[Fic] French Reconnaissance (for artillie)
Title: French Reconnaissance (by sirvalkyrie)
Recipient: artillie
Pairing/Characters: America/France, Canada
Rating: T
Warnings: Dubious consensual sex
Summary: France goes to gather information for her boss during the American Civil War.
France sat in the train. Her eyes followed the lines of French in her book. She smiled softly as the young Gascon man managed to get into two duels on his first day in Paris. As her elegantly manicured fingers touched the page the train screeched to a sudden halt. A frown briefly marred her face as she stared at the page in her hand, separated from the pages still securely in the binding.
The conductors began walking up and down the cars, telling people to gather their belongings and to prepare to get off the train. France quickly stored her book away in her carpet bag. When one of the wool clad conductors was passing her, she softly but firmly grabbed his arm.
“Monsieur, what is happening?”
“Sorry, ma’am, this is as far as the train goes. Track is blocked. We’re only a few miles from the station. It won’t take hardly no time at all to get there on foot.”
She released him with a cultured smile. There would be no helping it. After checking to make sure her hat was absolutely perfect on her head, she took her two bags and left the car.
The sun was bright overhead. It pounded on all the passengers equally. France was not worried about tanning or burning. She had opted for practicality over fashion and wore sturdy, covering clothing. Though of course it was the most fashionable of said practical clothing she could find. As the other passengers milled around complaining, she started walking. The road was nearby and she moved straight for it.
After about an hour there was a farm girl riding in the front of a wagon, an old horse was pulling it. The back was only half full of produce. She set her bags down a little off the road and onto the green grass.
“Pardon, could I trouble you for a ride, mademoiselle?”
The girl stopped her horse. She moved aside on the wooden bench. “You can just throw your bags in the back.”
France very gently set her bags next to a bushel of apples and made sure they were secure before returning to the front and climbing into the seat next to the other girl. She made polite chit chat with the young lady as they made the bumpy trip. When asked about why she was heading into town on her own, the girl told France that her father and brother had joined the military. When the French woman remarked that at least they were together she was corrected and told that one wore blue and the other grey. Of course France apologized profusely for the faux pas. The rest of the ride into town passed pleasantly enough. Before leaving, France pressed one of her gold rings into the girl’s hand for payment. She was well aware that in civil wars money could quickly become valueless.
It took a while but France managed to find herself lodging. When asked about what she was in town for she would just give a smile that made many heads turn and a laugh that could ring out over any level of noise. She had a single reason to be here. For not being in the right state of mind, it was surprisingly hard to find her target. A charming smile was all it took for someone to take her bags up to her room.
The room was smaller than she would have liked, but it did have a certain charm to it that she would not deny. A quick check in the mirror and a few minutes was all it took to look like she had not been traveling at all. She left her room and even the small hotel itself. France began to search the streets. Normally she would be confident in her ability to find America, but somehow she had managed to lose him in towns far smaller than this.
She spied familiar gold hair outside of the post office. While not breaking into a run, she did quicken her steps.
“America, there you are.”
He turned and looked at her. There was a clouded look to his face of incomprehension for several seconds.
“France,” he said as if he was unsure of her name, testing it on his tongue.
“Oui, my boss sent me here to check on you and other reasons.”
“Check on me?”
“Well you are having a little bit of a problem.”
“No, I can’t say that I am. Are you alright France?”
“So everything is completely normal?”
“Of course it is.”
“Mister America, there you are,” a voice France found very nostalgic called out.
A young soldier in a blue uniform came running up to them. The heels of the shoes made a sound not unlike a young horse running for the first time. The soldier had deep blue eyes and blonde hair cut haphazardly short. France could not help but look down at the very flat chest this soldier had.
“Bonjour, Corporal….”
“W-Williams, my name is Corporal Matthew Williams.”
“You look so lovely in blue, Corporal Matthew Williams.”
“Mister America, you should not be talking to this woman.”
“But this is France. She helped me out against England. We are friends.”
“You see, Corporal Matthew Williams, we are friends.”
