Francis burst out laughing so hard he stumbled back and nearly tripped to the floor. "Oh god, that's gold! You must be drunk to say things like that!" He wiped away a bit of water that gathered in the corner of one eye before trying to regard Arthur with some amount of seriousness. "The needlework is definitely truth. No man would say something like that as a lie. I'm pretty sure I can see you as a naked drunk. I want to see the Doctor Who and Harry Potter thing is a lie..." Because really, how immature was that? "But I'd say you're lying about cursing some poor sob. Clearly that's impossible," he said with a dismissive wave of one hand.

Arthur couldn't help but laugh a little. "The thing was the lie was me running naked through the streets drunk. While I have been drunk and naked before, I've never gone streaking through the streets. And I definitely have, as you put it, cursed some poor sob. I made a potion and put it in his drink at lunch and it covered him in warts over most of his body." He told him.

Francis looked at Arthur with suspicion. He couldn't say he quite believed it, but he didn't sound like he lied now, trying to cover something up. "How sad. I want to see you streak," he said with a shake of his head. "I've streaked. Don't you think it would be fun to do together? Perhaps through a fountain at night with the droplets and light falling down like in a romantic movie?" He chuckled, but grimaced just thinking about the warts. "Are you sure you cursed him? Didn't you just poison him?!" Francis needed to remember not to piss this guy off. He'd never survive warts.

Arthur couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the thought of going streaking. Especially with Francis. That wasn't something he thought he would do. "Of course I'm sure I cursed him. Where would I have gotten poison? Besides, that would have killed him." He said, knowing he wouldn't believe him. Nobody ever did when it came to magic. He picked the bottle up and started sipping at it again.

"I'm sorry. I can't quite believe you," Francis said with a small wince. Arthur obviously believed in himself, but for all the open mind Francis had about the world, curses didn't exist. "Poison comes in many forms after all, like English muffins and the spiteful feelings of a woman's heart!"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at that. Not only was he insulting magic, but it sounded like he was insulting English food. And that was just crossing the line. "How dare you, Frog!" He exclaimed, glaring at him. "It's fine if you don't believe in magic. A lot of people don't. But you should never insult English food. It's that best in the world."

Francis coughed, nearly gagging. "A-ah no...it's only because your English that you feel you have to say that. Have you not eaten other food besides this American crap? Please tell me you've have French cuisine? Or Italian? Even Spanish would be fine. But I've nearly been killed by one of your scones before and those unseasoned fish and chips?! Why has god abandoned your food?!" he exclaimed, taking a few extra steps back. He was ready to duck if need be, but he wouldn't stop running his mouth. Not about this.

"Of course I've had other countries's cuisines." Arthur stated. Sure, it had been take-out that he had gotten. But still. That counted, right? He was really starting to wish he had just left when he had finished the last bottle of whiskey. But, the alcohol in his blood was telling him to fight and defend his country's cooking. "I still think the our food is the best. Besides, nothing tastes better than the food my mum makes." Nothing was better than a home-cooked meal, after all. That was something he missed about England. Sitting down with his family and all having a meal together.

Francis could concede that mum's food was always best. Although for him, it was his great aunt. Four hours of family dinner and eating the best food in the world? Who could deny that was best. "Fine, I'll let you say what you will now, but if you eat my cooking, I'm sure you'll change your tune real quick. My family's recipes are the best of France!"

"If you say so." Arthur told him, taking a drink. He didn't really believe that Francis's family recipe could be the best in all of France. There was no way he could possibly know that for sure. He also knew there was no way the man could make anything that was better than what his own mother could make. Though all this talk of food all of a sudden was starting to make him hungry and his stomach let out a soft growl.

Francis eyed him, understanding the tone. "Maybe I should say my family is one of the oldest in the country and that would make a difference? Why, my ancestor's cooking has practically shaped the cuisine!" Or at least, the was the way his great-aunt put it. She did have a tendency to exaggerate when it came to food though. "Hm..." he paused, narrowing eyes at Arthur. "Let me get you some pretzels."

His family being one of the oldest in France didn't make to much of a difference. Someone over time could have made a better recipe, after all. Arthur shook his head at his suggestion. "I don't want any pretzels. I'm fine with this." he said, shaking the bottle in his hand and taking another sip from it. He wasn't really a big fan of food from the bar. It never seemed to taste very good to him.

"But you look hungry and you'll get too drunk!" Francis complained, though he didn't really try to push the point. If Arthur didn't want to eat then, fine, but it seemed like he wanted food. "How about I get a little bowl just in case?" He shifted away to pour a few into a dish and deal with other customers. He offered a few flirtatious smiles and kissed a drag queen on the hand before depositing the bowl in front of Arthur.

