[Fanfic] - Any Other City - September
Title: Any Other City - Chapter 2
Author: Tinediserp
Rating: PG-13
Characters: America, Germany, France, Austria, Leichtenstein, Norway, Poland, Japan, England, Russia, Hungary, fem!Finland, Prussia, Belarus, Iceland, Sweden, Germania, Denmark, Rome, Turkey, Greece, Spain
Summary: Derpy AU where the nations are hipsters.
In this Chapter: Alfred and Ludwig dork out, Roderich gets glasses and meets a cute girl, Al and Feliks dress up for Rocky Horror, Kiku plays a noise show, Gil, Al, and Antonio hang at the skatepark.
Warnings: Language, drinking, descriptions of unlistenable music.
Tina, 20, is genderswapped!Finland; Jens, 28, is Germania; Mathias , 25, is Denmark; Alanzo, 30 is Rome. Pretty much because that name rules.
---
SEPTEMBER
---
Alfred hurriedly swallowed his mouthful of hummus as he heard the phone pick up. “Hey Ludwig, you’re back in town right? The moped’s not workin’. Wanna help me fix it?”
His pal sighed over the phone, but Alfred could hear the smile in his reply. “And I assume I need to bring my metric toolkit over?”
“You got it bro!”
---
Alfred and Ludwig had grabbed some bottles of High Life and had set up camp on the meager back patio of Alfred’s apartment. Alfred fished around for his extra spark plug. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong with it this time - lucky I’ve got one of you industrial design fellas as a pal,” he winked over.
Ludwig blushed and shot a shy smile (well, more like a twitch of the lips) at Alfred.
Alfred just laughed. “On top of that, I’d never have gotten through Calc III without you and Feliks!”
Ludwig resisted the urge to play with the wrench in his hands. “It would help if you would actually do your homework without us making you,” he replied with a trace of irritation in his voice.
“Yeah, yeah, but it’s so hard when there’s so much going on! I mean, between band practice, and going to shows - “
“-and trying to pick up girls at bars,” was grumbled under Ludwig’s breath.
“And - huh?”
Ludwig blushed again, caught. He took a swig of beer to cover it up and made a noncommital noise.
“Well, anyway, you takin’ that Bauhaus course this fall? They only offer it every three years or something.”
“Mm, yes, there’s an industrial design component. Not to mention the movement had considerable impact on modern design and architecture. It would be foolish not to.”
“Plus it’s German, you’re a sucker for your heritage dude. So glad you’ve somehow managed to avoid meeting Gilbert - I mean, we’re BFF’s so don’t ask me how that works - you two would start up an Oktoberfest or - hey, you don’t think the fuel tank needs to be flushed, do you? Looks okay to me.”
Ludwig tried to simultanesly lean over Alfred and avoid touching him to look in. “It looks fine.” He handed the flashlight back to Alfred and had a mini-heart-attack when their hands brushed.
“Yeah thought so. Alrighty, mister spark plug, let’s see if you’re our problem.” He looked over to Ludwig and shot a megawatt grin. “Hey, you know Ludwig. We should totally team up for a project in that class! I can do the building stuff and you can do, you know, furniture design or the engineering or whatever - it’ll totally be like we are students in the middle one - “
“Dessau.”
“- yeah, that one - “
Alfred rambled on about how cool it would be to be students in 1920s Germany, and Ludwig took the time to appreciate the lean, strong lines of Alfred’s back as he stretched to reach the front of the engine.
---
Francis sat the new glasses on Roderich’s face. They both turned to the floor-length mirror appraisingly.
“You’re right,” Roderich hummed. “I do look better in glasses.”
“Of course I’m right - the navy gradient is a good choice. You wear so much navy.”
“Black is too dreary,” Roderich sighed. “But I’d still like to dress with class.”
“Navy is perfect, then,” Francis agreed. “Though you should lighten it up somewhat. A differently colored tie?”
“No,” Roderich snapped. “It looks sleek like this. Sophisticated.” He crossed his arms and tilted his chin up in what he hoped was an affected yet defiant look.
“Consider a pocket square then.”
The door chimed and a young woman with her blond hair twisted back in an elegantly dishevled french braid and bright green eyes walked in, meekly. Francis elbowed Roderich to take care of it.
He stepped lightly over with an introduction and asked if she was looking for something in particular.
“Um, no, not exactly. I was just looking online at Yelp reviews, and they said that this store carried Acne?”
“We do,” Roderich said, “it’s over - “
“Oh no, I’m not exactly looking for Acne...I just thought that, you know, if you had a brand I liked then it would probably be worth checking out.”
Roderich cleared his throat and adjusted his watch a little awkwardly. The girl looked up at him with those bright green eyes. She was pretty cute. He held out his hand. “I’m Roderich - feel free to look around, just call if you have need of me.”
She let out a dainty, girly laugh and placed her small hand in his. He hoped his hand wasn’t sweaty, how unappealing. “Mine’s Lili.” She gave a small curtsey and walked over to the women’s side.
“She’s a cute little thing, non?” was murmered just under Roderich’s ear.
He jumped and Francis’ jaw clacked shut against his shoulder. “Francis!” he hissed.
Francis rubbed his jaw, glared at Roderich, then sashayed over to the girl, calling out “Here, let me take those to the fitting room for you - I have to step out to run a small errand, so ask Roderich for any opinions, dear. He has a good eye for beauty.”
Roderich was going to strangle Francis, boss or not
---
“What do you think of this one?” Lili emerged in a 50’s-esque black chiffon polka dot dress. It was both hot and utterly adorable - it nipped in to show off her tiny waist but draped loosely everywhere else.
