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hetalia2009-08-09 10:19 am
nike2422.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2009-08-09 10:19 am
Entry tags:
[fanfic] A Little Knowledge ... Part 4
Title: A Little Knowledge … Part 4
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nike2422
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Teen America, Teen Canada
Warnings: 245 year old violence is still violence. The boys are getting older and so is their choice of reading material.
Summary: America follows France’s advice and starts attending meetings with the colonists who don’t like England’s new rules or taxes. Some have even resorted to taking action. Canada gets scared.
Time Frame: The Boston Riot 1765 and aftermath
Part 1Part 2Part 3
Older Stuff
“Up that tree lad! There ya go!”
America took the leg up offered by one of the men standing below and he pulled his body up to the overhanging branch. He straddled it and reached down for the rope tossed up to him. Below the small group of men and boys laughed and talked quietly while the effigy of Mr. Oliver, the new stamp distributor was hoisted up for all who passed by the large elm on the street corner to see. America wrapped the rope around the branch and secured it with a good hitch, then slid back down and hopped to the ground.
“The night watch is coming!” A boy on lookout whispered and the assembled group scattered. America followed the leader of the Loyal Nine who ran with a small group of men to a building across the street and entered through the doorway to take them to the upper floor. Once inside the men took positions at the windows to watch the street below. America stood back, catching his breath and listening for the first sound that their handiwork had been noticed.
“Relax boys, it will be first light when the men come down to work on the docks before anyone notices.” The leader said, then looked at America standing there and smiled. “Having fun young master?”
America looked up at him and smiled back, “Yes I am. I should be getting ready for school right now though.”
“Boston Latin School?”
“Yes sir.”
“Today you will be receiving an education of another kind, even more important than Latin.” The man said, ruffling America’s blond head, and then moving up towards the window. “Wait until a crowd assembles before moving out. Make it look as though you are part of the people gathering to get a look.”
“Aye sir,” The men answered, and went back to watching through the window.
America didn’t go to school that day. As predicted once people in the town began stirring about and walking by the large Elm tree, they stopped to look at the effigy of the stamp distributor. Most people laughed at it, as the stamp tax was very unpopular in all of the colonies. America waited with the men and then they gradually joined the crowd to also point and laugh at the hanging figure in the tree. The colony climbed onto a lamppost for a good view and spent the day watching the crowd grow. Eventually the local sheriff arrived with some men to take the effigy down and was threatened with loss of life if they touched it. America joined the mob, hurling insults at the sheriff until he stomped away red faced to inform the governor.
America was so busy heckling the police with the rest of the crowd and laughing at the spectacle he helped create, he failed to notice Canada standing back and watching the scene, a worried frown on his face.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Canada sat at the table in the dark. He knew it was long past midnight but he was determined to stay awake and confront America when he came home. If he came home. All day the crowd in front of the large elm on Essex and Orange streets, now being called the “Liberty Tree” had gathered around to see the effigy of Mr. Oliver hang there. Men like Samuel Adams had been there to keep the crowd riled up and threatened anyone with any kind of authority with death if they tried to take the cause of the riot down. When the day progressed to afternoon and the members of the Council assembled to discuss what was to be done, Only then did the rioters take the effigy down and paraded through the streets with it. Canada could just imagine America there in the front of the crowd, marching with a lit torch in hand shouting with the others, that reckless smile on his face. The rabble of troublemakers had given themselves the name “Sons of Liberty.” Canada shook his head and snorted at the nonsense. Causing fear and riots was hardly the stuff of freedom.
As the evening progressed, and America didn’t return home for supper, Canada heard people running down the street screaming that the rioters had torn down a building under construction owned by Mr. Oliver and gone to his house with the effigy. They decapitated it in front of his house, and then used the lumber from his unfinished shop building to burn the effigy on the man’s lawn! They broke into his house, vandalized it, and then demanded Mr. Oliver appear so they could kill him. Fortunately the man and his family had the foresight to flee to the neighbors and the crowd then turned on the Sheriff and Governor, who arrived to tell the crowd to disperse. They pelted both men with rocks and had to escape before they were seriously injured or worse. When Canada had asked the people on the street if they had seen America in the riot, they sadly admitted he was there in the front ranks throwing rocks with the rest of the mob.
