Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, or The song title Bullets with butterfly wings by Smashing Pumpkins. YAY for revisions! *shot*
Act One
Matthew Williams
Scene .i
1811, London, England
Matthew was awed by London. He watched as the people rushed by him. He had just gotten away from his family's estate and it was the first time since he got off the boats from Canada less than three days ago.
Thinking about it, his Montréal paled in comparison to London, the aura of the city itself was different. Matthew could see the effects of the industrial revolution on the city. Montreal was a small town compared to London. Despite being used to traveling (he often visited his extended family the Jones, in New-York and this wasn't his first visit to Great British Isle) he couldn't help but want to wander around London. Being older now, he could do so on his own and stay out later than he ever had before.
Matthew Williams would surprise people when asked for his age. Him being eighteen years old he still had his soft, boyish features from childhood. His gold coloured hair framed his face, the hair unusually clean and attractive enough so to make his mother cry of happiness and his female peers rage with jealousy.
Matthew's family were influential Canadian diplomats for the Common Wealth. Mr. Williams worked for the Canadian Dominion; while Mrs. Williams upheld respectful English manners (as if to spite them because of her French origins). Demonstrating that even people from the colonies could be just as respectful the English. This was of some importance as the English were still iffy since the Canadian's southern neighbours declared independence just a few years ago.
Matthew sighed at the thought of the revolution. His father had made him study it thoroughly; explaining everything and every loophole within the so-called declaration of freedom (the one Al kept making allusions towards in the regular letters they've been exchanging more out of duty rather than friendship). Alfred Jones was... an interesting character. Lately he doesn't refer to Matthew by name; deciding that "tory" was a lot more appropriate for his Canadian relative.
The Canadian clicked his tongue. What an idiot. Those damn Yankees were just being selfish. They were the ones who betrayed mother England...
Matthew kicked a stray pebble. The city, in all honesty, stank. He had forgotten about the smell since his last visit to England, but even then they were staying out in Canterbury which was more country than city. The umbrella leaned on his shoulder, covering the Canadian's head from something a lot more terrifying than English rain. Matthew was confused when his mother gave him a long coat as well as an umbrella and hat.
"It won't rain tonight will it?"
"Seulement si on est chanceux! No, sadly, I don't think. But be sure to avoid walls and don't look up, d'accord Mathieu?"
The unlucky soul walking in front of him had shown him why, Matthew recoiled as the sickening substance fell on the man's shoulder (the man –surprising Matthew– was hardly phased).
Merci Maman, Matthew thought. The umbrella will be of great use to me in this city.
Despite London awe worthiness, Matthew appreciated the wide terrain of his homeland that allowed for out-houses, that were kept away from main attractions and allowed his city to be cleaner than this city. The industrialized city scarred and impressed the Canadian at the same time. He still couldn't help but feel slightly homesick. The travel time to London already separated Matthew from his home for a few weeks.
Nearly bumping into someone, he apologized but they continued on with their business. He sighed a bit, his stomach growled at him. Matthew decided there was time for drink and food. He watched as his shadow moved past behind him as he walked under a lamplight.
Scene .ii
Miria's Cafe
He patted his pocket, inside was the spending money his father had insisted Matthew take with him. A nice looking cafe caught his eye. Wondering how the food would compare to home, he stepped inside.
The first thing he did was take a deep breath. The scent the cafe gave was miraculous compared to outside. A sweet aroma, it smelt like roses –and there it was, vases filled with the flower decorated the tables.
This immediately placed him into a better mood. A smile on his lips, he waited since the lady in charge told him to wait where he was. The blond woman shared a small smile with him when she walked up to him, her dress simple for serving but still elegant, showed that she had some class.
She walked him to an occupied table. "I'm sorry sirs; we are rather filled up today." She paused, allowing the two gentlemen to exchange glances. "I hope this doesn't bother either of you two dearies?"
The woman was older than Matthew, about 10 years or so. She meant dearies when she looked at him, not so much to the man already sitting. But the seated man smiled anyway.
"I do not mind. I enjoy the company."
Matthew noted the man's accent, but nodded in agreement.
"Yes I do not mind. Please, you must be busy, don't worry. I'm not in a rush."
