Fries with that?
Who: Alfred and Lovino
When: September 6th
Where: Mickey D's
What: With all that's been going on with Antonio, people leaving, new jobs and up-tight Austrians, sometimes you just need a Big Mac and a McFlurry and an American to rage at.
( Armani and special sauce do NOT mix )
When: September 6th
Where: Mickey D's
What: With all that's been going on with Antonio, people leaving, new jobs and up-tight Austrians, sometimes you just need a Big Mac and a McFlurry and an American to rage at.
( Armani and special sauce do NOT mix )
The Pizzeria was closed. His work was closed. His main source of food, income, and excuse-not-to-go-out. Closed.
Romano sat alone with the highly overpriced and absolutely disgusting meal he'd taken his sweet time in ordering before him. Head resting in one arm he occupied the other by swirling a straw around in a medium-sized chocolate milkshake.
With no class and no job he'd spent most of his time sulking around the house; a particularly fond pastime of his that had soon become a challenge once Antonio realised what he was doing. (The Spaniard had an odd way of finding him even in the oversized house, and even his attempts at cheering Romano up had gotten tiresome.)
And so, the Italian had found himself in the last place he ever thought he'd be. McDonalds.
Living off sickly, deep-fried food.
It would have been endurable too, if Alfred had not waltzed right into him. Luckily Romano was able to save his drink and dignity, glaring up at him as if the American had just insulted his entire culture. Which he may as well have.
"What the fuck is your problem?"
Ugh. Suits. He hated Suits.
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Alfred actually took a step back when the little Italian started to yell at him, more out of shock than anything else, not that he wasn't quick the glare back. "What's my problem?" he demanded, "you're the one walking around not looking where you're going!"
Folded his arms over his chest, the bag in his hand waving wildly in his hand. Okay maybe he could try intimidating him, he was, what, like five feet higher than this shrimp.
"You're not exactly the kind of guy that should be telling me off."
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Romano cut himself off, keeping a close eye on Alfred's bag so that it didn't hit him or his food.
"Che diavolo vuoi dire con questo?"
He looked him over again. The American didn't seem like someone he'd have a problem with yelling at; he certainly wasn't a part of the mafia, and unless Romano's knowledge of US superstars was as bad as his indifference for them, Alfred didn't look like anyone famous either.
Just another arrogant American.
"Whatever," he waved him off, "Just piss off already."
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Alfred really didn't like that look this... this kid was giving him. Like he was nothing. Alfred didn't like being treated like he was nothing.
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"Apologise!? You're the one that ran into me!" Romano's hand was brought down hard against the table, however by this point half of the onlookers in the restaurant had managed to identify him and pay little mind to their argument.
It wasn't rare for Romano to cause a scene, and luckily for the Italian almost everyone in Liberty was rather used to it.
What they had also come accustomed to, was the next step in the sequence of things.
First, he would pick a fight with someone usually much larger or stronger than him. Then, he would stand his ground until either someone came between them or Romano became intimidated, at which point he'd threaten, scowl and run off with his tail between his legs.
But this wasn't Ludwig, or Francis or Arthur, and he would not be intimidated.
"I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now. So take your food, fuck off, and go pick a fight with one of the kids outside-" he jerked his head in the direction of the playground, "-for all i care."
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He wasn't going to be intimidated either. "I'm not going to fight a little kid!" he shouted, his own hand slamming down as well, advancing on the Italian, giving his shoulder a shove.
"I'm gonna pick a fight with the snottish little Italian in front of me right now."
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Alfred's hand came down and Romano jumped back. A crack in his cocky facade, he straightened himself and tried to make up for the lost ground.
Suddenly the American was looking a lot bigger and a lot stronger kind of like that German bastard and Romano wasn't entirely sure he wanted to get into this fight anymore.
But he wasn't going to back down yet. At least not without making it look like it was Alfred's fault first.
"W-What the hell is your problem? Look. You're causing a damn scene so here, you can have this disgusting excuse for food and I'm gonna go find something decent."
And with that he pushed his own meal across the table to Alfred, as a sort of tentative please-don't-hurt-me peace offering.
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If only all his choices in life were so blatant. He took the unopened burger, placing it in his own bag, suddenly all smiles and very friendly. "Hey thanks man," he said, taking one of Lovino's fries and nomming on it.
"And what do you mean something decent?" Alfred quirked his head, "MickeyD's is awesome!"
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