[ March 28th ] Caution: Wet Floor

[Belle Rousseau]

She gave her hand a small wave to let him know it was alright, it was just as strange and awkward an encounter for him as it was for her, after all-- which, if anything, told her that Belarus was more than likely unpredictable like that.

"I have no idea. But I think it does mean that she respects you, at the very least."

With a sigh she nodded towards the door before walking over and pushing it open, grateful for the fresh air outside the shop.

[Alfred F. Jones]

America nearly jumped at that. Respect? For him? Well, of COURSE other people respected him! Other countries loved him and all he stood for. All the time.

That definitely explained it! Belarus wasn't weird at all. It made sense that she'd be hostile toward Belgium, because really, what had Belle ever done? But America? America was a hero! He was the representation of a country Belarus loved and respected! It all made sense, finally.

As America had his epiphany, he'd been stopped in his tracks behind Belle, and had to hurry to catch up with her. By now, he was grinning. "You're right," he said. "I can't believe I didn't realize that sooner! Of course she would, right? I'm just really cool like that!"

[Belle Rousseau]

"Maybe," She said as she opened the small, paper bag in her hand and pulled out one of the extra pastries she had taken from the leftovers at the cafe and taking a bite. It was something she liked about having a job in a place like that, if there was anything leftover it was there's to take, and she had done her research when it came to the bakeries close by.

With a small smile she looked over at him, noticing how he was nearly beaming now, and gave her head a small shake before offering the bag to him. "Danish?"

[Alfred F. Jones]

Food? Of course he wants some! He took the bag and grabbed a danish, totally neglecting to give it back. Once he finished this one in three bites or less, he'd take another!

"S'anks," America said, his mouth full. Within ten seconds he'd already eaten his first one and was grabbing for a second. "Dese 'r GOOD!" He swallowed. "You make 'em?"

[Belle Rousseau]

Quirking an eyebrow, she quickly snatched her hand back when he grabbed the bag rather fast from her hand and pulled out one of the pastries and nearly inhaling it. She always wondered about people who inhaled their food. There was a lot more to it than just the fact that it needed to be consumed, someone put time and effort into preparing, seasoning and cooking it just right so that it can be enjoyed, not inhaled.

Of course, any opinion she may have formed about him in those ten seconds was nearly forgotten when he complimented it. Enthusiastically, even. "I did," she said with a smile, always appreciating compliments on her cooking. "I like to cook and bake. It's one of the reasons they gave me my job back."

[Alfred F. Jones]

America's hand was itching for a second pastry, but apparently it was not meant to be. He'd just have to settle for admiring the aftertaste of the one he'd already inhaled.

"You like to cook?" This was kind of odd to America. He was used to being surrounded by people who liked cooking but didn't cook well (like England), or people like him who were just fine most days "cooking" up some ramen noodles like the typical college students they were. "Man, I wish I could get more good food like this more often..." he mused. He said this partially in an attempt to see if she'd offer to make him some. It couldn't hurt.

[Belle Rousseau]

"I do," she said with a small smile, wondering what that odd look was about. She knew for a fact that people cooked in America. She was a big fan of his Food Network and Paula Deen. She was the most adorable American that she had ever laid eyes on.

"It's difficult to cook when you're cooped up in a college dorm all the time with nothing but a microwave and a hot pot but sometimes I ask for permission to go to the kitchens to make a few things properly."

[Alfred F. Jones]

The only things America personally knew how to make properly were hamburgers, hotdogs, cold cereal, sandwiches, EasyMac, and toast. Well, a few other things, too, but these were by far the most complicated. His life's dream was to learn how to make french fries and milkshakes and ice cream! And also to buy a soda machine.

"They let you do that? I wonder if they'd let me..." He preoccupied himself with ideas of cooking limitless burgers and using the kitchen's deep friers and OH MY GOD IT WOULD BE AWESOME! There was only one thing to do about it. "I'll add this to my presidential campaign for change!"

[Belle Rousseau]

"You would campaign for your use of the kitchen?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow at him. "And how exactly does that help the student body?"

[Alfred F. Jones]

"Well, duh, they all get delicious food. And people with delicious food are happy. And happy people make better students!" He knew that ever since he discovered the five nearest fast food places, he's been a better student and much happier. Sometimes he even did homework!

[Belle Rousseau]

"I suppose you have a good point," she agreed. She firmly believed that good food did tend to have a direct, positive effect on people. It brings people together from all different walks of life, makes them laugh and smile and happy. It was something she loved about cooking, knowing that it was something that she spent time and dedication into making that made people happy.

"What do you cook?"