Saturday Story: Whodunit? Part 1
Brought to you by: Zeie
Pairing/Character: Slight FrUK, but other than that... None, really.
A/N: Not off a YouTube video! ...For once. There will be at least 2 more parts to this, most likely :/
~Zeie
xXx
"Is everyone here?" Arthur huffed, frowning as he took a sip of his tea. He didn't like that everyone else seemed to be wasting his time. He wanted to hurry this along as soon as possible. The sooner they found the chest, the sooner he could get out of here and away from these gits.
Francis looked around, thinking. "Let's see... there's you, me, Elizaveta, Ludwig, Gilbert..."
"Veh! I'm here!"
"And there's the last one."
The last guest entered the room, shutting the door behind him. And they all knew that as soon as the door was closed, the man outside locked it. The only way out now was to find the key, which was hidden somewhere in the mansion, inside a chest full of treasure...
"And you are?" Ludwig asked, arching a brow.
"Feliciano Vargas!"
Elizaveta smiled, walking over to the boy and hugging him. "Aw, you're so cute! And why are you here? Like, what do you plan to use the money for?"
"Ve~ we need the money to buy medicine... you see, the baby is sick..."
The Hungarian gasped, hugging him again. "Oh that's awful! Here, I'll share with you if I find it!" Then she grinned, suddenly getting an idea. She leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Hehe! We should work together and split the gold! What do you say?"
"Si!"
"Kesesese!" Gilbert laughed, lifting his fifth bottle of beer in the last half hour to his lips. "I'm going to go look for this chest now. Its vital regions will soon belong to the awesome Gilbert!"
Arthur rolled his eyes, "Of course it will..." He muttered sarcastically.
Francis smiled and waved as the Prussian started to walk upstairs. "Have fun, mon ami! And good luck~"
The Brit glanced at Francis for a moment, then quickly looked away. His cheeks were perhaps the slightest hint of pink... And the only one who noticed was Feliciano. The Italian managed to tear himself away from Elizaveta to approach him.
"Ve~ What's your name?"
Arthur looked up at the boy, smiling slightly. "Ah, hello." He offered out his hand. "I'm Arthur Kirkland. Pleasure to meet you."
Feliciano smiled, shaking his hand. "It's so exciting to be here, isn't it?"
"I suppose..." Arthur sighed, finding his eyes drifting off to the Frenchman again, who was looking through one of the bookshelves. He was so handsome... His hair looked so silky... Arthur wanted to touch it so badly, among other things... Wait. No! Bad Arthur! He felt his face heat up again. N-No, he couldn't. Besides, Francis was probably taken anyway. There's was no way that he was single.
"...Are you listening, Mr. Kirkland?" Feliciano asked, trying to keep himself from giggling. He could definately tell what was going on here by the way Arthur kept looking at Francis.
Arthur jumped, having completely forgotten that the Italian was even there. Let alone that he was still talking. "Oh! Uh, sorry! I really am, Feliciano. I'm just distracted today..." He muttered.
Feliciano glanced back at Francis, who seemed to be oblivious to the poor Englishman's feelings. "Hm... you want me to help you out with Francis over there?"
Arthur's face was bright red at this point. "Wha- no! What could you possibly be talking about?"
"Don't worry. I'll talk to him for you!" Feliciano giggled, turning and walking over to Francis.
Arthur sank down into his seat as he watched Feliciano talk to Francis, then turn and point back at Arthur. The Brit felt his stomach do a backflip as Francis looked over at him with a smirk, starting toward him. Feliciano gave him a thumbs up, then started to walk upstairs.
The Frenchman sauntered over to Arthur with a chesire grin. "So I hear that you have a little crush on me... is this true, mon cher?"
"Mmm...maybe..." Arthur muttered, "...A little more than a little crush..."
"Hm..." Francis leaned in to rasp his tongue over the shell of Arthur's ear, "Then tell me, exactly how much do you want me?"
Arthur closed his eyes, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. "A lot..."
"Meet me upstairs in a few minutes." He purred seductively, nibbling Arthur's ear a bit before turning and walking away.
The Brit took a deep breath, "Whew... Dear lord, what have I gotten myself into?"
xXx
Elizaveta rolled her eyes as Gilbert stumbled around the upstairs living room. He was so drunk... Then she glanced over at Ludwig, who was looking underneath the couch cushions.
"You really think a chest could be under the cushions, Ludwig?"
He looked up at her, somewhat embarassed. It was as if he'd just realized how, well, dumb his search was. "Well... no... but maybe there are hints as to its location hidden around as well..."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh Luddy, you're so funny..."
The German sighed, "Ja... so why are you here, anyway?"
Elizaveta's smile faded. "Oh. Well, my family is poor, like Feliciano's. We needed the money, so when I was invited here I figured, 'why not?'. I mean, what have I got to lose, right?" Her smile returned somewhat, an expression that showed her hope for a better future. Ludwig couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Perhaps she needed the money more than he and Gilbert did. "Still... I'm kind of confused as to why I was invited. Do you even know whose mansion this is?" She asked.
Ludwig shrugged, "No idea. I'm a little suspicious too, but mein bruder was coming, and I didn't want to let him come by himself."
"Oh... you mean Gilbert over there?" Elizaveta sighed, gesturing toward the albino, who was snickering to himself as he drank and searched underneath and behind the furniture.
"Ja. I know he's a bit annoying, but he's still mein bruder. Besides, it would be nice to have the money."
Elizaveta nodded, "But still... I mean, the envelope didn't even have a name on it, or anything. It must be someone who knows all of us, but I still can't help but wonder why."
Whatever reply Ludwig was about to give was cut off by a sudden scream coming from the third floor bedrooms. The two looked at each other, wide-eyed for a moment, then hurried for the stairs.