Introductions
"You do realized that you are here solely at my own leisure and I will not stand for any of your improper advances or perversions.".
France looked at his neighboring island nation with a long moment of thoughtful expression before giving him a round of mocking applause. "Angleterre, that sounded almost eloquent.", Francis sniffed, "You will note my emphasis on ze word 'almost'. Ze word 'Eloquent' should never be in any sentence to describe you favorably.".
"To hell with you then, frog! I'll send you back across the pond in pieces!", England snapped, drawing his cutlass. He didn't have to put up with this shite. He was a force of nature upon the ocean and a true power now, something to be respected or that the very least feared.
A soft whimper that originated from somewhere around their kneecaps made the pirate king pause though, suddenly remembering the reason why the two old nations were in each other's company in the first place. France and England had both recently acquired 'little brothers' here in the New World, a pair of twins to be exact. Not wanted to repeat mistakes in the past made by themselves and other nations(England's life would be so much easier if he and his kin got along) and at the NA brother's insistence, they were all meeting with each other to visit. England only agreed to it as long as they all met on his side of the border. He didn't trust Francis but in all fairness, he didn't trust anyone. It was a rather short list to begin with and he wasn't even on it half the time.
A small blonde haired child looked up at England from behind France's legs, having taken refuge there. His soft lilac eyes were already ringed white with fear and tearing up. England had forgotten completely about him, the nation admitted freely to himself even as he kept his fighting stance ready and weapon draw. Loss of either would be admitting a defeat of sorts and he would be damned if he was going to do that in front of the snail sucker. The lack of notice and the loss of memory bothered England though who prided himself on his observational skill and keenness of mind. His survival had depended greatly on both in the past. England wondered vaguely to himself if the small nation before him had some sort of spell or magic about him that made him forgettable. He would have to ask his fairies later their thoughts on the matter…if he remembered. Try as he might, England could not find a name for him either, the child nation's name dancing elusively on the tip of his tongue.
"See what you have done? Now poor little Canada is upset.", Francis cooed, inadvertently helping England out with his mental quandary. Canada still refused to let go of the older nation's trousers, clinging to the colorful silk as his life depended on it. "Do not worry yourself, ma petite. I know that Angleterre is frighteningly unsophisticated….."
England grit his teeth but stayed quiet for the sake of the child's calm.
"…and has eyebrows that look like they could eat you but…", Francis continued, arching his own perfectly shaped and quite thin brows pointedly.
"OI!", England could not let that one go. No one insulted the eyebrows especially not over dressed frogs that smelled like stinky cheese. Canada jumped with a frightened squeak at the sharp exclamation, letting go of France to drop down to his knees, gripping tightly at them with tiny shaking hands.
England groaned inwardly as Francis fixed a death glare upon him. He met it with his own evenly enough out of old habit, not giving an inch. As far as England was concerned, France was just as responsible for upsetting Canada as he was, though specifics didn't help matters now that the little one was starting to cry, rocking in place. Francis refrained from comforting him, only because he did not wish to drop his guard around his nemesis. Armed English and unprotected backsides did not bode well for him. That and he was not to be at fault when this little experiment of theirs imploded upon them. It would be just one more thing to hang over England's head, along with his severe lack of culinary skills and unimaginative fashion sense.
England resisted the urge to drag his free hand down the length of his face. Crying never sat well with him, a source of discomfort and intense embarrassment felt for the crier on his part. He believed that emotions like these should be entertained in private though if that had been the case, his own little brother would have never chosen him. Feeling uncomfortably hypocritical, England was also feeling vaguely silly for having his sword drawn still but couldn't think of a way of sheathing it that would look natural.
"Hey, why are you crying?", brightly spoken words made Canada look up and the older nations look over as another small nation joined them. He was obviously Canada's twin, though his hair was a shade more honey with a stubborn cowlick than strawberry with a wayward floating curl and his eyes were an almost painful shade of azure blue, they were so sharp and intense in color, instead of a soothing shade of amethyst. He tromped out of the wood as if he owned them before coming to a stop in front of his huddled brother.
The small child barely spared France a glance of acknowledgement, something that irked the older nation who frowned down at him. England's growing smirk at the insult was the only thing that kept him silent on the matter. Francis soothed himself with thoughts of defeating England and taking America for himself. He would definitely spend time undoing all of England's uncouth influences upon him and teach him some proper manners as well.
America crouched down with his twin, their foreheads touching lightly as his clumsy hands made a mess of wiping away Canada's tears, mostly due to the fact America was covered in dirt, the twigs embedded in his hair further evidence of his rough play in the woods. Both France and England winced at the gesture but for different reasons. France prayed to the god of textiles that America would not touch Canada's pristine gown of snow white silk. Flesh was so much more easy to clean off than the delicate material. England instantly felt exhausted having already seen his immediate future for this evening. It involved giving America a bath. It was a hazard and an adventure all in one involving a tiny, eel like nation with super strength who avoided bathes like he was the plague and soapy water was the cure.
