C'est La Vie! Is alive? Yes!! [5/?]
Title: C'est La Vie!
Author: kaliona
Characters: Canada, France, England, America, mentions of Spain, many more characters to be introduced in future chapters
Pairings: Eventual France/Canada, UsUK, GerIta, GiriPan and DenNor; Slight Turkey/Japan, Ukraine/Estonia and SwissLiecht; Existing Austria/Hungary, SuFin, and Spain/Romano
Rating: PG-13
Summary: College Student!Matthew has come across a wonderful scholarship, but his brother's roommate's family has already paid for all of his expenses. So what does Matthew do with the Money? According to Alfred, he blows it all and goes to Paris.
Notes for this chapter: Please excuse me while I FAIL at plot ploys and action.
Lovino Vargas came from a nice family. He entered the Mafia of his own free will and almost immediately moved to high-standards. But that was because his boss took so much liking to him.
It was not a secret that he held power over Antonio. So really, Lovino Vargas was in an odd sort of placement in the Mafia. One day he was running the joint, and the next, he was doing dirty work. It really depended on Antonio's mood.
Today, he had gone between being sent out to find Francis, from where he was now. And that was sitting on Antonio's desk, facing him, and receiving small kisses and compliments.
Antonio was not the sort of man you put in charge of the Mafia, and he had told Lovino, myriad times, that he had never wanted to be where he was. But, as he had been told, things happen; things that Antonio seldom had any control of.
Currently, the Spaniard was trying to pull Lovino into his lap, and was well on his way to succeeding on his mission. He planted feather-light kisses all over the boy, telling him how nice he was to help him in these situations, how sweet and cute he was, how Antonio would have to make it up to him sometime. The best way to get through Lovino's walls that he had built up around him was by stroking his ego, Antonio had learned.
"Tch," scoffed the Italian, giving into the soft touches. "You don't have to repay me, bastard. This is my job, isn't it?"
"True. But still…" Antonio gently tangled his fingers in the other's hair, bringing a soft kiss to the top of his head. "Sometimes I am so mean to you. I give you jobs that I should give to the people who don't mean anything, and for that, I am so sorry."
With every word, Lovino let himself sink deeper into letting his guard down, almost nuzzling into the touches. "Well, if you really have to, you could… I don't know… treat me to lunch sometime…"
"I will treat you to anything you like, Lovinito," cooed the Spaniard, pressing more kisses to the top of his head. "If ever you need or would like anything, just tell me."
Lovino would never in a million years let anyone see him like this, so needy for attention; Antonio was just an exception-sometimes. Slowly, he turned to accept the kisses, and before long was getting showered with the affection he clearly deserved-
The Italian jumped away quickly, nearly falling off Antonio's desk, at the feeling of his phone vibrating in his pocket, and cursed quietly. He fumbled in his pocket, looking for the interrupting little thing, and when he found it, he snarled into the speaker, "What?"
"Lovi," Came Francis, his voice almost low. "I need your help."
All of Lovino's feelings, save hatred, were shoved out the window, as the Italian turned away from Antonio to pour his aggression onto Francis.
"Really," He hissed, his voice dripping with sarcasm and irritation. "You need my help now? What about two hours ago when you wouldn't answer your damn phone? I could've been getting fucking gang-raped, but you were too busy being a prick – as usual – to say, Hey, Why don't I think about someone else for once in my miserable life?! Jesus, Francis, I thought something happened! I thought you had gotten caught!"
"I'm actually on the verge of being caught," was Francis's casual response.
***********************
Maybe it was being up so high, but Matthew was beginning to feel himself grow a little faint.
He was thankful for Francis's fingers wound so tightly around his wrist and pulling him all about the tower. He was sure the man was talking, but everything was spinning and blurring and he could barely hear (and what was that ringing in his ears?), so he wasn't exactly sure what the topic at hand was. All he knew that it was taking a considerate amount of effort not to collapse.
And Francis must've realized the Canadian wasn't listening because he quickly zipped around to brace his hands on Matthew's shoulders and half-glare at him seriously. "Mathieu, are you listening to me?"
Matthew felt his cheeks glaze over with a pink tint, as he returned the hold and gripped the Frenchman's jacket lightly. "O-Oh, yes," He slurred, feeling his knees wobble. "Were you talking, by the way?"
Francis rolled his eyes, smiling faintly and pulling the younger along. "It's nothing. Just keep quiet and follow me."
