She couldn’t recall when she’d last bought herself a truly indulgent piece of clothing. After all, she wasn’t Frances, who appeared in new outfits practically every hour. She was practical. True, she bought good suits, but they were definitely made to last (though she’d given in and replaced her favorite faded gray-green tweed with something more “chic,” as Frances put it, and in black).
Still… harder hearts than hers would have had a difficult time detesting the couture gown, made of shimmering dark green taffeta and fitted with ruching and ruffling and whatever clever tricks tailors used to help emphasize her physical femininity. The price tag had made her blanch inwardly, particularly at the thought of putting this particular invoice on Brown’s desk, but she had swallowed and signed on it anyways. She had then gone to her lockbox and pulled out a rather ornate set of earrings and necklace which she hadn’t worn for nearly a hundred years. They seemed just right, she had thought, holding up the earrings and watching the light play on diamond covered bows and teardrop emeralds.
She’d sold off a good deal of her jewelry over the years, particularly those pieces she’d been given by sycophants and those she’d rather not remember; thousands of pounds that accumulated in her purse before she had sent sovereigns and pence back out again. But some pieces she held onto rather fiercely, including the spinel and ruby ring Bess had given her after her Coronation (which she wore every often out of nostalgia). Alana admitted that she rather liked jewels, however, but made a point of keeping that secret rather close to home. No need to give Frances or Antonio more ammunition than she had to, after all.
Brown had rolled his eyes and flapped his hand at her and told her to have a good time when she let him know of her intentions. Still, she didn’t intend to linger here long; her flight left the day after tomorrow. In midst of many wearing luminescent white and chic black and patriotic blues and reds, she seemed odd in her verdant gown, emeralds glittering at her ears and throat. Her hair had not decided to fight with her, remaining quite neatly in its sleek chignon. She picked her way through the ballroom, anonymous and unnoticed and finding curious comfort in that.
“Wow- England… Looking good,” whistled a voice behind her and she fought the urge to jump as she turned around seemingly calmly to face Alfred. Someone had persuaded him not to wear that damn bomber jacket he loved and got him to slick back his hair. Texas gleamed on his face, lenses polished perfectly. She’d forgotten how nicely he cleaned up properly.
“…I better be making a good impression or that’s several thousand quid right down the drain,” she retorted wryly but affectionately. “Come over here, whelp. Your tie’s crooked as always.” She reached up and with deft fingers, adjusted the crisp black bow tie minutely. He smiled at her, that million watt smile that made women’s knees go weak. Such a damn hero, she sighed inwardly.
“And your discretion is as good as lost,” she said to him in a low voice as she adjusted his lapels for him as well.
“You gotta live a little!” he protested with his atrocious diction.
She snorted at him. “And I’ve got several times your lifetime and more, git.” She slapped him lightly on the shoulder. Hesitating, she then said, gruffly, “Congratulations.”
He blinked at her. “…really?” He sounded- unsure and he looked so very young. She wondered idly how it would have been if she had not been so damnably blind in the past, if she had been able to teach him how to stand on his own two feet instead of holding him against her-
Alana found herself smiling at him; damn him and his golden optimism. Damn his sweetness, his good heart, his… Lightly, she patted him on the shoulder. “Yes,” she said simply, smiling at him.
He smiled back at her, not that megawatt smile but something even sweeter (oh how that caused something in her to flutter-). Then he inquired, innocently, “Are you drunk?”
She swatted him with her beaded clutch. “Don’t tempt me!”
Not long after, Alana sipped at the champagne, watching her once child waltz with the First Lady, share a dance with the President’s daughters and bowing to them theatrically. A smile played at her lips at the sight of him, the way she always found herself smiling at him many times. He drew you in, just like a flame drew in a moth. You might end up burnt but still… You went admiring him and just daring to hope-
She actually did jump as he suddenly appeared right in front of her. Cursing, she fumbled with her champagne flute. “Bloody hell!” She caught it just in time and was glad that she had forgone the gloves for tonight.
“Will you give me this dance?” he asked, bowing with very deliberate seriousness. He tilted his head up at her and she could see his eyes twinkling.
