"Hey, schlingel*, if you're just going to mope around here you could help clean up," Gilbert Beilschmidt said in a slightly irritated voice, glancing over at the teenager.
Alfred remained silent, but he picked up a broom that had been leaning up against the counter that Gilbert was sitting at, and proceeded to half-heartedly sweep the floor.
The albino Prussian sighed, placing the small gadget he had been tinkering with down on the counter top. "What happened, Alfie?" he asked, leaning on his elbows.
"Nothing much...," the teen mumbled, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.
"Pfft, well, that's a fuckin' lie if I've ever heard one! C'mon, kiddo, you can tell your old buddy Gil!" the Prussian pressed, a wild grin splitting his pale face. "You ain't ever shut up about stuff before, so why start now?"
Alfred looked up at the older man to give him a face, but he didn't keep up the look for very long. "Just got into a fight with my old man about signing onto an airship...He didn't take the news very well," he sighed, going back to his sweeping.
"You signed onto an airship?" Gilbert inquired, perking up.
"Yeah, some military ship," Alfred confirmed sullenly, stopping his sweeping to lean against the broom.
"So, you finally grew a pair and joined up! Kesesese! I was starting to think you didn't have it in you, you tumb* bastard!" Gilbert snickered, thumping a hand on the counter top.
Alfred scowled at the loud Prussian, but he knew that the other was just playing around with him. "Yeah, yeah...Laugh it up! At least I can go outside without burning up in a couple of seconds, even here in rainy London," he shot back, smirking.
"Hey, I am made of pure awesome! It's not my fault that everyone, including the sun, is jealous of me! Isn't that right, Gilbird?" the albino retorted, turning to a small bird cage that rested on the end of the steel counter.
A small cheep was heard from the cage, and a yellow chick poked it's head in between the iron bars of the cage.
Gilbert smirked triumphantly, "See? He agrees with me completely."
"And you wonder why people call you crazy...," Alfred chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. He was about to start up his sweeping again when he felt something barrel into him from behind, the strange sensation of being lifted off the ground making him drop the broom in surprise.
"окончательно*, I found you!" a heavily accented voice exclaimed from somewhere above Alfred's head.
"Who the hell are you?" Gilbert demanded, his hand hovering over the gun that was hidden under the counter.
"Whoa, hey, put me down! You're squeezin' my guts out! Can't...breathe...," Alfred complained in a wheezy voice, the air having been knocked out of him.
"Oh, Прошу прощения*! I did not mean to," the voice said in an apologetic tone, strong arms releasing Alfred suddenly.
The blond teen yelped as he connected with the ground, landing face first into the small pile of metal shavings, sawdust, and dirt that he had swept up previously. "Thanks...," he muttered, spitting out dirt.
"You are welcome," Ivan replied, grinning down at the other teenager.
"He was being sarcastic, dummkopf*," Gilbert sneered, rolling his red eyes at the Russian.
Ivan blinked in mild surprise, having not noticed the Prussian when he rushed in. "I would ask that you not insult me, Herr*, not even in your Muttersprache*. I will know what you say, da?" he replied in a light tone, though his purple eyes had turned cold.
"So, you speak German but you suck at English? Where are your priorities?" Alfred asked in a joking manner, oblivious to the tension growing between the other two.
The Russian switched his attention back to the blond, his expression shifting to one of mild confusion. "We do not speak English very often in my household, but my mother has relatives that are German, so I learned that language fairly easily on account of having to communicate with them," Ivan answered, a grin making its way back onto his face.
Gilbert's red eyes narrowed at that, his mouth set into a thin line. Who is this guy? I know I've never seen him around here before, I'd remember that stupid look on his face...He must be from that military ship Alfie was talking about earlier, from the looks of his uniform, and there aren't any other foreign military ships in port right now. I don't like him..., the Prussian seethed, grinding his teeth together. "What do you want?" he demanded, glaring hotly at the Russian.
"Oh, da, I almost forgot! Commander Beilschmidt wanted me to escort you back to your home, and make sure you don't get into any trouble before we depart," Ivan said, pulling Alfred to his feet by his shirt collar, keeping a firm hold on him.
"Ack! Again with the choking and not breathing!" Alfred coughed, rubbing his throat. "Wait, what trouble? I don't get into trouble!" he exclaimed, trying to turn and face the Russian but unable to break free of the squad captain's strong grip.
Gilbert guffawed at that. "Yeah, right! Kesesese, that's a good one, Alfie!" he burst out, wiping a fake tear from his eye.
"I don't!" Alfred continued indignantly, pouting slightly.
"What would you call falling out of the sky and onto our ship, comrade?" Ivan inquired cheekily.
"That was only because of the second hand engine on my aircraft! If I had better materials then none of that blowing up shit would've happened!" Alfred retorted, crossing his arms petulantly.
"You blew something up again?" Gilbert asked, taking back up the small gadget he had been tampering with.
Before Alfred could respond, Ivan happily stepped in, "Da! There was nothing left of it but a pile of warped, burnt out metal."
