"________! Are you ready to make some of the most amazing scones you will ever try in your life?"
Sitting in your British friend's kitchen, hearing about baking scones, you broke into a fake smile.
"Oh yes, Arthur!" you replied sarcastically.
Frankly, you really didn't want to do this. You didn't want to bake those dreadful treats of which your friend would always bake that marked 'DEATH' all over them, but it was practically your fault, since you agreed to come over to his house and bake scones with him. You've seen over the world conferences you've attended that everyone tries to avoid them at all costs. Even America told you from experience that they tasted like petrified couch stuffing, but you ignored the comment anyway and tried one whenever England offered you one. When you tried one, World War 3 began in your body and it was hell.
"Well, let's get started! Shall we?" he answer to you cheerfully as he ventured through his kitchen shelves.
.Arthur. I actually
.brought my own recipe
.of scones. Also, past down from my mom." you choke out the words for it being so hard to be let out. "Maybe
we can try my recipe? I mean, it could be better!
Not that yours, aren't amazing! It's just that
.we can try something new."
Then all of a sudden
silence. Just pure silence.
You turn to see him near the cabinets, with his hands in them
but unmoving and still.
"Are you saying my mum's recipe is bland?" he finally peeps out from mute.
"No! I didn't mea-"
"Are you saying that your recipe is better than mine?"
"Of course no-"
"Are you saying that your fucking recipe has better fucking ingredients than mine?"
"Arthur! I'm not saying anything bad abo-"
"Are you challenging me to see who can make the better scones?!"
"Arthur! You're not even letting me finish my ow-"
"Well then I accept your challenge! Whoever makes the best scones, wins! The loser will have to sit and flirt with France for the next entire world conference meeting!" he turns around and exclaims out with triumph.
"...Loser has to...sit and flirt with France for the entire meeting? Even during breaks?" you ask as when you listened to the challenge that "you" made.
This is could be some entertainment for you during the meeting. Just seeing England having to sit and just flirt with France without making a fit or anything would make that conference meeting more interesting besides hearing Germany scream and trying to make the meeting organized, Italy wanting pasta, or even witnessing the Baltic States getting tortured by Russia.
"Well, ok then. Wait! Wait. Who'll be the judge?" Before you were about to set the decision on this plan, you had to know who was going to determine the winner of this. If England was going to go beyond his mum's recipe onto something better, you needed a fair-well judge to test these treats before making a statement that yours were pretty much better than his obviously.
"...uhh. Wait!" He reaches down into the depths of his pant's pockets and grabs out his cellphone and dials out one number. One number. As you watch him listen to the device and tap his foot on the marble floor, you wondered, 'How could he just dial...one number? Possibly speed dial. This person who was going to be judging this must be pretty special for England to have them as a speed dial.
A few seconds pass by, when suddenly, " 'Ello! Yeah yeah! Shut up, frog. I need you for something."
'Frog?...Why he call a fr-"
And that's when that word slapped you right across your brain.
'...France? Ha ha ha...France! He has him as one of his speed dials! This is priceless. Wait.
This meant France was going to be judging our scones...Well, maybe he will. Possibly maybe. France IS the most amazing cook you've know. When you first met him, just right after one of the world conferences, he insisted on taking you to his place for some odd reason, but it was the best decision you've ever made...
He made you such an amazing feast dinner.
...Not sex...like how everybody hollered at you as you were leaving the conference room with him. You even heard someone yell, "______! Get the hell away from him! He's going to rape you!". It's so amazing that you ignored that warning given to you and went with France anyway.
Hitting back to reality, England was still 'talking' to France.
"Here. Wait. I'll get her. ________! Come over here." He gestures his hand for you to join his side next to him. "Ok, I'm going to put him on speaker. It's Fr-"
"It's France! It's France! I know. Ha ha. Just put it up already."
Just as he press the button, "-hy can't we all just have a threesome toget-"
"Shut up, you bloody frog! We're not going to do that. I'll just give it to you straight, idiot. ___________ and I need you to judge our little competition on who can make the best scones an-"
"Oh, Mon amie, you know that _______ will win right?"
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I don't have a chance in this."
He was right. He could always just go on the Internet and find a better recipe than his own mum's recipe.
"Well, ok then, Arthur. Let's do this. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon at...let's say 2:00 at France's place. No cheating. Let it be a fair game and let the best person win...and let the best LOSER lose as well.
Just as the next day came, you couldn't help yourself from being too excited for this event that you woke up so early. You used that advantage to ready your things you had to bring, your recipe and your cooking skills. France told both of you that he would be supplying the goods like the ingredients, pots, bowls, ovens, and stoves. Just everything, but thank god for that. Honestly, you didn't really want to bring all your materials, ingredients, and equipment. You really didn't want to waste your time finding everything that you needed and then getting everything into your car. Plus if you have or was going to do that, you knew that you would practically bring your whole kitchen into your car.
