arcanarumlogs | [Complete] Steady As She Goes

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[Complete] Steady As She Goes

Who: France (Francis Bonnefoy) and England (Arthur Kirkland)
When: August 29
Where: France's ~~clothing shop~~ housing unit
What: England decides to visit France, who is busy working on his projects. France then spends the rest of his time with England trying to hide his secret - Joan of Arc.
Warnings: Mild French swearing. Also France and England rivalry!

This particular day would not have been anything special, if it were not for one particular moment. Francis Bonnefoy had been working on his nine different projects he had been given from the other people trapped in Arcanarum. But moments have a way of warping the flow of time in the eyes of the observer. It was thus that Francis was busy when he heard a knock on the door. Unfortunately, he was in the middle of hand-sewing a dress hem, and was distracted at the most crucial moment by th knock. "Merde-!" Francis quickly pulled his thumb to his mouth, sucking on it as he made his way to the door. After a moment, he opened it, and stared at his visitor.

"... Angleterre?"

He didn't realize why the concept was so foreign to him, now. Arthur visiting him was an eventuality. After all, he was only next door. Francis watched him dumbfounded for a moment, neglecting the fact his finger was still bleeding minutely. It was then that his proper manners came to him and he decided it was rather rude to stay staring at him. "... oh, do come in, s'il te plaît." He stepped to the side, motioning for England to enter.

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England's head was down when France opened the door, not to be rude, but because he was a little ashamed. He and France had been at war where he was from, and it was difficult to make the transition. It would be foolish to fight now that they had a common enemy. England was trying his best to get used to that. He finally lifted his head and held up a hand in greeting.

"A good afternoon to you, France," he said politely, as England was accustomed to do, even with friends. "Prussia has been asking about you. May I come in?"

France could feel the awkward tension in the air the longer England stayed silent. However, when England offered his hand, it didn't really break the tension so much as intensify it. Francis was almost about to lecture him for it, but then remembered that, oh yes, they were still enemies in 1757. And it was extremely difficult to see England responding to him this way. At least when England was somewhat ignoring him in favor of spending time with America and Prussia, France could at least pretend that England was mad at him for something or other and refused to come over. Now it was just discombobulating and unpleasant.

Nonetheless, France smiled and took the hand regardless, not mentioning a word of his thoughts. "Bonsoir," He said quickly, shaking the hand. "If Prussie has been so worried about me, you may tell him I am quite well."

And finally, Francis chuckled a little to himself. "I did ask you to come in, alors, you may certainly come in."

Well, England had not meant to shake France's hand, only hold it up in a wave. They were too close for shaking, weren't they? Ah, no matter. He bowed his head in thanks and wandered inside, muttering a soft, "Thank you."

Even if Prussia had been worried about France, there was no way he would express it. England was the one who was upset, perhaps because he noticed the changes in France's demeanor. They were subtle, yes, but the British country had known France long enough to notice them. It could have been an effect of the world they were in. After all, England had started to change, as well. Not only that, but they were all was melancholy here. England, himself, felt lost among the other countries. He wanted to be from the same time period as everybody else!

"You look like you're busy," he finally said when he saw the piles of fabric. "Am I disturbing you?"

Francis certainly didn't seem to think so, from his motion. Again, no matter. They could just both chalk up that awkward moment to the other as they had for many years.

Francis knew that England could never be straight with him, so he had a sneaking suspicion that, even if Prussia were to ask about him, England also had been concerned. Not that he would say anything, of course, Francis was more than content to pretend to be in the dark about these things. But Francis did not seem too far from himself, at the present moment. The only thing that really seemed to be different than usual was the tenseness he approached England with now. And that had everything to do with another in the house, one that Francis had just realized would be quite a shock to his guest. Not that he would ever tell England such a thing, he had no intention of telling England that Jeanne was living with him now.

Otherwise, he seemed happy, sociable, and very much... French. Perhaps it was because he'd found something to do with himself in this strange place in which they both found themselves trapped. "I am busy, oui. But when has that ever stopped us from interrupting each other, Angleterre?"

"We-well... If you're alright..." England said, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Then I suppose I don't need to keep you." He was embarrassed now. They were so tense, and England knew it was his fault. He was the one from the past. He didn't know anything. He was the one holding the grudges. He turned to look at something in the room and planned for his immediate escape.

