There's lots of translations this chapter, mostly from French, and they will be posted below!
…xXx…
Gretta looked up at the sound of a soft sound of a bell ringing from the front of the store and a heavy shuffle of feet. She looked over at the Swiss all suited up on the pedestal. "That must be Roderich," she said, walking over to the door."Now don't you move."
Switzerland stayed put as she left the backroom. He snuck a glance at himself in the mirror for what seemed like the hundredth time, his eyes skeptical. He ran his hand over the front of himself consciously, down the various fabrics he adorned.
The three piece suit was made with fine craftsmenship, no doubt about that. Soft white, double pleated dress pants cut right to the tops of his feet. Plus, they fit perfectly so he didn't even need a belt. The bright green silk tie, cut out and sewn together by hand, tucked neatly into a fine form-fitting colorless vest, tawny buttons lining down the front on either side. The white under shirt he had on ended in crisp cufflinks with golden buttons on them, fitting his wrists just right. Yes, Gretta had done a beautiful job—and he hadn't even gotten to see his jacket yet. And yet . . .
I look silly, he thought, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. No matter how often he'd dressed up he never felt like he deserved such expensive trifles. He stuffed a hand into one of his vest pockets and stepped down, deciding to sit on the pedestal instead. His legs and feet relaxed in relief, sore from standing so long. The clock on the wall said that it was about 7 o'clock which means he's been standing for around 6 hours, only taking breaks at lunch and a few others periodically. He stretched his arms above his head to straighten out his spine, a small moan escaping him as his bones popped.
Gretta came back suddenly, bursting through the door."Lettie!" she called, racing around and grabbing her sewing kit.
"What is it?" the girl asked, walking around the divider.
"Do you think you could finish getting him ready? I have to—" Hazel eyes flicked down to his confused expression. "—tend to Roderich."
"What's going on?" Gretta ignored his question and disappeared back out of the room. He stood up quickly to follow, concern starting to fill him, but stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry," Lettie said, a cheerful smile on her lips."Mother always gets frantic when she has to do things last minute. Now come on, let's see if your jacket fits."
Switzerland nodded reluctantly and tore his gaze away from the door. He decided to ignore his feelings, taking Lettie's explanation. His instincts told him otherwise. Something wasn't right.
"Here we go." Lettie appeared next to him again—he hadn't even noticed she'd left—holding a folded piece of white clothing.
Switzerland took the piece from her carefully, holding it by the shoulders and letting it drop open. His eyes widened. The jacket was exceptional; the skillful stitching barely noticeable against the pale fabric, which was so soft and smooth he couldn't even begin to guess the material. The collar traveled a ways down the front, lying perfectly flat and respectable. One side had two sets of gold buttons going down it and the other side held two sets of holes. It was a little longer than most suit jackets, cut and sewn a little tighter at the waist with an elastic band in the back. It had squared shoulders and well-placed vents. What caught his eye, though, were all of the ornate, black swirls curling up from the bottom and wrists of the jacket, never quite reaching the top or touching the collar. Reaching out, he brushed one of the lines gently, feeling fuzzy velvet beneath his fingertips.
It was exquisite.
And probably cost a small fortune.
"Come on, let's see if it fits," Lettie said eagerly, taking and holding out the jacket.
He turned his back to her and slid each of his arms in the silk interior, shrugging the rest of it on easily. The sleeves ended just short of where the buttons were on his cuffs and he adjusted the collar. Lettie walked around in front of him and began to close both sets of buttons. The feature reminded him of the comforts of the uniform he always wore.
Lettie was nodding happily to herself, checking the fit of the garment on him. "It looks great!" she cheered, clapping her hands together. She ushered him over to a chair nearby, pushing him down in it. She practically skipped back around the barrier and a loud rustling was heard.
Switzerland's eyes squinted in suspicion when the woman walked back over to him with her arms full. In one arm she held a pair of fancy leather ankle boots, a cloth, and a bottle of shoe shine. In the other was a thin comb and a mysterious looking orange spray can—the German words for 'fluff' and 'shine' catching his eye.
"What is that?" he asked cautiously, pointing at the foreboding object.
Lettie smiled, sweet and not-so-innocent."Oh, don't worry. Here, put these on," she said, handing him the shoes.
He did as he was told, not bothering to argue. He'd found out pretty quickly throughout the hours of being poked and prodded at that it was pointless to try and banter with Lettie. Bending down and slipping on the smooth black black heels, he laced them both up neatly and began to apply the polish.
"Alright, here we go." Switzerland paused at the comment, cautious of the woman for a moment before going back to polishing.
Shuuurrrrrrrrrrrrr . . .
There was a quick, hushed giggle beside him—then all of a sudden there were fingers in his hair and a cold, wet substance on his scalp. The Swiss sat up in surprise, his hands flying up to his hair to stop the invasion.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Putting mousse in your hair to smooth it back," Lettie cheered, smacking his hands away. "Now hold still. And don't wipe it on your pants!"
Switzerland groaned and stared at the sticky stuff on his hands as he let the woman have her way yet again. The sharp scent of the goo irritated his nose, smelling slightly of pomegranates. Pomegranates . . . The blonde's face flushed as he recalled his bath. Oh, the mousse—
"Do you have a towel?" he asked briskly, suddenly conscious of his blush.
"Yep, right over there." Lettie pointed with a wet finger to their right, pausing in her work.
He sighed, walking over to where a cloth sat on a table beside the door. Lettie moved to stand by the mirror, beckoning him over. He grabbed the towel and reluctantly went to stand in front of her again, the woman going back to rubbing the mousse in before combing through his locks meticulously. The Swiss stared at himself in the reflection as he dried his hands of the evil cream. Why was she gelling his hair back? At least she wasn't using the mousse for the 'fluff' part, but smoothing it back very much in the same way Germany kept his hair? Not to mention that he really didn't feel at ease in the incredibly expensive looking suit and shoes.
He felt embarrassed.
