"That man right there in the white," Elizabeta directed Alfred's attention across the room.
"Oh," he growled, narrowing his eyes at the man, "I know him. That's Ivan Braginsky. He's a stock owner of a lot of companies. Has nearly run me out of- Wait a second. Is he holding a lead pipe?"
"Um. Yeah. I think he is," Elizabeta nodded, "I think he's recently taken to carrying it around to push around some of many CEOs. Poor Eduard can't afford to do anything Mister Braginsky doesn't want. He's the timid blonde with the glasses right there."
"I see him."
"If you ask me, he needs that lead pipe to fend off his sister," Elizabeta laughed, "Speaking of whom, there goes Natalia, now. The one in the kind of Navy dress. You see her?"
"Oh geez," Alfred cringed slightly as Natalia came up behind Ivan and scared the ever loving hell out of him, "She looks even more terrifying than her brother."
"Tell me about it," she nodded, turning his attention to two men wearing suits in different shades of blue, "Now, over there on the far wall is those two men glaring daggers at you? That's Roderich and Gilbert. They are rather active suitors of mine."
"Oh man," Alfred held his hand in front of his face to mask a snort, "If looks could kill..."
"Oh, I'd watch your back," Elizabeta nudged his shoulder, "Hang out with me too long and they might just use more than looks. I swear, Magnus only invited them here to show them up, tonight."
"Feliks!" someone ran past them, drawing all the attention to himself. He ran right up to a man standing with a gathering of two or three other people. They came to realise the man was actually their host and he held a length of rope in one hand, "Did you release a pony in my living room!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," the man smirked. He was dressed in a magenta coloured suit, a wine of glass in his hand. His nails were cared for with the upmost precision and Alfred could swear that this man put more into his appearance than even Francis did.
"You know damn well what I'm talking about!" Magnus hissed, his usual easy going nature not quite as evident as it usually was.
"All I know is that you ran in here with that there rope, yelling something about a pony and startled a man wearing the most obnoxious outfit in the room and his lady friend," Feliks stated, "Who, by the way, is most certainly trying to get attention by failing miserably in comparison to how fabulous I am."
"Hey!" Alfred demanded, causing everyone listening to laugh and go back to their partying. Even Magnus had to let a small smile melt onto his face and rolled his eyes.
"Really, Feliks," Magnus sighed, "Come now and help me get this horse out."
"How do you even know it's mine?" Feliks demanded, following him back through the door, winking at Alfred as they passed.
"Because it's wearing a blanket that matches your suit with a big silver F embroidered into it," Magnus stated, "And I've seen you ride that damn thing enough times."
"Who the hell does that guy think he is?" Alfred huffed, turning back to face Elizabeta.
"Feliks Łukasiewicz," she answered with a laugh, "Him and Magnus have been friends since he came to England. Some people say those two are lovers, but I don't believe it."
"What? Why not?" Alfred asked.
"Because if I believed every rumour about everyone I've ever heard about Poland," Elizabeta replied, smiling, "Then I'd have to say he's got more lovers than I do suitors and how do you think that makes me look? Besides, have you seen the way he acts around Toris Laurinaitis? Those two are clearly meant for one another."
"Who?" Alfred asked.
"Nevermind," she waved him away, "How about some drinks?"
"Come on, you," Alfred dragged Elizabeta up the stairs, passing by some other drunk couples swapping spit as they went. She cooed nonsense at him and he just laughed, allowing her to remain draped over him. A flight of stairs and several locked doors later, he found a guest bedroom and led her inside, closing the door behind them and all but carrying her to the bed and dropping her into it. He pried the empty wine glass from her hands before removing her shoes and pulling the blankets over her, pulling a few stands of her hair that fell in her face out of the way.
"Yourenotgonnatrynothing," her words slurred together as she buried her face in a pillow.
"Not this time," Alfred replied, patting her head before taking a step back.
"Whatifsomeonecomesin?" Elizabeta asked.
Alfred looked around the room before his eyes landed on a desk across the room, "There's a candlestick over there. You can hit them with that."
"Bringithere." He rolled his eyes and brought it to her, plucking the used candle out and tossing it across the room as he did. He handed it to her and she pulled it to her body and fell asleep. He turned and left her there, fairly certain she could handle her own if anyone did happen upon her and closed the door as he went. With no more guests to distract him, he was certain to set out on his mission.
"Excuse me!" Alfred called down the hall at a man, wearing a dark red suit that was much less noticeable than his, walking in the opposite direction. He turned to face Alfred with a snobbish look.