“No, Mister America, he… he isn’t well.”
“Ah, I understand completely with the war going on.”
“War? I’m not at war with anyone.”
Canada began to move her brother along before France could speak to America any more. She stood there and watched Canada herd him like a cow to an old house.
“À bientôt,” she called after them.
This would be a minor set back at most. France felt a bit peckish anyways. It was time for her to have something to eat. She turned and made her way to the finest restaurant here. True, in a small place like this, it was no where near as nice as the sort of place she usually frequented.
She sat at a table with a pale yellow cloth draped over it. When a waiter came by she asked for him to bring her the best wine they had and to have the chef surprise her with his finest work. As she waited for her food she began to compose a letter for her boss.
In it she wrote that she did not think America would interfere in their plans for Mexico. She knew that Louisiana was back at her home, trying to convince her boss to recognize the southern states as their own nation. France could not recommend supporting either the northern or the southern states. In strict confidence she admitted that she did not expect America to survive the war regardless of who won. He had left too much up to the states to determine and now was not strong enough to survive much longer.
She put her writing away as the food and wine were brought out. After days of quick meals on the train, this was positively delightful. While not fancy, the food was well made. It was certainly better then anything England would make. She sipped her wine, letting it roll around in her glass.
France did find it adorable that Canada was helping America behind England’s back. It was almost heart warming. She knew that England was favoring the southern states, if only barely. Canada was taking a large risk in her actions.
It had grown dark during the course of her meal. She finished her meal and left money behind to pay for everything and a little extra. She stepped outside, one of the few women that were unescorted.
She walked toward the decrepit house that she had seen Canada take America to. When she neared she could see something very amusing. France stopped under the light of a gas lantern. A second floor window was open. She watched as America climbed out, walked across a portion of the first floor roof and to a tree. He leaped and grabbed the branches. France was mildly impressed that even mentally unbalanced from the states fighting he still was sneaking out of any house he was put into.
She walked toward the base of the tree. America was pulling his vest down. The gas light was gently illuminating her.
“Hello, America.”
“France? It is you again.”
She nodded and brought her hand up to her chin, crossing the other across her body. “I came to see you again.”
“You’re always so pretty, France,” he said as he stared at her face.
“Thank you,” she said with a coy smile. “I am the flower of Europe after all.”
America nodded to her. His blues eyes were fixed on France through the walls of his glasses.
She moved closer to him. The hand that had been on her chin moved over to caress America’s face. He moved closer and kissed her. It was nervous and awkward, like a boy trying to kiss an older girl he had been in love with for a long time. She returned it with a skill that would make a whore blush.
“I never knew you felt this way, America.” Actually, she had suspected for a long time.
“England used to say you were dangerous. But how can you be dangerous? You are so pretty.”
She laughed at his words and then kissed him again. He was such a naïve boy. It was adorable, really It was.
“Come with me.” She took his hand and began to lead him back to the hotel she was staying at.
The two countries spent the night together. Of course, a lady does not tell others what she does in private with a gentleman. Well, maybe she would tell England just to see him get flustered, angry and then deny that he cares what America does with other nations.
France woke up first in the morning. America was still curled up under the blankets. Articles of clothing were strewn haphazardly across the room. She stretched out. France rose from the bed, as nude as a classical statue. She began to clean up and pack away her personal belongings. Her hands pulled out an outfit that would due for today. She redressed and put her long hair up again in a style that was elegant, but quick to do.
She walked back to the bed and sat down on the edge. France bent down and kissed him on the forehead. It was an oddly platonic gesture considering what they had done the night before.
Now that she knew what his mental state was, she could leave. First, she would rent a carriage to take her to a train station. Then she would go back to the coast. After that, she would board a ship to head down to Mexico. It would be faster to just go straight there, but far too unsafe. There was no way that America would be able to interfere with her plans to force Mexico to move into her house. Technically, it would be best for her if he died and two or more new nations were made by the states.
However, she could not help but hope that he would survive this. It would be sad for a nation to die while so young.
She got up from the bed and took her bags. France silently walked to the door, she did not want to wake him.
