[fic for unknown_island] Who Said Pirates Don't Do Snow?
"Je vais mourir." Seychelles face was deadset, brown eyes almost stormy as she tried to glare him out of sticking a purple toque on her head.
"Non, you won't." The hat went on. Canada was immune to the glare and uncaring to the announcement of her imminent death. Matching purple gloves were going on next, while she kept glaring.
"Oui, I will."
"And what makes you say that, Chelley?"
She gestured outside, through the window of his front door. All in all, it was a lovely day. Temperatures right at freezing, the sun peeking through here and there. Unfortunately, it was also snowing. Well. Snowing was exaggerated. It was... flurry-ing. "That's not sand out there, Mathieu. It's snow. Lots of it. I'm a pirate. I don't do snow."
"It's not snow, it's flurries." Canada gave a distinctly North American grin and Seychelles used that as an excuse to slap at his arm. Between his jacket and her mitten, though, there wasn't much danger in it. Wrapping a scarf around her neck next - the vibrant colours of her flag standing out beautifully against the black of her hair - he added, "And I have a plan for us you'll like, je te promis."
"I don't like you very much," she informed him, scowling.
With his not-terribly-little-but-still-littler sister all bundled up, Canada moved to grab the bag of supplies he'd already prepared, tucking it under his arm as he slipped his own gloves on. "C'mon, allons-y," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulder to pull the bundle that was the island nation out the door. With very little civilization nearby, no one was around to hear her curse him out in her very colourful own language when he announced they'd be building a snowman.
"It's like a sandcastle! But a man. I made sandcastles with you," he pointed out, eyeing the ground for the best place to start rolling snow. Finding it, he squatted, dropping the supplies as he started to gather snow.
"Sand-things are made with sand. Are you stupid?"
"According to my siblings, yes. Now get over here and help me with this."
It became an exercise as much in being typical young siblings as it was in building a snowman. Eventually, though, their sand man with the wrong kind of sand, was standing tall and proud, though a little bit frumpy, and it came time to start accessorizing. Canada instructed Seychelles on how to properly apply liquorice for lips and other candies for eyes and nose. While he instructed, she did as she pleased, of course. But it was nice background murmurings.
Next out of the supply bag came a belt, then a matching holster. Then a simple wooden sword he'd made himself out of a fallen pine tree just for this occasion. Seychelles watched in a stunned, happy sort of silence as he handed over the (unfortunately) store-bought pirate hat. "You want to give it the finishing touch?"
"Bien sûr." Grinning, she took the hat and very carefully placed it atop the head of their snow pirate, the absolute best symbol of their friendship that she could ever think of. Stepping back, she turned to put her hands on her hips in a proud way, beaming at Canada. "How do we look?"
"Manifique!" Canada, for his part, was already pulling a camera from his pocket to snap a few pictures of the finishing moments. Unfortunately, looking at the resulting display on the camera left him wide open for a tackle hug that was far more tackle than hug.
"Non, you won't." The hat went on. Canada was immune to the glare and uncaring to the announcement of her imminent death. Matching purple gloves were going on next, while she kept glaring.
"Oui, I will."
"And what makes you say that, Chelley?"
She gestured outside, through the window of his front door. All in all, it was a lovely day. Temperatures right at freezing, the sun peeking through here and there. Unfortunately, it was also snowing. Well. Snowing was exaggerated. It was... flurry-ing. "That's not sand out there, Mathieu. It's snow. Lots of it. I'm a pirate. I don't do snow."
"It's not snow, it's flurries." Canada gave a distinctly North American grin and Seychelles used that as an excuse to slap at his arm. Between his jacket and her mitten, though, there wasn't much danger in it. Wrapping a scarf around her neck next - the vibrant colours of her flag standing out beautifully against the black of her hair - he added, "And I have a plan for us you'll like, je te promis."
"I don't like you very much," she informed him, scowling.
With his not-terribly-little-but-still-littler sister all bundled up, Canada moved to grab the bag of supplies he'd already prepared, tucking it under his arm as he slipped his own gloves on. "C'mon, allons-y," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulder to pull the bundle that was the island nation out the door. With very little civilization nearby, no one was around to hear her curse him out in her very colourful own language when he announced they'd be building a snowman.
"It's like a sandcastle! But a man. I made sandcastles with you," he pointed out, eyeing the ground for the best place to start rolling snow. Finding it, he squatted, dropping the supplies as he started to gather snow.
"Sand-things are made with sand. Are you stupid?"
"According to my siblings, yes. Now get over here and help me with this."
It became an exercise as much in being typical young siblings as it was in building a snowman. Eventually, though, their sand man with the wrong kind of sand, was standing tall and proud, though a little bit frumpy, and it came time to start accessorizing. Canada instructed Seychelles on how to properly apply liquorice for lips and other candies for eyes and nose. While he instructed, she did as she pleased, of course. But it was nice background murmurings.
Next out of the supply bag came a belt, then a matching holster. Then a simple wooden sword he'd made himself out of a fallen pine tree just for this occasion. Seychelles watched in a stunned, happy sort of silence as he handed over the (unfortunately) store-bought pirate hat. "You want to give it the finishing touch?"
"Bien sûr." Grinning, she took the hat and very carefully placed it atop the head of their snow pirate, the absolute best symbol of their friendship that she could ever think of. Stepping back, she turned to put her hands on her hips in a proud way, beaming at Canada. "How do we look?"
"Manifique!" Canada, for his part, was already pulling a camera from his pocket to snap a few pictures of the finishing moments. Unfortunately, looking at the resulting display on the camera left him wide open for a tackle hug that was far more tackle than hug.