Re: Bella Italiana - 2b/?
anonymous
March 8 2011, 02:36:10 UTC
“I can see alright. As long as you don’t go too far away from me-not that you can’t,” America said suddenly. “I mean, i-if you want to walk away from me, its okay, it’s not like-“
“Hush, you’ll draw attention to us,” England said, and he grabbed onto America’s fingers and tugged him along the road. As they wandered, England waited for America to let go, but he realized that America wasn’t going to. He was applying slight pressure to England’s hand, as if he thought about letting go but wasn’t. England didn’t mind.
“So, I can tell you’re American,” England said, and America glanced away. “But do not fret, I’m not a fascist. I may live here but I’m not for the Axis.” America’s eyes lit up, and... did his grip tighten on England’s hand? “That’s why I’m helping you.”
“I’m glad,” America said, smiling. The two wandered towards the government building but England slowed down, keeping an eye out for Germany. Although he didn’t see him, that didn’t mean he wasn’t around somewhere.
“So, this place isn’t normally very popular to be around, so we being here could potentially look dangerous,” England said. He felt like a secret agent in a movie. “We must look touristy or at least not like we’re trying to find a way into this building.” They were in some sort of quaint little square, with a fountain in the center and little shops and stalls surrounding the walls of the square. It was adorable, to say the least. America let go of England’s hand and nodded in agreement, and the two began loitering around the square.
England bought a blood orange and sat down on the edge of the fountain, peeling open the dark rind and hungrily eating the sweet flesh inside. He’d forgotten that he really hadn’t eaten anything today. America was standing at a different cart, looking at what appeared to be little trinkets. He was also conversing with a young child standing next to him, although by the way America was gesturing with his hands, it was obvious that neither spoke the other’s language. Somehow, that never seemed to deter America, and he just smiled at the little boy.
The pair spent the better part of the day in the square, feeding pigeons, America making friends with small Italian children, and eating the fruit from the carts periodically. The sun broke through the overcast sky every now and again, and England carefully kept himself in check. There was no way that Germany could mistake him for, well, himself if he were to notice them. And America was just unidentifiable enough, especially since Germany was used to seeing him in military attire with that bomber jacket.
Re: Bella Italiana - 2c/?
anonymous
March 8 2011, 03:51:08 UTC
The day passed pleasantly, and England found himself enjoying the casual way that America leaned against him ever so slightly, and how he even laid his head on England’s shoulder in a moment of rest, only to immediately jump back up, his face flushed. There was even one point when England briefly laid his hand over America’s when he sat back down, and he pretended not to notice America’s smile.
It was almost like they were on some sort of really strange date. England had all but forgotten that he was there on a mission, and that America was there only to find him. As the sun began to fall on the horizon, electric lights flicked on around the square, and it was illuminated as if being lit by dozens of stars. America pulled his pea coat on as the nighttime chill set in, and England shrugged into the new coat he had to go with his new ensemble.
They had talked amicably, although England had to choose his words carefully so as not to give himself away. He didn’t exactly lie to America when he told him about himself; everything he told America was true, he just didn’t mention that the brothers he spoke of were Scotland, Wales and Ireland, or that the funny story that happened in his childhood actually happened about six hundred years earlier, as opposed to the ten or so he had said. He noticed that America also told stories of his childhood, true stories, considering England had been there for many of them, and he also conveniently left out the fact that he was a child during the eighteenth century.
Soft music began to play from a nearby restaurant as a live jazz band started up their instruments for another evening of pleasure. It was dusk now, and England had all but forgotten that he was supposed to be putting on an act. Once he was over the initial awkwardness, he found it quite easy to be flirtatious towards America. Of course, he’d been in love with the young fool for years, and finally allowing some of those emotions to shine through was a relief.
England wondered about the nature of America’s actions. Was he also acting? Trying to keep a cover? England doubted it. America wasn’t subtle, every bit of his country seeped through him like water through a paper bag. He was America through and through, and although he could hide behind the façade of Alfred, he was never fully cloaked. Anyone with a trained eye could spot America immediately.
It was a good thing that Germany seemed to have given up the hunt, if only for tonight.
“Hush, you’ll draw attention to us,” England said, and he grabbed onto America’s fingers and tugged him along the road. As they wandered, England waited for America to let go, but he realized that America wasn’t going to. He was applying slight pressure to England’s hand, as if he thought about letting go but wasn’t. England didn’t mind.
“So, I can tell you’re American,” England said, and America glanced away. “But do not fret, I’m not a fascist. I may live here but I’m not for the Axis.” America’s eyes lit up, and... did his grip tighten on England’s hand? “That’s why I’m helping you.”
“I’m glad,” America said, smiling. The two wandered towards the government building but England slowed down, keeping an eye out for Germany. Although he didn’t see him, that didn’t mean he wasn’t around somewhere.
“So, this place isn’t normally very popular to be around, so we being here could potentially look dangerous,” England said. He felt like a secret agent in a movie. “We must look touristy or at least not like we’re trying to find a way into this building.” They were in some sort of quaint little square, with a fountain in the center and little shops and stalls surrounding the walls of the square. It was adorable, to say the least. America let go of England’s hand and nodded in agreement, and the two began loitering around the square.
England bought a blood orange and sat down on the edge of the fountain, peeling open the dark rind and hungrily eating the sweet flesh inside. He’d forgotten that he really hadn’t eaten anything today. America was standing at a different cart, looking at what appeared to be little trinkets. He was also conversing with a young child standing next to him, although by the way America was gesturing with his hands, it was obvious that neither spoke the other’s language. Somehow, that never seemed to deter America, and he just smiled at the little boy.
The pair spent the better part of the day in the square, feeding pigeons, America making friends with small Italian children, and eating the fruit from the carts periodically. The sun broke through the overcast sky every now and again, and England carefully kept himself in check. There was no way that Germany could mistake him for, well, himself if he were to notice them. And America was just unidentifiable enough, especially since Germany was used to seeing him in military attire with that bomber jacket.
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It was almost like they were on some sort of really strange date. England had all but forgotten that he was there on a mission, and that America was there only to find him. As the sun began to fall on the horizon, electric lights flicked on around the square, and it was illuminated as if being lit by dozens of stars. America pulled his pea coat on as the nighttime chill set in, and England shrugged into the new coat he had to go with his new ensemble.
They had talked amicably, although England had to choose his words carefully so as not to give himself away. He didn’t exactly lie to America when he told him about himself; everything he told America was true, he just didn’t mention that the brothers he spoke of were Scotland, Wales and Ireland, or that the funny story that happened in his childhood actually happened about six hundred years earlier, as opposed to the ten or so he had said. He noticed that America also told stories of his childhood, true stories, considering England had been there for many of them, and he also conveniently left out the fact that he was a child during the eighteenth century.
Soft music began to play from a nearby restaurant as a live jazz band started up their instruments for another evening of pleasure. It was dusk now, and England had all but forgotten that he was supposed to be putting on an act. Once he was over the initial awkwardness, he found it quite easy to be flirtatious towards America. Of course, he’d been in love with the young fool for years, and finally allowing some of those emotions to shine through was a relief.
England wondered about the nature of America’s actions. Was he also acting? Trying to keep a cover? England doubted it. America wasn’t subtle, every bit of his country seeped through him like water through a paper bag. He was America through and through, and although he could hide behind the façade of Alfred, he was never fully cloaked. Anyone with a trained eye could spot America immediately.
It was a good thing that Germany seemed to have given up the hunt, if only for tonight.
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