“Adieu.”
Recipient: artillie
Pairing/Characters: America/France, Canada
Rating: T
Warnings: Dubious consensual sex
Summary: France goes to gather information for her boss during the American Civil War.
France sat in the train. Her eyes followed the lines of French in her book. She smiled softly as the young Gascon man managed to get into two duels on his first day in Paris. As her elegantly manicured fingers touched the page the train screeched to a sudden halt. A frown briefly marred her face as she stared at the page in her hand, separated from the pages still securely in the binding.
The conductors began walking up and down the cars, telling people to gather their belongings and to prepare to get off the train. France quickly stored her book away in her carpet bag. When one of the wool clad conductors was passing her, she softly but firmly grabbed his arm.
“Monsieur, what is happening?”
“Sorry, ma’am, this is as far as the train goes. Track is blocked. We’re only a few miles from the station. It won’t take hardly no time at all to get there on foot.”
She released him with a cultured smile. There would be no helping it. After checking to make sure her hat was absolutely perfect on her head, she took her two bags and left the car.
The sun was bright overhead. It pounded on all the passengers equally. France was not worried about tanning or burning. She had opted for practicality over fashion and wore sturdy, covering clothing. Though of course it was the most fashionable of said practical clothing she could find. As the other passengers milled around complaining, she started walking. The road was nearby and she moved straight for it.
After about an hour there was a farm girl riding in the front of a wagon, an old horse was pulling it. The back was only half full of produce. She set her bags down a little off the road and onto the green grass.
“Pardon, could I trouble you for a ride, mademoiselle?”
The girl stopped her horse. She moved aside on the wooden bench. “You can just throw your bags in the back.”
France very gently set her bags next to a bushel of apples and made sure they were secure before returning to the front and climbing into the seat next to the other girl. She made polite chit chat with the young lady as they made the bumpy trip. When asked about why she was heading into town on her own, the girl told France that her father and brother had joined the military. When the French woman remarked that at least they were together she was corrected and told that one wore blue and the other grey. Of course France apologized profusely for the faux pas. The rest of the ride into town passed pleasantly enough. Before leaving, France pressed one of her gold rings into the girl’s hand for payment. She was well aware that in civil wars money could quickly become valueless.
It took a while but France managed to find herself lodging. When asked about what she was in town for she would just give a smile that made many heads turn and a laugh that could ring out over any level of noise. She had a single reason to be here. For not being in the right state of mind, it was surprisingly hard to find her target. A charming smile was all it took for someone to take her bags up to her room.
The room was smaller than she would have liked, but it did have a certain charm to it that she would not deny. A quick check in the mirror and a few minutes was all it took to look like she had not been traveling at all. She left her room and even the small hotel itself. France began to search the streets. Normally she would be confident in her ability to find America, but somehow she had managed to lose him in towns far smaller than this.
She spied familiar gold hair outside of the post office. While not breaking into a run, she did quicken her steps.
“America, there you are.”
He turned and looked at her. There was a clouded look to his face of incomprehension for several seconds.
“France,” he said as if he was unsure of her name, testing it on his tongue.
“Oui, my boss sent me here to check on you and other reasons.”
“Check on me?”
“Well you are having a little bit of a problem.”
“No, I can’t say that I am. Are you alright France?”
“So everything is completely normal?”
“Of course it is.”
“Mister America, there you are,” a voice France found very nostalgic called out.
A young soldier in a blue uniform came running up to them. The heels of the shoes made a sound not unlike a young horse running for the first time. The soldier had deep blue eyes and blonde hair cut haphazardly short. France could not help but look down at the very flat chest this soldier had.
“Bonjour, Corporal….”
“W-Williams, my name is Corporal Matthew Williams.”
“You look so lovely in blue, Corporal Matthew Williams.”
“Mister America, you should not be talking to this woman.”
“But this is France. She helped me out against England. We are friends.”
“You see, Corporal Matthew Williams, we are friends.”
“No, Mister America, he… he isn’t well.”
