Set the Sails ch.1 – Quite a Reputation
Author: taivaspoika
Rating: 15+
Genre: Romance/Adventure/Drama/Stuff
Pairings: Several, main couple is Sweden/Prussia
Summary: When and invisible threat rises from the north, unlikely bonds are formed.
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"You have heard my commands, yes, love?" the man in the armchair said in silent voice. He didn't wait for the answer before continuing. "You understand them well enough, yes?"
Other man, kneeling before him, nodded.
"Then make me proud, dear…"
The man stood up and bowed. Without saluting he turned and walked away, the clacking of his heels echoing in the dark corridors.
--
Far away from those great Northern Halls, in some nameless port town, inside a dusty old tavern located in filthy back alleys, was a man, arguing loudly with another.
"Ye think ye can just come in and walk 'round like ye own the frigging place? Ye think?!" the man shout, grabbing the other by collar and shaking him roughly. "Ye're just a new comer here and we dun welcome those here with open arms, eh."
The other man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, glaring back at the shouter. "'m not h're fo' w'lcom'ness."
Giving the man another violent shake, the one that had been shouting before opened his mouth again. "So what's yer business here? This ain't a place to have a holiday in, ye know."
"'s not 'f y'r concern. Now r'le'se m'."
The offender leaned closer, blonde locks falling onto his face. The smell of alcohol surrounded him like an aura. "Oh, I dun think so… heh, ye're kinda good-looking. Whaddye say, we have some fun?"
The other grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands away from his collar and giving him a cold glare. "…'n y'r dr'ms."
It's not a wise thing to piss of a drunken man, even less already mad drunken man.
"Oh, ye little…" he growled, punching the other in the face. The punch was only powerful enough to make his glasses fall askew. "Ye should run away if ye dun wanna get beaten to a bloody pulp, eh, handsome?"
The other just silently straightened his glasses, calmly taking his hat from the counter as if he had not been punched at all. He paid no attention to his offender as he turned towards the door to leave.
"Hey, ye. Not so fast. Ye dun go 'round here ignoring me, ye hear me?" the drunk man shout and grabbed his arm, pulling him back.
Swiftly, the man with glasses turned around and even faster he pulled his hand back, clenching it into a fist and punched the other's jaw. The punch was more powerful than the first of the night. The drunk offender was sent flying before he loudly crashed onto a nearby table.
"'ve g't no b'sin'ss with y'."
"Yowzee! That hurt, ye know!" The man exclaimed, rubbing his jaw. "Ye ruined my face, ye basterd."
The man who had punched him simply shrugged, he didn't care, and made his way to the door.
The usually noisy tavern was now silent and as lively as a graveyard, the usually cheery folk staring either at the man who was now going out of the door or at the other man, slowly getting up and staggering towards the first one, a mad gleam in his eyes. As soon as he was almost steady with his step, he dashed out, jumping on the back of the other. They tumbled to the ground.
The fight was even, but not the one of the cleanest seen on that alley. The two men struggled for several minutes, rolling in the filth of the back alley, dealing punches, clawing at each other's faces, kicking when possible and biting wherever they could reach.
In the end, the man with the glasses - that had gotten lost, possibly broken at some point of the fight - had the upper hand, pinning the other to the ground. They were breathing heavily, few beads of sweat rolling down their foreheads and clothes stained with dirt and blood.
"Is.. Is that all ye got?" the man who had started the fight asked, trying to sound confident even in his position.
"'m not g'in' t'be't y' t'de'h", the other mumbled as he got up and offered his hand to the man he had just beaten up.
It seemed that the man accepted it, but then he suddenly pulled the other back down, kicking him in the stomach in the process. The man groaned in pain as he fell, but managed to punch the other on the face, once again.
"Aw, shit, oh fuck, fuck, fuck ah fanden…" the drunk man moaned, holding his hand against his left eye. Blood was dripping through his fingers and his face was turning white.
Next to him, on the ground, was the other man gasping for air and squinting his eyes in order to see even something. He got up into a sitting position, glancing at the other. The other was panting now, his face wearing an expression of a man who is soon going to faint. Aw, crap, he thought. Now I have to take him to a doctor. There's no way he's going to make it on his own.
With this thought in his mind, he searched the ground for his abused glasses and finally found them, horribly crooked, one of the lenses missing and other almost cracked in two. He shook his head as he put the glasses on. One lens was better than no glasses at all.
