*Cheng=Macau, and for other characters whose names aren’t official yet, I just picked some of the most common names I’ve seen used; feel free to suggest changes. One slight racist slur will be used in a historical context, but PLEASE TELL ME if it offends you, I will remove it. There are also some notes for cultural things and historical context at the end. This fic got way too long, but ENJOY!
*Historical Context: The Treaty of Nanjing/Nanking was signed on August 29, 1842, ending the first Opium War and ceding Hong Kong to England.
1842, London, England
Leon sat on a small cushioned ottoman, swinging his legs idly, and watched the rain pitter-patter on the windowpane. Arthur had left him there hurriedly as he scrambled to get ready for a meeting with “my dear Queen Vicky” downstairs, and he’d ordered Leon to stay there until he came back to fetch him. At first, Leon had looked around, at the slightly peeling wallpaper decorated with flowers he couldn’t name and fruits he’d never tasted, then at the pile of toys gathering dust in a corner, model soldiers wearing neat uniforms Yao would have despised, miniature guns and cannons that “the barbarians” used, and then to the tall grandfather clock that announced each passing minute with a loud tick. But he’d gotten bored fast; there was barely anything else in the room except for him and the wallpaper and the shaggy, rather moth-eaten carpet, and he retreated to the cushioned seat by the window, thinking about the week after he’d arrived at Arthur’s. Everything was new, and all of it was strange, nearly confusing.
At the very least, there were certainly a lot of things to get used to at Arthur’s house.
Whenever America calls out “In America, we put freedom on our toast” (and it happens often), Australia immediately responds with “well mate, in Australia we pu’ death on our toast and live off i’ ya bloody yank,” which always ends with America supposedly running for his life as Australia attempts to spoon feed him vegemite.
