[ March 28th ] Caution: Wet Floor

[Belle Rousseau]

Exhausted. It was the only word she could think to describe how she felt after such a long day of work. The owner clearly meant it when he said he said business had been booming and after a long day of baking, making drinks and serving others, Belle was very happy that the day was almost over.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall as she mopped the floors clean, she found herself counting down the minutes before she could collect her tips and get back to her dorm to just lay down for a while. Granted, she had to admit it felt very fulfilling to be tired after a long day of work instead of having to keep peace between certain very tiresome countries. With a sigh she mopped the floor in front of the door before making her way towards the back for one of the wet floor signs.

[Alfred F. Jones]

America assessed the contents of the various shops and restaurants in Harvard Square with an almost clinical eye. Only those areas that seemed to get a large quantity of people trafficking through them were good enough for his "VOTE ALFRED F. JONES FOR STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT" posters. Places in which he spotted one or two of his classmates got five posters, just in case the students missed the first, second, third, or fourth ones.

In this next cafe, he peeked through the window and saw a few people sipping coffee or eating muffins, as well as a girl carrying a wet floor sign that he vaguely recognized from somewhere or other. This place might be good for at least one poster, he thought, entering it and setting to work plastering a poster directly over a chalkboard announcing the week's daily specials (people were bound to notice it there).

[Belle Rousseau]

Just as Belle had come back out she noticed someone looking over the specials. Wonderful, another customer, and here she had thought they wouldn't get anymore for the night. Carefully she walked over, her feet slipping slightly beneath her as she placed the wet floor sign down and willing herself to make her smile seem a little less tired before she noticed that the boy wasn't reading the specials, he was...hanging up a sign?

With a furrowed brow she started towards him. "H-Hey, what are you do--"

Only she never quite got around to finishing her question, her feet slipping out from under her and her arms flinging out to try and grab onto something, anything for balance before she could fall. But that floor was coming awfully fast. "W-Whoa!!"

[Alfred F. Jones]

America could sense Belgium's displeased expressed from the corner of his eye and was turning around to face her when he seemed to see in slow motion the poor girl slip on the still-wet floor. Faster than a small plane and with a force that seemed to defy gravity itself, he lunged between the floor and the girl and...!

And ended up being landed upon. He'd been unable to keep his footing on the wet floor and slipped himself, somehow, and his grabbing hold of her had changed her trajectory so that instead of landing on the floor, she landed along with him, her back on his stomach. The air got uncomfortably knocked out of him and he winced, but the pain of drawing his next breath was nothing of importance.

"Are... you... all right?" he managed to say with that painful first breath.

[Belle Rousseau]

She was making to grab a chair beside her in hopes of maybe breaking her fall before she's suddenly being pulled away as though she were in some sort of action movie, her body landing hard on something that, much to her relief, wasn't the cold, wet floor. After giving herself a moment she peeled her eyes open to see the ceiling, wondering what the hell just happened before she could feel whatever it was she landed on shift and... groan, realizing not a second later that it was the boy she was just about to yell at.

With a groan of her own she carefully lifted herself up and shifted off of him, turning to see a familiar, though pained face as he lay on the floor. "I'm fine! You're the one on the floor!" she said quickly, making to help him sit up and make sure he was alright.

[Alfred F. Jones]

He could sit up by himself, thank you, and he raised a hand in the universal 'just give me a moment' sign before doing just that. "Good," he said, finally sitting up and coughing just once before giving her a smile. "I was worried I wasn't going to save you in time!"

His backside was all wet. Great. Such were the sacrifices involved in being a full-time hero on demand.

[Belle Rousseau]

Her knees were all wet as well but that was nothing compared to him. She was really just hoping this wouldn't cause the cafe any trouble, the last thing she wanted to be responsible for was a lawsuit...but there was something about the boy's face that made her forget about if for a moment.

"Are you alright?" she started before standing and offering him a hand up. "I'm sorry about that."

[Alfred F. Jones]

America raised an eyebrow at the pro-offered hand and also at the fact that she was apologizing. He could obviously stand up on his own, even if his tailbone was aching, so the hand wasn't strictly necessary. And neither was the apology, since he'd saved her of his own free will, and gladly at that! He hoped his expression conveyed at least some of this information because he wasn't sure exactly how to say it in words.

