In Need Of Fine Tuning ~ Prologue
In Need Of Fine Tuning [FF.NET]
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in Axis Powers Hetalia, nor do I own Nodame Cantabile, from which this was inspired.
Summary: When Arthur woke in a room that was definitely not his own he was struck by two thoughts - one, that he’d never heard the flute solo from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloe played quite like that before; and two, how on Earth could anyone live in such a pigsty?
| Prologue | Track One | Track Two | Track Three |
Prologue
The first thing he became aware of was the dull but insistent pounding in his head that hinted at an impending hangover; his body’s way of making its hatred for his alcoholic tendencies known was a form of punishment he was now completely used to.
This did not, however, make the experience any less agonizing.
As his brain began to accept that yes, it was going to be one of those days, he managed to drag himself back fully into the waking world; it was only then that he was able to make two rather odd observations.
The dulcet sounds of a flute floated through the air, and it only took a moment to identify the piece as the flute solo from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé. The transition between notes was smooth and lyrical, as one might expect, but there was something different - something almost exquisite - about the way that it was being played. He felt as though if he only reached out a hand he’d be able to feel the notes slip between his fingers like silk.
He shifted slightly, placing a hand down to brace himself as he attempted to sit upright. Still reeling from the effects of his hangover hitting him like a sledgehammer to the head, he missed his mark slightly, knocking over an - he glanced over his shoulder to see what it was - empty bottle of beer. Which, in turn, knocked down the tower of glass bottles upon which it had rested with a resounding clatter that really did nothing for the state of his sanity.
It was then, with the sound of glass tumbling to the floor contrasting sharply with the fickle flow of notes still being played that Arthur made his second observation.
He seemed to be lying on a sofa. That wasn’t what was odd. He wasn’t in his own flat. This wasn’t ideal, but it also wasn’t what was jumping out at him.
Arthur could only gape at his surroundings in horror - bottles, bags of rubbish and dirty plates surrounded the sofa like the ocean encircling an island.
How on Earth could anyone live in such a pigsty?
The music came to a halt as the solo drew to a close, and it was then that Arthur spotted the flautist himself. He was peering around a pile of stacked boxes that had previously hidden him from view, flute held aloft in one hand as he stared down quizzically at Arthur.
“So Sleeping Beauty’s finally deigned to wake up, huh?”
There was something decidedly sharp in that gaze, and Arthur looked down self-consciously. To find himself practically naked. He seemed to have on only a waiter’s apron which covered his front from waist-down, a set of clip on cuffs with a matching collar and bowtie, and blanket that had slid down to his thighs when he had sat up.
Arthur’s eyes widened in shock, head snapping around to get his bearings as his cheeks coloured in mortification. His head had been pillowed by a shirt and a pair of trousers, and he swiftly tugged them on with his head still ducked, forgoing the modesty of trying to go to a different room in favour of getting out of there - wherever he was - as fast as he possibly could.
When he looked up again he noticed that the stranger wasn’t looking at him any more anyway; messy silver hair, just shorter than Arthur’s own sat atop his head, red eyes seeming to look straight past Arthur at the wall deep in thought.
“…I swear I know you from somewhere… Who the heck are you, anyway?” The man’s tone was somewhere between curious and frustrated, as though something were just beyond his grasp.
It was then that an idea struck Arthur; if this person didn’t know who he was, then there was no reason to change that. Instead of introducing himself and apologising for being a nuisance (probably) and taking over his sofa as he perhaps should have, Arthur straightened up and muttered a quick “Excuse me!” before fleeing the room.
He stumbled towards the exit as he weaved as quickly through the mess as he could, and just before escaping through the door he thought he heard the mutter of ‘ungrateful bastard’ follow him out. It didn’t matter; if he could just figure out where he was and go back home he could probably forget all about the incident and never see the guy ever agai…
It was at this point that his brain, sluggish as it was, came to a grinding halt. Or perhaps it would be more apt to say it smashed into a wall and completely disintegrated.
The plaque next to the door he had stumbled out of was labelled as ‘129: Gilbert Weillschmidt’.
He didn’t need to look to know that the one next to it would say ‘127: Arthur Kirkland’.
Well, fuck.
-Hollyrose-
A/N: So. Guess who's starting another multi-chap fic when she already has some unfinished ones to be getting along with? ^^' But I haven't been able to get this idea out of my head since initially writing the crossover-sentence in the One Sentence Meme, which is how this came about.
A lot of my ideas seem to be running away from me at the moment... Off Script has turned into a bit of a monster and seems like it's going to get at least two more parts, and I was also attacked by plot bunnies last night after talking an idea over with revolutionjack ^^'
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this teaser! I realise it's a bit unpolished (if you spot anything amiss, let me know!), I just wanted to have it posted while I was at the LRC and had proper internet access ^^' I don't know how I'm going to survive the rest of this month to be honest, but at least I should (hopefully) be able to get more revision done for my exams done without the distractions of the internet.
