#I'll be quite honest - I hadn't expected to write nor think this much about 2p England and his character

[leftbehindwords]

APH Mirror Week, Day 1: Magic

Note: What was supposed to be a short display of the differences between England and 2p England’s attitudes towards magic turned into a disjointed drabble that contains a small part regarding England’s thoughts on magic alongside a semi-character analysis for 2p England that unexpectedly dipped into angstier spirits than I had planned it to.

Apologies for the lack of structure (and the bad formatting, as I’m posting on mobile). I’d revise this if I had the time, but alas, I do not.

I have plans on possibly reuploading this soon - the general idea will be the same, but with a different structure and better flow.

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All throughout the centuries, one thing has always remained constant. Even before they nation personifications were born into the world, created through the strength of bonds between humans and bound to the land in which those humans resided in, magic has always been in existence. It can be found everywhere in this world - perhaps even others, though not one soul, mortal or otherwise, knows whether there are any - and it is the very essence of all living beings.

Arthur finds it fascinating. He himself is older than every human he’s ever encountered, and none of them know - or are to ever know - about it. In this modern era, the knowledge of their existence is a treasured secret that only a select few have the privilege to hold. Other than fellow personifications, there are perhaps a couple of dozen or so others who know what he is. And so magic, with its everlasting nature, enduring since the beginning of history, older than any personification that still walks upon this world - it takes Arthur’s breath away, to think of everything it has seen, everything it has touched.

Of everything it can and has done.

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There is no question that Oliver Kirkland is an odd man. To his neighbours, at least, he’s a spacehead at best and a nutter at worst. He also seems to have a tendency to set part of his house on fire every once in a while, and show little to no amount of worry about it. Still, Oliver’s neighbours think that, for the most part, he’s not all that bad. He’s always unerringly polite during the few occasions that his neighbours manage to catch a few minutes with him to exchange words, and he often gives them exquisite shepherd’s pie and various other foodstuffs during weekends and the hols.

None of them suspect that anything is amiss with Oliver, aside from how he seems quite disconnected from the rest of the world during the times they catch him unawares, staring into the nothingness with a blank look on his face, and they simply discount it as nothing but one of his quirks. And to Oliver, everything is just the way it should be. He has a decent relationship with his neighbours - is in acceptable standing with them, at least - and he… well, he goes on as is expected of one of his kind. He fulfills his duties to a satisfactory degree, does enough to appease whoever his boss is at the moment, and fills whatever spare time he has with cooking - whether for himself, his neighbours, or less frequently, his brothers. 

Oliver supposes that he lives a rather secluded lifestyle, but it’s the way he enjoys his days so he isn’t particularly inclined towards seeking to change it. There are also the rare occasion - major deviations from his usual routine - wherein Oliver is asked by one of his brothers to help them with something. More often than not, it involves magic in one way or another. Oliver dislikes doing anything that involves magic, and all his brothers are keenly aware of it, yet time and time again, they never cease to conveniently forget mentioning that whatever it is they need his assistance with requires involvement in such. He knows that he can always simply not help them, but he’s far too weak to resist others whenever he knows he’s needed. Wanted. 

And Oliver admits to himself that sometimes, sometimes, he hopes that maybe his brothers will at least make mention if they’ll be needing him to do something related to magic. Because they’re aware that he dislikes doing so, and that they care enough to let him know.

Sustaining that hope is an exercise in futility, however, he is much aware. Oliver’s brothers are far too invested in the study of magic to truly understand why he himself is not. Anyone else might think that perhaps their insistence on involving him in matters relating to magic must be their attempt to make him grow fonder of it, but Oliver knows better than that. His brothers do not care enough for it.

And as much as his brothers do not care about him, Oliver cares not for magic. He believes that it is nothing but a tool to be used whenever one so desires. All the years he’s lived has allowed him to learn how lethal it is, especially when in the wrong hands, and it’s done nothing but to reinforce his distaste of everything even remotely magical in nature. He has used it to hurt, to maim, and to kill - whether under his own volition or under the orders of his king. And so there is nothing in the world that will convince him to further study the magical arts more than he already has.

Such power, Oliver believes, is nothing to be celebrated nor revered. It is to be feared.