"Ok, all done!" Lettie announced, flicking a few small hairs down in the front to give it some more style. She finished and relieved the towel from him for herself.
Switzerland reached up, tentatively touching his new hairdo. He was surprised to feel that it was completely dry, thinking that it would've been slick to the bone after all that she put in it. "How the—?"
"Ah, the miracle of haircare products," the happy woman stated. Lettie set down the cloth nearby and suddenly became serious, hands on her wide hips. Bright baby blues assessed him thoroughly for a moment. She must of spotted his worried expression because she was smiling again, patting his breast pocket gently. "Don't fret so much, you look great."
"I feel weird, though," he murmured, adjusting his jacket in the mirror.
She smiled again wholeheartedly, walking with him to the door. "You just wait out here for a bit while I finish getting your sister ready. Hopefully she hasn't fallen asleep standing up."
"Alright."
She giggled and opened the door, ushering him out into the front of the store."Well, if it makes you feel any better, Roddy will love it."
The Swiss sputtered and turned his gaze away from her, hiding his burning cheeks. "D-Don't say such things!"
Lettie gave him a sly wink before closing the door and leaving him alone.
Switzerland stood there for a brief minute before wandering over towards a blue cushioned chair and sat down. He smoothed down his suit and settled back into the comfortable mahogany seat, giving his legs a rest once more. He closed his tired eyes and allowed his anxious body to relax.
The lobby wasn't as warm as the dressing room, cool air seeping from the windows and under the door. He relished in it, feeling a sort of calmness washing over him. He was grateful for the momentary peace—considering ever since he'd woken this morning it had been nothing but utter chaos from the pills to the train ride to the fitting and measurements. Plus, as soon as his sister and Austria finished getting ready they would be bustling over to the theatre for the concert, pushing through the crowds and chatting with other countries. Then they'd have to go back to the hotel and wake up early the next morning, only to get on another train . . .
Well, there went his relaxing atmosphere.
Huffing in frustration, Vash forced his thoughts away and collected himself. He focused on the sounds outside of the windows instead. Motorists driving by and the relative hum of the city soothed him down again. Since countries' hearing were a bit more acute than normal humans, he heard several people chatting as they walked past the shop. He could tell by there higher pitched voices that they were girls, exclaiming about some movie they'd just seen. Another vehicle drove by after they left. The rumbling should of only lasted a moment, but instead the engine seemed to idle right outside the shop door.
Green eyes opened slowly as he turned to stare towards the colored glass. Yep, there were definitely headlights outside. Curious, he stood up and moved over to get a better look. Maybe someone was getting picked up, or dropped off. But it didn't seem that way; it seemed as if it was just sitting there. The vehicle was a strange white, windowless van. He couldn't see into the driver's side due to the tinted glass—wait.
A white van. Similar to the one from earlier that had nearly hit Austria in the crosswalk.
Suspicion immediately rose up in him and he went to the door, the van speeding away as soon as he swung it open. The frigid wind hit him as he rushed out onto the sidewalk, only able to catch a fleeting glimpse of tail lights disappearing around a corner.
Cursing under his breath, Switzerland hurried back into the tailors before the door shut on him. He closed it quickly and shook himself off in a desperate attempt to rid him of the chilled air.I wonder who those people were, he thought.
"What are you doing?"
The Swiss froze again, but not from the cold. Green orbs skirted across the floor and stopped at a shoe. He closed his eyes with a sigh and adjusted his jacket collar. "I was just checking to see how cold it is outside." No sense in telling him about the van.
"Oh. Well, it is pretty wintry out. Despite it being a bit early in the season."
"You don't say," the blonde muttered. It was silent for a while before a reply came.
"Vash."
Switzerland finally lifted his gaze to the man, eyes widening. For some reason he let out a breath of relief—the way Gretta had acted earlier made him think something was wrong.
But no, Austria was completely fine. Dressed up in black single pleated pants, dress shoes, and a three piece suit, they looked similar. Instead of having double columns of buttons going down the vest, though, he just had a single one with golden buttons with matching cufflinks. A violet tie sat neatly tucked into the vest; not too dark, not too bright and gaudy either—a regular tie, if you can believe it. Even as the brunette leaned up against the reception counter next to a bag, resting his head in his hand, everything looked crisp and pressed with equal astounding craftsmanship used on the blonde's own suit.
It was the color of the clothing that caught his attention, though. Obsidian. So bleak and pure, like ink. His entire suit was the kind of black that makes you envious. The color definitely stood out against his pale skin, making it seem as if he was glowing slightly.
Yes. The Austrian looked completely fine.
Fine indeed.
Switzerland smacked his cheek at the thought. What the hell was that? He was just about to hit himself again but was stopped by the Austrian.
The aristocrat held his hand firmly. "So you think I'm 'fine', do you?" he purred, giving him a foxy grin.
"W-What? No I don't!" The Swiss couldn't help his blush.I can't believe I actually said that aloud!
"Mmm."
"Don't 'mmm' me, idiot!"
The musician kept smiling, his glasses flashing as he tilted his head to the side. "Well, if you ask me," he murmured, "I think that out of the two of us you look the best. You look . . ." He reached out to smooth down a soft blonde hair. "Absolutely lovely."
"Men aren't supposed to look lovely!" the blonde hissed, cheeks flaming from the compliment. Lettie was right!"And nobody asked you, y-you twit!"
The Austrian pushed off the counter and released his hand, still smirking.
Gretta appeared not a second later from a door behind him, brandishing another piece of ebony clothing. Her hazel eyes flicked to him for a moment, appraising him. She pointed at his hair, smiling. "Lettie had a bit of fun, didn't she?"
"You have no idea," he grumbled, forcing himself to calm down.
She gave a hearty chuckle. "You look handsome, Vash," she said kindly before turning to the musician. The woman held out the bundle of cloth. "You forgot your jacket."
"Oh, thank you," Austria murmured, taking it from her carefully.