“Ah, I understand completely with the war going on.”
“War? I’m not at war with anyone.”
Canada began to move her brother along before France could speak to America any more. She stood there and watched Canada herd him like a cow to an old house.
“À bientôt,” she called after them.
This would be a minor set back at most. France felt a bit peckish anyways. It was time for her to have something to eat. She turned and made her way to the finest restaurant here. True, in a small place like this, it was no where near as nice as the sort of place she usually frequented.
She sat at a table with a pale yellow cloth draped over it. When a waiter came by she asked for him to bring her the best wine they had and to have the chef surprise her with his finest work. As she waited for her food she began to compose a letter for her boss.
In it she wrote that she did not think America would interfere in their plans for Mexico. She knew that Louisiana was back at her home, trying to convince her boss to recognize the southern states as their own nation. France could not recommend supporting either the northern or the southern states. In strict confidence she admitted that she did not expect America to survive the war regardless of who won. He had left too much up to the states to determine and now was not strong enough to survive much longer.
She put her writing away as the food and wine were brought out. After days of quick meals on the train, this was positively delightful. While not fancy, the food was well made. It was certainly better then anything England would make. She sipped her wine, letting it roll around in her glass.
France did find it adorable that Canada was helping America behind England’s back. It was almost heart warming. She knew that England was favoring the southern states, if only barely. Canada was taking a large risk in her actions.
It had grown dark during the course of her meal. She finished her meal and left money behind to pay for everything and a little extra. She stepped outside, one of the few women that were unescorted.
She walked toward the decrepit house that she had seen Canada take America to. When she neared she could see something very amusing. France stopped under the light of a gas lantern. A second floor window was open. She watched as America climbed out, walked across a portion of the first floor roof and to a tree. He leaped and grabbed the branches. France was mildly impressed that even mentally unbalanced from the states fighting he still was sneaking out of any house he was put into.
She walked toward the base of the tree. America was pulling his vest down. The gas light was gently illuminating her.
“Hello, America.”
“France? It is you again.”
She nodded and brought her hand up to her chin, crossing the other across her body. “I came to see you again.”
“You’re always so pretty, France,” he said as he stared at her face.
“Thank you,” she said with a coy smile. “I am the flower of Europe after all.”
America nodded to her. His blues eyes were fixed on France through the walls of his glasses.
She moved closer to him. The hand that had been on her chin moved over to caress America’s face. He moved closer and kissed her. It was nervous and awkward, like a boy trying to kiss an older girl he had been in love with for a long time. She returned it with a skill that would make a whore blush.
“I never knew you felt this way, America.” Actually, she had suspected for a long time.
“England used to say you were dangerous. But how can you be dangerous? You are so pretty.”
She laughed at his words and then kissed him again. He was such a naïve boy. It was adorable, really It was.
“Come with me.” She took his hand and began to lead him back to the hotel she was staying at.
The two countries spent the night together. Of course, a lady does not tell others what she does in private with a gentleman. Well, maybe she would tell England just to see him get flustered, angry and then deny that he cares what America does with other nations.
France woke up first in the morning. America was still curled up under the blankets. Articles of clothing were strewn haphazardly across the room. She stretched out. France rose from the bed, as nude as a classical statue. She began to clean up and pack away her personal belongings. Her hands pulled out an outfit that would due for today. She redressed and put her long hair up again in a style that was elegant, but quick to do.
She walked back to the bed and sat down on the edge. France bent down and kissed him on the forehead. It was an oddly platonic gesture considering what they had done the night before.
Now that she knew what his mental state was, she could leave. First, she would rent a carriage to take her to a train station. Then she would go back to the coast. After that, she would board a ship to head down to Mexico. It would be faster to just go straight there, but far too unsafe. There was no way that America would be able to interfere with her plans to force Mexico to move into her house. Technically, it would be best for her if he died and two or more new nations were made by the states.
However, she could not help but hope that he would survive this. It would be sad for a nation to die while so young.
She got up from the bed and took her bags. France silently walked to the door, she did not want to wake him.
“Adieu.”