The soft and sweet notes of the silver instrument drifted through the room. Graceful fingers pressed down on the keys, bending the sounds to the older man's will. His eyes remained closed as he blew the air and life force of the music through the flute. Crimson eyes watched him from afar. Their albino owner spectated the mini concert with his chin against his palm while his elbow rested on his knee.
Letting the flute fall, the older man opened his eyes to his audience's response. He slanted his lips at the silence before approaching the albino. Shoving the flute into his hands, he pulled the albino up to stand.
"Fritz!" the albino protested. "I'm not going to play some sissy instrument."
Fritz, better known as Friedrich II, clicked his tongue. "A cultured man embraces the arts. It's not "sissy"," he scolded. "Now, Gilbert-"
The moment Fritz started to set Gilbert's fingers to the keys, he jerked away, letting the instrument fall to the ground with a sharp clatter. Friedrich winced before kneeling down to pick up the discarded music maker. "I don't need your culture," Gilbert growled.
Standing, Friedrich quirked a brow. "Then what? You'll fight for the rest of your life?"
"Ja!" Gilbert agreed. "I'm the great and awe-inspiring-"
"But that was when I ruled the world," Chris Martin sang, cutting into the dream to wake the albino up. He groaned before rolling over, burying his face into his pillow. Blindly, he fumbled around, hand slapping the surface of his night stand before it finally collided with the snooze button on his alarm clock. He let his hand fall and for another minute or two he laid in the silence until the song started up again. Gilbert grumbled to himself before rolling over, purposely throwing himself to the floor with a thud. Tangled in the sheets, he sat up with a yawn. He reached up, attempting to use his night stand as a balance.
His hand brushed against a cold metal. He knitted his brows together before tugging the object down to his level. The chain of the necklace knotted in his fingers allowing the black cross pendant to dangle in the air. Upon seeing it, Gilbert instantly knew what it was; he even remembered the one his grandfather owned, a German Iron Cross. He knew this one was not his Grandfather Beilschmidt's thought. His father kept that one. No, it was not the family heirloom, but it did feel familiar to him. Capriciously, he slipped the chain over his head.
On the air, the radio broadcaster announced the recent news and weather. By the sounds of it, the weekend would be filled with sunshine. Gilbert had no desire to miss out on something like that. He turned his alarm clock off all together before searching for a clean change of clothes. He found a pair of jeans hanging out of his dresser along with a black T-shirt with the black, red, and gold of the German flag plastered on the center of it. Once he had on a pair of white socks, he stumbled down the stairs.
"Morgen!" Gilbert called as he entered the kitchen. He tugged the bread out of the bread box on the counter before popping two slices into the toaster. While waiting on them, he grabbed the butter from the fridge and a butter knife from a drawer.
"You're up surprisingly early," his father, a long blonde haired man with a steely gaze, commented. "Doesn't summer vacation last until the end of next week?" One could be sure that Sigismund Beilschmidt was counting down the days.
"Ja," Gilbert confirmed as his toast jumped out of the toaster. He tore a napkin or two for himself and he used them to pull out his breakfast. "But it's not awesome to sleep in," he told his father this as if it was ridiculously obvious.
A pair of feet could be heard as another body made its way into the kitchen. Gilbert swore he heard said person and his father roll their eyes at the previous statement.
"Morning Luddy~" the albino called to the blonde who had joined them. He must have just now woken up as Ludwig had failed to slick back his bangs. The youngest German sighed, running a hand through the untamed locks. With them slicked back, he became the spitting image of their father, his hair simply cut shorter. They soon fell back against this forehead though.
"Gilbert…" Ludwig grumbled, not bothering to explain hat he was correcting him on. He loathed the nickname, or at least he claimed he did. Gilbert suspected otherwise.
The older brother held up a finger, requesting his brother wait a moment for his reply. He felt his one pocket vibrate as he received a text. He pulled his phone out then, clamping his breakfast between his teeth. Grinning, Gilbert hammered a reply out against his phone keyboard. He pocketed it before taking a bite of his toast. "Hold that thought. Franny calls," he mumbled through a mouthful of breadcrumbs.
Like a jackrabbit, Gilbert bound for the front door. "Gilbert, wait!" Sigismund shouted.
"Was?" Gilbert whined. "Was ist das?"
"I could do without the attitude." His father growled. "Where are you going?"
"Out!" The statement was punctuated by the slamming of the front door. Mr. Beilschmidt sighed.
As had been predicted, the morning sun shone brightly, bringing life and heat to the world. A car or two buzzed past Gilbert as he strolled down the street. He spotted the neighbor children playing outside on their swing set and he waved. Excitedly, they shouted "hello"s back at him. He chuckled as he continued on his way.
Glancing ahead, Gilbert spotted an overly dressed and out of place brunette. It would not be too much of a stretch to say that he was rich given the very make of the clothing, the nicely pressed and buttoned white long sleeve shirt, the black suit jacket, matching slacks, and a tie, that and Gilbert knew him personally.
The brunette paused at the corner, reading over a street sign so that he would have some idea of where he was. Regardless though, he probably would not have much luck navigating himself to where he needed to be. His sense of direction was what had landed him in this part of town in the first place.
"Oi! Little Master!" Gilbert shouted as he approached him. The heir of the Edelstein family turned to look, instinctively doing so despite having never heard Gilbert utter the nickname before. "Lost again?" were the next few words to pour out of the albino's mouth.