He crawled back to the other man, now swaying back and forth alarmingly, gaping and - could it be true - quietly sobbing. "…hey. Let m' see y'r f'ce", he muttered, attempting to lift the other's hand from his face. The other tried to slap his hand away, but there was no strength in his arm.
He had seen many things in his youth. This… This was still far more horrible than all those things he had seen, the things he had done. This was…
His face was bruised and swollen, left half covered in blood.
And in the place of his left eye… was a bloody hole.
"…herre Gud", he whispered. "Y' n'd a d'ct'r… 'nd f'st. "
He stood and held his head for a moment, attempting to feel more stable before pulling the other up by his arm. He supported most of the other's weight as he started to drag the other with him, away from the back alleys and towards the slightly more lit main street.
The few passer-bys that were still out there at that late hour made way to the men, murmuring curiously or completely ignoring them. No one dared to come close, no one dared to offer them help.
"…hey", the man who was being dragged groaned. "…I… I know… some…someone… w-who could… ergh… know a doctor….aw fan…"
The other nodded, encouraging the man to give him directions. He gave the directions with small tugs at the other's sleeve, having lost a lot of blood and so being too weak to speak much. The man dragging him was already weakening too, it wasn't like the other had been easy on him. Each step they took was harder, but they were - slowly but surely - inching closer to their destination.
The building was small, and the man leading them wouldn't have noticed it unless the one he was dragging hadn't tugged at his sleeve harsher than before. It was a two-storey house, cramped between two higher buildings. The façade was slightly crumbled, but that was nothing new in this particular town.
"…k-knock…" the man on worse condition whispered, before finally fainting.
The other laid him down on the street, then knocked on the door. Nothing happened for a minute, so he knocked again. This time he heard steps, not too quick nor too slow. Then there was some fumbling on the other side of the door.
A small window opened in the door, and a blonde man with clear, blue eyes stared at him, not surprised at all by the bruises in his face or his broken glasses. Instead, he asked: "Who are you?"
He shook his head. "…d'sn't m'tter. W'need a d'ct'r."
"'We?' Who else is there?"
"…don't kn'w him. 's h'rt b'dly, 'nc'nscio's. "
"…you look like you could do with some treatment as well."
The two men started at each other for a while, before the one inside nodded. "Fine. My brother is a doctor. He'll be here as soon as I give him a call. Come in, but don't dirty my carpets."
The blonde disappeared from the small window, and soon the door opened. The man from inside peeked out and noticed the man who had fainted a few moments ago. Even though his expression did not change, the air around him seemed to suddenly change. He tensed. "You are not bringing him into my home."
"…he t'ld m'to c'me h're. He th'ght th't y' w'ld h'lp."
"I sure as hell am not going to help him", the man muttered, staring madly at the tiling of his home.
The man who had come to seek his help, glared at him. "…j'st c'll y'r broth'r. Y' don't h've t'do an'ythin' 'lse."
The other took a deep breath and glanced at the unmoving body on the ground. "…fine. But I will ignore him. Completely."
He shrugged and pulled the fainted man up, dragging him in. The blonde had already gone, he heard him murmuring to a phone. He was calling his brother. He wasn't sure what the other was saying, but he could hear word 'emergency' being used more than once.
He had no idea as to where to drag the man he was carrying, so he just walked along the corridor, past the stairs, until he came to a door. He pushed it open with his shoulder and stumbled into a small living room. Ungracefully he dropped the other man to the couch and left the room. The blonde had finished with his phone call and was coming down the stairs.
"…he's in the living room?" he asked as they met in the corridor. The other nodded. "You should go there too. My brother's on his way."
"…'s n'thin' I can't t'ke c're 'f m'self."
The blonde shook his head. "Just as you wish. He's still going to check you." He held out his hand. "I'm Noreg. As long as you're in my house, you'll do as I say."
The other nodded, ignoring the hand. "'m Sv'r'ge."
"…Sverige, as in Sverige 'the Death glare'?"
He nodded again, looking away in embarrassment.
"You have quite a reputation, if I may say so. How many years it has been? Five, six? Maybe seven?"
The knock on the door saved Sverige from more questions, if only for some time. Noreg hurried to the door, looking like he didn't care when he clearly did. He opened the small window to see who it was on the other side and not even a minute later, he opened the whole door.
Sverige didn't know what he had been expecting, maybe an older brother, a man in his thirties or late twenties, but at least not this boy who couldn't be even twenty.
Noreg turned to face him. "This is Ísland. He's a qualified doctor."
Ísland nodded as a greeting, before turning to his brother. "Where's Danmark? Wasn't he hurt?"
