Seychelles stomped her foot on the ground, gasping in pain when she realized just how hard the rock actually was. If frustration and anger and sorrow were like the Northern Lights France had told her about, her sky would be swarming with furiously swirling colours.
It wasn't like she was worried about France…for surely he would get over it like he always did. But…that was still pretty rude of her. That was the only reason why she wanted to apologize, anyway.
What should I do?
She really had no idea where France could have gone. Where he went when he was feeling sad, abandoned, misunderstood… Seychelles shook her head quickly, trying to rid her mind of feelings that she could come back to later when there wasn't another huge problem staring her in the face.
Maybe she could leave a message for him. But…
It was then – for the first time – Seychelles realized that she couldn't write. Not a thing. She didn't know what made sounds or what those strange symbols were or that thoughts and spoken words could be written down. She had never needed to. That's why she never knew what those strange carvings were on the ships – France had always told her their names. If she couldn't talk, she was utterly useless.
What should I do?
Seychelles looked down in distress and frowned when her eyes alighted upon one of her hair ribbons lying on the stone. Feeling the right side of her hair and confirming that it was her ribbon that had fallen; she knelt and retrieved it from the rough stone - folding it so it made a rough rectangular shape. She placed it on a shelf-like outcrop of rock and searched for any trace amounts of dust and sand. Having located a small pile, she scooped some up and spread it evenly beside her ribbon.
Hmm…she didn't have anything blue to serve as the third and last part of her flag. Oh well. The rock was a blue-grayish colour… He'd be able to tell what it was. She collected a few stray pieces of dried seaweed and arranged them as the outer walls of the French flag.
She sighed at her slightly horrendous rendition of France's flag and turned around, making her way out of the cave and hoping against hope that France would find it and understand that her loyalties still lay with him. Maybe if he forgave her, he could teach her how to write. Or just get back to his normal self. And complain endlessly about how she should know better than to mutilate his flag and try it with England's instead. Seychelles didn't really care as long as she could find a way to apologize properly for what she had said.
She made her way slowly back to her cave, on the lookout for any French sailors – especially France. By the time she made it back, the sun had set and it was getting quite dark.
She chanced one more look over her shoulder, and seeing no one, she ducked her head and made her way into the cave.
She crawled into her customary corner and shifted slightly to make herself more comfortable. But every time she closed her eyes, images of earlier would flare behind her eyelids, like the tears she knew were lurking somewhere.
She shifted constantly, trying not to be crushed by the overwhelming sense of guilt and horror filling her mind. So instead of picturing faux-France, hurt, confused, misunderstood, she switched those images around and thought of the true France, funny, annoying, flamboyant, weird, passionate…
Slowly, slowly the unbearable weight became somewhat more bearable and Seychelles drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
I I I
She awoke with a start to birds cawing loudly and the afternoon sun streaming in through the cracks in her humble, rocky abode. She must have been awake during the night longer than she had thought. She stretched and slunk out of the cave, body heavy with fatigue and the guilt slinking slowly back to greet her.
She tried her best to shake it off. Thinking about such dreary thoughts and not acting for the better would get her nowhere. So she rose to her feet, dusted herself off, and marched through the jungle until she came to her special, secluded spot.
When she arrived at the scenic lookout and saw that the flag remained untouched, she wondered belatedly if France remembered how to find this place. This caused some more genuine fretting, worrying, and shifting of feet. But surely France would remember. He had to.
So Seychelles left it at that, trusting her instincts and exiting the cave once more. If France wasn't there and if she couldn't find him on the island, then he must be on one of the ships, Seychelles decided. She would find him. Even if she had to sleep outside by the rocks facing the ships every day for as long as it took for France to emerge. So she did just that.
When she reached the beach, she made herself comfortable amongst a spiral patterned rock formation and sat. And waited. And refused to move. France would have to answer for her if she got caught. She was actually trying to make amends with the stubborn idiot. And where was he? Probably moping around on one of the ships.
