arthur
The dim flicker of the lights in the store irritates him to no end. He can barely see where his feet are going, and he's almost tripped on the boxes strewn all over the place twice now. The store is littered with them, spilled over with rotting food, bringing back unpleasant memories of the last grocery store Arthur has been in. Bollocks, he just wants to find the rum. Is it really so hard?
Apparently, because the store is so large even the hyper Feliciano (piggybacking on Ludwig's back) can't find any pasta. A solid five minutes of running has only lead Arthur through plastic and paper utensils and coffee grounds. Damn those Americans and their superstores.
His feet click over slippery concrete floors, and little things slowly pile up in his pack. A box of Earl Grey, a set of lighters, antibiotic wipes, socks...the list goes on, and eventually Arthur is at the back of the store with a heavy pack on his back and a completely blank head. Rotting trays of meat on styrofoam are crammed on top of each other in the former freezer, and the stench makes him retch.
It's all silent except for the silent cacophony of flies around him, buzzing and scratching everywhere, making him uneasy and fidgety. The emptiness of the store spooks him; he would have expected walkers or rotting bodies, but he hasn't seen a single corpse. So he lets his legs lead him out and away from the disturbing sound. His mind has been so dazed in the last couple of hours, and Arthur isn't completely sure if the effects of dehydration have worn off completely, but that's not too surprising. The fact that he has real allies, or as close as real can get, is putting his head into overdrive, even though their status is unknown.
Their status is unknown….
His emotions flip like a switch, and worry makes him cringe in fear. Arthur has to convince himself to slow down and stop fussing. Ludwig still scares the bloody bollocks out of him, but Feliciano definitely isn't a thief, and he knows the two have good intentions. At the very least, he truly believes so. And if he's being honest with himself, he has no other choice, horrible as it is. Eventually, Arthur pulls himself out of his musings to hear something that makes him raise a thick eyebrow.
"Ouch! Why'd you drop me? ...Ve, Luddy, what's with that face?"
"...Don't call me that, Feliciano. A-A-" The German's voice cracks and stutters. "P-Put that down, verdammt!"
"But you just said we needed them, ve?"
Arthur hears a loud coughing splutter. Is it coming from the pharmacy section? He knows he caught a glimpse of the sign when he was searching for blankets in Aisle Five. Ludwig's voice is uneven and shaky.
"Enough! Scheiße, Feli, Arthur can probably hear you!"
"So?"
"S-s-s-so…. We're supposed to be gathering supplies! Bitte, put them down. Now."
Arthur rounds the corner to see Ludwig and Feliciano at the end of the aisle, with Ludwig flustered pink and Feli looking immensely confused, sprawled on the floor oh-so-innocently. The box in his hands...Blast, are those condoms? Arthur can't stop himself from snickering just a little, just thinking about this awkward German and this hyperactive Italian shagging, and before he knows it he's on his knees bursting with laughter. He really can't help it, his voice ringing over the building, and Arthur's fairly sure he's attracting walkers from miles away, but he doesn't even care anymore.
The relief melts every bit of stress that's been pooling in his system for the last year: his mother's untimely death, the rushed move from London in some half-arsed attempt to escape the pain, a miserably lonely existence in a city he didn't know, immunity to the impending virus that had spread across the globe. So much anxiety and fear used to lurk in his system, and it's all gone now. Arthur lets his palms hit the ground and laughter swells through the air. He's so relieved, the crushing pressure off his head, and he can certainly begin to think clearly now. Everything has been released from his thoughts. Finally, he can breathe.
All thanks to the German and his less-than-innocent Italian "friend". Just the thought makes Arthur chortle again. He feels like such a git at laughing at someone's sexual escapades, looking at his own (heavily questionable) moments with Francis, but the thought of Ludwig and Feli, Feliciano the giggly five year old pasta-twit….
Lord, how much stranger can these two get? The lad had literally let a drifter leech off of his party because Arthur happened to have a box of spaghetti in his house. Quite honestly, Arthur isn't sure how they've even come this far without getting horrendously swindled into giving up all of their clothes and food.
Arthur lets his chuckles die down, suppressing another bout of laughter after seeing the mortified expression on Ludwig's face. Feliciano just looks a little out of his element, but Ludwig is in complete shock, and Arthur can't help grinning again as he dashes off.
