Your Name
~0~
Chapter 1
"Bloody hell. . ."
Walking through the elegant hallway, Arthur was overwhelmed by the richness of it all. The marble staircases went well with the crème- colored walls, the antiques complimenting the artwork. He paused next to a large painting that hung in the center of the room, studying curiously the details.
It was a portrait. A portrait of a big, strong man, it seemed. His blond hair was cut short, his piercing blue eyes cold as ice. His uniform was neat and ironed. An impressive man. Of course, paintings had a tendency to lie (especially if the painter was paid well), but Arthur had the same intimidating feeling he had experienced while meeting the portrayed man in the flesh. The same way he was feeling now, simply studying a mere painting.
The Englishman was awoken from his daze by the sound of footsteps making their way down the stairs. A pause. Arthur looked up to find a young man of about his own age peering down at him from the middle of the staircase, eyebrows knotted in confusion. He looked exactly like the man in the painting, the Brit noted. But for some reason, aside from the long hair, there was something about his face that differed him from- whom Arthur supposed was- his father. Something that he couldn't put his finger on.
"Qui êtes-vous?" The voice boomed at him in French. When he received no response, he switched to a heavily accented German. When both languages seemingly failed to help him communicate with the stranger, the Frenchman finally addressed Arthur in a way he could understand. "Who are you?"
Remembering where he was and what position he was in, Arthur straightened and lowered his eyes. "Arthur Kirkland, sir." He informed the other, eyebrow twitching at the sound of both French and German. The two languages he hated the most.
Hearing Arthur's name and British accent, the Frenchman wrinkled his nose and continued down the steps, muttering 'Britannique' under his breath as he passed the Englishman without so much of a nod. In those first few moments, they seemed to have formed an enmity on the sole reason of their nationality. Though anger pulsed through his veins, Arthur couldn't get rid of the feeling that he would have rather not making a foe on his first day.
He was to work there, after all.
He climbed up the stairs a few moments later, carrying his bag, within it a newspaper clip. It was there, in that small issue, that Arthur had found the wanted add. He had been desperate, a fugitive in an enemy country, when he read the article and applied. He hadn't been sure what 'personal service' meant, but he was ready to do just about anything. Where terror and hunger ruled, one could not be picky. Beggars can't be choosers.
The Englishman hesitantly entered a small room that was previously set up for him. Placing his belongings neatly in each object's respective place, he lay down on the bed- decent, compared to some he had slept in previously- and sighed. When he had moved to Germany a while back, he had thought that he would make enough money to send back home and help feed his siblings. But ever since the war started, he hadn't been able to find any jobs. No one wanted to employ an enemy. It was nothing short of a miracle that someone hadn't reported him yet. Arthur had taken a big risk by applying for his current occupation, working in a Nazi household. Then again, he had little other choice.
A personal assistant was what he was now. He scoffed at the idea- what pampered brat needed someone to tie their own shoes for them? But because of that spoiled kid, the Brit had a job, so he wasn't complaining. It amused him that the son of a Nazi general-
His son?
It dawned to him. That young French he had encountered on the stairs. . . who looked identical to the general, his father. . . Could it be? Would he have to do whatever that rude French twat told him to do? Arthur wished he could hope for the other to have younger siblings, but his father had already mentioned his 'one and only' son. Brilliant.
Groaning and stuffing his face into the pillow, Arthur couldn't imagine it any worse.
Hanna Chan's Blah-Blah Corner;
Well. Unlike my previous stories, this will have many and short chapters rather than long and few ones. Long and many? No way. I'm not that good yet ^^'
Anyway, I would like to dedicate this chapter to icy-piyo21. I really don't get to talk to her much, and I want to try to make it up as bit, you know? I miss you, Gabby D:
*looks down shyly* Uhm, if you don't mind. . . can you take 2 minutes and click on the 'review' button down there? *points* It doesn't take much effort for you, and I would really appreciate it! :D
-Hanna