Seychelles' theory was confirmed when, the next day, after having kept vigil and sleeping rather uncomfortably against the rock; France didn't appear from the jungle. No matter how depressed France was, Seychelles knew without a doubt that he wouldn't sleep in the jungle. And since she had seen neither hide nor hair of his pretty face, she knew that he was stupidly wallowing away on one of those stupid ships.
On the third night of her vigil-keeping and awkward sleeping, she semi-awoke to hands – fingers even - sweeping softly, ever so softly over her cheeks, her forehead, her nose and mouth, but she dared not turn around in fear that she would scare him away. For those delicate hands were France's, no doubt about it.
The rhythm was so smooth and soothing that Seychelles drifted unwillingly back into a light slumber. When she woke up properly in the morning, she was alone.
One the sixth day of her vigil-keeping and slightly less awkward sleeping, Seychelles spontaneously jumped up and stalked into the trees, planning to walk around for a long while to keep herself from going insane. She wandered around, around, around, alone and isolated and guilt-ridden and she just didn't know what to do anymore!
She finally came to rest in the same clearing where she had met France a week before…after not seeing him for ten years.
She meandered into the middle and crossed her arms over her chest staring up into the blue, blue sky. Blue like France's eyes…
"Bonjour, mademoiselle."
Seychelles snapped out of her daydream and whipped around, coming face to face with a stranger. A French stranger. Not trusting herself to answer, she glanced down and her eyes widened in surprise at the captain's symbol pinned onto his lapel. Her heart beat a million miles a minute – Does he know? Who I am? Has he caught me? What's he going to do? What should I do? – and he studied her for a while(what was with the French and their scrutinizing?) before taking a step back and opening his mouth to speak.
"Salut," he spoke with a certain kindness to his voice and Seychelles' shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. If he wasn't freaking out by now, then he probably knew who she was. "Je suis le commander pour cette expédition, Corneille Morphey et tu serais…Séchelles, non?"
He stopped talking and Seychelles, belatedly realizing he had done so, hastened to answer. She nodded her head kind of dumbly, but she was surprised! When a random French character walked right behind her and talked to her - that was an excuse to not be quite on top of things.
"Vous avez raison. Je m'appelle Seychelles. Um…Pourquoi êtes-vous ici?" She spoke politely, not wanting to aggravate not just a captain, but a French captain of all people.
He raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at her, indignant – nothing new there – and folded his arms across his chest. "Did you do something to Francis?"
Seychelles cocked her head to the side. Did she hear correctly?
"I'm sorry, but did you say 'Francis?' Who's that?"
He stared at her for a couple of seconds, before starting rather violently and uncrossing his arms to tap at the side of his head condescendingly.
"My apologies miss. I meant France. Have you done anything to France?"
Seychelles grimaced and shuffled her feet, looking down at them. "Well…we did have an argument…sort of. And I was being dumb, really dumb and said something mean." Her head snapped up suddenly and her eyes blazed. "It's not like I'm trying to avoid him! I've been sitting out on the beach every day for almost a week now. And he hasn't let me apologize. I just don't know what to do, Mister Morphey."
Corneille scoffed, rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose – posture airy and dainty. "Ah…stupid Francis. He's such a drama queen." He removed his fingers from his nose and stared pointedly at her. "You know, he's been holed up in my ship for the last six days and he's forcing me to do all of his work. I have no time to explore when there I have other men to do it for me. And the charts have to be done and war plans have to be made. It's stressful, young lady. Thank God I'm not a Nation."
He looked slightly confused as if catching himself rambling. Which he kind of was. He straightened and waggled a finger at her.
"If I force Francis to get off of his ass and join you, will you promise me that you'll get him to do his work again?"
Seychelles nodded, her brown hair bouncing around her chest. "Of course, Captain."
Corneille Morphey nodded and stifled a yawn. "Yes, that's great – thank you Séchelles."
He turned around and as he reached the tree line, he called back over his shoulder: "Oh, and good luck with everything. France has received a great gift, you know. Make sure you two treasure the time you have together."
And Seychelles was left to stand there, staring after him – the French captain that had randomly come in and out of her life. 'Treasure the time together…'
Right. Maybe French-ies could actually be genuinely touching.
