SURPRISE ! [america]

[france]

THIS MUSEUM FULL OF ASH, ONCE A TICKLE NOW A RASH

she was sure that america wasn't expecting her, and that's what made this all the better. whether he liked it or not, she was coming to see him, and by god he was going to let her in and let her fuss over him all she wanted. because obviously, josephine got what she wanted. it was just the way things went. no one really told her no -- at least, few people had ever done so to her face, and she rarely accepted an answer she didn't like. after all, she had selective hearing, or so she claimed; sometimes she heard what you said, sometimes she didn't. it really all depended on whether what you said was important enough to her, and if she actually liked what she was hearing.

getting to america's house, however, was a lot harder than she intended. in fact, she hadn't been in america for a long time -- sitting in the taxi cab, she tried to talk to the driver in french, insisting several times, "de cette façon, je pense! de cette façon, je pense!" before the driver finally told her he didn't understand a word she was saying. with a frown, josephine reverted to speaking english and asking, wryly, why a man named claude didn't speak french. the cab driver scowled at her and told her if it bothered her, she could get out and walk to wherever it was she needed to get to. she pouted and quieted down after that.

once she finally made it to america's house, she paid the cab driver and practically flounced up the steps, knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell several times. "amérique, ouverte, s'il vous plaît!" she chimed through the door. "open up, please!" she was grinning from ear to ear, golden hair in a loose side braid with tendrils trickling into her face. even if, under the guise of motherly doting, she was really just trying to convince america to join peace, she could enjoy herself.

[united states of america]

He hadn't really expected her to be there, because it didn't make sense intuitively—that was an understatement, and America placed his coffee on the table with more force than he may have meant—and he considered pretending to be 'inexplicably indisposed.' (They had a history, and he'd been publicly humiliated when she dumped him with the broken remains of the U.N. to run off and, what the hell, elope with Britain or something down that road. Both fucked their promises pretty well, thumbs up to that; maybe next time they could kill each other instead of pestering Denmark or Ireland.) Having propped up his feet and tried—failed, but with style and grace!—to work through his debts, he listened to her voice through the door and felt a twitch of frustration. America had lived through his share of her cooing, and he knew exactly why she was here and what she wanted—and, whoo, he found he was still not giving a damn about it. Surprise there.

'Do sluts learn they ought to beg louder, José. Hey, then you're a businesswoman driving a hard bargain,' but he didn't say it aloud because he felt guilty in his own way, and called back an easy, "I bet you would be happy if I did, eh. But I keep my door closed after hours. ♥ " He wondered just how much of the meaning was lost as he tapped his fingers to the laptop's keys and watched lights and pixels blaze across the screen. He may have liked her, even cared if it bruised her ego, but Josephine needed to learn that life was not a matter of flitting to person after person because, "Well, damn, they were around at the time!" Some ideas were shit, impractical, and bloody; Josephine seemed to have forgotten that, while he made a show of himself in Korea, he withdrew his backing when it started to be a matter of everyone being a statistic. She lost her right to any semblance of ethics, yet alone common decency from free countries like his own. (Yes, so he occupied things from time to time, but he always left. It wasn't conquering if you left, as far as America was concerned.)

"But, hey, I'm a reasonable man," he added breezily, words touched with a tongue-in-cheek humor, "I could be kind if you could, and provide my great nation with an official apology for your clear misjudgment in joining P.E.A.C.E. and leaving the U.N. without formal recognition. ♥" If she was going to play that hand then he would respond in tow. Only fair, and an old game between friends.

______________________________

OOC: Eh, he's not usually this irritated, but they pissed him off. . . don't be mad, you did it first! still love josephine, though. <3 By the way, no romantic implication, it just sounds that way. :'D;; And we're just going to assume that he has a sitting room by the front door, yeah. >>;

[france]

THIS MUSEUM FULL OF ASH, ONCE A TICKLE NOW A RASH

there was a surefire pout on her face by the time america replied. oh, she was positive that if he had been looking at her, he would have let her in no matter what; shellpink lips pressed into an irresistable bow-shaped pout, sooty lashes lowered demurely. it was an image, of course, that could not be turned down; unfortunately, america was not looking at her and she couldn't use her looks to her full potential. with a heavy sigh, she leaned against the door, giving a soft noise of complaint.

