A/N: I am seriously behind on updates *cough*almost-two-weeks'-worth-of-Gilbert*cough* but I'm working on it I swear!
Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers nor How I Met Your Mother.
Scratch that!
2016 February 24 (Wednesday)
He refused. I insisted. Alfred still refused to type the blog post. I threatened to go into his room. He scoffed that it was locked. I opened it. It opened. He could have sworn it was locked. I told him it was no match for my awesomeness. He threw a pillow at me. I threatened to blackmail him. He scoffed. I said I wasn't kidding. He rolled over in his bed and said yeah, whatever. Close the light when I leave. I left. I closed the light. I closed the door. I opened my blog to write another post.
So. It seems like you won't be receiving a post from Alfred today after all. I know you aren't reading this, but seriously, totally unawesome of you, Al. Like, laaamme. Mark my words, my awesome readers, I will get him to spill by the end of the next month! No, two weeks! But until then . . .
. . . Again, lame-o!
[Comments (2)] [Show comments]
Roderich Edelstein: Wait, how did you get in the apartment in the first place?
I could have sworn the front door was locked . . . ?
Roderich Edelstein 2016-02-24
Elizabeta Hedervary: If you've TRAUMATIZED him in ANY WAY—! ! !
Well, let's just say there will be worse things in your future than being short one blog post from our dear Alfred. ^w^ You know the drill.
But . . . if you do succeed in dragging the truth out of him, I want to be the first to hear about it.
Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-24
Watch your words, Al!
2016 February 25 (Thursday)
As I'm typing this up, we're in the hospital's waiting room again. This time, Black Eye Guy isn't here, but that doesn't make it any less uncomfortable because I have another freaking BLACK. EYE. And it's all Al's fault. (Yeah, I can see you reading this over my shoulder! Oh, don't even try looking away pretending like you don't know I know you kn—Hey, I'm being called. Doctor Braginski must have less visitors today.)
[Comments (5)] [Show comments]
Gilbert Beilschmidt: It's not my fault Elizabeta beat you up, dude!
How was I supposed to know she was going to hunt you down if I CASUALLY answered "Yeah, like usual." when Elizabeta said "So, I heard Gilbert stopped by this morning. Was it anything . . . traumatic?" I mean, she was pouring out cereal with this totally innocent smile while she was doing it so again how was I supposed to know, dude? Gil, cut me some slack here!
Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-25
Carlos Machado: Yo! Alfred, I haven't seen you in a while!
Nice hearing from you! But why're you on Gilbert's account?
Carlos Machado 2016-02-25
Gilbert Beilschmidt: He totally left his phone here!
I don't think he noticed, though . . . I should probably put this away now and pretend like I wasn't reading through his blog.
Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-25
Elizabeta Hedervary: His blog? How much did you read?
Did you find anything of interest?
Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-25
Gilbert Beilschmidt: Nah, not much actually!
Just this post, but that's because I already read it over his shoulder like he said . . . guy's more observant than he looks!
Plus, don't you receive notifications or something for his blog? You've probably read all of these posts, like, the millisecond they came out! If there's anything interesting here, you probably already know dude.
Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-25
Taxi drivers can be super thoughtful! And, y'know, just happen to get filled in on everything about your past month by your best friend.
2016 February 25 (Thursday)
"Y'know," Alfred said as we plopping down inside the taxi, "this is your third black eye and the month isn't even over yet."
"It's almost over," I reminded him. I could've sworn I saw Gilbird roll his eyes at me as I gave the address of the apartment to the driver.
Gilbird had been awake when Elizabeta appeared at the doorstep of my awesome apartment earlier this morning, greeted me by giving me a not-so-awesome black eye, and then left just as abruptly. I remember because I could've sworn I saw him yawn and preen himself (are wingmen supposed to "preen"?) and look the other way when Elizabeta totally punched me in the face. Even so, I hadn't felt like leaving him in the apartment alone so I'd taken him with me to the hospital.
Alfred shrugged as we pulled away from the hospital, "Yeah, but not yet."
I scoffed. "What, am I supposed to get another black eye in, like, the next four days?"
Alfred didn't respond. I blinked at the sudden realization.
"Oh crap you actually expect me to get another black eye in like the next four days."
"Yeah, pretty much," Alfred exhaled. Gilbird nonchalantly hopped onto Alfred's shoulder.
"Mr. Beilschmidt, if you'll excuse me for asking, why have you had so many black eyes?"
Alfred and I looked up in surprise to see the taxi driver watching us through the rearview mirror with a pair of large, curious green eyes. He looked familiar, as if I'd seen him before somewhere else, but I couldn't really place it. I opened my mouth to answer his question, but Al beat me to it.