'Just in case,' or 'What if I need this?!" you would always say. You were the kind of person that would always bring just pracically everything wherever you would go.
"Well, I think that's everything." Just as you were about to leave, you spot a bottle that was labeled with a small heart that was sitting on your kitchen counter. "...Mom's spice."
"Mom! Mom! I'm done mixing the batter," the six-year old self proclaimed out.
"Well, that's just spendid, my little chef." your mother says gleefully. As you clean off your hands by wiping them on your colorful, bright apron, you catch your mom putting something into the batter.
"Mom! What are you putting into the batter?!" You attack your mom and snatch the bottle from her grasp to stop her from continuing to pour the spice. 'You ruined it!"
"Sweetie! I didn't. All I did was add a spice in it to make it taste sweet and be filled with love."
"Swe-sweet? Filled with love?"
"Yes, ______." She grabs your small palms and places the bottle in them. "This is a homemade spice past down from your great great great great great great great great grand mama."
"That's a lot of greats!" you giggled.
"Well, this spice was created a long time ago! Well, I guess it's time for me to pass this down onto you. This spice is used to make all treats and dishes taste delicious, savory, and just so heavenly. It always has. No matter how awful and bland the dish may be..."
"It makes every dish...taste heavenly?" You say to yourself as you flashed back into the present.
"...Nah! I don't need it!" You rush and march out of the kitchen fast ignoring the bottle.
"Ok! Nevermind! I need it." You yell, changing your mind and going back into your kitchen and grabbing the bottle. "...Just in case." You told yourself as you insert your key into your vehicle and drove off to the competition.
"________! Bloody hell. Thanks for making me wait for so many hours!"
When you got to France's house, you checked the time on your cell and you had at least 2 hours of waiting 'til your little cook off started. Only thing was...whenever you came to the entrance of the house and rang the bell, the door was quickly slammed opened by your screaming and irritated friend.
"Shh! Shh, Arthur! Agh...when did you ever get here?"
"He stayed here for the whole night, mon ami and we made love all night long." France comes in and smirks out the news.
"You bloody frog!" England screams out, smacking and kicking France. "You know very well that I slept on your couch all by myself and not with you...in your bed."
"Ok! Why, might I ask, were you staying at France's place? If you think that would make you have an advantage in this competition, it really isn't." You remark to him before entering the location of the cook off.
"Wh-what are you doing, ________?" Arthur stutterly questions you as he spys you going through the cabinets, grabbing the cooking equipment and tools you needed and could find.
"What does it look like I'm doing, Arthur?" You say as you placed the mixer onto the counter. "I'm preparing my station, of course. Whenever this little cook off starts, I don't want to be rushing everywhere, panicing, and running all over the place just to find what I need. Let's get this thing started."
As you were pouring your selected ingredients together swiftly into the mixer, you took a glance across your station to England's and...what a sight. He was basically just mixing random ingredients together.
"Uhh...Arthur?" you wheezed out, gasping at the ingredients he chose.
"Ng- Wha-what, ______?! Don't you se- Fuck! That I am busy, right now?!" he shrieks out as he flips on the switch for his mixer.
"Sorry! Sorry! It's ju- Are you sure those are the right ingredients that you need to make your scones? I just saw you pour a whole bottle of wine, add about 5 jalapeños, and a whole bag of white and brown sugar." You even felt a bit queezy just thinking about his dreadful batter.
"Why, of course, _______! The white and brown sugar balances out the other ingredients. These things are what my mum's recipe calls for, anyway. Damn, where are those chocolate chips and vinegar?"
Blehhh, yup. That was it. Maybe his mum was drunk or something when she made this recipe or something, but whatever. You weren't going to let England's disaster of a recipe distract you. You had to focus. Focus!
Waiting for your batter to finish mixing, you started preparing a tray for scones, by sponging it with butter. Just as you finished doing that, your batter was finished and you began scooping and rolling them into small balls and placing them onto the sheet.
"Well into the oven you go," you muttered cheerfully to yourself as you popped the tray into the blazing oven. "Now...we wait. Oi! Arthur! You're still working on your batter?!"
"I-I'm just making sure it's ready before it hits the oven! Ha ha! Shit, where is that spice?" he muttered out. Just taking one glance at him, his station, including him, he was messy.
"Ahh, mon ami. Done already?" Rising up from slouching because of waiting, you quickly turn around to see France enter th- well, his kitchen.
You sighed and took a glance over at the oven checking if your scones were done yet. "Nope! Still baking, but almost!" you replied cheerfully. "But a little someone over there is still not..prepared."
"Ohonhonhon, you can't be seri- ...What the hell did you do to my kitchen, Arthur?! What is that burning smell?!" he shrieks out as he rushes over to Arthur disaster of a kitchen station.
"Oh, that! It's my little sauce for my scones! And it's not burning. It's...warming." he defined, continuing to stir the burned substance. "Blimey! Look at me. I'm such a mess."
