A/N Sorry for my random updates. School has been agrivating so other than my Texas crap I haven't been able to post much else. =.=
"Good day to you, sir." The butler bowed as the man in a fitting black suit walked by him into the house. Today was not a good day. Nor would it become a good day. In fact, it was so far from being a good day that this might give the day where he got lost for ten hours straight in the woods a run for it's money.
The man marched up the long spiral stairs and into his room. Closing the heavy wooden door behind him he clicked the small key into the keyhole and locked himself in. Sighing he strode over to his bedside, which was not much. A plain bed, but it still had a beautifully designed cloth over it.
The man walked over to the wall beside his bed he faced the plain white wall: "Why did that arschloch Gilbert get me drunk.." At this the man let his front half swing forward, his head connecting soundly with the wall, his chocolate-brown normally perfect hair going ascue. Lifting his head off the wall he repeated the sentence: "Why did that arschloch Gilbert get me drunk.." Smack. His head hit the wall again, his hangover visible on his normally elegant features.
After about five minutes of head-banging and wall-questioning the man's bifocals flew off there owners nose as he stared down at the floor, his head still resting against the wall. The bifocals stared back at him evilly, their glass eyes reflecting his unwashed face and sleep deprived features.
"Why did that arschloch Gilbert get me drunk.." He asked the pair of bifocals; being bifocals they didn't reply, but the man still stared down at them, dark circles under his eyes.
"Roderich?" a beautiful voice said softly, he loved that voice. "Are you okay?"
"Ja, fine." He replied, bending over- his head swimming he picked up his bifocals and placed them back in their original places he walked over to the door and opened it. "Is there anything you need Elizaveta?"
"Well..." She began, eyes looking down to the floor "I would like you to play piano... but that is not necessary," she added as a side note "though I would enjoy it."
"Of course I will mein liebe," he smiled down at her, the piano might him feel a tad better anyway.
She led him down the long corridor, down the spiralling stair case, past the kitchen that Gilbert called "The Armoury" because of the countless times she had brained him with a frying pan or a different kitchen utensil. They strode into the large ballroom like area. Paintings of famous musicians and portraits of other important people hung on the walls. The grand piano sat proudly in the room, it's polished black surface gleaming along with the pearly white keys.
Sitting down he placed his fingers on the piano. Their cool ivory brushed against his warm skin making him shiver slightly. Elizaveta bent and pulled the small lever and the piano, the small tick of the engine that would magnify the sound hummed in his ears.
He pressed down, playing a chord the music reverberated off the walls, echoing throughout the large house. Elizaveta swayed with the music beside him, he remembered exactly how they met. That moron Gilbert had been responsible for the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him. How ironic, he thought as he gently played the instrument. They keys glistening in the kerosene light.
Roderich was not rich, no matter how much people suspected him of being an aristocrat. He was born into a rich family, yes. And he was given a slice of the estate to live comfortably on. But he was the third child. The leftover. He wouldn't inherit any of the family's fortune. It didn't matter if he was a genius or if he did something miraculous. He was never recognised as a true member of the Edelstein Household.
Lost in his thoughts he missed a key. His eyes flew open- how could he have messed up this song? It was Chopin for god's sake. He knew every note in the damned song.
"You stopped, because you broke your wing Little Bird, da?" A cold, almost childlike Russian voice purred behind him. Roderich spun on the bench, glasses slightly ascue at the sudden shock. The Russian stood in place of where Elizaveta once stood. He had a long tattered scarf which wound around his neck cover his lower jaw and part of his mouth.
"W-who are you, where is Elizaveta?" Roderich stuttered, he could feel the temperature in the room physically drop as the the Russian walked closer and closer to him, he seemed to be taking his time with his steps as he drew nearer to the pianist.
Roderich stood; "Good sir, I demand you leave this house at once. If you would like to speak to me you must have a resorvation." He kept his voice level and clear. The Russian smiled as an answer.
"I do not think you can stop with the making of the noise, da? It is getting quite annoying." The Russian drew out a long, wickedly curved blade. He fondled the scarf and looked up at the Austrian, his violet eyes glinting deviously. "Time for you to be quiet, da."
Gilbert sat bolt upright in bed, cold beads of sweat dribbling off his forehead as he choked for breath. His covers had pooled at his waist, their creamy colour looking dark against his pale albino skin. He coughed, shivered, and shook his head to try and clear the image of what had happened next out of his mind.
He looked over at the next bed, Arthur lay stiffly on his bed. His breath hardly audible. To his other side Antonio lay sprawled about his bed, the sheets only partially covering him. The Spaniard sighed in his sleep, turning over to show his back to the Prussian. Gilbert got a full view of Antonio's back, his tanned form almost flawless until you saw the long jagged scar that led like a trail to the metal shoulder piece that connected the human part of him to the metal arm.
Gilbert wondered how he had gotten it, Arthur said he had been a pirate like them a while back but was unsure of how he was injured. Gilbert sighed, glancing out the window and onto the gleaming Canadian sunrise. He would need to sleep if they were to have any chance of making a profit tomorrow. He lay back down and threw the sheets over his head, cutting out the light from the rising sun.