German Extravaganza
Who: Ludwig and Otto
When: October 13th, very late night
Where: Vargas mansion
What: Otto is worried about Feliciano, and gets a bit more in-your-face about it when his phone messages are not answered. Ludwig worries that his fiance is being stalked, and tension-filled meetings are had.
Otto had been pacing the entire day, ever since Eliziveta had informed him of Feliciano's apparent absence. Going back, he had stared at the most recent post on Feliciano's journal and the timestamp on it, and promptly had decided that whatever was happening, it was partially his fault. All of the signs pointed to it: that forced smile at the end of their meeting, the post about him on the journal, then nothing from him at all. He had to do something, and he couldn't wait to see if Feliciano would respond to his voicemails tomorrow. This situation had the feeling of dire urgency to it. He could be wrong, but...
He had trooped across town, permit in his pocket and the semi-automatic pistol he hoped to never have to use holstered under the folds of his white and silver cloak. A long stick of wood with nails on the end had been uprooted from his closet floor and was currently within his backpack, with intent to break into the room if he had to. He did not like doing such things, but... it was for Feliciano's own good.
At the door to the mansion, he tried knocking first, taking a moment to compose himself before giving three sharp raps to the wooden door.
When: October 13th, very late night
Where: Vargas mansion
What: Otto is worried about Feliciano, and gets a bit more in-your-face about it when his phone messages are not answered. Ludwig worries that his fiance is being stalked, and tension-filled meetings are had.
Otto had been pacing the entire day, ever since Eliziveta had informed him of Feliciano's apparent absence. Going back, he had stared at the most recent post on Feliciano's journal and the timestamp on it, and promptly had decided that whatever was happening, it was partially his fault. All of the signs pointed to it: that forced smile at the end of their meeting, the post about him on the journal, then nothing from him at all. He had to do something, and he couldn't wait to see if Feliciano would respond to his voicemails tomorrow. This situation had the feeling of dire urgency to it. He could be wrong, but...
He had trooped across town, permit in his pocket and the semi-automatic pistol he hoped to never have to use holstered under the folds of his white and silver cloak. A long stick of wood with nails on the end had been uprooted from his closet floor and was currently within his backpack, with intent to break into the room if he had to. He did not like doing such things, but... it was for Feliciano's own good.
At the door to the mansion, he tried knocking first, taking a moment to compose himself before giving three sharp raps to the wooden door.