[open] fiestaaaaa!
Who: France andouillette, Spain wolf_peaches and ANYONE ELSE! Everybody is invited. ♥
What: Tapas and sangria, fiesta night to bitch bitch bitch about those horrible staff♥
Where: Music room on the second floor.
When: Evening of the 29th September because I suck and posted a video post without doing this straight after, orz.
Rating: PG, but with all of you guys, that'll probably change~
It had always seemed that, no matter the situation, no matter who was the good guy or the bad guy or the freedom they had, there was always time for a party between the Mediterranean nations, as long as the circumstances allowed. Grand space, different foods and the attendees (willing or not) were already present in the Sanctuary just waiting for a reason to unwind.
...And there was the attitude, of course! France noticed frowns, sighs and lines of worry troubling the faces of the few other nations with whom he spoke, and in all honesty, was quite surprised by it. The matter of their imprisonment was... unfavourable, yes, but on the other hand, they were still alive! Trapped, away from home, but alive! And that was cause enough to make the effort to wear a smile, and venture from the closure of the East Wing out to the rest of the building, with promise of providing the delicious backdrop for what he sincerely hoped would be a pleasant meeting.
France, after some minutes of rummaging in various kitchen cupboards whilst chorizo al vino sizzled steadily in the frying-pan, stumbled across a couple of stacked storage boxes- perfect for carrying tapas!- and noted, with a smile, the chilled bottles of sangria prepared by the Spanish nation stored within the refrigerator door. Soon he made his merry way up through the Sanctuary (singing snippets of a song from home, winking at the cameras if they happened to catch in his vision), stopping by the South Wing only to echo an "Espagne~!" down the hallway before he reached the music room.
A storage box under each arm, he managed to wedge open the door to the large room with his shoulder, almost stumbling in but quickly regaining balance. Out of all the flat surfaces in the room, instruments and all, the only one that even came close to a table was the grand piano. With a cheeky smirk, the nation rested the boxes by his feet and, one by one, began to unload each bowl and plate of tapas onto the top of the great, black instrument.
Spain would soon arrive to keep him company, and with any luck, a wave of other nations (especially those who had responded earlier!) would soon follow into the room and into Spain's irresistable party mood. Austria wouldn't be happy with this layout, he mused, sat comfortably on the piano stool, nibbling on a little olive brochette. Not that there was any shortage of elegant chairs in the room, of course. The fingers of one hand met the ivory keys of the piano, idly striking a few soft chords as he waited.
What: Tapas and sangria, fiesta night to bitch bitch bitch about those horrible staff♥
Where: Music room on the second floor.
When: Evening of the 29th September because I suck and posted a video post without doing this straight after, orz.
Rating: PG, but with all of you guys, that'll probably change~
It had always seemed that, no matter the situation, no matter who was the good guy or the bad guy or the freedom they had, there was always time for a party between the Mediterranean nations, as long as the circumstances allowed. Grand space, different foods and the attendees (willing or not) were already present in the Sanctuary just waiting for a reason to unwind.
...And there was the attitude, of course! France noticed frowns, sighs and lines of worry troubling the faces of the few other nations with whom he spoke, and in all honesty, was quite surprised by it. The matter of their imprisonment was... unfavourable, yes, but on the other hand, they were still alive! Trapped, away from home, but alive! And that was cause enough to make the effort to wear a smile, and venture from the closure of the East Wing out to the rest of the building, with promise of providing the delicious backdrop for what he sincerely hoped would be a pleasant meeting.
France, after some minutes of rummaging in various kitchen cupboards whilst chorizo al vino sizzled steadily in the frying-pan, stumbled across a couple of stacked storage boxes- perfect for carrying tapas!- and noted, with a smile, the chilled bottles of sangria prepared by the Spanish nation stored within the refrigerator door. Soon he made his merry way up through the Sanctuary (singing snippets of a song from home, winking at the cameras if they happened to catch in his vision), stopping by the South Wing only to echo an "Espagne~!" down the hallway before he reached the music room.
A storage box under each arm, he managed to wedge open the door to the large room with his shoulder, almost stumbling in but quickly regaining balance. Out of all the flat surfaces in the room, instruments and all, the only one that even came close to a table was the grand piano. With a cheeky smirk, the nation rested the boxes by his feet and, one by one, began to unload each bowl and plate of tapas onto the top of the great, black instrument.
Spain would soon arrive to keep him company, and with any luck, a wave of other nations (especially those who had responded earlier!) would soon follow into the room and into Spain's irresistable party mood. Austria wouldn't be happy with this layout, he mused, sat comfortably on the piano stool, nibbling on a little olive brochette. Not that there was any shortage of elegant chairs in the room, of course. The fingers of one hand met the ivory keys of the piano, idly striking a few soft chords as he waited.