AN: New chapter! Woo! Yeah I've had part of this done for too long and now I finally finished it. So... yeah. This was a request from Black Blood of the Red Rose.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. The song belongs to Gueule d'aminche and is called Little Italy.
Warning: Language (because of Lovino).
Lovino was having a very, very bad day.
It had been like that from minute one. He had woken up late, which was bad enough considering the meeting his boss had scheduled with him had started fifteen minutes before he had even opened his eyes. And then he had forgotten certain paperwork that the whole meeting had been based around...
And then when he got home after that embarrassing encounter... he could find no such papers. He was sure their boss would kill him. Or at least be pretty pissed. He really didn't like either option.
And then, now, he was stuck at a meeting; a meeting that he had been late to because, along with his paperwork, he had misplaced his notes. Great... Just great... The Potato Bastard had practically stared him down for the first... however long since he had gotten here, asking none too patiently why he had been late.
He hadn't responded very kindly to that. He was pretty sure that no matter what he said it couldn't get any worse.
Why? His whole week, the entire damn thing, had been like this. He could not catch a break. And really... he was past the point of giving a shit at day four.
His head was pounding, someone's voice was droning on and on and on and... He probably should have cared about what they were saying. It might have been important and considering the luck he was having, or lack thereof, there would probably be some kind of quiz over it just to spite him.
So, naturally, the Italian rested his forehead against his palm and tried to ignore everything going on around him. He tried to make it seem like he was listening though. He wasn't a complete moron. It was difficult, yes, practically impossible. There were interruptions and with each one he was sure someone was throwing a rock at his face… oh, and someone kept trying to talk to him. He wasn't sure who it was, but he was two words away from punching them in the face.
That was when he got the idea. It wasn't a good idea, grant it, and it probably wouldn't do his head any good, but it would at least keep him from giving someone a nice black eye as an early Christmas present.
He pulled his phone from his pocket a marginal amount, trying not to flinch as he tried to inconspicuously stick an ear bud into his right ear. He managed it, keeping the device from Ludwig's range of sight. He received a few curious glances, but after they saw his expression they wisely decided not to ask anything.
Except for one person. They didn't as it verbally of course, but it still felt loud as hell.
'Are you alright, fratello?'
He gritted his teeth, nearly groaning, and sent a glare in his twin's direction, his head pounding painfully. 'Don't. Do. That.' Feliciano nodded in return, though his concerned expression never wavered. He mouthed, 'are you okay?'
He hardly dignified that with an answer. 'Don't even ask.' While Feliciano heeded his warning, he didn't turn his head away from him. If Lovino didn't have such a headache he would have face palmed. 'Fratello… I would rather not be caught here.' That thought alone probably sent out a calling card to the universe to do just the opposite. What did Alfred call it..? Murphy's law?
His brother blinked and gave a very minute nod moments later, returning his ever dwindling attention span to the podium. The older Italian sighed and waited a couple of seconds until he couldn't bear the droning and pressed play on his phone. When the music that greeted him (a series of slow paced guitar notes to begin with) he held his breath. For some reason that part always reminded him of Antonio's playing… Not like he would ever tell the bastard…
A few seconds later the clarinet came in, accompanied by something that sounded awfully like an accordion, he slowly released the breath and deflated a bit in his chair, still trying to make it seem as if he was paying attention even if all he wanted to do was slink under the conference table. Still, it was a little easier now. This song, the way the notes and instruments compiled together, always helped him relax a bit.
Moments later the lyrics showed themselves and he propped himself against the back of the chair, listening as the words made their way back to him. Lovino resisted the urge to hum and mouth the lyrics as his mind traveled back about a century.
The music flowed in and out, going through brief instrumentals and the vocalist's voice rising and falling with the notes. It seemed to be seconds later when the instruments began to build. It was his favorite part of the song and, for the first time in days, he had to try not to smile.
And then the universe just had to tell him to go fuck himself.
"Lovino." The Potato Bastard didn't sound very happy. For a second he was glad that Ludwig sounded like he wanted to wring his neck- because the feeling was definitely mutual right now- and then when he couldn't hear the music anymore, in a millisecond, he was downright murderous. His head snapped up, his teeth gritting together, and he nearly slammed his phone on the table.
"Oh for fucks sake," The Italian roared, glaring daggers at the man at the front of the room and anyone who dared to meet his eyes, "Just let me finish the God damned song!"
The room was silent for a few moments and, for some reason, it was worse than the droning. He groaned in frustration, forcing himself to look away as tears fueled by the same emotion began building behind his eyes. He internally screamed at himself that, no, he would not cry. It was just a rough week. He was stronger than that; he was not going to act like stupid Feliciano right now.
He rested his head in one hand, still trying to send the younger nation not five feet away from him-not a safe spot to be in at the moment- running. His head was pounding again now that the distraction was gone.
No one said anything for a good minute. They seemed to be afraid, like if they said something it would send him on a rampage. His brother was the only one who seemed to be immune.
Before Ludwig could say anything, Feliciano turned to the German. Lovino hardly looked at him, but he heard what was said. "Ludwig, I would let this one go-"
For a second he was a little shocked because 1) Feli never called Ludwig by his actual name and 2) His brother was actually standing up for him in this hellish week.
Did that make him happy? A little. Relieved? Yes. But… more so it gave him resolve because with Feli convincing Ludwig to not let him sing… that made it seem like the bastard was still winning.
Later he would probably regret this decision, but he wanted to kick the universe in the ass for making him so miserable. If it wanted to throw this at him then fine; he would take it. He looked right at the potato bastard and said, "You know what? Fine." Before he could change his mind, he paused the song, restarted it, and removed the earphones. He could feel the eyes on him, but that just made him press play quicker.