He let it drop open, swinging the jacket around behind him with a flourish and slipping his arms through. The jacket was about as long as his usual blue one, maybe a little longer considering the back of it hung around his ankles. The interior was a bright white, looking to be made of silk. The outside, however, was the same black as the rest of the outfit—save for one part. Elegant white swirls curled up from the bottom and at the ends of the sleeves, the blonde guessing they were made of velvet by their fuzzy appearance. The Austrian easily did up the golden column of buttons, making sure everything fit snugly.
He caught the Swiss staring and quirked an eyebrow, asking, "What's the matter?"
"We match, you idiot," Switzerland replied. He waved an arm at him, huffing in exasperation. "Did you intend for this to happen?"
"Of course," the brunette said, pushing up his glasses. He handed the neutral country a pair of black gloves from the bag on the counter, taking a white pair for himself. Slipping them on, he glanced to his right, his eyes lighting up. Switzerland followed his gaze. "Though, it isn't just the two of us that match."
Liechtenstein stepped out of the dressing room and walked towards them.
The dress she wore was stunning. Shimmering pale fabric draped itself around her thin frame in a wide skirt, hooking upwards in several spots like a curtain. White satin ran up her torso to a lavish, jade colored ribbon sleeves in a shoulder-less fashion. A plum colored bow tied itself tightly around her waist, matching the headband pushing back her blonde bangs. The ribbon that the Swiss had bought her was tied to the band on the same side she always kept it. And, like the men standing before her, soft swirls made their way up from the bottom of her dress. The lines started off as violet before fading into a grassy green and then back again, twisting fancily up to her waist. Glossy pearls dangled from her earlobes and around her graceful neck. Strawberry balm painted her lips, accompanied by a cool gray eye shadow. Elbow-length, colorless silk gloves adorned her delicate hands—which were gripping each other nervously.
Her small white heels stopped clicking as she stood a few feet away from them. She spun around a bit, swishing her skirt anxiously. "Well?" she asked quietly. "How do I look?"
"You look marvelous," Austria said happily, walking over to her. "Positively radiant—the dress suits you perfectly!"
"Really?" Liechtenstein's eyes brightened and her cheeks were rosy. "Thank you, Mr. Austria."
"Don't just stand there gaping like a fish!" Lettie appeared next to the Swiss, squeezing his shoulder. She gestured towards the smaller blonde. "Give the girl a compliment!"
Switzerland cleared his throat, not used to this kind of thing. He really couldn't think of anything adequate to say, flustereed. He cast his gaze downward. "You . . . You look lovely."
His little sister gasped, a sentimental smile crossing her berry lips. "Thank you, big brother," she said gratefully, bowing slightly. "Thank you both so much."
"Yeah, you're welcome," the Swiss said, rubbing his arm awkwardly. He glanced up to meet the smiling Austrian's eyes.
The brunette chuckled as he walked back over to the blonde. Violets looked him up and down knowingly. "Lovely indeed." He turned away from the blushing blonde to face Gretta. He reached out to grab a hold of her hands gratefully. "Thank you for doing this, Gretta. I'm sorry it was such last minute."
"Of course, dear."
"Vash." The blonde perked up, catching the set of keys thrown at him reflexively. "I want you to go start up the car outside, ok?"
"Oh, okay," the Swiss said. He gestured for his sister to follow him, glancing at the Austrian again. "Alright, Lilli, put on your coat."
"Okay."
"Lettie," Gretta called, catching the girl's attention. She tilted her head towards the back room. The girl got the signal immediately and walked into the other room. The two blonde countries bundled themselves up carefully and headed out into the chilled city. Only the two of them were left now.
Austria let go of the woman's hand to get something out of his pocket. He pulled out a piece of colored paper and a pen, leaning on the counter to write."Here, I want you to take this," he said, continuing to scribble quickly. When he finished, he handed it to her quickly, putting his pen away.
"What is this for?" Gretta's eyes widened as she stared at the check in her hands. She looked back up at him in surprise. "Roderich—!"
"Please, take it." He smiled.
"But, this is way more than what I've charged you!" she protested, staring down at the number scrawled on the paper.
"I want you to take—"
"But—!"
"Listen." He placed his hands on her shoulders, staring into her green-brown eyes sincerely."Something serious is happening, trust me on that. My government is holding out as best they can, but people are going to end up in a panic soon enough. I want you to take the money, take Lettie, and leave."
Gretta gasped."What?"
"I'm serious," he said quietly.
Her eyes began to water, something the Austrian had never seen before from the strong woman. "I-I can't just leave the shop. Lettie still has to finish her classes and . . . and Vladimir . . ."
"Don't worry about that. I'll handle it all."
"Where would we go?" she asked desperately.
The brunette smiled ruefully. "I guess you could got to Switzerland. You'll be safe there."
Gretta allowed herself a strained chuckle, not a single tear falling."So the country really is in the middle of a crisis. I guess there's no helping it, huh?" She sighed, gripping the check tightly. She hugged the musician tightly, cautious of the man's back. "I'll leave as soon as I can."
"Thank you," he whispered, returning the hug before pulling back. He kissed her cheek tenderly before turning away and heading for the door."Be sure to call me once you get settled in."
"Take care of yourself, Roderich."
Austria took a steadying breath of cool air as the door to The Silver Spool closed behind him with a ding. He was never good at saying goodbyes—especially since he has known Gretta since her early teens, when she had first taken over the tailor shop. He collected himself as he walked a bit up the street towards a car parked there. He didn't want to worry the Swiss or Liechtenstein. Tonight was going to be a good night.
No matter what.
..xXx...
Liechtenstein handed the man her coat, thanking him. She stepped forward into the lobby, her green eyes looking around in wonder.This place is huge, she thought.