"aaaah~ la cruauté," she complained through the door. "you're so mean to your lovely france. pourquoi, darling? don't you want to see me again?" she smiled cheekily through the door. even though he couldn't see her, even if he didn't love her anymore, surely he still found her attractive. surely.. "amérique, je suis venu pour vous," she purred. "i put up with an angry cab driver all the way here to see you. does that mean nothing?" for another moment, josephine pouted; she twisted a ringlet around her finger and sighed, leaning against the door still.

"vous n'étiez pas ce que cela signifie dans le lit," she added, almost in a grumble but at least loud enough for him to hear.

- - -

* amérique, je suis venu pour vous; "america, i came just for you."
* vous n'étiez pas ce que cela signifie dans le lit; "you were not this mean in bed."
*la cruauté; "how cruel."
*pourquoi; "why?"

notes: lol i shouldn't even be surprised josephine had a relationship with america. XD

[united states of america]

"Nope. ♥ But I'm sure that cab driver was just as charmed to have you as I would be, France," America could have any woman he wanted—and that was not complimentary, but a hard fact. Fact was what made it beautiful, and he took a long swig of coffee. France was amicable and good company, but she was more or less his old on-and-off friend with an exceptionally distracting bosom. Yes, he would give her that. Truth was paramount in this age as long as he wasn't manipulating the lie, and she got her fair share of enjoyment out of it either way.

Josephine continued, as stubborn as her reputation never could do justice to, and he regretted not barring P.E.A.C.E. mongers from his country's soil, "Ah, hey . . . I wouldn't have wanted to spoil the fun. They were good times though. . ." It was a homage to better days, and he scrolled through a national database of soldiers currently in service before his mood dampened again. Their broken romance was a play on passion—uh, his track record wasn't exactly 'excellent' and never really had been—but he wasn't angry at her for that. (It was something of a staple of her character, and he was used to it, even to the point of liking all the mystery of never knowing where you stood. Competition was in his blood, and being ignored was just as interesting as being indulged if there were benefits.)

It was that America hadn't expected to see France lying and breaking a mutual agreement between herself and his drinking partners. He thought better of her; that their understanding of infantry and conflict would keep a WWIII at bay, because—hey—there might not be a world after that. Everyone had their reasons to suspect Korea then, but he pulled whatever his political and monetary backing from P.E.A.C.E. four years ago. The bloodshed was matter of personal disgust, America was not changing his mind this time, and, all things considered, she looked ugly in red alone. A crisp white and royal blue were their shared colors, after all, and he didn't dress down.

Regaining careful composure, America finished with a good-spirited, "But being outside my door is not the same thing as being inside my bed, as much as the world likes to think that way. Feel free to enjoy it, though. ♥"

______________________________

OOC: Oh, I actually can read and write French to some degree. :D It lets me practice a little, so put as much of it in there as you like. <3 Translations aren't necessary unless it's for the purpose of the rp.

I also said there isn't quite a romantic implication, but what the hell, let's go with it. XD;; the prospect amuses me

[france]

THIS MUSEUM FULL OF ASH, ONCE A TICKLE NOW A RASH

he had always been this stubborn, hadn't he? josephine found it both endearing and rather annoying. after all, it was only horribly rude to leave her just standing out here, with her baked goods and the smothering hugs she'd prepared for him. didn't he still like her? didn't she mean anything to him anymore? oh yes, josephine was regretting not just walking in (supposing, after all, that he actually left his front door unlocked) so that she could bat her eyelashes prettily at him and pout her lips and pull him back with the gravitational force of her affection.

or something like that.

