a meeting between nations
Who: Iceland (volcanisms) and France (paysdelamour)
When: December 7th, shortly after Iceland's first post.
Where: Newton's Hostel
What: France meets Iceland at the hostel and helps him get adjusted.
Warnings: Um, none that I can foresee. Unless France starts to get a little touchy-feely, if you know what I mean.
( Iceland is not enjoying his day. )
When: December 7th, shortly after Iceland's first post.
Where: Newton's Hostel
What: France meets Iceland at the hostel and helps him get adjusted.
Warnings: Um, none that I can foresee. Unless France starts to get a little touchy-feely, if you know what I mean.
( Iceland is not enjoying his day. )
"Oh, I was--" A sneeze. "-- going through reports." Well, that was mostly true. Iceland had skimmed through the stack of papers on his desk, making note of what needed his attention right away and what he could put off until later. Then he went and fed Puffin and tried to find other ways to procrastinate. "You know, nothing exciting." Kind of an understatement. Iceland had always found paperwork mind numbly dull, hence his irresponsibility when it came to getting it done. He would always get everything completed, he just had to drag his feet in the process most of the time. It was so much easier to be distracted.
However, he did pay enough attention to the reports to see that his economy was getting better, so he ended up 'leaving' on a relatively reassuring note. His cold was dreadfully annoying, but at least it had been reduced to basic symptoms which were easy enough to ignore.
"Why? Is there something you wanted to know in particular?"
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"Ah la la, reports. I was going through the same, actually, when I fell out of that cylinder." At least they had that much in common. Francis certainly didn't have much in common with the smaller island nation. But he smiled and tried his best to be friendly, at any rate. "I was going through your application for the EU, specifically. Here is hoping that the rest of the paperwork goes through swiftly, and you'll be a member in 2011." He continued his bright smile, hoping this cheered the nation up at least a little bit.
"I didn't want to know for any reason in particular, Islande. Just a bit of curiosity."
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"Oh, really?" Iceland perked up a little. The thought of joining the EU did make him a little nervous, but there weren't many alternatives he could consider anymore. He remembered how unhappy Norway was when Iceland had mentioned it, but hey, maybe things would have been different if Iceland could have been independently wealthy too. Or if Norway loaned him more money.
"Sorry, it just seemed like... uh, nevermind. But yeah, I've just been doing a lot of paperwork lately. Getting everything wrapped up for the end of the year." Whatever spark Iceland had at the mention of his EU application instantly faded at having to recite how he had been spending time at home. Because who doesn't love being stuck behind a desk for hours on end.
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Well, no matter. France could deal with speaking to Iceland regardless.
France would certainly prefer to be away from the desk himself, but alas, there was much expected of him. He would much prefer to spend his time drinking wine, flirting with lovely women, or even painting or sculpting; but usually, it was a lot of reports, like Iceland was referring to. "Ah la la, we must stop speaking about the reports! Those I do not want to remember!" He laughed softly at his own joke.
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"In any case, there no reports to do here, so you should be fine." Serious as usual. He could understand not wanting to remember, though. Honestly, Iceland shared that sentiment. Of course, that meant a change of topic was in order, and he wasn't too confident in his ability to keep small talk going. What did he even have to talk about?
A random tenant walked by, giving Iceland a glimpse of the inside as they entered their room. The Nordic began wondering if his own room would be in the same state of squalor. Not that he'd be surprised if it was, considering how junky the rest of the building - or rather, the whole city - was. Oh well, he could manage. But then another thought crossed his mind. And he actually looked at France to ask - with a rather imploring look - "Where can I get food?"
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He noticed Iceland's glance into one of the rooms, and sighed a bit. "Ah, yes, I'm afraid the rooms are not exactly... ah, what's the word in English. Bien gardé... ah, well kept, those were the right words!" He smiled a little weakly. "But in time you'll get used to it. I have, and you know I can get a little snobbish about some things." That was clearly an understatement, but Francis would never degrade himself with his own words - not unless he was completely depressed, anyway. No, he was perfect, and saying he got a little snobbish was degrading enough for him. But at least he was being humble, right?