The high, gothic arch ceiling held up by several marble pillars had golden painted murals on it. Antique cherry wood furniture lined the sides of the room with benches and lamp tables. There were several crystal chandeliers lighting up the room, illuminating the crowds of people and countries alike that were mingling. Everyone was wearing their best formal attire. This concert was a big event of the year and many had bought their tickets well in advance so they could get good seats. She spotted Poland a little ways away in a flashy pink 'suit', if you could call it that—it had a mini skirt—and he was clinging giddily to Lithuania's side, who was wearing a more appropriate chocolate suit. South Korea was doing the same sort of clinging to China, except it was more to his chest. There were a few other countries there as well, like the Czech Republic, Bulgaria, Romania, Niger, and Swaziland—not to mention all the others she couldn't see.
Liechtenstein turned to her left at an obscene shout, staring at a group of the Nordics. Iceland was currently yelling at a drunken Dane while his brother, Norway, kept whacking the tall blonde upside the head with a blank expression. Denmark was spouting nonsense involving kittens and how 'Norge's hands are cold'. Sweden, who was standing a few feet away from the fray, caught her eye and began to walk over. He was wearing a very traditional black suit and tie, with gloves and loafers. His stern face looked somewhat relieved to get away from the others.
"Hello, Mr. Sweden," the blonde girl said politely, smiling up at the tall country.
For a second she thought he tried to smile back. "Hello."
Liechtenstein peered around him over at the others for a second as Denmark gave another shout. She looked back up at the Swede, asking, "Where's Mr. Finland and Peter? Did they not come?"
Sweden shook his head. "Fin stayed home 'cause he wasn't feelin' t' good, and Peter's over at Latvia's house."
"Oh, okay." She smiled. "Tell Mr. Finland that I hope he feels better soon."
"'K."
"Oi, Lilli!"
Liechtenstein looked around the tall Nordic again to see Iceland trotting over to her, leaving the Norwegian to fend for himself against the drunk Dane. Sweden got pulled to the side to chat with China for the moment, leaving the two of them alone. Iceland was wearing a dark blue suit and ribbon tie with a long jacket on much like Austria's, with shiny white shoes, gloves and dress shirt. His silver-white hair was combed neatly and his indigo eyes shone brightly at her.
"Emil," she gasped in surprise as he immediately hugged her. He quickly pulled away, matching her blush as he looked around at the crowds of people and countries.
"Where's your brother?" he asked nervously. "Cripes, he'd kill me if he saw that."
Liechtenstein tried to ignore the fact that the boy was still holding her arms. "Um, he got pulled away with Mr. Austria as soon as we got here," she said. Green orbs peeked shyly up at him.
Iceland let out a sigh of relief, finally releasing her from his hold and stepping back. He looked her up and down for the first time, his eyes widening. "Lilli, you . . ." A faint blush tinted his cheeks again as he rubbed his arm in embarrassment, glancing at his shoes. "You look really, really cute."
Liechtenstein giggled, smiling at him. "Thank you, and you look very handsome," she said and both of their blushes deepened. At least he tried—'cute' was more like something you called a puppy, despite having Lettie call her that all day. Still, it made her feel warm inside. The two countries had become quite close during world meetings. Iceland had preferred to spend his time around her and Sealand more than around his boisterous family, like he was now. The two had come to like each other quite a lot, despite the ever present threat of Switzerland's wrath hanging over their heads should the boy do anything 'inappropriate' to his darling little sister.
"The show's about to start soon." Iceland stepped to stand next to her, holding out his hand. "Shall I escort you to your seat, my lady?" he asked in a fake British accent, drawing another giggle from the girl.
Liechtenstein slid her hand modestly into his and he began to lead her into the main part of the theatre.
"I swear, one more touch, boy, and I'll kill you."
"I'm more concerned about Denmark. The party's barely begun and he's already hammered."
"So? He's always—wait! Are they holding hands?"
Austria sighed, wrapping his arm around the blonde's shoulders to keep him from dashing across the room and beating poor Iceland to a pulp. Thankfully, the couple disappeared quickly through the entrance, though that did nothing to calm the Swiss. The Austrian spun the blonde around to face him—cutting off his series' of 'let me at 'em!'—and flicked his nose.
"H-Hey!" Switzerland sputtered, his face reddening in anger and self-consciousness.
"Calm yourself, Vash," the musician said sternly. "Lilli deserves to have a bit of fun tonight, too, you know. It's not like they're dating, though those are the rumors."
"What—!"
"Roderich, ma chère!"
Austria lost his hold on the Swiss and nearly lost his footing as he was attacked by a passionate Frenchman. The blonde was wearing a silky, flashy lilac suit with matching snakeskin heels and gloves. He wasn't wearing a tie, and instead the collar of his dress shirt was open down two buttons, his blonde locks tied back loosely with a ribbon. The Austrian hissed as the man's arms tightened around him, sending pulses of pain up his spine.
"Oh, mon ami!" France squealed, close to tears. "I was so afraid that you would not be able to make it tonight! I am so glad you are here!"
Austria coughed. "Can't . . . breathe . . ."
"Get off, you oaf!" Switzerland growled, pulling the Frenchman away from the brunette by the collar.
France just whined. "Aw, Suisse, why are you so cruel? Do not hog him all for yourself!"
"I'm not!"
Austria ignored the bickering pair for the moment, struggling to catch his breath. His chest felt like it was going to collapse in on itself at any moment. He teetered over to a nearby empty bench, slumping down into it just as his legs gave out. No, not now, he thought desperately as he hunched over in pain. He'd wanted to have gotten through the whole night without having one of his attacks. He couldn't even find the strength to breathe in or out. I guess it was too much to ask.
A familiar face slid into his view, emerald eyes filled with worry. A hand reached up to touch his cheek. "Roderich?"
He squeezed his eyes shut, a hand coming to cover another cough. He felt the Swiss push him into a better sitting position as the brunette sucked in a lungful of air finally, relief flooding him.
"Here." The Swiss grabbed his free hand and dropped two pills into his palm. The Austrian's weak protest was cut off by the blonde's glare. "You didn't take them at lunch time, so no complaints. I'll go get you a glass of something," he said determinedly before stalking through the crowd.
The aristocrat took a shaky breath, staring down at the dreaded medicine. He took off his glasses momentarily, setting them in his lap as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was putting them back on just as France sat down next to him.