With Matthew's request the three of them realized the irony of seating two foreigners together (the woman was taken aback by the Canadian's manners).
"Thank you dear; I'll be by in a bit to take your order. What would you like to drink for now?"
"Some ale should be fine." Mama told me I would look foolish if I ordered water in London, and I'm not up for tea. (Matthew held back a chuckle. In the back of his head he could hear his childhood friend demand what the Canadian meant that he wasn't "up for tea"?)
The woman winked at him. "Good choice, I'll be back in a few moments," she turned to the other man, "I'm sorry for the wait sir. The vodka is a hard thing to reach, and the staff 'are busy."
"That's fine." He smiled at her. She got chills down her spine and made her to the back, calling a young busboy for aide.
Matthew stood there staring at the woman's hassling form, until the seated man spoke.
"Well sit. It is your table as well, da?"
The Canadian nodded and sat himself down opposite to the man (Matthew blushed slightly embarrassed. It was a bad habit of his to zone out as he just did). The table, Matthew realized, was big enough only for two, so the woman wouldn't be bringing anyone else. Matthew felt the man's eyes on him as he scanned the room. It was strange, Matthew thought, he felt that he would be devoured by the man's stare.
"May I inquire where you're from? I believe you have a different accent from these." He raised his arm to indicate the people in the cafe.
Matthew was rather reserved as a person. He didn't enjoy looking like a fool and had always thought himself as rather clever, but still the man's comment managed to irk his usually calm demeanour.
"I believe that you have an accent, as well." He stared at the man, "And you really shouldn't refer to people as "these" in the English language. It sounds rather... degrading."
The man laughed.
"Oh. I know."
Matthew found himself trying to hold back a glare. It was not often he found himself feeling angry.
The foreigner leaned on the table, the candlelight lite up his features. A strong face with a prominent nose, a strong jaw, good lips, and blond hair framed his head in a short cut. But it was the man's purple's eyes that caused Matthew to lean back into his chair, trying to regain his personal space.
"My name is Ivan Braginski. I am merchant from Russia."
Matthew felt belittled, now he was forced to say that he didn't have an occupation...
"My name is Williams. My father is a representative for the common wealth from Canada."
"I know, Matthew."
Matthew felt his eyes bulge out of his face. Shock was evident. A man he swore he had never met in life, (he never even met a Russian before) knew his name! For a split second it look like the Russian had let his tongue slip but the smile replaced it quickly.
"I am well acquainted with the politicians here in London. I saw you when you came down from the harbour. I was part of the...welcoming committee, as you say?"
Matthew thought back to three days ago. The sun was bright on the day they reached. They were lucky in their trip. The month went by quickly and the winds were fair. A few friends of Mr. Williams and their wives were there to welcome them. Arthur Kirkland, Matthew's childhood friend was there and the Canadian's attention had been on the Englishman for the rest of the day.
Even so, Matthew reasoned, there was no way he would have missed the Russian. The Canadian was rather observant, and he doubted anyone in their right mind would have missed this man. But that left just one option: the Russian was lying.
Ivan's smile seemed to widen, when Matthew came to this realization.
"...I didn't see you."
"I know."
Matthew glared at the man sitting across him. Now he was sure the Russian was playing him for a fool. But before the Canadian could press forward his glass of ale was placed down in front of him.
The woman smiled apologetically at the young man. Matthew inwardly cursed the woman. He couldn't help but know that she knew there was something off about this man. And she sat the poor unsuspecting Canadian at this table? Maudit de-mmmm... Matthew let out a sigh and smiled at the woman anyways.
"Here you go dearies! I knew we had some vodka lying about, just needed to find it."
She spoke to the Russian, a small smile tugging at her lips. He smiled up at her.
"Thank you for your hard work."
He then smiled into the drink. Matthew only heard of the infamous vodka. Nobody he knew drank it. His father once told him, there's drinking for the sake of drinking –then there is vodka. There is no stronger drink. Personally I don't see the point to drinking it. –Heavy and not very good.
The Russian took a long swing of his drink, while the Canadian took only a sip of the ale. It was good. The warmth the drink gave was welcomed. Matthew found himself taking another one, smiling into the drink as well, feeling his mood lift the slightest—
"Matthew what do you plan your future to be?"
