Those Russian violet eyes widen in shock, "Alphonse?" Outside, the first few droplets of rain gently patter against the glass pane and cement.

Alphonse, satisfied with the shocked response, recedes back to his chair. While looking at Ivan's gracing features, in a purr-like tone responds,"Correct, it is I." A slight smirk arises from Alphonse's features. Ivan's shock still hasn't wavered… no, this only arises more questions. "Well… I should be telling you about myself soon. Since you're new to… me." Alphonse's porcelain finger spirals around the cup of tea, slowly circling around the smooth, warm edge. He gazes into the cup, the contents swish back and forth. Alphonse feels the piercing stare directing towards him.

Shock turns into questionable interest, Ivan's full attention diverts back on the mass in front of him. Bending forward, he causes the Victorian wooden table to creak slowly, "Eyes and ears, you have the honors." Ivan straightens his posture, trying to not show vulnerability in front of the enemy. He laces his fingers slowly and professionally. Placing his fingers on the wooden furniture. Giving his most gruesome smile. A gesture that shows he's ready to kill.

Alphonse, showing no interest at the moment, decides that the cup is more interesting than explaining to the Russian. He continues to rotate the glass cup. His fingertips begin to redden from the strong grip. "Hmm...Ivan. May I call you that? I feel like that's going to be a big step for us." Alphonse glances up to the Russian's gaze. His golden eyelashes flutter when he blinks, "Of course, unless you're against that. Though I'm fine with calling you Russia." Again, the name is dragged out in dangerous emphasis.

"You may." A barely noticeable sarcastic undertone came with Ivan's response; it sounded more threatening than sly. "However, in return, I want answers to my question." Ivan's darkening mood provides no solace for anyone. The storm clouds begins to roll in. The rain's droplets increases, darkening the pavements outside.

"You're a man of questions and curiosity, aren't you?" Alphonse tilts his head slightly.

Ivan inches towards the blond, but leaves a considerable amount of personal space. "I just want, oh... an explanation for the earlier events."

"Patience, my friend, it's a virtue. It's something that you lack. Questions will all be answered in due time." Alphonse takes a sip from his tea again. The sweetly sickening smell of French brewed tea fills the air. "Mmm. Chamomile." Alphonse gently places the cup of tea back on the saucer, the clink of glass hitting each other was audible to both. That's how silent both of them are submersed in. Alphonse tests the other party's response in return. He looks at the Russian's white-washed scarf, inspecting every nook and cranny of the Russian's profile. 'How handsome.'

"This, my friend, has nothing to do with patience. I'm simply not a person of games and charades. I want answers. I would prefer it if you comply with demands… unless your explanation of the situation is too mundane for me to listen." Russia gains the upper hand. For a moment, he sees Alphonse's hand grip tightly. He also catches Alphonse's reddened knuckles, something that he didn't see earlier prior to being with Alfred. He was about to pose a question, but decided against that. Not a very good time right now.

The mocking comeback irritates the blond; the comment was unexpected. He glares daggers into the cup. The Russian, noticing the change, can't help but put on his infamous smile as a response to the victory in the battle of wits. As fast as the irritation showed up on Alphonse's face, it clears away with a sly like smile. He looks up from his steaming cup and into the Russian's naturally pale face.

Like a broken record, the rain was the only sound that plays between them aside from the movements of other customers. "Very well. Let us go, yes? To the hotel?" Alphonse gets up from his seat. He straightens out his black Italian suit and fixes his red silk tie, "I'll pay." Then, reaching in his breast pocket, he pulls out 50 euros (tips included) and throws it on the wooden table.

Alphonse looks down at the ever so confused man. "I feel that if we're going to discuss, we're going to discuss elsewhere." He waits for the Russian to stand up. The Russian looks at the American's well tailored suit. The gray sky rays beams against the blonde's eyes and hair. It illuminates in the low lit cafe and enhances the beauty; for a moment, Ivan saw an angel. "Well, are you going to go or have you come upon a revelation that this is too 'mundane' for you?"

Midway in his motion to get up, he asks,"Why not here? This is a perfect place to discuss."

"I have my reasons that I don't feel like explaining, but I do want my privacy. The clock is ticking, make your decision." He urges on. The blond walks away to the entrance as if he's leading. "There's also a passed out Frenchman in the restroom." He whispered to himself.

Ivan gets up from his seat and fixes his white Russian symbol cuffs. "I might as well. Lead the way if you're not already doing so. Be quick. I don't want to play around." Ivan quickens his pace and reaches the American. Ivan's polished oxfords click on top of the marbled flooring, echoing throughout the cafe spaces.

"Ah, don't worry, every second will not be wasted." The cafe doors open and the breeze of cold Parisian air hits them with droplets of rain in the mix. He looks back at the following Russian and gave a small smile, one where danger lies full speed ahead. "I assure you, by the end of the day, your opinion of me will never be the same." The gray clouds fill the empty skies with a melancholic feel, rain acts like watery daggers. It's as if the world is crying at the resurrection of Alphonse F. Jones.


Sorry for such the long wait... I was in this deep sea of homework... but also mainly due to me not wanting to write.

Hopefully I improved a little. Thanks to the help of my good friend, the grammar and minor mistakes are fixed.

Anyways... I'ma go back into that writers depression until I find something inspirational. I'ma try to write more.