Post by scotlandthebrave on Nov 13, 2010 22:34:13 GMT -5
(((My Reflection)))
.Nation: Scotland // Alba
Name: Hamish “Don't Call Me Scotty” MacLeod
Gender: Male
Appearance Age: 24
Hair Color: Auburn
[/i]
Eye Color: Green
Height: 6'2
Weight: 90kg
Appearance: A strapping man, Hamish is well over 6 feet tall and, despite being a little on the wiry side, is built like the proverbial brick shithouse. His appearence is no less uncouth than this analogy. With a shock of unruly auburn hair, often accompanied by messy stubble, his wild appearance rather appropriately matches his homeland's vast expanses of untamed and often inhospitable climates. In peacetime, he is usually to be found sporting a broad, irreverent grin, his deep green eyes twinkling with a mischevious humour.
He owns a dark blue military uniform which has white overlays which strongly resemble his flag's saltire, but he favours his kilt over any other attire. This, for the uneducated, appears to be a tartan skirt. He can usually be found sporting this garment in some form or another, from casually teaming it with a Scottish rugby top, to being dressed proudly in full highland regalia.
He absolutely, point-blank refuses to wear underwear.
(((Know Thyself )))
Personality: Hamish's outward mannerisms can be described, in every sense of the word, as boisterous. He is, in many ways, the polar opposite of his “brother”, Arthur, in that he parades an outward show of gleeful uncouthness, which hides a more poetic soul than he'd care to admit. He is fiercely proud, often to his own detriment, and his state of subjugation to Westminster is something which distresses his pride to the point where he will frequently and openly display anti-English sentiment and direct streams of insults and aggression towards his neighbouring nation. Although he's calmed down a little since they gave him his own parliament, ineffectual as it is. His humour is dry, sarcastic and often very visceral, and his speech veers wildly between strings of colourful obscenities and random flashes of intellectual brilliance.
Hamish is a heavy drinker, and whiskey is his “swally” of choice, but he is a sociable drunk, and rarely drinks alone. He frequently, however, takes things too far, and it is not uncommon for him to wake up in a pool of his own vomit. He doesn't really think he has a problem; as far as he's concerned, everyone has their hobbies. In the vast majority of situations, Hamish is like a gentle giant, who simply happens to have an overly robust sense of fun. He is hospitable, affable and loyal. He is also, however, a man of extremes, and for all his good points, can posess a violent and unreasonable temper when caught in the wrong mood. He also smokes like a chimney.
He is obsessed with football to the point where his people literally die over it. Paradoxically, he's also terrible at it, because the reality is that it's just a good excuse for everyone to get drunk and for Catholics and Protestants to start riots against each other. Religion, incidentally, is something of a sore spot with him. Because of his extremely close ties with Ireland, he suffers from the same sectarian violence and civil unrest within his borders which results from the close, intertwining interest that he takes in Ireland's affairs. She is home to so many of his children, and he is home to so many of hers that their politics often blur together, much to both their detriments. Officially, his religion is the protestant Church of Scotland, or “the Kirk” as it's known, but he's not very good at following it, because he's more interested in going to the pub.
He's not too fond of his next door neighbour, England, and proclaims to resent being referred to as his “brother”, just because they happen to share a land mass. He's grown especially less fond of Arthur in modern times, due to recently having had an unwanted Government forced on him, despite the votes of his people. Politically, he has always leaned to the left, and he holds an overwhelming contempt for all things right-wing. Part of him desperately craves his indepence from the UK, although in terms of actual political action, this usually amounts to little more than him getting drunk and proclaiming to “hate the English”.
He has a long standing, extremely close relationship with France, dating back to the 13th century, and much of his language and culture has distinctively French elements. The two nations have helped one another, and frequently allied themselves against England in the past. Their close relationship is known as the “Auld Alliance”, and even up until the early 20th century, all Scottish people automatically had the right to French citizenship. In short, he refuses to hear a bad word about Francis, and will gladly beat up anyone who speaks ill of his friend. Including Arthur. Especially Arthur.
On this note, he is pathologically, obsessive loyal to his allies, often to his own detriment. He'd never dare to admit it, but for all his bluster, he lacks much in the way of actual power. His size and build does not reflect his country's land mass and military prowess, but rather his larger than life culture and indomnitable spirit.