Oh dear. Roderich cursed his body for reacting like a teenager’s. A teenager’s! The impropriety!
“I-It’s nice,” he stammered out. “But, ah, I think there’s another dress out here you would like, if you like this one. Should I fetch it for you?”
“Sure!”
He couldn’t decide if he was perverted or if this was how all decent salespeople felt. He did know that she would look wonderful in the dress he had in mind, though. Tasteful, feminine, a soft pink hue that would complement her lips and cheeks - she’d look ready to take to the orchestra. Or dancing. Or dancing with an orchestra. Now there was an idea.
---
Roderich didn’t need Francis sighing at him; he already knew he was a coward for not asking Lili to an orchestra, or dance, or anything at all. He had just totally lost his nerve (and his voice) after seeing her in that dress. Oh, and here was Nils. Great, the two of them could both make fun of him.
Nils stopped in front of them and Francis and he had a silent war. Francis insisted that Nils was too quiet and that to remain employed he had to at least muster a greeting and a small bit of conversation. “Heya, trust funders,” Nils finally said.
Francis squawked, indignant, and Roderich tried not to laugh at the snarky kid. “A trust-funder, he says!” He turned to Roderich to share his outrage.
Nils smirked. “Are you denying it?”
“I will have you know,” Francis pointed menacingly to Nils, “that I make my own money now, if you couldn’t tell,” he gestured around the store. “That fund just sits there now! Though it is reassuring to have,” he muttered under his breath.
Roderich shrugged. Nils knew he worked part-time here and spent the rest of his time tutoring music students. “I don’t spend mine on anything but rent,” he pointed out.
“Because you spend all the money you make here on clothes,” Nils shot back. “But then you bring in Ramen for lunch. Gotta keep up appearances I guess.”
---
Francis was draped over Nils’ shoulder at the desk. “Would you stop that?” Nils said for what he thought was the seven-thousandth time.
Francis played with his hair. “This?”
“Yes. You’re not allowed to do that, you know. Ever heard of harassment?”
Francis pouted. “I think you must be asexual. I’ve never seen you express interest in anyone at all, dear, and you’ve worked here nearly six months.”
Nils just grunted and continued reading his music blogs.
“I’m serious. Tell me, have you ever dated anyone?”
Nils sighed and rolled his eyes. Why was his boss so fucking nosey? He knew this would keep going until he said something, so he guessed he should just answer the guy. “Yes.”
“Oh, really!” Francis sounded delighted. “I was not kidding about thinking you asexual, you know. Girls or guys?”
A jagged frown contorted Nils’ face. “Both. Nothing serious. I like skinny androgynous people. Which you aren’t. And because you seem to forget, you’re my boss. That’s all I’m saying so stop bothering me.”
---
Alfred held up a blue pair of boxer briefs and a red pair of American Apparel briefs. “Dude, you’re gonna have to tell me about Poland, but later. I can’t figure out what to wear. I don’t wanna be too gay, but I mean, I guess it is Rocky Horror.
“I don’t see why you don’t just, you know, embrace the gay. You’re going to Rocky Horror with a man in, like, gold hotpants,” Feliks snapped.
Alfred sighed. “Because I’m not gay, maybe? But Feliks! Gimme an opinion! Boxer briefs or just briefs? ‘Cuz I think I’m gonna wear this really crazy cardigan - it’s got a lot of maroon and a lot of blue, too - actually here, lemme get it -”
Alfred’s upper half dived into his closet, though Feliks just called that entire half of the room his ‘closet’. He continued adding glitter to his face. “So where did your housemates go?”
“Some noise show,” Alfred’s muffled voice floated from the depths of the closet. “Little asian dude with grindy sounds and delay pedals - at Arthur and Eliza’s place.”
Feliks sniffed. Place is too nice of a word for where they lived, in his opinion. “Is it at least, you know, not totally gross now with Eliza there?”
“Yeah actually, it’s pretty clean for an anarchist-communist-squatter-freegan-whatever household, now.”
Feliks raised an eyebrow. “Anarchist-communist?” he repeated.
Alfred popped out the closet, a thin, insanely patterned cardigan in hand. He shrugged. “How should I know? I don’t care.”
Feliks looked over Alfred. “Okay, go with the briefs, they match the cardigan better. And maybe some boots-”
“-too gay-”
“-or, like, your white hi-tops-”
“Feliks, you’re a genius!”
“-and then, I dunno, a headband?”
Alfred dashed to the bathroom to change and returned a few moments later with headbands in hand. “Yeah, Feliks, I’m not feeling this,” he said once the headbands were on.
Feliks looked over and snorted. “You look like a total high-schooler with those.”
“Ugh,” Alfred ripped them off - they sailed across the room. He went over to a table scattered with records, flyers, and old cans of Mountain Dew and beer, picked up a few necklaces, and slung them over his head instead.
“Um, are those bullets strung on those?” Feliks asked incredulously.
Alfred laughed. “Yeah, this one,” he lifted a mid-length one with a small silver chain, “has a shotgun shell though.”
“Where did they come from?”
“Went thrifting with Gil last winter and found two of ‘em - man, we had a huge fight over who got to keep ‘em, too, sometimes he swipes them from me still -”
“Alfred,” Feliks prompted.
“Oh yeah! And then Ludwig sent me some over the summer for my birthday. What a cool birthday present, right?”
Feliks let out a laugh at that. “I totes think he has, like, a huge crush on you,” he said. This was a familiar discussion.
“Nah dude. You know he’s an industrial design guy - he said he was already doing some metalworks stuff anyway and thought it’d be a good gift, ya know?”
