New England Clam Chowder
(In which Alfred cooks for Arthur and Francis and Arthur is thrown into a happy delusional…….)
Warning: Alfred's cooking, general OCCness, bad grammar, and slight perverted thoughts….
So Alfred had cooked something for them. So what? It wasn't like it was a deathly liquid and it was not some subtle attempt to kill him. Yes, thought Francis. Of course, it was not. After all, the plan of "Mort de France" (Death of France) through soup was just so cowardly…… so un-American. Or least, that was what France told himself.
So what if Alfred had decided to be nice and make him so soup. (The word, cook, France mused, and America didn't belong together in the same sentence.) So what if Alfred had invited him over to taste said soup. So what? So what? This, thought Francis, is ridiculous. Oblivious, he was being paranoid. Alfred had simply invited him over (and that bastard Arthur as well) from some soup and only soup. NOT some newly found American poison. Plus, Francis added in his mind. Alfred was wearing an apron. An apron. So Francis, firm in his opinion -that Alfred was not trying to secretly poison him, amused himself with ideas that were (perverted) summoned by the young American in a dress.
---American/France Revolution!---
Iggy, err…Arthur, was not having such dark thoughts about the dish that America was going to be presenting them. After all, this was Alfred! This was America! He (Arthur) had taught him to cook! (A fact-that- for some reason seemed to trouble Francis greatly.) Everything would be fine. He thought with pride.
Just then, his stomach rumbled. Git, he silently thought to himself. This, of course, was aimed at Alfred (who was talking a surprisingly long time in the kitchen), not his stomach and defiantly not himself, seeing as he skipped breakfast on purpose. He just wanted to keep himself empty –in case, Alfred (being the American that he is) decided to give him big portions. Really, that was it.
Groaning, he held his stomach. On second thought, as his stomach rumbled again, maybe he should of asked India* to cook some of her delicious curry after all, instead of running (yes, he actually managed to run all the way across the sea, just to see America) here in a frenzied state when he gotten told by Wales that Alfred was going to cook for him.
US!UK! SPECIAL RELATIONSHIP! ~
Arthur and Francis were not at each other's throats, amazingly. Both of them too preoccupied with their own thoughts. (Francis with his morbid poison soup theory and Arthur with his hunger.) Thoughts they were both harshly thrusted out of when they heard Alfred's calls of "Done!"
Kiss the Cook -
"Here", said Alfred. He placed both bowls in front of their respective tasters. (And for England, a nice cup of steaming tea and for Francis, a nice glass of wine, which England and France were both thankful for.) He (Alfred) was wearing an apron (that was both pink and frilly) that said "KISS THE COOK", which both Francis and Arthur planned on doing. A bright smile on his lips (when wasn't there?), Alfred beamed "Eat up."
First Taste! –
France braced himself. This was not going to be horrible. He thought silently. The soup looked edible enough and besides. He reasoned. He had Alfred's often forgotten twin brother, Matthew, to cook for him. So nothing his more upbeat and sometimes unreasonable could not be that horrible. (But then again, said Francis's dark and more paranoid side, he inherited your taste and you know that Alfred didn't….)
So France picked his spoon and spooned some soup to the edge of the glass bowl Alfred had given him. Placed the spoon in his mouth and allowed (with some coaxing) the warm liquid to slide down his mouth and hit his stomach. For second, Francis, paused, it did not taste bad… it did not taste poison. In fact, compared to his usual cold fries and greasy hamburgers, tasted quite good- actually. "Très Bien." Thought France as he allowed himself to enjoy his soup (and ignored the faint, strange, after taste) with a side and sight of Alfred in apron.
First Taste! -
To be honest, England hadn't expected Alfred to take so long. Usually, the other blond (this referred to Alfred, seeing as Francis was a blond as well) just through something in the microware. Most of Alfred's dinner were T.V ones and already precooked. But, thought Arthur. The time was worth it. While it didn't taste like India's curry, it did taste good. (Or maybe that was just his stomaching talking.) So good, in fact, England had wolfed down much of his bowl in a couple seconds.
** The American Perspective! **
Alfred was happy. Actually, he was usually happy but this was different. Francis had already given him his opinion. While it wasn't the "Super Splendid" that Alfred was hoping for, the "Very Good" he was given in French made him happy enough. Now all he had to wait for was England's approval.
Arthur began to slow down. His rapid inhaling of soup slowing down as well, he could feel Alfred's gaze on him. He could feel Alfred's bright impatient eyes on him. "What?", asked Arthur with a fake tone of annoyance. "So?", asked Alfred, his bright eyes looking hopeful. "So what?", asked Arthur with a fake scowl. "So what do you think?" Arthur scrapped the bottom of his bowl, somewhat disappointed from the lack of soup in it. "It is good.", Arthur replied., still staring at the now empty bowl. If possible Alfred's smile bighted. "For a git, I mean." Arthur taxed on. Alfred's smile fell, if not just slightly.
"So", Arthur adventured, "You have any more?" Alfred's slightly dropped smile turned into a 1000 volt beam. "You betcha!"
` Aftermath `
All the creamy soup had been finished. Manly thinks to the combine efforts of a ravenous Arthur and a "I-will-never-let-you-bet-me" face. Alfred, himself, had actually only eaten two bowls of gigantic pot. This was, the states could assure you, a change from his usually twenty…. five.
As it was all said and done, Arthur and France were both relaxing with the sight of Alfred in an apron (he still had yet to change out of it) and their favorite drinks. Arthur's sips were more gentlemanly now, much more than the staved gulps, he had taken earlier. (Secretly, he was also overjoyed in the fact that Alfred remembered how to make tea… and exactly the way he liked it.) "So", started England, off-handily. The silence was nice but a somewhat unwelcomed change, seeing as who he was with. "What was that soup called anyway?" This was asked in complete earnest, seeing as Arthur planned to ask India to make some later.
"Oh, that.", said Alfred, his nose wrinkling slightly. Too be honest, he had forgotten. New…. New …. New ….! New Something, mused Alfred.
After waiting for a few minutes and Alfred's "Ah HAH!", Arthur finally gotten his answer with a happy smile. "New England Clam Chowder." There was a pause, possible more awkward then the silence that had come before it. "Can you repeat that?", questioned Arthur. Oblivious he was not hearing right…..
So Alfred did with a slight smile and a prefix "Weren't you listening?". "New England Clam Chowder." Ahh! So he did hear Alfred right. Suddenly a slight crash could be heard and Alfred looked concerned at his former guardian, who had uncharacteristically allowed a cup of his precious tea to drop. "Are you alright?", asked Alfred, concerned.
Arthur was alright. More than alright, actually, but he didn't reply. He was too far off his dream world. He smiled somewhat drunkenly as he imagined his Alfred, his America, HIS New England by his side. This America (New England) was smiling in a dress and currently serving him tea. In response to Alfred's worried calls, he just giggled.
After math: France's Reaction
France's reaction had been so much more humorous. He had spit out some of his equally beloved wine, promptly realizing why the soup had tasted somewhat off, and screamed "Le nom de New England Fera Jamais!" Or translation: "The name New England will NEVER DO!"
Author's Notes:
So I hoped you enjoyed this. I apologize if it was somewhat confusing and I hope you all read and review.
PS: France's taste buds are awesome that he can taste the fact that Iggy has something to do with the soup! Isn't that awesome!
France: I am awesome!
England: You are not, git!
Prussia: Hey, I'm the only one who can use the word aws-
Ciao!