Lol, guys, I decided since you know, you guys like dirty stuff, I made Gilbert a little pervert. It just fits, you know?

Warning: Prussian Dirty Thoughts.

The Capture

Chapter III: Docks

The sunrise shone chrome yellow onto Gilbert's eyelids, the blackness behind them turning into a fleshy pink, causing his slumber to slowly diminish itself from his state of mind. Gilbert could not help but wonder what happened last night, as he vaguely remembered a strange, yet angelic tune of a song that matched the sea's rhythm. He was sure he did not dream, but it didn't matter anymore did it?

Yawning, he got up and twisted out the knots in his back and neck, stretching out every sore, sleeping limp, uncaring to the pins and needles it brought. Gilbert gazed of the salty ocean, seeing the vegetation of the green island up ahead, new and old docks lined around the edge that gave off the similar image of a stubble on a man's chin. Gilbert frowned, noticing how different the port's map seemed. Most of the ships were new, and the cobble ground seemed more than just worn down, considering you could see giant chunks from Gilbert's view missing from the edge of the concrete. There were coal black houses, obviously burnt down, and Gilbert wondered if there was a battle here. Maybe Germany decided to screw around the ocean side of England too. Or maybe its just some common, amateur pirate looking for some good amusement in pillaging the fuck out of innocent people's hometowns. Though, with all the differences, the smell of fresh fish, sweat, and blood was still a familiar mix in the sea breeze's scent. It was a scent that never seemed to fade, not even in the smoke of burning homes and sand dust spewing through the air in all directions.

Yes, even with a different map, the port always stayed the same. The same boastful and proud fishermen, stinking up nearby pubs with bad breath, rotting fish scent, and alcohol. Same sailors calling out to each other from random directions, boarding barrels of food and water for ongoing journeys. Same bad food. (In Gilbert's opinion, considering that this was a port, not some fancy square with five star restaurants around every corner, filled with fancy, polite, and refined butler and maids, heeding your every command. Who the hell would expect something like that anywhere near this place?)

Taking a deep breath, Gilbert smiled as the island grew larger and larger into view. (The view was the only reason why he didn't scrunch up his nose in disgust of the rugged, ugly stench.) The people just barely were visible, looking like ants carrying bread crumbs around an anthill. His amusing thoughts of human ants stopped, however, when he found one ant that didn't particularly match with the rest of the black and brown, sometimes red ants. (The red ones being the drunk, red faces sailors singing in lines of broken tunes, merrily on their way to grab a prostitute.) Digging into his pocket, Gilbert pulled out a pair of small binoculars, looking through them for a better look. Upon closer inspection, the ant transformed into an elegant, yet annoyed aristocrat, seemingly frustrated with a young, lazy looking fisher-boy. Uncaringly, the fisher-boy waved his hand in a sluggish manner, which seemed to anger the aristocrat even more, but Gilbert was paying any attention to the body language the two were having. (Other than the nice, defined, swaying hips the nobleman cocked, too dangerous to be walking around the docks with any sailor.) Gilbert was paying attention to the aristocrat's features. His clothes were not flashy, considering the man was only wearing a simple dress shirt, buckled shoes, and suspenders, but it was so painfully obvious how refined he was compared to all the other locals. His clothes were clean and new-looking, shining bright amongst the dirty, tattered clothing. His skin was a milky pale, smooth, and unblemished, competing with any beautiful, royal woman's skin that could ever have. His auburn hair looked silky and soft, probably more comfortable than any blanket ever sewn. A beauty mark was placed beautifully on the right of the man's chin, and Gilbert actually bothered to try and remembered what that represented. (Caring? Or was that for a mole on the cheek?) But what intrigued Gilbert most of all was the man's glowing, violet eyes.

Gilbert did not question the odd color, given that he had crimson eyes and shiny silver hair. (Most say he is albino, but was albino has eyes that have such deep colored eyes such as that? And albinos don't have silver hair, they have pale, whitish-blonde!) But, as he stared at them, the more ideas popped into his head. Who did those eyes belong to?

Now, let us, dear readers, switch to Roderich's point of view, the aristocratic man speaking with the fisher-boy. He simply decided to run his errands, like any sane person would do, and something very important was on his list. Buying fish for dinner. The fisher-boy, however, had different ideas, as he rudely said "We only sell to normal people." Roderich was normal, wasn't he? He had his rights, and it's his damn well right to buy fish freely without such stupid complications! Why, after all the times he's bought fish from the same store, the fisherman's son, fisher-boy, had to be a dickwad and refuse to sell him fish!

"I say, sir, I have been here many times before, and I have never been told once while buying that I wasn't aloud to buy fish. Please stop this horrendous act and let me buy the three bass I need to cook dinner tonight." Roderich did not once raise his voice, but his annoyance was clearly written all over his face. The fisher-boy was either blind, or just simply did not care (most likely the latter), for he said something very rude.

"New rule. You can't buy."

Roderich, by now, was furious, and longed for the ivory keys of his piano against his fingertips, as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He desperately needed to burn off his frustration, but this was a port, and therefore there wasn't going to be any musical instruments anywhere, any time soon. A port. Not a musical theatre. For once, he wished his father didn't decided to take a sudden vacation away from London. This time, he didn't feel up to new surroundings. He especially did not feel up to waking up at 3:00 O'clock in the morning after staying up until midnight, then taken halfway across the island on a loud, infuriating carriage ride. He guessed that it was for the mission tonight, considering he, his father, and Feliciano went without any maids. That meant that Elizabeta was at the mansion, awaiting her death.

