Hello to all my FanFic readers! This is my first FrUk FanFic so please don't be too harsh! Please review!
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia...
"Hey Francis, come on." Arthur said as he led the way to the backyard. Francis could've sworn he heard some sort of banging upstairs, but decided to ignore it. When they arrived, he saw that there was a picnic table set up with some kind of repugnant purplish-orange liquid slosh with chunks of green plasma floating inside a bowl in the middle. The Frenchman stopped dead in his tracks and eyed the Brit suspiciously.
"What? ...what is this?" Francis asked hesitantly.
"Well, for past few months you've been persistently pursuing me, and I've always turned you down. But I realized that that was rude and I should at least give you a chance. So I called you over on a date." The Englishman answered innocently.
"Ohhonhonhon, so you've finally succumbed to charm," Francis chuckled as he sat down in a chair by the picnic table. "Well, I can't act like I'm surprised. I knew it would happen eventually."
"How dare you- eh hem. I mean, of course I would," Arthur said through the most genuine smile he could muster. "Who wouldn't fall for that smile, or those gorgeous blue orbs of yours?"
"Yes, they are gorgeous aren't they?" Francis agreed as gazed into a mirror that seemed to appear out of thin air.
"Anyway, let's get to the date now, shall we?"Arthur suggested, sitting in a chair across from the Frenchman.
"Sure," Francis replied, putting his mirror on the table. "So, what are we going to do? Go to the toxic waste facility and give them this purple glop? Because that seems like an awful idea for a date."
"Um...no," the Brit said trying not to yell at the man for insulting his food. "We are going to have lunch together." Francis didn't quite understand how they were going to lunch with no food in sight, until Arthur took the bowl in front of him and started to put some of the purple slop in it.
"Hey, um... what are you doing?" Francis inquired.
"Just giving you some of the food silly."
"Uh huh and where did you get that...'food'?"
"I made it, of course."
"I knew it!" Francis cried. "Look, if you didn't want to date me, you could have just told me. There was no need to try to poison me, that's just below the belt."
"I wasn't trying to poison you, you bloody wanker! I just wanted you to try my food." Arthur yelled as he dropped the bowl in his hands. The purple glop landed on the grass and it started to sizzle.
"See! You see that? You were too trying to poison me!" the Frenchman accused.
"Crap, I honestly thought the fifteenth try was edible." the Brit muttered.
"Wait, what? It took you fifteen tries to make that slop?" Francis asked unbelievingly. "What was it supposed to be anyway?"
"Just because you think it's poison, doesn't mean that it still isn't technically food!"
"That's not what I meant. I mean, what type of dish of is it?" Francis asked, trying to place a name on the repugnant purplish-orange liquid slosh with chunks of green plasma floating inside that sat in front of him.
"Wait? What do you mean what type of dish?" the Brit asked. Francis looked quizzically at the Englishman.
"I mean, what were you trying to prepare for me? Fish and chips? Bangers and mash?"
"I still don't know what you're talking about."
"Okay, um...what kind of recipe did you did look at to make this meal?"
"Recipe? No, a true Englishmen would not forfeit to cooking by a recipe. We simply toss a bunch of things we find around the house into the pot and stir." Francis stared at the Brit, horrified as he tried to process what he just said. "Wait, did you say things you find around the house?"
"Yeah, pencils, briefcases, toxic waste, what's ever closest to you really." Arthur explained.
"When would you have toxic waste in your kitchen?" The Frenchman questioned a little more terrified of the dish in front of him.
"When you have a brother like Alfred, who insists that toxic waste can give you superpowers, you kind of have to have it on hand. But don't look so frightened, I didn't put any in this meal. Oh and what's a kitchen?"
"You know, the part of the house where your cook food. Or in your case, slop. It usually consists of a fridge, stove, cabinet, etc."
"So, that's what that room is for. I thought it was for decoration."
"What? Then how did you make that...thing?" Francis asked, pointing at the purplish-orange slosh.
"Oh, I just used the cauldron."
"What?"
"You know, the large black bowl everyone has in their backyard. Honestly, you know about the kitchen but not the cauldron?"
"Wait, you have a cauldron in your backyard? Then how come I don't see it?" Francis watched as the Englishman got up and took off the large rag that covered the object in the middle of the yard. Sure enough, a large black cauldron appeared as the Brit removed the cloth.
"So that's why it must've taken you fifteen tries," Francis said, glaring at the large black bowl. As he continued to stare at the bowl where things go to die, something dawned upon him. "But I can't imagine anything worse than this."
"Then you really should have seen the first fourteen tries."