[Fanfic] - Any Other City - February Pt. II
Title: Any Other City - Chapter 9 Pt. II
Rating: PG-15?
Characters: Ensemble
Pairings: France/Spain, Austria/Liechtenstein, Germany/Japan, France/Norway, England/fem!Netherlands, Prussia/fem!Romano, Norway/Japan, Germany/America, Germany/Sweden, Poland/Estonia
Summary: Derpy AU where the nations are hipsters.
In This Chapter: Most everyone goes to Eirik and Feli’s art show, Ludwig and Berwald have a Valentine’s date, Nils tries to quit smoking, Alfred and Gilbert host the fourth annual Cars in Circles.
Warnings: Language, drinking, drugs, mild sexual situations, pretentious conversations, too much math nerdery, ironic parties.
Part I is here by the way.
---
PART TWO
---
A few minutes after 8:00, Ludwig and Alfred walked into the Laïka Gallery only to find that it was already kind of crowded.
Feli came up, said hello, and handed them each a piece of paper - it was simply a copy of the poem, with a special thanks at the bottom to Natalia Arlovskaya for creating the cuirass Eirik was wearing over his straitjacket, and to Eduard von Bock, Eirik’s cousin and theater technician.
“Luddy, this is gonna be so cool,” Alfred grinned, dragging him back to the food first. “I mean, man, there are so many people here - and there’s food! And the performance is interactive this time!” he exclaimed, megawatt smile and all, piling two paper plates full of food without asking Ludwig what he wanted.
Ludwig just huffed a small bit of laughter and took the plate Alfred shoved in his face. “You have told me that you are excited - let’s see now -”
“Haha okay I know, I know, I’ve told ya like, for three days now or somethin’.”
“Yes,” Ludwig resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Which means we should probably move away from the table and return to the gallery.”
Alfred frowned with a twist of his mouth, and it shoved the food he was eating to one side, puffing out his cheek. It was rather funny. “Alfred, you look like a gerbil,” Ludwig pointed out with an amused half-sigh, then turned and led the way out of the back room.
It was actually a bit easier to see the entire gallery from this angle, Ludwig noted on his way out. He looked around - it might have been the most crowded he’d seen the place. Around the front and side walls were Feli’s paintings. Usually they were very bold, but this time nearly all of the paintings seemed to be some variation of white. There were subtle additions - lines, panes, broad shapes and small designs in shattered kaleidoscope harmony - of the palest of blues, purples, grays. Many had touches or streaks of silver, one had a jagged champagne splash. Two had some splinters of charcoal running through in smeared panes and straight lines.
On the back wall was Eirik. There were only two changes to his attire from the last show. He had a normal mic setup this time, the stand running up and then coming out from the wall. He also wore some sort of twisted metal...armor? It wasn’t really armor, though it covered part of his chest, over his heart. Ludwig immediately recognized it as Natalia’s work - silver scrap metal and dulled blades wove in and out, reached over his left shoulder and wrapped around his chest - it was more flowing than her usual works, though. It looked sharp, but somehow sensuous, almost.
Eirik himself was under, and in the middle of, three curving silver poles that were attached to the wall above him at one point. They bent up and out, separated from one another, then came back down and in, toward his feet. His feet were surrounded by silver metal scraps, heaps of metal chains, ridiculous lengths of both white and silver-painted telephone cord, and many branches, also painted silver. The wall was covered in loops and bolts, and Ludwig saw that Eirik’s foot was already attached to one. He was diligently chaining himself up, winding it around his leg, then wound the chain up one of the poles, building up the structure around him - he was mindful about the delay pedal by his free foot - actually, he seemed to be very mindful about the entire process. What a serious kid.
A small group had already begun to help him, grabbing things from the pile on the floor and weaving them in and out of what was already there - an odd bird’s nest of frayed metal. Once in a while, Eirik would pull back, hum something into the mic, and loop it - the further along the structure got, the more his eerie voice echoed softly through the gallery space.
Alfred’s enthusiastic greeting to Tina and her boyfriend tore him from his observations - he turned to watch the three instead. The boyfriend stood and tried to fit a word or two into the conversation, and they would include him for a moment - then get excited about something else and the topic would fly off to five other places before settling again, but only for a minute. He obviously couldn’t keep up.
Ludwig smiled to himself. He couldn’t blame the poor man. Some people never learned how to handle the human bottle rocket that was Alfred. It seemed as though Tina was doing perfectly fine, though. Hm.
---
Francis and Mathias stood before a painting near the front of the gallery. Sadiq and Antonio came with them, but they got bored staring at canvases and were now busy mingling, watching, helping the performance piece, and going to the back to get free wine. Feli bounded up to Francis and wrapped him in a hug, then did the same to Mathias, who didn’t even know her, really.
“Feli, I have a question about this collection,” Francis began, gaze on the nearby painting once more. “Your compositions are usually much more dynamic - and have much more vivid hues - these...these are so austere.”
She looked at him, mouth open to reply, but saw he was still thinking. She liked hearing Francis’ thoughts on her paintings; she waited, bounced on the balls of her feet with a smile.
“Hm, well, no....I’m not sure that austere is the right word, precisely - there is still a brightness here, peeking - or, no, perhaps it is tearing?”
“Showing?” she interjected, laughing. Sometimes simpler words were easier. Francis thought too much.
“I suppose that will have to do,” he frowned. “But, yes - a brightness showing through the subdued tones. But...the overall effect...I suppose it is austere. Ah, somber,” he snapped, finding the word he wanted. He turned to her. “I do not think I’ve seen you create a somber painting, dear.”
“Mm, well, I decided that since Eirik was gonna perform here, I’d paint him!”
“You mean,” Mathias cut in, frowning, “you decided to paint things to go with his show?” He took a drink of his wine; Francis and Feli gave him lost looks. “These aren’t portraits are they?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. Feli looked a little concerned.
Francis turned and watched Eirik. He was slowly, ritually, reverently chaining himself in. Francis nodded - he saw. “No, no dear, you have captured him perfectly,” he reassured her. He looked at the painting nearby again - the same, the two were the same. Haunting, exquisite, desolate. Rough and elegant. They gave off a calm impression at first, but when you looked -
He turned back to watch Eirik again, along with Feli. “It’s all about the eyes and the movements, isn’t it?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she smiled, taking his arm and leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment. “I was watching him while we talked about ideas - for the show! And he’s very white! I don’t mean pale,” she laughed, “I mean, white...” she put her hand to her lips and thought a second. “It’s a strange color, you know, Francis?”
“Is it?” he asked. “Do you mean as a color, or in painting?”
“Both! White’s tricky! People think it exposes things, but it’s possible to hide behind - white’s blinding, like the sunlight, or bright lights. You can’t see everything around you anymore. And it’s hard to paint with! To use it as your basis, you have to be careful - because it exposes things - I was so happy I had a new challenge, to paint Eirik. Because when I was watching him, you’re so right! His eyes, and his body, they hide things - he’s careful, like you have to be with white!”
“Well, you have done a marvelous job with this set, Feli,” he smiled at her. Why did people think she was less than intelligent? She was ditzy, and, well, certainly had no day-to-day sense, but she was remarkably insightful where it really mattered.