This was a bad idea, that much he knew already. He couldn't believe he was dragging a kid into this mess. But, now that the boy was here, there was no getting him out. His best course of action would be to fly him out of the country as soon as possible, and with the mess that was going on now, he doubted Matthew would want to come back.
He disregarded the lights that were beginning to shine on him, flickering across him, and turned another corner. "Mathieu," he started, in that calm, serious tone. "In the near future, I am probably going to do something reckless and something that you will not like. I'd ask you to act surprised and scared and – Ah, how do you say it? – Out of it, but I don't think that will be a problem-"
For a split second, the whole of the Eiffel Tower fell silent, but as all seconds do, it passed, and shrieks and squeals filled the ears of the two on the run. A blinding light shone directly onto the pair, and it wasn't the romantic French moon. On impulse, Francis rose his hand to block the light from his face as he attempted to look past the blinding white and look down to where it was shining.
Standing on top of a vehicle was a woman dressed in a police officer's uniform and a matching hat, with long, chocolate hair blowing behind her. She was holding a megaphone and wore an expression that said she was not the woman you wanted to mess with.
"Francis Bonnefoy!" She called through her megaphone. "This is the police! Relinquish your hostage and come out with your hands up!"
Francis thought it said a lot about his personality that the first thing he thought about her was that she had nice hips.
***********************
It was safe to say Arthur was never going anywhere with Alfred again.
On the other hand, he gathered he should be feeling something other than irritation for the man next to him as he watched a French Criminal wrap his arms around Matthew as though he was going to push him off the Eiffel Tower. That was probably going to happen.
For the past hour, he had let Alfred drag him all around the bloody city until the American had caught sight of a police car and somehow found the sheer strength to chase after it and catch up with it in time to ask it for help. He had followed the squad here, and, well… They had found Matthew.
Ignoring the woman on the car screaming into a megaphone, Alfred began flailing around, shouting every little thing that came to mind (which was never good, because whatever Alfred thought at any moment, he said). And Arthur fully understood why he would be upset. It was just that his state of mind at the moment didn't know what to do so he just stood there silently and stared.
"Fuckin' Lunatic, do you get some sort of sick satisfaction out of pickin' boys off the street?! Did you touch him?! I bet he fuckin' touched him, Artie, sick fuck-"
"Sir," Said the woman on the car, putting her megaphone down and looking at him fully. "Please calm down."
"Calm down?" Alfred echoed, his eyes wide and his tall form shaking with what seemed to be rage (even though Alfred's rage was different then most rage). "Calm down? Lady, that guy's my brother! Not the French guy, his fuckin'… fuckin'… Artie what's the-"
"Captive," seethed Arthur, pinching his temple. "His captive. And she's right. Screaming isn't going to help the poor boy so just… please keep calm."
Alfred stared at him, his jaw slightly slack and his eyes wide, taking on that childlike expression he usually wore. "But… How am I gonna…?"
Arthur must've been a mother in a past life, because he constantly found himself wanting to take Alfred's (or Matthew's) head and just sort of cradle it against his chest. But, he reminded himself frequently, he could not that, as both of them were grown men, not his responsibility, and would certainly not be good for his self-image and/or pride.
"Let the police do their job, Alfred," He told him, in that same motherly tone. "There's nothing you can do at this point but-"
"-Nothing I can do? There damn well is something I can do!" With that, Alfred stormed up the Eiffel Tower, taking the blasted stairs since the police had blocked the elevator off. And Arthur, turning red from realizing just what an idiot his object of affections was, scurried after worriedly.
Meanwhile, the woman on the vehicle remained as resolute and professional as ever.
"No, Lucas, we don't need any back-up," said her Swiss companion, who was standing beside the car and speaking into a phone. "Yes, we will call you if we do. Now go… busy yourself with something."
Elizabeta did not waver, her eyes locked on the man on the tower and his hostage. She watched him whisper something in the boys' ears, then pushed her finger onto the button on her megaphone and spoke again.
"Francis Bonnefoy! You have no escape routes! Take the elevator with your hostage and relinquish him at once!"
In response, Francis Bonnefoy blew the woman a kiss and stepped backward, maneuvering around the elevator, side stepping between the large bars, and dropping off the tower, eliciting gasps and shrieks from the crowd he had gathered.
