Work Text:
Rolling over the bright green meadows was the afternoon sunlight glimmering over the ruffles of grass, as the British breeze brought a gentleness to the sight of nature; the grass swaying in tandem with the blowing gales. The scent of exquisite flora strongly permeated through the meadow, stirring any animal that had once bathed in the glow of the sun. Trekking through the tall grass of the plainlands was a lone squirrel seeking for some food, the heady scent of potential nourishments encouraging the animal to sprint with its hasty four legs, running as if it depended on this source. Lowering its snout to the dirt, the squirrel slowly followed an indiscernible trail before it finally found its sustenance: a precious berry bush. Sniffing at the addicting smell, the starving squirrel leapt into it, before feasting on the wild berries to sate its hunger.
The sunny weather was quite uncommon, even in the serene grounds of Chartwell; usually the climate of Britain was so unpredictable that Winston had anticipated another rainy day like for the previous week – yet God blessed him with the warmth of the sun and the quietness of the afternoon, an appreciated gift that he had purposely kept to relish – and relish he did.
A steaming, porcelain cup of lapsang souchong sat patiently on its saucer at the glass table, as Winston peered towards his friends sitting around him in the garden. Neville Chamberlain sat across from him, reading a newspaper in tow, seemingly so absorbed that he was apathetic to his surroundings; Brendan Bracken, staring towards the flowers as he sipped his builder's tea, while Anthony Eden was merely waiting for him to speak. And finally, the unexpected foreigner: Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who chose to travel to Britain to surprise Winston.
The Prime Minister had met with the man the other day, when Roosevelt claimed that he wanted to visit for diplomatic matters – however, Winston knew that he was focused on the same topic as he was: the Great Replication Competition (commonly known as the Great Replica Competition for short). He remembered how the very first announcement of this tournament bewildered him, that Orlando, one of the four who created the Treaty of Versailles, was involved in the ongoing preparation of it. As a matter of fact, Winston never planned to participate in it, thinking of it as a childish game and that he had other matters to attend to. But the insistence of his subordinates slowly made him warm up to the idea, and eventually he agreed. He only wanted to join as he believed that it would serve as a means of entertainment, not due to the prize itself. He had no use for that anyways.
The mere thought of even having Roosevelt here as a guest was somewhat amusing, with Winston suppressing the urge to joke about the fact that he was a sole American forced alongside a quartet of English men as the 'fifth wheel'. Although he knew that he needed to act in a stern manner, since the reason he invited these four was prominent.
He wanted – no, required advice for the upcoming event.
"Frankly, gentlemen," Winston began, cradling the cooling teacup with both hands, "I need to confess that I am rather … inexperienced when it comes to contests like these. I'm afraid that I don't even have any ideas on where to begin. So, do you all have any suggestions to share?"
As per usual, everyone had a moment of silence to urging their brains into producing works of their imagination while they ate biscuits and drank tea – an unspoken rule that Winston and his two friends had always enforced upon themselves every time they met up; even Roosevelt, a man from the States who almost never visited Winston, understood the pure act of their refined Britishness and went along with it, fiddling with the steaming cup – of black coffee of all things – as he struggled to stick out his pinky finger. The British Prime Minister had hopes that at least one of them would come up with an idea for the next short moments or so, though he failed to realise that everyone was dwelling in their thoughts far too much that they were actually immersed in their daydreaming.
Unimpressed, Winston placed down his cup of tea, making a loud clang on the saucer. Chamberlain flinched at the noise, snapping out of his dreamy reverie.
The former Prime Minister pondered, subconsciously placing his newspaper away. "In all honesty, Winston," he replied candidly, "I frankly don't know either. You're asking the wrong individual for this sort of talk – why not ask Brendan instead? I'm certain he has an idea."
He lazily jabbed a finger at him. Bracken was utterly offended.
"Don't act as if you don't know!" Bracken cried, his brows arching indignantly. "Out of all of us here, you should know what to do – you received the letter first before you gave it to Churchill!"
