“You know, I’ve been thinking about what Austria said to me.”
Spain was enjoying a siesta in the front of his yard with a cool class of sangria glued to his hand. It wasn’t as relaxing as a hot summer day, but it was nice enough that the sun was out and the sharp smell of freshly cut foliage clung to the air.
France had been helping him a lot the past few days. Spain didn’t have the heart to tell him he was harvesting his King’s rose bush.
France hummed to himself as he pruned off the gorgeous blossoms one by one, delighted in the Spanish roses he could adorn himself with.
“What, that drivel about countries and marriage and what have you?” France replied absentmindedly. His sleeve had caught on a thorn and now he had a loose thread.
“Yeah, well—no, it’s not that untrue, now that I’ve thought about it. Countries really aren’t like normal men at all.”
“Oui, we’re quite bigger than mere men.” France raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue against his teeth. The thread was annoying him.
Spain laughed. “I mean, it’s easy for a citizen to love his country. And it’s even easier for a country to love its people, since they’re what make us, us, or something. I’m not really sure about the reasoning behind that...”
“Get to the point.” France said, digging through his Louis V bag for a smaller pair of shears.
Spain poked France in the cheek. “What I’m saying is, he’s right. It’s actually not easy at all for nations to love each other.”
France’s followed the line from the tip of Spain’s index finger, up his arm, all the way to those green eyes. He bit his lip and refrained from rolling his eyes. “And yet, Austria is a bit easy, isn’t he?”
“Hm?”
France waved a gloved hand quickly to ward off the topic. “Ah, I agree, nations do have lots of history together that makes it très difficile.”
“Then there are our bosses who make things even more complicated! I swear I’ve always had problems with mine.” Spain flopped down onto the grass, not really caring that he was getting sprigs of rose bush in his hair as France chose his flowers. “It makes it even worse to love a country like that.”
“I have had a good feel for what my president wants, on occasion.” France chatted. A delicate white rose was cut off and made its way into his frilly sleeve. He missed the days when he could wear his most decadent coats and lace. He cut two more white blossoms to make up for it.
“Ohhhh, don’t tell me that!” Spain said chuckling even as a blush came to his cheeks. “You didn’t. To your boss?!”
“Every man, woman and child should feel the loving touch of their country at some point in their lives.” France had a twinkle in his eye and he said this, a gentle wind stirring his rose bush and rustling up a beautiful petal effect.
“That is how patriotism is born. This is one of my beliefs as a nation and something I’m proud of executing on a daily basis.”
Spain stared at the other country for a long moment, at least until the wind and petal effect died down, and then he snorted. “Ok. You’re definitely a pervert.” He began laughing in earnest as France chased him with the garden shears.
~~~
France huffed and took a long sip of Spain’s drink. He was prepared to face the lesson for today, laden with the beautiful flower of love and sweet wine. He took an even longer sip. He would need it, today’s lesson was:
“Penetration.”
Spain spit out his drink.
“Infiltration. Getting inside!” France smirked deviously. “For this, you should get out your heavy artillery and—”
“Wait, wait.” Spain looked uneasy. “Don’t we have a practical test on any of the other lessons? I think we failed miserably at the last one. Let’s have a redo.”
“Let’s not beat around the bush,” France announced instead. “If the other lessons failed then this is your best bet.”
“Or last resort,” Spain laughed. “How are we going to accomplish this?”
“We’re going,” France pointed, “To the United Kingdom.”
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A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 6a/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-08 03:56 pm (UTC)(link)Chapter Six
“You know, I’ve been thinking about what Austria said to me.”
Spain was enjoying a siesta in the front of his yard with a cool class of sangria glued to his hand. It wasn’t as relaxing as a hot summer day, but it was nice enough that the sun was out and the sharp smell of freshly cut foliage clung to the air.
France had been helping him a lot the past few days. Spain didn’t have the heart to tell him he was harvesting his King’s rose bush.
France hummed to himself as he pruned off the gorgeous blossoms one by one, delighted in the Spanish roses he could adorn himself with.
“What, that drivel about countries and marriage and what have you?” France replied absentmindedly. His sleeve had caught on a thorn and now he had a loose thread.
“Yeah, well—no, it’s not that untrue, now that I’ve thought about it. Countries really aren’t like normal men at all.”
“Oui, we’re quite bigger than mere men.” France raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue against his teeth. The thread was annoying him.
Spain laughed. “I mean, it’s easy for a citizen to love his country. And it’s even easier for a country to love its people, since they’re what make us, us, or something. I’m not really sure about the reasoning behind that...”
“Get to the point.” France said, digging through his Louis V bag for a smaller pair of shears.
Spain poked France in the cheek. “What I’m saying is, he’s right. It’s actually not easy at all for nations to love each other.”
France’s followed the line from the tip of Spain’s index finger, up his arm, all the way to those green eyes. He bit his lip and refrained from rolling his eyes. “And yet, Austria is a bit easy, isn’t he?”
“Hm?”
France waved a gloved hand quickly to ward off the topic. “Ah, I agree, nations do have lots of history together that makes it très difficile.”
“Then there are our bosses who make things even more complicated! I swear I’ve always had problems with mine.” Spain flopped down onto the grass, not really caring that he was getting sprigs of rose bush in his hair as France chose his flowers. “It makes it even worse to love a country like that.”
“I have had a good feel for what my president wants, on occasion.” France chatted. A delicate white rose was cut off and made its way into his frilly sleeve. He missed the days when he could wear his most decadent coats and lace. He cut two more white blossoms to make up for it.
“Ohhhh, don’t tell me that!” Spain said chuckling even as a blush came to his cheeks. “You didn’t. To your boss?!”
“Every man, woman and child should feel the loving touch of their country at some point in their lives.” France had a twinkle in his eye and he said this, a gentle wind stirring his rose bush and rustling up a beautiful petal effect.
“That is how patriotism is born. This is one of my beliefs as a nation and something I’m proud of executing on a daily basis.”
Spain stared at the other country for a long moment, at least until the wind and petal effect died down, and then he snorted. “Ok. You’re definitely a pervert.” He began laughing in earnest as France chased him with the garden shears.
~~~
France huffed and took a long sip of Spain’s drink. He was prepared to face the lesson for today, laden with the beautiful flower of love and sweet wine. He took an even longer sip. He would need it, today’s lesson was:
“Penetration.”
Spain spit out his drink.
“Infiltration. Getting inside!” France smirked deviously. “For this, you should get out your heavy artillery and—”
“Wait, wait.” Spain looked uneasy. “Don’t we have a practical test on any of the other lessons? I think we failed miserably at the last one. Let’s have a redo.”
“Let’s not beat around the bush,” France announced instead. “If the other lessons failed then this is your best bet.”
“Or last resort,” Spain laughed. “How are we going to accomplish this?”
“We’re going,” France pointed, “To the United Kingdom.”
“Errrr…”
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 6b