Canada had returned home and sat down at the kitchen table, feeling sick. When England heard about this … “Oh God.” Canada said out loud, his hand going up to his mouth.
“Oh God what?” America’s silhouette said, standing in the doorway.
Canada jumped a foot in his seat, and then peered at America standing in the dark. Even in the shadows he could see the bruise on the colony’s forehead. Canada jumped up; fumbled for a twig from the tinderbox and lit it in the hearth. He quickly brought the flame to the candle on the table and lit it. As the light grew he looked at America’s face. His blue eyes were bright, but there was a strange gleam in them Canada didn’t recognize. His shirt was ripped, and there was a button missing from his waistcoat. His face was dirty from soot and a small trickle of blood ran down his temple. He sat down in the chair opposite Canada and grinned.
“You were at the riot!” Canada shouted angrily, grabbing the ladle from the water bucket and pouring water into a bowl. He fetched a clean rag and began dabbing at the cut on America’s head, making the other colony yelp with pain.
“Ouch! That hurts damn it! Yeah I was there, you missed all the fun Canada! Haha! I will never forget hearing the governor scream like a girl when we started throwing rocks at him!”
“And what do you think will happen when the Governor’s report reaches England?”
America was quiet for a moment as he looked up at Canada, wincing as the boy tried to clean up the bad cut before it became infected. “Maybe England will get it through his thick skull these people don’t want to pay his taxes.”
“Funny you should mention thick skulls,” Canada grumbled, dabbing at the cut, “In case you haven’t noticed yet, but this is an English colony America. England’s boss is our boss too.”
“WRONG!” America shouted, jumping up and pushing Canada back hard enough he almost fell. “The colonies don’t participate in England’s government, England has no right to tax them. Just like Samuel Adams said, ‘next they will tax our property, then the produce of our land.’ England won’t stop with the stamp act, he’ll keep taking more until there’s nothing left here. He wants to turn us all into slaves!”
“Slaves? Don’t be ridiculous America!” Canada exclaimed. The strange light in America’s eyes was really beginning to scare him.
“Don’t you see? Paying these taxes is submitting to England’s tyranny. As free born men we can’t do that!”
“Did that bump on your head knock all the sense out of you? What you’re saying is insane! And I don’t care how tall you’re getting, you’re not a man yet, you’re still a boy who has to obey his father, just like a king’s subjects have to obey him! I won’t listen to any more of it!” Canada tossed the bloody rag into the bowl and ran down the dark hallway to his room.
America listened to the bedroom door open and slam shut. He grinned wickedly, staring at the candle flame, remembering the excitement of the evening. He wished he could be there when England read the governor’s report. He wanted to see the look on his face.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
America didn’t go to school the next day either. When the master asked Canada where the other colony was he quickly made up a story about helping the neighbors build a new barn and a beam came down and hit him on the head. Canada was really worried about him. He hadn’t stirred when he tried to rouse him, but he was still breathing so he decided to let him sleep it off.
Canada walked up the path towards their house just in time to see America talking to two men on the doorstep. One of the men handed him something and they took off into the woods. Canada stared really hard, because one of them looked familiar. America disappeared through the door and Canada frowned. What was he up to now?
Canada entered the house and found the table scattered with books. When the initial shock wore off he walked up to the table to see what on earth America would voluntarily read. Canada eyes grew large when he saw the dictionary open. He skimmed the page for a clue when one word made him stop.
con⋅ju⋅gal:
1. of, pertaining to, or characteristic of marriage: conjugal vows.
2. pertaining to the relation of husband and wife.
Canada blushed as he slammed the book shut. “Why is it,” a voice said behind him, “Every time you read the dictionary you blush?”
Canada turned and faced America. The strange light was still in his eyes, as well as the grin that told him he was up to no good. “Why are you looking up a word like conjugal? If you went to school and did your Latin homework you would know what that word means already.”
