Dark For All Of Me [4/?]
anonymous
May 3 2010, 21:18:10 UTC
“I’m sorry. He’s angry about the Battle of the Downs. You might want to refrain from mentioning anything related to Holland for a while… that includes Malaya and most of his other colonies.”
Austria’s gaze lingered on the door from which Portugal had just left. It had been ajar before, but now it was sealed shut and they had some measure of privacy for as long as they did not shout. He turned to Spain and approached slowly, voice even, used enough to domestic conflict to be able to act without too much concern for the state of the house.
“There are many rumours on the seas,” he said. “I was hoping they weren’t true.”
“Some of them aren’t,” Spain replied, voice tinged with exasperation.
“Are they the important ones?”
“Most of them are nowadays.”
“Hmm,” Austria frowned thoughtfully, absently running his hand along the fine carvings of the frame of a chair. It looked very Italian, and he briefly remembered the counterpart to his own servant, another reason for the visit. Now that he had the time to look around, he found that he was in the drawing room. There were wine glasses on a nearby table, a ragged map of the charted world framed on the wall and a number of books in untidy piles by certain chairs. He was about to say something when the door burst open and a lanky teenager, face red and flushed, came into view, panting slightly as thought having just run a small distance. His eyes swiveled from Spain to Austria and the apologies tumbled out.
“I beg pardon my lords, I was not even aware that the entourage from Austria had come. The horses were loose-”
“Demetrio, calm down,” Spain interrupted lightly, and Austria was happy to see the smile returning to his face, worry-worn though it was.
Austria crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly as he inspected the teenager. He had a mature look, but in his current panicked condition, his age revealed itself.
“Ah, he’s my new attendant. His name is Demetrio.”
Austria turned to meet Spain’s eyes.
“Juan is dead, I take it.”
“Beloved Juan,” Spain shook his head and drew the cross over his chest. “The French took him, God have mercy on his soul.”
“It is rare that we receive new attendants at the same time,” Austria smiled wistfully. He gestured to his own attendant who was dutifully holding onto Italy’s hand as they stood quietly to the side of the room. “This is Rolf’s son, Ernst. The plague claimed Rolf.”
“He was old,” Spain offered politely. Austria’s attendant merely nodded.
Silenced reigned momentarily until Spain let out another sigh, this one more dramatic, and unclipped his mantle, tossing it over a nearby ottoman.
“I’ve had enough talk of war and death. Since Italy’s here, Romano must come out so they can play. I’ve received some marvellous beans from the New World, Austria, chocolate, and you must try it. Demetrio, make Romano presentable and bring him down to the gardens. I feel like cocido madrileño and horchata today.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He then tried to cart Austria’s attendant along, who offered some measure of confused resistance.
“Go together,” Austria ordered with an amused smile. “You’ll understand why. And take Vargas along - she will want to see her brother.”
“Ah, yes, my lord.”
They left the room together, and, having assumed they were out of earshot, Austria clearly heard Italy pleading to his own attendant and the ensuing laughter that accompanied Italy being picked up and carried down the hall. Thereafter Spain’s attendant spoke solely, animatedly, until his voice diminished and altogether vanished.
“I suppose we’ll have to organise the sleeping arrangements.”
Austria raised his eyebrows.
“I wasn’t aware that I was suddenly demoted to the guestroom.”
“Promoted, Austria,” Spain smiled wryly.
“As we have in my house, we share a single room.”
“My chambers are embarrassingly scarce these days.”
“I don’t particularly care.”
“Austria-”
“This is a personal visit, you fool. There are no politics between us.”
Spain seemed at a loss. With a well-placed glare, he finally nodded in concession.
Austria’s gaze lingered on the door from which Portugal had just left. It had been ajar before, but now it was sealed shut and they had some measure of privacy for as long as they did not shout. He turned to Spain and approached slowly, voice even, used enough to domestic conflict to be able to act without too much concern for the state of the house.
“There are many rumours on the seas,” he said. “I was hoping they weren’t true.”
“Some of them aren’t,” Spain replied, voice tinged with exasperation.
“Are they the important ones?”
“Most of them are nowadays.”
“Hmm,” Austria frowned thoughtfully, absently running his hand along the fine carvings of the frame of a chair. It looked very Italian, and he briefly remembered the counterpart to his own servant, another reason for the visit. Now that he had the time to look around, he found that he was in the drawing room. There were wine glasses on a nearby table, a ragged map of the charted world framed on the wall and a number of books in untidy piles by certain chairs. He was about to say something when the door burst open and a lanky teenager, face red and flushed, came into view, panting slightly as thought having just run a small distance. His eyes swiveled from Spain to Austria and the apologies tumbled out.
“I beg pardon my lords, I was not even aware that the entourage from Austria had come. The horses were loose-”
“Demetrio, calm down,” Spain interrupted lightly, and Austria was happy to see the smile returning to his face, worry-worn though it was.
Austria crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly as he inspected the teenager. He had a mature look, but in his current panicked condition, his age revealed itself.
“Ah, he’s my new attendant. His name is Demetrio.”
Austria turned to meet Spain’s eyes.
“Juan is dead, I take it.”
“Beloved Juan,” Spain shook his head and drew the cross over his chest. “The French took him, God have mercy on his soul.”
“It is rare that we receive new attendants at the same time,” Austria smiled wistfully. He gestured to his own attendant who was dutifully holding onto Italy’s hand as they stood quietly to the side of the room. “This is Rolf’s son, Ernst. The plague claimed Rolf.”
“He was old,” Spain offered politely. Austria’s attendant merely nodded.
Silenced reigned momentarily until Spain let out another sigh, this one more dramatic, and unclipped his mantle, tossing it over a nearby ottoman.
“I’ve had enough talk of war and death. Since Italy’s here, Romano must come out so they can play. I’ve received some marvellous beans from the New World, Austria, chocolate, and you must try it. Demetrio, make Romano presentable and bring him down to the gardens. I feel like cocido madrileño and horchata today.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He then tried to cart Austria’s attendant along, who offered some measure of confused resistance.
“Go together,” Austria ordered with an amused smile. “You’ll understand why. And take Vargas along - she will want to see her brother.”
“Ah, yes, my lord.”
They left the room together, and, having assumed they were out of earshot, Austria clearly heard Italy pleading to his own attendant and the ensuing laughter that accompanied Italy being picked up and carried down the hall. Thereafter Spain’s attendant spoke solely, animatedly, until his voice diminished and altogether vanished.
“I suppose we’ll have to organise the sleeping arrangements.”
Austria raised his eyebrows.
“I wasn’t aware that I was suddenly demoted to the guestroom.”
“Promoted, Austria,” Spain smiled wryly.
“As we have in my house, we share a single room.”
“My chambers are embarrassingly scarce these days.”
“I don’t particularly care.”
“Austria-”
“This is a personal visit, you fool. There are no politics between us.”
Spain seemed at a loss. With a well-placed glare, he finally nodded in concession.
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