Romano Vargas and the Case of the Real Murder [1/?]
anonymous
February 14 2011, 00:01:44 UTC
Argh! Writing is frustrating, everyone! I gave this multiple once-overs, but didn't have the courage to give the thing the makeover it needed (so many parts weren't to my liking!)... nevertheless, I enjoyed writing this first part and hope you garner what amusement you can from reading this!
--
It was one of the most foreboding nights of the year. A red moon hung high in the sky and a wolf’s howl echoed over the plains ominously. The atmosphere held a numb-inducing chill… However, through the windows of a dark mansion faintly outlined by the moon, festive lights could be seen, loud shouts could be heard, and an air of coziness could be felt.
In the Vargas Manor, it was party time.
Romano sat on the couch, restlessly trying to watch a soapy melodramatic show. On the screen, a woman clad in red swooned and cried huskily, “Take me, Roberto!” Emitting a grunt of disgust, he turned the TV off.
“No, no, that goes here!” Someone cried from downstairs.
“But-but-it’ll look more pretty over here, over here!”
It was Antonio and his idiot brother trying to decide where to put the stupid decorations again. Romano grabbed one of the fluffy cushions near him and jammed it onto his ears. A blissful moment of silence was all he got before it was yanked off, very rudely in his opinion. “Oh, my crimson tomato! Rise and shine! Time for the par-ty!” Antonio yelled in his ear, wearing a moronic grin.
For that, the idiot got a cushion thrown at full speed in his face. “You bastard, I wasn’t sleeping! It’s not even morning!” Romano said angrily.
Antonio didn’t even have time to display his hurt puppy-eyes before Feliciano burst into the room, carrying platefuls of pasta. “Ve~, it’s almost time for the guests to arrive!” he exclaimed, his hair curl bobbing in the air.
Romano buried his face in the softness of the couch. “Just leave me alone, you bastards,” he mumbled. Oblivious to his mood, the two started chattering loudly.
How fervently he wished for these two morons to be gone! How he wished that they were not having this damn party! Seriously, did anybody else do this kind of idiotic stuff?! He sighed. Unfortunately, Romano’s life never went the way he wanted it to go.
--
The guests started arriving at seven on the dot. Yong-Soo and his brother, Yao, were the very first. “Hey, Antonio!” Yong-Soo shouted. God, of all the people… Romano could hear the man yelling from three rooms away. Yao offered an exhausted-sounding greeting, and they stepped into the house.
By the time a steady stream of guests was established, Romano had been forced into his burgundy Armani shirt and a pair of casual slacks. He fiddled with the white bowtie Feliciano had nearly jammed him into. Damn, damn, damn. Stupid party.
But… well, he supposed it was quite nice in his room. Much nicer than the outside hallways which were, frankly, overflowing with people. It was also kind of dark, a poignant kind of dark. He noticed that there was just one lone candle… perhaps with just that flickering light and the looming darkness for company, Romano could relax. Yes, perhaps even with the racket that threatened to penetrate the little bubble he had formed for himself…
“Tomato-pie?” The door suddenly swung open and the aforementioned sounds poured into his sanctuary. Antonio stood in the doorway, hand jammed into a pocket of his sleekest pair of pants. He was even wearing the immaculately tailored button-down reserved for special occasions! Romano had to admit to himself that the moron looked quite… erm, delectable.
Great. Now he was blushing. Like a crimson tomato. Oh, the irony… “You bastard!” he choked out after an indeterminable length of time. “How many times have I told you not to call me tomato-pie?! Get. Out!”
Antonio’s gorgeous jade eyes began to glisten with moisture. “But-but-Roma!”
Those eyes! Oh god, he was too weak. Much too weak! “Fine, fine,” he muttered, rising from the comfy armchair he’d been in. “Whatever… I’ll go.” Ignoring Antonio’s cries of elation, he speed-walked right past him and into the lobby.
Romano Vargas and the Case of the Real Murder [1/?]
anonymous
February 14 2011, 00:09:05 UTC
It was packed with people-at least forty, about average for one of Antonio and the Vargas’ joint parties. Dodging this way and that, Romano just barely managed to find his twin brother, chatting up a group of ladies. With no idea of what to do next, he just stood there, neither belonging to Feliciano’s group nor outside of it, hoping that something would happen soon.
“Everyone! Ladies and gentlemen!” a familiar voice boomed suddenly, fulfilling his wish. Romano looked up to see Antonio standing up on the second floor balcony, holding a microphone. “First of all, thanks for being here!” A few people cheered and clapped. “Now, just know that in five minutes our main show begins in the theater room! The doors will open then, so keep on a lookout!”
