Arrrrgh. I hate writing it again. 

Well. My first fanfick entirely (not to count French inserts) written in English.

Crappy English, I must add.

Nevertheless - enjoy.

Veida was wriggling uncomfortably on the train's seat. 15 minutes left to Paris  - the capital of the conutry she didn't really like. The young nation wondered why France would want for someone such powerless like her - warming his bed?

Kabere didn't notice she was drown in her thoughts again until sharp yank of the braking train told her that she reached her destination. As she left the station and took a few steps along the pavement, she noticed the road is blocked. Led by curiosity, Veida ran ahead and saw the reason - a white taxi staying beside her despite green lights turned on. The guy behind it leaned out of the window and shouted something Kabere couldn't understand, but she considered that the car is waiting here for quite long.

The girl hesitantly opened the door.

"Etes-vous Kabere Devinas?" asked the man inside.

"Oh... oui" managed to say completely stunned nation.

"Tous a bord." muttered the driver and made an inviting gesture. Veida hesitantly got in.

After ten minutes or so they arrived at a richly decorated house. The girl silently praised France's taste as she got out of the taxi. 

"However the hinges of that wicket need to be greased. They're really loud."

After knocking at the door Kabere didn't have to wait long for house's host. 

"Bonjour, young lady" Francis greeted her with his usual flirtuous tune. "It's not really cultural to leave guests on the doorstep, so let yourself in."

Veida walked in the hall and gasped. The room was furnished in breathtaking imperial style, like the king or the emperor has lived here. On beige walls were hanging many valuable paintings in gilded frames and heavy maroon hangings on the sides of giant windows making space well lighted. There were also many sculptures from marble and wax.

"Oh God. Have you robbed the Louvre or what?"

"Non, non, silly you." laughed France softly. "What you see it's just exposure hall made from gifts from... collectors."

"I see." Veida answered absentmindedly. Suddenly one of the wax sculptures drew her attention.

"Mr. Bonnefoy, why do you have a wax sculpture of the Great Britain?"

"Pardon?" asked thoroughly confused France.

"I am not a sculpture, you bloody weirdo!" shouted alleged work.

"S-sorry Mr. Kirkland!" said surprised brunette. "You stayed so still..."

"Come on, Veida" cooed Frenchman. "Don't pay your attention to that tasteless tea lover."

The blue-eyed turned around and went further. Kabere quickly followed, leaving red-faced with anger England.

After ten minutes:

"You see, that was painted by Rubens..."

"I did recognize. Those women are unmistakable."

"I am glad to hear you have at least a little knowledge about the art."

"You shouldn't be surprised, Mr. France, I'm already quite artistic nation..." Veida smiled sheepishly.

Francis made another teatral gesture at the corner. Kabere focused her damaged eyes on what he was pointing at and when she finally saw the thing, she had to stifle her laughter.

It was very decorative porcelain chamberpot.

"I wonder if your kings were peeing into that when they were child..."

Bonnefoy glared at the blunt girl before saying:

"You know, I've never really cared. This one was robbed by Nazis in 1940... and comes from XVII Century."

"Mr. France, can I tell you a story?"

"I'm all ears."

"Some time ago there was an old wealthy lady living in marvelous palace. She even had three expensive chamberpots: the porcelain one, the gold and the crystal. But when thh Nazis came upon her house, she pissed herself on her marble stairs..."

"Hahaha, good one!" shouted Arthur, who was following them silently all the time.

"Mr. England..."

"England, could you explain me why you are disturbing us right now?"

"Maybe I just don't want that newbie to be groped!"

"I am real gentleman unlike you, so I wouldn't grope her right on first date."

"Oh really? Date?"

Veida fleed from the room so as not to become a victim of another English-French quarrel - something told her the things will be flying across.


Not really concise or sensible. Just for (un)intelligent fun.