❝now i know how joan of arc felt as the flames rose to her roman nose❞
Title: And Now I Know How Joan of Arc Felt (1/2)
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: 1000+
Characters: Vietnam ; France (appearances by Hong Kong and China ; mentions of Jeanne d’Arc) Vietnam/France ; Jeanne/France
Rating: PG
Warnings: kisses ; mentions of alcohol
Summary: In 2009, Vietnam sits on the United Nations Security Council. While in New York, Hong Kong comes to her and asks for her help getting a drunken France out of China’s rooms. As she tries to deal with her drunk ex-lover, Vietnam hears some things she would rather not coming out of his mouth.
And Now I Know How Joan of Arc Felt
Part I
Vietnam sits at the desk in her hotel room, taking notes on the day’s meeting. Her hand slides gently across the page, though there is strength in every word she rights. After all, for a few months more, she will have a seat on the Security Council. And so everything she writes has a little more weight.
“Jiejie!” She doesn’t hear the voice speaking very often, so it takes Vietnam a moment to recognize it as her little brother’s. She understands his language a bit, but she’s more used to French and English, now, so when she opens the door and lets Hong Kong in, at first his flurry of speech makes no sense.
“Calm down, Hong,” Vietnam says, leading him into the room. It isn’t something she says to him very often; even now, his expression would seem calm to everyone except those who truly knew him.
Hong Kong shakes his head and finally breaks into English. “Gege says you should come; he thinks you’re the only one who can take care of this, Jiejie.”
“Take care of what?” Vietnam demands, her voice growing sharp.
“Well…” Hong Kong seems embarrassed to say, but Vietnam merely raises one eyebrow at him in question. Intimidated, the youngest Asian continued, “After the meeting, Gege came back to our rooms, but France and Russia were with him.”
“That’s an interesting trio,” Vietnam remarks dryly, pretending that upon hearing his name, her heart didn’t skip a beat.
“They had gone drinking,” Hong Kong explains, rolling his eyes. “And then Russia left, and now France is…” His voice trails off, and he shrugs. Vietnam sees that he doesn’t really care what actually happened, he just wants the drunken Frenchmen out of his rooms so that he and China can get some sleep.
“And Anh thinks I can help?”
“He says he knows you can.”
Even though she hasn’t been her eldest brother’s biggest fan, lately, Vietnam decides that dealing with three hung-over nations at tomorrow’s meeting is going to be difficult enough as it is; she’s not about to aggravate the situation. She sighs, and follows Hong Kong out of the room, and into the elevator, and up to the seventh floor, where China’s rooms are.
“Thank you for coming, aru.” Her eldest brother nods sagely at her as Vietnam enters the room. Instead of explaining anything, or offering to help, he merely nods again and heads into the hallway with Hong Kong, leaving Vietnam alone.
A groan sounds from deeper within the rooms, and Vietnam remembers that she is not quite alone. She walks into the bedroom, and finds France sprawled across the floor, his face buried into the carpet.
“What have you done to yourself?” She asks him in French, her voice one part concern and two parts scolding. “You look a mess.”
“It was…England.” France responds, though his voice is muffled by the rug.
“England?” Vietnam queries. As far as she’s aware, England’s been out talking to America and Canada for most of the day; Hong Kong hadn’t said anything about him being involved.
“Are you sure, France?” she asks, kneeling down beside him and placing one hand gently on his back.
“Of course I’m sure,” France chuckles. “Who else have I been fighting for the past hundred years?”
“…France? The past hundred years you’ve been getting along with England, remember? It’s the only time you have.”
He chuckles again-but it is a broken, ironic sound. “No, no, no…we’re fighting. Because he owns…damn…Normandy…and he wants…the rest…of me…too.”
“Normandy?” Vietnam won’t deny her confusion, now.
“Yes, yes…but you came,” France declares suddenly. He sits up, shaking off her hand, and when Vietnam looks into his eyes, she sees them clouded by alcohol, not really seeing her. He reaches up and runs one hand through her inky hair. “Thank you for coming.”
He leans closer, and Vietnam thinks he’s trying to tell her something, so she leans in, to. She immediately regrets it, because the next moment his lips-red and soft like his favorite rose petals-are against hers-pink and shell-shaped. Her heart stands still, her breathing hushes, and for one long moment, she allows him to hold her in that chaste, close-lipped kiss.
Then, she shoves him away forcibly and jumps up, enraged. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Such strong language,” he chuckles. She’s beginning to find the sound irritating. “But…I love you.”
She turns bright red from the base of her neck up to the edges of her prominent cheekbones. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she snaps.
