Glorious and Free

“Maddie no.”

Madeline, the Prophet of Instinct, is commonly defeated by ring-out.

           Daily reminder that Madeline Williams AKA Canada is Super Cute

Well, guess which small country decided to drop in.

“It’s alright being small, pretty convenient for travel, actually – what brought this on?”

Actually, the original answer was indeed, Maddie. And Matthew. But mostly Maddie. However, at the mention of the tall Russian, he seemed to perk up and flush, nodding vigorously. “Yes! Him too! I want his eyes.” Matthew that’s creepy.

    “Shit..”

     The curse unintentionally slipped, finding it difficult to form any other words to express his condolences over the loss and pain she admitted. Alisdair didn’t like to swear too much in front of her, still habitually viewing her as the same little girl that used to come to him in the night, terrified out her mind after having a nightmare; but he didn’t retract it either, he came to terms with the fact that she was old enough. She was a big girl now, with real problems he only wished he had the solutions to, he wished he could take the pain away. 

   “I’m sorry darlin’, the pain of losing people is never easy, I know that much.” His hold around her was one of a comforting, paternal-like embrace - the extent of his knowledge on her tragedy was limited, but he never fell short of sympathising and even relating to her, due to handling the aftermath of his own similar loss in the same year. They were more alike than what they realised. 

    The accidental loss of the H’MS V’anguard had resulted in a devastating explosion, killing over eight-hundred of his men, a number great enough to be one of the many triggers that sent him into his angry depressive state of the twentieth century. Another scar on his body, another painful memory. Madeline’s vulnerability was too sad for him to watch, he couldn’t imagine the emotions she was feeling. Alisdair was completely helpless, there was nothing he could say or do, other than just be there for her. Albeit he wasn’t sure if taking her to a stuffy pub would be the best idea, nor would alcohol have any positive affect at all.

   “You’ve come to the right Scot, I wouldn’t agree to you drinking with anyone else. I admit, I’d prefer it if you didn’t drink in this condition - mainly because I don’t want you to end up as stupid as me - but if you must, I’d rather you do it at my house, so that I know you’re safe.”

        ... Alisdair had a fair point. Turning to alcohol when things hurt wasn’t a healthy method of coping, even if her status as a nation would prevent any long term consequences. Besides, it was only for a few days, people would move on past the events of the past until the anniversary came again next year. Honestly, now that she was being held close by comforting arms, she didn’t particularly feel like getting drunk; he tended to have that affect on her, calming and reassuring- gods what a mess she’d be if she didn’t have the support of her dearest big brother.

       “Maybe you’re right...” Her voice was muffled by his shift, her face being pressed against his chest, and when she was done speaking she sagged against him. She was tired, old, and just wanted the haunting memories to leave her be. What she needed was a distraction; something to bring her happiness and remind her of the fact that things will be okay. It hurt for the moment, but soon she would be without the aches and her people would again move on from mourning their past for just a short while.

       “.... Do you...” Tilting her head so she could meet his gaze, Madeline allowed a small smile to form over her lips. “Do you maybe have any leftovers from your birthday...?” Giving a soft hum Madeline closed her eyes and adjusted how she was leaning against the scot, wrapping her arms around him in a self-comforting hug. “We could stuff our faces with cake, and maybe laugh ourselves stupid playing GTA...?”

           Madeline’s first people were the natives; they were dark skinned, dark haired and dark eyed. It’s a tempting headcanon to say that her appearance fit theirs until the Europeans started settling and thus she changed to suit the new people/the eventual bigger populace of her lands, but I don’t think I’ll go with that. 

          Instead she is pale like snow that covers so much of her land mass; her eyes are violet like the lights that dance across the northern sky, her hair golden like wheat fields and highlighted a pale orange like the leaves of her trees in autumn. While she lived with her first people this didn’t bother her; they were a spiritual lot and they knew she was different, knew that she was Important and did not question her appearance.

           When more people from Europe began settling, she began to grow... Upset. Not because they were different from what she was used to, but because she fit them more than her own people. Horrible things have happened to her native people throughout the years, she’s grown to have a love/hate relationship with her appearance; though she eventually grew to be able to call herself beautiful deep within herself she’ll always resent her colours.

           She’s never dyed her hair for she fears if she did then she’d never find true peace within herself; she’d never wear contacts for she could never bring herself to hide the beauty of the north.... She could never even attempt to tan her skin dark, never would she disrespect her people in such a manner. It hurts however when she visits reservations in modern day, when the spirituality has dimmed and her people no longer understand why she does not fit in with their appearance but has the respect and authority within their communities that she does.

           This isn’t something Madeline likes to talk about. She has a difficult time admitting to herself and especially out loud the horrible things that darken Canada’s history (a headcanon to write more in-depth about at a later date); it hurts to remember why her native peoples are not as prominent as they once were, it hurts to know that even as she tries to protect them (oh how she tries, though alas her attempts do not often succeed) many scoff at her because she is ‘just another white girl’.