This chapter should have been called "Erin to Rhiona, Sean to Seamus, Arthur to Oliver" but that was too long for FFN.
"Give Erin back!" Arthur screams as Rhiona stands herself up. Erin's work overalls and old t-shirt have been replaced by a blouse, long skirt and an apron, all three clearly having been fixed and re-hemmed several times; in fact, the blouse and skirt seem to have been sized down from a larger shirt and a pair of trousers. Her hair is ridiculously long, plaited and wrapped three times around her waist before being wrapped over itself to hold it in place, the scratty ribbon holding it together hanging by her knees. She's skeletal, bones visibly kneading under her skin as she moves, her skin is peeling and her eyes are dull, lifeless without Erin's cheeky, rebellious spark.
"Rhiona? Vodka." Nikolai orders her plainly.
Rhiona leaves with a hurried courtesy, tottering into the kitchen with short, hopping steps.
"Final chance, Arthur," Nikolai says, tone bored and impatient.
Arthur doesn't answer, staring at the kitchen door as Gilbert appears, "Who's she?"
"Rhiona," Nikolai snaps, "You knew her as Erin."
"Oh, okay," Gilbert says, "And who's that?"
"You don't need to know everything!"
Gilbert holds up his journal pointedly. Nikolai growls, forcing himself to calm down; lips pursed, shoulders heaving, eyes wide; an expression Gilbert grew used to back when he'd lived with Ivan. "I will get to you in a minute, Gilbert; I am busy."
Gilbert nods, retreating back into the kitchen, almost barreling Rhiona over as she tries to slink past him, making Gilbird twitter in alarm. She barely notices him as he apologises, slipping straight past him into the living room, putting the vodka down on the coffee table. She puts a large glass down next to it and pulls a can of draught out of the apron's pocket, cracking it and pouring it into the glass as it froths up. Seamus straightens up at the crack, awake and alert.
Seamus seems smaller than Sean, and much more weather-beaten. His work overalls are more patch than original fabric, his boots are old and dirty, his hands are scarred and discoloured from manual labour. Rhiona hands him the drink silently, and he drinks a good half in one go before slamming it down on the table with a loud burp.
"Pleasant," Arthur mutters, and Nikolai snorts a laugh.
"He might not be polite, but he's the most hard-working person I know," Nikolai says, "When he wants to be. Of course, Oliver knows all of this already."
Arthur doesn't answer. Without a protest from the Brit, the red glow, becoming so familiar to Gilbert, consumes Arthur, and slowly peels away to reveal Oliver in his familiar distasteful ensemble; his shirt and wool vest in varying shades of pink, the faded bow tie, the ill-fitting trousers. His hair is bleached almost white, cigarette burns line his cheeks in a freckle-like pattern, his skin is blotchy with chemical burns, and his smile is so wide it looks painful, even more so than Ivan's used to be.
"Oh," Oliver says, looking around, "This is what Yong-Su was talking about, isn't it?"
"Yes," Nikolai answers, putting Oliver down carefully.
"That explains an awful lot," Oliver says breathlessly, rubbing his hands together.
"Try not to think about," Seamus says, slurping at his draught.
"That's easy for you to say, poppet," Oliver's voice is dangerously sweet, but Seamus just burps at him.
"So we've got Arthur's counterpart here, as well?" Gilbert asks from the kitchen door.
Oliver blinks at him, "Yes, love. Oliver Kirkland." He approaches the Prussian, hand outstretched. Gilbert shakes his hand cautiously, Gilbird twittering in worry.
"This is Rhiona, this is Seamus," Nikolai points to the twins, "Seamus, go and tell Gilbert everything that's happened. Oliver, the kitchen is through there."
"Cake, anybody?" Oliver chirps.
"Yep!" Seamus answers with a salute of his drink.
Rhiona nods as Gilbert sits himself between her and Seamus at the coffee table. Nikolai doesn't answer; Oliver already knows how fond Nikolai is of his baking. Just like Matt and François are fond of his baking. But they don't really have as much of an option in that as Nikolai did.
Gilbird flaps over to Rhiona, landing on her shoulder and chirping in her ear.
"That means he likes you," Gilbert says with a grin. Rhiona just give him an uncomfortable smile.
"I'm starting to worry about Lutz and Lorenzo," Nikolai says as Seamus finishes explaining Sean's torture and the three transformations to the most awesome scribe in existence, "Lutz I know is lazy, but Lorenzo is taking longer than I expected."