After another bout of clapping, the crowd went back to being loud and generally, in Romano’s opinion anyway, annoying and useless. He sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time. The whole thing was boring and awkward already.
But it seemed that things really could get worse even in the worst of situations. People were heading toward him. “Wonderful evening, mon cher,” charmed Francis, a glass of wine in one of his carefully manicured hands. “Say bonjour, Mathieu.”
“B-I, I mean, h-hello,” someone said timidly from somewhere next to Francis. Romano furrowed his brows in confusion. There… there was nobody there! Surely… this couldn’t be an imaginary creature? No, that was Arthur Kirkland…
He was just about to point this out when Francis sighed and jabbed his finger in the direction of the so-called ‘Mathieu’. “Here, Mathieu is here.”
What the hell-? As if by magic, a shy-looking boy, perhaps seventeen or eighteen judging by size, had appeared. Most strangely, he was clutching a giant teddy bear. “H-hello,” the boy repeated.
Francis ignored him. “In any way, mon ami, is it true?” he asked, waving a hand in the air melodramatically. “There is to be a mystery show, no?”
Romano nodded. That much he had bothered to learn from Antonio. Francis leaned in, eyes glinting with satisfaction and… maliciousness? “I thought you should know... I have heard there is to be an entirely different kind of event occurring.” Straightening himself up, he added, “A… shall we say, real mystery.”
He was just about to tell Francis to stop being a damn idiot when the doors to the theater room began swinging open slowly, just as Antonio had foretold. Francis turned away primly and with a curt wave, began dragging the poor Mathieu with him into the flow of people. Romano followed, confused and annoyed.
--
In an inconspicuous second-floor balcony, Gilbert Beilschmidt lowered a pair of binoculars from his crimson eyes and smirked.
Re: Romano Vargas and the Case of the Real Murder [1/?]
anonymous
February 15 2011, 04:10:37 UTC
Haha, you make this one author!anon's day better, OP! I haven't much writing skills, but I hope I've put enough effort in to please you~
I kinda saw the request and ran with it, so I wasn't sure if you'd be satisfied. Happy to see that you are! Don't worry too much, the next part shall be forthcoming soon (if I can shake off this giant mound of schoolwork)!
Re: Romano Vargas and the Case of the Real Murder [1/?]
anonymous
February 16 2011, 02:44:31 UTC
Ooh, I'm excited to see what else you come up with; this is really good! ;D
Spain's nicknames for Romano are hilarious and adorable, and ohmygosh, their relationship just. . . You write it so well! Romano's reactions to everything are so him, and France, oh wow, your France is gold.
I'm pretty much incoherent (and so, so excited) right now, so update soon. ^^
--
It was one of the most foreboding nights of the year. A red moon hung high in the sky and a wolf’s howl echoed over the plains ominously. The atmosphere held a numb-inducing chill… However, through the windows of a dark mansion faintly outlined by the moon, festive lights could be seen, loud shouts could be heard, and an air of coziness could be felt.
In the Vargas Manor, it was party time.
Romano sat on the couch, restlessly trying to watch a soapy melodramatic show. On the screen, a woman clad in red swooned and cried huskily, “Take me, Roberto!” Emitting a grunt of disgust, he turned the TV off.
“No, no, that goes here!” Someone cried from downstairs.
“But-but-it’ll look more pretty over here, over here!”
It was Antonio and his idiot brother trying to decide where to put the stupid decorations again. Romano grabbed one of the fluffy cushions near him and jammed it onto his ears. A blissful moment of silence was all he got before it was yanked off, very rudely in his opinion. “Oh, my crimson tomato! Rise and shine! Time for the par-ty!” Antonio yelled in his ear, wearing a moronic grin.
For that, the idiot got a cushion thrown at full speed in his face. “You bastard, I wasn’t sleeping! It’s not even morning!” Romano said angrily.
Antonio didn’t even have time to display his hurt puppy-eyes before Feliciano burst into the room, carrying platefuls of pasta. “Ve~, it’s almost time for the guests to arrive!” he exclaimed, his hair curl bobbing in the air.
Romano buried his face in the softness of the couch. “Just leave me alone, you bastards,” he mumbled. Oblivious to his mood, the two started chattering loudly.
How fervently he wished for these two morons to be gone! How he wished that they were not having this damn party! Seriously, did anybody else do this kind of idiotic stuff?! He sighed. Unfortunately, Romano’s life never went the way he wanted it to go.
