The World's Stage

A British Fist

Chapter Three:

Arthur always loved the rain. He loved the mist and the mysterious aura the fog gave the England streets. He loved the bright red umbrellas and he loved how his hair naturally augmented in volume. But most of all, he loved the feeling of freedom. He loved how it reminded him of when he was just a teenager, smoking cigs and wearing ripped jeans for the sake of it. When he simply had a knack for singing, and dancing were just funny sways of his hips. When money was not his everything because dancing and singing was just a hobby. When he had fun, and when he had time.

However, it wasn't raining on the streets of Toronto, and his hair wasn't as ideal as he would want it to be. In fact, his hair stuck close to his scalp due to the waft of heat that seemed to relish in his entire being. It stuck to his skin causing an itching humidity, and the blood in his veins seemed just as hot, adrenaline pumping the life within him. For once, he felt excited. Correction, he almost felt it. Like the old feeling of rejoice and happiness was coming. Like he was in the past when he was younger and happier. God, sometimes he wished he was. Things were simpler, more relaxed, and he wasn't bound yet by words on a paper.

He didn't hate being famous, he didn't hate the constant attention, but there was something about this kind of attention that made him waver. This attention was directed to the man whom called himself Arthur Kirkland. The 2.0 version of him that was a perfect gentleman, the version of him that had smiled through TV's. The version of him who had no flaws shown to the public, the version of him that was created by his own hands. He loathed it. Absolutely despised it. His own identity became washed away by the world's standards.

However, what scared him was that he had no time to himself. No time to be grumpy, handsome, him. Soon he was constantly hiding behind this fake replica of himself, the one person he hated more than anything. He hated being fake. He hated being a fraud, and he hated how the world never bothered to see him as anything other than this made up fairytale. Most of all, he was scared of losing himself. Arthur was scared that he himself would change in an insightful manner. That thought haunted him in his wildest dreams and his worst nightmares. It was the darkness in his heart. He hated change.

Toronto was sunny. After the album release, the 'ALLIES' were obligated to return to Toronto to be alerted of the future plans from there producer, Matthew. He didn't dislike Canada, but England would forever be the place he would call home. Nothing could change his opinion on home. After all, his happiest moments were when he was on stage, getting drunk on the cheering and the neon lights, or thinking about home, and the rainy days. But now, there was no use being in Toronto because they have already made their own plans. For the very first time, they have stepped out of their diamond cages, spreading their wings that have forgotten how to fly. They were like chickens confined in a high wire fence. Getting fed before man slaughtered. The World practically ate on them as entertainment. The British man supposes that that's what made the adrenaline in his blood so powerful, so maniac for freedom.

"Damn, it's hot…" Arthur curses under his breath, and for the first time, truly Implores at his surroundings. He was the information seeker, the observer, and although Arthur was a fairly intelligent man, he had nowhere to go. The duty seemed too suddenly placed on him, and he just as suddenly ran out the door without any remnant of a plan. He was like Yao in this aspect, he needed time and complex practice to carry out equally complex tasks. He slows his pace and the heat around him never ceases to lessen. He stares at his own shadow, feeling hollow and on edge.

The 'AXIS' were here. There was no doubt about it. It's been all the rage on his social networks. Pictures of pasta with comments of feverish girls claiming that they've met the Kiku Honda, or the Ludwig Beilschmidt, even the Feliciano Vargas. The "AXIS' were in Toronto because they had one of their final concerts before announcing the commence of a journey to the top. The 'AXIS' fans were more feverish, more crazed and definitely more intimidating. Every once and awhile he would receive comments that said how the 'ALLIES' were no match for the opposing team. Arthur shivers, who knew girls could be so crazy?

"Now...where would you scum be?" Arthur doesn't bother spitting out their names. He knew they had to be somewhere in the city, wherever they were, the 'AXIS' were always close by. It was a spider and fly kind of chase, except this time the fly was smarter, and could see the invisible web the spider has weaved overnight.

He chuckles, they were going to win. He was going to make sure of it. If not, then they were going to make the 'AXIS' fall with them. It was a dominoes competition. If they were going to fall, then they were going to let everyone fall with them. He walks around cautiously almost forgetting to slip on a pair of dark shaded glasses to hopefully cover his identity. He didn't need to catch more attention, he needed to be discreet and secretive. He had an entire team relying on him, and he aimed to please.

Suddenly he hears a rather loud sound, mostly consisting of piano and static. The lyrics are in Italian and it plays from the outdoor speakers of a pub nearby. The voice is rich and velvety soft. The kind that makes women swoon and men growl in jealousy. "Vargas." Arthur mutters before shaking his head. No it couldn't be. Feliciano Vargas had a high voice, a mellow voice, soft and hollow. The kind that makes a shiver run down your spine.

"Lovino Vargas." The second brother. The brother who didn't join the 'AXIS' even with the constant pleads of his younger brother. He was independent and strong. Soaring very high on the billboards, aiming for number one for singles, and almost, almost achieving it. Lovino Vargas was a powerful mass in the entertainment industry, he was a silent king trudging forward at his own pace. It was admirable. Truly.