Much like Arthur, he's not without his share of mystical creatures, and in particular can often be found insisting on the existence of “Nessie”, who he insists is a giant green monster which lives in Loch Ness. There is various speculation that Nessie is just something he made up as a joke to America, who he reckons is pretty gullible that way. There is also speculation that the “giant snake” in question might just have been him bragging about his penis size one night and then getting confused. Nobody really knows for sure.
Likes:
★ Whiskey
★ Tossing the caber (which is a real sport, and not a clever euphamism for masturbation)
★ Cèilidh (an indescribably Scottish phenomenon, a sort of frenetic combination between a traditional Celtic dance event and a giant last-man-standing brawl)
★ Robert Burns (the Scottish answer to Shakespeare. Only he drank more, and shagged more women).
★ A mind-boggling array of food which makes England's cooking look like the finest cuisine. Highlights include black pudding (fried pigs blood mixed with oats), Haggis (chopped up sheeps internal organs mixed with oats), deep fried mars bars (dipped in the same batter used for fish and chips, obviously), and Irn Bru (a soft drink “made in Scotland from girders”).
★ Swearing. Oh Christ, does Hamish love to turn the air blue.
Dislikes:
✖ Being called “Scotch”. Scotch is a drink, not a nationality.
✖ The fact that his national team have never made it past the first round of the World Cup. When they even qualify. Which isn't very often.
✖ Being called an alcoholic. He likes to consider himself a social drinker.
✖ Being called mean. He prides himself on his hospitality, and has no idea where that stereotype came from.
✖ Margaret Thatcher. As far as he's (perhaps somewhat irrationally) concerned, she's up there with Hitler and Stalin. He plans on having a massive party when she dies.
Fears:
☣ That he'll be under England's control forever
☣ That if he does eventually become independent, his voice won't be heard in Europe.
☣ Midges.
Secrets:
♦ Oh, all right, deep down he doesn't totally hate England. And he'll occasionally defend the little runt. Especially where America is concerned.
♦ He would totally do Ireland. Although this isn't much of a secret really, because he proclaims it loudly ever time he's drunk.
Strengths:
Hamish's main strength lies in his indominitible spirit and “fuck you” attitude. He laughs in the face of adversity and refuses to allow any situation, no matter how dire, to trample his resistance. He takes a certain desperate, wild joy from life which comes from living below the poverty line and having very little to lose. He's also surprisingly intelligent and sensitive, although he would die rather than admit it.
Weaknesses:
Despite all his outward declarations of strength, Scotland is all-too-easily dominated. He lacks any real control over his own destiny, beyond the day to day runnings of his house. As only one quarter of the UK, he lacks real autonomy and there is very little he can do but protest loudly and ineffectively, even as he's dragged into the other nations affairs and wars. This has even lead to him being attacked by Englands enemies, despite the fact that he vehemently desires to be at war with nobody.
He is poor, and much weaker than he might physically appear. Many of his resources have been drained, and hates how little effort it takes to beat him down. Perhaps it is this poverty and desperation which gives rise to his inclination towards alcoholism and extreme behaviour.
(((The Pages of History )))
History:
So Hamish is old. Like...seriously old. His people have been around since about 8000 years before recorded history. But we'll start with Feliciano's Grandpa Rome and take things from there...
In AD43, war was beginning. The Roman Empire invaded the British Isles in an attempt to expand their conquests. Unfortunately for them, they found some unexpected resistance up North in the form of some pretty determined savages and some ridiculously inhospitible weather. Eventually, they pretty much decided that “Caledonia” wasn't really worth the effort of conquering, and they didn't really want it anyway, so they more or less left Scotland to its own devices. The people of Scotland happily carried on life in their frozen, wild hellhole of a country and it was run by the Picts, who worshipped trees and didn't let anybody fuck with their shit. So far, so good. Meanwhile, England was getting a bit more civilised.
In 563, a guy called Columba came over to Scotland and convinced a dying Pictish king that Jesus loved him. So Scotland wound up Christian, cause that's how these things roll. So around this time the Kingdom of Alba came into existence, and things were pretty cool, with leadership being passed down through noble families. By around 1040, Alba was under the rule of MacBeth who, contrary to Shakepeares historically inaccurate account, was actually an amazing king who did not go about murdering his friends and hanging out with witches.
1066 happened, and William the Conqueror invaded England. One of his enemies fled to Scotland, and the Scottish king, Máel Coluim, at the time married this guy's sister, Margaret. Margaret became one of the biggest influences on Scottish culture, and made things a whole lot less savage and a whole lot more European and civilised. She also made the country Catholic to the max. In the meantime, William the Conqueror invaded Southern Scotland and basically kicked a lot of ass and took a lot of land.