“Aww, thank you! Oh -” she looked over to the door, “Ivan just got here! I’m gonna go greet him!” She gave Francis a kiss on the cheek and flitted over to Ivan, yanking him down by the arm and pecking him on the lips.
Francis smiled at the two. “They’re so darling,” he commented to Mathias.
Mathias looked at the painting again. “I’m not sayin’ I know anything about art, but I still don’t think these are portraits, Francis.”
Francis took a sip of his wine and smiled. “You would agree that it’s possible to capture a mood in a painting, yes?”
A shrug, and Mathias finished his glass. The closest Mathias came to appreciating art was Banksy, so whatever. He’d let Francis ramble.
“Then why do you say it is impossible to capture the essence of a person in one - people are composed of emotions, after all.”
“Uh, and thoughts, too, Francis,” Mathias snorted. “Don’t forget thoughts. People think.”
Francis huffed. “And you cannot capture a thought on paper?” he retorted. “When it’s with the written word one calls it writing” - Mathias rolled his eyes “- this is simply the same thing, but in a different language, dear.”
---
Eirik was a flash of white in a chaotic snarl of silver.
More had been added to his cage - through it his movements appeared jerky, were unexpected - silver twists of branches, veining out and around and in. Silver wires, tearing and twirling. Silver cords, silver chains, silver scraps. Silver silver silver.
And he was white white white.
He jerked a chain around his waist, tightened himself to the wall a little more, made sure his delay pedal didn’t move, though it was duct-taped to the floor (silver) as a precaution. Some more tangled cord drawn up, across his chest, carefully through the heavy weight of Natalia’s sculpture, around his neck, held him down.
Always white, but for the chroma she could evoke (provoke?) from (in) him.
The dark ceiling above him was a mesh of interwoven strands of white lights, blinking down through the silver; only his voice was free, spiraling out and resonating through the gallery.
An arm reached in, bound the last of him to the wall, attached and secure.
The gallery lights dimmed and the crowd was drawn in toward the cage, lit by a multitude of silver-bright-white christmas lights, strewn across the ceiling like stars. The lights caught and reflected on bits of metal, glancing off into the crowd and ricocheting in to highlight him in slits and pinpricks through his splintered facade.
A drip of silver paint from began from above him, painted him, stained him, spread out on the floor around him and seeped out into the crowd, slow and searching.
The vocal loops built, over and over and over, coalesced into a melody. A few taps of the delay pedal and he began - a song, a poem, his favorite poem -
the most important poem
- an altered poem turned to song:
i carry your heart with me
i am never without it
i fear
no fate
i want
no world
and it’s you
are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing
is you
is you
is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart
---
“Hey,” Eliza whispered and tapped Matthew in the side.
He turned to see that it was her and nearly dropped his drink. “Hi,” he whispered back.
“Matthew, right?”
He leaned in a little and lowly said “Yeah,” near her ear, overjoyed.
“How are you doing?”
“Eh, good enough,” he laughed a little, under his breath. “And you?”
“Great, thank you.”
They stood like that, close, for a few more moments, before he finally leaned in a little more and whispered “So, would you want to get coffee or something after this? It’s kind of awkward to talk right now.”
“Sure,” she whispered back.
---
After the performance Eduard was seated at a table in the small refreshments area in the back of the gallery, leaning back in his chair, and looking at his homework, stuck. Someone came in, but he didn’t look up. He heard the clack of shoes go past where he was seated, stop abruptly, and finally “Oh my God what-are-you-doing.”
Eduard sighed. Another person teasing him about studying. “Home-”
“No, no, no -” an angry-looking blonde guy set down his drink, snatched the paper closer, and crossed out half of Eduard’s problem, ignoring his horrified expression. “Okay,” he said, slamming the notebook on the table. “You’re taking the partial of x here, yeah? You totally do not need to use the quotient rule on this one.”
“Ahhh....” Eduard started. Okay, so a man in a dress and oxfords had hijacked his homework. A man in a dress and oxfords that showcased his legs nicely. Focus, Eduard, focus. “I don’t?”
“Nuh-uh. Since there’s, like, no x, up here,” the man tapped the page, “just re-write the function -” more scribbles - “like this...instead of having your x3 in the denominator just write it as x-3. Then, like, differentiate with respect to x and you’re gold.”
“Oh,” Eduard paused and looked at the page. “You’re right.” He quickly finished the problem, then turned and smiled up at his tutor. “That’s much less complicated. Thank you....ah... I’m sorry, what is your name?”
“Feliks,” he winked, and leaned into the table. “Now, what kind of name,” he paused and flicked a stray hair up out of Eduard’s glasses with a laugh, “would a cutie like you have?”
If Eduard was surprised the only indication was a split-second widening of his eyes. “It’s Eduard. And, well, thank you, Feliks.”
“No problem,” Feliks waved, then twisted and snatched up Eduard’s book. “So, like, which professor uses this book? Totally never seen it, I would remember that gross cover,” he frowned, flipping through the pages with a flourish, each one making a sharp snap as he turned it.
“I take my mathematics course at a community college a few blocks from my high school,” Eduard informed, “so if you attend the university then you probably don’t know the professor.”
“Aw, for serious? And here I was gonna ask if you’d, you know, wanna go grab some drinks after this shindig,” Feliks sighed and threw his eyes to the ceiling in a “FML” kind of expression.
“I drink on occasion,” Eduard said with a tiny smile.
Feliks laughed and took a drink of his wine. “No, you are totally not getting me. I was trying to hit on you, but then you had to go and be, like, illegal.”
Eduard tapped his pencil against the notebook, looked at Feliks, and laughed under his breath at what he was about to do. “I’ll cease to be illegal on the 24th. Would you like to take me out for drinks then?”
Feliks raised both eyebrows and then grinned. Apparently the kid was super cute, really, really, really smart, dressed like The Horrors but less emo and more professional, and was a little ballsy. Too straight-laced, maybe, but still - heck, why not.
---
Berwald told Ludwig to dress casually for their afternoon Valentine’s date that Saturday, and after a light lunch, announced that they were going to a children’s science and nature museum. Ludwig raised an eyebrow but couldn’t keep his face entirely straight; it was such a...Berwald...idea for a date.
They’d gone through an exhibit on watersheds, then an out-of-place but fun one on puppets where they tried to make the stringed examples dance (it didn’t really work, they got them spectacularly tangled together) and now they were in the middle of a space exhibit. Berwald looked at the placard in front of him. Weight is the amount of gravitational pull on an object’s mass. “I don’ really understand gravity...” he murmured. “What is it, exac’ly?”
“Well,” Ludwig answered, corner of his mouth twitched up, “classically at least, gravitational force is equal to the products of the masses of the two objects in question, and the inverse square of the distance between the two masses, all multiplied by a gravitational constant. For calculating velocities and distances on earth, though, people just usually use 9.81 meters per second squared.”
There were a lot of things Berwald did not understand in that explanation, but he went with the first that came to mind - “Second squared?”
“Well, 9.81 meters per second per second,” Ludwig said, shrugging.
Er....moving on. Berwald shook his head. “An’ - what’s’n inverse square?”
