[OOC: AxA iPod Shuffle Drabbles]
Drabbles born out of putting my iPod on shuffle and writing whatever based on the songs that popped up. I got some pretty interesting songs. XD
~*~
Put a guitar in Arthur's hands and he's transformed. It's in the way he closes his eyes, unguarded for once, as his fingers move against the strings, making them skillfully vibrate with sound. The way he seems to forget everything else and focuses only on the sounds he and his dear instrument are making. The way he sways and almost dances to the rhythm he has set without almost thinking about it. Gone is all the stiffness, the defensiveness, the awkwardness. It's like he's a completely different person, truthfully, and it's amazing to watch.
Arthur absolutely thought it was embarrassing, the way Antonio was just suddenly singing and dancing to the over-played AMERICAN pop song and to HIM in the middle of a random hallway.
Of course the idiot didn't care that people were staring. He was still dancing, still singing, still smiling his way. It was... Typical Antonio: idiotic, absurd, ...And painstakingly sweet.
Maybe he'll forgive him later.
Maybe.
For now, an appropriately aghast walk out was in order.
Lovi wouldn't stop asking him about it. "Why, Antonio?? Why HIM of ALL PEOPLE??" Antonio's legendary patience held on though, no matter how many times Lovi asked, demanded, challenged, harangued. It's not like anything changed there. Lovi had always been difficult, but Antonio had centuries of experience with dealing with the prickly South Italian nation. And so he responded with the only answer he knew and his usual smile. Predictably, that never quiet satisfied Lovi. Perhaps nothing ever will.
"Because I love him."
"Ah, I'm so sorry!" Antonio smiled apologetically, meeting the cool, unimpressed gaze of the guy whose leg his skateboard had hit. Buttoned-down shirt, sweater vest, necktie, slacks, khakis. The other guy looked so spick and span, Antonio was very, very sure he looked wrinkled and messy in comparison. He almost felt self-conscious as he continued to smile, standing there in his backwards cap, oversized t-shirt, and jeans.
Those cool green eyes eyed him and he actually felt it the moment he was deigned "inferior". Ouch.
"It's no problem." Crisp English accent. Simon Cowell much? And look another disdainful stare.
Antonio took that as his cue to pick up his board and skate away, giving Simon Cowell another bright smile. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder when he felt that gaze continue to lock on him. It was just too bad, really.
"Simon Cowell" was kinda cute.
The halberd came swinging down towards his head, the sharp, blood-stained blade glinting as it caught the light, and had he been slower, he was pretty sure it would have sliced his head cleanly in half. Thankfully he was fast and experienced. He knew his enemy and had been in this very same situation many times before.
Feral green eyes watched him from under dark bangs. They were like a cat's, watching, waiting, and it made him grit his teeth tighter. A smirk and his sword hand itched to swing.
"Do you give up, Heretic?" Speaking his beautiful language with a touch of his foul, dirty accent. His enemy's stance was poised, deceptively relaxed as his bladed weapon rested on a red-clothed shoulder. And yet he knew that that halberd could be swung down again without much effort.
"You know I can do this all night..."
England smirked at the words, matching that one Spain's face, drawing himself up taller as he faced his hated enemy.
"Well, we'll see about that, wouldn't we?"
And charged.
~*~
Put a guitar in Arthur's hands and he's transformed. It's in the way he closes his eyes, unguarded for once, as his fingers move against the strings, making them skillfully vibrate with sound. The way he seems to forget everything else and focuses only on the sounds he and his dear instrument are making. The way he sways and almost dances to the rhythm he has set without almost thinking about it. Gone is all the stiffness, the defensiveness, the awkwardness. It's like he's a completely different person, truthfully, and it's amazing to watch.
Arthur absolutely thought it was embarrassing, the way Antonio was just suddenly singing and dancing to the over-played AMERICAN pop song and to HIM in the middle of a random hallway.
Of course the idiot didn't care that people were staring. He was still dancing, still singing, still smiling his way. It was... Typical Antonio: idiotic, absurd, ...And painstakingly sweet.
Maybe he'll forgive him later.
Maybe.
For now, an appropriately aghast walk out was in order.
Lovi wouldn't stop asking him about it. "Why, Antonio?? Why HIM of ALL PEOPLE??" Antonio's legendary patience held on though, no matter how many times Lovi asked, demanded, challenged, harangued. It's not like anything changed there. Lovi had always been difficult, but Antonio had centuries of experience with dealing with the prickly South Italian nation. And so he responded with the only answer he knew and his usual smile. Predictably, that never quiet satisfied Lovi. Perhaps nothing ever will.
"Because I love him."
"Ah, I'm so sorry!" Antonio smiled apologetically, meeting the cool, unimpressed gaze of the guy whose leg his skateboard had hit. Buttoned-down shirt, sweater vest, necktie, slacks, khakis. The other guy looked so spick and span, Antonio was very, very sure he looked wrinkled and messy in comparison. He almost felt self-conscious as he continued to smile, standing there in his backwards cap, oversized t-shirt, and jeans.
Those cool green eyes eyed him and he actually felt it the moment he was deigned "inferior". Ouch.
"It's no problem." Crisp English accent. Simon Cowell much? And look another disdainful stare.
Antonio took that as his cue to pick up his board and skate away, giving Simon Cowell another bright smile. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder when he felt that gaze continue to lock on him. It was just too bad, really.
"Simon Cowell" was kinda cute.
The halberd came swinging down towards his head, the sharp, blood-stained blade glinting as it caught the light, and had he been slower, he was pretty sure it would have sliced his head cleanly in half. Thankfully he was fast and experienced. He knew his enemy and had been in this very same situation many times before.
Feral green eyes watched him from under dark bangs. They were like a cat's, watching, waiting, and it made him grit his teeth tighter. A smirk and his sword hand itched to swing.
"Do you give up, Heretic?" Speaking his beautiful language with a touch of his foul, dirty accent. His enemy's stance was poised, deceptively relaxed as his bladed weapon rested on a red-clothed shoulder. And yet he knew that that halberd could be swung down again without much effort.
"You know I can do this all night..."
England smirked at the words, matching that one Spain's face, drawing himself up taller as he faced his hated enemy.
"Well, we'll see about that, wouldn't we?"
And charged.