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.
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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