America answered him by rolling his eyes and sitting back down at the table. He picked up another book written by John Locke and turned a few pages. “Listen to this Canada, this book is amazing, ‘the master of the family has a very distinct and differently limited power, both as to time and extent, over those several persons that are in it; … he has no legislative power of life and death over any of them, and none too but what a mistress of a family may have as well as he. And he certainly can have no absolute power over the whole family, who has but a very limited one over every individual in it.’”
Canada just stared and blinked. He didn’t want to go where America’s mind was going.
“Don’t you see Canada? No Patriarch has absolute power over anyone! The father only has power over his family for as long as they live under his roof! Once they leave they have the same rights as the father does! This means that if I decide I’m ready to be on my own England no longer has control over me! Isn’t that fantastic?”
“What does that have to do with the word conjugal?” Canada asked, raising an eyebrow at the other colony.
“Huh? Oh, yeah that.” America said, scratching the back of his head, “Locke describes how a man and woman marry to create a family, then compares that to how a father like a king, only has power to rule over his family as long as they consent to it.”
“So, a father can only rule over his family as long as they want him to?” Canada asked, crossing his arms and frowning.
“Exactly!” America grinned, jumping out of his seat. He grabbed Canada by the shoulders and started shaking him. “Look at these people Canada, they’ve lived here for over a hundred years with no king, no masters. Is it chaos? Is it anarchy? No, there’s law and order here. We don’t need a father, and we don’t need a king. We’re doing just fine without ‘em.”
“Oh you mean like last night? That law and order?” Canada asked sarcastically, breaking free of America’s grasp. “You shouldn’t be reading books like these, they’re giving you the wrong ideas.”
“Really Canada, and what have you been reading lately?” America asked, waggling his eyebrows with an evil look. “I bet it’s here in your book bag right now!” He grabbed the bag off the back of the chair where Canada had left it, and opened the clasp to dump out the contents. Canada squealed and grabbed the strap, trying to tug it away from America before he could get to the contents inside. America pulled out the book he was after, and let the bag go, making Canada sprawl into the rushes.
“I knew it! TOM JONES! Aaaahahahahahah!” America threw back his head and laughed out loud. Canada sat on the floor and looked up at him, a look of humiliation on his face as the blush disappeared into the collar of his waistcoat. “I’ve heard about this book, isn’t this a satire about the prejudices of class in English society? Subversive literature indeed!”
“Damn it America, give that back! That’s not why I’m reading it!” Canada shouted, jumping to his feet and trying to grab the book away from America, who just held it over his head so the shorter colony couldn’t reach it.
“Oh really, then what are you reading it for?” America laughed as he sat down and tossed the book on the table. Canada snatched it up and hugged it to his chest, his lower lip quivering. “That book is nothing but smut and you know it. I guess you are your father’s son after all.”
Tears streamed down Canada’s face as he stood over America, who was still laughing at him. “DAMN IT AMERICA I HATE YOU!” He screamed as he turned and ran to his room. America laughed louder as he slammed the door behind him. He threw himself on his bed sobbing, disturbing Kuma from his nap and making the bear growl. America had fallen in with evil men bent on treason, it was clear to him now. Canada had to do something before it got too far out of hand and terrible things happened, to either of them. He walked over to the little writing desk and pulled out a piece of hemp paper. He dipped his quill and began writing a letter to England, trying to keep his tears from smearing the ink on the page too much. Kumajirou looked up at the door from where he slept on Canada’s bed, listening to America’s laughter float down the hall and grumbled, “What an asshole.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author’s note: No exploding genitals this time, but the boys are getting older and their tastes in reading material are definitely changing.
The Boston Riot took place on August 14, 1765, shortly after the House of Burgesses adopted Patrick Henry’s Stamp Act resolutions in Virginia. A new group of laborers and shopkeepers in Boston began to organize at this time, at first calling themselves the Loyal Nine, but quickly changing their name to the Sons of Liberty as hundreds began to join their number. Their meeting place became the tree where Andrew Oliver’s effigy hung on August 14th. A yellow flag would be hung there to alert the members when a meeting would take place. Other towns in all of the colonies eventually adopted the practice of meeting at a liberty tree or liberty pole to organize against the British crown. Thanks for reading!
Author:
nike2422Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Teen America, Teen Canada
Warnings: 245 year old violence is still violence. The boys are getting older and so is their choice of reading material.