He laughed a little at Iceland's saddened look, and patted his shoulder gently. "Do not worry, mon chou. You will be fed. There is an excellent chef that works here who provides meals for the whole hostel." He was, of course, referring to himself. But Iceland might not catch his sudden bright grin at the mention of the food service in the hostel.
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"I guess it doesn't really matter as long as I have somewhere to sleep." He had lived a rather unglamorous life for quite some time, and as much as he really didn't want to go back to that, France was right. Iceland could get used to it. It was just an unfortunate step backward he really didn't want to take, especially after trying so hard to build up affluence and keep up with trends for the last couple of decades.
Ugh, again with the touching. It was starting to get on his nerves. "Don't touch me." Iceland moved away a bit, as if to emphasize his statement. But okay, the news about the chef was good. Iceland wouldn't have to employ his famine survival skills: scavenge and eat whatever he came across, no matter how questionable it looked. There was a reason traditional Icelandic cuisine consisted of putrefied shark and sheep organs...
"So, the food is free?" He wanted to make absolutely sure. He would definitely try to take advantage of that if it was true. And of course, he totally missed France's cheery smile. The guy always seemed rather upbeat to the Nordic, so as far as he was concerned, there was nothing new to notice.
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"Oui, that is certainly the way to think about things. You'll have this place for three weeks, and then you'll have to find another place or pay $60 a day... or work for Madame Newton doing something, like I'm doing." He absolutely adored Mrs. Newton and was very willing to cook for her. Unfortunately, that was going to be ending in a week, if all went well. "And there is always the chance you'll find a job somewhere else, too."
His smile went away a bit as Iceland was so blunt about not wanting to be touched. It was only a friendly gesture in Francis' mind, and he didn't understand how people could be so sensitive about a pat on the shoulder or a kiss on the cheek (especially when in France it was considered a greeting). But, he used his fake charming smile instead, and did as the other nation asked. He mustn't be impolite, after all. "Oui oui, monsieur, the food is free." He chuckled, teasing, "That is, until I decide to stop feeding you."
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He didn't care what anyone said. He wanted to go back to Europe, and if his brothers could put together little wooden boats that could fare across the sea, then there had to be a way Iceland could get the right materials to build his own vessel that'd survive the trip. It was wishful thinking at best, but he was unusually optimistic about his plan. Of course, he had heard about the radiation and sea monsters, but hah, he was a country, he wouldn't die and sea monsters didn't really exist. He'd be fine.
His attention immediately snapped to France. "What?" He stared at the other for a moment. It suddenly clicked who the chef was.
"That isn't funny." What a cruel joke. Then again, Iceland probably took food a little too seriously because one, he liked to eat, and two, he had unfortunately dealt with Denmark accidentally forgetting to feed him quite a few times. Not that he thought that France would ever withhold food so Iceland would starve, but he was slightly touchy about the subject none-the-less. He might have ended up glaring a little, even.
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He chuckled, but when Iceland glared at him, he gave him an apologetic look. France loved food as well and he mean to anger him. "I did not mean anything by it, mon chou, désolé. But the food is free and I promise you I make plenty to go around. I'll put some meat on your bones yet!" He smiled and was about to pat his shoulder but then he remembered not to, and backed away.
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He flinched when he saw movement, expecting to be touched again, but was relieved when he felt no contact. "I'm not that skinny..." He blushed and looked down at himself. He typically didn't give his weight a second thought, as long as he didn't start getting flabby. He had always been a bit on the scrawny side though, so he didn't feel the need the worry. Because it's not like being underweight was unhealthy or anything. He wasn't emaciated, after all. He was just... slender. Yeah.
"What kind of food do you make?" He punctuated his question with a sneeze as he looked back at France. His cold was easily ignorable, however, if they were going to discuss food. Iceland wasn't picky and would eat practically anything, but he was curious and wanted to know what he could look forward to for dinner.
