The air was thick with the putrid stench of combustion. The gaze of the midday sun that was nestled a watery red sky pushed down the scattered blades of grass—it was as if the world around him was sprayed with blood, or he liked to think it was. He ignored the dirt on the ground and rolled from his back onto his belly in order to get a more comfortable reading position. His dress shirt and pants were already marked by the filthy ground, so he did not bother with keeping them clean.
Feliciano—or rather Luciano, as he was now called at this particular time lifted his feet into the air and began swing them idly, similar to a teenaged girl. His toes had been digging into the soft dirt when he had been lying on his back and were now caked with the mud-like dirt.
The sweltering heat oppressed all sounds apart from the turning of his pages. A sharp wind gusted and with it came an assortment of different smells—most of which were less than pleasant. Used to the smells, he did not even show acknowledgement of them as he turned to the next page of his book.
Feliciano did not look up at the approaching man until the man's shadow encompassed his face, "What is it now, Lutz?" He spat out the German words in such a way that it ripped all integrity from the language and left it as nothing but an uncouth utterance.
Lutz regarded him coolly, "You're upset."
Feliciano looked at Lutz for a short moment. Muscular build with scarred placed over his body, blue eyes that were tinged red (It could definitely be classed as a purple, but still held more blue than red), a rumbling voice that hinted towards a habit of smoking, and blonde hair that was only slicked back for important occasions—like it was now.
"What is it now Lutz?" Feliciano asked again with more emphasis than before.
"Luciano—Luci, it's time for the meeting." Feliciano knew that Lutz shortened his name it was because he needed to do something. This time it was to attend a meeting.
"Can't I just finish this chapter?" He turned the book so Lutz could see the cover and its title: Das Parfum.
Lutz raised his eyebrows a fraction, "You're reading in German now?"
Feliciano resisted the urge to scoff. He had been speaking German most of his life at this point. "The English translation, Perfume, stinks. I don't even know why I bought it in the first place." He switched to English, like how Lutz had been speaking.
"The meeting has already started." Lutz growled out.
"Alright, alright, no need to get your knickers in a bunch." Feliciano smirked at the unamused face Lutz was wearing.
With a groan, Feliciano stood up and wiped off what dirt he could. "Any chance I could get my uniform on?" He asked as he started to walk.
"You got dirty in the first place." Lutz pointed out.
"I'll just grab my jacket then. Someone else can clean it up for me when I get back home." Feliciano struggled just slightly to keep up with Lutz's pace. They must be late if even Lutz was worried about the time.
Feliciano's return to a state of waking was slow, as it usually was. He never could quite seem to get out of the daily occurrence of rolling over and going back to sleep until it was no longer an option. Often he stayed up late into the night and well into the early hours of the morning (a good portion of the time he managed to catch a glimpse of dawn before his fell asleep). His art was just too entrancing at times and he needed to finish his current project before he did anything else.
When he did finally open his eyes and rub the sleep out of them he saw his—or rather Ludwig's—bedroom; uncomfortably bare and with the continuous colour schemes of whites and creams. Through the curtains, he glimpsed a sliver of blue sky. The window was east facing and the sun was no longer visible. Immediately, he could safely conclude that it was a Sunday—the only day of the week Ludwig would allow him to sleep in on.
Eventually he managed to drag himself out of bed and was met with the scathing bite of winter, wonderful. It was at times like these he regretted his habit of sleeping in minimal clothing.
After managing to find some clothes he made his way down to the kitchen. Ludwig was not there anymore, but breakfast was sitting on the counter. A bit cold, but that would not cause any harm whatsoever. After a few moments Feliciano sat down to eat the cold food after toying with the idea of heating it up for a few moments before deciding against it out of sheer laziness.
He still had not seen nor heard Ludwig yet this morning so in a sleep addled voice he called out, "Good morning Luddy! "He heard Ludwig reply from the study, which was expected. The man was suck a stickler for schedules (Sunday mornings were always spent preparing for the upcoming week) and Ludwig would become agitated is he did not abide to him own self-set rules. Exceptions did exist to his schedule. Naturally, they usually involved Feliciano.
Feliciano entered the room and took a seat in the only chair available—an old armchair that had been placed there especially there for him. He eyed Ludwig critically for a moment. Lutz and Ludwig were similar, but they had many intrinsic differences.
Ludwig often held a look of careful nonchalance, while Lutz would be over-emotional and obviously fake. They both had issues with sorting through their emotions, but each one worked through them differently. If one knew them well enough, and Feliciano definitely did, it was highly possible to know exactly what they were feeling. For Ludwig his eyes gave the game away. For Lutz it was his mouth—often curled into a cynical smirk it was often easy to know his emotions when it differed from his usual act.
