Southern Decadence: the Big Easy [pt 4/??]
anonymous
June 15 2009, 03:27:02 UTC
“Care to explain yourselves?” They had exited the club, now standing out on the sidewalk, France with his arms folded, while the other two nations looked anywhere but at his face. “Who is that young man? What is his… for lack of a better word, problem?”
“Oh, um, that’s Louis Laveau, he’s, y’know, a vampire,” America said, barely audible.
“Yeah, kind of a loup-garou,” Canada added just as softly.
France stared at them, feeling an unpleasant tickling sensation crawling up his spine, ending at the back of his neck. Several thoughts ran through his head in the span of a few milliseconds, culminating in the recollection that while neither Canada nor America believed in fairies, they sure as hell believed in undead monsters. But only one thought made its way to his vocal cords.
“Isn’t that… contagious?”
“Whut?” America blinked, somewhat relieved that his other parent was not going to yell at him right away. “Why are you asking me? I mean, everyone knows that werewolves and vampires are Fren---“
Canada had kicked his brother’s knee at this point.
“Friends! He means they’re… friends. Right…”
America looked like he was about to disagree, but instead gave France a much too cheerful wink and said, “Well, you should be fine, as long as he didn’t draw blood. You, uh, didn’t invite Louie back to our place, did you?”
“Non, non.” But that was close…
Although Canada’s expression of pure unadulterated horror was not reassuring, America smiled as if nothing were wrong, and then undid the clasp of his pendant, handing the silver cross and chain to France.
“You might want to wear this, just to be safe, and umm… we’ll try to stick together from now on, okay?”
Honestly, he was surprised England hadn’t gone completely grey-haired from dealing with America. You did not have to be a mind-reader to know that they were not telling everything. France sighed, put the silver chain on, and hurried after the two former colonies, who seemed to be arguing under their breaths several steps ahead.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Canada hissed, looking a little frantic. “I thought you took care of Laveau a while ago!”
“Hey, sometimes the kids come back, chill. Besides, they’re harmless to people like us… I’m pretty sure.”
“You’re pretty sure?!” Canada could not come up with a combination of curse words in any language to describe his consternation and settled on slapping his brother on the back of the head.
Southern Decadence: the Big Easy [pt 5/5]
anonymous
June 15 2009, 03:35:04 UTC
They ended up at an old restaurant with a live jazz band, sitting in a corner booth, watching the musicians coax out sweet sad notes from their instruments. The atmosphere was perfectly relaxing, and France wanted nothing more than to sit here, his head against America’s shoulder, feeling his heartstrings thrum in response to the soulful piano and saxophone and double bass.
Canada had stubbed out his cigarette a while ago, torn between not wanting to be associated with either country and needing their attention. He settled his dilemma by easing himself against France’s side, and saying nothing when France kissed his hair and pulled him closer.
It was perhaps around three in the morning when France felt someone pinching his arm, and he tore his gaze away from the caramel-voiced singer onstage, looking up into their adoring, adorable twin faces.
“T'es paré? There’s something we wanna show you.”
He let them pull him out of the seat and clasp both his hands.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a secret!” But it always was.
They went up several flights of stairs and reached the rooftop of the building that housed the restaurant. Fearing for their safety, even though he had lost custody of both hundreds of years ago, he told them to be careful, but they only laughed and raced each other on the edges of the rooftop, sure-footed and confident.
Only a short while later, they stopped and America pointed to the roof of another building across the street, silvered by the light of the full moon. France could not help but shiver, because looking at the scene before them, he finally understood the mystery of this night.
Gathered on the rooftop were about a dozen people, dressed in pale remnants of closets from throughout the past three centuries, playing music and dancing and conversing. He recognized Louis Laveau talking to a pair of twins, and another man towering above the rest, wearing a cowboy hat and striking up a dance tune on a fiddle with no strings. There was a young woman with strawberry-blonde corkscrew curls, playing the role of a gracious hostess in ragged Southern Belle finery, while off to the side, an African-American girl, her hair in two long plaits, refilled glasses with what he hoped was just red wine. The rest just as beautiful and striking, haunting in their familiarity. They all had the same determined fire in their eyes, the same rebellious spark he saw in America the day he decided, once and for all, to fight against England’s rule.
“Are these… are they yours?” France asked, turning his attention back to the nation in question, who looked a little sheepish.
“You know what they say… Old states never die, they just keep threatening to secede less often.”
Canada nodded, knowing something of what his brother endured on this score, and France did not know whether to act concerned or sympathetic. But America seemed to be handling it rather well, and so he just shook his head and laughed softly.
The partygoers seemed to have noticed the observers by now, and they waved at the three, whooping and catcalling.
“The South will rise again!” shouted the southern belle.
“And again and again!” the cowboy added, raising a defiant fist. The others cheered again.
“Y’all are gonna have to die someday, you know!” America yelled back cheerfully, while they all laughed and blew kisses.
“I like them,” France said to Canada, who snorted.
“You know, by extension of metaphor, they’re your grandkids. Your undead grandkids.”
“Then I like them even more.”
As they turned to leave, he heard them calling out to him - adieu, farewell, adios - but when he looked over his shoulder to return the goodbye, the party had already vanished into the night.
“Bonsoir, mes enfants.”
[Notes] T’es pare? Are you ready? Louie Laveau, named after Marie Laveau, a voodoo queen of New Orleans My apologies if I messed up navigation of the French Quarter and if this fic seemed politically incorrect in any way. The wait for the next part will also be long, sorry, anon fails so hard...