“The inverse square - er, the force is inversely proportional to the square of the distance between the masses - or, well, the points of their center of mass to make calculations easier.”
“’m not followin’ this,” Berwald sighed, blushing a bit. “What...is inversely proport’nal?”
“Um,” Ludwig began, shifted onto his other foot, “essentially...if the magnitude of one variable in an equation goes up, the magnitude of the other goes down. In the case of gravity, the closer two objects are to each other, the higher the force of gravity that acts upon them - the further they are, the lower the force of gravity.”
“Ah,” Berwald nodded. That made sense, though he still didn’t really get what gravity was. “S’ry. I haven’t had much math,” he half-shrugged, looking at the ground.
Ludwig laughed a little under his breath and joked “I assume you didn’t like Algebra II much.” Berwald raised an eyebrow and Ludwig added “It’s when you learn about inverse functions.”
“Mm,” Berwald looked around, uncomfortable - was he really going to have this conversation in a children’s museum? “Guess y’should know...I never actually finished high school.”
“Are you serious?” Ludwig asked, disbelief written all over his face. Berwald nodded. “That is...really?”
“’fraid so.”
Ludwig looked at him, frowning, brow furrowed, before he finally said “I never would have guessed that.” Berwald looked miserable - Ludwig took his hand and held it the rest of the way through the science exhibit, making sure to keep his math speak to a minimum.
---
Berwald had cheered up considerably with the next two exhibits, even going so far as to tease Ludwig when he took one look under the microscope and then refused to look at anything else in the “organisms of the human body” exhibit. Ludwig stood to the side with a frown, trying to pay attention to Berwald’s comical position on the tiny stool and intrigued expression, instead of thinking about all of the microbes that were in him right this second.
Once he was finished, Berwald stood up and smiled at Ludwig, nodding down a nearby hallway. “This is th’ real reason I wanted t’come here,” he stated, leading the way. He opened the door for Ludwig and they entered a greenhouse - or was the name a conservatory? Ludwig wasn’t exactly sure.
Those thoughts flew out of his head the next moment, though, as he looked up - butterflies, everywhere. “This is...” he began, and let it trail off, slowly turning on his heel. Who knew there were so many types of butterfly?
He turned to smile at Berwald, or say something, and as he did one landed right on his forehead. He jumped and made a noise of surprise; the butterfly took off. Berwald took one look at his expression and burst out into that husky, booming laughter of his. Ludwig’s stomach gave a lurch - he hadn’t seen Berwald’s face mid-laugh yet - it was - well - he didn’t know. It made him feel a little lightheaded.
---
Gilbert was sitting at the kitchen table in front of his finished breakfast, boots propped on an adjacent chair and smoking a post-breakfast cigarette over coffee, when Nils walked in looking sulky and murderous.
“Could you put that out?” Nils snapped as he poured his coffee.
“Huh?” Gilbert looked at his cigarette, then to Nils. Had he just heard that correctly?
“Your cigarette,” Nils scowled, turning to the table. “I’m trying to quit and that’s not helping.”
“You...wait a sec, repeat that,” Gilbert ordered, brows furrowed.
“That I’m trying to quit, or that you’re being an asshole and blowing smoke in my face?” Nils replied in a dark voice, sitting down across from Gilbert, coffee in hand.
Gilbert grinned a shit-eating grin and took another drag, entertained by the look of longing - almost lust - that crossed Nils’ face. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“You gonna tell me why or just sit there looking pissy? That doesn’t make any goddamn sense - you probably smoke more than I do. And I smoke a whole fuckin’ lot.”
Nils sighed and frowned. “Kiku doesn’t like it,” he muttered.
Gilbert crowed with laughter. “Yeah, okay, you got me there for a sec, babe.”
Nils just scowled and stared at the cigarette dangling from Gilbert’s hand.
“Are you - what the hell,” Gilbert started. “Well, you’ve gotta smoke for our next big celebration-”
“No, I don’t.”
“But,” Gilbert frowned, trying to wrap his mind around this. “We’ve got Winstons and Lucky Strikes for the fourth annual Cars in Circles! And it’s like one of three times a year you’ll getta see Alfredo smoke - goddamn hilarious!”
“I’ll make sure to miss it,” Nils glowered, sipping on his coffee.
“What?” Gilbert exclaimed. “Why the fuck would you want to miss Cars in Circles?! You were there last year.”
“It’s fucking moronic. And you guys will be smoking for the entire thing.”
“Well, yeah-”
“I’ll be at Kiku’s.”
“Ugh, you are whipped”
---
A train blew by the subway platform - nope, not the Red line train - Gilbert frowned and shifted against the pole, rolling a shoulder. Shouldn’t it be here by now? He was gonna go wait outside the station and smoke if it didn’t come soon, and Lovinia could just deal with it. There were only so many times he could stand hearing “Station: Dickerson and Main” when the doors opened.
He was about to leave when the Red line pulled up - the doors opened and a minute later a royally pissed Lovinia stormed up to him. He cocked an eyebrow and opened his mouth, but she cut him off.
“We made out and you didn’t tell me!” she snarled, ignoring the looks from waiting commuters nearby.
“Hello to you too,” he smirked, though his confusion tempered it somewhat.
“I just talked to Anja - and apparently that’s you in that picture from Halloween,” Lovinia spat through clenched teeth.
Ooooh, that. He grabbed her arm and tried to lead her out of the station, but she wrenched it away. He stopped and rolled his eyes. “Jeez, if it makes it any better I don’t even remember it. I was wasted off my ass - someone showed it to me later. But, believe me, I sure wish I remembered, babe,” he grinned and tried to throw an arm around her again.
“Ugh,” she shoved him away and crossed her arms, glaring at him. “What do you mean you don’t remember?!”
“What, you’re gonna get pissy because I was too shitfaced to remember it?”
“Yeah, I am!” she yelled.
“Now wait a goddamn second,” Gilbert scowled, pointing a finger at her. “First you’re pissed that I kissed you. And now you’re pissed because I may as well have not kissed you, since I don’t actually remember it. What the fuck?”
She opened her mouth to retaliate - “Oh, fuck this bullshit,” Gilbert muttered, and pressed their lips together before she could get anything out. She tried to pull away and he dipped her in one quick movement, smirking against her lips; she let out a startled yelp in surprise, he thrust his tongue into her mouth and then brought them back up, pulling away before she could bite it off or something.
Her eyes were huge, and she looked frantically around them in the station, trying to assess how many people saw that - a few - she blushed and frowned, hunched her shoulders in and cowered a bit.
Gilbert laughed. She was pretty cute like that. He smiled at her - a real one - and wrapped an arm around her waist while she was still too dazed to protest, leading them out.
---
It was the third Sunday in February. At the Hjortdonner house Gilbert and Alfred had everything for the fourth annual Cars in Circles set up perfectly - TV in the living room on and turned to pre-coverage of the Daytona 500, plenty of smokes to be had, redneck t-shirts and racing hats in place, and a ton of Coors and Budweiser in the fridge. Alfred had even cut his hair into a mullet for the occasion.
