The next day, England-cat had been sleeping. After America had run out of the room the Englishman had decided to just forget everything the other had said in that conversation. He was just tired and making up fantasies in his head, there was no way that was why he always making fun of him but continued to come over. It couldn’t be, no matter what…
That didn’t mean it was easy though. Anyway, it was about 10 o’clock, early for England’s new routine, when the ringtone of the front door-bell went off, a rather bad sounding version of ‘Star-spangled Banner’ playing and jostling England-cat from his slumber.
Then there was a loud shout of, “Coming!” from an all too familiar source and a loud stamping of feet as America ran downstairs from upstairs where he had been doing some documents which were only a few months late for their deadline.
England, realizing sleep was nothing but a forlorn dream now, got up from his bed of a small corner of the room where America had placed some old sheets so he wouldn’t shed everywhere, and walked to the door just as America opened the door to France.
France, for the longest time he had been to England the embodiment of not just his nation, but of general perverseness, bad food and, of course, chickening out of most every conflict (seriously he was almost half as bad as the Italians). Nothing had changed about him but from his new perspective he could smell the overpowering stench of cheap cologne, wine and women.
He was ignored for a moment as France walked forward to America, hands outstretched in search of a hug and saying something, using that voice England knew he performed on the people he flirted with, “America~ Mon petit ami, give you uncle a hug, no?”
America quietly declined the affection by side-stepping and changing the topic.
“Hey France, dude, did you know I got a cat recently?” he said, smiling somewhat nervously and pointing at England-cat, who wasn’t pleased at being used as a sacrifice. He didn’t have much time to think about it though as quickly France’s interest turned to him, England-cat wanting to claw his face and run away when he came clambering up to him and bent down.
“Aw~ such an adorable chat. What is his name America?”
“Iggy.” America said, trying not to sound too relieved but ultimately failing in England’s eyes. He kept talking, “I found him at England’s place, sleeping in a dark room with some kinda weird clock over him, I don’t know what eyebrows was doing but it couldn’t have been anything good so I saved the little guy and brought him here.” “Iggy? Wouldn’t have Cutie been a better name?”
England-cat hissed at the suggestion and took a swipe at the Frenchman’s face, though France just stepped back and the paw only whizzed by his face.
“Feisty, isn’t he?” He said, chuckling that know-it-all chuckle that England hated with a passion and always had, “anyways,” he said, turning back to America “now that we have finished our introductions out of the way, why don’t we have a little chat, hm?”
America smiled, trying not to look disappointed his plan of distracting the Frenchman had failed as he spoke,
“Sure, man, you want to go talk in the office or…?” “The living room is fine, mon cher, it’s always so stuffy if those offices of yours, something you probably inherited from Angleterre, such a shame…”
England cursed but it only came out as an annoyed meow, which France ignored.
“That’s cool!” America said, making an extravagant gesture to the door of the living-room. France entered first and America behind him. England stayed outside the door for a moment.
Is it really worth my time going in there and listening to them? That’ll throw me off schedule…
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All cats are British in the Dark [Part 4a/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-12-13 05:08 pm (UTC)(link)That didn’t mean it was easy though. Anyway, it was about 10 o’clock, early for England’s new routine, when the ringtone of the front door-bell went off, a rather bad sounding version of ‘Star-spangled Banner’ playing and jostling England-cat from his slumber.
Then there was a loud shout of,
“Coming!” from an all too familiar source and a loud stamping of feet as America ran downstairs from upstairs where he had been doing some documents which were only a few months late for their deadline.
England, realizing sleep was nothing but a forlorn dream now, got up from his bed of a small corner of the room where America had placed some old sheets so he wouldn’t shed everywhere, and walked to the door just as America opened the door to France.
France, for the longest time he had been to England the embodiment of not just his nation, but of general perverseness, bad food and, of course, chickening out of most every conflict (seriously he was almost half as bad as the Italians). Nothing had changed about him but from his new perspective he could smell the overpowering stench of cheap cologne, wine and women.
He was ignored for a moment as France walked forward to America, hands outstretched in search of a hug and saying something, using that voice England knew he performed on the people he flirted with,
“America~ Mon petit ami, give you uncle a hug, no?”
America quietly declined the affection by side-stepping and changing the topic.
“Hey France, dude, did you know I got a cat recently?” he said, smiling somewhat nervously and pointing at England-cat, who wasn’t pleased at being used as a sacrifice. He didn’t have much time to think about it though as quickly France’s interest turned to him, England-cat wanting to claw his face and run away when he came clambering up to him and bent down.
“Aw~ such an adorable chat. What is his name America?”
“Iggy.” America said, trying not to sound too relieved but ultimately failing in England’s eyes. He kept talking, “I found him at England’s place, sleeping in a dark room with some kinda weird clock over him, I don’t know what eyebrows was doing but it couldn’t have been anything good so I saved the little guy and brought him here.”
“Iggy? Wouldn’t have Cutie been a better name?”
England-cat hissed at the suggestion and took a swipe at the Frenchman’s face, though France just stepped back and the paw only whizzed by his face.
“Feisty, isn’t he?” He said, chuckling that know-it-all chuckle that England hated with a passion and always had, “anyways,” he said, turning back to America “now that we have finished our introductions out of the way, why don’t we have a little chat, hm?”
America smiled, trying not to look disappointed his plan of distracting the Frenchman had failed as he spoke,
“Sure, man, you want to go talk in the office or…?”
“The living room is fine, mon cher, it’s always so stuffy if those offices of yours, something you probably inherited from Angleterre, such a shame…”
England cursed but it only came out as an annoyed meow, which France ignored.
“That’s cool!” America said, making an extravagant gesture to the door of the living-room. France entered first and America behind him. England stayed outside the door for a moment.
Is it really worth my time going in there and listening to them? That’ll throw me off schedule…