[Fanfiction] "Alte Liebe rostet nicht", Sample Three
Characters/ Pairings: Germany, Hungary, Austria, hints of past Austria/Hungary
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word Count: 941
"I haven't seen him."
She was lying to his face, not meeting his eyes and rearranging her few meager possessions silently, even as the wrathful noise of a riot surrounded the tiny apartment outside. Germany bit the inside of his cheek in irritation, trying to retain his composure.
"Hungary."
She glanced up at him through a stringy mass of tangled and unwashed hair and then away to the aged and wrinkled sheet of handwritten musical score she was compulsively flattening between her palms.
"I haven't seen him," she insisted in a high-pitched voice, eyes darting to each of the cracked windows as if Russia himself would be standing there with his nose pressed against the glass and fogging it up with his breath as he smiled at them serenely. Germany's lips thinned into a painfully straight line as he stared down at her.
"I was told," he intoned, "that my brother passed through. I lost his trail here and I'm just looking for another lead. I just thought that you-you two had been friends, so I thought-"
"Call it friendship if it makes you feel better," Hungary retorted bitterly, "because being friends with him has never done any of us a bit of good. I haven't seen him."
"Elizaveta. Please."
"How is Roderich?" she asked instead, turning away to reach for a faded red ribbon to tie her hair back. Nothing betrayed Germany's expression except for a slight twitch in his eyebrow as she faced him again with a neutral expression save for the barely there uplift at the corner of her lips.
"Never mind. I can probably guess. He's doing just as well as ever, seated on his pretty chaise lounge and sipping some imported tea with 3 sugar cubes, exactly a teaspoon of cream, and his damned sachertorte as if none of this ever happened. Typical. What an excellent sense of priorities he always had. Typical."
"He's in his wheelchair again."
Hungary blinked, staring at Germany as if waiting for the punchline of a particularly unfunny joke. When his stoic expression remained in place, her face broke into the most beautiful smile he'd seen from her in decades.
"Is that so?" she said, "I didn't-well then. Is that so? Really?"
"Elizaveta, I understand if you're upset…" Germany began tentatively. She beamed at him and brushed imaginary dust from his shoulders before straightening his collar.
"Upset?" she asked brightly, "I'm not upset. That's the best news I've heard in ages."
Slightly unsettled, he groped in his pocket for the folded envelope he had been entrusted with.
"He sent this for you."
"It's likely that she won't want it," Austria murmured quietly, staring down at the paper as he tapped his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen and tried to think of what to write next.
"But she was your wife-"
"Was," Austria echoed Germany quietly, looking up to smile at the blonde man sardonically. The Austrian glanced back down at the page and its shakily written words with distaste.
"Abominable penmanship," he remarked disdainfully, "still, I suppose it bestows all of this with a sense of remorse, doesn't it? What a ridiculous sentiment."
"Why couldn't you just apologize if you're sorry?"
Austria set his pen down tranquilly and folded his hands in his lap to stare back at Germany coolly.
"She already thinks of me as the most pathetic excuse for a man as has ever lived on this earth. If I deigned to apologize to her, she'd never forgive me. Trying to excuse myself would just make me more irredeemable in her eyes. She wants me to be a villain, and so I shall."
Germany sighed and leaned against the parlor's doorframe tiredly.
"That makes no sense, Austria."
"The relationship between she and I is a long one. It is old and dented and tarnished, but it works just as it always has. Therefore, I am determined to see that it always will. Something like this will strain it, but never break it. And so, if she wishes to hate me, she may."
"But why?"
"Because," Austria folded the paper into precise fourths, then into eighths, and then slid it into a envelope, "I am a gentleman, she is my wife, and I love her. It is the occupation of a gentleman to see to his wife's happiness."
Hungary stared at the proffered envelope coldly.
"If you were going to bring me tinder for the fire, I wish you'd brought something a bit more substantial."
"He said you probably wouldn't want it."
"Wait-"
Germany held the letter away from Hungary's grasping hands, aloft and out of her reach.
"Where is he, Hungary?"
"I already told you that I haven't seen him," she hissed as she stretched for the envelope held overhead.
"You're lying."
"I'm not!" she screamed, "Prussia did pass through, yes. But he was caught crossing the border and he was sent back! That's all I know, for the love of God! Now give me that-!"
The blonde lowered his arm and she snatched the note away and clutched it to her chest protectively.
"That's all I know," she repeated, "and now I'll have to be a terrible hostess and insist you leave."
He inclined his head to her politely and turned for the door, the sound of an envelope being ripped open and clumsily written German being read by untutored lips following him down the shoddy hall.
