“Bizarre.” France combed his fingers through his coiffed hair as he rounded the bend and made it up the decadent steps to his house.
“Ah there you are France.” His boss’ voice wafted out of the large office.
The country trotted through the double doors with a beautiful smile. “I am here!”
“I need you to vote on this updated Pacte civil de solidarité.”
“Civil unions? Men and women of this day and age are so complicated…” The blond country tilted his head, reading the papers. After a few pages, he turned the papers upside down and continued reading.
His boss made an exasperated face.
“Oui.” France declared.
The president raised an eyebrow. “Did you even read it all?”
France didn’t reply but started to rearrange his hair with a divine looking bone china comb in a jewel encrusted mirror.
“Our brother Spain wants his homosexual marriages to be recognized in our land.” The president summarized, flipping through the documents. He shook his head when he saw the signatures France had bestowed were actually just fragrances.
The boss stood up and looked out the window. “However, we aren’t ready for that yet. This is the best compromise.”
France joined him at the window. “You’ll all come around one day and realize that love is actually just love,” He smirked, “and not political jurisdiction.”
“Isn’t it the opposite for countries?” His boss countered.
France didn’t reply, staring at something beyond the window. For a long moment the two just enjoyed the scenic view from the house.
“Well, the night is still young and I haven’t had my supper yet!” France stretched and suddenly he was wearing a very striking pink shirt and tight pants.
The president looked pensive for a moment. “If you find Spain, maybe you can talk to him more about this?” He tapped the document folder. “In fact, take it with you. Persuade him of our policy.”
“Er… Of course.” France took the folder and stored it in a large Louis Vuitton bag. “I’m very certain about my skills in persuasion.” He wiggled his eyebrows merrily. “Spain and I… we’ve always been together.”
“Yes,” The boss’s mouth twisted to the side a bit, as if he didn’t know whether to be polite or upset. “It’s also… how do I put this? Not very desirable.”
France stopped his prancing at that. “But we’re inseparable.”
“Yes,” His boss said again, “Quite because of that.”
“Do you know why?” France asked bluntly.
His boss stuttered at the bold-face question, “Well-er, the trade, and the relations, treaties and pacts that are practically old as time itself…”
France smiled and tilted his head, surveying his boss in a way that made the citizen feel uncomfortable and almost certain he would be molested in some manner.
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 3b/?
“Ah there you are France.” His boss’ voice wafted out of the large office.
The country trotted through the double doors with a beautiful smile. “I am here!”
“I need you to vote on this updated Pacte civil de solidarité.”
“Civil unions? Men and women of this day and age are so complicated…” The blond country tilted his head, reading the papers. After a few pages, he turned the papers upside down and continued reading.
His boss made an exasperated face.
“Oui.” France declared.
The president raised an eyebrow. “Did you even read it all?”
France didn’t reply but started to rearrange his hair with a divine looking bone china comb in a jewel encrusted mirror.
“Our brother Spain wants his homosexual marriages to be recognized in our land.” The president summarized, flipping through the documents. He shook his head when he saw the signatures France had bestowed were actually just fragrances.
The boss stood up and looked out the window. “However, we aren’t ready for that yet. This is the best compromise.”
France joined him at the window. “You’ll all come around one day and realize that love is actually just love,” He smirked, “and not political jurisdiction.”
“Isn’t it the opposite for countries?” His boss countered.
France didn’t reply, staring at something beyond the window. For a long moment the two just enjoyed the scenic view from the house.
“Well, the night is still young and I haven’t had my supper yet!” France stretched and suddenly he was wearing a very striking pink shirt and tight pants.
The president looked pensive for a moment. “If you find Spain, maybe you can talk to him more about this?” He tapped the document folder. “In fact, take it with you. Persuade him of our policy.”
“Er… Of course.” France took the folder and stored it in a large Louis Vuitton bag. “I’m very certain about my skills in persuasion.” He wiggled his eyebrows merrily. “Spain and I… we’ve always been together.”
“Yes,” The boss’s mouth twisted to the side a bit, as if he didn’t know whether to be polite or upset. “It’s also… how do I put this? Not very desirable.”
France stopped his prancing at that. “But we’re inseparable.”
“Yes,” His boss said again, “Quite because of that.”
“Do you know why?” France asked bluntly.
His boss stuttered at the bold-face question, “Well-er, the trade, and the relations, treaties and pacts that are practically old as time itself…”
France smiled and tilted his head, surveying his boss in a way that made the citizen feel uncomfortable and almost certain he would be molested in some manner.
“Yes,” He finally said. “All of that.”
And he groped his boss for good measure.
~~~
Con't in Chapter 3c