"You are the Minister of Information, lad." He pointed out, to which Bracken huffed in response, refusing to surrender. "By all accounts, you would've gotten the copy of the letter as well and I know you to be an intelligent person, even more so than me. Aside from that, Eden got it first, not me – and of course I did not open the letter, for God's sake."
"I doubt your words, Chamberlain; when I first saw you last week, I clearly saw paper being ripped and thrown to the rubbish! I saw you tear the envelope like a rabid dog!"
"That was a valuable present from my dear Austen when I was busy exploring the countryside, and what a fine gift it was! Unlike your spiteful suspicions every time you bloody spoke to me … you hold a baseless grudge against me as if I'm the devil!"
Bracken's hands curled into fists, clenching so tightly that they became white in colour. Tensions were rising and if truth be told, Winston wouldn't be so bothered by it if it weren't for the fact that, strictly speaking, that they were in the property of his home … he didn't want any mess in the gardens to be caused from their arguing, and Winston's annoyance began to rile up the more they spoke – they were going off-topic. He pinched his nose, resisting the borderline desire to kick them out of his lawn, when thankfully Roosevelt spoke up to quell their quarrel.
"Now, now," he spoke in a calm tone that somehow managed to grab Chamberlain and Bracken's attention. "No need to fight in such a childish manner, you two – you're forgetting that you're disturbing the servants inside Winston's home, and the fact that it's a sunny day today, so try to be cheerful for our sake. Likewise, we have urgent business to talk about."
Despite the fact it seemed that the two British individuals, for a single moment, wanted to beat Roosevelt right then and there, they finally remembered their manners, and both nodded in unison. Bracken sunk into his chair, still carrying agitation towards him, but he did not say anything else. Meanwhile, Chamberlain ignored the man who was arguing with him several seconds earlier, focusing on stirring his cup of Earl Grey.
Winston genuinely wanted to reward Roosevelt for his efforts to assuage the anger of the pair. At first, he thought he could give him a priceless artifact as a token of gratitude, but the president already had many of those in store in his home country. Perhaps a medal would do. Yet all Churchill had available was those specifically for the military, and he was not going to offer the American a magnificent medal such as the Victoria Cross. Nonsense.
Perhaps he would be given a medal, but instead of the Victoria Cross, might as well be the 'Negotiator Nought', as he's more adequate than most of my inner circle despite him coming from another country – in fact, he's the most competent American I've ever met! If he was British, then I'd appoint him as my successor immediately! Winston chuckled inwardly at his amusing thought.
However, once he realised that he was dozing off too much, he regained himself, as his gaze once again lingering on the two English men (and an American), before his eyes trailed to the man sitting absent-mindedly, patient for him to acknowledge his presence. Realising that Eden didn't even have a chance to speak yet, Winston nodded in his direction encouragingly.
"Now, Anthony," he said kindly. "Do you have any suggestions you'd like to share?"
Eden was still for a few seconds, though Winston impassively waited for him, knowing that he preferred to choose his words and think rather than speak without a second thought – a trait that almost none of his subordinates or companions had inherited. Then when he actually opened his mouth, he spoke in a slow, serene tone, as if he was speaking to a child who just had a panic attack.
"I think, Winston," he answered calmly, "that the best course of action is to find a reference to our planned replica … perhaps a simple one that we are able to create, and then we might then take inspiration from the other world leaders' creations – if we are allowed to – and go on towards there. If we are not allowed to, however, we try our best and learn as many techniques the hosts are willing to provide and we go from there."
"I think you're going too far ahead, Eden." Roosevelt replied. "We need to take this in steps – we don't even know the full details the moment we step into that competition."
"Don't you have an additional letter to provide us with information, President Roosevelt? I thought that it would be similar to an art contest, no?"
"Well –" he paused. "I do. But the thing is – I'm prohibited from telling you any information. Whoever reveals their information prior to the start of the Competition will be disqualified."
"Disqualify my arse, go on and tell us!" Bracken bluntly exclaimed. "It's not like a bloody foreign spy is watching our every move … is there?"
