When Gilbert arrived at Roderich's Viennese estate that damp morning, he had not been greeted by the sounds of Mozart and Schubert as he had come to expect. The sounds he heard as he strolled up the gravel pathway could not be considered music at all, the noises had definitely come from a piano, but it sounded more like a cat running across the keys rather than the soothing notes that came from beneath Roderich's trained hands.
Gilbert didn't bother to knock before entering, what was the point ? No one would hear him over the racket. Perhaps Roderich would scold him for barging in, but he couldn't be expected to wait outside, not with the clouds darkening, bringing with them a promise of rain.
Stepping over the threshold, he kicked off his boots, but it didn't seem like it mattered because the carpet lining the hall was stained with muddy child sized footprints. It struck him as odd, long past were the days when Roderich had a charge, and he was just not the type of man that would tolerate such filth.
Seeking out the source of the noise, he followed the footprints through the otherwise immaculate home, eventually being led to the music room.
There at the piano sat a white haired child with braids and a cowlick that looked very much like Roderich's, swinging his legs as he smashed at the keys.
Across the room in an armchair sat Roderich himself, his head between his knees as he held a tight grip on his hair. Walking towards him, Gilbert could see that his clothes were wrinkled and in desperate need of an ironing, not a state in which he'd usually allow himself to be seen.
Roderich raised his head when he sensed Gilbert's presence, and instead of reprimanding him for the intrusion, he smiled.
It was definitely sleep deprivation, Gilbert thought, noting the bags beneath Roderich's eyes.
"So who is the little one ?" Gilbert asked, throwing a hand over his shoulder towards the child.
"Republik Kugelmugel, a micronation." Gilbert's eyes widened at that, but he didn't interrupt, no he wanted to hear this out. "His founder, Edwin Lipburger is an artist who decided to build a spherical home, hence the name. The building went against planning regulations, so naturally it was set to be demolished, and in retaliation declared it a republic." Roderich's voice began to rise along with the absurdity of his story. "And he had the audacity to proclaim himself president, and began issuing passports and printing stamps. Now he's been imprisoned and I'm stuck with this hellion." He gestured toward Kugelmugel, who still sat at the piano, abusing the keys.
Gilbert perched himself on the arm rest of Roderich's chair, coming dangerously close to falling onto the other man's lap, but he balanced himself by flinging an arm around Roderich's neck - much to his annoyance. "Great story Roderich, really it is, but are you sure he's a he ? I mean there was that whole business with Feli."
"And I seem to recall you had the same problem with Elizabeta." Roderich smirked, clearly having won that argument as evidenced by Gilbert's whispered cursing. "And he is most definitely a he, he goes by Christoph."
Attempting to divert attention from himself Gilbert quickly directed the conversation towards the third party in the room. Practically leaping from Roderich's side, he made his way towards Christoph. "So have you been raising hell kid ?" Gilbert chuckled, ruffling that long white hair that seemed so much like a combination of Roderich's and his own.
Christoph ceased his playing (if it could even be called that) and spun around on the his stool to face Gilbert. The boy frowned, he didn't feel as though he'd done anything wrong, he was just trying to create something beautiful. "I wasn't being bad, I was being creative."
Gilbert had to laugh at that, this boy was definitely taking after Roderich, even if the musical talent didn't quite match.
"And running through the gardens, cutting the topiaries into spheres passes for art nowadays ?" Roderich threw his eyes to the ceiling, the child been nothing but trouble since his boss had placed him under his care. At first he'd been overjoyed at the prospect, a child with common interests that could have become like a son to him. But now he was thinking that perhaps he was out of his depth with such an eccentric child. He didn't even have Elizabeta to assist him this time like he had so long ago, she'd been off on diplomatic duties since before Christoph had arrived. He never thought to call Gilbert, but now seeing him so affectionate towards the boy, he couldn't help but chastise himself for neglecting to do so. After all, hadn't he been the one to raise Ludwig ?
"I was making them look like home."
And with that one simple sentence Roderich felt overwhelmed with guilt, the future of the home that Christoph so desperately wanted to recreate was in jeopardy. Struggling to think of a reply to such a sad statement, Roderich tugged at his collar, biding his time as he racked his brain for a new topic of discussion. Fortunately Gilbert stepped in.
"So did Roderich here show you all the fancy artwork he owns ?" Gilbert asked, picking the child up and placing him on his shoulders. There was an affirmative nod. "Did he tell you that there used to be a kid that lived here, who would draw moustaches on the portraits ?"
Roderich watched as Gilbert made his way out of the room, Christoph on his shoulders discussing the ethics of altering someone else's art, and he though that, perhaps with Gilbert's assistance, this new addition to his life might be a welcome one.