Bigger Army Diplomacy

XII

To see his father.

That was all Northern Ireland wanted. But of course, he used up his monthly quota of miracles after he miraculously pulled himself out of the sickness that he was sure would rob him of his sanity. Still, he couldn't help wishing every time the clock struck 11:11, or when a black cat passed by him on his way to the market.

A merchant ship was coming up the River Thames, nothing of interest to Northern. He used to be excited at every ship coming in and out of the ports of his city, but after two and a half months of getting his hopes crushed over and over again, he figured that it was useless, and stopped caring.

But this time, it was different. The ship that had arrived looked to be of Irish origin, and there appeared to be only one person on the ship, a young girl with a frightened look on her face.

Strange, thought Northern Ireland. Yet the only thing he wanted to do was go home. So that was what he did.

He couldn't help but look back at the ship. There stood a man, his hat obscuring his face. But when he moved his hands, one of them was green and the other orange. And Northern Ireland couldn't help but wonder if that was... if that was his father.

"That's not how you play!" France yelled at the poor UK. He stared at the chessboard, then at France. Her expression was equal parts amused and enraged, though he couldn't figure out how that worked out.

"But I thought the rook moves straight-" he protested.

"That's the castle you fool!"

"How do you know so much about chess?"

"Books!" She pulled on her face as Jack continued to argue with the girl.

"How do you know books are correct?"

"Three source rule!"

Jack stared at her, game forgotten. "What's the three source rule?"

France noticed the game was over and started putting the pieces away. "Everyone knows the three source rule!" There went the rook Jack thought was a castle. "Except for you." She noted.

"Except for me. So what is it?"

France flopped on the couch and thought for a minute before answering; "When three or more books agree about something, it's probably true."

"And how many books have agreed?"

"All of the ones I've read."

"And how many books is that?"

"Several."

"How many is that?"

"Several."

Jack joined her on the couch. "This is the most immature you've been since that last time I told you you were immature!"

"Three weeks ago?" Jack confirmed that with a head nod. France laughed. "You remember me being immature from three weeks ago?"

Jack felt his face warm ever so slightly and told her that he had a good memory. An awkward silence followed, with France breaking it with a small chuckle. The girl laid down on the couch and promptly fell asleep. The other also followed suite just a few minutes after.

I woke up, Jack by my side, still sleeping. I yawned and stretched out my arms and legs, and reweaving my hair back into a bun to keep it out of the way. I stared a little at the sleeping form next to me. I stroked his hair for a second, trying to pull away, however, it was like I was a marionette. I couldn't stop.

His eyes snapped open, something I wasn't used to. From what I normally could tell, he would slowly open his eyes, and once they were fully open, he blinked like he wasn't used to light and then took a little bit of time to wake up. This was the complete opposite.

Jack quickly snapped out onto the floor, his red eyes slightly more intense than normal. Another strange thing. His eyes never flared that bright.

"I know who are." He croaked. "I know what you want."

"What?" I inquired. My hands immediately went to stroke my hair out of my face. "What do I want?"

His hands went straight to his belt, presumably to grab something, though I didn't know what. Suddenly, he pulled out a thin, sharp blade, with a small golden-brown handle with the initials 'ESL' carved on the left side.

"What are you gonna do you that?" I backed away out of habit, I've seen what things like that can do to a person, and I didn't want to be the stab-ee.

"I know what you want, France." And with that, I died.

If you're wondering why chapters are getting so shitty, it's because I have no time to write these over the week and I cram at least seven hundred words into one Saturday night. That might not sound bad but I can get distracted easily, so it might take on hour to write two sentences or thirty minutes to write several.

-Jazzy