There weren't as many ships passing by as there used to be, the young woman noted. Strange…
She had found out earlier with the short time that she had had with France that there was a small island to the south-west called L'Ile de France. That was where he had been staying during the brief space of time between his visits here.
Right. Brief. Two years is certainly brief.
The interesting thing was that her yearning to see France had dissipated somewhat after that awful dream she had dreamt a few months ago. Thankfully it - or anything similar to it - had never returned. But this didn't stop her fear of sleep during the late evening hours, lest the nightmares returned.
She took out the small mirror that France had given her and studied her reflection for the umpteenth time. With this she could see herself clearly, not like the distortion in the frothy and bubbling river surface.
A girl with a tan, brown eyes and brown hair looked back at her. Light brown, brown and dark brown. All she had was brown. Thank goodness for her blue dress and red ribbons. Those were nice.
Wait, what? Since when had she ever cared about her appearance? Why should that even be important?
She looked at the mirror and contemplated smashing it on a rock, but thought better of it - lest an animal ate it, or something.
She wondered what kinds of animals lived in France.
I I I
L'Ile de France. She remembered France boasting about how it helped create an easier travel route to India where the French East India Company was 'flourishing,' as France had put it. The young woman had actually caught herself pouting (and stopped immediately, of course) and she certainly wasn't jealous – she was just…jealous.
But more than four years had passed since his last visit, so he certainly wasn't living there now. Wrestling with England… how juvenile.
This particular memory reminded her of that dream she had had the day after France had left. There were other Nations in it... Ha! Now France would have to tell her about these Nations. He had probably even let slip a couple of these names when he talked to himself – which happened a lot. More than was probably healthy.
She sighed bemusedly and listed the Nations she knew of off in her head. There were: England, Austria, Prussia, France and America. And that one playing the piano who she didn't know the name of. Oh, and that white haired man who…well. Were they already in her list? How many Nations were there anyways?
She threw her hand up in frustration and scoffed, hating how much she didn't know. There were so many glorious things that islands in the middle of the ocean just weren't privy to. Like apples. Mmmm… France had described its tart, juicy taste – but what good was that if she didn't even know what that meant? What the heck is 'tart' anyways?
She leapt to her feet and stomped off to a nice, particularly soft patch of sand. She wanted to draw a piano (she decided that the big black thing in her dream was a piano) and pretend to play it to the tune of Frère Jacques. So there. She could pretend.
It just wasn't good enough, though.
I I I
It was on the one of the dawns of 1754 that the young woman woke up feeling strange. Not sick, just strange. Like she was a spirit – not really seeing, not really feeling, just existing.
She rubbed her eyes, slowly, slowly and rose to her knees – crawling out of her cave and then getting to her feet. She walked down the path, dragging her feet, eyes half-closed and not caring. Why wasn't she caring again?
Who cares? She didn't care. She didn't know why she didn't care, but today was strange. Let's just leave it at that and maybe everything would be alright soon. She lifted her arms out and brushed them against some over hanging leaves, trance-like.
"Haha… big leafy things…orange ball…brown-nuts. I was so, so, uneducated." She yawned and for some reason that was really funny, so she laughed and laughed, but that hurt her sides, so she had to stop. She would just trust her feet because they seemed to be moving on their own today.
The soft vegetation started to slope gently downwards and soon gave way to slightly coarser sand granules and then to the wet ocean. Which was clear. And didn't really change colours.
She giggled. "Water changing colours."
She stood there for a long, long time – blue dress and tied hair waving lazily in the breeze. Her blue dress waved under the blue sky and the, the clear? Blue? Hmmm… The waves lapped at her feet. And for what must have been the first time, she truly felt at one with her surroundings. They were a part of her.
But she wasn't making that much sense in her mind because she had been a part of this land for – what – two and a half centuries now (and what was going on?) – her mind was kinda fuzzy, too, so maybe that had something to do with it and – and she decided she just wasn't going to think anymore.
So she stared out into the horizon. And she smiled because she was content in the way that simply existing is enough to make someone incredibly lucky.
That is, until a fish jumped out of the water. A fish which the red rays of the dying – no, newly born sun - (the sun doesn't really die, silly) reflected off of and onto the red ribbons in her hair.
How familiar. It had happened before, right? Just the opposite time of day…
"Red sky at morning, sailors take warning - uh oh…"
She decided to not walk over to the Thinking Rock because that would seem too cliché. Nah, she was fine here. In her home. In the water, lapping, lapping, plouf, plouf. Ha! French. French was weird. What other languages…oh, never mind.
She was so at peace, she decided. Nothing could be more calm and wonderful.
Until something flitted through her consciousness and out an ear (because where else would it go?)
Her jaw twitched.
Whisperwhisper.
Twitch. What was that? No more peace?
S-whisper-s… Now she was just curious. Come again please, voice?
A long pause, too long. Then –
SEYCHELLES!
She shouted in surprise and stepped back, having assumed that the voice would have whispered again. Which is saying something since people don't usually tend to assume that voices are speaking to them in their heads in the first place. Huh.
Could this be…?
In an instant, her head seemed to clear and soon what seemed like the entire island was whispering 'Seychelles, Seychelles, Seychelles,' over and over and the wind was picking up and the fish had long since disappeared, but the trees were swaying and the sun vanished under the cloud line and the young woman was laughing and laughing and crying in delight because, because-
It was her! Seychelles! It, it was her name, it had to be! What else could feel so right?
She twirled around and around, taking in everything around her: the blue sea, the yellow sky, her red ribbons, the white sand and the green palm trees all blending together to welcome her name unto her and – wow! What a feeling!
