towerofanimus | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Characters: England and all you ~~positively insufferable~~ wonderful people!
Setting: Floor Three
Format: Starting with prose/paragraph/whatever you want to call it, but I'll match.
Summary: Apparently the Shakespeare collections he brought with him aren't enough -- actually finding the library in this godawful place was a small blessing.
Warnings: Language, most likely, gosh England that's so improper (also mild suggestive themes, courtesy of him and fem!France)

The kingdom breathed a minor sigh as he turned the page, away from the inquiries of comedians and further into the tale of one 'Cesario'. A stack of books flanked each side of the open copy of Twelfth Night on the table; one stack for the books he had finished (currently, about three), and a stack for the ones that had not yet been opened.

Getting down to this floor had been a nightmare. England didn't mind stairs -- he was no lazy American, after all -- but this was just ludicrous. The place was a scientific disaster and a magical marvel. He was less disturbed by the physical impossibility than he was by the chance of hostile supernatural figures lingering about. It didn't take a mage adept to realize that a place like this could easily have them, just by looking at the way the tower defied physics and logic.

But at least he'd suffered no loss of limb nor any encounters with anyone he'd rather not meet with on the way down here. And, thus far, he'd had no significant disturbances.

Now all he needed to do was just stop thinking about the damn building and relax enough to enjoy what he was reading.

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France didn't completely realize where her comment had led England's thoughts, but she noticed the blush nonetheless. She shrugged nonchalantly and replied, "It's a need for normality - if I see Germany reading smut and it is full of lederhosen used creatively in bondage situations, that is normal, and puts me in my realm of comfort. Sort of."

...well, he could...sort of understand that. In a way. A really weird way, but, he wasn't going to question French logic any more than he already did. He wished she wouldn't be so very blunt about it though, if only because the rest of his body needed blood and his face was hogging it all.

"You can never be too sure, you know-- rubbish like...that train wreck may be of the norm for Germany, as well. He could just be better practiced in hiding it," he suggested, though he couldn't say he entirely believed it. He did have some respect for Germany, after all.

Too bad for him that she quite enjoyed his blood occupying his head - Arthur was just lucky that she wasn't focused on making it occupy his 'lower' head.

"Hiding it, hm?" She chuckled and lifted the book, waving it in Arthur's face. "He was reading this in the middle of the library, with several other volumes of similar genre piled around him."

At that point, he'd probably excuse himself from the conversation completely. He recoiled from the book again, taking a couple of safe paces back from both France and that wretched bound volume of concentrated embarrassment.

"Lapse in common sense, perhaps," he suggested hastily. "Or maybe it is just the case that no one was attentive enough to notice his tastes before now." England did his best not to fumble his words, but some of them did come out a little less well-enunciated than they usually were. "Regardless, 'normal' is a strange concept in and of itself." Was the point he was trying to make with this.

She decided to have mercy on him and dropped the book on the shelf at her side, cover face-down. "Better?" she asked with a smile, finding his fumbling of language endearing.

"Much," he agreed, taking the extra step to turn his head in the direction opposite where she had set the book -- half to put more distance between it and his line of vision, and half to try and conceal his relentless blush. "Thank you."

"De rien. I would avoid that table over there in future then-" She pointed to Germany's previous table down the other end of the bookshelf, the surface of it still covered in the questionable literature. "This was only the tip of the iceberg."

He cleared his throat with an awkward "ahem", sparing the table a brief glance. "I see. I shall keep to my own area, then." It wasn't the literature he even had a problem with (though he'd die thrice over before he willingly admitted that to any of his fellow nations), it was more actually being questioned about it, by France no less.

Plus the one she had been reading was utter tripe, in all fairness. "Germany's interests certainly are...extensive," he commented lamely, tearing his gaze away from the table full of debauchery.

Well, considering how often she'd 'accidentally' walked in on the female England red-faced and quickly slipping the trashy book she'd been reading under her seat, Francisca couldn't help but wonder if perhaps this England might also indulge in smut... in private, of course.

At his remark she gave him an innocent yet searching look, responding slowly, "Well... I would say all nations have extensive... 'interests', though perhaps we don't always speak of them in the company of others?"

He didn't like that look of hers. It was far too charming. Far too innocent. Frances were not innocent, and did not make innocent inquiries. (And alright, he was maybe a tad biased, but how many would disagree with him on this matter?)

"Speak for yourself," England answered simply. His tone was calm enough, but his face was still a telling shade of pink, and he averted his gaze under the guise of turning up his nose.

Aha, and she knew that blush and snooty lift of the nose. Looks like some things don't change between worlds~ She smiled and gave him another inquisitive look, eyes wide and lashes fluttering as she asked, "Oh? So you have no dirty little sexual interests? No fondness for corsetry, indecent exposure, or perhaps some creative use of your neckties in the bedroom?"

He wanted to go crawl in a hole somewhere and follow Japan's example of becoming a hermit for a few centuries as France began to list off particular "interests" that he may have. A hand flew up to the knot of his tie when she mentioned the last one, and he was sorely tempted to untie it and fling it far, far away from his person.

"N-no!" he choked out. "None! None at all! That's just-- that's absurd, and quite a personal matter regardless!" It was a shame that he was never a good liar when it really counted.

She smiled her full-blown seductress smirk, her voice coming out in a low purr, "Oh but monsieur, surely you know that personal matters of this area are my speciality~?"

Yes, that was an invitation, but she had the feeling he wouldn't take her bait so she slipped back to her sweetly innocent smile. "But if it bothers you so, I will drop the matter."

His brain was going to melt and leak out of his ears, the end. He blushed to his neck, propping an elbow in his palm and raising his opposite hand to futilely cover the lower half of his face. "Surely I must say that I don't," he countered quickly, trying to distance himself from that sultry tone of hers. He...maybe had to admit that it wasn't completely unappealing.

But he had morals and standards, or otherwise had become very good at convincing other people (and himself) that he did. And she was-- it was-- France, for god's sake, what is wrong with him?

"To defer to my preference would be quite appreciated," England managed to tack on. His preference being, of course, that they talk about something else. Almost anything else. Anything else that wasn't the bedroom, really.

Too bad for him that she would change subjects from bedroom antics to the bedroom itself. "How are you finding your lodgings? Tolerable roommates?" she asked.

She hadn't really met her own roommates since she rarely spent time in her room - or any room for that matter.

... Well, except for that one time with Francis but anyway, she quickly discarded the thought with only a slightly pinker tinge coming to her cheeks.

...well, that wasn't so bad. He could do with the bedroom if the antics were just left out. "I haven't really spoken to them much," he admitted, without explanation. France knew he wasn't exactly a social butterfly. "And the rooms themselves are a bit...crowded."

He could see one roommate, maybe even two, but three was a bit much for someone as private as him.

"Though it could be worse," England supplied with a minor shrug.

"But of course - you could have been rooming with Francis and me."

England visibly made a face when Francis' name came up -- but (even though he had far too much pride to do it outright), he felt the need to defend Francisca in that regard. "The latter would be quite impossible, considering that the rooms appear to be gender-segregated."

Francisca chuckled and combed her hair back. "I suppose... Though considering that Francis and I are essentially the same person... Ah well." She batted her lashes at him with a smile. "That's not a problem for you... is it?"

He wouldn't agree, for the mere fact that Francis hated him while Francisca didn't. ...which was definitely a fact. It had to be. Otherwise England might start feeling conflicted, and that just would not do.

"I-- what do you mean?" he prompted with confusion at her question, eyebrows furrowing.

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