An enraged shriek and the clamor of something being thrown through a window greeted him outside, a downpour of glass shards shadowing his steps as he looked northeast while he walked northwest.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word Count: 941
"I haven't seen him."
She was lying to his face, not meeting his eyes and rearranging her few meager possessions silently, even as the wrathful noise of a riot surrounded the tiny apartment outside. Germany bit the inside of his cheek in irritation, trying to retain his composure.
"Hungary."
She glanced up at him through a stringy mass of tangled and unwashed hair and then away to the aged and wrinkled sheet of handwritten musical score she was compulsively flattening between her palms.
"I haven't seen him," she insisted in a high-pitched voice, eyes darting to each of the cracked windows as if Russia himself would be standing there with his nose pressed against the glass and fogging it up with his breath as he smiled at them serenely. Germany's lips thinned into a painfully straight line as he stared down at her.
"I was told," he intoned, "that my brother passed through. I lost his trail here and I'm just looking for another lead. I just thought that you-you two had been friends, so I thought-"
"Call it friendship if it makes you feel better," Hungary retorted bitterly, "because being friends with him has never done any of us a bit of good. I haven't seen him."
"Elizaveta. Please."
"How is Roderich?" she asked instead, turning away to reach for a faded red ribbon to tie her hair back. Nothing betrayed Germany's expression except for a slight twitch in his eyebrow as she faced him again with a neutral expression save for the barely there uplift at the corner of her lips.
"Never mind. I can probably guess. He's doing just as well as ever, seated on his pretty chaise lounge and sipping some imported tea with 3 sugar cubes, exactly a teaspoon of cream, and his damned sachertorte as if none of this ever happened. Typical. What an excellent sense of priorities he always had. Typical."
"He's in his wheelchair again."
Hungary blinked, staring at Germany as if waiting for the punchline of a particularly unfunny joke. When his stoic expression remained in place, her face broke into the most beautiful smile he'd seen from her in decades.
"Is that so?" she said, "I didn't-well then. Is that so? Really?"
"Elizaveta, I understand if you're upset…" Germany began tentatively. She beamed at him and brushed imaginary dust from his shoulders before straightening his collar.
"Upset?" she asked brightly, "I'm not upset. That's the best news I've heard in ages."
Slightly unsettled, he groped in his pocket for the folded envelope he had been entrusted with.
"He sent this for you."
"It's likely that she won't want it," Austria murmured quietly, staring down at the paper as he tapped his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen and tried to think of what to write next.
"But she was your wife-"
"Was," Austria echoed Germany quietly, looking up to smile at the blonde man sardonically. The Austrian glanced back down at the page and its shakily written words with distaste.
"Abominable penmanship," he remarked disdainfully, "still, I suppose it bestows all of this with a sense of remorse, doesn't it? What a ridiculous sentiment."
"Why couldn't you just apologize if you're sorry?"
Austria set his pen down tranquilly and folded his hands in his lap to stare back at Germany coolly.
"She already thinks of me as the most pathetic excuse for a man as has ever lived on this earth. If I deigned to apologize to her, she'd never forgive me. Trying to excuse myself would just make me more irredeemable in her eyes. She wants me to be a villain, and so I shall."
Germany sighed and leaned against the parlor's doorframe tiredly.
"That makes no sense, Austria."
"The relationship between she and I is a long one. It is old and dented and tarnished, but it works just as it always has. Therefore, I am determined to see that it always will. Something like this will strain it, but never break it. And so, if she wishes to hate me, she may."
"But why?"
"Because," Austria folded the paper into precise fourths, then into eighths, and then slid it into a envelope, "I am a gentleman, she is my wife, and I love her. It is the occupation of a gentleman to see to his wife's happiness."
Hungary stared at the proffered envelope coldly.
"If you were going to bring me tinder for the fire, I wish you'd brought something a bit more substantial."
"He said you probably wouldn't want it."
"Wait-"
Germany held the letter away from Hungary's grasping hands, aloft and out of her reach.
"Where is he, Hungary?"
"I already told you that I haven't seen him," she hissed as she stretched for the envelope held overhead.
"You're lying."
"I'm not!" she screamed, "Prussia did pass through, yes. But he was caught crossing the border and he was sent back! That's all I know, for the love of God! Now give me that-!"
The blonde lowered his arm and she snatched the note away and clutched it to her chest protectively.
"That's all I know," she repeated, "and now I'll have to be a terrible hostess and insist you leave."
He inclined his head to her politely and turned for the door, the sound of an envelope being ripped open and clumsily written German being read by untutored lips following him down the shoddy hall.
An enraged shriek and the clamor of something being thrown through a window greeted him outside, a downpour of glass shards shadowing his steps as he looked northeast while he walked northwest.