—and the mood fell again. Matthew wondered when they had become familiar enough with each other to use first names.
"Well Mr. Braginski. I will probably follow my father's footsteps."
Ivan let out a low deep laugh.
"You, a politician? With that face?" His laughter continued.
Matthew's eyes narrowed. The Canadian knew that his face wasn't very suited and that he didn't look like the type to be a politician. Mais Seigneur! It wasn't a total stranger who would tell him that!
"For your information, I am doing very well in my studies. My father has taught me everything he knows and holds me in high regards. I attend many political events, and with great confidence I say that I will succeed in the field."
The smile gone so quickly that Matthew wondered if it was ever there to begin with. Matthew realized that he had been leaning towards the Russian and that his voice was steadily getting louder during his little rant. His face flushed from letting his anger get to him. Leaning back into his seat he took a deep gulp of his ale and shakily looked at the Russian.
"...Well it is your life, and I am a stranger, da? I shouldn't butt into your business."
Matthew nodded slightly. He watched quietly as Ivan took another swing of the vodka. He was getting annoyed. He had come into a cafe to relax, but instead knots began to form in his back and neck. He held back a sigh; this character was an enigma. An annoying enigma Matthew decided resolutely. But if the stranger wanted a conversation Matthew wasn't rude enough to dismiss it.
"What brings you to London?"
Ivan raised his eyebrow. Matthew's cheeks darkened.
"Well...It's just that, a merchant from Russia. You could have easily gotten anything you wanted from England in Amsterdam, or Le Havre –don't the Russians feel more at ease in French territory?"
"I'm a merchant, Matvey. I would rather get my goods by going directly to the source. Besides it's a lot cheaper to come myself, avoid any shipping taxes."
"The bordering tax, for travelling and the cost to get across the sleeve would have even the cost in the end. If anything it's a greater lost on what you've spent on this trip." Matthew replied quickly, trying to ignore his new nickname. Matvey, was that a Russian version of 'Matthew'?
The vodka bottle was placed down on the table. The Russian leaned forward towards the Canadian, a frightening smirk plastered on his face.
"You're rather clever, da. Aren't you, Matvey? I would almost say you sound a lot older than you look. But it's "la manche" in French and not "the sleeve" in English. I believe they call it The Channel."
He flinched again at the nickname; Matthew nodded, not happy at all with how the tables have turned. The Canadian found that his bravado had begun to waver under the intimidating stare. But the Canadian continued on anyway.
"A Russian merchant in London; it just seems rather far-fetched. If you were a Russian diplomat, this tale would have been more believable. At least then I would understand why you would be here…" A pause and then he added quickly. "In London."
The smirk softened into a smile, but the dangerous glint never left Ivan's eyes. The Canadian wondered if he was stupid. Seriously, was he trying to pick a fight with this man? The Russian could probably kill him -the stupid kid! Now nearly all of his bravado was gone, Matthew's breathing hitched, for the strangest reason, the Canadian actually felt in danger.
"This is London Matvey." The Russian stood up and pulled out change from his pocket. He placed it on the table. Instead of lifting his hand up, he leaned onto it, bringing his face closer to Matthew's.
"Far-fetched things happen."
Time seemed to have stopped at that moment. The different shades of violet gazed at each other. Only until Matthew actually thought maybe he should just look away did the Russian's voice stop him.
"Tell me Matvey. Do you believe in monsters?"
Maybe it was the way Ivan Braginski had asked the question, or maybe Matthew was just strange, but the Canadian answered without any hesitation.
"I don't care much for make believe monsters. What I fear the most is the monster within man."
As well as within myself…He refrained from adding.
Ivan smiled; his hand went to the ribbon tied around Matthew's neck. He pulled on it, loosening the red string. Matthew held his breath, his eyes wide as the Russian's face inched closer. The Canadian jumped in his skin when the man licked his lips inches away from Matthew's face.
"Pray we don't meet again."
And with that Ivan Braginski walked away; leaving Matthew flustered in his seat, trying to catch his breath. The Canadian allowed his head to fall onto the table, staying like that for a few minutes until he was annoyed. He took a huge swing of his ale. Finishing it with a satisfied sound, he snapped his head towards the window. Someone was watching him.