Re: Southern Decadence: the Big Easy [pt 5/5]
anonymous
June 15 2009, 04:07:21 UTC
Oh~ You continued it :D I really enjoyed this part, especially with the undead Southern states (That's what they were, right? It's a little late here and I may have missed something).
I don't care how long the wait is as long as there will be another part ♥
Re: Southern Decadence: the Big Easy [pt 5/5]
anonymous
June 15 2009, 04:21:25 UTC
Ooh...this is so...I wanna say pretty, but I don't know how to explain its prettiness. I do like it a lot...^^ You did a great job on it. You should be proud! ^^
“Oh, um, that’s Louis Laveau, he’s, y’know, a vampire,” America said, barely audible.
“Yeah, kind of a loup-garou,” Canada added just as softly.
France stared at them, feeling an unpleasant tickling sensation crawling up his spine, ending at the back of his neck. Several thoughts ran through his head in the span of a few milliseconds, culminating in the recollection that while neither Canada nor America believed in fairies, they sure as hell believed in undead monsters. But only one thought made its way to his vocal cords.
“Isn’t that… contagious?”
“Whut?” America blinked, somewhat relieved that his other parent was not going to yell at him right away. “Why are you asking me? I mean, everyone knows that werewolves and vampires are Fren---“
Canada had kicked his brother’s knee at this point.
“Friends! He means they’re… friends. Right…”
America looked like he was about to disagree, but instead gave France a much too cheerful wink and said, “Well, you should be fine, as long as he didn’t draw blood. You, uh, didn’t invite Louie back to our place, did you?”
“Non, non.” But that was close…
Although Canada’s expression of pure unadulterated horror was not reassuring, America smiled as if nothing were wrong, and then undid the clasp of his pendant, handing the silver cross and chain to France.
“You might want to wear this, just to be safe, and umm… we’ll try to stick together from now on, okay?”
Honestly, he was surprised England hadn’t gone completely grey-haired from dealing with America. You did not have to be a mind-reader to know that they were not telling everything. France sighed, put the silver chain on, and hurried after the two former colonies, who seemed to be arguing under their breaths several steps ahead.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Canada hissed, looking a little frantic. “I thought you took care of Laveau a while ago!”
“Hey, sometimes the kids come back, chill. Besides, they’re harmless to people like us… I’m pretty sure.”
“You’re pretty sure?!” Canada could not come up with a combination of curse words in any language to describe his consternation and settled on slapping his brother on the back of the head.
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Canada had stubbed out his cigarette a while ago, torn between not wanting to be associated with either country and needing their attention. He settled his dilemma by easing himself against France’s side, and saying nothing when France kissed his hair and pulled him closer.
It was perhaps around three in the morning when France felt someone pinching his arm, and he tore his gaze away from the caramel-voiced singer onstage, looking up into their adoring, adorable twin faces.
“T'es paré? There’s something we wanna show you.”
He let them pull him out of the seat and clasp both his hands.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a secret!” But it always was.
They went up several flights of stairs and reached the rooftop of the building that housed the restaurant. Fearing for their safety, even though he had lost custody of both hundreds of years ago, he told them to be careful, but they only laughed and raced each other on the edges of the rooftop, sure-footed and confident.
Only a short while later, they stopped and America pointed to the roof of another building across the street, silvered by the light of the full moon. France could not help but shiver, because looking at the scene before them, he finally understood the mystery of this night.
Gathered on the rooftop were about a dozen people, dressed in pale remnants of closets from throughout the past three centuries, playing music and dancing and conversing. He recognized Louis Laveau talking to a pair of twins, and another man towering above the rest, wearing a cowboy hat and striking up a dance tune on a fiddle with no strings. There was a young woman with strawberry-blonde corkscrew curls, playing the role of a gracious hostess in ragged Southern Belle finery, while off to the side, an African-American girl, her hair in two long plaits, refilled glasses with what he hoped was just red wine. The rest just as beautiful and striking, haunting in their familiarity. They all had the same determined fire in their eyes, the same rebellious spark he saw in America the day he decided, once and for all, to fight against England’s rule.
“Are these… are they yours?” France asked, turning his attention back to the nation in question, who looked a little sheepish.
“You know what they say… Old states never die, they just keep threatening to secede less often.”
Canada nodded, knowing something of what his brother endured on this score, and France did not know whether to act concerned or sympathetic. But America seemed to be handling it rather well, and so he just shook his head and laughed softly.
The partygoers seemed to have noticed the observers by now, and they waved at the three, whooping and catcalling.
“The South will rise again!” shouted the southern belle.
“And again and again!” the cowboy added, raising a defiant fist. The others cheered again.
“Y’all are gonna have to die someday, you know!” America yelled back cheerfully, while they all laughed and blew kisses.
“I like them,” France said to Canada, who snorted.
“You know, by extension of metaphor, they’re your grandkids. Your undead grandkids.”
“Then I like them even more.”
As they turned to leave, he heard them calling out to him - adieu, farewell, adios - but when he looked over his shoulder to return the goodbye, the party had already vanished into the night.
“Bonsoir, mes enfants.”
[Notes]
T’es pare? Are you ready?
Louie Laveau, named after Marie Laveau, a voodoo queen of New Orleans
My apologies if I messed up navigation of the French Quarter and if this fic seemed politically incorrect in any way.
The wait for the next part will also be long, sorry, anon fails so hard...
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I really enjoyed this part, especially with the undead Southern states (That's what they were, right? It's a little late here and I may have missed something).
I don't care how long the wait is as long as there will be another part ♥
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AWESOME.
AWESOME.
<333
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I love it.
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