"Elizabeta was one tough cookie, though," Seamus says idly.
"We want cookies, too?" Oliver asks from the doorway.
"No," Seamus says, beginning to explain when he pauses; "Yes."
As Oliver skips off, Lutz appears on the driveway, strolling lazily along with a body slung over his shoulder.
"Lutz is back," Nikolai announces.
"Before Lorenzo?" Seamus asks, "That surprises me."
Nikolai pauses, staring at the ceiling as if he's trying to remember something. "No, this is right. Lutz is back first, but he fucked up."
"Who's he got with him?" Gilbert asks, peering out of the window.
"He was sent to collect the Canadian representative," Nikolai answers.
"Birdie?" Gilbert asks, "You're not going to hurt Birdie, are you?"
"Only if he defies me," Nikolai says plainly, "Get that written down."
Gilbert growls at him, but obediently sits himself down, scrawling in his journal. Lutz comes striding in, throwing the body down.
"Morning, Matt," Seamus greets. Nikolai is silent.
"Wha…?" Alfred F. Jones, human representative of the United States of America, sits up, dazed and confused.
"Lutz Beilschmidt, you have fucked up," Seamus snaps at him, and Gilbert snorts in laughter as he writes that down, word for word.
"Sie sah beide die gleich zur mich," Lutz says with a shrug.
"They look nothing alike!" Gilbert says with a snap.
"Unsere Al und Matt sah mehr anders," Lutz whines, "Al habt Piercings, und Matt habt mehr lange Haare und seine Sonnenbrille."
"Excuses, excuses," Gilbert dismisses, and Seamus laughs.
"He just doesn't know these representatives well enough," Oliver says calmly from the door, "He's more familiar with ours."
"What's going on?" Alfred asks, head whipping around, "Why do you guys look so weird?"
"Because you touch yourself at night," Seamus says bluntly, and Rhiona giggles silently at Alfred's frown.
"No, seriously though," Alfred says, climbing to his feet. He scans everyone up and down, from Gilbert all the way around the room to Nikolai. "Have you had a haircut?"
"Yes, Fredka," Nikolai says sarcastically, "I have had a haircut."
"Thought so," Alfred says with his American Smile™.
"Fredka, we would like you to join us," Nikolai says.
"Doing what?" Alfred asks, suspicious, "And why'd you send Deutschmark over here to basically kidnap me?"
"Because I and the rest of the second players are taking over the world."
"Woah, what the shit?! I thought you'd just gotten a haircut; I never thought you coulda gone 2p!"
"I know, Fredka. Now shut up and let me turn you into your second player."
"Oh, hell no," Alfred pulls his gun out of it's holster, aiming at Nikolai. Of course Alfred open carries; he's white so he can do that without getting arrested for 'seeming dangerous'.
"That is going to get you literally nowhere," Gilbert says dully, "Sean tried, Arthur tried, Erin had a fucking bazooka. Just give up while you still have your dignity."
Alfred blinks at him. "Dude, what the hell has gotten into you? This is so unlike you, all good and submissive, just sat there with your little journal. It's so… un-awesome."
"I've seen what this guy's capable of," Gilbert says with a shrug, "Pick your battles, Alfred."
"There's a difference between picking your battles and giving up completely," Alfred scolds.
Gilbert shakes his head, "I thought I'd taught you well, back in your revolution days. But, no. Not only are you not listening to the advice of someone who has seen your 'enemy' firsthand, but you've completely taken your attention off the 'enemy' for several seconds. Would you like your situation in three words or more?"
Alfred blinks stupidly at him, then looks across at Nikolai. The ends of Nikolai's scarf are encircling Alfred waist, and tighten quickly around him, hoisting him into the air. Alfred shoots his gun, blinded as his sight becomes engulfed by a red glow.
A lot happens in this chapter. Like, a lot.
Alfred's situation in three words is "Russian black magic", in more is "Nikolai's scarf is about to turn you second player. Don't ask me how, it just is."
Bonus chapter/story to whoever reviews with the origin of the "Three words or more" reference. It's from a song.
Alfred's transformation won't be that slow.
Gilbert's kinda given up. Or he's lying low, gaining trust, learning. That may or may not be a spoiler.
Matt is 2p!Canada.
Lutz, Lorenzo and later Matt run a lot of errands for Nikolai. I was watching Nightmare Before Christmas and now refer to Lutz, Lorenzo and Matt as Nikolai's henchmen, much like Oogie Boogie and Lock, Shock and Barrel.
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-Laurel Silver