***********************
"Bastard," Seethed Lovino, leaning against of the bars from the tower and trying to block out the police woman's loud voice. "Can't believe he sent me to do this. Why couldn't he have sent you bastards?"
Heracles Karpusi never objected to the verbal abuse Lovino laid down on him. It was his brother, Sadiq, who twitched at the smart remarks. But Lovino just crossed his arms and gave him a look that dared him to speak up.
Sighing, the Turkish man, leaned against the bar with Lovino and looked up, waiting to see Francis's shadow. "Damned if I know," He replied, lazily.
"Whatever," Scoffed Lovino, turning to look through the bars. "Just remember that if you don't catch him, you'll be joining him on the pavement."
Both men smiled at this, bemused by the small Italian's threat, but turned to face the bars with him. The still moment was interrupted as they heard footsteps crashing against the metal steps they stood on, and turned left to look at their intruders in comical unison.
Alfred, with his face flushed, stared at the men. "What the hell are you-"
Sadiq stepped forward, punching the man harshly in the gut. He gasped loudly in turn, doubling over in response to the pain. Paces behind him came Arthur, who was looking more pale by the second.
"Alfred-" Sadiq cut short another sentence and punched the Brit in the face, earning a sharp intake of night air and a near unconscious blonde.
Lovino remained unfazed, turning to look out to the city again, waiting for Francis. "Take them to the van," He instructed, coldly.
Sadiq nodded, throwing the two tourists over his shoulders and starting down the stairwell again. The Brit on his left shoulder moaned once, reaching out to grasp Alfred's arm weakly, but kept still. Not at all distracted from the incident, Lovino and Heracles looked onward.
With his usual elegance, Francis backed off the tower and dropped down. The drop was short lived, as he was immediately caught by the Grecian to Lovino's right.
He might some sort of casual sound in the back of his throat, then smiled up at the three of them. "Ah, Lovino. Did you miss me?"
"Shut. Up," seethed the Italian, his eyes narrowed for influence. "Almost got yourself killed, Francis. And who the fuck is this kid?"
Matthew, who had been remotely quiet throughout the entirety of the stunt, confusedly stared at the men before him, clinging tightly to his captor, before promptly passing out.
"Well," Mused Francis, passing the boy to Heracles. "That was Matthew."
Author: kaliona
Characters: Canada, France, England, America, mentions of Spain, many more characters to be introduced in future chapters
Pairings: Eventual France/Canada, UsUK, GerIta, GiriPan and DenNor; Slight Turkey/Japan, Ukraine/Estonia and SwissLiecht; Existing Austria/Hungary, SuFin, and Spain/Romano
Rating: PG-13
Summary: College Student!Matthew has come across a wonderful scholarship, but his brother's roommate's family has already paid for all of his expenses. So what does Matthew do with the Money? According to Alfred, he blows it all and goes to Paris.
Notes for this chapter: Please excuse me while I FAIL at plot ploys and action.
Lovino Vargas came from a nice family. He entered the Mafia of his own free will and almost immediately moved to high-standards. But that was because his boss took so much liking to him.
It was not a secret that he held power over Antonio. So really, Lovino Vargas was in an odd sort of placement in the Mafia. One day he was running the joint, and the next, he was doing dirty work. It really depended on Antonio's mood.
Today, he had gone between being sent out to find Francis, from where he was now. And that was sitting on Antonio's desk, facing him, and receiving small kisses and compliments.
Antonio was not the sort of man you put in charge of the Mafia, and he had told Lovino, myriad times, that he had never wanted to be where he was. But, as he had been told, things happen; things that Antonio seldom had any control of.
Currently, the Spaniard was trying to pull Lovino into his lap, and was well on his way to succeeding on his mission. He planted feather-light kisses all over the boy, telling him how nice he was to help him in these situations, how sweet and cute he was, how Antonio would have to make it up to him sometime. The best way to get through Lovino's walls that he had built up around him was by stroking his ego, Antonio had learned.
"Tch," scoffed the Italian, giving into the soft touches. "You don't have to repay me, bastard. This is my job, isn't it?"
"True. But still…" Antonio gently tangled his fingers in the other's hair, bringing a soft kiss to the top of his head. "Sometimes I am so mean to you. I give you jobs that I should give to the people who don't mean anything, and for that, I am so sorry."