So Máel Coluim and Margaret's descendants ruled Scotland for a while, and the Norman influence meant that the South of Scotland started to speak English. They tried to bring in the same thing a bit further North, but there was a fair bit of conflict. Scots are generally pretty bad at doing what they're told.
Scotland had a bunch of pretty neat islands called the Western Isles, and Norway wanted them too, so Scotland and Norway went to war. It was pretty half hearted though, and in the end they both couldn't be bothered to fight any more, and eventually Norway let Scotland have them, because they were closer to Scotland anyway and a bit more trouble than they were worth.
By 1296, things started to get pretty serious after a whole mess of trouble surrounded some confusion over the claim to the Scottish throne. Scotland, basically for the sole purpose of pissing England off, started up a bromance with France called the Auld Alliance. England responded by (equally maturely) invading Scotland. Enter...William Wallace! William Wallace was the epic hero of Scottish history who totally gathered all the Scottish people together to totally waste the English army big time at the Battle of Stirling Bridge. England was embarassed, Scotland had its crowning moment of awesome and then everything went to Hell shortly after when the English king Edward got a hold of Wallace and stuck his head on a spike. Hamish has never quite gotten over this. No, seriously.
This war went on until 1328 when Edward's grandson finally acknowledged Scottish independence in the Treaty of Northampton. He promptly then went back on all of it, invaded Scotland again, and then got bored and lost interest of invading Scotland because the Hundred Years War started with France. So technically, Scotland won the War of Independence thanks to France's ability to piss of the English.
So began the era of the Stuarts, when Robert II came to power in 1371. This was a pretty good time for Scotland culturally and educationally, and it also managed to get a couple more islands, this time from Denmark. In 1512, Scotland invaded England because France totally egged him on, but that didn't go very well and a lot of Scottish troops died. Including the King. Nice one, Scotland.
So then James V, still a kid, took power, grew up and married a French chick, and their daughter was Mary Queen of Scots. The English king at the time was Henry VIII, a fat bastard who was pretty determined that he was going to get Scotland by forcing Mary to marry his son Edward. This was called the Rough Wooing, and if that sounds a bit rapey, then it's because well...it kind of was, politically speaking. Henry's big idea to get Mary to marry his son included caring potential father-in-law gestures such as invading Scotland and scaring her off so badly that she had to flee to France to avoid ending up engaged. Oh, and did I mention that she was only 5 at the time? Also around this time, the British Isles became pretty epically Protestant, and the reformation happened in Scotland, which was a pretty huge deal and everyone changed religion (mostly because they were burning all the Catholics).
So Mary went over to France, married the Dauphin, became Queen of France and got pretty into Catholicism. Ahh...you can see where this is going, right? Her husband died and she decided to come back to Scotland. She married a nobleman and had a kid, James VI. Her reign was a big time disaster, and she ended up abdicating. Eventually, her cousin Queen Elizabeth I, who'd taken over the English throne, had her executed because all the Catholics were getting behind her and trying to start a revolution.
So, this kid James VII became pretty important, because he eventually inherited the throne from Elizabeth and became James I of England. This lead to a union of the crowns, and was the start of the UK being formed. Around this time, in the early 1600's, something else really important was happening called the Highland Clearances. This involved punting a whole load of Protestant Scots over into Catholic Ireland. The Irish Catholics weren't too happy about this, and well...there's been a whole lot of trouble ever since.
Speaking of religion, making Scotland and England both Protestant didn't stop them from kicking the shit out of each other. England went all Anglican and high-church, and Scotland was all “let's go Puritan” and got all calvanistic. So England decided that Scotland's protestantism should be more like his, and tried to give Scotland a prayer book in 1631. Scotland responded with...mass riots. And the Bishops War was born. Then England tried to get Ireland to gang up with him against Scotland, which lead to EVERYONE rioting, and the whole thing ended up as a bit of a non-starter. Then England got into a Civil War and all his attention ended up diverted to that.
So Charles lost big-time in the English Civil War, and Oliver Cromwell, a politician, turned England into a Republican Commonwealth. Cromwell then invaded Scotland and from 1652-1660, Scotland was properly England's bitch. Luckily for him, Charles II got restored to the throne and Scotland became independent again, although England put some epic restrictions on its trading rights. Bad times.