A snort, followed by “Can I put some glitter on you? It would look totally amazing near your temples with those glasses.”
---
Nils looked over to the person beside him in the dark space. The guy who lived here - what was his name again? All he could remember was that it started with an A. He was taking a swig of beer and leaning against a pole, eyes paying close attention to the proceedings despite the drunken glaze over them. Their eyes met; Nils gave a nod and a thumbs-up to the music, and the guy threw a fist up and let out a drunken roar that was barely heard over the cacophony despite its volume.
The performer was a slight, plainly dressed Asian man, esconced in a fortress of delay pedals, synthesizers, a looping machine, a mic, and what looked like a small engine...?
During a quieter part of the set, Nils moved away from Gilbert’s incessant elbowing and toward the punkish guy and nodded to the performer. “This is great,” he whispered. “Do you know his name?”
“Fuck yeah, it’s great. Been trying to get ‘im to play here for ages, feels like,” another swig of beer. “Don’t know ‘is name, usually keeps to ‘imself unless he’s with Ivan,” a nod in the direction of one of the biggest guys Nils had ever seen. Arthur beckoned him over, adding “His performance name is Sutatoransu, though.”
The Ivan guy came over, and Nils suddenly felt incredibly short. And skinny. Normally he considered 5’8” a perfectly acceptable height, but this guy was way over six feet. “How tall are you?!” was out of his mouth before anything else - Nils blamed his beer for the slip.
Arthur rolled his eyes while Ivan chuckled. Nils barely heard the low “Around six and a half feet” over a rumble of bass from the Asian guy.
“Anyway, Ivan, this guy, er - “
“Nils,” he supplied.
“I’m Arthur by the way -” a tip of the head, “this guy Nils was asking about your pal, wasshis name again?”
“Kiku.”
“Yeah, him.”
Ivan fixed Nils with an intense stare. “I’ve seen you around a lot. With that loud guy,” he pointed over to Gilbert.
Nils resisted the urge to facepalm but let out a frustrated sigh anyway. He was saved from having to reply by an elbow to the ribs from Arthur (another one of these guys?! crossed his mind).
“This is my favorite part,” Arthur hissed.
The performer - Kiku, Nils amended - unsheathed what looked like a real, legitimate samurai sword, yanked the mic down to the running motor, and proceeded to grind the sword into the whole mess. A horrendous shrieking was soon amplified, looped, and distorted; it was a truly terrible sound that bounced off of the empty walls, concrete floors, and into one’s chest.
The three of them watched and shivered, enraptured.
---
Afterward Elizabeta and Kiku were going through her camera, looking at pictures of the show and chattering on in the way that suggested they had known each other a while.
Ludwig walked up and greeted Eliza softly. She smiled at him brightly and introduced her two friends to one another. All three debated the merits of digital SLR’s for a bit and bonded over sharing the secret of not caring that Polaroids no longer existed: Eliza thought them wasteful, Ludwig frivolous and expensive, and Kiku simply liked digital in any format better.
“Hey, guys, Tina’s calling me - catch ya later - “ and she left the two of them to themselves.
They stood there a moment before Ludwig said “You know, the museum is having a special exhibition of black-and-white architectural photographs.”
“I had heard of this,” Kiku politely replied.
“Well, I’m in the architecture program at the University, and since you’re interested in photography,” he paused, not sure how to go on, and Kiku shifted a little, “er, would you want to attend with me?”
Kiku smiled softly. “That sounds okay.”
---
“Whoa, it’s weird to see girls at noise stuff like this!”
Natalia looked up from her discussion with Eirik and Tina about tonight’s show. A really pale guy in all black was addressing her.
“Excuse me?!” Tina crossed her arms and scowled defiantly at him. “What do you think I am, Gil?”
“Heh, I mean...” he gestured around the room. “There are only three girls here. And I dunno if Eliza counts.”
“Eliza! Get over here!” she called. “We’ve got a chauvanist pig to stuff.”
“Anyway, I’m Gilbert,” he said to Natalia, and flashed a roughish smile. “And you are?”
She gave him a very flat look; that smile hardly flickered. “Natalia.”
“Yeah, so Natalia, you like anything other than noise?”
Her look plainly read “are you a fucking idiot?”
“That’s where you’re supposed to talk about the genres you like,” Gilbert pointed at her and huffed.
She sniffed. “I don’t really care what you think about what I listen to, and I sure as hell don’t want to hear about yours.”
“Aw, I just wanted to say you should check out my band! Hjortdonner!”
“Nice name.”
The sarcasm sailed right over his head. “I know, right!? It’s the name of this super badass deer head we have in our living room. My rooms, Nils, helped name it - he’s that scrawny guy over there -” he pointed, Natalia looked only slightly more interested than normal. “The pretty one, he kind of looks like a girl. Anyway, we’re like, punkish kraut-noise - come check us out.”
---
Eirik was glaring something fierce at the obnoxious freak standing way too close to his pal.
Tina giggled. “I think it’s cute, Eirik.”
He scowled. “That guy’s a loud weirdo. Natalia’s a sophisticated woman. It’s not cute.”
An arm was looped around his shoulders and that girl who lived here leered at him. “Got a crush, little man?”
He sighed. “No. Could you please stop hanging all over me? You’re worse than that guy.”
That got her off immediately. He looked over. “Thank you. I’m Eirik by the way.”
“Elizabeta. I take it we both know Tina then.”
“Yep,” the girl in question interjected for them. “He’s the little freshman at the University I told you about. That’s into performance art? You should let him do something here, Eliza.”