“It’s true,” he shrugs. “As I’ve told you before.” He leans towards her, and Vietnam is embarrassed to find that there are tears in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you,” he says, one hand against her cheek. “I’m so sorry…Jeanne.”
At the sound of the name, Vietnam’s heart stops again, but for entirely different reasons. It is as though all of the blood in her veins has gone cold. She looks France in the eye, but still doesn’t see any recognition there.
He plays with the edges of her long ponytail. “Black…” he murmurs, and suddenly his words choke on a sob. “It’s not supposed to be black…”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Vietnam responds tartly. Now that her heart has stopped, it is so much easier to lock her emotions away. She hoists France to his feet, and half-drags him from the room, out into the hallway. He doesn’t resist, merely lolls his head against her shoulder and whispers strange half-sentences.
“The fires…you’re on fire…run, ma cherie, run…that bastard…I’ll kill him…my love, my love…run…”
By the time they reach France’s room at the end of the hall, Vietnam has lost her patience. “Get in there and get washed up,” she orders.
He nods his head dumbly, but as he heads for the washroom, he staggers. Vietnam sighs and helps him inside. She gently and swiftly unbuttons his shirt, and slips it off his shoulders. When his bare chest touches her, she doesn’t even flinch. She turns on the water in the shower, and pushes France’s head under the freezing stream of water.
“Stay under there until you’re sober,” she orders, and then leaves the bathroom, going to sit on the couch in the main room. As she sits there, elbows against her knees, waiting for him to emerge, she wonders if he’s like this every May 30th.
---
Footnotes:
* “And Now I Know How Joan of Arc Felt” - the title comes from the song “Bigmouth Strikes Again” by the Smiths.
* Vietnam currently sits as a non-permanent member on the United Nations Security Council. The permanent members are China, France, the United Kingdom, the United States, and Russia. The UN meets in New York City.
* “Jiejie” means “elder sister” in Mandarin Chinese, I believe. “Gege” is “elder brother” in the same; “anh” is “elder brother” in Vietnamese.
* Joan of Arc is the patron saint of France. She was burned as a heretic during the Hundred Years’ War, a legendary conflict between France and England. She was burned at the stake on May 30, 1431, at the age of 19; the date has since become her feast day.
* amandier mentioned to me a long time ago that in her head canon, France associated Vietnam with Jeanne. It was that thought that spawned this fic.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: 1000+
Characters: Vietnam ; France (appearances by Hong Kong and China ; mentions of Jeanne d’Arc) Vietnam/France ; Jeanne/France
Rating: PG
Warnings: kisses ; mentions of alcohol
Summary: In 2009, Vietnam sits on the United Nations Security Council. While in New York, Hong Kong comes to her and asks for her help getting a drunken France out of China’s rooms. As she tries to deal with her drunk ex-lover, Vietnam hears some things she would rather not coming out of his mouth.
And Now I Know How Joan of Arc Felt
Part I
Vietnam sits at the desk in her hotel room, taking notes on the day’s meeting. Her hand slides gently across the page, though there is strength in every word she rights. After all, for a few months more, she will have a seat on the Security Council. And so everything she writes has a little more weight.
“Jiejie!” She doesn’t hear the voice speaking very often, so it takes Vietnam a moment to recognize it as her little brother’s. She understands his language a bit, but she’s more used to French and English, now, so when she opens the door and lets Hong Kong in, at first his flurry of speech makes no sense.
“Calm down, Hong,” Vietnam says, leading him into the room. It isn’t something she says to him very often; even now, his expression would seem calm to everyone except those who truly knew him.
Hong Kong shakes his head and finally breaks into English. “Gege says you should come; he thinks you’re the only one who can take care of this, Jiejie.”
“Take care of what?” Vietnam demands, her voice growing sharp.
“Well…” Hong Kong seems embarrassed to say, but Vietnam merely raises one eyebrow at him in question. Intimidated, the youngest Asian continued, “After the meeting, Gege came back to our rooms, but France and Russia were with him.”
“That’s an interesting trio,” Vietnam remarks dryly, pretending that upon hearing his name, her heart didn’t skip a beat.
“They had gone drinking,” Hong Kong explains, rolling his eyes. “And then Russia left, and now France is…” His voice trails off, and he shrugs. Vietnam sees that he doesn’t really care what actually happened, he just wants the drunken Frenchmen out of his rooms so that he and China can get some sleep.
“And Anh thinks I can help?”
“He says he knows you can.”
