[ Antonio usually does not drink for this reason, this cold grasp of melancholy. He usually does not need help to loosen his spirits. Currently however, he finds himself in a busy bar, half-full beer in his hands, half-empty smile on the contours of his face. If he closes his eyes, he feels it - the madness, the power, the blood brimming along and ( Read more... )

ffff
( Read more... )

[ Spain adjusts his apron with one hand, tossing a freshly picked tomato up and down, idly, with the other - careful not to bruise the skin or harm the poor fruitvegitable in any way, of course. ]

Ai, France~! [ A laugh, and Spain kisses the tomato with a cook's special flourish ] We have not done this together in a long while, si?

THE HAIRCUT;
( Read more... )

( Read more... )