It seemed to work though as Canada stopped trembling and started to whisper something to his twin in a voice like a breeze through reeds. America nodded from time to time, his still expression far too solemn for one so young looking. A conclusion was made soon enough as America popped up, one hand on his hip and the other pointing straight up to the sky. France gave England an inquiring look on the matter, the island nation shaking his head with a roll of eyes in answer. It was just a strange pose America did from time to time, he really had no idea why. England just hoped it was something America would grow out of.
"Don't worry about that! They yell all the time!", America told Canada assuredly, "It's not like they are actually gonna hurt each other.". France caught England's eyes with his own, stormy cerulean blue meeting cool forest green, the two old nations nodding in silent agreement for now.
"I will not say anything if you do not at well.", was promised quietly between them. There was no reason to ruin such purity at the moment. Life and reality would do that soon enough for them so they might as well enjoy the twin's ignorance. It was bliss after all, both to the children and the old bloody nations who got to observe the rarity of it. Innocence was fleeting and extraordinary enough to find in mortals. Its presence in nation was like being able to hold a perfect spider web in your hand, made on the trembling tips of your fingers. One twitch and it would be ruined irreparably forever.
"C'mon, let go play!", America grinned, pulling Canada up by his hand, linking their arms further as he dragged his brother forward. Canada blinked in surprise as America paused in their escape to pat England's leg in greeting, beaming up at the pirate who took the opportunity to sheath his sword with a smooth, long practiced gesture.
Canada shuddered, not understanding how America could love such a frightening person. He much preferred France in his colorful silks and mounds of intricate lace. His older brother's manner was languid and comforting, France putting some sort of thought into every gesture he made so that it was beautiful and elegant.
In direct contrast, England looked too harsh…..too sharp in his salt encrusted leather and stained crimson coat, his wiry body practically bristled with weapons. It wasn't that Canada thought England was ugly. He was just scary with his thin lips that seemed to only snarl and heavy brows that always seemed to furrow darkly in anger and/or contempt. This close to the pirate Canada could smell the metallic scent of blood and sea salt, and the coarseness it made him recoil from the older nation. He wanted to hide behind France again but America's grip upon his arm was unbreakable. Canada tried holding his breathe instead. France always smelled like flowers and sweet spices from the perfumes and oils he preferred and rich red wine left out to decanter. Canada tried to focus on that, hoping that America did not linger too long in England's presence.
"Do not be long or go too far. We will be eating soon.", England said in a surprising gentle tone, one that made Canada look up at him as the older nation leaned in to ruffle America's hair affectionately. Canada found himself staring in wonder at England smile, the expression transforming the older nation's face, softening it its severity. This close he could see how green England's eyes actually were, the spectrum of which he had never realized before. Unbidden, they made him think of the light green colors of leaves unfurling to catch the first drops of spring rain and the dark green colors of paths less taken, overhung and shadowed by gentle sentinels.
With great effort and even greater care, Canada hesitantly reached out to pat at England's leg, his finger no more than just grazing the salt pitted leather of the pirate's boot. He was surprised to find it soft under his touch, especially since nothing said 'soft' about England. Canada was even more surprise by the grace of the fingers that touched the crown of his head, touching him as lightly as he had touched England in return.
"That goes for you as well.", England told Canada, smiling down at him. Despite his earlier feelings, Canada found himself returning the expression, breathing in deeply as he did so. The complex bouquet of heather, mist, and rich earth mixed with rainwater was noticed over the earlier notes of salt and blood now. While it wasn't the same comforting sweet scents of France, it certainly wasn't unpleasant either. Canada found himself jerked out of his contemplation though by an impatient America, who was beginning to wonder why his twin was staring off into space when there were so many interesting things to explore before dinner time.
France watched in despair as Canada was dragged into the wood, just knowing that his dressing gown was doomed. America would probably have them rolling in the puddle of mud he could find just to spite him. A clearing of a throat reminded France that England was still very much here and miracle of miracles, even attempting to be polite.
"Well then, I guess we should get dinner started then.", England said carefully calm in an effort to keep civil with his long time sparring partner.
"We? There is no 'we' in the matter of ze kitchen. You are going to find something else to do, preferable far away from moi and anything that is considered food, and I will go make ze supper.", France snorted, enjoying the sight of England's face going all pinched and red with unconcealed rage.
"Now see here, frog!", England yelled. He found himself addressing France's back though, the nation already walking off towards England's house. France chuckled to himself as more curses were spat at his back in varying versions of the English language, including one form that had fallen out of use about five hundred years ago and only existed on grave markers and lost tomes.
Francis couldn't help but think to himself that this truce of sorts might actually be fun.