For Queen and Captain {|Hetalia Human AU|}

Thou shalt not frame thy brother

Arthur blinked awake to the sound of a cock crowing somewhere in the neighboring areas. He sat up carefully, feeling his back protest from the worse-than-usual sleeping conditions as he stretched carefully before getting up, pulling on his clothes and realizing that Francis was a  tiny bit right. He could use some tidying up. His shirt could stand a wash, certainly... He shrugged off the impending vanities and exited his shed, blinking in the bright sunlight. He stumbled, half-blind, to the main building and opened the back door, knocking on the doorframe, part for luck and part to alert the cook to his presence.

"Ah, there you are, lad. Get in here. You're on tavern duty for the day, bussing tables, yea?" Arthur nodded, a small smile sneaking onto his face. He kind of liked tavern duty, because there was always the stray person with something nice to say about him, or someone that would slip him a few pence when he came to the table. "Yes, ma'am." He scurried to the front, where Pierre was manning the bar. Francis sat to the side, obviously on break. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd had a break. He could feel the initial resentment coming back...

"Boy! Tables eight through nineteen today, yea?" Arthur nhis odded, unsurprised at the large amount. He was used to it. "Yea, sir!" He grabbed the trays slid at him and slipped through the low-ceilinged room to set the pints on the table. It went like this for a while, Arthur scurrying back and forth between tables and the bar, Francis lolligagging by the stairswhile Pierre manned the bar, giving Cook the orders and keeping drinks going to the 

"Pierre! We're out of yeast!" Arthur watched covertly as his master rolled his eyes, signalling Francis over. "Watch the till, boy." Francis obediantly skittered behind the bar as Pierre trudged towards the door, casting a glare at Arthur. "Behave, boy." Arthur nodded as the man left. He frowned as something hit his back and glanced over his shoulder to find Francis gesturing him over, a small smile on his frog face. Arthur hesitantly went forward, leaning a hip on the bar as Francis whispered quietly.

"Angelterre, I think I've figured out how to tell--" Arthur shook his head. "No, frog, you aren't going to get yourself deported." Francis just smiled a sly French smile, like someone who has a secret that no one else in the entire world knows but them, and it's the juiciest secret a boy could have.

"Oui, whatever you say, Angelterre."

The rest of the afternoon, even after Pierre was back, Arthur was suspicious of Francis. He just looked so.... smug. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was worse at closing time, and Arthur finally got in a moment to ask.

He grabbed the French boy's sleeve, pulling him aside carefully before looking at him and crossing his arms.

"What did you do, Francis?" Francis opened his mouth, but was cut off by a bellow from Pierre.

"Where is he?! That boy! He pinched a good half day's work from the till!" Arthur's eyes widened as Francis looked at him urgently. "Angelterre, trust me, it's for your own good, just--" Francis was shoved aside and Arthur grabbed by the hair by Pierre, who was both very drunk and very angry at the moment.

"You! You took my hard-earned coin! You're a thief, and I don't tolerate theives!" Arthur whimpered as he was dragged to the front stoop, people glancing at them and stopping to watch the show as Pierre flagged down a police officer.

"What's the problem, then, sir?" Pierre gave Arthur a rough shake by the hair, lifting him to his feet until his toes were barely touching the ground. "This little thief, that's my problem!" The police officer nodded agreeably. "Shall I arrest him for you, then, sir?" Pierre tossed Arthur to the ground, spitting at his feet. "Take the runt.  Slap him in irons, I say!" The police officer nodded and helped Arthur up, promptly taking hold of his arm so he couldn't run.

"Yes, it'll be done, sir. I'm dreadfully sorry for the inconveniance, sir." Arthur caught a glance over Pierre's shoulder of Francis, ooking worried and hopeful, his expression hardened as a person who knows that a messy job has to be done, and they've got to do it.

Arthur swore to kill that boy someday.

He was hauled to the police station, where he was put in irons and sat on a bench while they discussed what to do with him.

"The orphanage's said they're full until next month, at least..."

"He's too scrawny for farm work, so we can't sell him off..."

After several minutes of discussion, the man who'd arrested Arthur spoke up. "Oi! Why don't we put him in the cell and decide on it in the morning, after some tea?" They all agreed on this fine plan and Arthur was grabbed by the scruff of the neck and manhandled into the back of the station, where sat two cells, one of which already had three people in it, fast asleep, the other had but one man, who looked either stone drunk or passed out... or both... Arthur was thrown in the second.

"Ok, good night, lad! See you in the mornin'!" Arthur shook his head at the police officer's incessant politeness as he studied his surroundings. One barred window on the southern wall, a pair of twin cots on either side of the cell, one of which was occupied by the man, who was now mumbling incoherantly, a loo in the corner that made Arthur want to gag a bit, and one stool, occupied by a small washbasin filled with clear water, along with a small tin cup, probably left over from the last meal, and a rag.

Just lovely.

He looked over at the man, who seemed to be singing some drunken sea shanty quietly now, and inched over, looking carefully over him. A long coat was draped over him, the stitching ornate with silver buttons down it. Arthur hesitantly reached out, touching the cool silver with a fingertip.

His hand was abruptly grabbed in an iron fist. He froze in terror as the man rolled over, a pair of brilliant green eyes peering at him, a bit clouded from drink, but still sharp.

"What do you think you're doin', boy?" Arthur swallowed nervously, mouth dry. "I.... I was just admiring your buttons? Sir?" The man looked at him another moment before replying.

"Alright, then, if that's all you were doin'." The man sat upand ran a hand through his red hair, obviously off balance, even sitting down. He started to fall off the cot and Arthur put a shoulder under him, putting him back upright. Arthur'd had to deal with many a drunkard while working in the tavern, and he set about getting the man sobered up, just to give his hands something to do. He retrived the tin cup, scooping it full of water and handing it to the man before looking at him. He had a bruise on his cheekbone, a split lip, and a grin on his face.

Yea. Defianatly a man who'd been drinking and fighting. The man took the cup willingly and took a sip, grimacing. "Argh. I'd prefer some rum... Oh well, eh?" Arthur noted the northern Scottish accent absently as he wet the cloth, carefully cleaning away the trail of blood that went on an odd journey from the man's split lip all the way across his cheek.

Arthur had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed taking care of people. He smiled to himself as the man started humming the shanty again under his breath.

"What're ye in for, lad?" Arthur could feel his smile skew. "Framed...." the man laughed heartily, earning a call from the neighboring cell about shuttin' yer mouth so a man can sleep.

"Framed, you say? Oh, if you could get out of one of these by saying that, I wouldn't be here, lad! Tell me, what actually happened? Arthur shook his head, sitting back on the opposite cot. "That's what happened. Framed for stealing by a bloody frog." The man frowned firmly. "Alright, first, a boy shouldn't talk like that, and second, what were you doing with a frog? They give you warts." Arthur couldn't help but smile and shake his head. 

"Nay, it was a French boy. Surely you've heard the term before?" The man shook his head. "No, lad. I'm out at sea too much to really be up-to-date on terms. It's a shame, really." Arthur's ears perked up a bit.

"At sea? You a merchant, then?" The man laughed quietly. "You could call it that, I guess." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Really?" The man grinned, swaying a bit before putting out a hand to steady himself. "Yea. Really." Arthur laughed quietly and the man gasped.

"I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Allistor. Allistor Kirkland."