So things went on like that for a while until 1685, when the shit hit the fan a bit some more, because a guy called James II of England, who was also James VII of Scotland, took the throne, and he happened to be Catholic. People were kind of cool about that at first, because they reckoned that his successor was going to be a lass called Mary, who was married to notorious epic dutch Protestant and legendary Catholic-slayer William of Orange. But then James II had a male kid, and all Hell broke loose. William of Orange got all up in James II's grill, and James fled to exile. So then some Scottish guys called the Jacobites who thought that James was an alright guy started to support him and there were a few more battles until James utterly got his ass kicked over in Ireland.
In 1700, there was an epic crisis about the monarchy line possibly coming to an end. It was looking like the union of the crowns was going to diverge, because the princess at the time, Anne, couldn't have kids and Scotland's law prohibited a Catholic from taking the throne. The English wanted Sophia of Hannover, and the Scots law wouldn't allow it. So the English Parliament was all “hey, let's merge our parliament so that your laws don't count any more”. And Scotland was all “fuck you I won't do what you tell me”, as per usual. The Act of Union was passed and the Jacobites went MENTAL. A guy called Bonnie Prince Charlie went on a campaign to get the Scottish throne. He was...unsuccessful.
Enter...THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION. Actually, this turned out not so great for Scotland because, around 1745, the British authorities started destroying the Clan system in Scotland, and landowners started kicking the Scots off their land because sheep were more profitable than people. So a lot of Scots, in desperation, took off on boats for America and Canada. And this, children, is why just about every American tourist you meet will invariably start telling you how their great great great great great great great great grandfather was “Scattish”.
So anyway, that aside, being tied to England had some pretty good benefits for Scotland. He got to ride on the tailcoats of Britain's epic success in the Seven Year's War, and things got pretty good from a cultural, educational and financial point of view. Things stayed calm for a long time, and Scotland started to get really industrialised, and have more universities and produce epic literature and become a cultural stronghold in its own right. Except for that it was a cultural stronghold which was full of violent alcoholics, of course.
The First World War happened. Scotland was basically tied up with England, and lost a lot of men, especially from the Highlands. It brought the Scottish and the English closer together, though. And then things got really bad in the Second World War, because Scotland was such a major stronghold for shipyards and engineering and naval bases, so he basically got the shit bombed out of him by Germany. Although kind of hilariously, Hitler's deputy, Rudolf Hess, flew to Scotland to try and make a peace deal behind England's back with the Duke of Hamilton. It pretty much didn't work. Scotland stayed pretty loyal to Arthur through those times.
After WWII, Scotland's economy was totally sunk, and things were really tight for a while. By the 60's, the Cold War was in full swing and Scotland REALLY wasn't too happy about getting dragged into that one, especially because Ameria decided to deploy ballistic missiles and submarines in his waters. There was epic opposition there and the Scots got a bit pissed with the Yanks.
Then there was Margaret Thatcher, who took power in the 80's and who decided to completely screw Scotland's economy a bit more, and became Scotland's national hate figure.
Then, in 1997, something totally epic happened for Scotland. After hundreds of years of getting absolutely no say whatsoever in its future, a referendum was held and Scotland finally got its own parliament. Well...it wasn't a very good parliament and it didn't have a lot of power or anything. Actually, it's a big useless, really. But everyone was really happy about that and since then, Scotland has gradually been clawing back more and more autonomy.
Until the 2010 elections, that is. Of the main parties in the UK, there is right-wing Tory, left-wing Labour and centre-ish Liberal Democrat. There's also the Scottish National Party in Scotland, who have home rule under the devolved parliament, but this was the general election, so they don't feature as much in this story. Things went down like this: Scotland unanimously voted against Tory rule, and England was split on the fence. The Tories weren't officially elected, but managed to form a coalition government with Liberal Democrats, who got just enough votes to tip the scales. Now the Tories are in power again and Scotland is going totally mental, because it's stuck with a government that it voted against being forced on it. It's basically, politically, everyone's worst nightmare in the country, since it's about one step away from being under a dictatorship, and now everyone is starting to get really behind the idea of declaring independence.
Watch this space?
Allies:
France, Ireland, Wales,
Enemies:
Sample Post:
Most grown men would be peturbed upon waking up with their head in a toilet, with no underwear and wearing a woolen tartan skirt and knee high socks. Most grown men would be concerned at their inability to remember the night before, or where they'd ended up. Most grown men would be disgusted at seeing the half-eaten remains of a deep fried Mars Bar lying discarded on the bathroom floor next to an empty bottle of Highland Park.
