Life at France's house can be rather...invigorating at times. Syria never had a relaxing moment, not even in her sleep. Stress was starting to pick at her little by little. France's antics weren't getting any better. She was on the verge of calling it quits.
Every morning Syria had to wake up an hour before France and cook the two of them breakfast. France, being the arrogant way he was, made sure that Syria was as good a cook as himself. It helped that cooking came naturally to Syria; that didn't stop France from being picky, though. In a lot of ways, he reminded Syria of that Scottish chef that's always getting really angry at little things. Of course, he didn't curse as much as the Scottish chef.
This morning Syria had decided to make spiced waffles with caramelized apples on top. It was a sweet breakfast that was paired with vanilla ice-cream. It was also one of Syria's favorites. The recipe was fun to make and quite simply delicious. She had made them before, and France had complimented them greatly. She was sure he'd love to have them again.
Syria took her time cooking, since it was a quick meal to make. She checked the clock. An hour had passed, which meant it was about time for France's alarm to go off. Syria got a tray and set it up nicely with the food. She got some apple juice and poured a glass of it for France, just as the alarm started to go off in his room. Carefully, she took the tray into his bedroom and waited for him to wake.
It didn't take long for him to wake, and when he saw Syria with the food, he said, "Oh, is that what I think it is?" He smiled and sat up, breathing in the aroma of the freshly cooked waffles and apples. "Mmm, I do believe it is." Syria placed the tray on his lap. France smiled tiredly at the food.
"Today's breakfast is spiced waffles with caramelized apples and vanilla ice-cream," Syria stated. "Bon appétit, Monsieur." She bowed and stood off to the side of the bed as usual. France dug into the food, eating happily. Syria watched him out of the corner of her eye, and wondered when he'd call her over.
"Sabeen, mon chére, come sit on the bed with me," France said, right on cue. Syria walked over to the side of the bed that France wasn't already occupying and sat next to him. This was a common occurrence; in fact it happened every day. For some reason, France always had Syria sit by him in bed. He would feed her bits of food and smile, telling her how cute she was. This had started to irk Syria after awhile; she wasn't a baby anymore and didn't need to be fed.
"Try some of your delicious cooking, mon chére," France said. He cut a bit of the waffle off onto his fork, then scooped up some apples. He held the fork to Syria's lips and smiled at her, waiting for her to eat it. Syria's expression was a bit annoyed as she ate the food. "Isn't it good? You're such a wonderful cook, Sabeen." France nuzzled her cheek with a chuckle. "And I'm a wonderful teacher."
France ate his breakfast and left for the bathroom to get ready for the day. Syria took his tray back to the kitchen and washed all the dishes that she had dirtied while cooking breakfast. She waved at a couple of maids passing by, and then went to check her chore list. Her finger went down the list until she found her name written neatly in France's handwriting. It appeared she had three chores today. She had to tend the garden, help France with paperwork, and finally scrub the floors. It didn't look like much, but it was all hard work besides helping France.
Syria had only finished one of her chores by lunchtime. Her hands were dirty from tending the garden, so she washed them and looked around the kitchen, wondering what to cook. She heard that Italy would be visiting, so she decided on something Italian. Syria didn't know many Italian recipes by heart, so she had to pull out her world cookbook.
"Hmm," she said, flipping through the pages, "Ah, here we are. Italian food." She looked through the list of recipes. Finally, she found one she liked. "Prawn and prosciutto roll-ups, huh?" She left the book open on the page and began following the directions. It was a small lunch, but it was lunch nonetheless.
Italy had come while Syria was still cooking. The smell of the food led him into the kitchen. He asked if he could help cook, but Syria said no and told him to just watch. Italy did just that. He hung over Syria's shoulder as she cooked and chopped.
"Syria-chan, there's no pasta!" Italy said, a bit disappointed. "It can't be Italian without pasta!" Italy kept going on about pasta. Syria waited until he stopped speaking to say anything.
"Not all Italian food has pasta," she said in a soft voice. "Pizza doesn't have pasta." Italy frowned at her. "You're Italian, you should know this, Italy-kun."
"But pasta is my favorite!" Italy whined. Syria just smiled at him and finished up her cooking. She plated the food and turned to Italy.
"I made this especially for you, Italy-kun. I hope you like it. Let's take it to France," Syria said. Italy smiled when he heard she made the food for him. It cheered him up instantly, and he didn't care about it not having pasta anymore. He ran off towards the room France was in, and Syria followed behind him.
Italy burst through the door of France's office, "Big brother France! Big brother France! I'm here! And Syria-chan made us lunch! She said she made it especially for me!" France turned and smiled at Italy. He took the two plates from Syria and sat down at the couch in the room. He motioned Italy to sit with him and placed one of the plates on the coffee table in front of him.
"Today's lunch is prawn and prosciutto roll-ups," Syria said. "Bon appétit, Messieurs." She bowed and stood off to the side of the room. France and Italy chatted as they ate. Italy seemed to really like the dish, which made Syria happy. Italy, in all his innocent glory, made Syria happy. It was a nice break from the devious France, who had enough sex drive for two people. Often times she thought about leaving and living with Italy, but then again, Italy could get annoying quickly.
"Sabeen, we're finished eating, if you'd please take these dishes," France said, before turning back to Italy. Syria collected the dishes and went back to her chores. After awhile, Italy left. He gave Syria a friendly hug before leaving.
It was almost night time when Syria had finally finished her chores. One of the maids took over dinner for her so she didn't have to stay up all night scrubbing the last of the floors. She decided to relax by taking a long, warm bubble bath. As she was stepping into the water, someone knocked at the door.
"Mon chére, are you taking a bath without me?" France chimed from behind the door. Syria rolled her eyes and scowled, nestling herself into the tub. France turned the doorknob and opened the door, walking into the bathroom. Syria acted as if this was an everyday thing.
"Monsieur, please, this is my private time," Syria said. France just smiled at her as he stripped down.
"It's now bonding time for us, mon amour," he stated as he got into the tub with Syria. "Come sit over here." Syria sighed, a light blush forming on her cheeks, and sat against France's chest. France smiled and wrapped his arms around Syria.
This was another reason Syria wanted to leave: she never got any private time. She had to sleep in the servant's quarters with the other maids, so there was no privacy there. People were always running around the house and talking with each other, so she wasn't alone while doing her chores. She at least expected some private time in the bath.
France went ahead and washed Syria's hair for her, massaging her scalp as he did. Syria remained quiet as France rambled on about work. She stared at the wall most of the time. Syria wasn't interested in playing France's games.
"Mon amour, why are you so quiet?" France asked. "I feel like I'm having a one-sided conversation." Syria sighed and looked down at the bubbles. They were starting to disappear.
"It's just awkward for me, being in the bath with you," Syria said quietly. France just smiled and tilted her head back to look at her in the eyes.
"You're so cute," he said, and gave her a kiss on the lips. Syria blushed and just sat there, waiting for him to pull away. She wasn't going to give him what he wanted. France pulled away. "And you're so shy too." He went back to washing her.
Syria went to bed that night feeling a bit violated. France hadn't tried much more besides groping, but it still felt...wrong. She sat on her bed and pulled her stuffed rabbit, Sargon, out from under her pillow. One of the button-eyes was coming loose and started to hand. She frowned at the doll.
"We need to get out of here, Sargon," she said. She lay down in her bed, hugging Sargon tightly to her chest. Syria went to sleep with a frown on her face.