Feliks and Ludwig walked in. Ludwig was wearing the clothing he always wore to work on cars and mopeds, looking more like a 1950’s mechanic with his hair in its customary pompadour than anything. Feliks looked as though he was two seconds away from tearing off his clothing and lighting it on fire.
Gilbert saw them and grinned, clad in cut-off jean shorts, a bright orange trucker hat, and a t-shirt with a leaping deer in the woods that read “Buck off”. He walked up to them and stopped, took his Winston out of his mouth, then got a serious look on his face. “Okay, so first, you two nerds aren’t allowed to talk about physics. This here is a nice, white-trash celebration of the lowest order. We can’t have you mucking it up with your intellectual bullshit.”
Ludwig just nodded; he already knew this rule from last year. Feliks rolled his eyes and looked down at his attire. “Why did I have to wear this?” he asked, lip curled, picking at his plain maroon pocket-tee from Wal-Mart. Apparently Gilbert had decided to give him a shirt from Wal-Mart - just two months after Christmas.
“This is serious business, Feliks!” Alfred laughed. “You hafta dress the part!”
“I’m so sorry I don’t take your ironic appreciation of NASCAR seriously,” Feliks replied, heading toward the couch. He sat down and grabbed a beer, muttering “I’m gonna have to be, like, shithoused to survive this - “ but as soon as he tried to open it Alfred and Gilbert both leapt on him.
“No no no, we can’t yet, Feliks!” Alfred yelped, waving his hands around while Gilbert snatched the can.
“Antonio and Sadiq aren’t here yet,” Gilbert scowled.
Feliks raised an eyebrow. “Okay. So?”
“We have to wait,” Alfred said, solemnly, and nodded his head. “Everyone’s gotta be present to give their respects.”
“Respects?” Feliks turned to Ludwig for a to-the-point explanation.
Ludwig sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’ll see,” he said, dully.
“Well - ohmygod who is that?!” Feliks asked and pointed at the television screen, where an interview was being conducted with an attractive young driver.
“It’s Kasey Kahne,” Alfred laughed and winked. “All the ladies love him.”
Feliks stared at the screen with star-struck eyes. “Yeah,” he replied distractedly.
“Fuck that pretty boy - Scrub is where it’s at!” Gilbert called to Feliks. Feliks was too busy drooling at the screen to notice.
---
Alfred snatched the Slim Jims from Antonio’s arms and laughed; Antonio looked right at home in a Carhartt jacket and work boots.
Sadiq walked in behind him with a smirk and Doritos in hand. He’d grown a mustache for the event and wore a shirt with the sleeves cut off, the armholes extending nearly halfway down his torso.
“Huh, not bad,” Gilbert remarked with a grin, “being a first-timer and all.”
“Look at that mustache!” Alfred laughed to Feliks. “Man, wish I’d thought of that!”
Sadiq smiled, kicked off his shoes and socks, rolled up his jeans, then snatched a Winston and a beer.
“Ahahah oh shit, not bad at all!” Gilbert yelled.
“Wait -” Alfred interjected, “we gotta pay our respects! Okay - everyone get a beer, like what Sadiq’s doin’ - and gather ‘round.”
Feliks sent Ludwig a “what the hell is this?” sort of look and Ludwig smiled back. Feliks was going to hate this part.
“Alright cocksuckers, open your beers,” Gilbert instructed, “but don’t drink them, Jesus! Yeah, leave ‘em there.”
“Hold up three fingers with your other hand!” Alfred chirped, “And now ya gotta be quiet! We’re paying our respects to The Intimidator - winner of seven championships!”
Feliks snorted and Gilbert stepped on him, then cut in with “And he kept driving with a goddamn broken collarbone in like a bunch of races, then died an honorable death,” and nodded, sure that his speech had done the man justice.
“Any other words of praise? No? Well then, don’t forget - three fingers on the third lap!” Alfred reminded.
“And you may drink up!” Gilbert cackled; all present drank.
“Ya bastards are fuckin’ crazy,” Sadiq chuckled, shaking his head. Then he saw the deer head - “Gilbert - let’s dress up the deer!”
“That’s Hjortdonner,” Gilbert snapped. “Our fuckin’ house is named for him, get it straight.”
“Oh my God, yes, let’s dress it,” Feliks agreed with a laugh.
The deer went through roughly twenty costume changes before the announcer’s “Gentlemen - start your engines!” brought everyone back to the television.
---
As sometimes happened, Alfred and Nils met Feliks for lunch at a sandwich shop between classes.
“Feliks, dude, tell me about that date of yours!” Alfred winked over as soon as Feliks sat down. Nils rolled his eyes and chewed his straw to pieces between taking sips of soda.
“Okay, well, first, we both got, like, totally schwasted and talked about non-Euclidean geometry - not, like, the math, but the ideas, you know? And then we talked about Broadway plays, and then that “what he wanted to do with his life” kind of stuff,” he replied at light-speed. Before Alfred could even butt in he breathlessly continued with “By then, we were, you know, like, drunk off our asses - so I got him to dance to this totally fly Aphex Twin remix and showed him some moves,” Feliks smirked. “Then we made out, because, duh.”
“And he’s in high school,” Nils said, tone flat.
“Psh, yeah, and?”
“So you’re saying,” Nils replied through his straw, “that you’re a sophomore in college dating a high schooler. You’re a damn creeper.”
Feliks frowned and pointed at Nils. “Okay, one - he’s about to graduate, and two - there is only a two-year age difference between us. Not everyone can find a boyfriend who’s only a month younger than them. So you can, like, shut your trap and stop being a total bitch just because you’re in nicotine withdrawal.”
---
-
---
Author’s Notes
I didn’t have anyone in mind for Tina’s boyfriend, but if you want to put a Hetalia character in there, it could be Toris. I think that kid’s so boring (sorry Toris lovers).
“i carry your heart with me” by e.e. cummings - http://www.artofeurope.com/cummings/cum1.htm
Is my GIANT FANGIRL CRUSH on Sweden obvious yet? Mmmmm he’s the sexiest Hetalia character, hands down. *melts into pile of goo* Plus we both talk kinda funny BROFIST
It’s okay, Berwald. People still haven’t figured gravity out.
I am such a nerd, yes. Nom nom, partial derivatives.
I kid you not, Estonia’s birthday really is February 24th. I was writing that scene and Feliks was all “yeah, I like this kid, sure author!anon” (about time you liked someone I wanted you to get with, yeesh dude) - so then I was like “huh, that’d be nice if Eduard’s birthday was in the spring” and WHAT DO YOU KNOW. Pretty sure the fates aligned for this one.
Gilbert and Alfred began Cars in Circles during Gilbert’s first year (of two-ish) of college. Who knows why. Oh wait - because Alfred’s a derp for cars and Gilbert’s in so long as there’s beer. And they’re both absolutely ridiculous.
---
Natalia and Bella - I can't draw lipstick CURSES.
---
February Mix Tape Pt. II
---
Eirik’s performance:
The Arcade Fire - Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)
Neutral Milk Hotel - Two Headed Boy Pt. II
Berwald and Ludwig’s date:
School of Seven Bells - Windstorm
Cars in Circles:
Creedence Clearwater Revival - Fortunate Son
Link: http://www.mediafire.com/?akm6gtbssxjc4
Rating: PG-15?