Most men would call this a bad day.
For Hamish, it was just a normal Sunday morning.
“Fuckssake...” he mumbled to himself as he groaned and removed his head from where he had clearly been “talking to God on the big white telephone”, as he liked to euphamistically declare the inevitable consequences of his binge drinking. He had a vague recollection that something bad had happened last night. It had started out fairly innocuously. He'd had a few whiskeys down at his local pub, prank called Arthur to inform him that he was a posh wanker, and then gotten into a bar fight. So far, so good. So why did he have a feeling of dread and forboding at the blank spot in his memory?
He looked at the evidence of last night's carnage strewn about the bathroom. Chippie wrapper, empty bottle, small pool of vomit where he hadn't quite made it...so far, so normal. But whose unfamiliar bathroom had he vomited in? Too hungover to be much in the mood for detective work, he got to his feet and staggered out of the safe refuge of the WC and braced himself for what might come next.
Blinking as he shuffled out into the hallway, he had a vague recollection that he knew where he was. There was something heart-sinkingly familiar about the place. He glanced at a photograph on a nearby cabinet of a man in his 60's with a bird-like face and round spectacles, smiling awkwardly with some group of politicians.
“Oh fuck...” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes closed.
At that moment, the same man popped his head out from the kitchen and Hamish bared his teeth in a sheepish grin. “Ah richt, Donald...” he mumbled at his boss. Donald Dewar, Scotland's first minister of the new Parliament. It had been such a long time since Hamish had had a boss of his own that he barely knew how to act. And the other man, quiet and kindly as he was, still displayed an obvious nervousness around the spirit of his country. The pragmatic, studious politician had real trouble accepting the bizarreness of the concept of nations having their own personifications. And Hamish...well, he was a little larger-than-life compared to many nations.
“Hello Hamish.” There was a hint of a sigh in the other man's voice. He looked tired, worn out. The first year of the new parliament had not been without its teething problems, and Dewar had thrown himself into his duties heart and soul, perhaps to his own detriment.
“Eh...ah think ah might've upchucked in yer lavvy, Donald...” he began, shuffling his feet and staring at the polished floor.
“I think you might have,” Donald agreed with a quiet, dignified acceptance. He removed his glasses and polished them on his jumper.
“Aye...sorry aboot that.” He wrinkled his nose and fixed the politician with a hopeful look. “So...eh...any chance o' a cuppa?”
Donald replaced his glasses and fixed Scotland with a calm, patient look. “Hamish?” he said softly.
“Aye?”
“Get out of my house.” The other man's voice was still gentle, and he spoke the words with a tired resignation. For the first time, Hamish noticed the dark circles under his leader's eyes, the slight red-rimmed, bleary tint to his vision, the way his features seemed sharper than usual. The poor man had already undergone heart surgery, and had barely paused for breath before getting back to his duties. Hamish felt a twinge of shame for his own careless drunken antics.
“On mah way, Donald,” he said, with an awkward, apologetic smile. He paused at the door and ran a hand through his fiery hair. “Sorry aboot...um...whatever ah did last night. Ah hope ah didnae break anything.”
When there was no reply from the other man, Hamish opened the door gingerly and crept out, the fresh, crisp air hitting him like a heavy blow to the face. There was the first beginnings of frost underfoot as he made his way through the city streets, immune as ever to the biting cold of his capital city. A nagging feeling of guilt sat in his stomach as he walked. Donald had looked really, really exhausted. His First Minister was a really good man, who was utterly devoted to his people. He didn't need to deal with Hamish's shenannigans on top of everything else.
Well, Scotland thought to himself, he would just have to make it up to the minister with a good bottle of whiskey and a heartfelt apology. He'd call round the next day, just as soon as his stinking hangover had worn off.
And as he made his way home, he never thought for a moment that the next day would never come. Because by the time he would sober up and make his way back round, his first minister, and first real boss in over 400 years, would be dead from a brain haemmorage.
Did you read the rules and Dark Reflections Canon?
Naw. Ah didnae. Ah wis too busy
Random fun fact about yourself:
'Sann à Alba a tha mi! ^_^ Agus 's toigh leam Hetalia gu mòr!
Also, unlike my country's OC, I really, really don't hate the English. I'm a quarter English myself and totally adore my fellow Brits south of the border. <3
) 
Sad at the ending, but I like the way you handled it.