"…s 'n th' l'vin' r'm", Sverige said, assuming the man he had brought in was Danmark. "…Wh're's th' b'thr'm?"
With a small nod Ísland excused himself from the other men's company, making his way to the living room.
"Bathroom's upstairs. On the right", said Noreg. He turned around and seemed to follow Ísland at first, but as he passed the door to living room, Sverige understood that maybe he really had meant what he had said about ignoring the man - Danmark. Sverige shrugged, not really caring about that and climbing up the narrow staircase. He found the bathroom just fine, but when he turned the light on and looked at himself in the mirror… He didn't feel half as bad as he looked.
His face was bruised and swollen, here and there were stains of blood. Not to mention his clothes - they were bloody and filthy, from rolling in the dirt and dragging the bleeding man around. He raised his arms to remove his long coat, but stopped as pain pierced through his left side. "Fan… m'st b' a rib 'r tw'…" he muttered. He quickly washed his face and his hands, then returned to the living room.
Ísland was leaning over Danmark's unmoving body, examining him with expertise and care. "…who did this to him?" the white-haired boy asked as Sverige entered the room.
Ísland glanced at the other man and tilted his head. "It was you, right? Unless you two were fighting a gang. …which I doubt."
"…he 'ttack'd m'."
Ísland nodded, it was an understanding, not judging, gesture. "…it's so like him. To attack people when he's drunk. "
Sverige seated himself on an leathery armchair, hoping that his - or Danmark's - blood wouldn't stain it. From there, he watched as the young man took care of the other. Ísland washed Danmark's face and disinfected the eye. He frowned. "What is this… a piece of glass?" He glanced at Sverige. "…oh. Must be from you glasses."
He then resumed to the task of tending Danmark. Sverige had to hand it to him - Ísland was good at what he was doing. He removed Danmark's coat and slid his fingers down his sides, brows furrowed and feeling if anything was broken. Then finally, he sighed. "…three ribs. Nothing I can do about that…perhaps lessen his pain with morphine."
Ísland talked as if he was by himself, not minding Sverige at all. He took a syringe with a long needle out of his bag, filling it from a small bottle and finally injecting it to Danmark's strong arm. He nodded to himself, then turned to face Sverige.
"Your turn", he said, calmly walking towards the older man and kneeling beside the chair he was sitting in. "If you'd be so kind, take off you coat. I'd like to examine you, too."
Without saying a word, Sverige stripped himself of his coat, groaning quietly as he had to lift his arm.
Ísland shook his head and sighed quietly, but said nothing. He frowned a bit as he felt Sverige's sides, trying to feel if anything was broken. "…two ribs… nothing much…"
As Ísland examined the rest of Sverige's body, there was a loud, hurried knock on the front door – it was so loud that they heard it well even if they were in the living room. Then there were Noreg's steps and his hushed voice. There was another voice, too, worried and mixed with something that could be.. maybe fear? Or was it panic? Nevertheless, Noreg apparently let the man in as there was a creak as the door opened and thud as it closed behind them. Then two sets of steps closing in.
"You're pretty much fine. I can't really help you. Maybe give some morphine…" Ísland was just about to take out another syringe, but the living room door opened and a short, blonde man hurried in.
"Ísland! This is, this is… it's horrible!" he sobbed, throwing his arms around the white haired man, who just patted his back, totally dumbfounded.
Sverige took this as his cue to escape from the situation and possible overdose of morphine, but Noreg caught his arm, giving him a look, telling he should stay and listen.
The newcomer sobbed for a few more minutes, clinging onto Ísland. He then looked up, his voice desperate as he whispered.
"He… he told me that… they… he… they're planning… they're going to do it, the… the attack… it's… I can't believe… he.. he was always so kind to me…"
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I decided to call them with their native names - Sverige is Sweden, Noreg is Norway(could've also used Norge, but Noreg is way cooler), Ísland is Iceland, Danmark is Denmark and - though it hasn't been revealed yet - Suomi is Finland.
..oh, right. About the title. I couldn't think of anything cool so, yeah.
In Max Payne, there are three parts and every part is divided into chapters that are divided into "parts". Every one of these "parts", chapters and parts have a name that comes up in the story line or dialogue - that's what I wanted to try here.
I really don't know when I will write the next chapter, maybe when I feel like it. Butbutbutbut! You can always give me some suggestions – what pairings you'd like to see, what kind of situations and plot twists there should be… I want this story to be kind of interactive, within some boundaries. That are made up by me. Hahahahahhahahahhaha…