Revive the Dead Ships

Queer Advice and Lovely Mishap

Daaaaamn Leaf, back at it again with the shitty, 'what-the-hell-is-the-plot' Oneshots.

~∆~

He walked down the streets of this unfamiliar town, hands in his pockets, not quite sure why he'd come here of all places. He didn't even know the nation he was meeting that great! Well, there was the Napoleonic Wars, and World War Two, but they'd barely talked!

Norway knocked on the door, and waited, whilst rocking back on his heels. His breath came out, but it made him feel slightly uncomfortable that it didn't come out in a little cloud, like it often did back in his land. It was too warm here, he supposed. Then, he looked up as he heard the door open. There he saw the man in question he had been looking for.

"Mon Ami!" France said in his own native language, before switching to a more familiar tongue for the two. "What brings you to Paris on this night!" He asked, smiling kindly at the Norwegian who had knocked on his door. Then, the Frenchman blinked. He stared at Norway for a few seconds,

"Wow...really..what does bring you to Paris?" The Frenchman asked. Norway sighed, Gud, he really didn't want to he here. He didn't have much of a choice though, he was the only other person who he knew who would he at least somewhat willing to help him with his predicament other than Sweden, and the Norwegian hadn't been able to find him. He tried asking the Swede's 'kids', surely they would know... -- However, Sealand and Ladonia left him to the fucking wolves of their legislature and other bureaucratic bullshit while they ran off somewhere, rather than informing him of the Swede's whereabouts. No good brats, he found himself thinking. He'd get them- and their little dog too.

"You got time t' chat, Frankrike?" Norway asked, and the Frenchman nodded. "Come on inside, we'll talk."

So they walked inside, and sat down at the table in France's living room. France went to fetch some wine for himself, Norway had declined wanting any. When he returned, they began their chat. "So, Norway, what brings you to this neck of the woods? It's quite far from Oslo, is it not?"
The Norwegian nodded, "I need some advice. I want...to confess to someone." He said quietly.

France scoffed a bit, "I don't see why you need my help, you do that a lot don't you? Just profess your hate for them, obviously--"

"Nei," Norway cut him off. "Not a hate confession. A...a l-love confession." He blushed faintly as he said this, "Do you know how to deal with crushes, France?"

"Why, does my contact name for Angleterre give it away?"

"Damn, no need to be sassy."

France sighed, sitting forward, drumming his fingers on the table. He thought for a moment, "It might help if I knew who your trying to confess to." Norway paused, then nodded. "Denmark." He said softly, blushing a tad more.

"Ah, Danemark. Well...you know him better than I do...but I guess I can help you. Let's see...if I know you," he chuckled a bit, "Being a bit nicer would he a good start."

"Faen ta deg. Just give me some real advice."

"That is real advice! Seriously, if you'd just be a little nicer, I'm sure everything else will work out! Denmark pretends not to hear your insults, trust me, I know, so maybe hearing something nice from you will make it easier. For both of you."

There was a lengthy pause, neither of them spoke, the only sound was the sound of a German-made cuckoo clock. After a minute or so had passed, France decided to speak again.