This time, when the music began, he allowed himself to deflate fully. He stared at the table, tapping his fingers lightly against his legs. He didn't care if the song was in French or if the stupid Wine Bastard said shit about it. Lovino took a breath and started to sing, his voice loud and soft at the same time. "Bébé Joe, est arrive, comme clandestine an Amérique sur bateau,"
Lovino's eyes fell shut and he took a breath. "Comme tous les immigrants les Irlandais les Italians, a Ellise Island, en 1920. Accompagné-" He paused a moment before he went on, "par un grand oncle Sicilien, et protégé, par tous les siens Héritier d'un mafieux notiore, Joe, ton destin etait trace dans la Main Niore."
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Alfred sitting straighter, listening. That was expected, seeing as the song was talking about his 'Little Italy'.
His lips twitched upwards when the music grew louder for the chorus, though he did feel for the poor guy that was the focus of the song. The Italian's voice grew a little louder, letting some of his frustration go, though he knew there would be a time for that later on. "Hey Joe, tu s'ras l'baron, tu s'ras l'parrian, de tout le quartier dea Italians Mais Joe, á Little Italy, t'y pass'ras toute ta vie, et t'y créveras aussi…"
There was a brief instrumental, in which he let out another breath and tried to ignore everyone else in the room and focus on the story he knew the lyrics told. He listened to the clarinet, which was surprisingly clear, and the lyrics began again after a few moments, a little softer than the chorus.
"A huit ans, t'as commis tes premiers larcins, dans toutes les rules ches tous les commerçants du coin." His faint smile had already fallen into a frown, his foot tapping against the floor the same as his fingers were on his knees. "A douze ans tu f'sais d'já partie ouais des gros bras, ton gang avait rejoint la familia. A quatorze ans, tu gérais tous les paris des bookmakers. Foutais des trampes aus mauvais payeurs. A dix-huit ans, t'es devenu l'second attitré du vieux Don Fernando de la Muerte." His eyes, which had opened briefly, shut again. "L'annee d'après, quand son pauvre Coeur a lâche, t'es devenu seigneur de son duché."
There was a slight pause and he continued with the chorus as the music continued to build. "Hey Joe, tu s'ras l'baron, tu s'ras l'parrian, de tout le quartier dea Italians Mais Joe, á Little Italy, t'y pass'ras toute ta vie, et t'y créveras aussi…"
There was another short instrumental and he breathed deeply, sitting straighter at the thought of what was coming. His eyes flicked open as he rested his arm on the table, waiting. Not a moment later a beat hit, the tempo seeming faster and the instruments louder. He wrapped his knuckles on the table with it and continued to tap with each beat, sometimes nodding his head in cut time. "Hey Joe, fait gaffe, on parle déjá dans ton dos," His voice was louder, but wary, a wry smile on his face as if he were actually warning the kid. "Tes capitianes sont que des hyenas, es soldats des enfants d'salauds.
"Hey joe, fait gaffe, un jour va t'trouer la peau, par quel moye, c'est la question; á coup d'surin á coup d'canon." His voice rose a little further and, though he hadn't meant to, he saw out of the corner of his eye that he had everyone's attention. "Entends-tu leurs pas dans ton dos? Les viola qui s'approchent!" He took a breath, "Hey Joe, fait gaffe, car ta fin est toute proche…"
The clarinet returned briefly, bringing him into the next and final verse. "Au p'tit matin, Little Italy s'est reveille, ensanglantée, orpheline de son parrain. On sait pas trop comment tout ça s'est terminé, si on t'a plombé, si on t'a planté." Lovino's eyes fell shut again, his hands still lightly tapping against the wood. Almost done and then they could get on with this… "Mais j'imagine qu'avant d'partir les pieds devant, t'as rien lâché t'as dûserrer les dents. Et sur tout les murs de quartier, ces mots ont été agafer ton épitaphe, écrite á la craie."
His voice rose once more in volume, singing, "Joe, t'étais l'baron, t'étais l'parrain, de tout le quartier des Italians Mais Joe, á little Italy, t'y passé toute ta vie, et t'y a creve aussi!"
The instruments returned, louder, as the song wound to a close. The notes rolled by quicker and his chest felt a little lighter. He sang softer, "T'y as crevé aussi, Joe…" The notes continued for a couple more seconds, becoming softer, and the Italian leaned against the back of the chair once more. He sang just a bit louder, as the guitar stopped, "T'y as crevé aussi..!"
The room was silent, and, though his head still pounded a bit, it was not nearly as terrible. Lovino sighed softly. Maybe Feli did know what he was talking about when he said things about them singing at meetings…
Still, he turned towards Ludwig and nodded his way, pausing his phone and slipping it into his pocket. "Don't let me hold you up."
The German nodded slowly, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were confused, before he paused. "We can take a short break."
After a few seconds of further silence, everyone seemed to wake up. There was a short series of whispers, one or two small praises thrown in his direction, before they cycled out of the room. He sat there for a moment, a little at loss that he had just done what he did, before there was a tap on his shoulder. He glanced over, meeting his brother's amber eyes. "Hmm?"
Feliciano gave him a small smile and motioned towards the door. "I have a pill you can take for the headache."
When the sentence processed a few moments later, he nodded slowly. "Okay." At least his luck was finally trying to turn back to normal. "Grazie."
AN: Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think. Also, I apologize for any errors in the lyrics. I'm pretty sure I messed up some of the accents and a few I couldn't find anywhere on Word.
You can find the English lyrics here: /gueule-daminche-little-italy-lyrics
Translations:
Grazie(Italian)- Thank you