With a loud crack and resigned groan, England's door lost its battle with the early morning visitor, swinging open at just a slightly off-angle.
Silence reigned for all of a blessed five seconds before a curious blond head appeared in the door frame. "England?" America called again. A pause. "Your door was open so I'm letting myself in!"
There was a light thud as England let her forehead hit the back of her hall closet in exasperation, but it was drowned out by the louder thunk of the younger nation rolling his luggage into the entryway and trying to close the door behind him. At least the additional time he took shoving the door back into place gave her a few moments to sip her tea.
It greatly eased her newly developed headache and she gave herself a mental pat on the back for having decided to double back and grab it.
He was coming in her direction now. As always, America seemed to be making an effort to broadcast his presence. England could easily hear his footsteps moving down the hall, heading for the kitchen she had been occupying less than a minute earlier.
- - - - - - - - - -
For his part, America knew enough about visiting England to know the kitchen was the first place to start looking if his former 'brother' wasn't there at the door to greet him when he arrived. Sure enough, he noticed the recently used kettle sitting on the stove. He could still feel the heat coming off it's surface as he got nearer.
Alright, so England had already had his morning tea. He'd have to come back for another one sooner or later, so if America just waited right here, he'd be sure to run into the island nation eventually.
...but that was so boring. He dug his hand into the pocket of his bomber jacket, fishing of his cell. Maybe he should call him to speed up the process.
But he never made the call. He had paused before his thumb could press the 'send' button, tentatively sniffing the air. Something smelled really gross. What was that? Normally, America would have ignored the unpleasant scent, but he just knew what it was.
It was on the tip of his tongue; figuratively, not literally of course. Ew.
Then he recognized it.
Chamomile.
- - - - - - - - -
England startled at the knock against the entrance to her sanctuary, biting back a curse when her wrist bumped against one of the walls in the confined space, spilling the remainder of her tea. "England? Are you in there?" an all too familiar voice called from the other side of the door.
She almost shouted 'No!' but caught herself at the last minute. Not that her silence looked like it was going to help. Blast! How had he figured out her location so easily?
Her gripped tightened on her now empty tea cup, more from irritation than anything else. To think, after lifetimes of keeping her secret hidden, this was how it was going to come out. From a closet. If only she had worn something a little less feminine, instead of the low-cut sweater and mid-length skirt she was currently attired in. Then she wouldn't be in this predicament. Well, she would still have a broken door and America roaming about her house--but at least she could have skipped running into the closet and just openly confronted him about the meaning of private property and its destruction from the get-go.
Speaking of which, the closet door chose that moment to walk the path of its brother at the front of the house. Light made its way into England's impromptu hiding place, and against the back wall America's distinctive shadow appeared next to hers. That was that then. There was no way he didn't see her from his current position.
Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 2a
With a loud crack and resigned groan, England's door lost its battle with the early morning visitor, swinging open at just a slightly off-angle.
Silence reigned for all of a blessed five seconds before a curious blond head appeared in the door frame. "England?" America called again. A pause. "Your door was open so I'm letting myself in!"
There was a light thud as England let her forehead hit the back of her hall closet in exasperation, but it was drowned out by the louder thunk of the younger nation rolling his luggage into the entryway and trying to close the door behind him. At least the additional time he took shoving the door back into place gave her a few moments to sip her tea.
It greatly eased her newly developed headache and she gave herself a mental pat on the back for having decided to double back and grab it.
He was coming in her direction now. As always, America seemed to be making an effort to broadcast his presence. England could easily hear his footsteps moving down the hall, heading for the kitchen she had been occupying less than a minute earlier.
- - - - - - - - - -
For his part, America knew enough about visiting England to know the kitchen was the first place to start looking if his former 'brother' wasn't there at the door to greet him when he arrived. Sure enough, he noticed the recently used kettle sitting on the stove. He could still feel the heat coming off it's surface as he got nearer.
Alright, so England had already had his morning tea. He'd have to come back for another one sooner or later, so if America just waited right here, he'd be sure to run into the island nation eventually.
...but that was so boring. He dug his hand into the pocket of his bomber jacket, fishing of his cell. Maybe he should call him to speed up the process.
But he never made the call. He had paused before his thumb could press the 'send' button, tentatively sniffing the air. Something smelled really gross. What was that? Normally, America would have ignored the unpleasant scent, but he just knew what it was.
It was on the tip of his tongue; figuratively, not literally of course. Ew.
Then he recognized it.
Chamomile.
- - - - - - - - -
England startled at the knock against the entrance to her sanctuary, biting back a curse when her wrist bumped against one of the walls in the confined space, spilling the remainder of her tea. "England? Are you in there?" an all too familiar voice called from the other side of the door.
She almost shouted 'No!' but caught herself at the last minute. Not that her silence looked like it was going to help. Blast! How had he figured out her location so easily?
Her gripped tightened on her now empty tea cup, more from irritation than anything else. To think, after lifetimes of keeping her secret hidden, this was how it was going to come out. From a closet. If only she had worn something a little less feminine, instead of the low-cut sweater and mid-length skirt she was currently attired in. Then she wouldn't be in this predicament. Well, she would still have a broken door and America roaming about her house--but at least she could have skipped running into the closet and just openly confronted him about the meaning of private property and its destruction from the get-go.
Speaking of which, the closet door chose that moment to walk the path of its brother at the front of the house. Light made its way into England's impromptu hiding place, and against the back wall America's distinctive shadow appeared next to hers. That was that then. There was no way he didn't see her from his current position.
"England...?"