Thank you for your patience, here is the third part! This might even be forming a plot...maybe.

The sun disappeared behind the clouds as Roderich spent his afternoon trailing around Vienna. Really, it was such a small city he wondered why so many had been attracted to it, but upon seeing the delicate structure of the buildings, the quiet people and the slow pace of life here, he understood what made it so appealing: this place was everyone's escape from typical cities. It was an alternate universe, ignorant from the outside world.

The streets and roads were clean, horse-and-carriages were busy taking wealthy people to their destinations - those of less status would either walk or not bother to set foot in the snobbish setting that was 1908 Vienna City.

Roderich himself chose to walk. Well, actually he wanted to save as much money as possible, but he convinced himself that even if he'd had more money to spend he would have chosen to walk. It gave him more time to see the scenery.

But we are not currently painting buildings, we are painting people. When this thought dawned on him so did an idea: he needed to find a place where he could observe people. Here in the pathways of the city everyone was a blur; yet his eyes spied a nearby cafe. That was not particularly difficult: there were over 1000 such coffeehouses in Vienna alone.

This one, he noted as he strode closer, was labelled Café Central. It appeared to be the grandest little establishment around, all finely-cut wooden signs, soothing décor and peaceful paintings by local artists displayed on the walls lit by overhead shaded bulbs. Under the bubbled, domed ceiling bordered by contemporary patterns Roderich walked, admiring the pillars and the warm colours inside. Calm classical music played and the smells of coffee, cakes and pastries made him salivate.

Seating himself in an empty booth, Roderich sighed, breathing in the thick scent of coffee and various colognes as he picked up the menu, perusing their dishes and drinks.

He stood up to go and order, but a figure blurred into him, knocking him off balance.

"Oh - jeez! I am so sorry," Came an apologetic voice as Roderich fell back onto his seat heavily, blinking in confusion. The man above him crouched down, picked something up from the floor. Roderich could see a head of pure white hair, layered.

"I - um, it's alright…" Mumbled the Austrian as he straightened his cravat and collar.

Without meeting his eyes, the clumsy stranger moved to walk away, when Roderich caught a glimpse of something familiar in the man's pale hand.

"Hey!" The Austrian stood, scowling, "That is my wallet!" With a chuckle the man sprung away, darting around tables and out of the Café doors, Roderich doing his best to catch up with him - however, his years spent at the piano meant he barely had time for activities such as running, and he was on the street only feet away from the thief, forced into an unsightly sprint and he did not want to know how ridiculous he looked now, chasing after a raggedly-dressed athlete when he himself wore his fine upper-class attire -

Roderich's foot caught in a crack on the pavement, his ankle bending at an uncomfortable angle and sending him propelling forwards, arms outstretched, hands touching the back of the thief, pushing him -

- into the way of an oncoming carriage, the horses rearing and whinnying with fright as the figure dropped, rolled, came to a stop on the other side of the cobbled road.

"You bloody fools!"

The cry from the chauffeur burned Roderich's ears as he lay stomach-down on the pavement, both his ankle and his pride being damaged. Everyone around him had stopped, staring. Ladies clung to their husbands' arms in shock; said husbands were looking at the young Austrian with bemusement and disgust.

After the chauffeur had calmed the horses, he cursed Roderich once more before setting about his journey again. The Austrian heard a groan, not far from where he lay. The thief.

Sitting up, Roderich tried to stand, but collapsed to his knees when his left ankle gave. Through his glasses - how had they managed to survive? - Roderich met the eyes of a few onlookers. Most then went about their business, ignoring him as if he were dirt beneath their shoes.

What...horrid people. No one has even offered to help me! With a grunt he managed to stay one his feet, hopping angrily over to the body of the thief laying on the concrete. A dark, frayed shawl covered his back and his white hair was now dirtied by the street dust.

Roderich crouched down next to him, plucking the wallet from between the man's fingers.

"Wretched thief," He spat, brushing back his fringe as he placed his wallet in his pocket; as he straightened a hand shot out, grabbed his injured ankle.

"Ngh," Roderich grunted in annoyance, glaring down at the defiling hand.

The man had lifted his upper body, head kept low. "You….God...damn rich people," He growled. The Austrian's attention was taken by his accent, and the way his German was spoken….yes, this is a German. Berliner, by the sounds of it.

"You have come a long way from your usual hunting ground," Commented the Austrian blandly, "did the police come too close to catching you in Berlin?"

The grip on his ankle tightened, as the man used it as a base while he moved onto his knees, head still kept down. "Be quiet, you don't know anything. You were raised on a silver platter, I gotta take more risks to get my riches."

"...It is rude not to look people in the eye when addressing them." Now the thief was standing, somewhat shakily, his hands on his knees. Roderich suspected one of the horses had kicked him in their panic.