Characters: Ensemble
Pairings: France/Spain, Austria/Liechtenstein, Germany/Japan, France/Norway, England/fem!Netherlands, Prussia/fem!Romano, Norway/Japan, Germany/America, Germany/Sweden, Poland/Estonia
Summary: Derpy AU where the nations are hipsters.
In This Chapter: Most everyone goes to Eirik and Feli’s art show, Ludwig and Berwald have a Valentine’s date, Nils tries to quit smoking, Alfred and Gilbert host the fourth annual Cars in Circles.
Warnings: Language, drinking, drugs, mild sexual situations, pretentious conversations, too much math nerdery, ironic parties.
Part I is here by the way.
---
PART TWO
---
A few minutes after 8:00, Ludwig and Alfred walked into the Laïka Gallery only to find that it was already kind of crowded.
Feli came up, said hello, and handed them each a piece of paper - it was simply a copy of the poem, with a special thanks at the bottom to Natalia Arlovskaya for creating the cuirass Eirik was wearing over his straitjacket, and to Eduard von Bock, Eirik’s cousin and theater technician.
“Luddy, this is gonna be so cool,” Alfred grinned, dragging him back to the food first. “I mean, man, there are so many people here - and there’s food! And the performance is interactive this time!” he exclaimed, megawatt smile and all, piling two paper plates full of food without asking Ludwig what he wanted.
Ludwig just huffed a small bit of laughter and took the plate Alfred shoved in his face. “You have told me that you are excited - let’s see now -”
“Haha okay I know, I know, I’ve told ya like, for three days now or somethin’.”
“Yes,” Ludwig resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Which means we should probably move away from the table and return to the gallery.”
Alfred frowned with a twist of his mouth, and it shoved the food he was eating to one side, puffing out his cheek. It was rather funny. “Alfred, you look like a gerbil,” Ludwig pointed out with an amused half-sigh, then turned and led the way out of the back room.
It was actually a bit easier to see the entire gallery from this angle, Ludwig noted on his way out. He looked around - it might have been the most crowded he’d seen the place. Around the front and side walls were Feli’s paintings. Usually they were very bold, but this time nearly all of the paintings seemed to be some variation of white. There were subtle additions - lines, panes, broad shapes and small designs in shattered kaleidoscope harmony - of the palest of blues, purples, grays. Many had touches or streaks of silver, one had a jagged champagne splash. Two had some splinters of charcoal running through in smeared panes and straight lines.
On the back wall was Eirik. There were only two changes to his attire from the last show. He had a normal mic setup this time, the stand running up and then coming out from the wall. He also wore some sort of twisted metal...armor? It wasn’t really armor, though it covered part of his chest, over his heart. Ludwig immediately recognized it as Natalia’s work - silver scrap metal and dulled blades wove in and out, reached over his left shoulder and wrapped around his chest - it was more flowing than her usual works, though. It looked sharp, but somehow sensuous, almost.
Eirik himself was under, and in the middle of, three curving silver poles that were attached to the wall above him at one point. They bent up and out, separated from one another, then came back down and in, toward his feet. His feet were surrounded by silver metal scraps, heaps of metal chains, ridiculous lengths of both white and silver-painted telephone cord, and many branches, also painted silver. The wall was covered in loops and bolts, and Ludwig saw that Eirik’s foot was already attached to one. He was diligently chaining himself up, winding it around his leg, then wound the chain up one of the poles, building up the structure around him - he was mindful about the delay pedal by his free foot - actually, he seemed to be very mindful about the entire process. What a serious kid.
A small group had already begun to help him, grabbing things from the pile on the floor and weaving them in and out of what was already there - an odd bird’s nest of frayed metal. Once in a while, Eirik would pull back, hum something into the mic, and loop it - the further along the structure got, the more his eerie voice echoed softly through the gallery space.
Alfred’s enthusiastic greeting to Tina and her boyfriend tore him from his observations - he turned to watch the three instead. The boyfriend stood and tried to fit a word or two into the conversation, and they would include him for a moment - then get excited about something else and the topic would fly off to five other places before settling again, but only for a minute. He obviously couldn’t keep up.
Ludwig smiled to himself. He couldn’t blame the poor man. Some people never learned how to handle the human bottle rocket that was Alfred. It seemed as though Tina was doing perfectly fine, though. Hm.
---
Francis and Mathias stood before a painting near the front of the gallery. Sadiq and Antonio came with them, but they got bored staring at canvases and were now busy mingling, watching, helping the performance piece, and going to the back to get free wine. Feli bounded up to Francis and wrapped him in a hug, then did the same to Mathias, who didn’t even know her, really.
“Feli, I have a question about this collection,” Francis began, gaze on the nearby painting once more. “Your compositions are usually much more dynamic - and have much more vivid hues - these...these are so austere.”
She looked at him, mouth open to reply, but saw he was still thinking. She liked hearing Francis’ thoughts on her paintings; she waited, bounced on the balls of her feet with a smile.
“Hm, well, no....I’m not sure that austere is the right word, precisely - there is still a brightness here, peeking - or, no, perhaps it is tearing?”
“Showing?” she interjected, laughing. Sometimes simpler words were easier. Francis thought too much.
“I suppose that will have to do,” he frowned. “But, yes - a brightness showing through the subdued tones. But...the overall effect...I suppose it is austere. Ah, somber,” he snapped, finding the word he wanted. He turned to her. “I do not think I’ve seen you create a somber painting, dear.”
“Mm, well, I decided that since Eirik was gonna perform here, I’d paint him!”
“You mean,” Mathias cut in, frowning, “you decided to paint things to go with his show?” He took a drink of his wine; Francis and Feli gave him lost looks. “These aren’t portraits are they?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. Feli looked a little concerned.
Francis turned and watched Eirik. He was slowly, ritually, reverently chaining himself in. Francis nodded - he saw. “No, no dear, you have captured him perfectly,” he reassured her. He looked at the painting nearby again - the same, the two were the same. Haunting, exquisite, desolate. Rough and elegant. They gave off a calm impression at first, but when you looked -
He turned back to watch Eirik again, along with Feli. “It’s all about the eyes and the movements, isn’t it?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she smiled, taking his arm and leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment. “I was watching him while we talked about ideas - for the show! And he’s very white! I don’t mean pale,” she laughed, “I mean, white...” she put her hand to her lips and thought a second. “It’s a strange color, you know, Francis?”
“Is it?” he asked. “Do you mean as a color, or in painting?”
“Both! White’s tricky! People think it exposes things, but it’s possible to hide behind - white’s blinding, like the sunlight, or bright lights. You can’t see everything around you anymore. And it’s hard to paint with! To use it as your basis, you have to be careful - because it exposes things - I was so happy I had a new challenge, to paint Eirik. Because when I was watching him, you’re so right! His eyes, and his body, they hide things - he’s careful, like you have to be with white!”
“Well, you have done a marvelous job with this set, Feli,” he smiled at her. Why did people think she was less than intelligent? She was ditzy, and, well, certainly had no day-to-day sense, but she was remarkably insightful where it really mattered.
