To say that Britain's house was large was... a dramatic understatment. It was seemingly larger than a small city, a huge, squat, red-bricked construction that towered over sweeping green grasslands and fields of flowers. The Union Jack flew stiffly out front, snapping in the gentle breeze that gusted in from across the channel and beyong that, and the sky was clear, if dark due to the late time of day. Gas lighting had been lit up across the grounds, bathing the area in a dingy yellow light, showing off the majesty of Britain.

As soon as the DLA was spotted, Britain knew about it, and whilst he humoured Germany for a while, eventually his patience ran out. After Ireland departed, his... Well, it wasn't clear what had happened between England and Ireland. Most people regarded them as brothers, but that was questionable. "Take it up with the sheep shagger himself, I don't care what those inbred yokels do in Cardiff," he joked, before turning to Germany, a pint of English ale in his hand.

"Germany!" He said cordially enough, but the atmosphere in the room was such that one could easily draw the impression that he or she had walked into a war about to kick off. "Per Ardua ad Astra," he quipped back, referring to the motto of the new Royal Flying Corps that he had set up. Taking a sip of his beer, he snarled and took a step towards the girl, seemingly becoming taller.

"I remember when I was in your shoes. Young. Rowdy. Impressionable. Fair enough. Coming into [i]my[/i] home without invitation and disrupting [i]my[/i] guests... I have no time for silly little girls like you. Touch Belgium, so much as lay one of you FILTHY LEATHER-GLOVED FINGERS on her, and I swear to god I will ram Berlin so far up your cunt that you'll swear you're giving birth to a city."

The room was deadly silent. Britain never swore and rarely got angry. The fact that Berlin had gotten him so riled up so quickly was not a good sign. "And if you don't think that I can do that with my oh so "contemptible little army..." he slammed his glass down, causing beer to slop over the sides of it and onto a table, where a shocked servant hurridly wiped it up.

"Try me and see how you like every one of my children that you so despise because of your pathetic father issues ramming bayonets up your arse. Oh, and I'd keep an eye on your miserable South-West African colonies. South Africa's getting a little hungry."

He turned away and took a few steps back, before turning back and shouting in a foghorn voice; [h1]"NOW GET OUT NOW."[/h1]

It wasn't hard to hear the roar of a lion in that voice.