“Now why would you want to do that?” she demanded, if only out of principle. “With an old hag like me…”
“Only the loveliest woman in the world,” he replied cheekily. “At least to me.” He winked at her and she found herself blushing, of all things, blushing…
“Don’t give me that,” she growled. “You’ve been watching too many badly made Hollywood movies.”
He widened his eyes at her beseechingly. “Please… England?” he asked, softly.
“Well… it appears I have no one on my dance card still waiting,” she said in mock-indecision and extended her hand to his. “Very well.”
He kissed her knuckles gallantly and she was pleased to discover that she could prevent her blushes at that. She took his arm and followed him to the dance floor.
“You do recall how to waltz properly, do you?” she inquired just a little brusquely.
“Maybe?”
“You do know how to lead at least,” she concluded with a wry smile, as her right hand went to his left shoulder and his left hand went to her waist. She dimly recognized the singer and the genre. Something about blues, right?
“I just want you close Where you can stay forever You can be sure That it will only get better You and me together Through the days and nights I don't worry 'cuz Everything's going to be alright People keep talking they can say what they like But all I know is everything's going to be alright.”
The song was faster than expected but they managed well enough. She found herself thinking of those balls immortalized in novels and in movies, of glittering chandeliers and women dripping in jewels, gold and marble rooms and men in swallowtail coats. After all, she had lived in that world once; they both had. Somehow with the turning of years, it had vanished. Her skirts swirled around her legs and she was aware only of her partner, herself, and the music. The couples around them were faceless and indistinct, mere background.
“You… are better at this than I thought,” she murmured to him.
He grinned at her. “I didn’t forget everything,” he replied with a laugh.
She snorted, remembering ragtime and the jitterbug and oh god those atrocities in the eighties…
“No one, no one, no one Can get in the way of what I'm feeling No one, no one, no one Can get in the way of what I feel for you, you, you Can get in the way of what I feel for you
When the rain is pouring down And my heart is hurting You will always be around This I know for certain You and me together.”
“An interesting choice of song,” Alana commented during the chorus, narrowly missing getting her feet stepped on by his beautifully polished dress shoes.
“It’s got a good beat,” Alfred said with a shrug and she snorted indelicately.
He was wearing cologne. Southern Comfort, she thought. But no cologne or toiletries could hide his smell, his real smell. Sun warmed grain and fresh cut grass, ocean winds and the air off mountaintops, apples and asphalt and exhaust. Perhaps the smell of clean sweat; was that just him?
She wondered what she smelled like to him, under her rosemary and bergamot perfume.
“Through the days and nights I don't worry 'cuz Everything's going to be alright People keep talking they can say what they like But all I know is everything's going to be alright
No one, no one, no one Can get in the way of what I'm feeling No one, no one, no one Can get in the way of what I feel for you, you, you Can get in the way of what I feel.”
He dipped her. He actually dipped her and she stared up at him in utter surprise as he grinned shamelessly. Even as she opened her mouth to demand he bring her back up, right now, or I will burst your eardrums- he safely brought her back to standing again.
She lightly hit him with her closed fist. “Stop scaring years off the end of my life,” she growled, as they continued to sway and slowly turn across the dance floor.
“Aww… England,” he said, still with that utterly smug grin.
“Insolent boy,” she grumbled. Still, she gripped his hand closely with her own.
“I know some people search the world To find something like what we have I know people will try try to divide something so real So til the end of time I'm telling you there is no one
No one, no one, no one Can get in the way of what I'm feeling No one, no one, no one Can get in the way of what I feel for you, you, you Can get in the way of what I feel for you.”
She stared at him as the song started to wind to a close. This was his day, she told herself. It was all his. She could be happy for him, without being bitter, without being sad. She could be genuinely proud of him, without interjecting cynicism and cruel critique. America thrived on hope, on new beginnings- she couldn’t bring herself to break the glorious start he had here.
She remembered every detail of this: the pressure of his hand on her waist, the feel of her shoulder under her hand, the play of light on his hair and glasses, his smile and his scent, their clasped hands. At the end of the song, even as she tilted her head up to kiss him affectionately on the cheek, his head was turning to do that for her and their lips met, softly.