Summary: America follows France’s advice and starts attending meetings with the colonists who don’t like England’s new rules or taxes. Some have even resorted to taking action. Canada gets scared.
Time Frame: The Boston Riot 1765 and aftermath
Part 1Part 2Part 3
Older Stuff
“Up that tree lad! There ya go!”
America took the leg up offered by one of the men standing below and he pulled his body up to the overhanging branch. He straddled it and reached down for the rope tossed up to him. Below the small group of men and boys laughed and talked quietly while the effigy of Mr. Oliver, the new stamp distributor was hoisted up for all who passed by the large elm on the street corner to see. America wrapped the rope around the branch and secured it with a good hitch, then slid back down and hopped to the ground.
“The night watch is coming!” A boy on lookout whispered and the assembled group scattered. America followed the leader of the Loyal Nine who ran with a small group of men to a building across the street and entered through the doorway to take them to the upper floor. Once inside the men took positions at the windows to watch the street below. America stood back, catching his breath and listening for the first sound that their handiwork had been noticed.
“Relax boys, it will be first light when the men come down to work on the docks before anyone notices.” The leader said, then looked at America standing there and smiled. “Having fun young master?”
America looked up at him and smiled back, “Yes I am. I should be getting ready for school right now though.”
“Boston Latin School?”
“Yes sir.”
“Today you will be receiving an education of another kind, even more important than Latin.” The man said, ruffling America’s blond head, and then moving up towards the window. “Wait until a crowd assembles before moving out. Make it look as though you are part of the people gathering to get a look.”
“Aye sir,” The men answered, and went back to watching through the window.
America didn’t go to school that day. As predicted once people in the town began stirring about and walking by the large Elm tree, they stopped to look at the effigy of the stamp distributor. Most people laughed at it, as the stamp tax was very unpopular in all of the colonies. America waited with the men and then they gradually joined the crowd to also point and laugh at the hanging figure in the tree. The colony climbed onto a lamppost for a good view and spent the day watching the crowd grow. Eventually the local sheriff arrived with some men to take the effigy down and was threatened with loss of life if they touched it. America joined the mob, hurling insults at the sheriff until he stomped away red faced to inform the governor.
America was so busy heckling the police with the rest of the crowd and laughing at the spectacle he helped create, he failed to notice Canada standing back and watching the scene, a worried frown on his face.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Canada sat at the table in the dark. He knew it was long past midnight but he was determined to stay awake and confront America when he came home. If he came home. All day the crowd in front of the large elm on Essex and Orange streets, now being called the “Liberty Tree” had gathered around to see the effigy of Mr. Oliver hang there. Men like Samuel Adams had been there to keep the crowd riled up and threatened anyone with any kind of authority with death if they tried to take the cause of the riot down. When the day progressed to afternoon and the members of the Council assembled to discuss what was to be done, Only then did the rioters take the effigy down and paraded through the streets with it. Canada could just imagine America there in the front of the crowd, marching with a lit torch in hand shouting with the others, that reckless smile on his face. The rabble of troublemakers had given themselves the name “Sons of Liberty.” Canada shook his head and snorted at the nonsense. Causing fear and riots was hardly the stuff of freedom.
As the evening progressed, and America didn’t return home for supper, Canada heard people running down the street screaming that the rioters had torn down a building under construction owned by Mr. Oliver and gone to his house with the effigy. They decapitated it in front of his house, and then used the lumber from his unfinished shop building to burn the effigy on the man’s lawn! They broke into his house, vandalized it, and then demanded Mr. Oliver appear so they could kill him. Fortunately the man and his family had the foresight to flee to the neighbors and the crowd then turned on the Sheriff and Governor, who arrived to tell the crowd to disperse. They pelted both men with rocks and had to escape before they were seriously injured or worse. When Canada had asked the people on the street if they had seen America in the riot, they sadly admitted he was there in the front ranks throwing rocks with the rest of the mob.
Canada had returned home and sat down at the kitchen table, feeling sick. When England heard about this … “Oh God.” Canada said out loud, his hand going up to his mouth.
“Oh God what?” America’s silhouette said, standing in the doorway.