--
The guests started arriving at seven on the dot. Yong-Soo and his brother, Yao, were the very first. “Hey, Antonio!” Yong-Soo shouted. God, of all the people… Romano could hear the man yelling from three rooms away. Yao offered an exhausted-sounding greeting, and they stepped into the house.
By the time a steady stream of guests was established, Romano had been forced into his burgundy Armani shirt and a pair of casual slacks. He fiddled with the white bowtie Feliciano had nearly jammed him into. Damn, damn, damn. Stupid party.
But… well, he supposed it was quite nice in his room. Much nicer than the outside hallways which were, frankly, overflowing with people. It was also kind of dark, a poignant kind of dark. He noticed that there was just one lone candle… perhaps with just that flickering light and the looming darkness for company, Romano could relax. Yes, perhaps even with the racket that threatened to penetrate the little bubble he had formed for himself…
“Tomato-pie?” The door suddenly swung open and the aforementioned sounds poured into his sanctuary. Antonio stood in the doorway, hand jammed into a pocket of his sleekest pair of pants. He was even wearing the immaculately tailored button-down reserved for special occasions! Romano had to admit to himself that the moron looked quite… erm, delectable.
Great. Now he was blushing. Like a crimson tomato. Oh, the irony… “You bastard!” he choked out after an indeterminable length of time. “How many times have I told you not to call me tomato-pie?! Get. Out!”
Antonio’s gorgeous jade eyes began to glisten with moisture. “But-but-Roma!”
Those eyes! Oh god, he was too weak. Much too weak! “Fine, fine,” he muttered, rising from the comfy armchair he’d been in. “Whatever… I’ll go.” Ignoring Antonio’s cries of elation, he speed-walked right past him and into the lobby.
Reply
“Everyone! Ladies and gentlemen!” a familiar voice boomed suddenly, fulfilling his wish. Romano looked up to see Antonio standing up on the second floor balcony, holding a microphone. “First of all, thanks for being here!” A few people cheered and clapped. “Now, just know that in five minutes our main show begins in the theater room! The doors will open then, so keep on a lookout!”
After another bout of clapping, the crowd went back to being loud and generally, in Romano’s opinion anyway, annoying and useless. He sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time. The whole thing was boring and awkward already.
But it seemed that things really could get worse even in the worst of situations. People were heading toward him. “Wonderful evening, mon cher,” charmed Francis, a glass of wine in one of his carefully manicured hands. “Say bonjour, Mathieu.”
“B-I, I mean, h-hello,” someone said timidly from somewhere next to Francis. Romano furrowed his brows in confusion. There… there was nobody there! Surely… this couldn’t be an imaginary creature? No, that was Arthur Kirkland…
He was just about to point this out when Francis sighed and jabbed his finger in the direction of the so-called ‘Mathieu’. “Here, Mathieu is here.”
What the hell-? As if by magic, a shy-looking boy, perhaps seventeen or eighteen judging by size, had appeared. Most strangely, he was clutching a giant teddy bear. “H-hello,” the boy repeated.
Francis ignored him. “In any way, mon ami, is it true?” he asked, waving a hand in the air melodramatically. “There is to be a mystery show, no?”
Romano nodded. That much he had bothered to learn from Antonio. Francis leaned in, eyes glinting with satisfaction and… maliciousness? “I thought you should know... I have heard there is to be an entirely different kind of event occurring.” Straightening himself up, he added, “A… shall we say, real mystery.”
He was just about to tell Francis to stop being a damn idiot when the doors to the theater room began swinging open slowly, just as Antonio had foretold. Francis turned away primly and with a curt wave, began dragging the poor Mathieu with him into the flow of people. Romano followed, confused and annoyed.
--
In an inconspicuous second-floor balcony, Gilbert Beilschmidt lowered a pair of binoculars from his crimson eyes and smirked.
Reply
Creeper Gilbert has me curious.
Can't wait for more :D
Reply
I kinda saw the request and ran with it, so I wasn't sure if you'd be satisfied. Happy to see that you are!
Don't worry too much, the next part shall be forthcoming soon (if I can shake off this giant mound of schoolwork)!
Reply
Spain's nicknames for Romano are hilarious and adorable, and ohmygosh, their relationship just. . . You write it so well! Romano's reactions to everything are so him, and France, oh wow, your France is gold.
I'm pretty much incoherent (and so, so excited) right now, so update soon. ^^
Reply
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