. "I'm the United Kingdom."
"I'm Monarchy."
"How do you do!"
"Yes, how do you do."
They conversed for a while before he heard Scotland calling them.

"Get your lazy asses down here before your dinner gets cold!" She yelled. 

They both ran down, Monarchy trailing behind. They bumped into each other once, but neither of them did anything. 

"Where's Father?" Kingdom inquired when he didn't see the red and white country.

"Yeah, and where's my mom?" France also asked, looking around for the other.

Scotland beckoned them to take a seat where the children were already eating. They sat down as the other country replied. "Ah, they are still... negotiating."

"Arguing?" France muttered as she took a bite of some long bread.

"Uhm, yeah, that too. Can you two introduce yourselves?" Scotland nodded to the younger two countries.

"Wales, 12,"

"I'm Northern Ireland, I'm 15, and you can call me Northern, everyone does."

"Ireland... have I heard that name before?" France wondered.

"Uh, you might've, he's my dad,"

"Oh- That Ireland! I know him!"

"Really?" Northern suddenly was invested in the conversation, most likely eager to know something about his father. "How?"

"We were friends in... I think Junior High."

"Ooh, really?!? What was he like!?" The younger leaned over the table in interest. Scotland glared at him and he sat down really quickly. Wales grabbed his arm and started muttering to him. "Fy duw, mae mam mewn hwyliau drwg iawn heno, peidiwch â ffycin dicter hi." || My God, mom's in a really bad mood right now. Don't fucking make her angry.||

"Tá a fhios agam, ach seo é m'athair a bhfuilimid ag caint air, gearr roinnt slack dom, ceart go leor?!?"|| I know, but this is my father we're talking about! Can you cut me some slack?!? ||

"I can hear you two, knock it off." Scotland muttered.

"Nice family," France remarked.

"I know," The United Kingdom agreed.

"So-" Scotland waved her fork around for emphasis. "-where you from?"

France took another bite of bread before replying, "Well, my mom's name is Normandy, I don't know my dad, what do you think?"

"I do not like this one," England appeared at the door, quickly followed by Normandy.

"That is my daughter you are talking about. Watch your tone, you're going to have to get used to it." The tall female pinched the bridge of her nose. They both took a seat, Normandy next to her daughter, and England at the far end of the table, where he usually sat.

"Do you mind telling your daughter about what we agreed on?" England shot to Normandy. She ignored him, instead choosing to turn to France.

"Dear, you remember the idea of a marriage for the country?"

"'My feelings don't matter as long as I can keep the rest of the world happy,'" France replied boredly, like it was part of the national anthem.

The look she made on her face was close to having a noose tightened around her dainty neck as realization creeped into her eyes.

"You can't be serious." She whispered, pulling her hair out of the tight bun it was in.

Just then, the UK realized it too. "You're joking," he muttered.

"I'm not. We've both agreed this is the best way to secure our alliance together, seeing as we have years of fighting against us." Normandy nodded in agreement as the Englishman pointed out a good point.

"What's happening, dad? What do you mean alliance?" Wales wondered out loud.

"Ah, Wales, have I ever told you about forced marriges?"

"No,"

"They're getting married."