A little thrill ran down her spine as she drew away, not quickly like she’d like, but deliberately. He was grinning but something seemed a little unfocused in his eyes.
“-sorry?” he offered.
“It- it’s nothing,” she replied stiffly, reverting to the mask of etiquette and cool dignity that she had fastened for herself, wearing it out of habit.
“Yeah- I went left when you were going right and…” Was he blushing? Surely it was a trick of the light, out of their exertion…
He brought her hand up to kiss it again. “Thank you for the dance, milady,” he said in a horribly affected English accent. She raised her hand to swat at him as she found herself smiling at him.
“The pleasure was all mine. Milord.”
Author's Notes: I... apologize for the sub-part of the nature of this work. -_- I tend to write better, I swear. -Fem!England, aka Alana, is my own creation, born when I wrote "Lioness Rampant" and continued with "Pieta" (http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=8218050#t8218050). -The song is "No One" by Alicia Keys, sung at Obama's inauguration. "At Last" was a thought but I decided not to because 1) It was the first song and the President danced to it with the First Lady, thus screwing up continuity and 2) It seemed too stereotypical. -The inspiration for Alana’s jewelry, just imagine that the teardrops are green: http://www.1928.com/pages-productinfo/category-314_509/product-55851/collections-1900s-to-1920s-2028-jewelry-onyx-and-black-diamond-hues-bow-tie-drop-earrings.html -I’ve thought of her gown as being similar to Keira Knightley’s Vera Wang gown from the 2006 Oscars, just in deep green instead of red.
(recaptcha: Francoise spaniard - I'm guessing I have some ticked off countries who wanted an appearance here...?)
Anon, this fill makes my heart burst. For some reason I was expecting genderbent US, and then it was England and it was perfect. Her, their relationship and interactions, everything. And that half-untentional kiss. Oh my god.
Re: Golden [4/4]
anonymous
May 7 2009, 23:53:10 UTC
I KNEW IT WAS YOU. I KNEW IT EVEN BEFORE YOU GAVE OUT ALANA'S NAME. XD Oh anon! This was gorgeous and beautiful and perfect. Absolutely wonderful. Gah. I have to stop now or I will be gushing on about it for far too long...
Re: Golden [4/4]
anonymous
May 14 2009, 17:39:23 UTC
There are not words in the English language to properly describe how much I adore Alana and your writing about her - perhaps the latter the most, the amount of genderflip around considered. This was such a lovely little scene between the two of them, with just the right amount of motherly affection and something more. I enjoyed it very much ♥
Still… harder hearts than hers would have had a difficult time detesting the couture gown, made of shimmering dark green taffeta and fitted with ruching and ruffling and whatever clever tricks tailors used to help emphasize her physical femininity. The price tag had made her blanch inwardly, particularly at the thought of putting this particular invoice on Brown’s desk, but she had swallowed and signed on it anyways. She had then gone to her lockbox and pulled out a rather ornate set of earrings and necklace which she hadn’t worn for nearly a hundred years. They seemed just right, she had thought, holding up the earrings and watching the light play on diamond covered bows and teardrop emeralds.
She’d sold off a good deal of her jewelry over the years, particularly those pieces she’d been given by sycophants and those she’d rather not remember; thousands of pounds that accumulated in her purse before she had sent sovereigns and pence back out again. But some pieces she held onto rather fiercely, including the spinel and ruby ring Bess had given her after her Coronation (which she wore every often out of nostalgia). Alana admitted that she rather liked jewels, however, but made a point of keeping that secret rather close to home. No need to give Frances or Antonio more ammunition than she had to, after all.
Brown had rolled his eyes and flapped his hand at her and told her to have a good time when she let him know of her intentions. Still, she didn’t intend to linger here long; her flight left the day after tomorrow. In midst of many wearing luminescent white and chic black and patriotic blues and reds, she seemed odd in her verdant gown, emeralds glittering at her ears and throat. Her hair had not decided to fight with her, remaining quite neatly in its sleek chignon. She picked her way through the ballroom, anonymous and unnoticed and finding curious comfort in that.