She had never been so elated in her life! Not when France had returned, not as a small child, but now! She finally had her name.
"Seychelles." The word rolled smoothly off of her tongue and she closed her eyes and beamed up at the sky, steadily growing darker and the memory of all the colours, all the unity, all the perfection flashed before her tightly shut eyes.
"I am Seychelles. That is who I am. Forever." Even the wind couldn't steal her whispered words away.
"Thank you…"
Her eyes snapped open and she whooped in sheer joy. She couldn't wait to tell France!
I I I
Sometime in mid 1754, Seychelles (Seychelles!) was walking down the beach, munching on a lump of fish meat that she had cooked the previous evening.
This time after she killed an animal for sustenance, she would give thanks for its sacrifice. She didn't know why, really – it had just seemed right. Now that she could properly relate to everything around her.
Every so often she would simply stop what she was doing and touch a tree or splash in the water or let the sand run through her fingers. She would re-acquaint herself with the island. And she loved it. Was this how all nations felt when they received their name? This invincible pride and love for what they embodied?
Seychelles smiled. She found she was smiling a lot, actually. Her jaw would probably freeze in a smiling position if she kept this up.
She shook her head and looked up – and nearly choked.
There were two ships in the distance – flying French colours! Could it be France?
She swallowed her last mouthful and tore off down the beach, to where the granitic cliffs started rising from the sand. She climbed up the sides at a furious pace and finally stood, panting at the top in order to get a better view.
"Dammit!" She had forgotten her spyglass in the cave. "Oops!" A hand few to her mouth, delayed. "I mean: 'darn it.'" A pause. "No - I don't, France is back and I forgot my damn spyglass!"
She groaned and considered running through the jungle to grab it, but thought better of it. The ships would have probably arrived by the time she came back. She could wait. She had waited for about ten years after all. Stupid wars…
So she sat. And fidgeted. And positively shook with anticipation. France was back!
I I I
As time passed, Seychelles eventually came to rest on her stomach, legs crossed at the ankles and her hands hung off of the fifty foot cliff overhanging the sea.
The ships meandered their way past the rock face and off into the sandy shoal – taking their time, the lazy Frenchmen.
She watched them appear slowly from various nooks and crannies – making their way slowly to their assigned jobs. Which was strange, really. Usually they were extremely lively and not to mention colourful. But Seychelles couldn't really hear any shouts or curses. Weren't they glad to be back?
She puzzled over their lack of enthusiasm for a while. Too long of a while – they really were taking their sweet time to disperse, weren't they?
The captain came to the mainmast and gathered the sailors together for what must have been a meeting of some sort. They huddled together for a short while before they turned away and – surprisingly – roamed back below deck. The captain then walked to the port side and cupped his hands around his mouth – shouting something to the other captain. Seychelles looked over to the second captain and – oh, it was France. Interesting.
"I guess it's not that surprising that France would captain his own ship," she mused out loud.
Oh how she wished she had brought her spyglass…
No matter. The captain had given France a two fingered salute and was waddling downstairs to accomplish who-knows-what captain business, leaving France alone on deck. He stood for a while (she couldn't really make out his facial expression) and eventually made his way down to a mooring line, his footsteps slow and cautious and not at all like his usual springy steps.
He poked at the line like it was made out of jellyfish stingers before resigning himself and hoisting himself down onto the sand somewhat ungraciously. Weird.
His feet landed in the water with hardly a splash and he dusted (most likely) invisible dust particles off of his perfectly blue and flamboyant coat. Still so vain… She grinned exuberantly as she watched him walk up the beach and into the jungle.
Odd, thought Seychelles and the smile slid off of her face as quickly as it had appeared. Is he looking for me in my cave? Shouldn't he know where I am?
She contemplated this for a minute before shrugging it off and excusing this strange behavior as one of France's crazy moods. And, she knew a shortcut into the trees and onto the path France had most likely taken from the cliff. She'd find him and tell him the good news!
And this time…she would be the one doing the surprising.
AN - Oh. My. God. I am so sorry. I haven't been able to post ANY Hetalia fics for over two weeks now. I was randomly able to update BoP, but then the error messages came up again. I really hope you guys are still with me and that this ablility to update continues *cross fingers* BUT LO AND BEHOLD - CHAPTER 8! I love you guys - thanks for the support. :)
Footnotes -
French East India company was founded in 1664 for some good ol' competition between the Dutch and the British. During the time mentioned is was most certainly not flourishing, but in a state of Bankruptcy and was abolished about 12 years later. :P But we'll let France have his denials.
Mirrors have been around for, like evar, guys - 2000 B.C and beyond. :P
Can't really grow apples in the tropics. I don't think so, anyway. :D
Soooo! France returned to the islands in 1754, where Captain Corneille Nicholas Murphy named the largest island (Mahé) Séchelles - after Viscount Jean Moreau de Séchelles, Finance Minister of France at the time. I have written her name in the Anglisized way because that's her official name. She just knows. Like Japan just knew his name as Nihon. Hurr. Hope that's okay with you guys.
There were also two ships that returned. Captain Morphey for one, and... France for the other!
Mahé (and most of Seychelles) is a Granitic Island, leftover from the super(ish)-continent Gondwana = big, rocky cliffs.
OMFG SEYCHELLES WAS ANIMATED! But she really shouldn't be so white. I wrote this before the episode - she stays tan.
Also - " That one playing the piano," and "The whit haired man" is Austria and Prussia, respectively - but she didn't know their names, so I had to repeat them. Sorry if that confused people.
Hope you enjoyed and so sorry for the delay! 3 3