...I can explain.
I started writing the next chapter on paper months ago, nearly a year ago in fact… then lost the damn paper! Seriously, I couldn't remember which notebook it was in and only recently found it again a few days ago. Then I wanted to go back and edit the other chapters because they were old and bad and embarrassing me. So now I can finally write this! Hopefully one day I can actually finish my plan for this and be able to update more regularly. Yeah, I still don't have a finished plan for this. That might be why this is hard to update. Well, that and the godawful amount of research I still need to do for this.
...
It was a bit early for Monique to be waking him up.
Luca mumbled out a protest at the hand wandering over his body, down to his hip. The hand stopped at his words, withdrawing as his mind registered what was happening.
His back throbbed, icy cold stairs digging into his ribs, and the moment he remembered where he was, the man shot up, fists raised and greeted by an unfamiliar yelp. As Luca's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realised a stranger was kneeling in front of him at the foot of the steps.
Luca himself gave a cry, scrambling back in a mess of clothes and panic as the stranger raised his hands in what appeared to be surrender.
It was not morning then, and he didn't even think he'd been asleep that long. He was also still outside the hotel in the chilly night air, not deadly but hardly comfortable.
What caught his attention immediately was the fact that, in this stranger's hands, his wallet seemed to gleam back at him.
"Hey!" he growled, "give that back!"
To his surprise, the stranger complied eagerly, practically throwing it into his lap. It wasn't so much that there was anything of value inside- it was empty thanks to the guards on the train- but the wallet had been rather expensive.
"I'm sorry!" the stranger whimpered, "I was not trying to steal! Please do not go to the militsiya."
The stranger was a boy, not much younger than him, with the beginnings of stubble and a mop of messy, dark hair. His coat was worn and thin, much like the fellow wearing it. Even in the darkness, Luca could see his eyes were glistening with tears.
"Well you clearly were trying to rob me," Luca's glare could cut through steel at this point.
"No, please, I thought you were dead!"
That didn't make things any better as far as Luca was concerned. "Did you not stop to check if I was alive? Or think of fetching an ambulance?"
"Well, I tried a tad, but did not want to conduct a thorough search in case, well, you were alive."
For reasons quite unknown to the both of them, Luca broke into a laugh at that. He couldn't help it, really. The stranger honestly didn't seem malicious, just silly and scared. Much like himself.
"So, you won't be calling the militsiya? Please spare me; I have a big family! They would not survive without me!"
"I do not even know what a militsiya is, let alone how to contact one," Luca admitted, "look, you made a mistake. Do not do it again and we will have no problem." Whoever they were, the boy was afraid of them, and he was hardly going to betray a child like that.
The stranger frowned. "How do you not know what they are? The police?"
"Oh, that makes sense," Luca glanced down, "I am new here. A defect. I was locked out of my hotel." His Russian was awful, awkward and clunky, but the stranger seemed to understand him relatively well.
"Is that so?" he leaned forward slightly, studying Luca closely in a way that made him want to go to the police after all. "I have never met one before. All the immigrants I know are refugees and Eastern Europeans. Whereabouts are you from?"
Luca didn't really want to be giving personal information to this man, but he feared what would happen if he acted like he had something to hide. Maybe it was better if he had kept his mouth shut, but it was clear he was foreign and that automatically made him suspicious.
"I lived in France before, but I am originally from Luxembourg."
"Luxembourg?" the stranger frowned, "never heard of it."
"It is a small country," Luca tried to hide how stung he was- he should be used to people not knowing his homeland, but it still hurt-, "you can find it on a map, between France, Belgium and Germany."
"Germany?" the stranger scowled, "you are not German, are you?"
"No, of course not!" that somehow hurt him more than anything else said, "I am Luxembourgish, like I said!"
"Sorry," the stranger leaned back, "I did not know. We do not have many Germans here because it is dangerous to be such a thing now, as I am sure you can imagine."
Luca nodded. It was pretty unpleasant to be a German in Paris too, something Luca was unfortunate enough to have firsthand knowledge of. Andrei wasn't the only one to get his nationality mixed up. "And you, I take it, are not Russian?" They technically weren't in Russia, after all. Luca couldn't tell between a Russian, Ukrainian or Moldovan man, but had learnt quickly from Bodashka never to assume someone was Russian.