"I don't think you need the sauce....Arthur? You still haven't put your scones on the tray, yet?" You pointed out the bowl of the bizarre mixture. The bowl was just sitting there on the counter, spewing bubbles and fuming out funky smells ...an-and was that a tentacle you just saw? You don't even know anymore. "Arthur, maybe you should clean yourself up and maybe take a shower." You sighed. Taking a look at the sight of your British friend looking quite...catastrophic. "France and I will take care of everything in kitchen. I'll take care of your scones, put them on the tray, and pop them into the open. France will take care of your sauce. Then we'll clean everything else. Is that alright?"
"Oh, ________. That would be jus- ....Wait a second. You want me to do that so you can sabotage my scones, eh!" Arthur howled.
"Arthur. Why would I ever do that? I said this was going to be a fair game and there was not going to be any cheating in this. I just want this is be over already." you complained back to him. "I'm not even gonna mess with anything. Trust me."
"But you co-"
You suddenly clutch his hands and glared deep into his jade eyes. "Trust. Me."
"Ugh-uhh...O-ok __-________." He decided. "Before I go, maybe I cou-"
"Stay away from my kitchen, Angleterre! Don't even step foot in here right now!" France yelped at him, smacking him out of the kitchen. "Go take a shower now! Go! Go! Go!"
With both of them gone, you started working on getting his scones onto a tray and into the oven.
"Agh! Before I can do anything, I need to move all this pots and pans out the way and let's throw away this sauce." You grabbed a few and carried them and dropped them off at the sink including the burning substance. "Ok, let's see...what to do. What t-...do."
Your eyes caught the bottle of your homemade spice that you brought. "Just in case..."
'...No no no no. I can't!' you thought to yourself. You couldn't just help England and let him win this little battle. Plus you didn't want to sit and flirt with France at the next World Conference also.
'Meh...should I? No, I shouldn't, ________.' you told yourself. '...But It would be nice to see England smile on his victory if they do suddenly taste...heavenly...Shit.' You were going to do it.
You grab the bottle of your homemade spice and hovered over the bowl of the wicked brew. "...Oh well...here goes nothing." you whispered to yourself as you sprinkled the spice into the bowl and stirred.
"Well, let's get these into the oven." You quickly scooped one by one onto the tray and moved them into the oven.
"________! Is everything fine in there?" France asks as he enters back into the kitchen.
"Ha! Everything is fine! Nothing weird going on inside here! He he ha!" you respond nervously.
"Well, let's hurry up and clean up before Angleterre comes back!" Just that, you and France cleaned the mess and cleared everything up. "Ahhh...I'm never letting Angleterre use my kitchen ever again."
"I am never going to do a cook off with him ever again, that's for sure." you replied. "Well, time to get my scones out of the oven."
"For sure, you will win _______. Everybody knows that Angleterre's scones are..disastrous." France commented out to you.
"Oh, Francis...I wouldn't be so sure. He could have a shot at winning...maybe." You giggled out. "Well, I think his scones are done as well, why don't you get them out Francis, so we can be done with this nonsense."
"________! I'm done. How about my scones are they ready?" England walked in all freshed up and cleaned and in a new set of clothing.
"Yes, yes, Angleterre. They are. Why don't we just do the tasting now?"
Yes, please! Let's get this maddness over with!" You cried out.
You and England grabbed your plates of pastery and placed them in front of France, who currently sitting at his dinner table waiting to be serve.
"Well, let's see. Let's try _______'s scones first." He grabs a piece of the pastery from your plate and bit a piece and started chewing. "...Just as I expected...They're fantastic! Mhmmm."
You tilt your head and smile, thanking the lord that it wasn't awful.
"Now...England's..." He choked out, grabbing a scone from his plate, shaking. "Well, Angleterre...let's get this over with."
You quickly shut your eyes, squeezing your sweaty palms together, breathing deeply, in and out, awaiting what was going to happen next, but you couldn't witness the event if you kept your eyes shut.
But as you opened your eyes, France was stuffing his face with scones, but not your scones...he was eating England's!
'I-It work?! It actually worked?!'
"Oh England! Come here." France then clutched England into his arms and was hugging him. "Oh the lord has bless you and your cooking skills. You win! You win!"
"I won..." Arthur pondering on this event that he has won.
"I must tell everyone this news, Angleterre! Oh my lord!"
"Wow...So, umm, _______. Sorry for being all rude and mean to you...about all this and not trusting you." he says breaking the silence.
"Oh, Arthur. It's quite fine. People act rough and mean in competitions so it's fine on how you were acting then, but congrats on winning." you respond.
"Which leaves you with your prize at the next conference." Arthur smirked.
"Oh yes...maybe I should wear something sexy for that occasion!" you giggled.
"Ahhh, yes....hey! Why not we plan another cook together at my place?"
"We can have another cook off!"