The five men erratically turned their heads in every direction, making sure that their claims were actually not true. Fortunately, no spy was in sight. Needless to say, Bracken motioned for one of the guards stationed nearby to check the surrounding area just in case.
Roosevelt hesitated. A pang of guilt tugged at Winston's heart, disliking how the two were trying to make him give in. Nevertheless, the Prime Minister knew that he invited this meeting for a reason, and in spite of all of his reluctance, he had to do what he needed to do.
"Roosevelt," he told him gently. "I told them a little bit about the details in the main letter. Surely you've probably done it with your own bunch, too. We're allies for a reason, aren't we?"
"Indeed, President Roosevelt," Chamberlain cut in. "If you don't watch to tell us, don't tell us. In fact, you could leave here at this moment if you're really unwilling. But if you do reveal it to us, then it'll prove very useful to our plan. There's a reason Winston hosted this meeting in the first place, no?"
After a long period of silence, Roosevelt sat stiff, contemplating his decision. Then his shoulders sagged, as he eventually gave in to their persistent demands.
"Alright," he sighed in defeat. "I'll do it – but remember that this is the first time I'm divulging this to someone other than myself … I haven't even told my own circle about this – don't make me regret it."
Winston outstretched his hand towards him, and Roosevelt, reluctant for a second, did the same, before he almost clamped around his hand in a surprisingly tight grip. Then, they shook hands, albeit rather awkwardly. A milestone for the relationship between the two countries.
"I still believe it's just the same thing as your additional letter," the American muttered as he released his grip and returned back to his position in his seat. "After all, it'd be a pain for them if they'd just sent out separate, unique letters to each country in the entire world."
"That was exactly what I was thinking at first, but no," Bracken replied. "Apparently the hosts really wanted to 'up' the stakes a bit by sending custom letters to specific world leaders that included some hints of what the competition would be about. Winston's letter revealed that we'll have two weeks to prepare before the judgment of the replicas begins – a lot of time, but at the same time a bit less than I would've liked."
"And you got this information from who?"
"Let's just say a little birdie from Poland told me." Bracken winked at Roosevelt. Chamberlain, however, rolled his eyes at his cheeky voice, so done of the Minister of Information's entire existence.
"Ahem." Eden cleared his throat impatiently. Winston was somewhat speechless that even the Foreign Secretary was losing his restraint; he always committed to memory that the man was the personification of patience, that he always managed to remain calmer than the others at the end of the day, a humble listener amongst the sea of out-spoken speakers. It appeared that Eden had taken the Competition more seriously than Winston imagined.
"Ah, right," Roosevelt garnered his focus, as his hands started to fumble in the several large pockets of his coat. It took him several seconds to find the letter, buried under scrap paper and used pens. "There it is."
He pulled it out, before he examined its condition; slightly rumpled with a few folds, with some rips here and there, yet it was still in good shape. He smoothed out the thin paper, ensuring that Beck's handwriting was still coherent. Then, he passed the letter to the Prime Minister. After absorbing the information written on the parchment for several moments, Winston read aloud:
To Franklin Delano Roosevelt,
I am pleased to inform you that you are one of the chosen to receive additional details for the Great Replica Competition in Krakow, Poland. This letter is the result of the consideration and subsequent raffle of the hosts and their high-ranking members, on whether or not to add an advantage and "double the odds" at stake. Because of this, here are two rules that may play a part in the Competition, set in the 28th:
1) Nude modelling (including help from the outside world) is prohibited as a reference for your replica, both for financial and privacy reasons. Although you are allowed to take inspiration from the available assets during the Competition, which also includes statues or portraits, nude modelling will not be available as part of the provided resources, nor shall we ever allow someone hired to come inside the designated location. Failure to comply with this is immediate disqualification.
2) In addition, no explicit display of genitalia are allowed on the replica – if so, the replica will either get castrated or be covered at once before the judging.
I sincerely hope that this letter has reached you in due time, and like the others, you may enjoy your time at the Competition.