---
Berwald and Jens were having a quiet discussion about the website of the bar Berwald worked at when Mathias came up and shattered it with a loud, drunken “You two! Gallery hop Friday! You guys can pick up art, I can pick up girls, we can all get smashed on free wine. And the tattoo parlor on 5th is having an open studio kinda thing, so we can watch people get stabbed with needles repeatedly.”
“I don’ work Fr’day,” Berwald shrugged to Jens.
Jens nodded his agreement, so Mathias rambled on some more about how they should invite “the gang” and make a night of it before talking about the evening’s show and how they were “dumbasses” if they didn’t like it.
They just let him be, used to it by now.
---
Jens looked over at the laughing man across the table. “Why do we know him again?” he asked Alonzo, sitting right beside him.
Alonzo snapped a few pictures. “He’s entertaining. And girls love him. Makes for great party pics.”
“Yeah, but -” Jens looked again. Sadiq was wearing a fucking mask that covered the upper portion of his face for no reason other than because he could. And then he had thrown some feathers in the mix (and into his hair) for good measure. He already had some crazy piercings and Jens thought the whole thing looked odd.
“He makes it work,” Francis interjected.
Berwald grunted a reluctant agreement. On the other side of the table Mathias, Heracles, and Sadiq were embroiled in a heated debate over whether Peaches Geldof was hot or not.
The four looked over to the debating trio. “Francis, you just switch with Mathias and we’ll have the most oversexed group in the city, right there,” Alonzo said out of nowhere.
“Hey!” Sadiq cut in. “That guy -” he pointed to Alanzo “- gets laid way more than I do. Got a fuckin’ ‘party blog’, what kind of shit job is that?”
“A great one,” Alonzo flippantly replied.
Sadiq flipped him off before continuing.
“Yeah, all ya do is surround yourself with babes and take pictures of ‘em. And then get your web-designer friend to post pictures of ‘em. And somehow you make money. Fuck you. Some people have to work, here.”
“Sadiq, you work in a bookstore and spend the entire time writing nutjob poetry.”
“Heracles I can see,” Francis said to Jens, “but I don’t know about my inclusion. Do you really think I get around that much?” The entire table gave him a flat look.
“Y’ve got th’ advantage of bein’ bisexual,” Berwald pointed out.
Sadiq laughed and spilled his drink while throwing his arm toward Berwald. “You’re gay, aren’t you supposed to be gettin’ tail like no one’s business? Thought that’s how the gays rolled.” He picked up his bottle, drew a hand through the beer on the table, and shook it out all over Mathias who whacked him upside the head in retaliation.
“He probably does,” Heracles lazily agreed. “Good at keeping a low profile, I guess?”
Berwald shifted in his seat. “Been single fer a’while.”
“High five!” Mathias shot at him.
Berwald stuck his arm up, but let out a “Not r’ly.”
Alonzo clapped him on the back. “You’re 21, my man. Get around a little!”
Berwald just shrugged.
“Okay, back to the original discussion ya dipshits,” Sadiq shouted. “Francis,” he pointed, “you’re saying ya don’t sleep with someone new every week.”
Francis huffed and leaned back in his seat, supporting his elbow with his other hand. “No, do you think I’m a freshman in college, darling?”
“So then,” Alanzo smirked, “you like that Antonio guy a lot, huh?”
“He’s nice,” Francis agreed, tapping his bottle against the table, “though a bit uncultured.”
Mathias snorted. “I regret to inform you that you routinely hang out with the likes of us.” This earned a round of laughter from the table and a high-five from Sadiq.
“So is he your boyfriend?” Heracles asked.
Francis merely shrugged. “We haven’t discussed it.”
Mathias elbowed Sadiq; Sadiq threw a balled-up napkin at Francis and asked where Elizabeta was. “That woman is a badass,” was his only response to Alonzo’s laughing inquiry as to why it mattered.
“Three guesses: Arthur, Kiku, or Ludwig.”
“Ludwig?” Jens inquired.
Francis tilted his head toward him. “Just a university kid she’s taken a liking to.” There was a mutter from somewhere about how impossible it was that Francis knew so many people.
“And where’s your little lackey?” Mathias asked. Jens sighed.
“Roderich, you mean?” Francis asked.
“Yep, that one. Prissy shy one?”
“He has his own life you know. You just want to make the poor man as uncomfortable as utterly possible, anyway.”
“I like Roderich just fine,” Jens interruped under his breath, placing his head in his hand.
“Whoopie,” Sadiq twirled a finger, “the prissy dude. Get Eliza here, man.”
“Yeah,” Alonzo agreed.
“Okay, okay,” Francis dug out his phone, “but surely you know by now that none of you are likely to get in her pants.”
---
Antonio hit the sidewalk hard. Alfred laughed from his perch atop the half-pipe and moved his skateboard around with one foot. Gilbert yanked on a rollerblade and yelled “You’re getting rusty, old man! If you came to the skate park with us more often we wouldn’t have to laugh at your sorry ass every three minutes.”
Antonio smiled from the ground and laughingly replied “At least I don’t rollerblade!”
Alfred joined in “Yeah, better a terrible skateboarder than a great rollerblader,” and stuck his tongue out at Gilbert. He slid his oversize glasses up his sweaty nose and dropped down.
Gilbert frowned. “Ugh, fuck you guys.”
---
---
A/N:
Quick sketch of Feliks in his RHPS garb: http://i38.tinypic.com/2pq6yjd.jpg
Roderich’s glasses I imagine to be like these, but with a navy gradient instead of brown (remove the spaces!):
http:// www.framesdirect.com/ framesfp/ Burberry-tdoiqj/r.html
And Francis. He knows eeeeveryone.