Canada jumped a foot in his seat, and then peered at America standing in the dark. Even in the shadows he could see the bruise on the colony’s forehead. Canada jumped up; fumbled for a twig from the tinderbox and lit it in the hearth. He quickly brought the flame to the candle on the table and lit it. As the light grew he looked at America’s face. His blue eyes were bright, but there was a strange gleam in them Canada didn’t recognize. His shirt was ripped, and there was a button missing from his waistcoat. His face was dirty from soot and a small trickle of blood ran down his temple. He sat down in the chair opposite Canada and grinned.
“You were at the riot!” Canada shouted angrily, grabbing the ladle from the water bucket and pouring water into a bowl. He fetched a clean rag and began dabbing at the cut on America’s head, making the other colony yelp with pain.
“Ouch! That hurts damn it! Yeah I was there, you missed all the fun Canada! Haha! I will never forget hearing the governor scream like a girl when we started throwing rocks at him!”
“And what do you think will happen when the Governor’s report reaches England?”
America was quiet for a moment as he looked up at Canada, wincing as the boy tried to clean up the bad cut before it became infected. “Maybe England will get it through his thick skull these people don’t want to pay his taxes.”
“Funny you should mention thick skulls,” Canada grumbled, dabbing at the cut, “In case you haven’t noticed yet, but this is an English colony America. England’s boss is our boss too.”
“WRONG!” America shouted, jumping up and pushing Canada back hard enough he almost fell. “The colonies don’t participate in England’s government, England has no right to tax them. Just like Samuel Adams said, ‘next they will tax our property, then the produce of our land.’ England won’t stop with the stamp act, he’ll keep taking more until there’s nothing left here. He wants to turn us all into slaves!”
“Slaves? Don’t be ridiculous America!” Canada exclaimed. The strange light in America’s eyes was really beginning to scare him.
“Don’t you see? Paying these taxes is submitting to England’s tyranny. As free born men we can’t do that!”
“Did that bump on your head knock all the sense out of you? What you’re saying is insane! And I don’t care how tall you’re getting, you’re not a man yet, you’re still a boy who has to obey his father, just like a king’s subjects have to obey him! I won’t listen to any more of it!” Canada tossed the bloody rag into the bowl and ran down the dark hallway to his room.
America listened to the bedroom door open and slam shut. He grinned wickedly, staring at the candle flame, remembering the excitement of the evening. He wished he could be there when England read the governor’s report. He wanted to see the look on his face.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
America didn’t go to school the next day either. When the master asked Canada where the other colony was he quickly made up a story about helping the neighbors build a new barn and a beam came down and hit him on the head. Canada was really worried about him. He hadn’t stirred when he tried to rouse him, but he was still breathing so he decided to let him sleep it off.
Canada walked up the path towards their house just in time to see America talking to two men on the doorstep. One of the men handed him something and they took off into the woods. Canada stared really hard, because one of them looked familiar. America disappeared through the door and Canada frowned. What was he up to now?
Canada entered the house and found the table scattered with books. When the initial shock wore off he walked up to the table to see what on earth America would voluntarily read. Canada eyes grew large when he saw the dictionary open. He skimmed the page for a clue when one word made him stop.
con⋅ju⋅gal:
1. of, pertaining to, or characteristic of marriage: conjugal vows.
2. pertaining to the relation of husband and wife.
Canada blushed as he slammed the book shut. “Why is it,” a voice said behind him, “Every time you read the dictionary you blush?”
Canada turned and faced America. The strange light was still in his eyes, as well as the grin that told him he was up to no good. “Why are you looking up a word like conjugal? If you went to school and did your Latin homework you would know what that word means already.”
America answered him by rolling his eyes and sitting back down at the table. He picked up another book written by John Locke and turned a few pages. “Listen to this Canada, this book is amazing, ‘the master of the family has a very distinct and differently limited power, both as to time and extent, over those several persons that are in it; … he has no legislative power of life and death over any of them, and none too but what a mistress of a family may have as well as he. And he certainly can have no absolute power over the whole family, who has but a very limited one over every individual in it.’”
Canada just stared and blinked. He didn’t want to go where America’s mind was going.