And with a weak, but solid smile on her face, Seychelles started jogging towards the beach, but stopped in mid step and swiveled around the other way. She'd give captain Morphey an hour or so to coax France out of wherever he was. So in the meantime, she thought, she would check the cave one last time, in case somehow, she had missed France walking. Which was highly unlikely - seeing as she had spent six long and trying days staring at nothing but ship.
Whatever. She needed something to do and this would suffice for now.
She was jogging lightly, taking her time and kept looking back every now and then, half expecting France to pop out of nowhere.
She contemplated what to say to him. If his captain had the gall to call his own country a drama queen, then maybe France would just snap out of it. But…he had been cooping himself up in a ship alone with his misery for almost a week. That had to say something.
She swept the stray locks of hair away from her eyes, used to having both sides tied back by her ribbons – one of which was still in the cave.
She sighed and slowed to a walk, thoughts drifting. Canada was probably a really nice guy. France had every right to fight over someone he…loved? Hmm… Did he love her too? Of course he did, always mouthing on about all the love in the world. He'd have to be crazy not to support his own morals.
That, of course, raised the question that she hadn't really asked herself in, well, ever. Did she love him? In which way? Were there multiple ways to love? What were the differences that defined relationships? Why didn't she know anything?
She stubbed her toe on a rock outside the cave entrance and cursed lightly, not realizing the amount of distance she had travelled. She ducked her head and entered the cave, continuing to think about…things.
The problem was that she couldn't really ask France about things like this because he was too…deceitful in a way. Like he was constantly wearing a mask that disguised his true thoughts, condescending or not – she couldn't ever tell.
But if he never forgave her, then she'd never be able to look him in the eye, let alone ask him slightly personal questions.
Damn. She certainly wasn't 'treasuring her time' with France to the best of her ability now, was she?
She cleared her throat softly for no reason and stepped out of the darkness and into the light. The first thing she saw was France's back, hands at his side and her ribbon dangling and moving softly in the breeze from his right one.
She froze and covered her mouth with her hands. Had he heard her? She hadn't planned anything to say – she certainly hadn't expected France to actually be here! Had he somehow made his way here when she was speaking to the captain?
Before Seychelles could come to a decision as to what to say or do, France brushed his hair back over his head with the hand not holding her ribbon and turned away from the almost, but not quite white capped ocean.
He froze when he saw her standing there, silent as the air around them, hands covering her mouth. She saw his eyes flit behind her to the only exit – which she was currently blocking. She slowly removed her hands from her closed lips and let them drop to her sides.
France's appearance looked no better than when she had last laid eyes on him, six days ago. The bags under his eyes looked less prominent, (had he been sleeping a lot?) but his face still bore that strained, gaunt look.
Seychelles swallowed and blinked.
"I'm so sorry, France." Her words came out in a strangled whisper.
France simply stared. And stared. So she filled the silence, words pouring out of her mouth like her waterfall in the jungle, but much less peacefully.
"I, I just… I don't want to seem like I'm making up excuses, France, but – I know there isn't really an excuse for what I did, but I, I felt lost. Um…Unsure. And you were finally here and - do you know how much I thought about you over the past ten years? Worrying over your condition in the war and why it was taking so long for you to come back. And then when you did…I was…blinded by all the happiness rushing into me – ha ha – I don't know how happiness could blind me, but there you go. And I thought: now that you were here… I would be your primary focus."
Still France didn't speak.
Seychelles took a desperate step forwards, a tiny, yet unfaltering step and France seemed to shudder slightly.
"I missed you so much…but…Canada probably misses you and the colony on Ile de France – they probably miss you, too. And… I didn't know what to think or say or do because all I saw was you and I really wanted me to be all that you saw, but it's not like that. And I'm so, so sorry France for not understanding that. Oh, and England can drown in his 'horrid attempts at cooking' for all I care."
She ended her sentence with the words France had used to describe England's cooking habits a long time ago. She stared into his eyes, imploring him to see that she really was telling the truth. She took another step forward and was devastated when France took a step back in turn.
She wasn't crying. She was beyond that now.