With every word, Lovino let himself sink deeper into letting his guard down, almost nuzzling into the touches. "Well, if you really have to, you could… I don't know… treat me to lunch sometime…"
"I will treat you to anything you like, Lovinito," cooed the Spaniard, pressing more kisses to the top of his head. "If ever you need or would like anything, just tell me."
Lovino would never in a million years let anyone see him like this, so needy for attention; Antonio was just an exception-sometimes. Slowly, he turned to accept the kisses, and before long was getting showered with the affection he clearly deserved-
The Italian jumped away quickly, nearly falling off Antonio's desk, at the feeling of his phone vibrating in his pocket, and cursed quietly. He fumbled in his pocket, looking for the interrupting little thing, and when he found it, he snarled into the speaker, "What?"
"Lovi," Came Francis, his voice almost low. "I need your help."
All of Lovino's feelings, save hatred, were shoved out the window, as the Italian turned away from Antonio to pour his aggression onto Francis.
"Really," He hissed, his voice dripping with sarcasm and irritation. "You need my help now? What about two hours ago when you wouldn't answer your damn phone? I could've been getting fucking gang-raped, but you were too busy being a prick – as usual – to say, Hey, Why don't I think about someone else for once in my miserable life?! Jesus, Francis, I thought something happened! I thought you had gotten caught!"
"I'm actually on the verge of being caught," was Francis's casual response.
***********************
Maybe it was being up so high, but Matthew was beginning to feel himself grow a little faint.
He was thankful for Francis's fingers wound so tightly around his wrist and pulling him all about the tower. He was sure the man was talking, but everything was spinning and blurring and he could barely hear (and what was that ringing in his ears?), so he wasn't exactly sure what the topic at hand was. All he knew that it was taking a considerate amount of effort not to collapse.
And Francis must've realized the Canadian wasn't listening because he quickly zipped around to brace his hands on Matthew's shoulders and half-glare at him seriously. "Mathieu, are you listening to me?"
Matthew felt his cheeks glaze over with a pink tint, as he returned the hold and gripped the Frenchman's jacket lightly. "O-Oh, yes," He slurred, feeling his knees wobble. "Were you talking, by the way?"
Francis rolled his eyes, smiling faintly and pulling the younger along. "It's nothing. Just keep quiet and follow me."
This was a bad idea, that much he knew already. He couldn't believe he was dragging a kid into this mess. But, now that the boy was here, there was no getting him out. His best course of action would be to fly him out of the country as soon as possible, and with the mess that was going on now, he doubted Matthew would want to come back.
He disregarded the lights that were beginning to shine on him, flickering across him, and turned another corner. "Mathieu," he started, in that calm, serious tone. "In the near future, I am probably going to do something reckless and something that you will not like. I'd ask you to act surprised and scared and – Ah, how do you say it? – Out of it, but I don't think that will be a problem-"
For a split second, the whole of the Eiffel Tower fell silent, but as all seconds do, it passed, and shrieks and squeals filled the ears of the two on the run. A blinding light shone directly onto the pair, and it wasn't the romantic French moon. On impulse, Francis rose his hand to block the light from his face as he attempted to look past the blinding white and look down to where it was shining.
Standing on top of a vehicle was a woman dressed in a police officer's uniform and a matching hat, with long, chocolate hair blowing behind her. She was holding a megaphone and wore an expression that said she was not the woman you wanted to mess with.
"Francis Bonnefoy!" She called through her megaphone. "This is the police! Relinquish your hostage and come out with your hands up!"
Francis thought it said a lot about his personality that the first thing he thought about her was that she had nice hips.
***********************
It was safe to say Arthur was never going anywhere with Alfred again.
On the other hand, he gathered he should be feeling something other than irritation for the man next to him as he watched a French Criminal wrap his arms around Matthew as though he was going to push him off the Eiffel Tower. That was probably going to happen.
For the past hour, he had let Alfred drag him all around the bloody city until the American had caught sight of a police car and somehow found the sheer strength to chase after it and catch up with it in time to ask it for help. He had followed the squad here, and, well… They had found Matthew.
Ignoring the woman on the car screaming into a megaphone, Alfred began flailing around, shouting every little thing that came to mind (which was never good, because whatever Alfred thought at any moment, he said). And Arthur fully understood why he would be upset. It was just that his state of mind at the moment didn't know what to do so he just stood there silently and stared.
