Authors note: Sorry guys! I know it's been a while since I updated, but geh! No real excuse except for the severe lack of inspiration.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, because if I did Roderich would be seen in a maid's outfit more often.

Of Science and Fiction;

Chapter two: Vive la France.

It wasn't so much that Arthur was irritated by the fact he had been shipped off to France to indulge in the art of academics, or the fact that he would be surrounded by mockery, or the extremely exasperating American sat beside him. No, what irritated Arthur Kirkland he most was the fact that it was France. France.

If there was one thing it was necessary to know about Arthur Kirkland it was that he hated France. It was too sunny. Too happy. Too Romantic. It made Arthur's stomach churn; he had never been one for romantics himself, and he wasn't about to start. There was nothing wrong with a woman that didn't need wooing. Back in England, security was all that truly mattered. To own a good home and to earn good money and to just know that you were in a working relationship was good enough. The way of the French was just too flashy for the Englishman.

Now, that isn't to say he abhorred romance in it's entirety. He could tolerate it. He just chose not to. So when arriving in Paris after a long and...trying journey via the ferry across the channel, and a train ride into the city, Arthur was not happy to have his senses overwhelmed with how...openly affectionate the French were with one another. They would hold hands and kiss in public, and it just wasn't right. The French really seemed ignorant of decency and propriety.

I was just late afternoon when Arthur arrived at the hotel with Alfred in tow. They were given their room – they were forced to share, not because Alfred was under-age – no he was perfectly able to stay in a room by himself, but because their trip have been financed by the university, therefore, some sacrifices had to be made. It was just unfortunately, Arthur thought, that one of the sacrifices he would have to made is the comfort of being left alone.

Alfred talked. He talked a lot.

Normally, this would be something Arthur could just about cope with, however, this was Alfred. To him, the boy said very little that could be considered intelligent. Now, that isn't to say the boy was an utter moron, no. He had gotten into one of the best universities in England after all. No, Alfred just had a problem with vocalising his ideas in a sensible, and realistic manner. It was not uncommon for Mister Jones to accuse Professor Kirkland of 'stifling his creativity'.

However, despite Arthur's misgivings about spending the week at a conference with quite possibly the most irritating person alive, Arthur was thankful for the room. Once he had gotten checked in and received the Key he and Alfred had made quick word of locating the room, which was only on the second floor of the small hotel. It was not a particularly prosperous hotel, Arthur noted, or at least, he assumed, by the décor, which in some places was faded, and the prints were old and out-dated. It was a simple cream colour – although in some parts Arthur could have sworn it faded into a dull gray – and the pattern, floral.

The floor was covered in a simple burgundy carpet, also faded and was victim to more then a few mysterious strains. These stains in particular were highlighted by the fact that the corridors were bare, save for the flower arrangement, tulips, Arthur noted, set into a simple deep brown vase on a small end table, also simple in itself design. The flowers themselves, not very interesting in Arthur's point of view, were only noticed by him at all because of the large window at the end of the corridor, the light streaming into the room and creating shadows were the flowers had been placed.

At Alfred's prompt; which happened to be the American calling his name repeatedly over and over, Arthur turned around to fix the boy with a stare that simply read 'If you don't quiet down now I'll send you back to England'. Jones didn't seem to catch on and Grinned at Arthur as the Brit placed the key in the lock and turned up, pushing the door open with ease. He winced slightly at it's unforgiving creak.

The next obstacle that the pair tackled – literally – was choosing a bed to sleep on. Some that Alfred quickly resolved by, at Arthur's chagrin, running and jumping onto the bed of his choosing – the bed closest to the doorway of the hotel. "I want to be closest to the door in case I need to go to the outhouse in the night. Or get food. Or the outhouse" Alfred reasoned. Arthur didn't care. He simply sighed and took the bed closest to the window.

"Fine," Arthur replied, making his way to his bed, placing his suitcase down on the bed and removing a key from his pocket, swiftly undoing the lock and opening the simply black suitcase. "As long as you don't snore, I don't care which bed you sleep in." Beginning to unpack the contents of his suitcase into the nearby wardrobes, Arthur took the opportunity to survey the room. It was not much different from the corridor – by that, it simply meant that the floor and the walls were very much the same, although a little less worn and perhaps just a little more dusty from the apparent disuse of the room. The beds, from what Arthur could tell, looked comfortable at least, and offered two pillows to a bed, and a thick quilt to stave of the cold of the Parisian winter. Of course, apart from the beds there was little else in the room besides the drawer in which Arthur was currently placing his unmentionables and the mirror hung above it. To the left corner of the room sat a writing desk and basic stationary, in the case of a letter needing to be sent.

Alfred simply laughed and shook his head "Don't worry, I don't snore." The boy practically jumped to his feet, the weight of his landing causing the floorboards to creak obnoxiously beneath the carpet "I'm going to go exploring, Arthur-"

"Mister Kirkland-"

"Arthur," the boy countered pointedly, otherwise ignoring the positively livid look on the shorter man's face "and you're coming with me." the American demanded.

"No," the professor countered, scowling "we are not here to sight-see, Jones." the blond informed the taller male authoritatively "We're here for the Science convention, which, by the way starts in just over an hour, so you'll have to forego the exploration for now, eat dinner and then come with me." Arthur explained, slowly edging closer to his student with every word. Eventually, the man stopped just in front of the other and said, albeit in a tone that left no room for argument "And remember: Do not. Say. Anything. Stupid."

(( A/N: Pfft~ Such a short update..! I know. And it took so long, too! And for no good reason either. Although, let me just tell you that preparing for my photography exam got in the way of my writing this. Very time-consuing subject that.

Anyways, let me know if you enjoyed this chapter. I know it's not terribly exciting (still) but you know. Good things come to those who wait. ))