France studied her face for a minute before smiling at her. She wasn't surprised to find that it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Well we can't have that now, can we?"
He then proceeded to plop himself down on the sand, gesturing for her to join him. She did so cautiously and watched, astonished as he pulled various assortments of food and drink from different pockets of his coat as well as wooden…things. Her confusion abated as she watched him put the food on the flat wooden things and poured a tangy smelling red liquid into the hollow wooden things.
"Bon appétit, ma chère. What you see here is the best food you'll ever taste."
She regarded him coldly before curiosity got the better of her and she took a big bite out of a long, soft brown thing.
"C'est le pain exquis, ma chère."France watched her eat and the young woman tried not to feel self-conscious. "C'est bien," she mumbled around her mouthful of bread...which really was delicious. She chewed and swallowed, taking a big gulp of the dark liquid. She had to stop herself from choking on the strange taste and set it down immediately after - since it made her head feel funny.
She stared at France and he stared back. This was her first real encounter with a living person other than herself. She had lived her whole, long life her on this island – isolated, curious, and unaware. Now this…France was probably going to dump some life changing information into her fairly empty head. The young lady sighed and resigned herself to the inevitable. Best to get this over with.
"Do people usually live as long as us?" This was really her first question?
"Non. We are special. I personify a country that exists and you of a country that will exist." France paused, awkward, as if not sure of how to explain. "We live as long as our country, or as the memory of our country. Damned Prussia…"
(Prussia?)
"Country…like land?" The young woman had trouble wrapping her head around this new term.
"Ah, somewhat," France sighed and continued on. "You'll get it once you receive your name. Hopefully." He drank deeply from the bottle of liquid and looked at her. "We are the land."
Oh…
This startled her. She had never really thought to connect herself to this island. And now…the attribution seemed obvious. But something was still missing.
"Why don't I have a name?" The young woman gazed up at France, imploring him to satisfy her thirst for knowledge.
"Ah," France sighed deeply as if wishing to be anywhere else. "Sometimes, older countries just know their names, or the name changes, or it might just take a while for the name to form."
The young lady nodded and tried not to flinch as France voraciously tore into hunk of bread, spraying it occasionally. She tried a different topic.
"What are you and your men doing here?"
France stared at her incredulously. "Oh hon hon hon hon! You didn't expect, me, the Mighty France to just sit on my ass and leave a beautiful little island like you for England to take! God only knows he has enough colonies already…"
The young lady perked up at the mention of another possible country. "England?" She mentally scolded herself for the way her voice rose in pitch. "Is he a country too?"
France cursed rather loudly and backpedaled. "Oh…ah, forget I mentioned him. You don't need to contaminate your mind with the likes of that imbecile."
He smiled sickeningly-sweetly.
She gulped. Okay then. She'd find out somehow.
Silence fell between them, punctured only by France's obnoxious eating. He was still eating.
The young woman took this chance to smooth out her blue dress and think for a minute. This France had suddenly come into her solitary life and thrown this extremely frightening (but also exciting) information at her, as if expecting her to accept it. But the strange thing was that she did. It was like this 'Nation' (how did she know that term?) thing was a part of her. Which it was – he had just explained that! Her frown deepened. But sooner or later his men would come back and they would take him away and, and then he would be out of her life just as quickly – and – and she didn't want to be alone again – she had to know, had to ask –
"How long are you staying?" Her eyes shone.
France seemed taken aback, but answered quickly with an air that suggested he didn't care in the slightest of what she thought. But the way he looked at her… She didn't really understand what that look implied.
"Oh, you know…Now we're just here to map. Scout things out. We'll stay for about a week and we'll leave and be back in a couple of years or so."
The young woman tried not to let on just how much this statement affected her. She had lived on this island for hundreds of years, after all…alone. She could handle two more – she could!
She cleared her throat and searched for a distraction.
"May I touch your - "
France's eyes bulged out of his sockets and he sprang to his knees, grinning. He reached out to grab – well, she didn't know what exactly because she had leapt backwards at his sudden movement.
"Your ship! May I touch your ship!"
She frowned in confusion as France seemed to deflate in front of her.
"Ah. Hon hon hon. Mais bien sûr…" He cleared his throat, stood up and offered her his hand as if nothing strange had ever occurred. Which she refused.
He rolled his eyes and bent to pick up the wooden things, (no food or drink remained except for hers, which he downed) before gesturing for her to follow him. They walked in silence to the water's edge and waded in. After a few seconds, they reached the massive ships.
The young woman gaped upwards, awestruck at the miracle before her. France's amused snort woke her from her reverie and after she threw a dirty look over her shoulder, she crept slowly towards the ship and laid a tentative hand on the barnacle encrusted bottom.
"C'est la coque." France suddenly burst into a fit of laughter and mumbled something to himself in rapid fire French. Something to do with 'telling England about that.' The young lady thought she did a stupendous job of ignoring France and his mentioning of this mysterious England. It's the hull…
"Et ces," She inquired.
"The sails, the keel, the mainmast, the hold, the rudder…" France listed the various body parts of the ship for the fascinated young woman. She ran a hand up and down the wood. How strange and magical and remarkable…
"Ma chère…" She looked up to see France glancing at the sun. She looked too and saw how low it had set.
"We cannot have the sailors see you. My captain (oh, so that's what the leader's called) knows about me and I'll have to tell him about you. But we must part ways for now."
(Wait! There's so much more I want to know. Please, please stay with me…)
"Oh. Well, good. I've had just about enough of your romanticism." She sniffed and made to turn away.
"Oh hon hon hon hon! I'm willing to bet that you don't even know the meaning of the term."
France waved cheerily and winked, watching the young woman's steps turn into stomps. Okay, well – maybe she didn't know what it meant, but – but – it certainly described France! He was strange. And romanticism was a strange word, so it made sense…somehow.
She forced her shoulders to relax and she definitely didn't turn her head to look back. She made sure of that, because she didn't really care about France – she just wanted answers. But that would have to wait for tomorrow.
She quickly ducked behind a tree when she heard shouts off in the distance. She ended up there for at least ten minutes due to the fact that the French sailors were so loud and they were so clumsy that they kept tripping over various objects. They finally passed her in one large mob. She made her way gingerly out of her hiding place; she had been crouching for a long time.
Oh! She had forgotten to ask for a meeting place with France tomorrow!
She sighed and shook her head. She'd find him. She would have the entire night to devise questions that she could ask him – questions that would finally be answered! She couldn't wait! Not for France, of course, just for the answers.
Satisfied with her logical reasoning, the young woman in the blue dress wove through the many, many trees to a little cave deep in the jungle where she slept. She was relieved that the sailors hadn't found it out. She stretched, sighed sleepily and let the soft trickle of the underground stream lull her to sleep.
AN - Chapter three! Hope you enjoyed. They'll be getting longer from here on out, I believe.
Translations: C'est le pain exquis, ma chère - That's exquisite bread, my dear.
Et ces? - And these?
Footnotes: It wasn't until after I wrote it that I realized Prussia was still a country and not a memory of one. :P So let's just pretend France was refering to Prussia's empire...
Bonus Humour: Can you imagine how hard I laughed when I looked up the French word for 'hull' and found out it was 'coque?' Oooomgg, perfect for France. His reaction was basically mine. :P