"Please, France. I realize now that even if you can't be here all the time, I still need you from time to time. Even if I'm really dumb and don't seem like I show it. I just…I dunno… We have to treasure out time together…" She shuffled her feet again, but stopped immediately – because that was childish.
"Hmm…" It was the first noise she had heard from France in a long time and her heart yearned for more, for a comforting word or sentence instead of just a sound.
For the second time, she spied her ribbon dangling from his hand and improvised – desperate to glean any sort of reaction from him.
"Can… can I at least have my ribbon back?" She nodded at the strip of bright red.
His eyes took an agonizingly long time to slide away from her face and onto his right hand. It was as if he had just noticed that he was, in fact, holding her ribbon. The one he had given her so long ago.
"Ah. Of course."
He held out his hand and Seychelles wasted no time in grabbing it tightly and drawing herself closer to him. Not touching him; she was at least two steps away from him, but now he didn't have a choice but to respond to her.
She pressed her lips together and kept her hand on his wrist, touching both his skin and her red ribbon.
"France? Please forgive me?"
He let out a long sigh and put a hand over his face before letting it slide off and come to a rest on her hipbone. He took a step closer.
"Ma chéri… What am I going to do with you?"
"I don't…know? Ha ha…" His close proximity was making her dizzy again, but there was nothing she wanted more than his forgiveness, so she resisted the urge to step back.
"France?" She searched his eyes and was met with that same mask-like quality. What was he really thinking?
No sooner had the word left her mouth and France had covered it with his own.
Her eyes widened and she swore her heart stopped as his warm lips covered hers. …This was a kiss. Did it being on her mouth mean something different? After a couple of seconds, Seychelles closed her eyes and (what was she supposed to do?) pressed forward just as France leaned back, breaking the completely new, strange, different, contact.
Her mind remained slightly fuzzy. What…just happened?
"Uh… does that mean I'm…forgiven?" Oh wow, way to sound sure of herself there.
France's hand lifted up off of her hip, quickly, as if he couldn't really believe what he had just done. He studied her face, frowning slightly… Puzzled.
"Ah~ But, of course – Séchelles." An invisible switch flicked and his mask changed from thoughtful to flirtatious, more like the France she had grown up to know.
She smiled and licked her lips, tasting what little trace France had left upon them. She laughed lightly and stepped into his arms – always open, always inviting, no matter what the situation. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? But when his arms wrapped around her in turn, she really forgot to care and just let herself meld into his body, cutting the last strands of guilt clinging to her consciousness. She really was sorry and she could tell France realized it. If that kiss meant anything, of course.
She lifted her head slightly and breathed into his ear. "Thank you, France. I really am sorry."
She pressed her face to his neck and sighed. After a while he responded. "I know Séchelles… I am too."
And the breeze carried their words away into the setting sun.
AN - Hurr... I like Chapter ten. :P Reviews are laaave. Thanks again to the few who did. But that was, like, 3 chapters ago. XD Thanks for the favs, as well!
Translations - Salut, je suis le commander pour cette expédition, Corneille Morphey et tu serais…Séchelles, non?
Hello, I'm the captain for this expedition, Corneille Morphey et you would be Seychelles, no?
Vous avez raison. Je m'appelle Seychelles. Um…Pourquoi êtes-vous ici?
You're right. My name is Seychelles. Um... why are you here?
Footnotes - You guys remember how China had to teach Japan how to write? Well. Seychelles doesn't know how to write either.
Corneille Morphey was the commander of two ships sent to claim this chain of islands after the Austrian Succession and just before the Seven Years War in North America. Pretty convenient for me. :P This was in 1754. He named the largest island Séchelles after the financial minister for the French Kind at the time.
Okay - so this is France. He probably has multiple relationships going on with a bunch of people at once all over the place over many years. He also wouldn't care that this is a young woman/girl - in fact, he probably relishes the fact that she can so easily be taken advantage of. This is my opinion on the relationships of France, sorry if it bugs you. :) I made it progress over 10 chapters, so... woot? :D
That's it, I think. I hope you're enjoying this fic, guys - let me know what you think, okay? I'll see you next time!