Edited 2011-12-28 09:23 (UTC)

"You do not need to keep me, certainly," Francis replied with a keen rebuttal and a smile. "... mais, there is always the possibility that you might want to, non?" Truth be told, he'd missed their polite snark at each other, just a little. ~~Just a lot.~~

Crap. What was he doing? Joan might still be in the house. Well. He had to make sure she was. But how was he going to do that?

Suddenly, he got an idea. "At least stay for a cup of tea, would you?" Excellent. Herd him into the kitchen, get the kettle going, then pop into Joan's room to see if she was there. It was the perfect plan... right...?

Oh, tea! Well, in that case... "I suppose I do deserve some tea for coming all the way here." England had made the journey, so why not? He allowed France to usher him into the kitchen, taking his time to look at the different gadgets his old friend had. England's kitchen had been rather bare until America got his hands on it. Then he started creating new things and explaining how this and that worked, and how much food he needed everyday.

Though, usually, none of England's housemates let him into the kitchen at all. Bastards.

"What kinds do you have?"

Oh, France wasn't letting you in the kitchen to cook anything. The only reason was because of the dining room table, which happened to be in the kitchen alcove with the rest of the appliances. But when they both entered the kitchen, Francis motioned for him to sit as he pulled out the tea kettle and filled it with water, setting it on the stove and heating it properly.

"Mm, let me see now..." He pulled open a cabinet which held a few tins, each with a different hand-written label on them. He quickly read the labels, all in French, and then called out loud. "I have Jasmine, Ceylon, Earl Gray of course, a green tea called 'du Hammam' which is a bit fruity, and then I have a white tea called 'Yin Zhen'. That is all I have." Of course, he expected Arthur to choose the Earl Grey, but, it was always nice to give him the options.

England felt a little more at ease now, at least for the time being. France was being a pleasant, good host, and England felt that he wasn't a threat. He really did feel bad that he had to approach France cautiously. It seemed as though they were close in the future, so they must have made up after the war. They always did.

"Earl Gray is fine," England said without thinking. His rival knew him all too well. "Thank you."

Well, "made up" was debatable. But Francis really didn't want to break it to England that in the span between his time and England's, they had fought against each other in both America's, and his own Revolution, and the Napoleonic Wars. Only then had they finally decided to become tentative "friends". And he really did not want to explain the World Wars, and he never really intended to. Not unless someone from their world arrived in the middle of one of them. Then there would be a lot of explaining to do.

"Bien sûr." He drew out the tin of tea, placing the kettle onto the stove to let it heat up. Meanwhile, he set himself to working on setting the table properly, pulling out some delicate, medium-dark blue teacups. These were set with an ivy motif around the rim and saucer and handle, made of gold leaf. He set one in front of England, with a matching tea spoon, and set the second across from his bushy-browed companion, on the other end of the table. All the while he was glancing at Joan's bedroom door out of the corner of his eye.

At last, there was one more detail. He went and got a crystalline sugar dish, placing it in the middle of the table. "Were you wanting anything else, with your tea? Some cakes, perhaps?"

The fancy tea set pleased England very much, and he gave France a look of approval. "I'm alright for now," he replied with a smile behind his eyes, even though the rest of his face remained as stoic as usual. "I just want to know how you are fairing."

Francis drew his hand up, brushing his hair out of his face. With it came a little smirk. "You wanted to know how I was faring? Angleterre, I thought you were here for the sake of Prussie." He couldn't help but tease England for that, as it was habit after six hundred-plus years.

"Mm, aside from sewing, I have not been doing much at all. I have been finishing up projects, slowly, one by one. It gives me something to do, on this boring island. I suppose this means I have not been faring too poorly, oui?" He paused as the tea kettle started to whistle, and turned to take care of it. Once the tea was ready, he poured some into England's cup, and some into his, resting the tea kettle in the middle of the table with the sugar dish.

England blushed darkly when France pointed out that he blew his cover. Dash it all! He looked away quickly and only turned around again once his face was no longer warm, which was about the time France returned with the tea.

"So you're not affected by the changes here?" he asked, raising a brow. He reached for his cup and was soothed by the smell. It was nice, familiar.

