1914- London, England
Arthur Kirkland walked down the street, his stride brisk and quick. He had, after all, a mission. After a few minutes of walking through the rainy streets, he turned left, into a small office tucked between a pub and a low-class restaurant. A bell jingled as the door was opened.
The woman behind the desk greeted him cordially, and the procedure continued as normal.
"Name?"
"Arthur Kirkland."
"Age?"
"Se- Eighteen," Arthur stumbled a bit over his words, hoping that the woman wouldn't catch the slip. She gave him a look, but then wrote down the number anyway and didn't ask any questions.
"Any medical information we should be aware of?"
"None, ma'am."
"Very well." The woman slammed a stamp onto the paper (with a little more force than necessary, thought Arthur). "Take this, then proceed into the back room for a more thorough medical assessment and vaccinations," she said, handing him the paper.
"Yes. Thank you, ma'am."
The woman snorted as she watched Arthur vanish through the curtains into the back room. "Waste of good flesh, if y'ask me," she muttered.
Minutes later the bell jingled again.
1914- Paris, France
Francis Bonnefoy, Alsacian turned Parisian, strolled leisurely through the narrow alleyways of what was in his opinion the most beautiful city on earth. He breathed in deeply, relishing the scent of- no, sewer was not the scent he'd been looking for. Moving on.
Only stopping to casually wink in the direction of a few pretty-looking girls, Francis meandered through downtown Paris. Finding the correct street, he walked confidently into the office, and unfailing took his hat off in a flashing sweep directed at the young girl behind the desk. She tried her best not to look amused, but Francis knew the signs. He winked at her, and added a small smile just for extra effect.
She blushed slightly and looked down before quickly pulling out a sheaf of papers and handing them to him. "Si'l vous plaît," she said softly.
"Pour une aussi belle que vous, tout," Francis responded, sweeping up the papers and walking to one of the waiting chairs to fill them out. It took him about ten minutes. His flowery script covered the pages he handed to the young girl, who gave them barely more than a cursory look before stamping her approval. Francis broadened his grin.
"Peut-être que nous verrons plus tard," he said softly, sauntering through the door into the back wing of the building. He could have sworn he heard a giggle escape those soft pink lips. Yes, they would definitely be seeing each other later. That was decided.
1914- Berlin, German Empire
Gilbert Beilschmidt sometimes had trouble accepting facts. Not always (the fact that he was awesome was easy enough to accept), just sometimes. Like when it involved the fact that his younger brother was going to sign up for the army as well.
Alright, to be fair- Ludwig wasn't Gilbert's natural brother. In fact, Ludwig didn't even know his own last name (he just used Beilschmidt to make things easier). Gilbert and his adopted father, Ewald, had found the young blond alone and confused on the streets. Gilbert, exhibiting a rare show of compassion, immediately started caring for him. In the end, Ewald relented and took him in.
Since then the two had been practically inseparable and, much to Gilbert's dismay, the trend would continue as they went off to war together. Ludwig had made up his mind, and that was final.
That didn't mean Gilbert couldn't try to stop it.
"Ludi..." Gilbert heard a sigh from the taller blond.
"Was, bruder?"
"Warum machst du das? Würdest du nicht lieber zu Hause bleiben?"
"Gilbert." Gilbert gulped. When Ludwig called his full name, that was never a good sign. "Ich hab' mich schon entschieden. Ich komm' mit dir, Schluss und Punkt." He then sped up a little, forcing Gilbert to break into a jog to catch up.
"Aber-"
"Schluss, bruder. Guck, wir sind shon da." The two brothers walked together into the building. Gilbert signed down his name first, tried one last futile attempt to get Ludwig to change his mind, and then watched unhappily as Ludwig, too, signed down his name.
According to the man behind the desk, formal training would start in one week.
O.O.O.O.O.O
Translation notes: ((I really wanted to get the feel of this fic going, so I have all the characters speaking in their native languages! I understand that this can be a little annoying at times, but please bear with me- it won't last too long! Also, I am new at French and still learning German, so if there's any mistakes please don't hesitate to point them out! Thank you!))
Alsacian- referring to Alsace, a region of modern-day France that repeatedly switched from being French to being German to French to German territory until the end of WWII.
Si'l vous plaît- Please.
Pour une aussi belle que vous, tout- For one so beautiful as you, everything.
Peut-être que nous verrons plus tard- Maybe we'll see each other later.
Was, bruder? - What, brother?
Warum machst du das? Würdest du nicht lieber zu Hause bleiben? - Why are you doing this? Wouldn't you rather stay at home?
Ich hab' mich schon entschieden. Ich komm' mit dir, Schluss und Punkt- I've already decided. I'm coming with you, end of story.
Aber- But-
Schluss, bruder. Guck, wir sind shon da- Enough, brother. Look, we're already there.
Ö.Ö.Ö.Ö.Ö.Ö
Author's Note timeeeee! Random idea I have here. As you can probably tell from the dates, this will deal with WWI... or the Great War, as it was then known. Please excuse any grammatical errors (actually, please correct them!) because... well long story short my English is starting to suck. I hope to have more of this out soon! Reviews make my day :)