Even though she hasn’t been her eldest brother’s biggest fan, lately, Vietnam decides that dealing with three hung-over nations at tomorrow’s meeting is going to be difficult enough as it is; she’s not about to aggravate the situation. She sighs, and follows Hong Kong out of the room, and into the elevator, and up to the seventh floor, where China’s rooms are.
“Thank you for coming, aru.” Her eldest brother nods sagely at her as Vietnam enters the room. Instead of explaining anything, or offering to help, he merely nods again and heads into the hallway with Hong Kong, leaving Vietnam alone.
A groan sounds from deeper within the rooms, and Vietnam remembers that she is not quite alone. She walks into the bedroom, and finds France sprawled across the floor, his face buried into the carpet.
“What have you done to yourself?” She asks him in French, her voice one part concern and two parts scolding. “You look a mess.”
“It was…England.” France responds, though his voice is muffled by the rug.
“England?” Vietnam queries. As far as she’s aware, England’s been out talking to America and Canada for most of the day; Hong Kong hadn’t said anything about him being involved.
“Are you sure, France?” she asks, kneeling down beside him and placing one hand gently on his back.
“Of course I’m sure,” France chuckles. “Who else have I been fighting for the past hundred years?”
“…France? The past hundred years you’ve been getting along with England, remember? It’s the only time you have.”
He chuckles again-but it is a broken, ironic sound. “No, no, no…we’re fighting. Because he owns…damn…Normandy…and he wants…the rest…of me…too.”
“Normandy?” Vietnam won’t deny her confusion, now.
“Yes, yes…but you came,” France declares suddenly. He sits up, shaking off her hand, and when Vietnam looks into his eyes, she sees them clouded by alcohol, not really seeing her. He reaches up and runs one hand through her inky hair. “Thank you for coming.”
He leans closer, and Vietnam thinks he’s trying to tell her something, so she leans in, to. She immediately regrets it, because the next moment his lips-red and soft like his favorite rose petals-are against hers-pink and shell-shaped. Her heart stands still, her breathing hushes, and for one long moment, she allows him to hold her in that chaste, close-lipped kiss.
Then, she shoves him away forcibly and jumps up, enraged. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Such strong language,” he chuckles. She’s beginning to find the sound irritating. “But…I love you.”
She turns bright red from the base of her neck up to the edges of her prominent cheekbones. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she snaps.
“It’s true,” he shrugs. “As I’ve told you before.” He leans towards her, and Vietnam is embarrassed to find that there are tears in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you,” he says, one hand against her cheek. “I’m so sorry…Jeanne.”
At the sound of the name, Vietnam’s heart stops again, but for entirely different reasons. It is as though all of the blood in her veins has gone cold. She looks France in the eye, but still doesn’t see any recognition there.
He plays with the edges of her long ponytail. “Black…” he murmurs, and suddenly his words choke on a sob. “It’s not supposed to be black…”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Vietnam responds tartly. Now that her heart has stopped, it is so much easier to lock her emotions away. She hoists France to his feet, and half-drags him from the room, out into the hallway. He doesn’t resist, merely lolls his head against her shoulder and whispers strange half-sentences.
“The fires…you’re on fire…run, ma cherie, run…that bastard…I’ll kill him…my love, my love…run…”
By the time they reach France’s room at the end of the hall, Vietnam has lost her patience. “Get in there and get washed up,” she orders.
He nods his head dumbly, but as he heads for the washroom, he staggers. Vietnam sighs and helps him inside. She gently and swiftly unbuttons his shirt, and slips it off his shoulders. When his bare chest touches her, she doesn’t even flinch. She turns on the water in the shower, and pushes France’s head under the freezing stream of water.
“Stay under there until you’re sober,” she orders, and then leaves the bathroom, going to sit on the couch in the main room. As she sits there, elbows against her knees, waiting for him to emerge, she wonders if he’s like this every May 30th.
---
Footnotes:
* “And Now I Know How Joan of Arc Felt” - the title comes from the song “Bigmouth Strikes Again” by the Smiths.
* Vietnam currently sits as a non-permanent member on the United Nations Security Council. The permanent members are China, France, the United Kingdom, the United States, and Russia. The UN meets in New York City.
* “Jiejie” means “elder sister” in Mandarin Chinese, I believe. “Gege” is “elder brother” in the same; “anh” is “elder brother” in Vietnamese.
* Joan of Arc is the patron saint of France. She was burned as a heretic during the Hundred Years’ War, a legendary conflict between France and England. She was burned at the stake on May 30, 1431, at the age of 19; the date has since become her feast day.
* amandier mentioned to me a long time ago that in her head canon, France associated Vietnam with Jeanne. It was that thought that spawned this fic.