At times Feliciano felt as if Lutz was a more carefree version of Ludwig. However, with that carefree side also came the cruel bitter side that was the reason Feliciano feared Lutz slightly. At times, Lutz was sadistic and it was in those moments that Feliciano truly knew the man behind the mask.
Ludwig did not have a side like that, at least not the Feliciano knew of.
Ludwig looked up from his work as saw Feliciano staring at him with a pensive look. He cleared his throat to get Feliciano's attention.
Feliciano snapped out of his reverie and looked at Ludwig. He found it disgustingly easy to slip back into his happy-go-lucky attitude.
"Can we go out for lunch today?" He asked Ludwig
"Didn't we go yesterday?"
"We can go to a different place. There's a new restaurant near O-England's place." He hoped that Ludwig would think that the near slip was part of his accent despite the differentiation in the vowels and not him nearly saying Oliver's name. It was also a good thing that Ludwig did not know that Oliver even existed.
Ludwig sorted through a few more papers before replying, "I doubt eating anywhere near England would be a good idea."
"He's not that far from Big Brother France and he was the one that told me about it. Just because it's near Mr. England doesn't mean it's poisonous…" Well, at least in this world anyways. Oliver sure loved putting some interesting ingredients into his baked goods.
"I guess we can go." Ludwig acquiesced.
They walked to the small restaurant. Travelling was an interesting anomaly with the countries. They could walk, drive, or use any other form of transport and it would take them the amount of time they expected it to be to get there.
Going along those guidelines it took only about fifteen minutes for Ludwig and Feliciano to walk to the restaurant. Most of which involved Feliciano distracting himself with one thing or another and Ludwig ushering him away because they were supposed to be eating an early lunch, not an early dinner.
It was almost odd seeing Oliver's café as a restaurant. Colours that are more mundane replace the gaudy pastels—a change Feliciano definitely agrees with—and the atmosphere of the place just felt too unnatural without the psychopathic cheer that usually emanated from Arthur.
The cooks were still the same though, and it was the main reason why he even decided to come here. Francis had never been here and he had only told that to Ludwig in order to get him to agree. Recently he had been craving a good meal. What he had not been craving was Oliver's company. The man just kept pestering him while he ate, however, Pestering Oliver on Feliciano's own terms was a different ball game.
An unknown waiter seated them and they ordered after perusing their menus for a short while.
The event of lunch did not stand out too much to Feliciano. It was good and Ludwig enjoyed the meal. He did make a mental note to try baking again and hope it did not turn out as bad as last time. Following instructions was never his strong suit.
They had paid, or rather, Ludwig did. Feliciano paid more attention to the sheer amount of baked goods the restaurant had to offer, none of them would live up to Oliver's cupcakes, that is, if they were not poisoned.
The journey home was significantly shorter. Feliciano managed to talk Ludwig's ear off and by the time they had gotten home Ludwig was annoyed with eh Italian. The evening ended up with Ludwig snapping just slightly at Feliciano before immediately showing remorse.
It was a good thing that Feliciano was quick to forgive, usually.
Feliciano really did hate waking up early. This time when he rolled over, he fell out of the bed and cursed the inanimate object into oblivion. He slept on different sides on the bed in both worlds so some confusion could be mandated. It did however; give a new meaning to the saying 'waking up on the wrong side of the bed'. It also meant that waking up on the wrong side of the bed caused bruises, and often.
He looked over his shoulder and saw Lutz bathed in the red light of the morning sky. It still shocked him how Lutz could sleep in even more than he did at times. It was Sunday in the other world, which meant it was not Sunday here. He could not bother Luz for good few hours and he had time to kill
Haphazardly he threw on some clothes, relishing the mild winters that this cesspool of a world experienced. Feliciano went to the kitchen to make breakfast. This consisted of leftover pasta and a copious amount of coffee, the one good thing that this place had to offer.
It was a spur of a moment decision that was partially fuelled by the fact that he had visited the site of Oliver's café the previous day—or rather the same day in a different world—when he decided to visit Oliver. The man was too cheery for his own good, and rather fun to rile up.
The two worlds were so different yet still the same. Every single country was represented in both worlds and held a similar purpose: To represent their people. The first world was bright and colourful and held all the good while the second world was tainted by blood and pain and hid the cruelty from the first. Both of these worlds exist in tandem. For it is impossible for good to exist without bad.