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"Ah, well, I make lots of things, mon cher. It just depends on what suits me at the time. Though I make a lot of soups and stews, because it's easier to feed everyone this way." He thought about what he would be making tonight, however, and seemed a little stuck. He did not know what he should make. Perhaps pork chops? Or there was some ground beef Mrs. Newton had bought - perhaps he could create something from that. Hopefully not hamburgers though, he hated hearing about hamburgers from Alfred.
Finally they reached Francis' room, several bunks with only perhaps one other person occupying a bed. He had chosen the bed closest to the window. His locker was closed, but on the dresser he had his apron folded up. He sat down on the bed and motioned around. "This is my room. Take a bed here if you like, or you may go to another room." He smiled at Iceland, trying to be inviting... in reality, he just wanted to be near someone he had something in common with. The rest of the people in the Hostel, while nice, never really had much to do with Francis.
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"Do you know how to build a boat?"
It was quite nice to hear that France could make a variety of things. He had a vague idea of what French cooking was like, but it was kind of exciting to try it firsthand. Mmm, delicious new food. Even if it was just soup; he liked that, too! "Oh. Okay." His tone wasn't quite as deadpan or annoyed-sounding as usual, which was as close as Iceland could get to showing interest. Because he was! But actually sounding excited about something was outside the scope of his emotional range.
"I don't know..." He stopped and stood awkwardly in the doorway. He was uncomfortable staying in any room that had a stranger in it, but the chances of him getting a room where he would be completely alone were probably pretty slim. It was a hostel after all, not a hotel. "I don't think it matters either way..." He started to fidget with his gloves again, because aaaah people are scary. Strangers are scary! Iceland didn't know how to deal with them. Even though he knew it didn't matter where he stayed as long as he had a place to sleep, he still found it hard to make up his mind. What should he dooooo.
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But then, Francis thought - Iceland seemed to be very excited about his food. Maybe that was how he should spin it; that he was invaluable simply because he could cook. And so he began to brag about his cooking skills to keep Iceland interested. "However, I have been cooking for centuries upon centuries, mon cher. You will not find someone more skilled than I at the culinary arts, Islande..." He left it at that, deciding to go into detail only if Iceland seemed to take the bait.
He noticed the hesitance of the smaller nation and shrugged. "You can stay here with me, I am sure the other person will not mind." But then he added, "Or you can go to another room if you like, there is also that option." He was still trying to make Iceland comfortable, even though he wished he had someone else to stay with that he knew.
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He considered declining France's offer, since he seemed pretty useless as far as Iceland was concerned, but he got distracted by the food-talk. Being able to have decent meals definitely a tempting enough reason to keep the other nation around. "Dunno what you could make with provisions and fish, though. There won't be a kitchen." If that didn't prove to be an issue for France, then Iceland would surely be convinced that he might be useful enough after all.
There were other matters to worry about for the time being, however. Like picking which room to sleep in. This shouldn't be stressing him out so much, but it was. He took a shaky step forward into the room, but quickly changed his mind and backed out into the hall. "I think I'll look around first. Then I'll decide... I don't know..."
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But he saw he did indeed have Iceland hooked with the promise of food. So he waved his hand. "Ah la la, I can cook just as well in the kitchen as I can out in the open. The kitchen just makes it easier, that's all." And it was true, in the olden days he had sometimes preferred to cook for himself outside, especially if his king was feeling in a particularly bad mood. "As long as we can make fire, I can cook many things with fish and provisions."
He saw Iceland's odd shuffle in and out of the room - oh, how indecisive. Really, was it that difficult to pick between a shoddy bed and a shoddy bed? With a slow nod, he stood, messing with his hair a little because his fingers were getting a bit restless. "Well, you may do so, it is up to you. I won't stop you, Islande." He was trying to be as gracious and courteous as possible, but really, this was getting ridiculous.
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