Kinda short. I really meant to get this out earlier, but shit started happening. Fuck my life. Anyways, I hope you lot enjoy this, even though it's shitty and my bullshit snarky sarcastic and generally passive aggressive personalty starts leaking in towards the end.
Alfred tapped his fingers against their lunch table impatiently, their steady drumming doing nothing to soothe his agitated mind. He, Gil, and Mat had eventually gone on to their table in the lunchroom, once Francis had failed to appear before the bell. Since Toni, for some reason, had skipped class, they were the only members of their lunch table in the Home Ec room.
It had been almost fifteen minutes and neither Francis nor Antonio had showed. For that matter, neither had Sadiq, nor Michelle, nor Ludwig, nor Lili, nor Vash, nor Elizabeta and her "demon douche" boyfriend, Roderich.
Alfred was practically growling with frustration, when suddenly, the lunchroom was flooded. Students poured through the wide double doors like water spewing through growing cracks in an age old dam. Their voices were raised in a cacophony, filling the cafeteria far better than their bodies could ever hope to manage. Alfred half stood from his seat, brows furrowed beneath the weight of the confusion that rested upon it. Something had happened. He swore to himself. He hated being out of the loop, having to obtain his information from unreliable sources. More importantly, if he wasn't in the loop, that meant he wasn't in the thick of things. But thats just another thought he gracefully swept into the boiling furnaces of his mind to be obliterated instantly. He just wanted to make sure all the information he got was one hundred percent genuine.
The students were still pouring through the doors relentlessly, when suddenly the flow parted, and from the midst came Antonio, Sadiq, and Francis. Alfred's eyes narrowed. Francis had never been that close to Sadiq, why was his arm...?
Alfred only realized that his two teammates were being half carried by the willowy Frenchman when Antonio's legs gave beneath him. Alfred glanced back at Gil and Mat, receiving the same wide eyed worry that he knew must be reflected on his own face, before the three of them leaped from the table, Gilbert literally sliding over its top in order to reach their friends.
Alfred grabbed Sadiq, Gil grabbed Toni, and Mat grabbed Francis, who had begun to wobble without the weight of the two jocks. At this, Alfred smirked a bit, but he couldn't really blame him. While Antonio looked lean, he packed serious muscle, enough to make any swimmer jealous. Sadiq... nope, Sadiq looked every bit as scary as he was. Guy was H-U-G-E.
They grabbed their wayward teammates, leading them cautiously over to their table as the two babbled nonsensically. Alfred tuned out after hearing Sadiq mumble something about ships. He figured he'd just get the story from Francis.
Setting Sadiq on one of the table's built in seats, Alfred popped his muscles, wincing. He wasn't joking when he said Sadiq was a big guy. After his (mostly futile) attempt to forcibly evict the weariness from his muscles (because that always works) Alfred started over to Francis.
Only to realize that the Frenchman was no where in sight.
A little knot formed in the pit of his stomach, and a frown twisted it's way onto his lips. He glanced over a Mat to find a similar expression pasted onto his twin's face.
"Where the fuck did Francis go?" Alfred asked, making his way over to Matthew. Matthew's gaze darted sharply towards Alfred, and the antagonized expression left his face, leaving only disinterested worry.
"He said something about needing to see Arthur, I think- I think Arthur got into a fight with Toni and Sadiq." Matthew was now intently examining Alfred's face. Which was pointless, because Alfred's face had gone blank with shock. Arthur Fucking Kirkland, Alfred thought in a somewhat awed voice, you have been here a grand total of one half of a day and have already managed to rock the boat that- we thought- was stuck in stone. Lets just hope it doesn't tip.
Arthur was so fucking done with the world. Shit had gone down and had not yet reached the bottom of You Fucked Up Chasm for the grand Shitsplosion that would surely follow.
But who gave a flying fuck anyways?
Fuck all of them. Fuck their benighted opinions. And fuck doing well.
Maybe he could leave tonight. He'd have to get some things, of course, not to mention track down which town and hotel his mom was staying in. It couldn't be too hard, right? California couldn't be that unnavigable... right?
Arthur cursed. What was he thinking, California was huge. Fuck, AMERICA was huge. Damn country was bigger than the entirety of Europe.
Arthur lie back on the ground and closed his eyes, blowing smoke casually up at the afternoon sky. He had no idea where he was, just that he was away from that pit of frustration they had the audacity to call a school house, and that he was in some kind of forest with some truly awesome trees. He sighed, wishing he could stay there forever. He had always loved old forests; there was something almost magical about them. He shifted to get more comfortable, groaning when a stick jabbed into one of his nastier bruises.
Digging the offending object from beneath him, he scoffed at it before tossing it aside. He settled back down against the now pleasantly stick free ground. He planned grab as much sleep as he could before he had to trudge back to that hellhole of a home. After all, who knew when he'd get a chance again?
With this thought, he hesitantly drifted into an uneasy slumber, his subconscious supplying him with memories that were far more horrid than any nightmare could dream of.
Matthew's head was buzzing. They had only just managed to coerce a coherent (albeit incredibly biased) explanation out of Antonio. Arthur had stood up to both Antonio AND Sadiq! At the same time! For someone gay!
