tiens-moi dans tes bras, j' t'en prie

[tumetiens]

Who: France (tumetiens) and YOU!
What: France is just kind of walking around and seeing who looks like they need some company-- he misses being out and mingling with his citizens!
When: NOW
Where: on the ship!!
Warnings: France is a warning

Comments

[yellow_snakeyes]

[Crowley seems to visit the ice rink a lot around this time of year, though he's not quite sure why. It's always one of the more festive places on the Thor, done up in an overabundance of evergreen boughs, red ribbons, and silver and gold bells. The holiday music being blasted from some hidden speakers is always generic and secular - even in outer space it seems someone somewhere is worried about offending someone else. Sometimes it's enough to make Crowley feel maudlin, even without a heavy helping of liquor beforehand, but usually he manages come out feeling merely nostalgic, so at this time of year (for three years, now) he comes back to this same bench to sit and reflect.

Mixed feelings about the holidays aside, he enjoys watching the ice skaters. Even though a lot of them are alien, he can still pick out the groups of teenage boys bunched together, egging each other on about some hot girl or another, the dads and the moms and the older siblings patiently skating young children around the outer edges, solitary teens and adults weaving competently in and out of the other slower, less-experienced skaters. Sometimes, just for fun, he'll twitch a finger and mutter an indecipherable word under his breath and trip one of them, but only sometimes. Usually he's happy enough just to watch.

So he's just a bit annoyed when someone approaches from behind and taps on his shoulder. Turning round, he looks up into the blue eyes of a scruffy-faced man with well-looked-after golden-blond hair that for whatever reason strikes him as unforgivably French. The light British accent he normally uses when he speaks becomes almost unconsciously heavier in response, though his tone is pleasant enough.]

Yes? Can I help you?

[tumetiens]

[Something that the two have in similar may be their tendency to watch-- being a nation with a long history (of which he'd be happy to go on about, picking and choosing the best bits and conveniently overlooking the less than favorable), France's grown accustomed to the little ways that humans amuse themselves, their habits, their subtle joys and woes. He's pleasantly surprised to find that it's not much different for extraterrestrials, even if it all seems like something lifted straight out of America's science-fiction novels.

Some things never change, and that includes the holidays.

So it's really not too surprising that France picks out the one other person who looks like he's enjoying the peoplewatching just as much as he is, even if the term 'enjoying' can be thrown up for discussion.

If France's looks are unforgivably French, then his accent and demeanor are probably disgustingly so. On his end, Crowley's British accent certainly doesn't go unnoticed.]

Not particularly. But you could help me by giving me your company for a moment, if you'd be so kind.

[And he cracks into one of those infuriating smiles.]

[yellow_snakeyes]

[So the bastard is French! And beaming beatifically on top of it all. It's pretty satisfying to know he can still pick these things out.]

My company? I've no idea why you would want that, but I guess that's your business.

[A shrug]

Do what you want.

[tumetiens]

Merci. May I?

[He doesn't even bother to hide his astounding Frenchness, even upon the knowledge that the other man is probably British-- how unfortunate, but one can't fault a citizen for being born into a nation. (If that's indeed what happened.)

He gestures to the spot next to Crowley and slides himself on over to it.]

Have you been skating, ami?

[yellow_snakeyes]

[He doesn't really have anything against the French, honestly. They have excellent food and even better wine, after all. He's pretty sure he's just lived in England for too long.

Regardless, his answer to the man's question is amiable enough.]

No, I don't skate. I just like to watch.

[Like an old man.]

[tumetiens]

People-watching is as good a hobby as skating, albeit a bit less glamorous, non?

[He flashes Crowley a grin and then motions towards the skate rentals area.]

You don't want to try?

[yellow_snakeyes]

There's a time and place for glamour. I prefer to avoid it.

[And leave that to the French. :|a]

I've tried in the past. I like watching better.

[tumetiens]

We can still watch from the rink, ami.

[He's mostly teasing, because he does like getting a reaction.]

People-watching is nice up close, too.

[yellow_snakeyes]

Nah, that's just distracting. Though there's no reason to let that stop you, I guess.

[Not that he thinks this guy is going anywhere...from what Crowley can tell, he's settled in for the long haul.]

[tumetiens]

[Crowley would be absolutely right in making that assessment, because France has already made himself comfortable, pulling long hair back and putting hands in pockets to keep them warm.]

Is it that you've tried skating and wasn't much good at it, or you just prefer not to? If it's the former, Brother France could teach you, hand in hand.

[the proposition is accompanied by a knowing wink, because let's face it, he excels at doing stuff like this.]

[yellow_snakeyes]

[He looks over at his unexpected company with some curiosity when he calls himself 'Brother France', and while he does respond to the man's wink with an agreeable smirk, he also gives a rare blink (unseen behind his sunglasses, as usual) before responding:]

I don't like the cold.

[Normally he would be more than happy to pursue a line of conversation about being taught 'hand in hand' by a good-looking blond, but now that he's really looking at the man, his curiosity demands satisfaction.]

What are you?

[tumetiens]

[the question 'what are you' as opposed to 'who are you' makes France quirk a brow, first observing (he's never liked being asked 'what are you'), then evaluating (because, contrary to belief, he does that sometimes).

what follows, though, isn't annoyance or irritation-- no, it's more of a secretive and smug smile, as he leans towards Crowley and replies:]

Didn't I just let it slip, ami? I'm France, and I would be a bit offended if you didn't know who I was.

[yellow_snakeyes]

[He stays right where he is when the man-shaped being (France? Really? Well, Crowley did talk to "England" once, once upon a time...) leans closer, perfectly unbothered by the invasion of his personal space - also France smells pretty nice, in the manner of those rare individuals who not only know how to select a flattering cologne, but also know not to overdo it. Points for that, right there.]

You did. I just wanted to make sure I'd heard you correctly. You're looking remarkably robust for a nation that was supposedly obliterated when the world ended.

[He's not being deliberately antagonistic in saying that. He's merely...testing the waters, as it were. He's also smiling a similar secretive, smug little smile, very like the one on his company's face. This encounter just got much, much more interesting.]