Author: Tinediserp
Rating: PG-13
Characters: America, Germany, France, Austria, Leichtenstein, Norway, Poland, Japan, England, Russia, Hungary, fem!Finland, Prussia, Belarus, Iceland, Sweden, Germania, Denmark, Rome, Turkey, Greece, Spain
Summary: Derpy AU where the nations are hipsters.
In this Chapter: Alfred and Ludwig dork out, Roderich gets glasses and meets a cute girl, Al and Feliks dress up for Rocky Horror, Kiku plays a noise show, Gil, Al, and Antonio hang at the skatepark.
Warnings: Language, drinking, descriptions of unlistenable music.
Tina, 20, is genderswapped!Finland; Jens, 28, is Germania; Mathias , 25, is Denmark; Alanzo, 30 is Rome. Pretty much because that name rules.
---
SEPTEMBER
---
Alfred hurriedly swallowed his mouthful of hummus as he heard the phone pick up. “Hey Ludwig, you’re back in town right? The moped’s not workin’. Wanna help me fix it?”
His pal sighed over the phone, but Alfred could hear the smile in his reply. “And I assume I need to bring my metric toolkit over?”
“You got it bro!”
---
Alfred and Ludwig had grabbed some bottles of High Life and had set up camp on the meager back patio of Alfred’s apartment. Alfred fished around for his extra spark plug. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong with it this time - lucky I’ve got one of you industrial design fellas as a pal,” he winked over.
Ludwig blushed and shot a shy smile (well, more like a twitch of the lips) at Alfred.
Alfred just laughed. “On top of that, I’d never have gotten through Calc III without you and Feliks!”
Ludwig resisted the urge to play with the wrench in his hands. “It would help if you would actually do your homework without us making you,” he replied with a trace of irritation in his voice.
“Yeah, yeah, but it’s so hard when there’s so much going on! I mean, between band practice, and going to shows - “
“-and trying to pick up girls at bars,” was grumbled under Ludwig’s breath.
“And - huh?”
Ludwig blushed again, caught. He took a swig of beer to cover it up and made a noncommital noise.
“Well, anyway, you takin’ that Bauhaus course this fall? They only offer it every three years or something.”
“Mm, yes, there’s an industrial design component. Not to mention the movement had considerable impact on modern design and architecture. It would be foolish not to.”
“Plus it’s German, you’re a sucker for your heritage dude. So glad you’ve somehow managed to avoid meeting Gilbert - I mean, we’re BFF’s so don’t ask me how that works - you two would start up an Oktoberfest or - hey, you don’t think the fuel tank needs to be flushed, do you? Looks okay to me.”
Ludwig tried to simultanesly lean over Alfred and avoid touching him to look in. “It looks fine.” He handed the flashlight back to Alfred and had a mini-heart-attack when their hands brushed.
“Yeah thought so. Alrighty, mister spark plug, let’s see if you’re our problem.” He looked over to Ludwig and shot a megawatt grin. “Hey, you know Ludwig. We should totally team up for a project in that class! I can do the building stuff and you can do, you know, furniture design or the engineering or whatever - it’ll totally be like we are students in the middle one - “
“Dessau.”
“- yeah, that one - “
Alfred rambled on about how cool it would be to be students in 1920s Germany, and Ludwig took the time to appreciate the lean, strong lines of Alfred’s back as he stretched to reach the front of the engine.
---
Francis sat the new glasses on Roderich’s face. They both turned to the floor-length mirror appraisingly.
“You’re right,” Roderich hummed. “I do look better in glasses.”
“Of course I’m right - the navy gradient is a good choice. You wear so much navy.”
“Black is too dreary,” Roderich sighed. “But I’d still like to dress with class.”
“Navy is perfect, then,” Francis agreed. “Though you should lighten it up somewhat. A differently colored tie?”
“No,” Roderich snapped. “It looks sleek like this. Sophisticated.” He crossed his arms and tilted his chin up in what he hoped was an affected yet defiant look.
“Consider a pocket square then.”
The door chimed and a young woman with her blond hair twisted back in an elegantly dishevled french braid and bright green eyes walked in, meekly. Francis elbowed Roderich to take care of it.
He stepped lightly over with an introduction and asked if she was looking for something in particular.
“Um, no, not exactly. I was just looking online at Yelp reviews, and they said that this store carried Acne?”
“We do,” Roderich said, “it’s over - “
“Oh no, I’m not exactly looking for Acne...I just thought that, you know, if you had a brand I liked then it would probably be worth checking out.”
Roderich cleared his throat and adjusted his watch a little awkwardly. The girl looked up at him with those bright green eyes. She was pretty cute. He held out his hand. “I’m Roderich - feel free to look around, just call if you have need of me.”
She let out a dainty, girly laugh and placed her small hand in his. He hoped his hand wasn’t sweaty, how unappealing. “Mine’s Lili.” She gave a small curtsey and walked over to the women’s side.
“She’s a cute little thing, non?” was murmered just under Roderich’s ear.
He jumped and Francis’ jaw clacked shut against his shoulder. “Francis!” he hissed.
Francis rubbed his jaw, glared at Roderich, then sashayed over to the girl, calling out “Here, let me take those to the fitting room for you - I have to step out to run a small errand, so ask Roderich for any opinions, dear. He has a good eye for beauty.”
Roderich was going to strangle Francis, boss or not
---
“What do you think of this one?” Lili emerged in a 50’s-esque black chiffon polka dot dress. It was both hot and utterly adorable - it nipped in to show off her tiny waist but draped loosely everywhere else.
