(no subject)
Who: Spain (si_espana ) and France (savoureux ).
What: A charming little dinner.
Where: In France's Parisian apartment.
When: 18:00
Why: So Francis can prove he's a horrible friend and test Antonio's virtues.
Light flooded the floors and windows of the apartment, sunlight splashing over off-white walls adorned with bright pastel paintings of water lilies. A gentle humming filled the walls of the flat, echoing throughout the various rooms, emanating from the kitchen. His friend hadn't arrived yet, so Francis figured that he would get a start on preparing his meal, laying out a variety of bell peppers and a ham to slice up. Francis had not been sure of his friend's meal preferences, even after knowing Spain for so long, so he figured he would select a generic four-course meal to serve. His fingers danced over blades sharped carefully by his own hands, selecting a thin knife to cut the peppers with, before reaching up to adjust the ties on his pink apron. He had considered not wearing anything at all, as he usually did around his apartment, but it seemed more fitting to don trousers and an apron. He doubted Spain would have been bothered either way.
"Piment grilles et farcis garcia, potage á la purée de chou-fleur… What else?" mumbled Francis. He could prepare l'escargots, but he wasn't sure if his friend would eat snails or not. Generally most Europeans did, and he seemed to remember Spain enjoying snails in the past, but it was best he made something a little less specific. He sighed, then began to hum his favourite nursery rhyme again, sound filling the house.
He hadn't prepared, per say, before Spain came. Francis kept his apartment rather clean, white couches adorned with red fur throws, light birchwood chairs tucked in neatly to the glass tables they accompanied. If it wasn't obvious before, Francis had somewhat of a tendency to decorate his apartment with light-coloured objects. When the light filtered in, it produced such warm yellows to accompany the bright whites and eggshell colours he had around the apartment; it made him feel cheerful even when he was reading the most depressing of philosophers.
Which was probably why he liked Spain so much. Even though Francis and Spain had not always agreed on everything, had even fought each other at various points in history, Francis had found it in his heart to forgive the Spaniard and move on, if only because of his cheery attitude. It made him ponder a little bit how anyone could keep themselves so blissfully optimistic in this day and age, steadfast in their religious views with little worry in their mind even at the worst of times. In a way, Francis envied Antonio.
But he also loved his friend dearly, which was why it had been a long time since the two had fought. Francis sliced the peppers within moments, cleaned his knife and cut through the ham, humming a little louder to keep himself company. Spain was only… half an hour late? More than typical of the Spaniard, as when Francis said 17:30, that meant within the next hour or so for the Spaniard. Francis rather enjoyed the laid-back nature his friend sported; it made him feel like he was performing on a cooking show like he did with so many of his friends.
What: A charming little dinner.
Where: In France's Parisian apartment.
When: 18:00
Why: So Francis can prove he's a horrible friend and test Antonio's virtues.
Light flooded the floors and windows of the apartment, sunlight splashing over off-white walls adorned with bright pastel paintings of water lilies. A gentle humming filled the walls of the flat, echoing throughout the various rooms, emanating from the kitchen. His friend hadn't arrived yet, so Francis figured that he would get a start on preparing his meal, laying out a variety of bell peppers and a ham to slice up. Francis had not been sure of his friend's meal preferences, even after knowing Spain for so long, so he figured he would select a generic four-course meal to serve. His fingers danced over blades sharped carefully by his own hands, selecting a thin knife to cut the peppers with, before reaching up to adjust the ties on his pink apron. He had considered not wearing anything at all, as he usually did around his apartment, but it seemed more fitting to don trousers and an apron. He doubted Spain would have been bothered either way.
"Piment grilles et farcis garcia, potage á la purée de chou-fleur… What else?" mumbled Francis. He could prepare l'escargots, but he wasn't sure if his friend would eat snails or not. Generally most Europeans did, and he seemed to remember Spain enjoying snails in the past, but it was best he made something a little less specific. He sighed, then began to hum his favourite nursery rhyme again, sound filling the house.
He hadn't prepared, per say, before Spain came. Francis kept his apartment rather clean, white couches adorned with red fur throws, light birchwood chairs tucked in neatly to the glass tables they accompanied. If it wasn't obvious before, Francis had somewhat of a tendency to decorate his apartment with light-coloured objects. When the light filtered in, it produced such warm yellows to accompany the bright whites and eggshell colours he had around the apartment; it made him feel cheerful even when he was reading the most depressing of philosophers.
Which was probably why he liked Spain so much. Even though Francis and Spain had not always agreed on everything, had even fought each other at various points in history, Francis had found it in his heart to forgive the Spaniard and move on, if only because of his cheery attitude. It made him ponder a little bit how anyone could keep themselves so blissfully optimistic in this day and age, steadfast in their religious views with little worry in their mind even at the worst of times. In a way, Francis envied Antonio.
But he also loved his friend dearly, which was why it had been a long time since the two had fought. Francis sliced the peppers within moments, cleaned his knife and cut through the ham, humming a little louder to keep himself company. Spain was only… half an hour late? More than typical of the Spaniard, as when Francis said 17:30, that meant within the next hour or so for the Spaniard. Francis rather enjoyed the laid-back nature his friend sported; it made him feel like he was performing on a cooking show like he did with so many of his friends.