she wasn't even paying attention to him talking. something about a cab driver? she frowned, pulling at a ringlet before let it curl back into place. america continued talking (he certainly talked more than she remembered) and she leaned against the door, looking thoughtful and almost complacent. for a while, she was silent -- long stretches of silence after he'd finished talking -- before she sad. "quoi? amerique, were you speaking?" she asked through the door, still contemplating how she could get into his house without too much trouble. maybe if she started crying -- he'd always been a sucker for her tears, at least from what she could remember -- but she didn't want to mess up her make up.

she toyed with the doorknob, twisting it around as she thought, until the door popped open and she practically fell inside. "vous n'avez pas de verrouiller votre porte?" she exclaimed, a laugh coming from her lips. "my, my, i would have expected you to be safer about this sort of thing!" she smiled a radiant smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face and placing that hand on her hip. "no matter. come here, amerique, and give me a proper welcome home."

- - -

Notes: Omgggg lol I'm so sorry I didn't notice that. ;w; I skim read soooooo yeah :v Uh we can always change it if you didn't want it but the idea muses me too.

[united states of america]

"Wait, France, I—!" He was shocked as the knob jiggled, some part of him impressed that she hadn't huffed and ran off yet. However, when she tumbled her way though the door America retracted his sympathy. (Why was he so slow on doing housework; all these home improvement projects and he couldn't fix a doorknob.) There was probably an adage about never letting a Frenchwoman pass your threshold that he'd broken a thousand times over, and it was a whole lot simpler when he couldn't see her. Golden hair, baby blue eyes, Brigitte Bardot curves—and America guessed that she knew that, but at least she wasn't crying.

Keeping easy about the whole thing, he managed a bit of an uninspired, "You're looking, um, well. And I don't usually need to lock people out, but what can I say; trespassing isn't a typical formality." Both were true in their own right. He hadn't expected her, and neither were in a position where visiting each other was in good taste. (He shut his doors to French European passengers because of terrorism claims in the E.U.; the airports didn't take them, his cruise lines didn't want them. Yet apparently the door, and this was being kind, really did a shit-poor job of being a door.) Plus, America felt that he had a bit of a right to be resentful, considering how dry and boring Britain liked to be. Enough to drive a good woman insane, but then he was of the opinion that living with Britain was just queer to begin with.

Well, America thought tiredly, his game hit a standstill and he had to stand up and practice diplomacy even though he didn't want to. If he had no choice, then he had no choice. He knew they weren't going to be discussing as much as smothering each other, but he recognized that this was one of the last instances where they could talk on equal terms. 'It's a little sad, France.' Shutting the door gracefully, America managed a simple, "Well, you have my apologies for leaving you to wait." The Maryland silence was overwhelming outside his two-story historic home—cream white, quaint with a porch and rosebuds and ivy tresses, and very reminiscent for its own sake—and he was glad D.C. was busy with Congress or he would be outside on his ass again. (Not long, but enough to make him uncomfortably guilty.)

Extending a hand, he switched from law-abiding citizen—yes, he was serious there—to de facto representative, and smiled, "But I'm afraid my other flame wouldn't want me being too friendly. ♥ What brings you here tonight.”

______________________________

OOC: I luled, Lisette. X3 (He can just stay talkative. is it really that bad? D:< He's an easier muse this way, and I guess it's my own interpretation of modern-day America. Putting that aside, it's no problem; I skim read too, no need to apologize. Besides, I like the idea itself, and it did sort of sound that way. XD;; i plead innocent >8|)

[france]

THIS MUSEUM FULL OF ASH, ONCE A TICKLE NOW A RASH

glossed lips moved into a bow shaped pout. this was how he greeted his lover? well, past lover, of course, but she was still attractive. the least he could do was give her a proper hug, kiss her cheeks, ignite old flames--

something like that.

but his comment -- "you're looking, um, well" -- was enough to make that radiant smile split across her face once more. she shook his hand, polite enough, and then kissed both cheeks with strawberry flavored lips. "and you're looking quite handsome, amerique. tout comme je me souviens." that's right, josephine. this is where she bats her eyelashes, smiles that ravishing, charming smile that she seemed to have captured decades ago. she'd made a skill out of it, that was for certain. with a mock hurt expression, she put a hand over her heart.