"I have a good reason for not meeting anyone's eyes, and it ain't because I'm a thief."

Suddenly, Roderich grabbed the man's chin in his hand, turned it up towards his own. Violet eyes widened as they met...crimson.

"Back off!" The man shook free of the grip, trying to redeem his full height yet doubling over again, clutching his stomach with a groan.

Roderich froze. "You….you are - I mean, your eyes, they are red…" Sensing the game was up, the pale man raised his head, those silvery-grey locks falling over his deep red eyes. "I know what colour my eyes are, you swine." He tried to hobble away but the Austrian blocked him. What am I doing? I do not want to be involved with this scoundrel. "Why do you look so different?"

"Because I'm a fucking fairy," Hissed the man, turning another direction to leave. Roderich stepped in again. I should let him go, he clearly has wounds that need tending to...But an idea struck, something consisting of his and Francis's earlier conversation.

We shall have to make do with only two.

How interesting would it be, He thought, if we were to paint him? He has such contrasting colours, white and red…

"Jeez, man," Wheezed the thief, now becoming more patient as the oblivious citizens of Vienna passed by, "I am sorry I took your wallet, but...I can't stay here."

Roderich straightened his back, glancing down at his hunched form. "Then...come with me." The man hesitated. "What?"

"You heard. There is….I have a proposition for you." That got the man's full attention; their eyes locked again, one set unsure and the other confused.

The man sniffled. "Go on."

Roderich licked his lips. "There may be an opportunity for you to have somewhere to stay. In an Academy. You would have shelter and would not need to -"

"Spit it out, Priss."

"What did you call me?"

"Priss."

Roderich bristled. Perhaps I should just leave him after all. "Well, if you are not interested…"

"No, wait," Blurted the man, "just….just what would I have to do, in order to stay at this Academy?"

Here it goes. "...You would be a still-life model, for art students to paint." Apart from the sounds of the people around them, neither man spoke for a moment. The man's brow furrowed. "They ask people to do that? I thought they were just nudists."

That earned a slight upturn of the mouth from Roderich. "That is my proposition, though I myself cannot confirm you will be allowed it. Do you accept?"

He watched, silent, as the man chewed it over, rearranging his clothing and wiping off some of the gravel from his body. Finally, with one risen eyebrow, he answered, "Sure, why not."

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"Master Edelstein," Francis Bonnefoy sighed as he took in the Austrian's dishevelled appearance, "when I said chasing dames I did not mean literally chasing them-" his eyes glanced over the hunched, cloaked figure beside him. "Who is this?"

"He is…" Roderich began, abashedly realising he had not thought of a valid explanation as to who this man was. He did not even think to ask his name! "This is…"
"Gilbert Beilschmidt," The man stated, holding out a hand for Francis to shake. However, with a suspicious glance at the filthy palm, said Frenchman refused. "Right. It is, uh, nice to meet you Herr Beilschmidt. Master Edelstein you still haven't answered my question exactly."

Roderich gulped. "Well, you see, I...A thief tried to steal my wallet in a cafe, and…" Out of the corner of his eye the Austrian could see Gilbert tense, "...Herr Beilschmidt got it back for me. I saw his, well, his appearance and I thought he could be another life-model, for the art classes."

Steadily the Frenchman's brow sunk with each passing word he spoke, arms folded tightly against his chest. "His appearance?"

In explanation, Gilbert raised his head and pulled down the hood of his cloak; Francis's jaw dropped in a rather comical fashion when he saw the man's snow white locks and ruby red eyes.

"I see," Francis whispered softly. "You have albinism."

At that, Gilbert bristled. He must not like the term, concluded Roderich as the German spoke, "...Yes, I do. So I've been told you pencil-pushers might want to paint me."

The older blonde tilted his head. "We - we may have a position for you. I shall have to check with other members of this establishment." Taking Roderich's shoulder and moving themselves aside, the Frenchman hissed, "This is very sudden. However, I agree with your point. Take him to the dormitories and pick him out one while I settle arrangements." With that, he breezed out of the extravagant hallway.

Gilbert turned to Roderich, a sly smile on his face. "Didn't know you were prone to defending criminals."

"Oh please," The other retorted hotly, "if I had announced that you were a thief you would be thrown out sooner than the blink of an eye. Now, follow me." Begrudgingly, the albino did, taking in the surroundings as they made their way to the males' dormitories.

Opening the door to an unoccupied room, the Austrian relayed information he himself had been given earlier. "No smoking, there are restrictions on alcoholic beverages, you must ask if you need any essentials and seeing as you cannot pay rent here, I should imagine the Academy will also employ you as an errand boy."

