The Son of Liberty (Hetalia)

The Son of Liberty

Before I continue, I like to apologize for everything you're about to read. Profusely.

It's all for the plot, I swear.

~*~*~

Midnight was creeping ever closer, but the nightlife of Boston was still very much alive. Everybody else was at home, sleeping, like normal people at this hour were wont to do. However, there was one tavern in particular that was renowned for its raucousness, and tonight was no exception.

Alfred glanced down at his empty tankard of ale. He had two at most, compared to others who'd lost count and were too drunk to tell they were drunk. Maybe that was ample drinking for one night. If he didn't head home now, Arthur was going to have his head.

He moved to pay his tab, but a burst of shouts from behind him erased his train of thought.

"What's going on?" he asked, approaching the rowdy group.

They'd been sitting there for most part of the night, speaking in hushed tones, but occasionally a man would declare something about 'freedom' or 'British' and the rest would concur with equal passion. Alfred wasn't particularly interested in other people's conversations, but when he was he made sure to be discreet about it.

"What's going on?" one of the men repeated. His hat was askew and his entire person reeked of alcohol. He slung an arm around Alfred and drew the boy in close, like he was going to share a secret with him. Alfred tried to resist, of course, but the man was stronger than he looked. "Don't tell me you don't know. Haven't you read the news, boy?"

"Er..."

"The Tea Act, son! You've heard of it, surely?"

"So?" said Alfred, attempting to recover his breathing space. When he realized it was futile, he stopped struggling. "What about it?"

"It's ridiculous, don't you think?" said another man. "All these extra taxes on our products, just because the folks back home can't pay for it. They expect us to have the money when it was their war to begin with? Hogwash!"

"We're all the same people, anyhow! Does it make sense to tax us without a representation? We're all British, for crying out loud!"

"And not just tea! Things won't end there if we don't take the risk and go another step. We have to think bigger."

There was a chorus of agreements. Alfred frowned.

"So you're going to do something about it, then?"

The man who had his arm around Alfred's neck nodded. "But you best keep quiet about this, yeah? Don't want the regulars to hear."

"Who else is in on this?"

"You'd be surprised to hear how many people feel the same way."

Alfred wasn't surprised. In fact, he understood exactly how the people were feeling. But living under a loyalist roof all his life-he just thought of the situation as something inevitable. What did people expect out of a nation gone bankrupt from war?

"So are you going to stop drinking tea? You know, boycott it?"

The men blinked at him.

"'Course not. We tried that; it's rubbish. No, we're going to do something better. We're going to force the parliament in Britain to listen."

"Say, lad, you work by the docks, don't you? Could you help us out?"

Alfred didn't have time to ask what before the front doors banged open, and a blond, very angry Englishman, came striding through, searching the tavern for the source of his irritation.