Joan of Virginia FrancexReader Part 3

America switches off the screen as the program ends. "So, what'd you dudes think? Man, have I got some freaks in my country! Thinking she saw an angel! What an attention whore!" France jumps up and grabs America by the collar.

"You take zat back!" he growls. The other nations stare at the scene in shock. "You 'ave no idea 'ow long I've waited for 'er to return! Do not mock 'er!" He drops America, who clamors back to his feet rather ungracefully.

"What are you talking about?" he asks.

France goes back over to the window and gazes out at the rain. He knows you're there... somewhere, and he's determined to find you.

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Checking your phone after the show, your Facebook profile has blown up. Scrolling through the comments, one thing's for sure: haters gonna hate. You shake your head in dismay, both for the hateful messages and the complete disregard of grammar and spelling. "Really?" you hiss under your breath. "These people grew up knowing one language, and they still can't speak it correctly? Americans." The thought strikes you as slightly ironic.

You are American, for the past three generations at least. Your grandmother was from some Eastern European country, but besides that, your blood runs the red, white, and blue. Sometimes you just forget that not everyone's on the same level as you. What that level is has never been clearly defined. But that level's there. Someplace between epic and awesome.

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"I think it's best I explain it to you." England sighs.

America and Canada watch him expectantly, for once interested in what the older nation has to say.

"Near the end of the Hundred Year War, a peasant girl by the name of Joan of Arc had a vision in which those three exact saints, that (Name) described, appeared. They told her to drive out the English and bring the Dauphin to Reims for his coronation."

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Strolling back into your dressing room, you find the stylist has left. Shrugging, you set your phone down on the vanity and grab your normal clothes. This interview has got your nerves shot. Nothing sounds better right now than to go back to the hotel and soak in a bubble bath for three hours. Maybe with some hot tea. That herbal stuff your mother bought in the organic store seems nice.

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"She was a valiant warrior." England finishes. "And I... regret... what I did..."

France tenses up, but doesn't look back.

"She was burned for heresy." England chokes out, not liking to recall the memory.

The faces of the younger countries turn a shade paler. Canada nearly faints.

"I couldn't protect her then." France says bitterly. "I won't let that happen again. America?"

The American switches his attention to the Frenchman.

"I want you to call 'er. I need to meet with 'er."

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You throw off that silly dress they made you wear. Yes, it was fashionable, but it was certainly not comfortable. It lands in a crumpled head of scratchy fabric and sequins across the room. Rolling your shoulders back in this new-found freedom, you pull on a light tee, loving how soft it feels against you skin. Your cell phone blares the "Star-Spangled Banner", meaning that could be only one person...

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"Hello?" comes your sweet voice from your end.

"Hey, this is America."

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Your heart stops. The country's avatar was talking to... you? Why? How? What?! You clear your throat in an effort to remain calm. "Oh, what do you need?"

"A friend of mine wishes to see you in person." he says simply.

You nearly drop the phone.

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"A friend? Who?" you ask.

America looks over at France, who has a pleading expression.

"Francis Bonnefoy."