Counting off his fingers as he went, he said, "Well, he got the first one on Valentine's Day when he tried setting me up with this guy at the bar but the guy pretty much went 'nope', turned down the free beer we gave him, and punched Gil here in the face. The second one happened I think, like, less than a week from then, dude, when Gilbert was trying to escape the apartment—"
"'Escape'?" the driver repeated, sounding a bit bewildered as we turned only to find a "DETOUR" sign in our way with an arrow pointing toward the side. He sighed softly and obligingly started driving along the detour. "Sorry for interrupting, but I'm wondering what you mean by 'trying to escape the apartment'."
"Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you about that," said Alfred, straightening in his seat as he explained, "We agreed to lock him in the apartment for his own good to keep him out of the bar since he got a cast and we didn't want him to get further hurt by rejection. Elizabeta agreed—well, offered—to drag him back if he tried to leave."
"Physically hurt or emotionally hurt?" asked the driver.
"Both," Alfred totally (and utterly unawesomely) grinned. Have I already mentioned how my friends are unawesome sadists that feed off the misery of certain awesome others such as yours truly (and awesomely)?
"I don't get rejected!" I insisted (because that's totally the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, totally!).
"But why would he have a cast for his black eye?" the driver asked thoughtfully.
"Oh, I guess I forgot to mention the cast was for his hand. His fingers got kind of squiggly-looking after Elizabeta was through with him, but he's okay now."
"The same Elizabeta who was on watch duty to keep him from leaving the apartment?"
"That's the one," Alfred nodded. "But Gilbert snuck off into the bar several times anyway."
"So . . . was this Elizabeta the one to give him the second black eye?"
"Nope!" said Alfred, sounding way cheerier than he should've considering the fact that I'm totally his best friend, "Apparently the girl Gil was hitting on was the sister of the guy who gave him the first black eye."
"So, that guy gave him the second one as well?"
"Exactly!" Alfred said enthusiastically. Sighing with satisfaction, he leaned back against his seat and smiled. "Claaassic Black Eye Guy. Oh! But Elizabeta gave him the one he has right now."
"Really?" said the taxi driver. "Wow, Mr. Beilschmidt, how accident-prone are you?"
"I don't think I'd call them 'accidents'," Alfred advised. Stupid knowing grin of his.
"Well, what could the story behind this one possibly be?" the driver wondered, obviously referencing my current black eye.
Gilbird shifted on Alfred's shoulder so that we were now all staring at him expectantly. Well, semi-staring—the taxi driver had to also watch the road as he followed the other "DETOUR" signs back to the main road.
"You'll . . . just have to fill that one in for yourself for now," Alfred finally replied. Disappointed, Gilbird and I mentally groaned in unison (because we're awesome like that).
"Ah, if you say so," the driver inclined his head slightly in acceptance. As he took another turn, he added, "It seems like the two of you have had a very exciting month indeed. If you'll allow it, there's one more thing that I would very much like to hear more about, Mr. Beilschmidt."
"Ja, ja, go right ahead," I waved flippantly, already bracing myself for some other reference to my "accident-prone"-ness.
"Why do you have a bird? Is it yours?"
It took me a moment to realize who he was talking about.
"Oh, you mean Gilbird!" I exclaimed. Said Gilbird obligingly hopped off Alfred's shoulder and somehow managed to nest in my hair. "Ja, he's my wingman. I think he's always been a part of the awesome me, actually, but I only noticed him when I looked up and found him flying around my head. We've been together for so long that I still barely notice when he's there over half the time, though. Crazy, right?"
I expected the taxi driver to agree immediately, but instead he seemed to be thinking over what I had just said with a lot of careful consideration. After a brief pause he nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. Never noticed him until you realized he'd been there all along, you say . . . it must be nice, having such a loyal and steadfast companion, hmm? I would like to think that you could count on Gilbird to always be there for you regardless of everything else that might be going on around you, even if you might not be aware of his presence."
"Ja, that's Gilbird for you."
The rest of the ride was mostly casual conversation about other things between the driver and the awesome me, with Alfred only speaking up to make an occasional remark about the topic we were on. Most of the time he just sat there being uncharacteristically quiet, but he's probably still going through some sulking.
Gilbird is still on my head, I think, since I felt some weight up there start to slide a bit when I leaned forward to post this update to my blog. I had to straighten just now to keep him from falling off.
He must've fallen asleep sometime during the ride. Funny how that works—I hadn't noticed how he'd never left my hair.
[Comments (2)] [Show comments]
Elizabeta Hedervary: "Mr. Beilschmidt"? Ha!
That sounds waayy too mature to be the same person as you, Gilbert. I do wonder how he knows your name, though . . .
Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-25
Gilbert Beilschmidt: I AM mature! And awesome! !
But dammit, that's a good point.
Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-25
Notes on this Chapter:
There's some stuff in this chapter that could vaguely count as wordplay. But, y'know, vaguely. ^J^ And who, I wonder, is this oh-so-mysterious taxi driver?