"No, Moldovan," the stranger grinned, "ethnic Romanian, I suppose. I prefer Moldovan though."
"I do not know the difference," Luca admitted, "oh, my name is Luca Mogens."
"Andrei Radacanu," Andrei held out his hand, which Luca took. "So, are you here with your family?"
Luca shook his head sadly. "Afraid not. I… do not have a family." Was there need to admit that? "I am here with my companion."
"Oh, did your family not agree with your actions?"
"No they are dead."
"How did they-"
"That is none of your business," Luca snapped. His voice stilled as he wondered if his actions were making him suspicious. Maybe this stranger now thought he had murdered his family? A horrifying thought. "It was the war and that is all I wish to say."
"I lost my dad in the war," Andrei confessed.
"That must've been awful for you."
"I did not know him well," he shrugged, "I was born in 1940 and remember little of my father or the war."
"I envy you, in a twisted way," Luca shifted, hugging his knees, "it is not easy to live with memories of such a time."
"I can imagine, though the fallout was definitely hell to go through." There was a silence between the two as Luca tried to come up with something else to talk about.
"So, you come from a big family then?" he asked.
"Oh yes!" Andrei grinned, "five brothers and a sister!"
"Wow," exclaimed Luca, "how do you manage everyone?"
"Easy! Okay, not so much. They are all such a handful." He grimaced at that and stood up with a groan, "speaking of which, I have to meet one of my brothers now for something important! I would love to stay in the gutter and talk, but, you know..."
"I need to sleep anyway," Luca joked, patting the concrete next to him.
"Oh, of course," Andrei pulled his mouth into a grin, "sweet dreams foreigner!"
…
Andrei indeed had somewhere very important to go to. Now that his little siblings were in bed, and Ediz was in charge- after Andrei had to convince him their oldest brother was not part of some defecting, anti-Soviet secret organisation, and probably just in love- he finally had a chance to follow Alin to see whatever it was that drew him to that one restaurant nearly every night, and even if he was telling the truth in regards to his whereabouts.
Alin talked a lot, and over the years Andrei had struggled to separate fact from fiction where his brother was concerned. Even Alin himself seemed unaware of the line between reality and fiction in his words, possibly why he was so paranoid. When he deliberately told a lie, and was in a panic, oh that was easy, but when Alin himself believed in his own delusions and stories Andrei was stumped.
Not that there was no reason to be paranoid here.
He was probably in love though. Alin also had a habit of getting into short, intense relationships that always blew up in his face. He had trouble trusting people, even his siblings- though Andrei didn't trust some of them either- and always ended up convincing himself his girlfriend was cheating on him, or out to murder him. Sometimes both.
Had he found a lover for a brief romance again? Andrei wasn't looking forward to the fallout if that were so. Last time he'd had to practically drag his brother to work each day, on top of looking after the others. Still, Alin had looked after him through some pretty horrific times when Andrei had been little, and it was only fair he as the second oldest picked up where Alin had left off once the wounds in his mind started taking effect. And now every day he feared would be Alin's last. The man would get in trouble eventually and Andrei could only do so much to steer him out of that path, especially when Alin himself couldn't see when he was treading through murky waters.
Still, at least his job was in a factory and required him to be silent most of the day, because if he had to talk he would not have a job. And if he did not have a job his illness would certainly be apparent to the authorities and that would be that.
But why spend his time here? Andrei had to wonder as he stepped through the doors to a run-down establishment, was led down a dark flight of stairs and scanned the surprisingly packed dining area. Like the upstairs, the downstairs was grim and dirty, and Andrei unsure if he could bring himself to sit down here. He could barely see the stage at the far end through the cloud of cigarette smoke, and burst into a coughing fit as he stumbled to search for his brother, stopping at the bar to help himself to a bottle of something clear and strong first.
Alin just had to be near the stage, didn't he? Andrei stopped as he observed the man, resting his head on his hands engrossed by what was clearly an empty stage. Was he waiting for someone? Presumably.
"Ahoy, comrade brother," he greeted, tickling Alin's sides. Alin shrieked, jumping into a half-sitting, half-standing position and startling those around him.
"Andrei, shit, what is wrong with you? What the hell are you doing here?" Alin grabbed his sleeve and moved him to his own seat, on the opposite side of the tiny table.
