Heyaz! I hope you guys had an awesome 4th! I saw amazing fireworks, which inspired the beginning of this chapter.
Also, I tease Alfred in this chapter a bit. I don't know where that came from.
Fireworks.
Alfred used to love them. On his birthday, he would sit on his apartment's fire escape and watch the bright lights blossoming in the sky. He loved the sound. He loved the smell. He loved the sight. He liked to pretend they were for him, even though Matthew always told him that it was for America's birthday, not theirs.
Yet here he was, flinching as the celebratory festival fireworks went off. They were beautiful. But he hated them. They only reminded him of what he lost.
The final preparations for the festival went off without a hitch, and now looking at it, it was hard to believe it had been still in production just a week before. Booths of vendors and attractions lined the courtyard, and signs for various club and organization stalls littered every tree and pole.
People of all ages and races milled about in the courtyard and in the school. Alfred guessed that many were family members of students, but that there were plenty of visitors scouting out the school. He walked the halls, surveying the many tables. As he passed the 'Passion for Fashion' club display, he was unexpectedly attacked from behind.
"Alfieee!"
"Ack! Feliks, what are you doing?" Alfred struggled to hold up the blonde who had pounced on his back. "Get off, you're gonna crush me!"
"Are you saying I'm fat?" Feliks gasped.
"Uh, no. But you're not that small and you're not even trying to distribute your weight. Seriously, man."
Feliks laughed and climbed off Alfred. His outfit was very frilly and colorful, but at least it was pants, so Alfred overlooked it. "Hey, Alfie, I want you to meet my parents Jakub and Zuzanna Lukasiewicz. Mamo, Tato, this is Alfie."
Alfred extended his hand first to Feliks' father, and then his mother. They were both tall and fair and had kind faces. "I'm Alfred F. Jones. Nice to meet you."
"Alfred," Zuzanna clasped his hand. "The pleasure is ours. We have heard so much of you from Feliks. You have been a good friend to him. Thank you."
"No prob." Alfred laughed. "He's the one who's been helping me."
"Speaking of which, I have some clothes I want you to try on. Feliks told me your sizes and I have been dying to dress you up." An unholy gleam entered Zuzanna's eyes. "You do not mind, yes?"
Alfred gulped, as he saw no way to escape.
"I'm telling you, man, I was forced into it!"
"Don't worry, Alfred, I won't judge you. If this is what you enjoy doing, how could I take it away from you?"
"Seriously, dude. Believe me! I tried to get away, but she was too fast for me! And I swear that camara-ninja was hiding around the corner taking pictures!"
"No need to defend yourself, old chap. Is there something else you'd like to come out with while we're at it? Surely, your relationship with Kiku isn't purely platonic. You did stay the night, after all. And I happen to know he has a thing for servitude."
"Dammit, dude! Shut up!"
Arthur was having way too much fun with this.
He had been passing by a relatively closed off hallway when he heard a whimper from one of the classrooms. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight he saw when he opened the door.
Alfred stood awkwardly in front of him with a face as bright as the tiny, pink maid dress he wore. White silk stockings and a lacy white apron completed the outfit.
"Stop laughing at me!" Frustrated tears filled Alfred's unwilling eyes, and he blinked them back. That crazy lady had dragged him into this room and forced him into this dress and disappeared with his real clothes with nothing more than a 'be right back~'. He had to get out of here! "I swear, man. I need your help! The she-devil's coming back and I don't want to be here when she does!"
Arthur stifled his laughter. "Alright, alright. I'll help you. It's not the first time this has happened. In fact, it's almost like a right of initiation. She doesn't accept you until she dresses you up."
Alfred stopped trying to pull his hem down and stared at Arthur. "So… it happened to you, too?"
"Well, then!" Arthur cleared his throat decisively. "Let's see about getting you some clothes."
When Alfred was once more appropriately dressed, Arthur joined him in perusing the halls of Circle Academy for any interesting displays. The Brit pointed out various influential people he spotted as well as their classmates' parents. Alfred listened absentmindedly, munching on a giant sausage he'd found at a German food stall and some churros he'd bought at a Spanish booth. Sufficed to say, he was feeling content. Now if only someone was grilling burgers-
"Alfred! Are you even listening to me?"
Alfred ceased his roving eyes and focused on Arthur's glaring face. "Um, yeah. I was totally listening."
"As I was saying," Arthur huffed in annoyance, "That man over there with Francis is his father, Louis Bonnefoy, prime minister of France." Alfred glanced over at the middle aged Frenchman, who was shaking hands with another sharply dressed man. Prime Minister Bonnefoy was shorter than Francis, and had dark hair and a moustache. His sharp features stood out against his face, and his eyes were dark and beady. All-in-all, he looked nothing like his son. Francis stood beside his father, a charming smile plastered on his face.
"Is that his mom?" Alfred pointed to the beautiful brunette hanging off Louis' arm. He crinkled his nose. "She looks kinda young."