From the co-founder of the Competition and the Polish Minister of Foreign Affairs, Jozef Beck.
The quintet were plainly processing the contents of the letter, prior to discussing it to one another in hushed tones, lest one of the nearby guards would hear and spread the information, leading to their eventual elimination from the Great Replica Competition entirely.
"The 28th …" Winston muttered, remembering something. "Roosevelt, didn't you say you were unavailable on that day?"
The president nodded in response. "Indeed I am, but I'm sorting it out at the moment with the founders; apparently several others came regarding this, coincidentally having a problem at that particular time, too."
"Enough about that!" Bracken exclaimed. "These … these have got to be the most useless rules I've ever stumbled across – out of all of the things I was thinking in my mind, nude modelling? They speak as if we are perverted men who wish to indulge our desires in that damn facility! And the fact that there can't be any portrayal of a simple genital? They speak of it as if it's the plague! This is an outrage!"
"Perhaps because there may be children involved," Eden helpfully supplied. "I don't know how … but maybe in the judging, they'll invite our family members to witness the declaration of the winner?"
"In all honesty, Tony, in all the years I've ever spoken with you, that's the most foolish thing I've ever heard you say," he replied, huffing in puzzlement. "There is no plausible way they would try, with all their might, to possibly invite family members of each world leader and their inner circle … it'll take weeks! Months, even! And I think they're going soft on the children – a simple private part won't horrify the nippers!"
"Try as you might, perhaps Eden is true," Chamberlain admitted. "I can't imagine bringing models to the facility – it is expensive, I give you that, and I can only imagine the stress when posing for the world leaders …"
"They are supposed to handle the stress!" Bracken rolled his eyes. "By good lord, you're becoming more senile than I thought you'd be, and it's only by a margin! Nonetheless, the key of a successful replica is a model; they are graceful in their guises, their physique brilliant – it'll make the judges fascinated by the piece with ease! I reckon that they only did it so that it wouldn't be easy for those who thought about that."
"I agree with Bracken." Roosevelt acknowledged him, sipping his almost cold black coffee. "I suspect it's due to that. With that said, two weeks and no help from abroad? Now that's a challenge I'm willing to take."
Winston placed down the letter on his table as he shot a glance towards the three British personages. He was already starting to pour brandy into his cold lapsang souchong, mixing the alcohol with the caffeinated drink. "With this in mind gentlemen, any ideas now?"
Eden spoke first, of course. "We can make a replica of one of us; they said they wouldn't have nude models, but who says that we can't be our own references? Possibly Winston right here; all he has to do is put on his and we can get one of us who can sculpt him – or even better, snap a quick photograph of him. All he needs to do is to put on his belligerent expression, that's all. Simple as that."
"I wish photographs would be the case," Roosevelt sighed through his nose. "But they're not really replicas, aren't they? Photographs are just memories, except stored physically. Anyways, I suspect that they're probably going to prohibit that too as it'll be too easy, so that briefcase is thrown out the window."
"True," Bracken noted with a dismissive gesture. "Also, Winston's too … what should I say, too old-fashioned for that, don't you think? It's going to be a pain to pose for that long just to get a mediocre sculpture of him."
"You could've just mentioned that I'm old, but I understand your point." Winston said, an aching throb on his temples. He was already getting a migraine, wondering why he set this up in the first place. On second thought, I should've invited someone more calmer than Bracken, he thought, Chamberlain and Bracken's rivalry is more excruciating than mine with the former.
"Perhaps a more conservative approach?" Chamberlain proposed. "Maybe instead of concentrating on Winston – people could accuse us of painting the man in a glamorous light – maybe one of our celebrated ships, such as HMS Victory?"
"Are you out of your mind, Chamberlain? A replica navy ship in two weeks? You need to think about the features of that ship, the amount of detail one needs to include? Even your politics is less sour than your thought process –"
"Can you two please stop speaking for a moment, I need to think more," Eden responded in a detached tone; the two men stopped their conversations, respecting the Foreign Secretary's order.