;A;
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in Axis Powers Hetalia, nor do I own Nodame Cantabile, from which this was inspired.
Summary: When Arthur woke in a room that was definitely not his own he was struck by two thoughts - one, that he’d never heard the flute solo from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloe played quite like that before; and two, how on Earth could anyone live in such a pigsty?
| Prologue | Track One | Track Two | Track Three |
Prologue
The first thing he became aware of was the dull but insistent pounding in his head that hinted at an impending hangover; his body’s way of making its hatred for his alcoholic tendencies known was a form of punishment he was now completely used to.
This did not, however, make the experience any less agonizing.
As his brain began to accept that yes, it was going to be one of those days, he managed to drag himself back fully into the waking world; it was only then that he was able to make two rather odd observations.
The dulcet sounds of a flute floated through the air, and it only took a moment to identify the piece as the flute solo from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé. The transition between notes was smooth and lyrical, as one might expect, but there was something different - something almost exquisite - about the way that it was being played. He felt as though if he only reached out a hand he’d be able to feel the notes slip between his fingers like silk.
He shifted slightly, placing a hand down to brace himself as he attempted to sit upright. Still reeling from the effects of his hangover hitting him like a sledgehammer to the head, he missed his mark slightly, knocking over an - he glanced over his shoulder to see what it was - empty bottle of beer. Which, in turn, knocked down the tower of glass bottles upon which it had rested with a resounding clatter that really did nothing for the state of his sanity.
It was then, with the sound of glass tumbling to the floor contrasting sharply with the fickle flow of notes still being played that Arthur made his second observation.
He seemed to be lying on a sofa. That wasn’t what was odd. He wasn’t in his own flat. This wasn’t ideal, but it also wasn’t what was jumping out at him.
Arthur could only gape at his surroundings in horror - bottles, bags of rubbish and dirty plates surrounded the sofa like the ocean encircling an island.
How on Earth could anyone live in such a pigsty?
The music came to a halt as the solo drew to a close, and it was then that Arthur spotted the flautist himself. He was peering around a pile of stacked boxes that had previously hidden him from view, flute held aloft in one hand as he stared down quizzically at Arthur.
“So Sleeping Beauty’s finally deigned to wake up, huh?”
There was something decidedly sharp in that gaze, and Arthur looked down self-consciously. To find himself practically naked. He seemed to have on only a waiter’s apron which covered his front from waist-down, a set of clip on cuffs with a matching collar and bowtie, and blanket that had slid down to his thighs when he had sat up.
Arthur’s eyes widened in shock, head snapping around to get his bearings as his cheeks coloured in mortification. His head had been pillowed by a shirt and a pair of trousers, and he swiftly tugged them on with his head still ducked, forgoing the modesty of trying to go to a different room in favour of getting out of there - wherever he was - as fast as he possibly could.
When he looked up again he noticed that the stranger wasn’t looking at him any more anyway; messy silver hair, just shorter than Arthur’s own sat atop his head, red eyes seeming to look straight past Arthur at the wall deep in thought.
“…I swear I know you from somewhere… Who the heck are you, anyway?” The man’s tone was somewhere between curious and frustrated, as though something were just beyond his grasp.
It was then that an idea struck Arthur; if this person didn’t know who he was, then there was no reason to change that. Instead of introducing himself and apologising for being a nuisance (probably) and taking over his sofa as he perhaps should have, Arthur straightened up and muttered a quick “Excuse me!” before fleeing the room.
He stumbled towards the exit as he weaved as quickly through the mess as he could, and just before escaping through the door he thought he heard the mutter of ‘ungrateful bastard’ follow him out. It didn’t matter; if he could just figure out where he was and go back home he could probably forget all about the incident and never see the guy ever agai…
It was at this point that his brain, sluggish as it was, came to a grinding halt. Or perhaps it would be more apt to say it smashed into a wall and completely disintegrated.
The plaque next to the door he had stumbled out of was labelled as ‘129: Gilbert Weillschmidt’.
He didn’t need to look to know that the one next to it would say ‘127: Arthur Kirkland’.
Well, fuck.
-Hollyrose-
A/N: So. Guess who's starting another multi-chap fic when she already has some unfinished ones to be getting along with? ^^' But I haven't been able to get this idea out of my head since initially writing the crossover-sentence in the One Sentence Meme, which is how this came about.
A lot of my ideas seem to be running away from me at the moment... Off Script has turned into a bit of a monster and seems like it's going to get at least two more parts, and I was also attacked by plot bunnies last night after talking an idea over with revolutionjack ^^'
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this teaser! I realise it's a bit unpolished (if you spot anything amiss, let me know!), I just wanted to have it posted while I was at the LRC and had proper internet access ^^' I don't know how I'm going to survive the rest of this month to be honest, but at least I should (hopefully) be able to get more revision done for my exams done without the distractions of the internet.
;A;