“Wow- England… Looking good,” whistled a voice behind her and she fought the urge to jump as she turned around seemingly calmly to face Alfred. Someone had persuaded him not to wear that damn bomber jacket he loved and got him to slick back his hair. Texas gleamed on his face, lenses polished perfectly. She’d forgotten how nicely he cleaned up properly.
“…I better be making a good impression or that’s several thousand quid right down the drain,” she retorted wryly but affectionately. “Come over here, whelp. Your tie’s crooked as always.” She reached up and with deft fingers, adjusted the crisp black bow tie minutely. He smiled at her, that million watt smile that made women’s knees go weak. Such a damn hero, she sighed inwardly.
“And your discretion is as good as lost,” she said to him in a low voice as she adjusted his lapels for him as well.
“You gotta live a little!” he protested with his atrocious diction.
She snorted at him. “And I’ve got several times your lifetime and more, git.” She slapped him lightly on the shoulder. Hesitating, she then said, gruffly, “Congratulations.”
He blinked at her. “…really?” He sounded- unsure and he looked so very young. She wondered idly how it would have been if she had not been so damnably blind in the past, if she had been able to teach him how to stand on his own two feet instead of holding him against her-
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He smiled back at her, not that megawatt smile but something even sweeter (oh how that caused something in her to flutter-). Then he inquired, innocently, “Are you drunk?”
She swatted him with her beaded clutch. “Don’t tempt me!”
Not long after, Alana sipped at the champagne, watching her once child waltz with the First Lady, share a dance with the President’s daughters and bowing to them theatrically. A smile played at her lips at the sight of him, the way she always found herself smiling at him many times. He drew you in, just like a flame drew in a moth. You might end up burnt but still… You went admiring him and just daring to hope-
She actually did jump as he suddenly appeared right in front of her. Cursing, she fumbled with her champagne flute. “Bloody hell!” She caught it just in time and was glad that she had forgone the gloves for tonight.
“Will you give me this dance?” he asked, bowing with very deliberate seriousness. He tilted his head up at her and she could see his eyes twinkling.
“Now why would you want to do that?” she demanded, if only out of principle. “With an old hag like me…”
“Only the loveliest woman in the world,” he replied cheekily. “At least to me.” He winked at her and she found herself blushing, of all things, blushing…
“Don’t give me that,” she growled. “You’ve been watching too many badly made Hollywood movies.”
He widened his eyes at her beseechingly. “Please… England?” he asked, softly.
“Well… it appears I have no one on my dance card still waiting,” she said in mock-indecision and extended her hand to his. “Very well.”
He kissed her knuckles gallantly and she was pleased to discover that she could prevent her blushes at that. She took his arm and followed him to the dance floor.
“You do recall how to waltz properly, do you?” she inquired just a little brusquely.
“Maybe?”
“You do know how to lead at least,” she concluded with a wry smile, as her right hand went to his left shoulder and his left hand went to her waist. She dimly recognized the singer and the genre. Something about blues, right?
“I just want you close
Where you can stay forever
You can be sure
That it will only get better
You and me together
Through the days and nights
I don't worry 'cuz
Everything's going to be alright
People keep talking they can say what they like
But all I know is everything's going to be alright.”
The song was faster than expected but they managed well enough. She found herself thinking of those balls immortalized in novels and in movies, of glittering chandeliers and women dripping in jewels, gold and marble rooms and men in swallowtail coats. After all, she had lived in that world once; they both had. Somehow with the turning of years, it had vanished. Her skirts swirled around her legs and she was aware only of her partner, herself, and the music. The couples around them were faceless and indistinct, mere background.
“You… are better at this than I thought,” she murmured to him.
He grinned at her. “I didn’t forget everything,” he replied with a laugh.
She snorted, remembering ragtime and the jitterbug and oh god those atrocities in the eighties…
Reply
Can get in the way of what I'm feeling
No one, no one, no one
Can get in the way of what I feel for you, you, you
Can get in the way of what I feel for you
When the rain is pouring down
And my heart is hurting
You will always be around
This I know for certain
You and me together.”
