Chapter one
'texthere':are thoughts
"texthere": are phone messages.
Paris-PresentDay
France's POV
Francis Bonnefoy, the human presentation of the Republic of France, was feeling lazy. Not that he didn't normally feel like this, but today was a special occasion.
Today was July 14. His birthday. He smiled as he watched his people celebration on the television from the comfort of his countryside home.
Despite what most of the nations thought, France actually lived pretty modestly. Though comfortable, it was probably best described as a cottage. The living room was open and inviting with a big blue plush couch in the center and a large screened TV across from it. A glass coffee table stood between the two.
The kitchen was equally as inviting with a window that opened looked out on a forest. An antique oven and stove took central stage here and in the far corner, stood two cabinets; one for food stuffs and the other for his precious wines. A brightly lit hallway passed by a richly decorated bathroom and led toward two bedrooms- one for himself and the other for guests.
The master bedroom was by far the most expensive room in the house. Decorated in rich blues and pure whites, this was the one room that the southern nation had spared no expense on. A large four-poster bed stood in the center with fluffy pillows and a comforter decorated in fleur-dis-lis. Above the bed hung a massive French flag.
A cherry-oak desk stood off to the side where a lap sat, closed and silently glowing. And on the other side, a book self stood, filled with every book written by a French author, and even some foreign titles as well. It was in this room that France could be himself, in whatever way he saw fit.
Across the hall, the guest room was comfortably decorated in soft creams and ivory. The flags of each nation were strung up around the room and there were little trinkets from each nation hung here or perched there. The bed off to the side and under a large window, was comfortable. And another cherry-oak desk stood beside the bed.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He glanced at it from his spot on the couch. It was a notification from facebook. Yet another well wisher from his friends list. He'd been receiving them all day. His favorite had to be the one he had received early this morning from England. It had read: "AnotheryearaliveBloodyFrog.Trynottomakeahabitofit.:P" He picked it up and pressed a button to view the message.
He was vaguely surprised to see it was from America. The young nation seldom seemed to remember anyone's birthday besides his own and Mexico's. It read: "YoDudeHappybirthdayfromtheHero!Makesureyougettotallywastedforme'kay?" The French nation had to smile. It was difficult to remember that the excitable American was only 19 in human years. He laughed and tapped a reply.
"Certainementmonami,Ionlywishyoucouldbeheretocelebratewithme;)" He hit send and put his phone back down. Almost immediately his phone buzzed again. Shaking his head in amusement, he picked it back up, expecting a reply from the quick thumbed American. Instead, his eyes widened at a text from Germany.
He hadn't really spoken to the Northern nation all that much. Well not since... he shook himself before the memories could take hold again. This was a day for celebration. Not for remembering the past. Still...
He looked down at his phone; a strange foreboding overcoming him. Germany had never before given him any well wishes on his birthday previously. Why now, he wondered.
Overcoming, whatever oddness he was feeling, he pressed "view". Like the nation himself, the text was simple and direct.
It read, "Iamgladyouarenotdead." He cringed. He knew exactly what the words were referring to. But why now? Why bring this up after seventy plus years? He clenched his teeth and typed out a response:
"Qui.Donottellmethatafteralloftheseyears,youarefeelingremorseful?" He knew the text was scornful, but he did not care. His phone buzzed a reply and he hesitated. Did he really want the answer?
He pick up the phone.
"Ja,doch"
He set the phone back down and ran a shaky hand through his blonde locks. He couldn't decide whether he was more angry or upset. 'Merde!'He thought.
With his good mood completely ruined, he stood and stumbled toward the wine cabinet in the kitchen.
He opened the door and started sifting through the bottles. All he needed was a tall glass of Merlot and he'd be golden. He muttered to himself as looked over the years.
He was startled out of his wine haze by the sound of his phone ringing.
Going back to the living room he picked up his phone, thinking that it was England or Spain calling him.
It was not. The screen read Kraut. It was Germany. His lip trembled. What could he possibly want?
Swallowing his apprehension, he picked up the phone.
"Uh hello France? I vould like to speak vith you if that's possible...?"
Chapter one/end
A/N: Nothing too terribly exciting happens in the first chapter. A word of warning for readers: This is a fanfic heavily invested in historic facts. If anyone wants to know the actual history behind anything in the story just message me.