Although the truth was painfully obvious, Roderich shook his head. "No… I merely decided to go for a walk."
Smirking, Gilbert nodded. "I'm sure you did. Who doesn't want to go for a walk in eighty degree weather in a suit?" His expression shifted as he quirked a questioning brow. "Don't you have a chauffeur for this type of thing?"
Roderich grew silent instantly and frowned. His eyes darted to the side behind his spectacles. "I do," he agreed, voice barely above a whisper.
Gilbert mirrored his expression. "How are things with your old man?" he asked. He foresaw their current relations being related to Roderich's "sudden" urge to wonder across town.
Roderich let a bitter snort pass through his nostrils. He closed his eyes. "Should I deem that question with an answer?" he asked as his nearly violet blue eyes opened.
Despite it being rhetorical in nature, Gilbert shook his head. Of course he had been right; he usually was.
After a short pause, the albino grinned again. "So, Little Master, where are you supposed to be?"
Roderich sighed, defeated. "The school auditorium, it was rented out for the recital this afternoon." While Roderich was self-taught, he could do shows through the school and it looked better on them to have the virtuoso. He simply wanted somewhere to have the freedom to play. Having compromised with his father, Roderich could play with them provided he no longer made a skeptical of himself. God forbid he shame the Edelstein name by being himself.
A bout of laughter escaped from Gilbert's lips. "You're a long way from the school. I'm headed that way though."
Lacing his fingers between neck and collar, Roderich tried to allow air to seep between his skin and the roasting ebony suit. He gaped as he found his other hand being taken before Gilbert dragged him along. After many loud protests, Gilbert released him, settling for walking in front of him. He slipped his hands into his pockets, muttering to himself as he led the way.
"Hey!" a girl with long honey brown hair shouted from the door. She flagged them over with a frantic wave. "Roderich, I was just about to go looking for you."
"Nah, I found him." Gilbert glanced at Roderich. "You're welcome, Roddy."
The musician huffed, grumbling his "thank you" under his breath. He entered the school through the side door and turned a simple right into the orchestra room. After saying her goodbye to Gilbert, Elizabeta joined him. A young blonde woman strolled through the room, high heels clopping against the carpet. She weaved between children, helping them as they practiced for the last time. Knowing better than to correct Roderich considering she was not the actual teacher, but his assistant, she left him to his work. Elizabeta watched from afar.
Poising his fingers on the keys, Roderich began tickling the ivories in a few simple scales to warm up. His movements were light and his fingers never strayed too far from the appropriate keys. He played with those notes for a short time, practicing techniques before he would start his two pieces. For his selection, he had picked a piece from Mozart and one from Beethoven. They would not be the familiar "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" or "Ode to Joy". He had left those two to the children. Instead, he had chosen ones of much more refinement and prestige.
First though, Roderich would prefer to play the song that ran ramped through his head. He closed his eyes, pausing to visualize what fingerings matched the notes in his mind. When he opened them, he had begun to coax the melody out of the piano. He bent the music to his will much like a wizard would magic. It was enchanting and several other musicians stopped to listen. As the last note rang out, so did his applause.
Rough hands clapped loudly from behind him and Roderich turned to see a tall, older gentleman with half moon spectacles and thinning salt and pepper hair. "Bravo," he complimented. "I didn't know you were a fan of Chopin."
Baffled, Roderich shook his head at the teacher. "I haven't ever read any sheet music for any of his works."
"Your performance was flawless. You had to of, unless you managed that all by ear," the teacher replied, skeptical that he was hearing the whole truth.
"I really haven't," he muttered. Roderich was not even sure when he had last heard anything by Chopin, let alone had he listened long enough to memorize a piece and play it flawlessly. His fingers simply knew how to play.
"You could always play that for your performance."
Despite the suggestion though, Roderich would stay with his choices. Thinking on his playing from before, he remembered seeing himself else where, in a fine music room with sleek wood floors and beautiful white walls that paled in comparison to the grand piano he played at. It was all so familiar, yet at the same time he had no desire to ever see it again. He knew it all, the room, the music, but the knowledge startled him, stirring up a mixture of emotions. Roderich had to forget it for now, ignore it and focus on the show that afternoon where he would have one spectator whom he actually knew, which was better than nothing.
Translation Notes:
Ja! - Yes!
Morgen! - Morning!
Was? ... Was ist das? - What? What is it?
Authors' Notes:
BlackWindButterfly here with the first chapter of our first collaboration fanfiction. It took me a little longer than I would have liked to write this one, but I think it turned out pretty well. The final verdict lies with you as the reader though. For future warnings and such, this fanfiction will take some time to focus on people other than Roderich and Gilbert so don't think you won't be seeing more countries every now and then. I will not be revealing pairings or anything though as those will come with time.
Now, as I usually do, I'm going to comment on a few things and clear up anything that may have seemed odd within the boundaries of what I can reveal of the story line. First off, the song that cuts into Gilbert's dream is "Viva La Vida" by Coldplay. I couldn't help putting it there; it all seemed too perfect. Sigismund Beilschmidt is Germania, for those of you who haven't guessed. My associate and I agreed on the name. Yes, I did take it from a Holy Roman emperor, but it is an older German name. A majority of the characters who have relatives, such as Roderich's father, will likely not actually be country or anyone relevant in their history, if they are, we will specify.
Whelp, that's about it for these notes. I'll pass the buck off so next time when you read it will be xxxTheAsianCasanovaxxx 's writing that you will be reading. We hope you enjoy.