Matthew's intuition was right, for there was Ivan Braginski smiling at Matthew from across the street. The Russian tilted his hat in curtsey, succeeding in making Matthew blush once again that evening and then proceeded to walked down the street. The young man sitting alone in the café couldn't help but stare at the retreating form until Ivan had completely disappeared into the darkness of the night.
The boy leaned back into his chair, falling in his seat. He let out a deep sigh. The gold of the coins caught his eye in the candlelight. There was more than enough to pay for the vodka, his ale, and probably a round for the house. That more than anything that had happened in this strange evening annoyed Matthew the most.
What was this? He demanded to no one. A failed attempt at a date?
He clenched his teeth, and called out in the cafe.
"I want some gin and I'm treating everyone in the house tonight!" Everyone in the café jumped simultaneously at the noise, it was a café after all not a bar, but they burst out in cheer anyways.
The woman from earlier came up to him with a confused look on her face. Worried about what would happen if this boy was just pulling everyone's leg. But it was then that she saw the gold.
Her eyes widen and she nodded, then the place burst into cheers again, they surrounded Matthew like moths to a rich flame. Laughter and song erupted; Matthew started to sing songs from back home, the bar laughed and sang along, mumbling and whistling. The café-turned-bar, but thankfully the woman didn't mind. Things like this could happen in London.
"Tell Dodger to bring in some of his cheap booze, I have all of his customers." The woman told her busboy, he nodded ("Yes Miss. Miria!") and ran off down the street. Miria looked at her full house with a smile on her rosy cheeks; she liked lively nights like these... As long nobody got stupid, drunk and/or violent. She grabbed herself a drink as she continued to serve everyone.
"What on earth is going on, Miria?" A blond haired chef asked her. She grinned toothily back.
"A boy with too much money on his hand, Francis. You'll be staying late tonight."
The cook sighed and mumbled something about irrational alcoholic bosses. Miria only smiled back and watched how her café's normal air of elegance turned into good cheer and slight rowdiness.
The night went on late, the flame that had captured everyone's attention dulled along with the Canadian's sober mind. But most continued to dance and sing until they had all forgotten their earlier plans. Matthew as well, he had just come for a drink and supper, but now he found himself dozing off.
He took his last sip of the ale (since the gin turned out not very good). He glared at nothing as the Russian's parting words echoed in his head. Matthew pouted despite his age.
What the hell does he mean by that? "Pray I never see him again", what kind of bullshit was he sprouting?
Maman et Papa doivent me manquer. Matthew laid his head down on his arms. He could smell the alcohol in his breath and in the air mingled with the roses... His glasses were pushed up to his forehead and he closed his eyes, seeing Ivan behind his close eyelids, the Russian putting his hat back on…
It was only by replaying that clip in his mind that Matthew thought it was strange. He started to drift off into sleep. It was strange how Ivan's eyes seemed to have glowed red in the dark...
September 2010, Yeah It's been revised, a lot better now, I added a few more clues and stuff and foreshadowing and yeah, I'm tired now, but I still have the three other chapters to go!
Torry – The name American's would call loyalists.
Seulement si on est chanceux – Only if we're lucky!
D'accord, Mathieu? –Alright Matthew, Mathieu is how the name is written in French.
Merci Maman, -Thank you Mom.
Mais Seigneur! – By god!
Maman et Papa doivent me manquer – Mom and Dad must be missing me.
I changed the format and how it's written and just a lot of technicalities and such, but yeah instead of chapters its acts cuz I'm a geek like that. This way I can be lazy creative and just tell you where the scene is taking place.
I would like to know if you like this version better or the other version. To me I find that this version does Canada more justice, I find that this is the character I wanted to portray and now I was able to pitch him properly. So please keep reading the other revised chapters, don't give up hope on me here. I really do plan on finishing this fic. Don't give up on me~~~ Hetalia is my life now so yeah…
Also there a lot more information and more explanations now I find my next chapters a lot less random and that is always a good thing in my book. XD
Feedback makes the world a better place.
All of you thank Koutwin (Hi! *3*) for reminding me to get back to work on this. And also special thanks to Kamichan for correcting my horrible run-on sentences…She discovered that I enjoy comas.
October, Last second update; I think there's still thousands of mechanical errors. *lesigh*
