hetalia | fic: Once a Thief; Britain, Hong Kong

O_o. Once again. Here I am.... It's weirder for me than it is for you. First stab at an HK fic, so it's short...

Title: Once a Thief
Author: me
Pairings: ehm... none? (meh, China/Britain)
Characters: Hong Kong, China, UK
Warning: drug use, some violence
Summary: When England first saw the boy, he had hardly thought twice about him.

When England first lay eyes on the boy, he had hardly thought twice about him; he had been solemn-faced, still, and malnourished to the point that his upbringing had already begun to alter his frame. His face had been grubby from sand and smoke, his duangua of fine quality silk but old, and his legs had already begun to bow from a constant diet of rice and crouching as he sat. About him were hints of his otherworldly heritage, marking him as just enough different from China that one would feel compelled to look twice at him; a golden sash secured his duangua tightly to his body, reminiscent of the Mongols.

But his hat rested on his back, tied at the neck, and an old-fashioned blunderbuss (it couldn’t have worked; England, looking at it, had been more fearful that the thing would misfire should the child try to use it) rested beside him within easy reach of his sprawled limbs, and the entire picture was one of a tired and practiced efficiency. As young as he was, this boy had already lived a life quite different than the court-finery of many of his brothers; it had been one of practicality, efficiency, and gun-barrel diplomacy. It suggested one that held no illusions of the state of the world. England, seeing this and recognizing it, had smiled faintly, but hadn’t said anything about him; the boy remained sitting beside his gege, face impassive, and half-supporting Yao, who was, by now, half-gone from opium.

England had leaned forward to relieve China of the pipe still trapped between his fingers, giving it a puff, and, setting down the ivory piece, had initiated business.

Later, he would wonder why he hadn’t thought of this little stroke of brilliance as China, mortified and eyes red from weeping, had ushered forward this practical, impassive child, who had gone to Arthur as willingly as if it hadn’t meant his world was ending around him (and perhaps it wasn’t; perhaps, England would think in the dark of nights, that he had been, by far, a kinder master than China had been a brother, and had wondered what had passed behind those silk screens). But Hong Kong had been silent as England told him exactly what this meant; Hong Kong was his now, and his gege wouldn’t be there to help him. The boy hadn’t even teared up. He had simply nodded, saying softly that he had understood, and England, at the time, hadn’t known that the boy was registering every word as a weapon to be used against an enemy.

Eventually, he would come to wonder how he had ever thought himself a master of this child, but rather a conduit. It was slightly unnerving to witness, with an impassivity that suggested a lack of consciousness, as the boy set aside his rickshaws and oil lamps for gas and public transportation with none of the heartache that even England felt upon watching him. The world seemed to move along for Hong Kong, and by the time he stood at Arthur’s brow, the streets rattled with carriages and streetcars, and he sat at the dinner table, spats covered in dust and water stains, holding his teacup the same way that silent, efficient child had a decade ago, and lay out to Arthur what, exactly, he needed and expected.

Arthur had been impressed; the boy took himself as an equal and held himself as much. And though he accepted the small revolutions England brought to him (forced on him, really, and the youth cried out at the strength of Arthur’s touch, while Arthur looked steadily on at China, waiting for that inevitable break; China would beg, later, for England to stop when he held down Hong Kong, pinched the boy’s nose and held an opium pipe to his mouth an force him to breathe the smoke until he was docile and complacent), he kept his duangua, and his blunderbuss.

Notes:

Hong Kong was really just a fishing village before the British got to it; one military commander though there had been some sort of mistake in seizing Hong Kong, and not an actual trade hub. The commander who did seize HK was dismissed, and the desired hub was seized shortly thereafter.

Hong Kong… really didn’t seem to care much about its cessation by Britain or separation from China. Not in the way the Japanese tried to separate itself from the rest of Asia (“Goodbye, Asia” by Fukuzawa Yukichi, anyone?), but this separation came nevertheless. And yet… Hong Kong didn’t seem to care. They just accepted the changes as they rolled about. I think this had to do in large part with China so easily handing them over. No rebellions, no revolutions. Any fighting was done by the Chinese.

Also, it’s weird, but I really can’t write Arthur as a rapist, or a control addict. Or, at least not when it’s directed at his children, like Hong Kong, America, or Canada. It’s more to break China’s will than Hong Kong. It’s just, like, not the way the British Empire would do things. Bad form, old chap, and all that. Leave that to the Japanese Imperial Army, who had their way with Hong Kong shortly after they invaded.