Despite this, both Chamberlain and Bracken glowered at each other silently, harbouring sheer spite in both of their gazes. Winston noticed how Bracken's hands twitched, as if he wanted to strangle the former Prime Minister with all of his strength.
Taking this as a reason to escape their inevitable fury, Winston leaned towards Roosevelt.
"Would you like to take a walk?"
The American President blankly stared for a moment.
"Gladly."
–
Winston took out a case of cigarettes out of his pockets, withdrew one of them out and then lit it up before he placed it into his mouth. He puffed up a cloud of smoke, as it rose up to the air while the luminating daylight shone on both of their faces. Roosevelt waved off the smoke with an aloof manner, as he squinted, studying the different species of flowers immensely, as if he wanted to distract himself. The British man only found the act very relatable.
"A pleasant sight," Roosevelt remarked, pointing at a bunch of golden primroses. "Eleanor would've liked this."
Of course, he didn't mention the fact that they could still overhear the bickering of Chamberlain and Bracken; this time over tea. It was a miracle how the guards still had enough self-control to endure the banter between them.
He puffed even more smoke. "Well," Winston mumbled. "This isn't what I intended for this meeting to be, but alas, Chamberlain's bickering with Bracken's causing some inconvenience. Again."
The other man smirked slightly. "Churchill, I’d say your boys are performing better than the best comedians in my country. Don't feel bad about it. I actually find it … enjoying, that your lot are still arguing about absurd things – mine has too. I guess it's finally relieving that I can speak to another person with this same problem … and so happens to have common sense."
He almost managed to stifle a snort, aware that he was still smoking a cigarette. "Well, Brendan’s a bulldog, Roosevelt – all bark but no bite. Neville's the poor pup who mistakes his bark for a bite, and retaliates in return. Honestly, I think they're a match made in heaven."
The two laughed freely, as a weight on Winston's shoulders seemed to lift up, even just by a bit. They then continued to saunter through the pathway, as he nonchalantly concentrated on the skies above him. At that very moment, Winston abruptly remembered what he was going to do in that Competition – the enemies he would face, the amount of challenges … he had forgotten to heed all of these events that he would experience.
And to make things worse … Winston was a politician. He was not an artist. Maybe he was doing this just to seek leisure, but he was not sure if he should humiliate himself if the time came for the results. It was not like he really wanted to win (he did not have any yearning for the prize whatsoever) but he did not want to fail so catastrophically that it would ruin his reputation and be berated by the public press for the next few months. He may be a humble man, yet he was intelligent enough to realise the repercussions he will experience if he didn't exert any effort in – it would just depict him in a negative light, and the people would believe that he was lazy.
Nevertheless, Winston was determined not to repeat his predecessor's mistakes.
"So," Roosevelt stopped by a rose bush, as he glanced at him. "You're alright letting Hitler rewrite the Treaty? Appease him like Chamberlain did?"
"Pardon?" Winston turned towards him, tilting his head.
"If he wins, of course." The American halted in his tracks, thoughtful. "There's a chance – and we both know that he despises the Treaty of Versailles. So, the question is … would you be willing to let him turn Europe into a diorama?"
"To be fair, that moustached bloke has done no harm." The Prime Minister replied, dismissive. "He's never really done anything other than increase the size of his army and also militarise the Rhineland – but asides from that? No. In fact, I'd say that his concerns are valid; imagine being invaded by a nation and you don't even have the number of people to help you. That's understandable, especially in these troubling times. I sympathise with him … us Brits have the same problems too, especially due to that last war. It's common sense to arm oneself, in preparation for another. So, of course not. Not bothered."
"Strange. I thought you'd say the opposite," Roosevelt confessed. "When I first met him … he's an odd man, to say the least. He still holds a grudge against me because of a trivial 'thing' I called him."
"Roosevelt, you called him an incompetent nincompoop, 'course he's not going to forget."
