Pretty in Blue - Part 1qualapecDecember 3 2010, 09:29:40 UTC
I hope this is more or less what you're looking for! ~~~
Four years had passed, and England still caught himself wondering why that bloody Frog hadn’t called him in so long.
It usually happened while he was sitting in his armchair. He was usually reading, embroidering, or doing something else that likewise distracted his hands when the thought came. His mind and memory betrayed him, and he found himself reaching for the phone with the intent of harassing France.
He was usually halfway done dialing before he remembered.
The first time that he’d made this mistake had been the worst. He’d actually dialed the number expecting France to pick up the phone.
France did but not Francis.
“Bonjour?” Her voice had been like silk and poison right then.
England, stunned and shocked back into reality, had immediately hung up.
He avoided Marianne mostly. To his behavior at meetings and social gatherings, America always gently nudged him in the arm and told him to go talk to her. The boy was worried about him, and had been trying to encourage contact, without seeming to realize that it was the last thing England wanted. “Come on now, old man, you don’t want your relationship with the new France to start off like your relationship with the old one.” The old one…England might have socked him for that if he hadn’t been shaking with rage.
Because the more he saw her, the more he adjusted to the idea of her as France.
Perhaps for anyone else in the world, it would have been a good thing, a way to help move on.
For England, it reminded him of the vacuum in his life.
Remembering, it seemed, was both his curse and his comfort.
~~~
Four years had passed, and England still caught himself wondering why that bloody Frog hadn’t called him in so long.
It usually happened while he was sitting in his armchair. He was usually reading, embroidering, or doing something else that likewise distracted his hands when the thought came. His mind and memory betrayed him, and he found himself reaching for the phone with the intent of harassing France.
He was usually halfway done dialing before he remembered.
The first time that he’d made this mistake had been the worst. He’d actually dialed the number expecting France to pick up the phone.
France did but not Francis.
“Bonjour?” Her voice had been like silk and poison right then.
England, stunned and shocked back into reality, had immediately hung up.
He avoided Marianne mostly. To his behavior at meetings and social gatherings, America always gently nudged him in the arm and told him to go talk to her. The boy was worried about him, and had been trying to encourage contact, without seeming to realize that it was the last thing England wanted. “Come on now, old man, you don’t want your relationship with the new France to start off like your relationship with the old one.” The old one…England might have socked him for that if he hadn’t been shaking with rage.
Because the more he saw her, the more he adjusted to the idea of her as France.
Perhaps for anyone else in the world, it would have been a good thing, a way to help move on.
For England, it reminded him of the vacuum in his life.
Remembering, it seemed, was both his curse and his comfort.
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