“Don’t you see Canada? No Patriarch has absolute power over anyone! The father only has power over his family for as long as they live under his roof! Once they leave they have the same rights as the father does! This means that if I decide I’m ready to be on my own England no longer has control over me! Isn’t that fantastic?”
“What does that have to do with the word conjugal?” Canada asked, raising an eyebrow at the other colony.
“Huh? Oh, yeah that.” America said, scratching the back of his head, “Locke describes how a man and woman marry to create a family, then compares that to how a father like a king, only has power to rule over his family as long as they consent to it.”
“So, a father can only rule over his family as long as they want him to?” Canada asked, crossing his arms and frowning.
“Exactly!” America grinned, jumping out of his seat. He grabbed Canada by the shoulders and started shaking him. “Look at these people Canada, they’ve lived here for over a hundred years with no king, no masters. Is it chaos? Is it anarchy? No, there’s law and order here. We don’t need a father, and we don’t need a king. We’re doing just fine without ‘em.”
“Oh you mean like last night? That law and order?” Canada asked sarcastically, breaking free of America’s grasp. “You shouldn’t be reading books like these, they’re giving you the wrong ideas.”
“Really Canada, and what have you been reading lately?” America asked, waggling his eyebrows with an evil look. “I bet it’s here in your book bag right now!” He grabbed the bag off the back of the chair where Canada had left it, and opened the clasp to dump out the contents. Canada squealed and grabbed the strap, trying to tug it away from America before he could get to the contents inside. America pulled out the book he was after, and let the bag go, making Canada sprawl into the rushes.
“I knew it! TOM JONES! Aaaahahahahahah!” America threw back his head and laughed out loud. Canada sat on the floor and looked up at him, a look of humiliation on his face as the blush disappeared into the collar of his waistcoat. “I’ve heard about this book, isn’t this a satire about the prejudices of class in English society? Subversive literature indeed!”
“Damn it America, give that back! That’s not why I’m reading it!” Canada shouted, jumping to his feet and trying to grab the book away from America, who just held it over his head so the shorter colony couldn’t reach it.
“Oh really, then what are you reading it for?” America laughed as he sat down and tossed the book on the table. Canada snatched it up and hugged it to his chest, his lower lip quivering. “That book is nothing but smut and you know it. I guess you are your father’s son after all.”
Tears streamed down Canada’s face as he stood over America, who was still laughing at him. “DAMN IT AMERICA I HATE YOU!” He screamed as he turned and ran to his room. America laughed louder as he slammed the door behind him. He threw himself on his bed sobbing, disturbing Kuma from his nap and making the bear growl. America had fallen in with evil men bent on treason, it was clear to him now. Canada had to do something before it got too far out of hand and terrible things happened, to either of them. He walked over to the little writing desk and pulled out a piece of hemp paper. He dipped his quill and began writing a letter to England, trying to keep his tears from smearing the ink on the page too much. Kumajirou looked up at the door from where he slept on Canada’s bed, listening to America’s laughter float down the hall and grumbled, “What an asshole.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author’s note: No exploding genitals this time, but the boys are getting older and their tastes in reading material are definitely changing.
The Boston Riot took place on August 14, 1765, shortly after the House of Burgesses adopted Patrick Henry’s Stamp Act resolutions in Virginia. A new group of laborers and shopkeepers in Boston began to organize at this time, at first calling themselves the Loyal Nine, but quickly changing their name to the Sons of Liberty as hundreds began to join their number. Their meeting place became the tree where Andrew Oliver’s effigy hung on August 14th. A yellow flag would be hung there to alert the members when a meeting would take place. Other towns in all of the colonies eventually adopted the practice of meeting at a liberty tree or liberty pole to organize against the British crown. Thanks for reading!
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But anyhow. This story really has progressed a ton, from as you say it, exploding genitals. Its a great progress, of course, heh. I never really expected the story to go into this direction in the first place, but I really enjoy it now that its... Here? Haha. Thanks again for writing this :3
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A little knowledge was originally meant to be a one shot, so the direction I took was based on the time period. The proverb that started it all will come back, and I've already written the last chapter. OY Thank you for reading!
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