Alfred huffed, elbowing the larger teen in the gut. "Geez, is no one on my side today?" he cried out, throwing his hands up in the air.
"Nope," Gilbert answered simply, bouncing the orb shaped object in his hand. "Finished!" he announced proudly, a wild grin on his face.
"Really? Cool! What is it?" Alfred asked in a rushed tone, his blue eyes sparkling with interest as he tried to wriggle out of Ivan's grasp and closer to the object.
"Whoa, don't get too close, kiddies; this thing can take your eyes out in a second. Stand over there and watch," Gilbert ordered, gesturing to the space on his right.
Alfred excitedly dragged a hesitant Ivan over to the spot, practically bouncing up and down in anticipation of whatever was about to happen. Ivan shifted uncomfortably, not really liking the "take your eyes out" comment.
Gilbert pressed a small button on the top of the orb, then tossed it into the air. The small metallic object started beeping as it hovered in mid-air. Lights started flashing on its side and then small projectiles ejected from it, hurtling in every direction. The three ducked quickly to avoid several of the objects, the projectiles embedding themselves in the wall behind them.
"Holy shit! Those almost hit us!" Alfred exclaimed, examining himself to make sure he hadn't been hit.
"Aha...Yeah...," Gilbert replied shakily, sweat dripping down his neck.
"You are...dangerous, comrade," Ivan said slowly, glancing at the needle-thin dart that was embedded where his head had been moments before.
"First off, I'm not your comrade! Second, that's what it's supposed to do; it was designed for combat situations. Sure, it may still need some work, but it does what I want it to do for the most part," Gilbert snorted, pulling one of the projectiles from the wall. "Ah, why don't you two beat it already? You're messin' with my awesome genius here!" the Prussian suggested, waving a hand absentmindedly at the two as he started to collect the darts.
"Yeah, I don't really want to lose an eye or something...Guess I'll see ya when I see ya,Gil," Alfred said, his mood dampening as he realized he wouldn't see the eccentric Prussian man for a while. He trudged out of the workshop gloomily, tugging along Ivan - who was keeping an eye on Gilbert, just in case he decided to set off that little weapon again - on account of the Russian still having a hold on the back of his shirt collar.
Gilbert didn't watch them leave, his task of cleaning up the small darts keeping his attention for the moment. "So, my tight-assed little brother is in town, huh? I should drop by and give him a good scare," he said to himself, a warm smile on his face.
"Arthur, mon ami, let me in! I just wish to speak with you!" Francis called in a slightly exasperated tone, knocking on the steel-plated door of the Englishman's home.
The French sky pirate, turned baker, had decided to try and have a civil conversation with his rival of old, but so far he had been stalled by the Englishman's stubborness to not even open the door for him. Francis had heard Arthur's arguement with his son, Alfred, and he only wanted to make sure that the former sky pirate didn't do anything rash.
Francis sighed when his call went unanswered yet again, and reached into a pocket on the left side of his white silk shirt. He pulled out a small, golden pin, slipping the slender object into the key hole of the door. There was the slightly muffled sound of shifting gears as the pin changed shape to copy the combination of the lock, an abrupt click signaling the Frenchman's success in unlocking the metal door.
"'Allo? Arthur? Do not shoot me as I walk through the door...That would be most unpleasant," Francis said in a raised voice, so that the other man knew he was entering. He remembered the Englishman's tendency to shoot at people, namely him, that interupted him in his work. Whether the work was pirating or engineering.
"Whut in the 'ell do you want, frog?" Arthur slurred, straightening up slightly from his hunched over position at the table in the center of the room. His fingers tightened around the neck of a bottle of rum, the little bit of remaining liquid sloshing around in the glass container.
"I wanted to speak with you, Arthur...but I now fear that your ears would be deaf to what I have to say at the moment," Francis murmured, eyeing the bottle of alcohol with slight distaste. Although Francis quite enjoyed a good drink now and then, he was none too fond of what alcohol could do to a person.
"Oh, go on, you blighter! Say whutever it was you came 'ere to say!" Arthur hissed, knocking over the bottle of rum with a wide sweep of his arm; the crash of glass ringing throughout the room.
Francis didn't flinch at the other man's actions, having seen the blond get into worse states before. Although, it has been quite a while since I've seen Arthur get like this...Not since she died..., the Frenchman thought to himself, stepping around the shattered glass on the stone floor.
"Arthur, you should not have left things with Alfred in such tatters...You know that boy thinks the world of you, so why do you push him away like this? He is leaving, Arthur, whether you like it or not. He is a free spirit, much like his mother, and he was bound to strike out on his own, more than likely without your permission...Do not let him go without trying to mend what you have torn. You are good at fixing things, even when they seem irrepairable, so do not give him up without a fight," Francis said, his tone stern and serious.
Arthur's green eyes, though dulled slightly with drink, held a sharpness that forebode of irrational thoughts. "Get out...," he growled, teeth bared like an angry dog. "I'll not be lectured to by the likes of you! You 'ave no right...no bleedin' right to speak of such things to me! I gave up everythin' for that ungrateful welp, and how does he repay me? By runnin' off to get 'imself killed in some idiotic gambit of the government!" the blond shouted, rising out of his chair and slamming a fisted hand onto the table in rage.