“Aww, thank you! Oh -” she looked over to the door, “Ivan just got here! I’m gonna go greet him!” She gave Francis a kiss on the cheek and flitted over to Ivan, yanking him down by the arm and pecking him on the lips.
Francis smiled at the two. “They’re so darling,” he commented to Mathias.
Mathias looked at the painting again. “I’m not sayin’ I know anything about art, but I still don’t think these are portraits, Francis.”
Francis took a sip of his wine and smiled. “You would agree that it’s possible to capture a mood in a painting, yes?”
A shrug, and Mathias finished his glass. The closest Mathias came to appreciating art was Banksy, so whatever. He’d let Francis ramble.
“Then why do you say it is impossible to capture the essence of a person in one - people are composed of emotions, after all.”
“Uh, and thoughts, too, Francis,” Mathias snorted. “Don’t forget thoughts. People think.”
Francis huffed. “And you cannot capture a thought on paper?” he retorted. “When it’s with the written word one calls it writing” - Mathias rolled his eyes “- this is simply the same thing, but in a different language, dear.”
---
Eirik was a flash of white in a chaotic snarl of silver.
More had been added to his cage - through it his movements appeared jerky, were unexpected - silver twists of branches, veining out and around and in. Silver wires, tearing and twirling. Silver cords, silver chains, silver scraps. Silver silver silver.
And he was white white white.
He jerked a chain around his waist, tightened himself to the wall a little more, made sure his delay pedal didn’t move, though it was duct-taped to the floor (silver) as a precaution. Some more tangled cord drawn up, across his chest, carefully through the heavy weight of Natalia’s sculpture, around his neck, held him down.
Always white, but for the chroma she could evoke (provoke?) from (in) him.
The dark ceiling above him was a mesh of interwoven strands of white lights, blinking down through the silver; only his voice was free, spiraling out and resonating through the gallery.
An arm reached in, bound the last of him to the wall, attached and secure.
The gallery lights dimmed and the crowd was drawn in toward the cage, lit by a multitude of silver-bright-white christmas lights, strewn across the ceiling like stars. The lights caught and reflected on bits of metal, glancing off into the crowd and ricocheting in to highlight him in slits and pinpricks through his splintered facade.
A drip of silver paint from began from above him, painted him, stained him, spread out on the floor around him and seeped out into the crowd, slow and searching.
The vocal loops built, over and over and over, coalesced into a melody. A few taps of the delay pedal and he began - a song, a poem, his favorite poem -
the most important poem
- an altered poem turned to song:
i carry your heart with me
i am never without it
i fear
no fate
i want
no world
and it’s you
are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing
is you
is you
is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart
---
“Hey,” Eliza whispered and tapped Matthew in the side.
He turned to see that it was her and nearly dropped his drink. “Hi,” he whispered back.
“Matthew, right?”
He leaned in a little and lowly said “Yeah,” near her ear, overjoyed.
“How are you doing?”
“Eh, good enough,” he laughed a little, under his breath. “And you?”
“Great, thank you.”
They stood like that, close, for a few more moments, before he finally leaned in a little more and whispered “So, would you want to get coffee or something after this? It’s kind of awkward to talk right now.”
“Sure,” she whispered back.
---
After the performance Eduard was seated at a table in the small refreshments area in the back of the gallery, leaning back in his chair, and looking at his homework, stuck. Someone came in, but he didn’t look up. He heard the clack of shoes go past where he was seated, stop abruptly, and finally “Oh my God what-are-you-doing.”
Eduard sighed. Another person teasing him about studying. “Home-”
“No, no, no -” an angry-looking blonde guy set down his drink, snatched the paper closer, and crossed out half of Eduard’s problem, ignoring his horrified expression. “Okay,” he said, slamming the notebook on the table. “You’re taking the partial of x here, yeah? You totally do not need to use the quotient rule on this one.”
“Ahhh....” Eduard started. Okay, so a man in a dress and oxfords had hijacked his homework. A man in a dress and oxfords that showcased his legs nicely. Focus, Eduard, focus. “I don’t?”
“Nuh-uh. Since there’s, like, no x, up here,” the man tapped the page, “just re-write the function -” more scribbles - “like this...instead of having your x3 in the denominator just write it as x-3. Then, like, differentiate with respect to x and you’re gold.”
“Oh,” Eduard paused and looked at the page. “You’re right.” He quickly finished the problem, then turned and smiled up at his tutor. “That’s much less complicated. Thank you....ah... I’m sorry, what is your name?”
“Feliks,” he winked, and leaned into the table. “Now, what kind of name,” he paused and flicked a stray hair up out of Eduard’s glasses with a laugh, “would a cutie like you have?”
If Eduard was surprised the only indication was a split-second widening of his eyes. “It’s Eduard. And, well, thank you, Feliks.”
“No problem,” Feliks waved, then twisted and snatched up Eduard’s book. “So, like, which professor uses this book? Totally never seen it, I would remember that gross cover,” he frowned, flipping through the pages with a flourish, each one making a sharp snap as he turned it.
“I take my mathematics course at a community college a few blocks from my high school,” Eduard informed, “so if you attend the university then you probably don’t know the professor.”
“Aw, for serious? And here I was gonna ask if you’d, you know, wanna go grab some drinks after this shindig,” Feliks sighed and threw his eyes to the ceiling in a “FML” kind of expression.
“I drink on occasion,” Eduard said with a tiny smile.
Feliks laughed and took a drink of his wine. “No, you are totally not getting me. I was trying to hit on you, but then you had to go and be, like, illegal.”
Eduard tapped his pencil against the notebook, looked at Feliks, and laughed under his breath at what he was about to do. “I’ll cease to be illegal on the 24th. Would you like to take me out for drinks then?”
Feliks raised both eyebrows and then grinned. Apparently the kid was super cute, really, really, really smart, dressed like The Horrors but less emo and more professional, and was a little ballsy. Too straight-laced, maybe, but still - heck, why not.
---
Berwald told Ludwig to dress casually for their afternoon Valentine’s date that Saturday, and after a light lunch, announced that they were going to a children’s science and nature museum. Ludwig raised an eyebrow but couldn’t keep his face entirely straight; it was such a...Berwald...idea for a date.
They’d gone through an exhibit on watersheds, then an out-of-place but fun one on puppets where they tried to make the stringed examples dance (it didn’t really work, they got them spectacularly tangled together) and now they were in the middle of a space exhibit. Berwald looked at the placard in front of him. Weight is the amount of gravitational pull on an object’s mass. “I don’ really understand gravity...” he murmured. “What is it, exac’ly?”
“Well,” Ludwig answered, corner of his mouth twitched up, “classically at least, gravitational force is equal to the products of the masses of the two objects in question, and the inverse square of the distance between the two masses, all multiplied by a gravitational constant. For calculating velocities and distances on earth, though, people just usually use 9.81 meters per second squared.”
There were a lot of things Berwald did not understand in that explanation, but he went with the first that came to mind - “Second squared?”
“Well, 9.81 meters per second per second,” Ludwig said, shrugging.
Er....moving on. Berwald shook his head. “An’ - what’s’n inverse square?”