Francis couldn't help the little peep of laughter that escaped from his lips at England's reaction. But, he did his best to disguise it as a clearing of his throat, so as not to embarrass England further. He knew how hard it was to deal with England if he embarrassed him too much. And at the moment, as amusing as it was to see England flustered, it was not what he wanted to do.

"Of course I am. Aren't we all?" Francis took one last quick look behind him, at Jeanne's door, before sitting down properly across from England. Crossing one leg over the other under the table, he reached for the sugar, placing one spoonful in his cup. He had to admit, he took his tea with sugar. It was coffee that he could stand straight, blacker than sin. His time spent as friends with Turkey had given him an appreciation for Turkish coffee, but overall he still preferred the bitterness. But tea, he preferred with a little sweetness.

England responded with a shrug and sipped at his tea in silence for the time being. He still had the mark on his forehead. It refused to disappear, like a scar. There were other things that had happened to him, of course, and England wanted to make certain France wasn't just covering up some pain in order to appear pretty... Because France did like to appear pretty. All the time.

"Well, at least you are managing," he said as he added a bit of sugar, mostly out of politeness, since it had been placed in front of him. "It's always nice to keep busy." This felt awkward. At times, England wondered if it was just easier to fight with France instead of be at peace with him.

It wasn't that he was feeling any pain exactly - just annoyance. When he couldn't get his hair to look just as perfect as it normally did, or when he was bombarded with hundreds of artistic ideas with each moment, Francis certainly didn't enjoy the changes that had been given to him. But, they were easy enough to manage - one with curlers and one with a new "job".

"It is almost... human." He paused, to reflect on this, before he sipped a bit at the tea as well. Then, he spoke again. "But we can never truly be human, can we? Not even if we try."

"I wouldn't want to be human anyway," England grimaced. "The smallest bullet wound can kill you, you're plagued with strange emotions... It is ridiculous." He sipped at the tea, irritated that it burned his tongue.

"Ha. Are we not already plagued with these 'strange emotions' as we are, Angleterre?" Francis seemed mostly amused at England's assessment. After all, wasn't their own relationship based on a complex network of hatred, rivalry, camaraderie, and companionship? It couldn't really get any more complex than that.

"Even if the Rulers do turn us mortal - though I suppose Prussie and you yourself are an exception, if fairy tales are to be believed - we can never truly be human, from our memories of so many years, and from our denizens being pure legends." He became lost in his own mind for a moment longer, the poetic irony of this place suddenly coming into view. "My denizen is not even truly human himself, mais, more like a shadow, or a devil..." He murmured into his teacup, finally setting it down again after a moment. France wasn't even truly aware that he had spoken these words, simply that the notion existed in his own head.

An admittance like that was what England had been waiting to hear from France. His eyes flicked up from his cup. After a moment's pause, he rested the tea on the table and sat back into the couch, crossing one leg over the other and twining his fingers around his knee.

"What exactly is your character, France?" he asked in all seriousness. He was not condescending or even amused. "I only heard that it was from an opera... Correct?"

Francis felt Arthur's eyes on him in an instant, despite not looking fully at him. He even sensed the polite awkwardness they had been sitting in before fade completely, only to be replaced with a resolute tension. Even Arthur's body language said to him, 'Francis Bonnefoy, you have some explaining to do.' Aha, so he had fallen into one of Arthur's traps. Well, no matter. He was a master of getting out of them, after their rivalry of so many years.

"A book-turned-operetta, actually. Movies of many sorts on top of that, and books based on the original book on top of all that. He only resides in an opera house. Mais, I do not think his character study is an appropriate discussion over tea - after all, he is the book's antagonist." As if to give off the illusion that the matter was settled, Francis picked up his cup again, drinking some more.

Again with that movie thing. The idea of moving pictures on a screen still fascinated England. He and Prussia had spent hours in front of the television set America had conjured up, and they still did not know how it worked (though Prussia seemed to be trying). But England knew what an operetta was at least, and he immediately wanted to see it. Perhaps he would look for it in the library.

"The antagonist," England repeated, both amused and concerned for his friend's sake. "That doesn't sound like you at all." He helped himself to more tea. That did not mean, however, that the conversation was over. "What's he like?"

"The antagonist." Francis mimicked his own words, as if to clarify, or to cement his words. He heard the strange tone to England's words and thought England was going to laugh at him any minute now. Out of instinct, his eyes darted sideways, looking at everything but the man sitting across from him. If he couldn't see England laughing, then he wasn't - at least, that's what he was trying to persuade his mind into believing.