Francis kept his silence as the Englishman collapsed back into his seat, slumping lethargically.
"Now...Now he's just goin' away...He's leavin', and I can't bloody stop 'im! He...He could be killed out there, Francis, and I won't be able to protect 'im...I swore, as his father - for all that I was worth as one - that I would keep 'im safe...keep 'im protected...And now, I'll have failed at being his father...," Arthur spat out, self-loathing set deeply in his eyes.
"He's not gone yet, Arthur," Francis said in a low voice, turning to leave.
"Why are you doin' this?" Arthur mumbled, gazing blearily at the wavy haired man's back. "We've been rivals ever since I can remember, and it wasn't ever a friendly rivalry...So, why?" he repeated, sounding slightly sobered and clear-headed.
Francis looked over his shoulder at the Brit, a small smile on his face. "Our rivalry lasted many years, and in some aspects it still lives on, but I like to consider that as dead as the time in which it lived. We are no longer the fears of the sky, mon ami. I like to keep the past locked away in the past, while I remain to live freely in the present. So long as I keep that frame of mind, I have no reasons, other than the ones you provide me with on nearly a daily basis, with which to hold you to my former hate," he replied, winking mischieviously.
"You nearly had somethin' there, but you bloody killed it with that wink...," Arthur muttered, shifting his gaze to a warp in the wooden table.
"Just get some rest, Arthur," Francis said, leaving the other man to his thoughts once again.
"Comrade, you are looking rather...Ah, how do you say it in your language?" Ivan fumbled for the right words in the unfamiliar tongue, making lazy gestures with his hands in an attempt to convey what he was trying to say.
"Down?" Alfred suggested dully, kicking half-heartedly at a stray pebble on the street.
"That sounds like it could be right...Your English is very strange and hard to get a good grasp on, da?" Ivan sighed, puffing his cheeks out like a chipmunk. "So, why are you, as you say, down?" he inquired, his eyes wandering off the cobblestone streets to gaze curiously at the many street vendors and shops.
"Why do you care? I mean, we barely know each other," Alfred pointed out, glancing at the larger teen. He couldn't help but smile a little at the look of fascination on the other's face, the Russian's attention drawn from one thing to another like an over-eager puppy. "What, never seen a market place before?" he laughed light-heartedly, a grin breaking through his previously dark mood and expression.
Ivan's face flushed slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck in an embarrassed fashion. "Nyet, not until recently. I grew up...very differently than most people, very sheltered, " he answered haltingly, not wanting to tell Alfred the truth of how he grew up. As the second youngest of the Russian royal family, he was raised behind gilded walls and plush curtains; never really leaving the palace for anything. He didn't want to be treated differently by the blond teen, like he was by the other crew members that were aware of his high status.
"Huh...That sounds kinda boring. So, you didn't get to run around and explore as a kid?" Alfred asked, his curiousity in the Russian now heightened. He couldn't imagine what growing up in such a way would be like, having spent the majority of his time wandering around outside of the house.
"I found ways to entertain myself," Ivan replied vaguely, chuckling as he thought back to what he had put the palace servants through when he was a child. "You are not answering my question, though," he hummed, reminding the other teen of his previous inquiry.
"Ah...Right, that...," Alfred sighed, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. "Well, my father wasn't too happy about hearing that I'd signed on to a military airship. He kind of has a...thing with the government. So, we had a fight, I left, and that's how we're probably gonna let it stay since the ship will be leaving in a couple of days and I plan on avoiding him," he mumbled, scrunching his nose up in displeasure.
Ivan inclined his head slightly, a sympathetic look on his face. "I am understanding that...My father had a similar reaction," he said in a low voice, mouth held in a thin line. It was not a pleasant memory for him.
Alfred let out a short, barking laugh, hitting the Russian lightly on the arm. "Well, what'dya know 'bout that! Guess we've got more goin' for us than I thought, big guy! We're actually kind of a lot alike, you and me," he exclaimed, grinning wildly. "Say, what're the airships like from where you come from?" he asked out of sudden curiousity, wanting to change the subject a bit.
"Ah, I will tell you, but only if we can stop in there to talk," Ivan replied slyly, gesturing to a cheerily, lantern-lit tavern. He hadn't had a good drink since the last port they'd docked in, and he was starting to feel the need for alcohol.
"Sure thing, come on," Alfred agreed happily, heading over to the establishment with a good-natured smile. Hey, I may as well have a drink. Dad's already pissed off anyway, and I don't answer to him anymore, so it doesn't matter what he'd say anyway. I'm going to enjoy myself tonight! the sandy blond teen thought to himself, putting on his signature smile as he entered the tavern.
schlingel: Brat In German
tumb: Stupid In German
окончательно: Finally In Russian
Прошу прощения: I am sorry In Russian
dummkopf: Idiot In German
Herr: Sir In German
Muttersprache: Mother tongue In German