“The inverse square - er, the force is inversely proportional to the square of the distance between the masses - or, well, the points of their center of mass to make calculations easier.”
“’m not followin’ this,” Berwald sighed, blushing a bit. “What...is inversely proport’nal?”
“Um,” Ludwig began, shifted onto his other foot, “essentially...if the magnitude of one variable in an equation goes up, the magnitude of the other goes down. In the case of gravity, the closer two objects are to each other, the higher the force of gravity that acts upon them - the further they are, the lower the force of gravity.”
“Ah,” Berwald nodded. That made sense, though he still didn’t really get what gravity was. “S’ry. I haven’t had much math,” he half-shrugged, looking at the ground.
Ludwig laughed a little under his breath and joked “I assume you didn’t like Algebra II much.” Berwald raised an eyebrow and Ludwig added “It’s when you learn about inverse functions.”
“Mm,” Berwald looked around, uncomfortable - was he really going to have this conversation in a children’s museum? “Guess y’should know...I never actually finished high school.”
“Are you serious?” Ludwig asked, disbelief written all over his face. Berwald nodded. “That is...really?”
“’fraid so.”
Ludwig looked at him, frowning, brow furrowed, before he finally said “I never would have guessed that.” Berwald looked miserable - Ludwig took his hand and held it the rest of the way through the science exhibit, making sure to keep his math speak to a minimum.
---
Berwald had cheered up considerably with the next two exhibits, even going so far as to tease Ludwig when he took one look under the microscope and then refused to look at anything else in the “organisms of the human body” exhibit. Ludwig stood to the side with a frown, trying to pay attention to Berwald’s comical position on the tiny stool and intrigued expression, instead of thinking about all of the microbes that were in him right this second.
Once he was finished, Berwald stood up and smiled at Ludwig, nodding down a nearby hallway. “This is th’ real reason I wanted t’come here,” he stated, leading the way. He opened the door for Ludwig and they entered a greenhouse - or was the name a conservatory? Ludwig wasn’t exactly sure.
Those thoughts flew out of his head the next moment, though, as he looked up - butterflies, everywhere. “This is...” he began, and let it trail off, slowly turning on his heel. Who knew there were so many types of butterfly?
He turned to smile at Berwald, or say something, and as he did one landed right on his forehead. He jumped and made a noise of surprise; the butterfly took off. Berwald took one look at his expression and burst out into that husky, booming laughter of his. Ludwig’s stomach gave a lurch - he hadn’t seen Berwald’s face mid-laugh yet - it was - well - he didn’t know. It made him feel a little lightheaded.
---
Gilbert was sitting at the kitchen table in front of his finished breakfast, boots propped on an adjacent chair and smoking a post-breakfast cigarette over coffee, when Nils walked in looking sulky and murderous.
“Could you put that out?” Nils snapped as he poured his coffee.
“Huh?” Gilbert looked at his cigarette, then to Nils. Had he just heard that correctly?
“Your cigarette,” Nils scowled, turning to the table. “I’m trying to quit and that’s not helping.”
“You...wait a sec, repeat that,” Gilbert ordered, brows furrowed.
“That I’m trying to quit, or that you’re being an asshole and blowing smoke in my face?” Nils replied in a dark voice, sitting down across from Gilbert, coffee in hand.
Gilbert grinned a shit-eating grin and took another drag, entertained by the look of longing - almost lust - that crossed Nils’ face. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“You gonna tell me why or just sit there looking pissy? That doesn’t make any goddamn sense - you probably smoke more than I do. And I smoke a whole fuckin’ lot.”
Nils sighed and frowned. “Kiku doesn’t like it,” he muttered.
Gilbert crowed with laughter. “Yeah, okay, you got me there for a sec, babe.”
Nils just scowled and stared at the cigarette dangling from Gilbert’s hand.
“Are you - what the hell,” Gilbert started. “Well, you’ve gotta smoke for our next big celebration-”
“No, I don’t.”
“But,” Gilbert frowned, trying to wrap his mind around this. “We’ve got Winstons and Lucky Strikes for the fourth annual Cars in Circles! And it’s like one of three times a year you’ll getta see Alfredo smoke - goddamn hilarious!”
“I’ll make sure to miss it,” Nils glowered, sipping on his coffee.
“What?” Gilbert exclaimed. “Why the fuck would you want to miss Cars in Circles?! You were there last year.”
“It’s fucking moronic. And you guys will be smoking for the entire thing.”
“Well, yeah-”
“I’ll be at Kiku’s.”
“Ugh, you are whipped”
---
A train blew by the subway platform - nope, not the Red line train - Gilbert frowned and shifted against the pole, rolling a shoulder. Shouldn’t it be here by now? He was gonna go wait outside the station and smoke if it didn’t come soon, and Lovinia could just deal with it. There were only so many times he could stand hearing “Station: Dickerson and Main” when the doors opened.
He was about to leave when the Red line pulled up - the doors opened and a minute later a royally pissed Lovinia stormed up to him. He cocked an eyebrow and opened his mouth, but she cut him off.
“We made out and you didn’t tell me!” she snarled, ignoring the looks from waiting commuters nearby.
“Hello to you too,” he smirked, though his confusion tempered it somewhat.
“I just talked to Anja - and apparently that’s you in that picture from Halloween,” Lovinia spat through clenched teeth.
Ooooh, that. He grabbed her arm and tried to lead her out of the station, but she wrenched it away. He stopped and rolled his eyes. “Jeez, if it makes it any better I don’t even remember it. I was wasted off my ass - someone showed it to me later. But, believe me, I sure wish I remembered, babe,” he grinned and tried to throw an arm around her again.
“Ugh,” she shoved him away and crossed her arms, glaring at him. “What do you mean you don’t remember?!”
“What, you’re gonna get pissy because I was too shitfaced to remember it?”
“Yeah, I am!” she yelled.
“Now wait a goddamn second,” Gilbert scowled, pointing a finger at her. “First you’re pissed that I kissed you. And now you’re pissed because I may as well have not kissed you, since I don’t actually remember it. What the fuck?”
She opened her mouth to retaliate - “Oh, fuck this bullshit,” Gilbert muttered, and pressed their lips together before she could get anything out. She tried to pull away and he dipped her in one quick movement, smirking against her lips; she let out a startled yelp in surprise, he thrust his tongue into her mouth and then brought them back up, pulling away before she could bite it off or something.
Her eyes were huge, and she looked frantically around them in the station, trying to assess how many people saw that - a few - she blushed and frowned, hunched her shoulders in and cowered a bit.
Gilbert laughed. She was pretty cute like that. He smiled at her - a real one - and wrapped an arm around her waist while she was still too dazed to protest, leading them out.
---
It was the third Sunday in February. At the Hjortdonner house Gilbert and Alfred had everything for the fourth annual Cars in Circles set up perfectly - TV in the living room on and turned to pre-coverage of the Daytona 500, plenty of smokes to be had, redneck t-shirts and racing hats in place, and a ton of Coors and Budweiser in the fridge. Alfred had even cut his hair into a mullet for the occasion.
