Inbox

[fifty]

To be made pretty later.

Comments

[keepscalm]

[A wistful sigh.] God, that sounds incredible.

We would need potatoes, as well, in that case. [Obviously!]

[fifty]

Oh my god, yes. [Meat and potatoes, the true way to America's heart.] And dessert after. Apple pie.

[keepscalm]

With ice cream? [England could take or leave the ice cream in such cold weather, and his sarcastic tone says as much, but he knows the way to America's heart.]

[fifty]

Yeah, melted all over the pie. [America is definitely already imagining eating all of this.] It'd be so good.

[keepscalm]

This sounds like your dream meal. [Not that England would dislike it, himself, but it's so American that he has to poke fun.]

[fifty]

You pick what you want and I'll make that, too. [Might as well make this party even bigger.]

[keepscalm]

[England mumbles it a bit as he raises the bottle to his lips again, sure that America will have something smart to say in response.] I'd kill for a basket of fish and chips, but we can't fry worth a damn here. [He's genuinely disappointed about this.]

[fifty]

Maybe we could figure something out. [They're strong, independent nations who don't need a deep fryer.] There's gotta be stuff for it at the store.

[keepscalm]

[Suddenly England understands America's obsession with deep frying a little more. He sighs again.] I suppose we can give it a go.

We should ask Ginger what she'd like, as well.

[fifty]

Yeah, it's gotta have food for everybody! [America has apparently gotten himself a bit worked up about this party. No one is surprised.]

[keepscalm]

Shame I can't bake anything. [Is it? Is it a shame, though?




It kind of is, he's not that bad at baking.]

[fifty]

If we had a real kitchen we could have a real party. [Parties are defined by food, after all. And sometimes England can bake, so that'd be okay. It'd make England happy, anyway.]

[keepscalm]

[And another rueful sip.] Yeah. If only. [If only a lot of things.]

[fifty]

[America shifts abruptly so he can stretch out on the couch, head in England's lap.] It's fine, we can still have a cool party just with what we've got.

[keepscalm]

[England has to move the bottle to look down at America's face. His expression tries to be exasperated, but the sadness really eclipses it all.] This is a remarkable distraction you're coming up with, you know.

[fifty]

Of course it is. [But he's going to sit up enough to kiss England gently.] It'll be okay. I'll make it okay!

[keepscalm]

[How many times now has America said that? The process of "making it okay" is often a long one, but England is rather tired of convincing himself to believe it will be.]

That's very ambitious of you.

[fifty]

[America grins, up close in England's face.] I'm always ambitious.

[keepscalm]

[England grimaces, averting his eyes as much as he can while they're so close. Perhaps the liquor has loosened his tongue, because he grumbles it instead of just thinking it.] Stop that, it's like looking into the sun.

[fifty]

[England saying something like that so bluntly gets a blush out of America, and a sheepish sort of laugh.] Really?

[keepscalm]

[Caught out, England tries to turn his gaze away even further. His face is getting a little red, as well.] Yes, you silly oaf. [This does explain a lifetime of being unable to look at America's smiling face for too long.]

[fifty]

[That just gets him to grin again. But England also gets a proper kiss out of it.]

[keepscalm]

[At least England has gotten a consolation for his embarrassing moment of bluntness. And an excuse to close his eyes. Whether he will get his dignity back is unknown as of yet, but this is nice enough for now.]

[fifty]

We--um-- [Okay, the um doesn't really make this sound very confident, but...] If we're celebrating, we could start now.

[keepscalm]

I've already started. [England lifts the momentarily forgotten bottle of alcohol in indication. His following sentence is soft, leading.] Unless you mean something else.