[fic] Pardon My French
Title: Pardon My French
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: US/UK but you gotta squint....
Rating: G
Genre: Is there a genre name, other than 'slice of life' that just means, 'A moment of their day'? /sob There are the most minute traces of fluff, if you know where and how to look....
Word Count: 548
Warning: Bit of French--translations are at the bottom. :]
Notes: Rather short this time due to having woken up early for school and being exhausted. That said, this is likely choppy; I'm so sorry....
☽✩☾
Culture shock was never something America had expected on actually experiencing anymore. His country had become a home to people from every speck of dirt above sea level-even some below!-but he quickly found out that such was not necessarily the case when he visited those countries on his own.
America had been to France many times but he'd never really been able to relax. During and after the revolution, some business trips, invading…. Pretty busy stuff. But then when one was able to let loose just a little and travel just because, it became something completely different.
Especially when the traveller's boyfriend hated the country of choice but still insisted on coming along.
"Q'voulez-vous?"
America looked up from the café table to where he'd heard the voice, and then frowned a little bit. She didn't look very happy; she looked rather bored and discontent. America cleared his throat regardless. He had some French to practice. With a large smile, he said, "Je voudrais un coca!"
The waitress shot him a funny look then rolled her eyes, turning to England. "Et vous?"
"Je veux un thé noir, s'il vous plaît. Chaud."
"Un moment."
Barely making any further contact with the two, Alfred stared as she walked away. "We'll she's rude!" he scoffed, pouting back in his seat. "She could have at least introduced herself! Instead just, 'Whaddya want? What do you want?' Just seemed kind of rude, y'know?"
England sighed, fixing the placement of some of the napkins already on the table. They were all arranged neatly as they were. "It's not at all that she's rude. It's just the restaurant culture here, if you will."
"…That's a really lame culture. I mean, if I had her as my host every time I went through the drive thru at McDonald's? I would not be lovin' it."
"That a horrific comparison, America." Despite his comment, England had to grin. America brightened up just a bit. "She was doing her job. Her job is to serve you-not become your friend."
America rested his arms on the table, thinking on it. "That would suck," he said. "Go to work and make no friends. …You speak French pretty good." America grinned across the table, finding it endearing how England managed to choke on something, despite having nothing in his mouth.
"I live next to the bugger. It's no fault of mine!" he insisted. "You spoke it, as well."
"Not as well as you. My French isn't all that great and even What's-His-Name said he can barely understand it."
England grinned at America, catching his eye. "The Créole? America, I know for a fact that you have other French cities."
"Well yeah, but New Orleans is awesome, and they have Mardi Gras, and parades, and the beads are fun to-"
"If you finish that sentence, even I'm unsure what I'll do to you."
England's gaze caught America's; all America could do was grin as England shook his head. The waitress had returned with their drinks and set them down between them. America gave a quick, louder-than-necessary, "Merci beaucoup!" while England gave the same, only much quieter. Turning, America heard her mutter, "Américains…."
He'd have lost his grin, if not for the fact that England was grinning along.
--END--
A Few Notes:
*I'm just saying beforehand: This is what we learned in my French class. In general, the French are rather kind to American (and British!!!) tourists--outside of metropolitan areas where they're borderline rude. However, wherever you go to sit and eat/be served, in most cases, the 'customer service' is less than desirable. But England explained that. Like I said; that's what I learned from class. I've never actually been to France. /sob
*The Quarter isn't the only place in America where French as a strong presence. Check out Maine.
*The French spoken in the Quarter is of course just as different from French as Québécois is but if you go further into the Bayou, you'll be sure to find people who speak an odd combination of French and English with their own twists, called Créole.
The brief translation:
"Q'voulez-vous?" - Whaddya want? (Shortened of 'Que voulez-vous?')
"Je voudrais un coca!" - I want a coke!
"Et vous?" - And you?
"Je veux un thé noir, s'il vous plaît. Chaud." I want black tea, please. Hot.
"Un moments." - ...One moment.