"That's Mr. Bonnefoy for you." Arthur snorted. "He's a playboy. I've never seen the same woman with him twice. They're all young and beautiful and obviously in it for the money. Francis' mother was the same, no doubt. After giving birth, she ditched him with his dad and hasn't been seen since."
"That sucks. Poor guy." Alfred nodded sympathetically.
"Yes, well, his father isn't all bad. He's nice enough, though a little stiff and stern." Arthur sniffed, disinclined to feel anything other than loathing for Francis. "It couldn't have been awful to be raised by him."
"I guess that's true." Alfred nodded as they turned away and followed the signs advertising the art show. "He didn't turn out too bad."
Arthur just rolled his eyes at his cousin's naiveté. He'd figure it out sooner or later.
Alfred was not an artsy person. He never had been. Matthew was the twin in charge of the art projects, while Alfred did the math homework. It had been a pretty solid routine. And yet now, as Alfred stared at the walls upon walls of colorful canvas, he honestly wished he could create such beauty. Not that middle school art would have gotten him very far.
While Arthur glanced the pieces over with a practiced eye, explaining the brushstrokes, types of paint, and artists used for inspiration, Alfred gaped in awe of the pure talent gathered in just one room of one division of a massive school. It was moments like these when he felt the true difference between himself and the other students. It was like they lived in their own world of achievement and culture, while he was far below them, merely chasing something that could never be.
"Alfred!" Feliciano bounded toward him, waving cheerily.
"Hey!" Alfred smiled. "Haven't seen you in a while!"
"Veee~" The Italian sighed, his eyes squinted closed, as usual. "I've been so very busy with my art. This show is very important for us aspiring artists."
"You want to be an artist?" Alfred beamed. "That's so cool!" He had spent much time with Lovino, but he barely knew anything about Feliciano.
"Si! Many famous artist and critics come to this school's cultural fest to view our work. If we're very fortunate, we may get an apprenticeship!" Feliciano's smile widened at the thought. "Many collectors like to buy our pieces as well."
Alfred gaped. "Serious, man? That's awesome! So," He turned his head from side to side, viewing the paintings around him, "which one's yours?"
"Over here, ve." He led Alfred and Arthur to the end of the hall where a small crowd of people surrounded a single canvas. It wasn't all that large, compared to some of the others, but as Alfred followed Feliciano closer and the crowd parted to give the artist some space, his breath hitched.
He had roamed the halls of the Met. New York had countless galleries and museums, but foremost in prestige was the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Decorated artist from all cultures and times had work displayed on the walls and he would wander the massive building taking them all in. And yet, never before had he truly felt Art more than he did right now.
Warm and cool shades of browns made of the majority of the painting. In the painting, a young boy, not much older than ten, stood alone in a small wooden hallway, shrouded in shadow. He wore a simple white button-up shirt and brown slacks, smudges of paint on his clothing and tan skin. Some even seemed to work its way into his shining brown hair. His small body was taut with underlying emotion, his arms stiff at his sides and his jaw set.
But what haunted Alfred were the eyes. An unusual and somehow familiar gold color, they bore into the soul of the viewer. Laced with disappointment, rage, and heartbreak, those golden orbs burned through the canvas. Yet the emotion that took precedence was even more disturbing: Resignation. The dark hallway, foreboding and offering no way of escape for the tortured child, added to the overall despairing sense in the piece.
In the boy's clenched fist was a crumpled piece of parchment.
"Mr. Vargas," The professional tone made Alfred draw his eyes from the painting and toward the classily dressed woman holding a small notebook and a pen. "We are all very impressed by your oil painting. Your brushwork is exquisite and the color scheme is perfect. But most importantly, and I believe I'm speaking for all of us here, " she sent a cursory glance at the other sharply dressed adults around her, "the emotion you convey through this painting is stunning. We can't help but feel drawn to it." Others around her nodded, conveying their affirmation. "You don't give this painting a title. Why is that?"
"Ve, I didn't think it needed one." Feliciano replied.
"What are you trying to say through this piece? I think we all received some sort of message, but I'd like to know the official one." A man spoke up.
"Si, I'd like you to make your own conclusions, but, well," Feliciano paused slightly and then continued in a softer tone, "It's an image I have in my head. I probably always will, ve. I don't remember what exactly happened, but I think it was my fault. It caused someone important to me a lot of pain. I don't think he ever forgave me, but I didn't realize what I'd done at the time." The surrounding people watched in silence as the young artist's eyes filled with tears. "I just wish there was something I could do to make it right. Sometimes, we can do things so very cruel without knowing it, and it can hurt others inside so that they may never heal. I wanted to convey that."
It was only that evening, when he was eating pasta and sauce with the Kirklands that Alfred realized why those eyes were so familiar.
They belonged to Lovino.
How'd ya likee?
Hehe. wanna take a guess at how Arthur was dressed by Zuzanna?
As always, thanks so much for the support! Please review! Arrivaderci!
8i8
~sparklybutterfly42