"Fuckin' Lunatic, do you get some sort of sick satisfaction out of pickin' boys off the street?! Did you touch him?! I bet he fuckin' touched him, Artie, sick fuck-"
"Sir," Said the woman on the car, putting her megaphone down and looking at him fully. "Please calm down."
"Calm down?" Alfred echoed, his eyes wide and his tall form shaking with what seemed to be rage (even though Alfred's rage was different then most rage). "Calm down? Lady, that guy's my brother! Not the French guy, his fuckin'… fuckin'… Artie what's the-"
"Captive," seethed Arthur, pinching his temple. "His captive. And she's right. Screaming isn't going to help the poor boy so just… please keep calm."
Alfred stared at him, his jaw slightly slack and his eyes wide, taking on that childlike expression he usually wore. "But… How am I gonna…?"
Arthur must've been a mother in a past life, because he constantly found himself wanting to take Alfred's (or Matthew's) head and just sort of cradle it against his chest. But, he reminded himself frequently, he could not that, as both of them were grown men, not his responsibility, and would certainly not be good for his self-image and/or pride.
"Let the police do their job, Alfred," He told him, in that same motherly tone. "There's nothing you can do at this point but-"
"-Nothing I can do? There damn well is something I can do!" With that, Alfred stormed up the Eiffel Tower, taking the blasted stairs since the police had blocked the elevator off. And Arthur, turning red from realizing just what an idiot his object of affections was, scurried after worriedly.
Meanwhile, the woman on the vehicle remained as resolute and professional as ever.
"No, Lucas, we don't need any back-up," said her Swiss companion, who was standing beside the car and speaking into a phone. "Yes, we will call you if we do. Now go… busy yourself with something."
Elizabeta did not waver, her eyes locked on the man on the tower and his hostage. She watched him whisper something in the boys' ears, then pushed her finger onto the button on her megaphone and spoke again.
"Francis Bonnefoy! You have no escape routes! Take the elevator with your hostage and relinquish him at once!"
In response, Francis Bonnefoy blew the woman a kiss and stepped backward, maneuvering around the elevator, side stepping between the large bars, and dropping off the tower, eliciting gasps and shrieks from the crowd he had gathered.
***********************
"Bastard," Seethed Lovino, leaning against of the bars from the tower and trying to block out the police woman's loud voice. "Can't believe he sent me to do this. Why couldn't he have sent you bastards?"
Heracles Karpusi never objected to the verbal abuse Lovino laid down on him. It was his brother, Sadiq, who twitched at the smart remarks. But Lovino just crossed his arms and gave him a look that dared him to speak up.
Sighing, the Turkish man, leaned against the bar with Lovino and looked up, waiting to see Francis's shadow. "Damned if I know," He replied, lazily.
"Whatever," Scoffed Lovino, turning to look through the bars. "Just remember that if you don't catch him, you'll be joining him on the pavement."
Both men smiled at this, bemused by the small Italian's threat, but turned to face the bars with him. The still moment was interrupted as they heard footsteps crashing against the metal steps they stood on, and turned left to look at their intruders in comical unison.
Alfred, with his face flushed, stared at the men. "What the hell are you-"
Sadiq stepped forward, punching the man harshly in the gut. He gasped loudly in turn, doubling over in response to the pain. Paces behind him came Arthur, who was looking more pale by the second.
"Alfred-" Sadiq cut short another sentence and punched the Brit in the face, earning a sharp intake of night air and a near unconscious blonde.
Lovino remained unfazed, turning to look out to the city again, waiting for Francis. "Take them to the van," He instructed, coldly.
Sadiq nodded, throwing the two tourists over his shoulders and starting down the stairwell again. The Brit on his left shoulder moaned once, reaching out to grasp Alfred's arm weakly, but kept still. Not at all distracted from the incident, Lovino and Heracles looked onward.
With his usual elegance, Francis backed off the tower and dropped down. The drop was short lived, as he was immediately caught by the Grecian to Lovino's right.
He might some sort of casual sound in the back of his throat, then smiled up at the three of them. "Ah, Lovino. Did you miss me?"
"Shut. Up," seethed the Italian, his eyes narrowed for influence. "Almost got yourself killed, Francis. And who the fuck is this kid?"
Matthew, who had been remotely quiet throughout the entirety of the stunt, confusedly stared at the men before him, clinging tightly to his captor, before promptly passing out.
"Well," Mused Francis, passing the boy to Heracles. "That was Matthew."