America oneshots

A bad hair day

France was not having a good day, and you know what? He was completely ready to just give up, march out of this stupid building and walk his way straight home, even despite the darn weather. His hair was already in a bad enough state and he doubted that it could get any worse. He had somehow forgot to plait his hair like he usually did the night before, so when he woke up his hair had transformed into a series of knots; knots that he did not enough have time to get all out. Of course he got rid of the most he could and tried to break down the larger ones, but at the end it seemed to prove futile as his hair was still in an unkept mess. Not to mention that because he spent so long trying to tame the knots, he had completely forgot about the meeting and therefore didn't have time to shower or even to make a freaking decent breakfast. He could only be so glad that the meeting was in his own country this time; until the universe just had to be even more cruel to him. It was in a moment of rushed decisions he decided to not take his car but to run to the damn building himself...

Bad choice.

Mid way through his running, the heavens decided that it was the perfect time to open (it really wasn't) and down poured gallons of rain that had come down much to quickly for Francis to process. The winds thrashed around, practically shoving him down the pavement as harsh droplets soaked his clothes down to his bare flesh. His jumper could only do so much before it was overcame by a new found dampness. Leaves seemed to be attacking him left and right as he struggled to see where he was going; slipping and tripping where ever possible, slowing him down immensely. It took another 5 minutes until the building finally came in sight, and when it did the country took no more than a second to begin sprinting. He got to the structure, slamming open the door to seek refuge from the storm. Multiple heads snapped towards the other who had just stormed in, staring at the sight. France stood there, head down with water droplets dripping from every inch of this body, forming a small puddle beneath him. His clothes hung to his body, clinging to the shivering skin and his hair stuck to his face, sticking out in every angle seemingly possible In short, he was soaked, humiliated and pissed.
"Excuse me sir-?"
Francis' head shot up so fast that you could have sworn you heard a crack. His eyes glared, daring the other to speak, making it clear that he was not in the mood. A tiny 'eek' was let out by the receptionist. It was only her 5th day here okay?!
Finally stopping his glare, he walked towards the desk and pulled out his ID; showing it to the woman. Yes, he might have been pissed, but that's doesn't mean he's going to cause a hassle towards others because of it. He wasn't that cruel. She snapped out of her fear and complied, peering at the card. Her back seemed to straighten even more when she saw how high up he was in the ranks. With a tiny nod the receptionist seemed to gain the courage to speak

"Your meeting will be taking place 6th floor, conference room 4 sir,"

Though absolutely frightened out of her god damn mind she managed to speak with formality and politeness. Thank lord.
France looked up and give a nervous smile, showing his gratitude, at the same time apologizing for terrifying the girl so much.

"Merci madame,"

And like that the tension seemed to lessen allowing the room to be breathable again, and France walked his way to the elevator. He still had plenty of time to spare till the meeting began, and things seemed to be going decently okay again. Except for the fact that the elevator had a larger red sign saying 'broken'....
How fun.
So he changed his direction to the stairs with an annoyed huff. Now don't get him wrong, he didn't mind the extra exercise, but practically his whole body was with shaking from ache. You could guess why he didn't want to take the stairs from that piece of information by itself. Sucking it up; he began the small journey, using the railing for support. Floor 1, Floor 2, Floor 3, Floor 4, Floor 5, and at last, Floor 6. His salvage and rest was near and dear god was he glad for it. However he seemed to forget an important detail of his day about the fact that the universe was trying to plain right murder him. Because just as he was so close, his wet shoes gave way and slipped of the staircase, forcing his weight forward. His arms immediately fled to his face as an effort to shield it from the fall. In turn, absorbing the pain and scrapes as his skin made impact the with floor. He could feel his shins face the same fate as his arms as they crashed at a hurtful angle. His head gave a harsh jolt forward, pulling his neck as he finally landed. What once was a crash was now silence. A body was left sprawled on the stairs, his suitcase haven of fallen a few meters down and his past ache increasing tenfold. What once was a sizzle was now a burn.
Slowly getting up, he went down and grabbed his bag, pulling it up and went back to his original destination, being careful as to not fall again. And instead off taking the left to the meeting room where he should have been by now, he took a right down to a lone corridor. He walked down slowly, his hand clutching the side of his waist in an attempt to stop the pain. And there where it always was; was a sign sticking out of the wall next to a door.
'Bathroom' it read
He pushed open the door and saw the multiple stalls lined in sage green and cream up in-front of one long mirror. It was a nice bathroom and kept clean due to it being so unused. He walked towards the mirror, at first refusing to look up, then hesitantly taking in a small peep. It took nothing but a second for him to take in his reflection, and in that moment he just wanted to curl into a ball and cry. Because he .Looked. Like. Shit. He was soaked to the brim in rain-water, his clothes tearing at the seems and his skin a sickly pale with bumps creating swirly patterns. And his hair, oh god his hair. It was matted in knots and his usual gold blonde looked more like a brown with leaves and small twigs sticking out. People had saw him like this, he had been in the public like this. He had to be in the meeting in 20 minutes most, how was he going to fix this?! So in desperation, he threw his suitcase to the floor and began pulling at his hair, begging to get the knots out, he ignored the gruesome pain and the few hair strands that he had accidentally ripped out. He just needed to get them out, to look better, nice, pretty; not like whatever... thing that was in the reflection. No. He just needed to get them out and he'd be fine! He just... He needed... He....
....
His hands slowly fell down to his side, and then so did he body. He simply turned around and slid down the sink wall, letting his body slump to the floor in paralyzation. His arms subconsciously wrapped around him as he snuggled his face into his knees and he let the tears fall. He let them all out. He had enough and just wanted to go home.

"Francis...?"

Hello my little readers how are we doing? And yes before you ask there will be a part 2 to this, we can't leave Francis in the dumps alone now, can we? Anyway I hope you liked it! Have a nice day or night :]