Bigger Army Diplomacy

XIII

        Jack woke up, startled. A scream. From France.

"Shh, shh, you're okay, shh." He held her the way his mother used to hold him when he would get nightmares. Hand on the back, with the other holding her tightly. He moved his hand up to her head and tried mixing circles and pats on her head, and this seemed to help her a lot more than back pats.

"You were there..." France let out a small sob. She searched his eyes for some sort of confirmation. "Shh, shh, I'm here. It was just a dream."

"You tried to kill me!"

"I did? News to me."

France punched him in the ribs, though her face was contorted in amusement. "Not funny!"

"Really? 'Cause I thought it was hilarious. By the way, wanna see my knife?" Jack asked the last part in a tone that he had heard a street vendor use once. France surprised him by playing along, replying with a question in a subtle English accent, much like the one he had. "No, but do you want to see my... tea?"

"It's raining." Scotland stared out at the English countryside and wondered for the tenth time that day, why hadn't she just stayed in her hometown? At least it wasn't raining every single morning and night.

"It is." England put down his paper. "Look, if you want to go home, you can just tell me. You've said it's raining ten times today and it's only ten in the morning!"

"I have?" She murmured. "I have, haven't I? Wait does this mean I can visit home?"

"Yes, of course! What else would it mean?"

"Thanks," Ireland muttered as the servant handed him his suitcase.

"Mhm. Use this paper to get you into the palace. And be careful, Mr. Vichy does have spies in that place." The girl, who Ireland had figured out her name, Avignon, whispered. He nodded in response.

Ireland looked up to the town as Avignon watched him like a hawk. She didn't mean to, but after months under Vichy's watchful gaze, she had learned that people can be very unpredictable.

She wanted to speak, to tell the man that spies wasn't meant to be plural. And the one that was there wasn't going to be there for much longer. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. If even one person heard about this, they could report back to Vichy and she would be hung for treason. Which would be bad.

After the taller man had walked away, Avignon took this chance to start walking around the town, scouting out like Vichy said to do. Gosh, Vichy said to do a whole lot of things. She should have written it down.

As soon as she had turned the corner, she smashed right into a man.

"Oh gosh! I'm sorry!" She exclaimed. The papers the man was holding spilled on to the floor. "Oh gosh! Sorry!" Avignon bent down to pick up some of the papers that the man dropped. "Are you alright?"

"Do you think I could be hurt by a little pipsqueak like you? I think the real question is did you get hurt? Could you put that in this folder?"

Avignon placed the yellowed paper into the folder he was gesturing to. "Sorry!" She squeaked again.

They both stood up after all the papers had been placed in all their respective folders, the man rising to his full height, which was definitely taller than Avignon, but not as tall as the other people she had met. He seemed to be in his late teens, maybe seventeen or eighteen. He held his chin up high and looked as though he was of higher social status than Avignon, though that was probably inevitable.

"Are you new in town?" He asked.

"No, just visiting."

"That's alright," he laughed. "I'm sure this country will welcome you with its bad weather. And pickpocketing," he added as he pulled out a list from her pocket.

"Hey! Give that back!" So I did make a list. She realized in relief. At least she wouldn't have to remember all the things Vichy told her.

The list made it's way back into her hands, though the man dropped it well above her head, it fell gracefully. "I don't believe I caught your name."

Avignon, still in a bit of a fit after the supposed pickpocket, retorted back, "Didn't throw it." When he looked at her expectingly, she replied, "Avignon, and you?"

"Um, good question," he hesitated before answering, "Call me North."

"Isn't North a direction?"

"Isn't Avignon a city?" The man looked at his watch and suddenly speed-walked off, calling behind him, "Nice to meet you Avignon!"

Qotw: would you humans like a little bit of first-person sprinkled in, or are you good with third-person?