Arthur walks quickly past the pub. Realizing that he was receiving stares from bypassers. He was amazed that no one recognized him, and if they did, they were kind enough not to dare utter his name. The distant voice of Lovino Vargas meshes away with the loud laughter of the people within the bar. He could almost smell the alcohol that reeks from the door, and even the scent of perfume that the women wear. It's too sweet for his liking. He loved the natural scents, it meant good hygiene and he was always a person for hygiene.

"-Incompetent…"

The word strikes Arthur by surprise. The canadian streets are filled with joyful laughter and quick chatter. Everyone is happy. He hears the word again, coming from the back of an alley and the British man cautiously saunters to the front door of the pub again. The pub is the last building by the alley, and it turns into a sharp turn left. He pushes himself to the wall, he doesn't understand why this stranger's words bother him so much. The word makes him shiver in disgust. He wasn't incompetent, he was important, very important. He was crucial to the entire entertainment industry, but who exactly was he important to? Who thought he was the world, who thought he was a hero? Who thought he was more than just a prince coming from a washed away fairytale?

"So incompetent!" The voice has an accent, not a spaniards strong verbal ticks, but a very low, musky growl. Arthur inhales deeply, pushing his only disguise higher on the bridge of his nose.

"Agreed." Another smooth voice intervenes. Unlike the other, his voice is calm, deep, and smooth. Rather like Lovino's except colder, and more formal.

"Why are we talking about them? We still beat them, Ve~?" Arthur freezes. It's not a very commun verbal tick was it? He only knew one person who spoke it. Somewhere in his mind he denied the fact that he knew the person talking, he didn't want to be concerned with them. Correction, he didn't think he would be facing them so soon, he was both lacking in mental and emotional preparation. He shifts uncomfortably. He couldn't assume who these people were, after all, he wasn't the kind to assume. Assuming was bad, he has learnt that making assumptions were wrong and mostly incorrect.

"Especially Yao." The calm and low voice says, Arthur hears some form of a chuckle. He could practically hear the sneer that follows. "He's the oldest amongst them, and looks fairly feminine. Don't you agree Ludwig-Senpai?"

A short and very brief hum of agreement is all Arthur needs to know. It's the 'AXIS', already spouting nonsense about them behind there back. He wonders briefly about what the opposing team does on their spare time. Maybe they would plan their next victory, crossing out names of global competitions while smirking in satisfaction. They were horrible and rotten in their own way. The three were all blind to stardom. Arthur shakes his head, frowning. No, they weren't blind from stardom. They just loved winning.

"We don't even need to play dirty this time!" An ecstatic voice says, and Arthur is certain that it's Feliciano. The italian has an unusual voice. To high and to shrill for his liking. However like him, his smile was distant. The Italian had a smile that seemed to beam brighter then any ray the sun could produce, it warm and comforting. But that was from the view of the spectators who stood underneath the stage. Arthur knew it the first time he met Feliciano. He was as complicated as his smile told him to be.

"私は彼を憎む*..." Arthur briefly hears and he knows it's Kiku. The Japanese and the Chinese had a long history together. They were always the two who grounded their own groups together. Kiku was a mastermind, calm and collected. He wanted to dominate the stage. While Yao wanted the opposite. Yao was modest, shy even. He simply wanted to share the stage and have fun. But fun was too much to ask for now, and Arthur knew it.

The British man clenches his fist before grinding his teeth together. His leather shoes vigorously digging at a burnt out cigarette nib. He had enough of their chattering. Enough of the poisonous comments, the rude remarks. Yao was his friend. His family, and so was every other person that was in the 'ALLIES'. He wanted them to have respect. Respect like how he respected them. Arthur genuinely respected all of his comrades, and he demanded others show them respect to. His blood boils, while his heart very slowly but steadily pounds in his chest. But what can he do? He was a coward. He was a person with ideals, and ideas, but he was also afraid. Afraid that he was going to mess up. Afraid that people will see him as the Arthur Kirkland his friends saw every morning. He wanted the fans, the supporters to know the real him, but he was afraid.

And that's why he assumed. In a really really long time, he assumed he was a coward. By now, the British man's head hangs low, he stares at the burnt out ash that leaves trails on the pavement.

"Yao is the person who gets most riled up, isn't he? Wouldn't it be fun to stress him out? Hm?" Kiku speaks again, but this time Arthur's head snaps up. His lips pressed together in a permanent frown. He was feeling more than just anger. He was angry at the 'AXIS', and disappointed in himself. And he supposes that that's what made his composure fully crumble. His walls of built up perfection let loose. Turning into dust and ash as dark as the stain on his boot. So he turned. Turned the sharp left turn, and swung.

He didn't know what he was swinging at, but as long as it hit something.

He would be satisfied.

Alrighty! I'm almost certain this is one of the longer chapters out of the three (including this one). I'm sorry I haven't updated, I've been busy! However, I got plenty ideas coming out so hang on, and wait!

Let's see what happens with Arthur, and the short mention of Lovino Vargas?

*I hate him