“An interesting choice of song,” Alana commented during the chorus, narrowly missing getting her feet stepped on by his beautifully polished dress shoes.
“It’s got a good beat,” Alfred said with a shrug and she snorted indelicately.
He was wearing cologne. Southern Comfort, she thought. But no cologne or toiletries could hide his smell, his real smell. Sun warmed grain and fresh cut grass, ocean winds and the air off mountaintops, apples and asphalt and exhaust. Perhaps the smell of clean sweat; was that just him?
She wondered what she smelled like to him, under her rosemary and bergamot perfume.
“Through the days and nights
I don't worry 'cuz
Everything's going to be alright
People keep talking they can say what they like
But all I know is everything's going to be alright
No one, no one, no one
Can get in the way of what I'm feeling
No one, no one, no one
Can get in the way of what I feel for you, you, you
Can get in the way of what I feel.”
He dipped her. He actually dipped her and she stared up at him in utter surprise as he grinned shamelessly. Even as she opened her mouth to demand he bring her back up, right now, or I will burst your eardrums- he safely brought her back to standing again.
She lightly hit him with her closed fist. “Stop scaring years off the end of my life,” she growled, as they continued to sway and slowly turn across the dance floor.
“Aww… England,” he said, still with that utterly smug grin.
“Insolent boy,” she grumbled. Still, she gripped his hand closely with her own.
“I know some people search the world
To find something like what we have
I know people will try try to divide something so real
So til the end of time I'm telling you there is no one
No one, no one, no one
Can get in the way of what I'm feeling
No one, no one, no one
Can get in the way of what I feel for you, you, you
Can get in the way of what I feel for you.”
Reply
She remembered every detail of this: the pressure of his hand on her waist, the feel of her shoulder under her hand, the play of light on his hair and glasses, his smile and his scent, their clasped hands. At the end of the song, even as she tilted her head up to kiss him affectionately on the cheek, his head was turning to do that for her and their lips met, softly.
A little thrill ran down her spine as she drew away, not quickly like she’d like, but deliberately. He was grinning but something seemed a little unfocused in his eyes.
“-sorry?” he offered.
“It- it’s nothing,” she replied stiffly, reverting to the mask of etiquette and cool dignity that she had fastened for herself, wearing it out of habit.
“Yeah- I went left when you were going right and…” Was he blushing? Surely it was a trick of the light, out of their exertion…
He brought her hand up to kiss it again. “Thank you for the dance, milady,” he said in a horribly affected English accent. She raised her hand to swat at him as she found herself smiling at him.
“The pleasure was all mine. Milord.”
Author's Notes:
I... apologize for the sub-part of the nature of this work. -_- I tend to write better, I swear.
-Fem!England, aka Alana, is my own creation, born when I wrote "Lioness Rampant" and continued with "Pieta" (http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=8218050#t8218050).
-The song is "No One" by Alicia Keys, sung at Obama's inauguration. "At Last" was a thought but I decided not to because 1) It was the first song and the President danced to it with the First Lady, thus screwing up continuity and 2) It seemed too stereotypical.
-The inspiration for Alana’s jewelry, just imagine that the teardrops are green: http://www.1928.com/pages-productinfo/category-314_509/product-55851/collections-1900s-to-1920s-2028-jewelry-onyx-and-black-diamond-hues-bow-tie-drop-earrings.html
-I’ve thought of her gown as being similar to Keira Knightley’s Vera Wang gown from the 2006 Oscars, just in deep green instead of red.
(recaptcha: Francoise spaniard - I'm guessing I have some ticked off countries who wanted an appearance here...?)
Reply
Anon, this fill makes my heart burst. For some reason I was expecting genderbent US, and then it was England and it was perfect. Her, their relationship and interactions, everything. And that half-untentional kiss. Oh my god.
♥ ♥ A million hearts for you, Anon.
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And I'm so glad you were the one who wrote this, seeing Alana again made me smile so wide. I really, really love that character of yours, you know.
And her with Alfred is just priceless. There's a quiet sense of rightness to the whole thing, and its just perfect.
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