"are you telling me you have another? i am appalled. and here i kept you in my heart all this time," she exclaimed, airily, and brushed past him, setting her basket of goods on a nearby table before making herself comfortable on the couch. she draped slender, bare legs (oh, yes, shorts were glorious in her opinion) over one leg of the couch and regarded america coyly with a pastel gaze. "i'm wounded. internally bleeding, you could say." well, she certainly made herself right at home.

- - -

Note: Lolol hope this post works for you, :'D Josephine obvs doesn't care if she's not welcome, she's comfortable anywhere.

[united states of america]

It was below America to be embarrassed, but god forbid that he be ashamed of people's interest in him. France was allowed to be loose as long as it was on her record and not his, and he didn't necessarily tire of being called handsome as much as expect it at this point in his life. (Don't worry, lovely Lady Marianne, there would be no neglect of your country on his part.) However, the scent of jasmine, rose, and sandalwood was strong and clung to her wherever she went—tasteful, but there, sort of like an old bruise, and he shrugged her off. It reminded him of Marilyn Monroe when she used to give President Kennedy comfort calls. Well, hey; it was definitely France and there were no other words for it.

"Yep, and a very fine other, France ♥," he stated easily, wondering why she brought bread instead of wine with her history—but that was technicality more than anything else, and he just liked a drink for its own sake, "Good times are valuable precisely because they don't last that long, eh. You can't have a classic romance without blood." Well, trusting any gift from her was pretty much aiming the gun at your own head, and America didn't advocate suicide. (Leave that to Japan, who made death threats his national pastime.) He made a mental note to toss that out, with a touch of resignation.

Out of intellectual curiosity and a healthy fondness for the feminine gender among other things, he would admit that she had a very nice pair. In more ways than one, but this probably wasn't the time to be indulging in the oldest trade in the book. Besides, there was no surprise when her legs had looked about the same for centuries—lust was creative, but even it lost its intrigue. Sex was not the proper hand to play if France was involved, and he found his eyes wandering to the bread basket.

Still easy-going, if wistful for America, he offered a simple, “We ought to share a drink.” Wine and theatrics tugged on her heartstrings more often than anything else, but he never quite understood her interest in other people. There was always a silver lining in someone else's cloud—something that he wanted, and alliances or niceties never gave him that. With the exception of D.C., who handcuffed him to the bed frame and the office chair in a way that he enjoyed, and the states, he only kept friends or acquaintances. Aware that age and familiarity was what set her apart from the rest, he asked a simple, “Why join P.E.A.C.E.—a conflict of interest?”

______________________________

OOC: In which Americur was all, "D8 WHUT. WHY CAN'T I BE PRESIDENT KENNEDY. OR AT LEAST HIS BROTHER OR SOMETHING." and it was a great post, lisette <3 i'm just sorry I can only manage this one, since it was kind of difficult to respond to . . . DX<

[france]

THIS MUSEUM FULL OF ASH, ONCE A TICKLE NOW A RASH

josephine pouted at him from her spot on the couch. he was just so flippant with her; and what right did he have, after all? she came to be kind to him and convince him to come to her side and this is what she got in return. lightly, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed, looking at the ceiling in thought. well, even if he wasn't interested like that in her anymore, she could still try to convince him. one way or another. lightly, her legs swung over the end of the couch, back and forth.

"there's no need to be so crisp about it," she huffed innocently. "we're friends, aren't we? so don't be such a stick and relax."she took one of the pillows on the couch and tucked it behind her head yawning lazily and looking perfectly content and at home on his couch. it was almost endearing, really, the way she seemed perfectly at ease in anyone else's home. after all, even if she didn't live there, it was something she could make comfortable. usually. at his mention of sharing a drink, she indicated the basket. "i packed a bottle of wine in there, just in case you asked. i think it was the one you like. i don't remember much anymore." she yawned again and shrugged. "you can save it, if you like, for your new lady friend or man friend, whichever it seems you prefer."

however, when america brought up joining peace, her lips formed into a pout again. "why are you being so serious about this whole thing? you'd think me coming to visit you was the end of the world or something like that."