"Je suis désolé," the blonde whimpered, looking at him ashamed.
Austria just waved off his apology, slightly impatient as he popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed. "It wasn't your fault, Francis. This has been happening for quite awhile now."
"Still." The Frenchman eyed him carefully, resting a hand on the musician's shoulder. "Pain, no matter how temporary, is never pleasant."
"Amen to that, I suppose." The brunette bit back the bitter taste of the medicine on his tongue.
France gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. "Any idea how long it's going to last this time?"
"It's anyone's guess at this point." Austria took a deep breath, reveling in the ache that caused through his rib cage. He leaned into the man's touch ever so slightly and lowered his voice, allowing himself a soft moment of sentiment with his old friend. "Preferably it will wait until after the concert. Then I do wish all this would just end already so I can go back to normal."
"Normal shall return soon, I'm sure, just . . . Rappelez-vous que vous devez mourir, mon ami," France whispered.
The two countries quieted a moment as they spotted their companion on the far side of the room. The Swiss was currently helping Norway keep Denmark away from grabbing any more drinks at the serving table, scolding the drunkard thoroughly. The Frenchman didn't miss the way Austria's eyes followed the man intently, the way they always had. The sight was nothing of a surprise to anyone who knew him and France's heart couldn't help but swell at his friend's lovestruck nature.
He leaned over to whisper to him again, this time more playful, "Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion to death, non? You should offer your cheek to him already."
Austria spared him a narrow glance. France never missed an opportunity to tease him about his love life—even during their more serious conversations. "Don't be foolish. As if he would kiss it."
France just flashed a grin and shrugged sheepishly. "You'll never know if you keep acting like une petite souris."
"Ich könnte eine Maus sein, aber ich bin mehr catty als du."
"C'est vrai."
Switzerland pushed his way back through the crowd gently, careful not to spill whatever clear liquid was in the cordial glass he was holding. He bent down, handing it to the Austrian as he stared at the giggling Frenchman curiously. The brunette pointed at it hopefully. "Please tell me that is some godly form of alcohol that'll get this horrid taste out of my mouth."
Switzerland slipped the small glass into his hand. "Water."
The musician frowned, taking a drink anyway. "How cruel."
The Swiss stared at him in slight annoyance. I was worried about you, though, he thought slowly—making sure he didn't say that one aloud by mistake. He shook his head, standing straight.
France snickered, pointing at the blonde's hair and suit. "Oh hon hon, Suisse! I didn't know you could spruce up like this. Sexy~" the Frenchman cooed at him, licking his lips.
Switzerland's cheeks flamed and his hands fisted. "How dare you—you pervy old man!"
"Non, I'm not old!"
"You are to me—hands off!"
"Oh hon hon!"
"Monsieur l'Autriche!"
The three men turned to stare as a girl bounded up to them happily, France letting go of the Swiss' pantleg. Austria instantly recognized her as Seychelles as she stopped in front of them beside Switzerland. She had her hair in her usual pigtails except that they were curled with blue ribbons. Her dress was also a bright baby blue that was short in the front and long in the back, the edges ruffled. She wore blue, knee-high stockings with white slippers and shoulder length gloves. A simple string of pearls hung around her neck and two smaller pearls studded her ears. She nodded happily at the aristocrat.
"Is it that time already?" he asked, beginning to feel his chest relax a bit from the painkillers. She nodded again as he stood up.
Switzerland looked at him in confusion. "Time for what?"
"I didn't tell you?" The Swiss shook his head and he continued, gesturing to Seychelles. "Angelique and I are the opening act."
"Oh." Switzerland blinked at him for a minute before staring at the entrance to the theatre, avoiding the man's gaze. "I guess I'll go take my seat now," he muttered, turning and blending back into the mass of people. Austria's eyes narrowed.
France sent a sad smile towards the aristocrat, standing from the bench. "Arrêtez d'être une telle souris.," he murmured. "Je vous verrai bientôt, Roderich."
"Ich weiss," Austria huffed as the blonde patted his hip.
"Good luck, mes chers," the Frenchman cheered, ignoring him, and he jogged after the Swiss. "Slow down, Suisse!"
Seychelles tugged at the musician's sleeve and she smiled at him in eagerness. She hooked her arm through his as he lead them to a door that would wrap around backstage.
...xXx...
The theatre was buzzing with excitement, filled to the brim with people. All the visiting countries seemed to have reserved seating along the right side. Switzerland spotted his sister and went to take his seat by the aisle, which was about eight rows back from the front. Pretty good seats with a nice view of the stage considering the short amount of time Austria had to arrange for them to come in the first place. France squeezed past him and Liechtenstein to sit two seats away from the girl, an empty one in between them. The Swiss was quite grateful for that.
He glanced over to his sister and caught her twisted around in her seat, chatting with the Icelandic boy seated behind them with Sweden. Thankfully, Norway and Denmark were seated a few rows farther back. The blonde man turned around, slinging an arm over the back of his seat to stare at the silver haired boy, catching his attention straight away.
Iceland gulped, forcing a smile at the Swiss. "Hello, Mr. Switzerland."
"Good evening," he said nonchalantly. He loved the bit of fear that seeped from the small country, laughing inwardly at his expression. On the outside he kept it cool, raising an eyebrow. "Is anything the matter?"
"N-No, sir." Iceland began to tremble.
"Good, because if there was . . ." Switzerland allowed himself to give a menacing smile, posing after a certain Russian. He motioned for the Icelandic to lean down, which he did reluctantly. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "If there was then I'd have to warn you that I have two glocks in my coat pockets and a thirteen inch hunting knife strapped to my leg. So, now if we understand each other," he waited for the boy to agree before flashing a dangerous smile and continuing, "Enjoy the show."
Iceland nodded shakily as he leaned back into his seat, pale as a ghost. He shrank somewhat into the large Swede's side as well, the taller man coughing into his hand to stop from laughing. Satisfied for the moment, Switzerland turned back around and was met with a scowl from his sister, though it ended up looking like more of a pout. "Vash."
