“Eejit! Move yer feet!” You yelled at the Scotsman, who sat on the couch, a cigar sitting between his fingers. He groaned and lifted his legs two inches from the ground. You sighed and pushed the vacuum beneath his feet, knocking them. You turned around, muttering to yourself.
“You’d never find London doing the housework. No, she’s too important, England does it all instead. Yet Scotland won’t even get up of his arse and do the dishes from time to time.”
“What was tha’ lass?” You jumped; you hadn’t noticed that Scotland had sneaked up behind you. Think fast, Edinburgh, think fast
“I was just muttering about what I need to do at the next Capital meeting.” Scotland stared into your (e/c) eyes, and you silently begged that he would buy it. He shrugged, letting it go, and walked through to the kitchen. His cigar sat