Alin was in his best clothes, which were his normal clothes plus a homemade bow tie and tiny hat, and that automatically raised a red flag in Andrei's mind. He had his eye on someone!
That must be why Alin subjected himself to such a crowd, and such squalor conditions. He didn't even seem agitated, which was surprising as there were very few people he was comfortable around.
It was with the best of fortunes, Andrei noticed, that Alin, for all the time he spent here, did not seem hell bent on blowing what little he earned on drink and fine foods. Or, at least, whatever disease on a plate they served here, he noted as he glanced at the other tables. Alin had settled for a glass of water he chose to ignore, along with his little brother once the initial shock had worn off. He was back staring at the stage with glassy eyes.
"So, this is that restaurant I have heard so little about, my dear brother?" Andrei looked around once more, just to confirm it was a dump. He opened the cap of his drink and took a long swig, staring at the other evenly.
"Indeed," Alin replied.
"Any particular reason?" he inquired, "I mean, this is not somewhere I picture you feeling happy frequenting."
"I like the ambiance," his brother replied innocently. Alin was a terrible liar through and through when he needed to be, and a glare from the younger man quickly broke through his shambles of a facade.
"I do not wish to say," Alin turned his nose up.
"Well, Ediz is in charge at home so I can stay as long as I want," Andrei leaned forward, elbow propped on the table, chin resting on his palm.
"Please just leave," whined Alin.
"I am afraid I cannot," replied Andrei, grin replaced by a serious glare, "your actions have been somewhat suspicious of late, and I need to make sure you are not doing anything that would land you and I in trouble."
"And you call me paranoid," Alin matched his little brother's glare, "why would I wish to place trouble upon myself when there are enemies everywhere?"
"A good question." Why on earth didn't he ever talk quieter? Still, Andrei supposed as he glanced around, no one else appeared to be listening, if they could even hear the brothers over the noise. He took yet another long gulp, for a sliver of courage to confront the usually difficult man.
"This is where I go to get away from the apartment," Alin admitted, "is that a satisfactory answer?"
Before Andrei could reply that no, it wasn't, the crowd began to clap furiously, a handful even rising to their feet as Andrei wheeled round to find a duo briskly making their way to a bulky pair of microphones. The woman he recognised immediately: Farkas' mother Érzsebét Héderváry, looking 20 years younger in her red knee-length dress, and he hated himself for staring at his best friend's mother in such a way, but she looked so different from the worn out, harried munitions worker in baggy overalls he was used to seeing. He wasn't even sure he had seen makeup on her face before this moment.
But as interesting as Érzsebét was here, her companion was just as peculiar, if not more so.
He seemed to be slightly younger than Ms Héderváry, still at least ten years Alin's senior though, with chocolate hair and a lined face, dark bags under his eyes. If he was younger, he would be handsome, Andrei supposed, though there was something about him that suggested to the boy this singer was younger than he looked, and had seen more than his fair share of horrors. That man had a face Andrei had seen a million times, on refugees and war veterans alike, and he wondered which of the two the singer was.
The most striking thing about him, however, was the old, rickety wheelchair he carried himself in.
The man had no legs, only mere stumps that barely made up half a thigh each, and Luca's words still resounded in his head, of the war and memories of such a time. Had this man lived through it all somehow?
Érzsebét and the man took a microphone each, and as slow piano music began to play, the two sang a duet, gentle and soft at first but growing in passion. Érzsebét's voice wasn't anything special, it was nice, gravelly but weak; her partner on the other hand, had a voice that turned Andrei's insides to liquid. The legless man sure could sing, voice deep and powerful, hitting every note and his strange accent made his voice all the more appealing.
Still, at least this answered a whole pile of questions, Andrei concluded as he turned back to Alin and found the man staring up with a dreamy expression.
"So," he drawled, "a new flame? I had no idea."
To his surprise, Alin froze, shaking his head as he paled considerably. He seemed to break into a sweat on the spot, squirming and looking anywhere but at Andrei.
"What? No, of course not!"
"Hey, no need to be afraid," Andrei assured him, "I will not be telling anyone." What got Alin in a twist? Did he really not trust his brother to keep a few feelings to himself? Probably not.
"It is wrong and we cannot discuss it here," Alin hissed, "I am an abomination but I am not in love! You are wrong there."
"I know Ms Héderváry is a considerably older woman," Andrei spoke up, "but no one would blame you after seeing her like that."