"That's pretty tame compared to what the rest of my inner circle says about him." He shrugged. "Besides, I was being honest – when it comes to art, you wouldn't believe how much he spends praising his paintings as if they were works of God, with that dreadful moustache … and the fact that he does make some idiotic decisions, though I appreciate his dedication.
"Speaking of Hitler, you should be worried about him."
"Oh?" Winston raised a brow, intrigued.
"He's a brilliant painter. For all the things I criticised him for, one good thing about him is that he's a true artist. When I first saw his paintings, I once thought that he was well-known and wanted to turn to politics for more money … didn't even believe that he got declined twice from art school." Roosevelt shook his head in disbelief. "If you ask me, that's going to be a huge problem – artists are made to create replicas."
"You raise a good point, and the others, too …" Winston paused. "Especially Stalin. Now, Stalin may not be a good artist, but his buddies certainly are. I've done research; Isaak Brodsky is a huge worry … he's an acclaimed artist who painted official portraits of Stalin. If the Russian decided to bring him along – then we'll be sort of screwed. That's how skilled he is."
"Hence why you've decided to invite me, to try to find a way to outsmart them," Roosevelt said, comprehension dawning on him, and the British Prime Minister merely bowed his head in response. "Makes sense; you Brits fight wars like you brew tea – oversteeped and bitter."
"Ah, but that’s why you adore us, Roosevelt! We’re the only ones mad enough to partner with a nation that threw a tantrum over said tea once." He chuckled in response, allowing himself to exhale a long trail of smoke into the sky.
Before the two could continue, lost in each other's company, they both overheard quickening footsteps nearby; the two were stiff, looking around the gardens cautiously to see what the commotion was about. The reverberating noises were like a child playing chase with a companion, yet Winston's own children were all grown, so they were busy with other matters, and his grandchildren were with them.
Nonetheless, he was absolutely sure that possibly one of his children had decided to let the oldest play in his gardens without his knowledge, and that was absurd as he knew that his children wouldn't dare defy him and just leave a grandchild here, so unless –
"Oi! Come back here, you little –"
A rustling in one of the bushes alerted Winston, and he turned to see Chamberlain desperately struggling through the narrow spaces of the rose bushes. It made him distressed as he saw that his bush was getting ruined by the old man's presence, as well as the fact that Chamberlain's coat had been torn due to the sharp thorns. Next to him, Roosevelt shook his head incredulously once more, as the former Prime Minister finally managed to free himself from the clutches, carrying a metal box under his shoulder as he continued his sprint. Just right behind him was Bracken, his eyes wide as he crawled through the spaces of that very same bush, destroying it further.
"Hold on a minute! No need to cause a scene!" Winston demanded, not having the bare strength to see one of his famed rose bushes crushed by the two men. "What on earth are you two doing, desecrating my flowers like this?"
Bracken yelled: "He's been hoarding a secret stash of biscuits under my nose, Winston! I couldn't resist – especially with that barbaric way he keeps on drowning them in his quaint tea!"
Chamberlain instinctively clutched at the metallic box with both of his hands, its contents clattering as he held it flush against his chest. "You don't deserve them, Bracken! Besides, you're wrong! I dip it under three seconds to ensure it doesn't get too wet! Unlike you, who keeps soaking them until they crumble into pieces!"
"That doesn't explain the fact that your tea's dreadful!" He wrinkled his nose. "Your perfect cup of tea is to dump a bag of Assam in a flower vase and top it with vodka, mate! Strong enough to declare a war on a timezone!"
"That's not true –"
"How about my roses, you two? Who's –"
'I'll pay for it," Bracken answered, not even looking at him before he continued his personal chase with Chamberlain. In response, the former Prime Minister dashed out of his sight, running in the direction of the path despite his blatant exhaustion wearing him out, and the two world leaders observed speechlessly while the Brits chased one another, as if they were playing tag, in the far distance.
After a few moments of shared, awkward silence, Roosevelt slowly leaned towards Winston.
"Remind me why we're allies again?"
The Brit regarded the other two adults wrecking pandemonium. He simply puffed another trail of smoke.
"Because Hitler's worse."
"... Fair."