He did look away for a few seconds, surveying his surroundings for something ELSE to help him off the floor, but not seeing anything, he sighed and grabbed her hand despite his initial protest to doing so. It was quicker this way, he thought. He could've done it on his own.

Once on his own two feet, America reflexively took his hand from hers and rubbed the back of his jeans, feeling the wet spot there and making a face. "I'm fine, I'm fine. A little wet. And don't apologize, I saved you, didn't I?"

[Belle Rousseau]

All she could do was blink at his confused expression, returning it with one of her own as he looked around before he FINALLY took her hand. She found him to be a bit odd, but still that feeling of familiarity was prickling at the back of her mind and it was starting to annoy her much like knowing you've seen an actor in another movie but can't seem to remember the movie.

Once he's back on his feet she quickly withdraws her hand as well, wiping it off on her apron. "Well, you're the one that ended up...wet." she said, looking around to see his back. That couldn't feel good. "Do you need a towel or anything?"

[Alfred F. Jones]

America would persevere with his wet behind. America had persevered through much worse! "No, no," he said, laughing a little, "it's fine, don't worry about it, it'll air-dry."

He hobbled only slightly over to the board where his poster was currently taped lopsidedly, since he'd had to abandon it very suddenly. America straightened it out and used this opportunity to introduce himself and give her a taste of his work-in-progress campaign speech.

"I'm Alfred, by the way," he said, pointing to the poster and smiling. "Also known as America, but only to other countries! You go to the school, right? I'm running for president of the student council, and if you vote for me I'll serve pizza at every meeting and make sure the school runs things fairly and democratically and I'll make sure everyone is really happy! And I might try to ban homework, but for that I need a petition made up."

Best speech ever? Yes. Best speech ever. "You'll support me right? Since I saved you?"

[Belle Rousseau]

It was only after he had mentioned other countries did she realize that he was the one she had spoken to before. She KNEW she knew that grin and those glasses and that boisterous voice from somewhere.

After glancing at his straightened poster she turned back to lift an eyebrow. Was he really trying to campaign himself here? What's this a school thing? Well...she had to give him points for reaching out.

"I'm Belle. Or Belgium to you but I prefer Belle," she said as she made her way towards his poster. "And as much as I appreciate you breaking my fall, you can't hang this here. This board is meant for our specials."

[Alfred F. Jones]

At the mention of "Belgium", America narrowed his eyes and stared at her with his "thinking" expression. Not a lot of thinking actually got done when he donned this expression, but at least a little bit did. More than normal, at any rate.

"Belgium..." he muttered, then cupped his chin in his hand, turning the expression into an "intensely thinking" expression. "Chocolate, right? In Europe?" He paused, narrowing his eyes into slits that he could barely see out of. He was consulting his mind's map of the world, which was very incomplete and rarely got consulted, so he had to think hard on it. "That's near Russia, right?"

Not that it really mattered. He liked to look worldly and knowledgeable whenever possible, though. Unfortunately he rarely if ever actually did. He decided to ignore her complaint about the special board for now. His thinking time was more important.

[Belle Rousseau]

She gave him a curious look at his "thinking" expression, looking like he must be in pain from that fall before and she almost offers him a chair before he asks if she is near Russia. What the hell did he MEAN near Russia? Had be never seen a map?

"No," she said slowly, still thinking that maybe he might be suffering some sort of after affect from his fall. "It's between France and Germany."

[Alfred F. Jones]

"Are you sure?" America asks, not quite believing her. But then again, she would know, wouldn't she? Just like he knew he was between Mexico and some other country with lots of snow and ice hockey. He shrugged and offered her his hand. "Whatever, close enough. Nice to meet you!"

Cue America forgetting about the poster almost completely at this point.

[Belle Rousseau]

She gave him a suspicious look when he asked her if she was sure. Sure Europe changed around a lot but she had been there for quite a while. And given how much she heard about him in the news and his influence around the world, you would THINK that he would know where what was. Then again, it was hard to stand out when you were surrounded by such powerful nations.

With a helpless sigh she reached out to take his hand, giving it a shake. "Yes, likewise," she said before glancing over at his poster once more. "But you still can't hang that there."