"What? Can't I act brotherly and scare away your potential suitors?" he asked somewhat innocently, hearing the Frenchman down the row chuckle.
That brought an unexpected blush from the girl. His eyes widened greatly when she punched his arm playfully. She laughed at his reaction, bold from the hilarity of it all. She would of never dared otherwise. With one last smile at the ocean-violet eyed boy behind them, she turned around to face the stage.
"Dude, this is gonna be like The Holiday Pops, right?"
Switzerland looked down and spotted the loud American a few rows in front of them sitting next to England.
The Brit turned to him. "I don't even know what that is."
America gaped at him and proceeded to go on some sort of rant at the man for not knowing about every single little thing that went on in the States.
"There's no way I could know such things!" England growled, looking as irritated as ever. "The only reason I came tonight was because The Phil is going to be here."
"What does a dude named Phil have to do with the concert?" America questioned.
England huffed. "I meant The Philharmonic Orchestra!"
"Mmm, never heard of them."
"Bloody hell!"
The Swiss caught his sister giggling again, this time at the two in front of them. Besides the fact that the pair looked ready to tear each other to smithereens, they didn't pull away from their close proximity to the other nor did America remove his arm from around the Brit's shoulders. If anything, his grip had tightened in intensity.
The lights began to dim and all the speaking in the room died down as it became pitch black. There was a rustling sound which Switzerland guessed was the red curtain being lifted and then a washed out light began to slowly illuminate the middle of the stage. He spotted Seychelles sitting with her legs crossed strategically and her dress draping upon a grand black piano. Austria, who was sitting at the bench with his fingers poised, had a calm look across his face. Anticipation grew throughout the spectators, Switzerland finding himself caught up in it as well, as every held their breath.
Then he began to play. The notes echoed wonderfully around the theatre, a familiar yet unnameable tune that the Swiss could swear he knew. Then Seychelles began to sing.
"Assise au bord de mon grand Coeur . . ."
Her words were soft and sweet, hanging in the air like honey from a spoon. The delicate French words rolled off her tongue easily and she did well to carry her end of the performance. The name of the tune came to the Swiss about halfway through the first verse, Imaginer. A simple song with a beautiful melody, made ever moreso by the Austrian's graceful playing. The air became tense as she paused with the piano keys, easing into the chorus. "Imaginer un monde solaire . . ." Seychelles began to speed up her words in order to match the pace of the aristocrat. "Ouvre les yeux,et lance toi du haut de ton reve le plus fou . . .Le secret c'est d'y croire encore, et malgre tout." She belted out, "Ouvre les yeux . . ."
She paused as Austria began the instrumental solo. He started off strong from the point where she ended, the notes he hit ringing out across the room powerfully. It then began to die down; stopping for a mid second, and then his fingers flew from the low end all the way to high, hitting the last key, before traveling back down into the low notes, hitting the final few hard. Seychelles began with the chorus again, her strong voice sending out chills through the crowd. She finished off the rest of the song firmly, her voice dying away with the tempo. With a final flick of the keys, Austria closed out the song as the audience rose up in applause. Seychelles grinned at the fellow brunette as he reached up to kiss one of her hands, getting a few waves in for the crowd before the curtain closed again.
Switzerland found himself clapping with everyone else.I had no idea she could sing like that, he thought in surprise. He glanced over at the cheering Frenchman, smugness written all over his bearded face. At a tug on his sleeve, he looked to his sister as she smiled up at him.
"Wasn't that just wonderful, big brother?" she asked as the applause came to a close. He nodded.
Everyone in the theatre was officially energetic now and eager for the next act to come on. The Bläserphilharmonie, an orchestra from the Mozarteum University right there in Salzburg, was on next. From there on out the rest of the concert sailed smoothly through the night, in Switzerland's opinion. Many of the orchestras, violinists, and pianists that played were simply spectacular. There were a few other singers as well; about two were German, one English, and another French. Orchestras got the people pumped up and cellists calmed them down, the pianists played with them and the singers pulled on heart strings.
The audience was sure fired up for the second half when the intermission came around. Seychelles tried to sneak over to them, getting many enthusiastic compliments along the way before she was able to scoot into the seat between France and Liechtenstein. The Swiss asked her where Austria was and the girl replied that he had to get ready for more performances. The group of countries all chatted with each other and the Englishmen came up to say hello with America. Surprisingly, the Brit and the Frenchman didn't get into one of their violent spats, in light of the pleasant evening so far, and instead kept it very civilized—which meant they settled for a death stare match. Even Denmark was behaving surprisingly well behind the. After intermission drew to a close and everyone went back to their seats, the theatre grew dark again.
And, just like Seychelles had predicted, Austria had quite a few acts in the second half. After two more orchestra performances, the aristocrat had appeared on stage with another pianist that had been in the first part a couple of times. The men had bowed to each other and, after sitting at opposite facing pianos, began to have a duel of sorts. The other one began with a short series of low keys before slipping into high. When he had finished, Austria had countered with a just as whimsical set of notes, ending with a cocky ding. The two went on like this, causing the crowd to laugh at their comical game faces, before blending each others' tune into an elaborate dance and ending lightheartedly.
Another English singer went on after them, then another orchestra that Switzerland forgot the name to. He spotted Austria in the back row of violinists. A woman came on once they were done, playing magically on a large golden harp while singing opera. It brought some people to tears, like Liechtenstein and Seychelles. The Swiss heard sniffling behind him and turned around in a half hope that it was Iceland, but was let down as he saw it was from the woman sitting behind the boy. He thought he spotted the Icelandic smirking at him and was just about to shoot a glare at him, but was stopped when his sister pulled on his arm.
"Brother, Mr. Austria's back on," she said while she dried her eyes.
The Swiss immediately turned away to look back at the stage, regretting not having the chance to threaten Iceland again. He noticed that there was a glossy white piano and bench set up in the middle of the stage. Austria sat with his back to them and he could see that the keys were black as the musician prepped himself for yet another performance.