"Yeah, what?" he asked.
"Hi," Alfred caught up with him, sticking out his hand, "Alfred Jones."
"Philip," the man answers, ignoring his extended hand. Alfred retracts it and decided to just ask his question.
"I was wondering if you might be able to direct me to our host?" Alfred explained, "I was hoping to get a moment with him."
"What would he want with you?" Philip questioned.
Alfred's smile faltered at the comment and he replied, much more cooly, "Please just tell me."
"I hear they were running short on alcohol," Philip stated, "If he'll grant you any time, you'll find him in the cellar."
"Thank you," Alfred said, through gritted teeth. He turned on his heel and headed down the stairs, taking a route through the kitchen to avoid the crowd. The cellar door happened to be open and he descended the stairs by the dim lanterns on the way.
"Uh. Mister Densen?" he called, walking through the labyrinth of things and looking all around him. The room was eerily quiet and he was just about to head back up the stairs when he rounded the corner of a particular set of boxes and nearly tripped over something.
He looked down to see a figure laying there, eyes wide and blank and his mouth hanging open. The light danced across his pale face and Alfred felt his stomach drop. He turned on his heel, bolting out of the cellar. A scream followed after him and it took him a moment to realise it was his own. His mind told him he needed help and so he ran into the front hall, bursting through the doors and yelling at the top of his lungs.
"Murder! It's Magnus! He's laying dead in the cellar!" Alfred cried, startling several people and leaving even more confused at his sudden outburst, "Quick! Send help! He's dead! There has been a murder!"
"Alfred!" Arthur appeared at his side, taking his arm, "Calm down."
"Arthur! You've gotta-" Alfred breathed, cut off when Francis also appeared and slapped his hand over the American's mouth, silencing him.
"Breath," Arthur commanded, sternly. Alfred took a couple quick breaths, "No. Slower." Alfred complied, taking a few deep breaths through his nose until his heart beat slowed a bit.
"What exactly happened?" Francis questioned, removing his hand. A group of people began to hover around as Alfred relaid the incident, ending with his heart racing, again and him being on the edge of hysterics.
"Dear lord," Arthur looked around, "Has anyone seen his brother?"
"I'm here," a quiet voice said beside him and he glanced over to see Matthew, who was tugging Alfred back towards the door to get him to sit down, "I'll deal with him."
"Thank you, Matthew," Arthur nodded, "Someone please alert the police. Francis. You and I will go and inspect the cellar to make sure he wasn't just fibbing."
"Why do I have to go?" Francis demanded.
"Because I said so," Arthur snapped, "Now, hurry up!"
Most guests left as soon as the police gave them leave. The manor was a large one with plenty of rooms for overnight visitors, so a few people decided to stay or were held for longer periods of time.
Matthew had dragged Alfred off to the living room where they were mostly alone except for a couple of woman gossiping in the corner. He sat his brother on one of the couches and knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his knee.
"Are you going to alright, Alfred?" Matthew inquired, worried.
"Yeah. Maybe. I don't know," Alfred choked out. His stomach was churning and he began to feel nauseas, "I think I'm gonna be sick."
"For someone always going on about being the hero, you've always been rather uneasy about the sick or dead," Matthew chuckled.
"Of course I am," Alfred glared, "Why do you think I want to eliminate such things with my heroic actions?"
"Because you resemble a five year old?" Matthew chuckled.
"Haha. Hilarious," Alfred grumbled, "Jesus, I think I'm gonna be sick, myself."
"Why don't you lie down?" Matthew offered.
"Here?" Alfred eyed him.
"Sure," Matthew nodded, "I don't see why not."
"There are girls over there, Matthew," Alfred muttered, nodding towards the gossipers, "I can't sleep with them around."
"Don't tell me you're afraid of a couple of women," Matthew chuckled.
"Of course not!" Alfred snapped, "It just... Doesn't look good for my reputation."
"Is this because you're a cuddler?" Matthew teased, "Afraid they'll find out your wittle secret and tell everyone?"
"I am not a cuddler!" Alfred argued.
"Are too."
"Am not!"
"Are too."
"This is stupid," Alfred grumbled, "I'm not sleeping in here and that's final."
"Fine, you baby," Matthew helped him to his feet, "Come on. There are some bedrooms upstairs. I'll help you find one."
"I can do it myself," Alfred stated, but allowed his brother to drag him away, none-the-less.
"I'm sure you can," Matthew rolled his eyes.