"On the contrary, Amerique told me the moment he heard my denizen that it fit me quite well," He divulged rather nonchalantly. Though as he put more thought into what America had said, he felt a tightness in his chest, and a cold lump in his throat that, no matter how hard he swallowed, would not seem to go away. Even as he took another small drink from his china teacup, he found it hard to swallow the sweet liquid. After a moment, he cleared his throat and also refilled his cup. After placing in another spoonful of sugar, he stirred the tea slowly, drawing his face down to stare at it, suddenly fascinated by the small whirlpool he was making with the spoon.

"Oh, you know, Angleterre, a typical antagonist. Nothing special at all." The Phantom was anything but typical, and he was certainly quite special as far as antagonists went, but he wasn't going to admit that to England. "Murderer, schemer, kidnapper, thief, and scoundrel." His fingers tensed around the small handle. Now he knew England was going to make some snide comment about him actually not being far off from the Phantom. Just say it, he kept thinking, just say it already and stop beating around the bush. He gritted his teeth a little as well, as the silence between them wore on.

England frowned once France continued to describe the Phantom. He really was worried. England could see that. It was rare to not see a smile or lewd look on his rival's face.

He scoffed and adjusted himself in the seat. "America's an idiot," he said, matter-of-factly. "You're not a kidnapper nor a thief. And just because we have fought in wars does not mean you are a murderer." The word tasted bitter on his tongue. As much as England fought with France, he did not like it. This was serious. "Perhaps they assigned you the wrong character."

At first, Francis was going to correct England - on the contrary, he would have said, "You're wrong, I'm very much like him." He would have explained the skills they both possessed, from musical and artistic talent to fencing forms and strategy. He would have explained that, when angered, the both of them would not rest until they had gotten their revenge on whoever it was they deemed fitting of punishment, by their hands. He would have explained that the both of them, however much they tried to act human, would never truly be human - France naturally being the immortal representation of a country, and the Phantom being the "Angel in Hell". The both of them strove to be human, as close to human as possible: both putting on the right clothes, using their eloquent tongues to impress, even their artistic accomplishments... and yet, they would never truly be human.

That is, that was what Francis was going to say. But then he let Arthur's words sink in.

He wasn't sure he remembered a time that England had actually spoken kinder words to him than now. In fact, England was almost praising him, denying he was anything like this wretched, horrific thing known as the Phantom, without knowing a single thing about the Phantom other than what Francis had just told him.

More importantly, England was denying his fears. He hadn't teased France, as France had thought he might. And that was what surprised the Frenchman most of all. He sat there in silence for a long while, simply staring across the table at the other man in shock.

But then, once he'd had a moment to let his thoughts catch up, Francis's lips curved upward into a grin. He even started to laugh to himself, placing down his teacup so that he could hide it partially behind his hand. It felt so good to have such a friend... enemy... whatever they were, refusing to believe that he was anything like the Phantom that France had been dreading since his arrival in Arcanarum. Though of course, this random fit of laughter must have looked utterly insane to England, but France didn't care. He was happy for the first time since he'd arrived.

After he had finished chuckling to himself, he leaned back in his chair, a teasing grin now erupting back onto his face. But this one, it was genuine, as the one before it. Even England would have been able to tell the difference between a fake, polite smile and a genuine one, surely. "Are you calling me a schemer and a scoundrel then, Angleterre? My, what backhanded compliments you give." But the tone to France's voice was not angry at all. Rather, it had the lilting, light tone of a man who'd had an enormous weight lifted off his shoulders. "And your brood always has been naïve. That much has not changed in three hundred years."

Okay, maybe he was being a little mean. But, at least Francis was feeling better. Much better, from the sounds of it.

Well, England certainly had no problem mocking France whenever he had the opportunity, though he knew now was not the time. He could see how worried Francis was, even if the country of love tried to hide it. And that made Arthur, himself, worried. He did not want anyone here to suffer, especially his fellow countries, especially when they hadn't done anything to deserve this fate in the first place. France was a victim, like them all. And England stood by that.