Oh dear. Roderich cursed his body for reacting like a teenager’s. A teenager’s! The impropriety!
“I-It’s nice,” he stammered out. “But, ah, I think there’s another dress out here you would like, if you like this one. Should I fetch it for you?”
“Sure!”
He couldn’t decide if he was perverted or if this was how all decent salespeople felt. He did know that she would look wonderful in the dress he had in mind, though. Tasteful, feminine, a soft pink hue that would complement her lips and cheeks - she’d look ready to take to the orchestra. Or dancing. Or dancing with an orchestra. Now there was an idea.
---
Roderich didn’t need Francis sighing at him; he already knew he was a coward for not asking Lili to an orchestra, or dance, or anything at all. He had just totally lost his nerve (and his voice) after seeing her in that dress. Oh, and here was Nils. Great, the two of them could both make fun of him.
Nils stopped in front of them and Francis and he had a silent war. Francis insisted that Nils was too quiet and that to remain employed he had to at least muster a greeting and a small bit of conversation. “Heya, trust funders,” Nils finally said.
Francis squawked, indignant, and Roderich tried not to laugh at the snarky kid. “A trust-funder, he says!” He turned to Roderich to share his outrage.
Nils smirked. “Are you denying it?”
“I will have you know,” Francis pointed menacingly to Nils, “that I make my own money now, if you couldn’t tell,” he gestured around the store. “That fund just sits there now! Though it is reassuring to have,” he muttered under his breath.
Roderich shrugged. Nils knew he worked part-time here and spent the rest of his time tutoring music students. “I don’t spend mine on anything but rent,” he pointed out.
“Because you spend all the money you make here on clothes,” Nils shot back. “But then you bring in Ramen for lunch. Gotta keep up appearances I guess.”
---
Francis was draped over Nils’ shoulder at the desk. “Would you stop that?” Nils said for what he thought was the seven-thousandth time.
Francis played with his hair. “This?”
“Yes. You’re not allowed to do that, you know. Ever heard of harassment?”
Francis pouted. “I think you must be asexual. I’ve never seen you express interest in anyone at all, dear, and you’ve worked here nearly six months.”
Nils just grunted and continued reading his music blogs.
“I’m serious. Tell me, have you ever dated anyone?”
Nils sighed and rolled his eyes. Why was his boss so fucking nosey? He knew this would keep going until he said something, so he guessed he should just answer the guy. “Yes.”
“Oh, really!” Francis sounded delighted. “I was not kidding about thinking you asexual, you know. Girls or guys?”
A jagged frown contorted Nils’ face. “Both. Nothing serious. I like skinny androgynous people. Which you aren’t. And because you seem to forget, you’re my boss. That’s all I’m saying so stop bothering me.”
---
Alfred held up a blue pair of boxer briefs and a red pair of American Apparel briefs. “Dude, you’re gonna have to tell me about Poland, but later. I can’t figure out what to wear. I don’t wanna be too gay, but I mean, I guess it is Rocky Horror.
“I don’t see why you don’t just, you know, embrace the gay. You’re going to Rocky Horror with a man in, like, gold hotpants,” Feliks snapped.
Alfred sighed. “Because I’m not gay, maybe? But Feliks! Gimme an opinion! Boxer briefs or just briefs? ‘Cuz I think I’m gonna wear this really crazy cardigan - it’s got a lot of maroon and a lot of blue, too - actually here, lemme get it -”
Alfred’s upper half dived into his closet, though Feliks just called that entire half of the room his ‘closet’. He continued adding glitter to his face. “So where did your housemates go?”
“Some noise show,” Alfred’s muffled voice floated from the depths of the closet. “Little asian dude with grindy sounds and delay pedals - at Arthur and Eliza’s place.”
Feliks sniffed. Place is too nice of a word for where they lived, in his opinion. “Is it at least, you know, not totally gross now with Eliza there?”
“Yeah actually, it’s pretty clean for an anarchist-communist-squatter-freegan-whatever household, now.”
Feliks raised an eyebrow. “Anarchist-communist?” he repeated.
Alfred popped out the closet, a thin, insanely patterned cardigan in hand. He shrugged. “How should I know? I don’t care.”
Feliks looked over Alfred. “Okay, go with the briefs, they match the cardigan better. And maybe some boots-”
“-too gay-”
“-or, like, your white hi-tops-”
“Feliks, you’re a genius!”
“-and then, I dunno, a headband?”
Alfred dashed to the bathroom to change and returned a few moments later with headbands in hand. “Yeah, Feliks, I’m not feeling this,” he said once the headbands were on.
Feliks looked over and snorted. “You look like a total high-schooler with those.”
“Ugh,” Alfred ripped them off - they sailed across the room. He went over to a table scattered with records, flyers, and old cans of Mountain Dew and beer, picked up a few necklaces, and slung them over his head instead.
“Um, are those bullets strung on those?” Feliks asked incredulously.
Alfred laughed. “Yeah, this one,” he lifted a mid-length one with a small silver chain, “has a shotgun shell though.”
“Where did they come from?”
“Went thrifting with Gil last winter and found two of ‘em - man, we had a huge fight over who got to keep ‘em, too, sometimes he swipes them from me still -”
“Alfred,” Feliks prompted.
“Oh yeah! And then Ludwig sent me some over the summer for my birthday. What a cool birthday present, right?”
Feliks let out a laugh at that. “I totes think he has, like, a huge crush on you,” he said. This was a familiar discussion.
“Nah dude. You know he’s an industrial design guy - he said he was already doing some metalworks stuff anyway and thought it’d be a good gift, ya know?”