With a sigh, Roderich took one more look at the fisher-boy, glaring daggers though his moldy irises, his own violet ones gleaming in a certain way no one can describe. "I refuse to say this ever again. I am going to buy a fish, whether you like it or not. Three. Bass." The fisher-boy, his survival senses finally turning on, picked up three fine, juicy bass from the rows of fish in front of him, wrapping them individually in brown paper, very unskillfully. (Like Roderich cared or noticed.) Once he handed them to Roderich, he took a step back, slightly afraid of what would happen next. Roderich, pleased to finally end the pointless argument, turned around to go and finish his next errands, but stopped. Something caught his eyes in a tiny flash of crimson. He searched the vast sea for a moment, catching small glimpses to give out hints of where it was coming from, and finally pinpointed the location. A ship, close to docking, has a small, ant sized man (or woman, he couldn't tell), who seemed to be shining something crimson at Roderich. Roderich, of course, didn't know if it was really meant for him, so he just continued to stare for a moment, before moving off to finish his errands.

Now, lets return to Gilbert. By now, you could say he was practically drooling at the beautiful man he just saw. Gilbert admits, he is bisexual, and it seems that he definitely felt something for that guy. (If you know what I mean.) The way the aristocrat turned his lithe figure towards the direction to the sea, seemingly happy to final resolve a problem, made Gilbert feel a bundle of nerves in his stomach to rumble and twitch like hell. Was this what people mean by "Butterflies in your stomach?" Because if so, Gilbert sure was loving it.

Slowly, he set down the binoculars, noticing that the man broke contact with his gaze. But holy shit. When that guy looked at him, those eyes pierced right into his nerves. All over. It made him shiver in delight, and his cheeks burnt like a brand. Lips twitching up, he stared at the clean, white ant, rushing through the bustling black ones with ease. So, the nobleman definitely wasn't some stuck up, "I don't know how to survive on my own" type of noble, hm? That made it all the more interesting. And considering that he just bought some bass, he doesn't stay indoors all the often. The guy was a package of beautiful, polite, skilled, and obviously, healthy. Gilbert had the urge to run up to him, pin him down, and rip off that fine, white dress shirt, then trace the outlines of the muscle that obviously hid under. Then he would trail bite marks over his torso, and grind against his-

His thoughts were interrupted by the ridiculously loud bell on the ship, making him groan in annoyance. "Shut up bell, I'm having dirty thoughts. Damn cockblocker..." He muttered under his breath. (That's right, readers. Gilbert was the true inventor of the word cockblock.) He noticed that the bell wasn't going to shut up any time soon until everyone was ready to board off the boat, which aggravated him no less. Reluctantly, Gilbert when to his cabin and gathered his suitcase, taking an additional ring he found in between the mattresses, and went out. The boat docked not that long after, and Gilbert immediately searched around to see where the heck that sexy aristocrat ran off to.

Well, where the hell do aristocrats go to?

...

Why, the pub, of course! Where else?

And so Gilbert went to the pub, sitting down casually as if he wasn't a stalker. A British bartender walked over, cleaning the inside of a glass cup. "What it be?" He asked, a slight accent close to a low voiced pirate. Gilbert put down a couple of bucks and smiled childishly. "Beer." Nodding, the Briton picked up the bills and set the, now clean, glass down under a tap, letting it fill to the brim, then placed it in front of Gilbert.

"So, Gilbert, what's a traveller like you doing in England, hm?"

Gilbert, of course, was both shocked and suspicious. He just walked into an old pub and got a drink from a guy he's never met or know, but the guy just so happens to know him. Was he drunk once he came here? "The question is; how the hell do you know me?" Gilbert corrected. The Brit just laughed. "I don''t know you. I've heard of you. Best detective there is. Oh, that, and I've met a certain annoying Frenchman when I visited Paris. Tried to seduce me. Little bugger."

Gilbert cracked a grin, relieved of any suspicion. "Francis? The Francy-pants? Poor you, you gut the worst of 'em." A snort. "I'm happy to know he still remembers me, though. Haven't seen the perverted baker in a while."

"Oh, he's doing just fine. Trust me." The conversation ended short, however, when someone walked in, silencing all of the drunken sailors and nutty fishermen. In came the aristocrat that Gilbert knew would show up, hands full with bundles of food and new clothes. "Arthur, do you by any chance know where Feliciano ran off to? Seen him? Father and I can't seem to find him..." He sighed. "Again."

Arthur, the bartender, chuckled and called into a room by the table. "Feli, yer brother is here to pic ya up. You changed out of them dirty clothes?" Out came a cute boy in matching suspenders, a little newsboy hat tucked snuggly on his head. "Si, I changed! Ciao, cousin Arthur!" Feliciano yelled happily, running over to hug Arthur's leg, then to hide behind Roderich's. Roderich smiled, true and genuine, and for a moment, Gilbert's heart skipped a beat. What the hell was that? What did the aristocrat just do to him? "Thank you so much, Arthur. I would have died if I lost him."

"Or hunt down the person who took him and murder him." Arthur snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yer the most overprotecting brother that ever walked the earth. Now get ya arse out my my pub, yer making the sailors faint." Roderich shot a confused look, but shrugged and turned around, Feliciano quick to move with him. He took one look behind his shoulder, directly into Gilbert's eyes, then left without a trace.

London could wait, Gilbert has some unfinished business to attend to at the port.