"See you at the doors in five minutes then, lads. Make-" At this point, Arthur's too busy trying to keep himself from smirking his smug arse off and stumbles over a case of aspirin, which he tosses over to Feli. "Oh, blast it, just make it quick. I mean it!"
Like a damned gentleman, he mumbles to himself. It's like a light switch; the gloominess and death that seemed to pervade his world before is now polished sparkling-bright and ready for anything. If someone had told him a week ago that his mood would drastically flip like a coin after laughing at a box of condoms…. But it doesn't matter, nothing matters anymore, and everything has to get better from here. It really needs to. Arthur doesn't even care if that isn't the way it works.
That's just the way he has to think.
So, letting the prospect of possibly-false hope drench his thoughts with a strange form of joy, Arthur pulls his heart out of the murk, a temporary fix to a very permanent problem. Will there ever be something that lasts in this world?
No need to get so philosophical so fast, his head chides. Stay in the here and now. The voice is high and reedy. Arthur wonders if he's going insane, and if so, if it really matters anymore.
Of course it matters. The voice makes him shiver a little, little tosser that it is. He can see the sunlight streaming through the entry as it majestically sets against a backdrop of blank nothing. For some odd reason, unease settles into his skin, ultra-absorbent, and the moment of relief from before is already gone, blown away. Wonderful; he's hearing voices, he's cornered in a strange situation, and his hope is dead.
No, his hope is alive and very much so, Arthur has to remind himself. So long as Ludwig and Feliciano are alive, he is as safe as he can be. As safe as he can be. Bollocks, where the hell did his good mood go? Was it ever there in the first place?
Everything is alright. Calm down, you git. Everything is alright. Everything is alright.
Arthur runs a hand through his hair, watching and waiting for the duo, pondering the lack of bodies in the streets. His old neighborhood in Queens was mostly evacuated, but he knows that wasn't the case for all of New York. After all, they had just crossed one of many buckled bridges into Brooklyn, and Arthur knew Long Island had been packed when the bombs hit. So what exactly went on afterwards?
He spots Feliciano and Ludwig emerging from Gardening Supplies; Feli is bouncing up and down excitedly on the German's back, a hoe in his hands and a light pack on his shoulder, while Ludwig is still flushed and awkward, clearly carting most of the things they've scavenged along with Feliciano himself. He mutters something under his breath and beckons outside, and the two of them follow. It feels darker now, much more sinister, a chill in the air. Trees rustle back and forth in the background like voices.
"Ludwig, Ludwig," Feliciano says worryingly, "What's that smell?" Arthur cocks his head in confusion for a moment before it hits him, a wave of gasoline and ash and something strangely food-like, and the realization arrives like the tsunami after the quake. Ludwig seems to realize this too. Arthur knows that smell, is far too familiar with it. Distinct memories surface from his addled time in his old apartment in the days after the spread of the virus.
The men in ghostly-white hazmat suits swarmed over the streets like ants. Just two days ago, Arthur was curled into the corner down in the basement as the bombs ransacked New York City, listening to his shaky pulse and the shrieks of others as hell dropped from the skies. Just two hours ago, the cleanup crews arrived by the busload. Arthur could only peer through the gap in his window slats and watch in terror and disgust.
One man dragged out two bodies, bloated and completely mauled, piling them up; the rest of his group added to the sickening pile of rot and death. A mere child, not much older than sixteen, it seemed, lugged a red gas can up to the pile. Slowly, deliberately, the others stared as he dribbled gasoline over the glazed eyes and numb bodies.
And then he fled, leaping out of there as if he had been permanently tainted, pressing himself against Arthur's apartment building, watching as one of the workers dropped a match into the pile. Even through the little gap in his window, the reek of burning flesh and soot charred his nose. He couldn't turn his eyes away as the bodies smoldered into skeletal bits. It smelled like sadness and cooked venison, much to his disgust, and Arthur flicked salty tears from his cheeks.
"Let's turn around, Feli." A repulsed grimace crosses his eyes. Arthur sees an echo of his own previous urges to vomit.