He was pleased when France jabbed at him, smiling behind his cup, and then putting a serious look on his face once he set it down. "I'm sure my brood, as you put it, would rather be naive over being a schemer and a scoundrel." England's cheeks reddened slightly at the word France had used. What was he? A chicken?

Francis continued to chuckle in between his teasing remarks and England's retorts. "Well, being naive, they would not know any better, would they?" He noticed the pinkish-red tinge to England's cheeks and smiled, knowing that it was he who had caused it. Ah, it was always fun to tease England and get some sort of reaction from him. That much had certainly not changed in the centuries between their time periods.

"And it is not really so bad, being a scoundrel. Rogues are highly fashionable nowadays," The Frenchman commented, with a little bit of a smirk. "Your years as a punk will be very useful in the future, Captain Kirkland." Now it was back to the good old days with the good old insults. Of course, he neglected to mention, as always, that as a corsair captain himself he hardly had any room to talk. But he had the perfect argument were England to finally discover that argument.

Punk? That was a word England had not heard when applied to people. He tried to pretend that he knew what it meant, considering how France used it. Never give your enemy the satisfaction of knowing he has the advantaged, right? "Oh, really? Do I become a jewel thief in the future?" His pirate days were not something that he liked to talk about that often. Sure, they were fun, but he had alienated himself from everyone but Spain and Portugal, and even then they were enemies. Still, England did love his treasure, and the idea of stealing almost gave him a pleasant sensation.

Perhaps he was a kleptomaniac. But not all the time. Maybe.

"Hardly anything of the sort, Angleterre." How was he to explain that Arthur was trying to turn himself, at least personality-wise, into a stiff old British gentleman in the future? Well, he didn't really have to. It would be more interesting if Arthur found out himself, anyway. Besides, hadn't he and America made a silent pact with each other not to talk to the rest of the Nations about the future, unless it was absolutely necessary?

"Though I suppose things would have been much more interesting if you had become a jewel thief. Sadly, Angleterre, your true moment of deviousness was your little escapade as a pirate." Francis remembered his cup and slowly grasped it, savoring the warmth permeating from it. Ah, the memories that brought up. Francis thought England had looked rather dashing, in that long red coat of his. Not that he would ever admit it to England.

Of course he looked dashing. He always looked dashing. England shrugged and leaned back into his seat to relax. After all, he hadn't grown into that stiff gentleman yet. He was still quite youthful. "I believe my people wouldn't care for me if I became a thief anyway," he replied with a playful smirk. He felt at ease now, even though he had come here to drill Francis on what had been going on with him.

Francis was honestly more comfortable talking about England. They had a common ground, there, whereas when Francis spoke about himself, England had no idea, and it was difficult to explain without giving much of the future away.

"You are a thief already, snatching up colonies left and right, under everyone's noses." He let out a soft laugh, teasing. "That is always how it is with you, thinking that everything belongs to you - Amérique, Inde, much of the Caraïbes. Your son is no better, sometimes."

England responded with a sniff, sticking his nose up in the air. "They all get along with me just fine!" he said defensively. "I treat them well!" Most of the time, though he never fussed over the others as much as he did with America.

Francis merely gave a laugh at England's comment. "I am teasing you, mon Dieu! Learn to loosen up a little, Angleterre." With another chuckle, he motioned to the tea he'd made. "Ah la la, we had best finish it before it gets cold. It is simply not the same."

"I'm plenty loose!" argued the Brit. And he poured himself some more tea with a huff. At least he had had a little luck in his endeavors. This wasn't unpleasant. They may have been enemies in his time, but he was still willing to be civil. While they were on this island, at least.

"Plenty loose, ah? It is still just as easy to rile you up, after all these years. Somehow, I doubt this, chéri." The Frenchman replied with another chuckle, leaning backward to rest his back against the chair. France seemed much more relaxed than he had been at the start of their little talk. He had almost forgotten his worries, even, of the Phantom and this island. For the time being, that was enough. And Francis was perfectly happy with that moment lasting as long as it possibly could.

So had England succeeded? Certainly so, because he had finally found out what had been troubling Francis so much. Hopefully, this meant Francis would be a lot more open with his thoughts on his denizen in the future. But the way Francis was acting, it was very likely.

Edited 2012-02-20 20:52 (UTC)

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[Complete] Steady As She Goes

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asldkfjkls sorry this is late

i am always late

Well still

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