A single spotlight shone down on him as he started.
His hands moved slowly, deliberately across the keys, emphasizing each note as they reverberated outward. Simple notes echoed one after the other in a finespun wave, gently lapping across the theater. The crowd murmured quietly among themselves as the unknown song continued.
The Swiss sat frozen, a hand coming up to cover his mouth in shock and his other clutching at his chest.
"It can't—" he whispered. He could feel his sister looking at him. "It can't be . . ."
Austria continued the simple song, repeating the part he just did before setting up for the climax of the song. His left hand continued to play languidly as his right fingers picked up the pace, hitting the keys in rapid succession. The notes got faster and faster with a type of heartrending melancholy and the last note of the crescendo held everyone's hearts aloft in a moment of silent despair, dangling heavily in the air. Then the song returned to the soft, simpering notes of the beginning before fading off. The last note gently died away, leaving the audience stunned into silence for a few seconds.
That all changed quickly, and everyone was soon on their feet in applause. Someone tossed up a rose that landed on the keys, to which the Austrian picked up with a smile. He gave a flutter of his free hand before bowing deeply in each direction. The last one was faced right toward the Swiss and as he rose the blonde could swear he winked at him, kissing the red rose petals.
Switzerland stayed seated, his hands not moving from their earlier positions.
As everyone settled back down for the last performance, Liechtenstein nudged him gently. "Big brother?" she asked quietly. "Is everything alright?"
He gave a small nod, not trusting his voice at the moment. His breath was hitching and catching dangerously and he felt his eyes burning. He desperately shook his head, scolding himself for his momentary weakness. Once he felt like he'd gotten a hold on his emotions—a small hold, but better than none—he ran a hand through his slicked back hair in an attempt to calm himself. He risked a glance at his sister.
Her green eyes were concerned. "What were you talking about earlier when Mr. Austria started playing?"
He gave a sigh. "I just," he struggled to clear his throat and continue, "I wasn't prepared for him to playthat song."
"Why? What was it?"
The Swiss turned away from her gaze, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "That was the first song he'd ever written."
"Really?" she asked, intrigued.
"Yes," he said softly, his eyes closing. And then, without warning or meaning to, it slipped from his mouth.
"That was my song."
Liechtenstein blinked in surprise. From the way her brother was acting she could definitely tell that it was a touchy subject. She didn't push it any further, instead turning back to the stage as movement caught her attention. She could hear England talking in front of her excitedly and figured the massive orchestra now on the stage was the Philharmonic that he had been talking about earlier. The conductor did a a quick tapping—a one, two, three—and the wind section was off loudly, causing nearly everybody to jump. The tiny country was thrilled that they were playing one of their most popular songs: Hooked On Classics. It was one of the few that she knew by them.
The concert ended with their song and everybody was in a standing ovation yet again. The audience stood clapping for several minutes as the curtain dropped down and the theatre lit up so they could see the aisles. People began to shuffle back out into the lobby to leave, chattering and reviewing the show.
Liechtenstein turned to file out into the aisle and found the seat next to her empty. She looked up towards the lobby entrance and spotted a glimpse of her brother dashing past the crowds and vanishing. She felt worry seeping into her skull again and was about to try to shout for him when she felt a warm glove on her shoulder. The blonde glanced over into cobalt-lavender eyes.
"Don't worry, he's probably fine," Iceland said. The boy couldn't help looking relieved considering that they finally had a moment alone as they slipped into the aisle together.
Liechtenstein slid her petite hand into his coyly, risking a smile up at him through her lashes. His presence did reassure her a small bit. He gave a grin and led her up the stairs into the lobby. Most of the people were just flowing out into the streets, but some lingered behind in groups. Iceland pulled them off to the side, out of the way of the river of people.
Liechtenstein looked around desperately for the Swiss and came up short. Iceland, however, was sort of glad he wasn't around, and was instead hiding from his strange family. Sweden he could handle, and even Norway—but not a drunk Denmark.
"Lilli." The girl turned to her right and spotted the Austrian coming towards her, weaving his way inconspicuously through the crowd. Iceland instantly tried to let go of her hand, but the girl held onto him tightly, blushing. The musician seemed to notice as he stopped in front of them, smiling and holding his rose. He pointed at the Icelandic boy. "Don't worry. It's not like I'm going to tattle on you two for holding hands. However . . ." He snatched up the girl's free hand sneakily. "I must steal her away."
Liechtenstein turned back to Iceland, who was staring crestfallen at her. "Aw man, don't leave me alone with them." He cocked his head at his arguing family.
She released his hand, patting him on the cheek. "Don't worry. At least you got Mr. Sweden." She let the Austrian tug her over to the entrance, blowing a small kiss back to him shyly. His cheeks flushed. "Bye, Emil."
Austria chuckled as they collected their coats, stepping out into the chilly air as he helped the girl slide hers on. He peeked back at the red-faced Ice in amusement. "It seems you're quite the seductress, Miss Lilli."
"Oh, my," she waved her hand flippantly, giving him a sly smirk. "You have no idea. They won't stop flocking, let me tell you."
The Austrian laughed heartily at that. It was amusing to see the girl express herself and joke a bit more freely.
"So what did you think of the show?" he asked.
"Oh, I thought it was wonderful! All the performances were exceptional!" she cheered, twirling around happily. She motioned towards the rose in his hand. "A nice lady even threw you a flower."
"Indeed." He paused in slipping his own coat on, glancing around. "Where's Vash?"
"I don't know," she said as they began to walk towards the parking lot. "He flew out the door as soon as the concert ended."
The brunette sighed. "I was afraid this would happen. I must of upset him."
"With the song you played?" Liechtenstein mused.
"He told you, did he?" The Austrian nodded solemnly, sighing again. "Well, I didn't mean for him to get upset. Truthfully, I played it because I thought he would enjoy it. I suppose not . . ."
The girl stared up at him. "I thought it was great."
He gave a small smile. "Thanks."