A snort, followed by “Can I put some glitter on you? It would look totally amazing near your temples with those glasses.”
---
Nils looked over to the person beside him in the dark space. The guy who lived here - what was his name again? All he could remember was that it started with an A. He was taking a swig of beer and leaning against a pole, eyes paying close attention to the proceedings despite the drunken glaze over them. Their eyes met; Nils gave a nod and a thumbs-up to the music, and the guy threw a fist up and let out a drunken roar that was barely heard over the cacophony despite its volume.
The performer was a slight, plainly dressed Asian man, esconced in a fortress of delay pedals, synthesizers, a looping machine, a mic, and what looked like a small engine...?
During a quieter part of the set, Nils moved away from Gilbert’s incessant elbowing and toward the punkish guy and nodded to the performer. “This is great,” he whispered. “Do you know his name?”
“Fuck yeah, it’s great. Been trying to get ‘im to play here for ages, feels like,” another swig of beer. “Don’t know ‘is name, usually keeps to ‘imself unless he’s with Ivan,” a nod in the direction of one of the biggest guys Nils had ever seen. Arthur beckoned him over, adding “His performance name is Sutatoransu, though.”
The Ivan guy came over, and Nils suddenly felt incredibly short. And skinny. Normally he considered 5’8” a perfectly acceptable height, but this guy was way over six feet. “How tall are you?!” was out of his mouth before anything else - Nils blamed his beer for the slip.
Arthur rolled his eyes while Ivan chuckled. Nils barely heard the low “Around six and a half feet” over a rumble of bass from the Asian guy.
“Anyway, Ivan, this guy, er - “
“Nils,” he supplied.
“I’m Arthur by the way -” a tip of the head, “this guy Nils was asking about your pal, wasshis name again?”
“Kiku.”
“Yeah, him.”
Ivan fixed Nils with an intense stare. “I’ve seen you around a lot. With that loud guy,” he pointed over to Gilbert.
Nils resisted the urge to facepalm but let out a frustrated sigh anyway. He was saved from having to reply by an elbow to the ribs from Arthur (another one of these guys?! crossed his mind).
“This is my favorite part,” Arthur hissed.
The performer - Kiku, Nils amended - unsheathed what looked like a real, legitimate samurai sword, yanked the mic down to the running motor, and proceeded to grind the sword into the whole mess. A horrendous shrieking was soon amplified, looped, and distorted; it was a truly terrible sound that bounced off of the empty walls, concrete floors, and into one’s chest.
The three of them watched and shivered, enraptured.
---
Afterward Elizabeta and Kiku were going through her camera, looking at pictures of the show and chattering on in the way that suggested they had known each other a while.
Ludwig walked up and greeted Eliza softly. She smiled at him brightly and introduced her two friends to one another. All three debated the merits of digital SLR’s for a bit and bonded over sharing the secret of not caring that Polaroids no longer existed: Eliza thought them wasteful, Ludwig frivolous and expensive, and Kiku simply liked digital in any format better.
“Hey, guys, Tina’s calling me - catch ya later - “ and she left the two of them to themselves.
They stood there a moment before Ludwig said “You know, the museum is having a special exhibition of black-and-white architectural photographs.”
“I had heard of this,” Kiku politely replied.
“Well, I’m in the architecture program at the University, and since you’re interested in photography,” he paused, not sure how to go on, and Kiku shifted a little, “er, would you want to attend with me?”
Kiku smiled softly. “That sounds okay.”
---
“Whoa, it’s weird to see girls at noise stuff like this!”
Natalia looked up from her discussion with Eirik and Tina about tonight’s show. A really pale guy in all black was addressing her.
“Excuse me?!” Tina crossed her arms and scowled defiantly at him. “What do you think I am, Gil?”
“Heh, I mean...” he gestured around the room. “There are only three girls here. And I dunno if Eliza counts.”
“Eliza! Get over here!” she called. “We’ve got a chauvanist pig to stuff.”
“Anyway, I’m Gilbert,” he said to Natalia, and flashed a roughish smile. “And you are?”
She gave him a very flat look; that smile hardly flickered. “Natalia.”
“Yeah, so Natalia, you like anything other than noise?”
Her look plainly read “are you a fucking idiot?”
“That’s where you’re supposed to talk about the genres you like,” Gilbert pointed at her and huffed.
She sniffed. “I don’t really care what you think about what I listen to, and I sure as hell don’t want to hear about yours.”
“Aw, I just wanted to say you should check out my band! Hjortdonner!”
“Nice name.”
The sarcasm sailed right over his head. “I know, right!? It’s the name of this super badass deer head we have in our living room. My rooms, Nils, helped name it - he’s that scrawny guy over there -” he pointed, Natalia looked only slightly more interested than normal. “The pretty one, he kind of looks like a girl. Anyway, we’re like, punkish kraut-noise - come check us out.”
---
Eirik was glaring something fierce at the obnoxious freak standing way too close to his pal.
Tina giggled. “I think it’s cute, Eirik.”
He scowled. “That guy’s a loud weirdo. Natalia’s a sophisticated woman. It’s not cute.”
An arm was looped around his shoulders and that girl who lived here leered at him. “Got a crush, little man?”
He sighed. “No. Could you please stop hanging all over me? You’re worse than that guy.”
That got her off immediately. He looked over. “Thank you. I’m Eirik by the way.”
“Elizabeta. I take it we both know Tina then.”
“Yep,” the girl in question interjected for them. “He’s the little freshman at the University I told you about. That’s into performance art? You should let him do something here, Eliza.”
