Francis looked about the room and glanced briefly at the people in it. Oh how he did adore watching his little Mattieu hover around young Alfred, because frankly, Alfred, himself, and Arthur are some of the few people whom regularly acknowledge his existence. Though Mattieu seemed to have caught on, and was quick to darken and ask if something was needed. Pity, he was so cute too. Alfred made an interesting subject, though his antics grew tiresome quickly. Perhaps he should look abroad, possibly look more so into Asia or Africa...
"Yeah, and that jerk England wouldn't let me run around the house either!"
Oh, does Francis hear right? Is that little Peter Kirkland talking down on his big brother again? The blonde perked up, shooting a glance toward the boy in question. Why yes, yes he was, and Berwald and Tino were listening, content as ever with their adoptive son's antics. The rest of Scandinavia sat around the three, trying their best to pay attention to the scruffy blonde at the podium. Norway seemed rather interested, which is to be expected. After all, he and Arthur have things in common and are mutual friends. Those men and their fairy tales... Francis shook his head briefly before looking back at the two men he'd not yet appraised; Iceland sat beside Norway, looking a bit like Mattieu did when Alfred insisted upon slinging his arm over his shoulders in pictures and even walking down the street, and Denmark, he was fiddling with something, though Francis couldn't be sure what.
He looked rather gloomy, compared to his usual cheery self, with his posture forgotten and his hair even more scraggly than before. Heck, even those beautiful cobalt blue eyes didn't shine with the same intensity. Poor thing. Now, mind you Francis is nothing if not affectionate, so his reaction was automatic. Denmark looked up in time to catch an innocently curious, soft look from the Frenchman. It took a moment for the message to sink before the northern nation put up a fake smile and waved it off. Francis did not buy it.