Through the red tinted haze of his love stricken mind, Matthew could only see that Arthur was quite obviously gay (okay, so making out with a male Spaniard might have helped with that Sherlockian deduction a bit) and had stood up for not only himself, but Matthew too. He had patently fallen irrevocably in love with Matthew the day before and had stood up to two of the Princes of the school in the hope that he could prove himself to Matthew, and was even now waiting in an abandoned classroom, wincing from pain at his wounds but too stoic to go to the nurse. His face, melting from pain to euphoria at the sight of Matthew walking through the door, Matthew gasping at his wounds, Matthew insisting that he see the nurse. He would politely refuse in that sexy British accent, because beneath all his piercings and leather, he was a true gentleman. A gentleman, who would get up slowly, and tilt Matthew's chin up with his long pianist fingers before huskily asking permission to kiss-
Unbidden, an image of Francis popped into his fantasy, and his blushing face melted into a stony grimace. Why the hell were those two together so much? It had been one day, for fuck's sake! He had had his suspicions about Francis's dubious sexuality, of course (funny what being gay does for a man's gaydar), but he never suspected even Francis of relentless pursuit so soon. Matthew's frown deepened. Though, come to think of it, that was a gaffe on his part. Francis's infamous libido knew no bounds.
Matthew sighed, glancing around the table. Antonio and Sadiq had been escorted (read; forced) to the nurse's office by Ludwig and Elizabeta (who had finally arrived with the massive influx of those who had stayed behind when the lunch bell sounded to bear witness to the fight). Alfred had scurried off God knows where, and Gil was staring at the wall with such intensity that Mat was sure it would disintegrate any second under the weight of his red glare. Rodriech looked terribly out of place without Lizzy there beside him, and the rest of their lunch time menagerie sat huddled together at the end of the table, still raving over what was, from what Matthew heard, the best fight this school had ever seen.
Matthew sighed dreamily, imagining lean muscles rippling with the force of intense exertion. How he wished he could have been there...
Fuck EVERYONE and EVERYTHING. DAMN that Arthur Kirkland. DAMN HIM! Antonio sat in the nurse's office, quietly seething. As he once again lifted his half melted bag of ice, in the hopes that it might sooth something, anything, on his battered body, he vowed revenged, sealed a permanent vendetta, and began fantasizing about glorious plots unfolding to eventually lead to the very public and very humiliating demise of one British transfer student.
Alfred... was lost. In the school. The same fucking school he had attended for three years now, not to mention all the mindless races through the hallways that had gone on sporadically throughout his middle and elementary school years when he had clubs or sports that took place at the high school. Point being, he should know how to get through this school.
But apparently he didn't. Alfred scowled as he examined his unfamiliar surroundings. There was a room filled with instruments, a room full of mirrors, an... empty room, and a room that was positively gushing artwork. Alfred let out a small noise of bewilderment. Apparently that staircase didn't quite lead to a basement...
Alfred sighed, suddenly wishing he hadn't just bypassed all the closed doors on the way to... well, wherever he was. Maybe then he could get his bearings.
Shaking his head and letting out one last frustrated huff, he stalked off. He had stuck around just long enough to hear Antonio's tale. Then he had quietly slipped out the door, wandered into an abandoned classroom, and proceeded to have a mental breakdown worthy of a Guinness World Record. Because Arthur was gay. GAY. What the ever loving fuck was Alfred supposed to do with that?
He was still panicking when four things struck him.
Arthur was gay.
Francis was... questionable.
Francis had been attuned to Arthur quite a bit today.
And finally-
Francis and Arthur were probably together right now.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a jealous gay sonuvabitch in an absolutely stunning display of suffocationg denial. Because what did our lovely little homophobe do? Why, immediately forget all of his confusions, doubts, and denials (and undertones of self loathing...s... can you put an "s" on that without violating any grammar rules?) fly into a blind rage, and vow to protect Arthur's innocence.
Oh, Alfred, you poor, fucked up boy.
We could speculate, and say that perhaps the dear was in shock. After all, his world was crumbling around him. Well, Alfred thought.
Little did he know, little did any of them know, that this was only the beginning.
And so, dear reader, I'm afraid I must abuse my omnipotence once more in order to direct your attention to a certain Russian. A Russian who brought with him, a war and a conflict that spanned back to before Arthur's birth.
Ivan was almost ready. He had all of his favorite toys, including his iron pipe. His lavender eyes swept over the room once more, checking for any wayward item he might have missed. When he was satisfied that none of his playthings had been misplaced, he hefted his bag onto his shoulders and boarded one of his cars.
His driver left him at a small junction just before his destination. He spent a good fifteen minutes trekking towards his goal; Ivan might be a large man, but he could be fast when he wanted to be. Miles turned to yards, which turned to feet, which turned to inches. Soon, he was scaling the tree conveniently underneath his target, creeping through the open window, and landing with hardly a sound into the room of Arthur Kirkland.
Ivan smiled as he began to set up. Some of his toys were more innocent, like cameras and mics. Others, such as the multiple dots of poison sacs he placed strategically around the room (to be activated only if Ivan was displeased, of course) were decidedly less so.
Eventually, Ivan sat back on his new toy's bed. He was done setting up, now all he had to do was wait for the guest of honor. He had a debt to settle, and his people never forgot what was owed to them. A promise had been made; a promise must be kept. He didn't really care about the circumstances under which the promise was fulfilled.
For the third time today, Ivan smiled. He had high hopes for this one; he didn't seem the type to break so easily. Maybe this would finally be the one that lasted a full week! He let out a small sound of satisfaction, a strange laugh with decidedly deadly undertones.
As he waited, he began to fantasize about what methods of "persuasion" he would use. Eventually though, he shrugged off his musings. No matter what he did, he would get his way. He always did.
After all, those who crossed Ivan Braginski, crossed the Russian mafia. And those who crossed the Russian mafia ended up six feet under. In various states of decay.
Thats right bitches. The Russian motherfucking mafia. And it really only gets worse from there. Sometimes I really hate my inability to write with brevity. Everything turns out to be a novel with me.
Anyways, by now you guys should know what to do. Comment in curses or compliments, both are welcome.
Later honeys,
-THE LLAMA OF HOW DO YOU LIFE