Arthur watched as Francis moved around the bar. He couldn't stop his eyes from narrowing when he saw him flirting with other people. When he realized what he was doing he mentally slapped himself. 'Snap out of it.' he commanded to himself. He took a few big drinks to make these feelings go away. He didn't realize that the alcohol was making the feelings worse, not better. When the bowl was set in front of him, he absently took a few and ate them.

For a second, Francis just looked at the other man, inspecting him. "What's wrong? Suddenly your expression is quite sour," he said after a bit. He couldn't bring himself to speak loudly or with his usual pomp and charm, not when he figured it was his own fault. But what did he do wrong now?

"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine." Arthur told him. There was no way he was going to admit he was a tad bit jealous watching him flirt with the other customers. Not on his life. He ran his hand through his hair before looking at the time. It was starting to get late and he knew he should probably head home soon. But, he couldn't bring himself to get up to leave. Besides, he still had to finish his drink after all.

Francis didn't quite believe him, but what could he say? Shaking his head, he stole a pretzel for himself because no one else was looking. "Fine, then. I'll be just over here if you need anything. Don't hesitate to call." He wished he could say that about more than today, but he was the only one losing his mind here. Probably best to walk away while he could and just do his job.

"So you don't have anything else you want to ask me?" Arthur asked, eating another pretzel. It's not like he wanted the Frenchman to stay, alright. He just thought they were having a nice conversation and it has been a long time since he's been able to do that with someone from France. Normally the other person would have annoyed him by now and he would have snapped and left. That's the only reason he wanted him to stay. It had nothing to do with watching him flirt with other customers. Nope. Nothing at all.

Francis paused, midway through listening to a semi-drunk cutie. He hadn't really been keeping his ears attuned, waiting for Arthur to say something, but he heard him anyway. "Excuse me dear," he said to the cutie before turning back to Arthur.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you wanted to talk to me so much," he said with a faint smile. It was still more reserved than his earlier smiles though. Dare he hope for something between them? "Perhaps you could tell me your favorite place to go on a date..." He didn't really hope.

"I-I don't want to talk to you! W-Who would want to talk to you!" Arthur stammered, face flushing red. He turned his head away, embarrassed. He took a big gulp of his drink, enjoying the burn of it going down for a second before choking on it slightly. After coughing to clear his throat, he turned back to Francis. "Though to answer your question, I personally think a good place to go on a date is to go see a show. And I don't mean at a movie theater. I mean a real one performed on a stage."

Francis just stared at Arthur. "Um...didn't you say you wanted to talk to me?" he asked in confusion. Or more or less anyway. What was up with this guy's personality? It took Francis a second to really process everything--how red Arthur got and his dishonesty. Was he embarrassed? Damn, why did this guy have to be so appealing? Shaking his head, Francis took a second to respond. "Oh? Concert or live theater?"

"Both." Arthur answered, his face was still a bit red from his earlier embarrassment. He knew he should have just let Francis go and do his job. But, though he hated to admit it even to himself, he liked having the Frenchman's attention. The thought of that made him blush a bit more. He took another drink to try to cover it up.

Francis hummed low, feeling a little appreciative of Arthur's tastes. "I do have to admit, theater is much more romantic than a movie. I don't know how American's got it into their mind that fast food and action flicks are date material." His mouth twisted at the thought. When thinking about such things, he missed his home country very much, but it had already been a long time since he left. "So, don't you have any questions for me?" he asked, finally feeling his usual charm come back. Even if he didn't have a chance, when did that ever stop him?

Arthur couldn't help but agree about the thing with the Americans. He'd been asked out a couple times since he's been here. But every time the other person suggested getting fast food and watching a movie, normally an action based one or horror, he would instantly turn them down. There was no way he was ever going to go into a fast food restaurant. Not that it could really be called a restaurant in the first place. You'd have to forcibly drag him into it. He thought for a moment about what he wanted to ask Francis before deciding on something. "What do you like to do in your free time?" he asked, sipping his drink. His voice was really starting to slur yet he himself still hadn't noticed.

Francis chuckled. Their questions were getting a little more personal and Arthur was definitely less than sober. "Alas, my free time is mostly overtaken by demands from my friends, but I do like to offer my help. Given a chance, I would cook, paint, or look at art all day though." He paused as something occurred to him. He knew he asked when Arthur came to the states, but something more important came to mind. "Why did you move here? Seems you don't have a high opinion of Americans."