"What is it? Can we go s-"
"Feli, let's head the opposite way. Towards the ocean…. Our camp is on the mainland, remember? The sooner we get off Long Island," he intones, desperation edging into his voice, "the sooner we can get to Bruder and the others."
Feli pouts. "Can't we peek?"
"No!"
Arthur sighs. Ludwig is horrendously overprotective, something that grates on him irritatingly, and it clearly isn't the best thing. Judging by Feli's mystery injury, Arthur doesn't exactly think he's totally innocent; but he holds his tongue anyways, because staying on Ludwig's good side is essential and he doesn't exactly have another option.
Feliciano looks a little hurt by the tone Ludwig used and turns his head away, cheeks pink with embarrassment as the two of them pick their way out of the parking lot, gently bobbing up and down to the rhythm of Ludwig's steps. The reek of death is fading quickly from the air. Arthur can only thank the powers that be and lets Ludwig guide him away from the empty supermarket.
The walk passes in a blur. Arthur can't really register anything around him, only a vaguely active presence in the back of his head as they trudge onwards. Out of Brooklyn, across another stilted bridge, passing miles of empty death and burnt flesh, everything thickly padded by silence.
Soon, the sun is setting across the horizon; the ash in the air from all the bombs makes the sunset unnaturally bright. Funny how such horror and innocent bloodshed brings unspeakable beauty in reds, pinks, purples, oranges, smeared across the sky like a child's fingerpaints. It's lovely lovely lovely, so lovely Feliciano is softly crying into Ludwig's shoulder as they slog onwards.
The golden light on Arthur's face is warm like the glow in his chest. Bloody hell, he's really on an emotional rollercoaster today, isn't he? Arthur doesn't know how to feel anymore. He'll probably hit a few more mood swings before the sun comes back up, he smirks to himself. It's strange; he's unable to control the aggressive emotional takeover, and he really can't care less. Arthur has had enough of being a reliable arsehole for his entire life and then some.
When the moon hangs picture-perfect in the sky and the stars shine through sparse clouds, Ludwig finally halts in his relentless march.
"We are close." His voice is clipped, but there's a clear emotional undertone, traces of both worry and relief in his speech.
Feliciano sleepily giggles. "Ve, I hope Tonio and Gil will like what we found. Yao and Lizzy and Roddy too…. They're at the top of this hill, did you know that, Arthur? They're great. Ve, I'm sure you'll like them a lot!" Arthur smiles at the boy, something catching in his throat. The old hiking trail they're on is winding and confusing, even more so in the dark, and he has to focus on where his feet are stepping. Tension is heavy in the air. He breathes it in and tries to keep a level head. They make their way up the trail, slowly but surely. In the distance, Arthur can spot the glow of a fire, and Feliciano lets out a cheer.
"We're finally back! Luddy, run, run, run, run!" The German smiles a little, hiking Feli up onto his shoulders and breaking into a dash towards the light. Any trace of reservedness is gone from his demeanor. The Italian is ecstatic, and Arthur lets himself get lost in their glee, running along with them. His pack feels light enough to be nonexistent. Feet skid across dust and dirt and gravel, scrambling desperately, reaching towards warmth and hope and safety. The beginning of a mood swing settles into the pit of Arthur's stomach once more. The embers shine so brightly against the stars.
"Ve, everyone, we're back!" Feliciano hoots into the night. "We have a surprise or two for you guys!" Ludwig laughs a little too, words soaked in joy. It's a wonderful sound.
And suddenly Feliciano screams so loud Arthur doesn't even register it at first, doesn't even notice for a split second, and in that single moment something has gone horribly wrong. So, so, so horribly wrong.
Because in the firelight, Arthur can see a body in a pool of blood, eyes wide and a gash across his forehead. He looks like an albino; his eyes are a purple-reddish wine and his hair is so pale, matted with blood, the color still wet. Even more is in his mouth, staining sharp teeth crimson. Arthur doesn't want to look. God, no, he doesn't want to see, and he can see Ludwig frantically shoving Feli away.
"Don't look! Don't look!" His voice is anguished, on the verge of tears, straining against the tang of blood in the air. The German's hands are on the albino's shoulders now, checking for a pulse or a heartbeat or a breath. His desperation makes Arthur want to scream.
"Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert, du können nicht! Bruder, please…."
But it's clear the man is already dead, and terror pools in Arthur's stomach. The camp is empty; it's clear someone else has been here. Are they still here? Where are the other members of Feli and Ludwig's group?
A shuddering gasp makes chills run across his skin. "L-Ludwig…..that you?" Her voice is weak and slow, so incredibly sickly and afraid. Feliciano desperately scrambles out of the dust towards the voice, and Ludwig's eyes widen.
"Elizabeta?"
"Lizzy!"
Arthur grabs the Italian and runs towards a second crumpled figure. Her face is lovely, large green eyes and pale brown bangs sweeping across her forehead, and her green blouse is stained with gaping stab wounds. The crackling of the fire makes Arthur's ears burn.
"Feli, Ludwig, it's re-" Her heavy European accent is interrupted by a hacking cough. Tears stream down Feliciano's pale cheeks. "It's really you… And you brought a new person too, huh, Feli?"
Elizabeta weakly smiles as Feliciano starts to sob. Ludwig's face is heavy with agony. "Elizabeta, what h-happened? Where are the others? What's going on?" Arthur can hear the suppressed urge in his voice to scream at her.
She just sighs a rattling sigh, eyes glazing a little. "The man…. The man and his friends took Yao and Antonio. Gil- Gil, he- oh, fuck, he tried to stop them, they beat the everloving shit out of him…. God, I told Roderich to go to the stream and get water when I saw them, so he's bound to come out any moment." Elizabeta cracks a small smile. Her lower lip is split and scabbing. "You just missed them, you know? You really were right, Feli; your luck is truly phenomenal. Both you and Roddy, you and your lucky streaks….."
"Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy…."
Arthur tries to swallow but can't get past the tears.
"His name…. She called him Ivan." Elizabeta smiles up at them. "Say goodbye to Roderich for me. She called him Ivan. I saw his tears as he beat Gilbert to death, you know?" She's far gone, so far gone, and Arthur thinks back to what was this morning but seems like three years ago; the urge to kill the woman and put her out of her pain makes his head spin again.
"I saw his tears. They were going to go to Las Vegas. Lovely city, huh? Wish we could go there. Oh, you mustn't cry, Feli, that's what I always told you when we were little, huh? You mustn't cry. You will be fine." Feliciano is wailing now.
"Oh, Feli, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, I know," she mumbles as he buries his face in her blouse. "It will all end soon."
Click.
Ludwig is holding a pistol, sleek and graphite-colored and heavy, and Feliciano shrieks. His eyes are so wide, too wide. But Elizabeta just smiles sunnily even as her face is bruised and broken and her eyes fill with tears.
"It's time for you to go, Feli."
"No! Ludwig, you monster! You c-c-c-can't! You're sick!"
"Feliciano Vargas," the woman smiles. "Turn your head, darling."
Arthur wordlessly steps in and grabs Feli under the arms. He's kicking and screaming now, biting and scratching. But Elizabeta flashes him that glowing grin, the brightest smile he has ever seen, brighter than Feliciano's, an easygoing shine in her eyes directed at him. So he holds the Italian back, turns him away, listens to the sharp crack of a gunshot against pale brown hair.
Ludwig is crying too, so Arthur lets the tears run tracks down his face as Feliciano slams thin fists against his ribs.
Um.
I'm dealing with some heavy mood swings ATM, which is probably why this story is flipping around so much. Rest assured, everything is planned out, I just...add extra details sometimes. (sigh. I should really try for consistency.) The amount of plot-twistyness should die down soon, but I personally like starting stuff out with a lot of it, so, uh... struggle through it?
But thanks to TheBlueAcid and anti-pineapples for reviewing again, along with everyone who's followed this story so far! You guys are amazing! (you can stomach a consistent dose of my writing. that's more than I can say for a lot of people.)
I've recently started writing a horribly cracky fic about America and the States, which is probably the most cliche thing ever, but it's incredibly entertaining to work on. So if you're into that jazz, you should look at it and pile on the critique. Also check out the poll on my profile; it's for a fic I'm currently planning, so go do it!
Anyways, I'm going to stop rambling now and let you get on with your life. Have a good one.
-kat