"I still don't know where he went, though."
Their rented black sedan pulled up beside them suddenly, as if on queue. The driver's side window rolled down, and a blonde head poked itself out. "Hey, come on, get in," Switzerland called to the pair before rolling his window back up.
"Found him," Liechtenstein huffed, opening up the backseat.
Austria mumbled something and walked around the front of the rental car and ducked into the passenger seat. The Swiss barely waited for his door to shut before pulling away from the curb and getting into the line of cars merging onto the streets. "In a rush?" the brunette said quizzically.
"Tired," Switzerland said, turning a corner. "The concert wore me out."
"But . . . you liked it right?" Liechtenstein asked gingerly.
He glanced at her in the rear view mirror. "Of course," he said—much to the relief of the others. "I enjoyed it very much."
"Then why did you run out of there?" his sister asked, still wary.
Another turn, another glance. "To warm up the car. I figured it'd be as cold as an ice box by the time we'd break away from everybody so I rushed out."
Austria seemed to relax a little. "So you weren't upset?" The Austrian noticed his hands tensing on the wheel.
"Why would I be upset?"
"From the last song I played?"
Switzerland scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, so? What about it?"
"Vash—"
"Uh uh." The Swiss turned to him and flicked him in the nose, earning a surprised yelp. Payback time. "I only agreed to have you call me by name while we were at the concert, and since we're not there anymore I believe it's time for you to stop."
"And if I don't want to?" Austria rubbed his nose, scowling. Switzerland turned to him at a red light.
He just raised his eyebrows, stating simply, "I'll make you."
"He hehe . . ."
The two men looked in the backseat as Liechtenstein—always the calm one—erupted into laughter. She clutched at her stomach, doubling over and sideways in her seat, and would have fell over if it weren't for her seatbelt.
Her brother's eyes widened as he went back to driving. "Lil', what's so funny?" he asked cautiously.
"Haha!" The girl gasped for air, tears forming in her eyes. The Austrian kept an eye on her to make sure she hurt herself. After another moment, she fell into a bout of hiccupping. "S-Sorry . . ." she said, still trying to calm down. "I-It's just so hilarious when you guys bicker!" She started to laugh again. "I know it's not-not that funny, but . . ! You two fight like a married couple!"
The older countries twitched and both were sporting a red tint to their cheeks, silent for awhile as the girl giggled. Switzerland pulled into the parking lot of the hotel that they were staying at, putting the car in park and shutting it off. He turned to the Austrian again, the man whispering to him, "Denmark didn't get her drunk, too, did he?"
The Swiss gave a small laugh as they all stepped out of the car. "Not that I know of."
Liechtenstein managed to calm down somewhat as they walked towards the entrance. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, smiling widely. Once they were in the hotel they immediately headed for the elevators, Austria pushing the button that would take them to the third floor. Once the elevator started moving, she leaned her head against Switzerland's shoulder. The Swiss stole a glance down at her, catching her mid yawn.
Austria handed the girl her key card as the elevator door opened and they stepped onto their floor.
"Goodnight," Liechtenstein said, flashing them both a tired, cute smile. She slid the card into a nearby door slot and went inside her room for the night.
"This is where we part, then," Austria said quietly as he handed the Swiss his own card and one of Austria's, just in case.
"I guess so." Switzerland moved to the door across from his sister's. He slid the card and opened the door, hesitating for a moment. "Goodnight, Roderich," he whispered, ducking into the room and closing the door.
The brunette gave a quiet murmur of goodnight, feeling a tingle of pleasure at hearing his name once more, before entering into his own room next to the Swiss. He clicked the door closed softly and flipped on the lights. He spotted his bags placed beside the bed in front of him and stepped over to them, setting his rose down on the comforter. He bent down carefully to open up his bag but stopped, hissing as the skin on his back stretched.
The Austrian stood straight, beginning to unbutton his jacket.I guess it's finally time I let it breathe, he thought reluctantly. He was surprised that he had gone pretty much the whole night without incident—or much of one—and the Swiss or his sister didn't really notice him acting in pain. He arched his shoulders, slowly shrugging out of his jacket. Once he had it off, he inspected the white silk interior closely. He sighed with relief when he didn't spot any blood. Lying the coat beside the rose, he started to undo his vest and shirt. The vest was fine, too, as far as he could tell—considering it was harder to spot on the black material. But then there was his dress shirt.
The satin clung to his skin painfully, pulling sharply and snagging on his stitches. He groaned at the feel of the hot, sticky material peeling off of him. Gretta was going to kill him for this, but at least he'd gotten lucky and the jacket was okay. He got it about halfway off before he heard a knock and a click behind him, and then a gasp.
Austria turned around to see Switzerland in his doorway and his heart dropped.
"What the hell?!"
…xXx…
SO MANY TRANSLATIONS FORGIVE ME HERE WE GO:
Roderich, ma chère!—Roderich, my dear!
Mon ami—My friend
Suisse—Swiss
Je suis désolé—I'm sorry
Rappelez-vous que vous devez mourir, mon ami— ...momento mori, my friend?
Non—No
Une petite souris—a little mouse
Ich könnte eine Maus sein, aber ich bin mehr catty als du—I may be a mouse, but I'm more catty than you. (catty doesn't really have a word in German so I kept it for the pun)
C'est vrai—That is true
Monsieur l'Autriche!—Mr. Austria!
Arrêtez d'être une telle souris—Stop being such a mouse
Je vous verrai bientôt, Roderich—I'll see you soon, Roderich
Ich weiss—I know
Mes chers—my dears
That 'guilt-companion-to-death' quote I believe is from Coco Chanel?
I edited this chapter to fix the concert scene, which has been bugging me for aaages..! Like, beyond bugging - it's been practically HAUNTING me to get rid of that silly didado part. Anyhoo, I hope it comes off a bit better this time and isn't so ridiculous.
And yes, you'll find out a bunch of stuff in the next chapter, like what happened to Austria, who's Vladimir, etc.
~WhisperWeeper