"Héderváry?" Alin wrinkled his nose in disgust, "that witch? I do not love her! Nothing of the sort."
"Right, of course."
"I speak nothing but the truth," Alin insisted, "you know how we detest each other."
"I understand," Andrei's grin was from ear to ear now, "your secret is safe with me."
"There is no secret!"
"Whatever you say." He chanced one more glance behind him as the duo finished their song, taking deep breaths and talking quietly before the piano in the corner started up again. "You do not see much of his kind around anymore," Andrei commented.
"Bulgarians?" Alin raised an eyebrow, "I cannot move for them at work."
"No, cripples," Andrei turned back around, "and what looks to be an ex-soldier too. I did not think there were any left wandering around, not with the general attitude to seeing such people." His old teacher was the only ex-soldier he could name off the top of his head.
"And what would that attitude be?" Alin asked apprehensively.
Really? Did his brother keep his brain under a rock? It was pretty clear how people felt about such men and women, even to a kid like him. Especially to someone with a family like his.
Andrei leaned closer, taking ano ther swig and staring at his brother with a malicious grin. "Lock 'em up. Keep them away from us normal people. Who wants a reminder of the bad side of the war? Oh, we will commend our heroes, honour them. We celebrate the victory, but we do not want to remember the death."
"How is it something we can forget?" Alin mumbled, hands gripping the edge of the table.
"Well, it is easier with no crippled. The maimed, the mad, who wants to see them? That is what they do with them! Keep them hidden. And those are our heros, supposedly!"
Alin bristled, wrinkling his nose. "Where are you going with this?"
His little brother leaned forward, eyes wide. "What about those born lame? Or crazy?"
"What about them?"
"Well, they are not even heroes. They are useless!"
"Shut up!" Alin slammed his hands on the table. The groups sat at tables around them jumped and wheeled around in horror, but thankfully he hadn't caused a restaurant-wide disturbance.
"I apologise," Andrei hissed, unsure if he should grab his brother's arm, "really, I have no idea what came over me, but please sit down."
"Am I causing a scene?" For a single, heart-stopping moment, Andrei thought he would. Alin certainly seemed to be considering it. But the man sank into his seat instead, and Andrei breathed a sigh of relief.
"I do mean it," Andrei insisted, "I am sorry. It is just the drink talking."
Andrei hadn't meant to upset his brother so much. The alcohol made him care less about his words, more curious to see if he could elicit a reaction from him.
Alin wasn't normal; he'd been told that often enough. Andrei would deny it to everyone though, for his brother's sake. People said enough heartless things as it was without him confirming Alin was different. The neighbours loved gossiping about the mad Radacanu brother, whether or not he was dangerous, when he would finally snap. If he would go down the same road as his mother.
Not to mention he might be taken away, for his own good, allegedly.
Alin said things no one was supposed to, and in a place like this that was a dangerous road to tread along. Not only did he see enemies everywhere- more so than Andrei even- but his emotions were sub-par. He didn't even cry when their mother died last year!
And then there were his beliefs. H e did not believe in a higher power, but he believed in some odd things, like magic, ghosts, all things supernatural. He believed he could predict the future, though all his predictions amounted in visions of betrayal from those he was close to. They never came true because he never gave them a chance to. Alin cut himself off from everyone, and try as he could, Andrei- the one person Alin could trust, could call a dear friend- could not break down his brother's barrier completely.
Still, he had found all he needed to know, and said more than he was should've, so Andrei settled back in his seat and let the music and alcohol take over his senses. Luckily, tomorrow was his day off so he wouldn't have to worry about a scolding from Katya or getting his siblings up, so he cleared his worries from his head quite forcefully, and relaxed for the night.
...
And so, our main couple has met at last!
This might be a good time to tell you all my singing voice headcanon for Bulgaria is Emil Dimitrov, which is what I listen to when I imagine him as a singer, like writing this, for instance. Also yeah, now you know what happened to Hungary and Kugelmugel, sort of, you'll have more time to ponder what the fuck happened to poor old Bulgaria, or more specifically, his legs.
Again, sorry for the lateness. This shan't happen again, well not to this degree. Just gotta hope I come up with a middle to this, or at least tie what I have up together, because this fic is a right betler. If your definition of belter is something full of drama and angst.