---
Berwald and Jens were having a quiet discussion about the website of the bar Berwald worked at when Mathias came up and shattered it with a loud, drunken “You two! Gallery hop Friday! You guys can pick up art, I can pick up girls, we can all get smashed on free wine. And the tattoo parlor on 5th is having an open studio kinda thing, so we can watch people get stabbed with needles repeatedly.”
“I don’ work Fr’day,” Berwald shrugged to Jens.
Jens nodded his agreement, so Mathias rambled on some more about how they should invite “the gang” and make a night of it before talking about the evening’s show and how they were “dumbasses” if they didn’t like it.
They just let him be, used to it by now.
---
Jens looked over at the laughing man across the table. “Why do we know him again?” he asked Alonzo, sitting right beside him.
Alonzo snapped a few pictures. “He’s entertaining. And girls love him. Makes for great party pics.”
“Yeah, but -” Jens looked again. Sadiq was wearing a fucking mask that covered the upper portion of his face for no reason other than because he could. And then he had thrown some feathers in the mix (and into his hair) for good measure. He already had some crazy piercings and Jens thought the whole thing looked odd.
“He makes it work,” Francis interjected.
Berwald grunted a reluctant agreement. On the other side of the table Mathias, Heracles, and Sadiq were embroiled in a heated debate over whether Peaches Geldof was hot or not.
The four looked over to the debating trio. “Francis, you just switch with Mathias and we’ll have the most oversexed group in the city, right there,” Alonzo said out of nowhere.
“Hey!” Sadiq cut in. “That guy -” he pointed to Alanzo “- gets laid way more than I do. Got a fuckin’ ‘party blog’, what kind of shit job is that?”
“A great one,” Alonzo flippantly replied.
Sadiq flipped him off before continuing.
“Yeah, all ya do is surround yourself with babes and take pictures of ‘em. And then get your web-designer friend to post pictures of ‘em. And somehow you make money. Fuck you. Some people have to work, here.”
“Sadiq, you work in a bookstore and spend the entire time writing nutjob poetry.”
“Heracles I can see,” Francis said to Jens, “but I don’t know about my inclusion. Do you really think I get around that much?” The entire table gave him a flat look.
“Y’ve got th’ advantage of bein’ bisexual,” Berwald pointed out.
Sadiq laughed and spilled his drink while throwing his arm toward Berwald. “You’re gay, aren’t you supposed to be gettin’ tail like no one’s business? Thought that’s how the gays rolled.” He picked up his bottle, drew a hand through the beer on the table, and shook it out all over Mathias who whacked him upside the head in retaliation.
“He probably does,” Heracles lazily agreed. “Good at keeping a low profile, I guess?”
Berwald shifted in his seat. “Been single fer a’while.”
“High five!” Mathias shot at him.
Berwald stuck his arm up, but let out a “Not r’ly.”
Alonzo clapped him on the back. “You’re 21, my man. Get around a little!”
Berwald just shrugged.
“Okay, back to the original discussion ya dipshits,” Sadiq shouted. “Francis,” he pointed, “you’re saying ya don’t sleep with someone new every week.”
Francis huffed and leaned back in his seat, supporting his elbow with his other hand. “No, do you think I’m a freshman in college, darling?”
“So then,” Alanzo smirked, “you like that Antonio guy a lot, huh?”
“He’s nice,” Francis agreed, tapping his bottle against the table, “though a bit uncultured.”
Mathias snorted. “I regret to inform you that you routinely hang out with the likes of us.” This earned a round of laughter from the table and a high-five from Sadiq.
“So is he your boyfriend?” Heracles asked.
Francis merely shrugged. “We haven’t discussed it.”
Mathias elbowed Sadiq; Sadiq threw a balled-up napkin at Francis and asked where Elizabeta was. “That woman is a badass,” was his only response to Alonzo’s laughing inquiry as to why it mattered.
“Three guesses: Arthur, Kiku, or Ludwig.”
“Ludwig?” Jens inquired.
Francis tilted his head toward him. “Just a university kid she’s taken a liking to.” There was a mutter from somewhere about how impossible it was that Francis knew so many people.
“And where’s your little lackey?” Mathias asked. Jens sighed.
“Roderich, you mean?” Francis asked.
“Yep, that one. Prissy shy one?”
“He has his own life you know. You just want to make the poor man as uncomfortable as utterly possible, anyway.”
“I like Roderich just fine,” Jens interruped under his breath, placing his head in his hand.
“Whoopie,” Sadiq twirled a finger, “the prissy dude. Get Eliza here, man.”
“Yeah,” Alonzo agreed.
“Okay, okay,” Francis dug out his phone, “but surely you know by now that none of you are likely to get in her pants.”
---
Antonio hit the sidewalk hard. Alfred laughed from his perch atop the half-pipe and moved his skateboard around with one foot. Gilbert yanked on a rollerblade and yelled “You’re getting rusty, old man! If you came to the skate park with us more often we wouldn’t have to laugh at your sorry ass every three minutes.”
Antonio smiled from the ground and laughingly replied “At least I don’t rollerblade!”
Alfred joined in “Yeah, better a terrible skateboarder than a great rollerblader,” and stuck his tongue out at Gilbert. He slid his oversize glasses up his sweaty nose and dropped down.
Gilbert frowned. “Ugh, fuck you guys.”
---
---
A/N:
Quick sketch of Feliks in his RHPS garb: http://i38.tinypic.com/2pq6yjd.jpg
Roderich’s glasses I imagine to be like these, but with a navy gradient instead of brown (remove the spaces!):
http:// www.framesdirect.com/ framesfp/ Burberry-tdoiqj/r.html
And Francis. He knows eeeeveryone.