...I shouldn't have to translate the last two....
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: US/UK but you gotta squint....
Rating: G
Genre: Is there a genre name, other than 'slice of life' that just means, 'A moment of their day'? /sob There are the most minute traces of fluff, if you know where and how to look....
Word Count: 548
Warning: Bit of French--translations are at the bottom. :]
Notes: Rather short this time due to having woken up early for school and being exhausted. That said, this is likely choppy; I'm so sorry....
☽✩☾
Culture shock was never something America had expected on actually experiencing anymore. His country had become a home to people from every speck of dirt above sea level-even some below!-but he quickly found out that such was not necessarily the case when he visited those countries on his own.
America had been to France many times but he'd never really been able to relax. During and after the revolution, some business trips, invading…. Pretty busy stuff. But then when one was able to let loose just a little and travel just because, it became something completely different.
Especially when the traveller's boyfriend hated the country of choice but still insisted on coming along.
"Q'voulez-vous?"
America looked up from the café table to where he'd heard the voice, and then frowned a little bit. She didn't look very happy; she looked rather bored and discontent. America cleared his throat regardless. He had some French to practice. With a large smile, he said, "Je voudrais un coca!"
The waitress shot him a funny look then rolled her eyes, turning to England. "Et vous?"
"Je veux un thé noir, s'il vous plaît. Chaud."
"Un moment."
Barely making any further contact with the two, Alfred stared as she walked away. "We'll she's rude!" he scoffed, pouting back in his seat. "She could have at least introduced herself! Instead just, 'Whaddya want? What do you want?' Just seemed kind of rude, y'know?"
England sighed, fixing the placement of some of the napkins already on the table. They were all arranged neatly as they were. "It's not at all that she's rude. It's just the restaurant culture here, if you will."
"…That's a really lame culture. I mean, if I had her as my host every time I went through the drive thru at McDonald's? I would not be lovin' it."
"That a horrific comparison, America." Despite his comment, England had to grin. America brightened up just a bit. "She was doing her job. Her job is to serve you-not become your friend."
America rested his arms on the table, thinking on it. "That would suck," he said. "Go to work and make no friends. …You speak French pretty good." America grinned across the table, finding it endearing how England managed to choke on something, despite having nothing in his mouth.
"I live next to the bugger. It's no fault of mine!" he insisted. "You spoke it, as well."
"Not as well as you. My French isn't all that great and even What's-His-Name said he can barely understand it."
England grinned at America, catching his eye. "The Créole? America, I know for a fact that you have other French cities."
"Well yeah, but New Orleans is awesome, and they have Mardi Gras, and parades, and the beads are fun to-"
"If you finish that sentence, even I'm unsure what I'll do to you."
England's gaze caught America's; all America could do was grin as England shook his head. The waitress had returned with their drinks and set them down between them. America gave a quick, louder-than-necessary, "Merci beaucoup!" while England gave the same, only much quieter. Turning, America heard her mutter, "Américains…."
He'd have lost his grin, if not for the fact that England was grinning along.
--END--
A Few Notes:
*I'm just saying beforehand: This is what we learned in my French class. In general, the French are rather kind to American (and British!!!) tourists--outside of metropolitan areas where they're borderline rude. However, wherever you go to sit and eat/be served, in most cases, the 'customer service' is less than desirable. But England explained that. Like I said; that's what I learned from class. I've never actually been to France. /sob
*The Quarter isn't the only place in America where French as a strong presence. Check out Maine.
*The French spoken in the Quarter is of course just as different from French as Québécois is but if you go further into the Bayou, you'll be sure to find people who speak an odd combination of French and English with their own twists, called Créole.
The brief translation:
"Q'voulez-vous?" - Whaddya want? (Shortened of 'Que voulez-vous?')
"Je voudrais un coca!" - I want a coke!
"Et vous?" - And you?
"Je veux un thé noir, s'il vous plaît. Chaud." I want black tea, please. Hot.
"Un moments." - ...One moment.
...I shouldn't have to translate the last two....