Re: Home country x Anon - Getting Together
anonymous
November 9 2010, 02:53:57 UTC
The brunette nods and directs the subject towards culture and food, and the two talk animatedly for hours over food and drinks and instruments. Her viola skills are rusty, but his skilled fingers skimming over the piano and sometimes aiding her make it easier.
America comes, at the end of the day, and Austria bows and takes his leave, notes still lingering in the air. The brunette sits, staring at the instrument, mulling over the tingling in her fingers, before looking up and smiling at America.
"You know, I love July fourth," and America smiles and nods, but the brunette can tell America is doubting.
---------------------------
The next to come is a foul-mouthed Italian with angry eyes and a permanent scowl. It softens, however, when they meet and the Italian is all smiles. The brunette learns that he is Romano, the southern half of Italy, and she smiles back. Another major player in her heritage.
"No, bastard, your family was not part of the mafia!" Romano cries over pasta. Good pasta. The brunette had never had such good pasta. When she had dove directly for the pasta in the boxes, he had dragged her out and scolded her for fifty minutes before grabbing flour and eggs. It had been fun to knead the dough and make it from scratch, and worth it. The brunette doubts she'll return to regular boxed pasta, now that she knows.
"I know, I know," she laughs, taking another mouthful of spaghetti. "But it's fun to imagine, right?" she asks around the food, a bit of sauce landing on the plate. He wrinkles his nose and she falters, reminded that she is different from this man.
"Maybe," he grunted, and is about to open his mouth when someone reaches over him and takes a roll of bread. "YOU!" he shrieks and points to the ghost behind him. The ghost grins and chomps down on the roll. The brunette takes the moment to dip her bread in olive oil--oh, Romano had yelled when she did that at first.
"Si!" the ghost grins, looking down at the brunette. "Oh? One of yours? I'm proud of you! So proud!" he hugs Romano and the younger more alive man turns purple and shouts. She takes this moment to finish off the bread and olive oil, chewing thoughtfully.
"What do you like most about my Romano?" Rome had wrestled Romano to the ground and grinned at the woman tearing into her pasta. "Or, rather, what do you think about me?"
"Bastard, you always steal my thunder! I hate you, dammit!"
"Kaesars," she said, flashing a smile, "et lingua. Mostly the Caesars though. I mean, Augustus."
"Ol' Octy? And my language! Oh, she's a keeper, Romano!" Rome closed his eyes, and was gone, with Romano growling and glowering until America returned, blue eyes shadowed. As soon as Romano is gone, the brunette slides over to America and takes America's hand.
"English is my native language," she says, "you would let me eat bread with olive oil, and George Washington is my favorite."
"I know," but it lacks conviction, and the brunette just holds America's hand.
------------------
Next is a happy young woman, with skin as tanned as the brunette's and a smile as easy as America's. Puerto Rico seems to be friends with America, and the two laugh and stare into each other's eyes as they talk. The brunette feels jealousy, and wonders if that's how America feels.
America elects to stay, and the day passes with most of the interaction between Puerto Rico and America. Finally the brunette can take no more and takes America's hand, leaning forward and kissing her.
"I'm American," the brunette whispers and America grins.
"I know!" America chirps, laughing as she hugs the brunette. Puerto Rico smiles and melts back into the distance. "You're mine, and that's not going to change.
America comes, at the end of the day, and Austria bows and takes his leave, notes still lingering in the air. The brunette sits, staring at the instrument, mulling over the tingling in her fingers, before looking up and smiling at America.
"You know, I love July fourth," and America smiles and nods, but the brunette can tell America is doubting.
---------------------------
The next to come is a foul-mouthed Italian with angry eyes and a permanent scowl. It softens, however, when they meet and the Italian is all smiles. The brunette learns that he is Romano, the southern half of Italy, and she smiles back. Another major player in her heritage.
"No, bastard, your family was not part of the mafia!" Romano cries over pasta. Good pasta. The brunette had never had such good pasta. When she had dove directly for the pasta in the boxes, he had dragged her out and scolded her for fifty minutes before grabbing flour and eggs. It had been fun to knead the dough and make it from scratch, and worth it. The brunette doubts she'll return to regular boxed pasta, now that she knows.
"I know, I know," she laughs, taking another mouthful of spaghetti. "But it's fun to imagine, right?" she asks around the food, a bit of sauce landing on the plate. He wrinkles his nose and she falters, reminded that she is different from this man.
"Maybe," he grunted, and is about to open his mouth when someone reaches over him and takes a roll of bread. "YOU!" he shrieks and points to the ghost behind him. The ghost grins and chomps down on the roll. The brunette takes the moment to dip her bread in olive oil--oh, Romano had yelled when she did that at first.
"Si!" the ghost grins, looking down at the brunette. "Oh? One of yours? I'm proud of you! So proud!" he hugs Romano and the younger more alive man turns purple and shouts. She takes this moment to finish off the bread and olive oil, chewing thoughtfully.
"What do you like most about my Romano?" Rome had wrestled Romano to the ground and grinned at the woman tearing into her pasta. "Or, rather, what do you think about me?"
"Bastard, you always steal my thunder! I hate you, dammit!"
"Kaesars," she said, flashing a smile, "et lingua. Mostly the Caesars though. I mean, Augustus."
"Ol' Octy? And my language! Oh, she's a keeper, Romano!" Rome closed his eyes, and was gone, with Romano growling and glowering until America returned, blue eyes shadowed. As soon as Romano is gone, the brunette slides over to America and takes America's hand.
"English is my native language," she says, "you would let me eat bread with olive oil, and George Washington is my favorite."
"I know," but it lacks conviction, and the brunette just holds America's hand.
------------------
Next is a happy young woman, with skin as tanned as the brunette's and a smile as easy as America's. Puerto Rico seems to be friends with America, and the two laugh and stare into each other's eyes as they talk. The brunette feels jealousy, and wonders if that's how America feels.
America elects to stay, and the day passes with most of the interaction between Puerto Rico and America. Finally the brunette can take no more and takes America's hand, leaning forward and kissing her.
"I'm American," the brunette whispers and America grins.
"I know!" America chirps, laughing as she hugs the brunette. Puerto Rico smiles and melts back into the distance. "You're mine, and that's not going to change.
"No one'll take you away."
Reply
Leave a comment