Feliks and Ludwig walked in. Ludwig was wearing the clothing he always wore to work on cars and mopeds, looking more like a 1950’s mechanic with his hair in its customary pompadour than anything. Feliks looked as though he was two seconds away from tearing off his clothing and lighting it on fire.
Gilbert saw them and grinned, clad in cut-off jean shorts, a bright orange trucker hat, and a t-shirt with a leaping deer in the woods that read “Buck off”. He walked up to them and stopped, took his Winston out of his mouth, then got a serious look on his face. “Okay, so first, you two nerds aren’t allowed to talk about physics. This here is a nice, white-trash celebration of the lowest order. We can’t have you mucking it up with your intellectual bullshit.”
Ludwig just nodded; he already knew this rule from last year. Feliks rolled his eyes and looked down at his attire. “Why did I have to wear this?” he asked, lip curled, picking at his plain maroon pocket-tee from Wal-Mart. Apparently Gilbert had decided to give him a shirt from Wal-Mart - just two months after Christmas.
“This is serious business, Feliks!” Alfred laughed. “You hafta dress the part!”
“I’m so sorry I don’t take your ironic appreciation of NASCAR seriously,” Feliks replied, heading toward the couch. He sat down and grabbed a beer, muttering “I’m gonna have to be, like, shithoused to survive this - “ but as soon as he tried to open it Alfred and Gilbert both leapt on him.
“No no no, we can’t yet, Feliks!” Alfred yelped, waving his hands around while Gilbert snatched the can.
“Antonio and Sadiq aren’t here yet,” Gilbert scowled.
Feliks raised an eyebrow. “Okay. So?”
“We have to wait,” Alfred said, solemnly, and nodded his head. “Everyone’s gotta be present to give their respects.”
“Respects?” Feliks turned to Ludwig for a to-the-point explanation.
Ludwig sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’ll see,” he said, dully.
“Well - ohmygod who is that?!” Feliks asked and pointed at the television screen, where an interview was being conducted with an attractive young driver.
“It’s Kasey Kahne,” Alfred laughed and winked. “All the ladies love him.”
Feliks stared at the screen with star-struck eyes. “Yeah,” he replied distractedly.
“Fuck that pretty boy - Scrub is where it’s at!” Gilbert called to Feliks. Feliks was too busy drooling at the screen to notice.
---
Alfred snatched the Slim Jims from Antonio’s arms and laughed; Antonio looked right at home in a Carhartt jacket and work boots.
Sadiq walked in behind him with a smirk and Doritos in hand. He’d grown a mustache for the event and wore a shirt with the sleeves cut off, the armholes extending nearly halfway down his torso.
“Huh, not bad,” Gilbert remarked with a grin, “being a first-timer and all.”
“Look at that mustache!” Alfred laughed to Feliks. “Man, wish I’d thought of that!”
Sadiq smiled, kicked off his shoes and socks, rolled up his jeans, then snatched a Winston and a beer.
“Ahahah oh shit, not bad at all!” Gilbert yelled.
“Wait -” Alfred interjected, “we gotta pay our respects! Okay - everyone get a beer, like what Sadiq’s doin’ - and gather ‘round.”
Feliks sent Ludwig a “what the hell is this?” sort of look and Ludwig smiled back. Feliks was going to hate this part.
“Alright cocksuckers, open your beers,” Gilbert instructed, “but don’t drink them, Jesus! Yeah, leave ‘em there.”
“Hold up three fingers with your other hand!” Alfred chirped, “And now ya gotta be quiet! We’re paying our respects to The Intimidator - winner of seven championships!”
Feliks snorted and Gilbert stepped on him, then cut in with “And he kept driving with a goddamn broken collarbone in like a bunch of races, then died an honorable death,” and nodded, sure that his speech had done the man justice.
“Any other words of praise? No? Well then, don’t forget - three fingers on the third lap!” Alfred reminded.
“And you may drink up!” Gilbert cackled; all present drank.
“Ya bastards are fuckin’ crazy,” Sadiq chuckled, shaking his head. Then he saw the deer head - “Gilbert - let’s dress up the deer!”
“That’s Hjortdonner,” Gilbert snapped. “Our fuckin’ house is named for him, get it straight.”
“Oh my God, yes, let’s dress it,” Feliks agreed with a laugh.
The deer went through roughly twenty costume changes before the announcer’s “Gentlemen - start your engines!” brought everyone back to the television.
---
As sometimes happened, Alfred and Nils met Feliks for lunch at a sandwich shop between classes.
“Feliks, dude, tell me about that date of yours!” Alfred winked over as soon as Feliks sat down. Nils rolled his eyes and chewed his straw to pieces between taking sips of soda.
“Okay, well, first, we both got, like, totally schwasted and talked about non-Euclidean geometry - not, like, the math, but the ideas, you know? And then we talked about Broadway plays, and then that “what he wanted to do with his life” kind of stuff,” he replied at light-speed. Before Alfred could even butt in he breathlessly continued with “By then, we were, you know, like, drunk off our asses - so I got him to dance to this totally fly Aphex Twin remix and showed him some moves,” Feliks smirked. “Then we made out, because, duh.”
“And he’s in high school,” Nils said, tone flat.
“Psh, yeah, and?”
“So you’re saying,” Nils replied through his straw, “that you’re a sophomore in college dating a high schooler. You’re a damn creeper.”
Feliks frowned and pointed at Nils. “Okay, one - he’s about to graduate, and two - there is only a two-year age difference between us. Not everyone can find a boyfriend who’s only a month younger than them. So you can, like, shut your trap and stop being a total bitch just because you’re in nicotine withdrawal.”
---
-
---
Author’s Notes
I didn’t have anyone in mind for Tina’s boyfriend, but if you want to put a Hetalia character in there, it could be Toris. I think that kid’s so boring (sorry Toris lovers).
“i carry your heart with me” by e.e. cummings - http://www.artofeurope.com/cummings/cum1.htm
Is my GIANT FANGIRL CRUSH on Sweden obvious yet? Mmmmm he’s the sexiest Hetalia character, hands down. *melts into pile of goo* Plus we both talk kinda funny BROFIST
It’s okay, Berwald. People still haven’t figured gravity out.
I am such a nerd, yes. Nom nom, partial derivatives.
I kid you not, Estonia’s birthday really is February 24th. I was writing that scene and Feliks was all “yeah, I like this kid, sure author!anon” (about time you liked someone I wanted you to get with, yeesh dude) - so then I was like “huh, that’d be nice if Eduard’s birthday was in the spring” and WHAT DO YOU KNOW. Pretty sure the fates aligned for this one.
Gilbert and Alfred began Cars in Circles during Gilbert’s first year (of two-ish) of college. Who knows why. Oh wait - because Alfred’s a derp for cars and Gilbert’s in so long as there’s beer. And they’re both absolutely ridiculous.
---
Natalia and Bella - I can't draw lipstick CURSES.
---
February Mix Tape Pt. II
---
Eirik’s performance:
The Arcade Fire - Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)
Neutral Milk Hotel - Two Headed Boy Pt. II
Berwald and Ludwig’s date:
School of Seven Bells - Windstorm
Cars in Circles:
Creedence Clearwater Revival - Fortunate Son
Link: http://www.mediafire.com/?akm6gtbssxjc4