"Boy?" Repeated Gilbert as he sank down onto the plain mattress. "I am twenty-four years old. I'd have to be at least an errand man. Tell me, why must you insist I be an art subject?" The smirk appeared again. "Is it because you want to humiliate me?" Gilbert stood, limped over to the younger man, leaned in. "Or is it because you want to see me naked?"

Cheeks turning red, Roderich shoved him aside weakly, "Do not ask such crass questions, Herr Beilschmidt. If you find this taste of upper-class life too boring for you nobody will complain if you leave."

"Nah, why would I leave now I have shelter and a bed? Maybe even a job," He chuckled, "perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing, you catchin' me in the act. I should get caught more often by you snobs."

"Sn-? We are not snobs, we are noblemen," Defended Roderich, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his straight nose.

"Same thing," Spat Gilbert, eyes now aflame with frustration.

Before any more unwanted comments would be exchanged, the younger decided to make his leave of the room and head to his own: he needed time to calm down.

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Roderich was awoken abruptly by the sound of floorboards creaking in the hallway outside his room. Cursing himself for being such a light sleeper, he rested his head once more on the pillows, trying to slip away into sleep again.

Creak. Creak. Cre-ak. Thud. Thud.

"Oh for goodness' sake," The sleepy Austrian mumbled as he reached for the box of matches on the table, lit a nearby oil lamp and put on his glasses. He stepped up to his door, nightgown flowing to his ankles. He was sure nightgowns weren't meant to be this long, but he was not the tallest of men.

Creak. Roderich yanked the door open. "Who is there?" He hissed.

"Fuck!" Cussed Gilbert Beilschmidt, throwing himself against the opposite wall in shock, arms over his face.

"B-Beilschmidt? What on Earth are you doing?" Roderich all but snapped, brow furrowing. Lowering his arms, Gilbert smiled. "Got hungry. Thought I'd go on a food hunt."

"You - you could not wait until morning? Or at least be a little quieter?" Admittedly this would have been only for his benefit, considering Roderich was clueless as to whether there were other people on this floor, in these dorms.

Gilbert shrugged nonchalantly. "Not my fault if you can't sleep through a few footsteps."

"A few -? I thought the building might collapse under your heavy footfalls!" At that, Gilbert approached him, his limp still obvious. Roderich noted he was still wearing the same clothes from earlier - thought he had removed the black, tattered cloak. Now Gilbert, smelling very strongly of body odour, was centimetres from him.

"No need to be melodramatic, Priss."

"Do not call me that. Be on your way, if you are after food." Speaking of food, Roderich was reminded of his lack in such a nutrient. His stomach awoke with a growl, causing him to blush and Gilbert to smirk once more. "Hungry, Specs?"

Roderich frowned. "My name is not 'Specs'."

"Oh yeah," Gilbert agreed. "It's Richard, in't it?"

"No -"

"Can I call you 'Dick' for short, Specs?" With that Roderich made to shut the door as the German chuckled, but said German jammed his foot in the doorway. "Wait, wait - I'm sorry. I was joking, Edelstein."

Roderich gave him a skeptical look. "Yes, I was aware. I am too tired for this, so -"

"But you're already awake," Persisted the older man. "Why not come find food with me?"

"Because it is night time and I do not know my way around just yet."

"Fine, I'll just try to figure out where the canteen is myself," Gilbert moved away, turning to the corridor, "hope I don't wake you again by falling down the stairs or something - I mean, I do not even have a light…"

Glancing at the oil lamp, the Austrian sighed. "...Very well. But know this," he stepped out of his room, shutting the door silently, "if we are caught, I will not hesitate to put all blame on you."

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This really was a bloody big building.

Eventually upon reaching the lower floors of the Academy, Roderich opened another door, on the brink of praying they would have found the canteen.

Because Gilbert Beilschmidt would not be quiet.

"...that painting is interesting, isn't it? I like the brushwork of that one." The German pointed to a piece on the wall to their left.

"I did not know you were so keen on artwork, Herr Beilschmidt."

"I - hang on, I can't see it now, you - stop moving the lamp!"

"How can I not move the lamp, when we are moving around?" The Austrian mumbled tiredly. This had been a really bad idea, in a bloody big building. Gilbert caught up with him, one eyebrow cocked as he peered into the room Roderich had chosen.

"Nothing in here but a few stands, chairs, and some kind of piano."

Instantly, the brunette entered the large hall. He could not see much in the gloom, but by the light of a few uncurtained windows he spotted the glimmering outline of a grand piano, just as Gilbert had claimed.

So that was the centre of the concerto I heard earlier…

"We should get moving, now we know there is no food here." Gilbert's voice seemed distant. Gosh, Roderich missed his piano.

How long had it been since his fingers had touched such keys? 48 hours? Longer?

It felt as if he had not played in weeks. He missed it. The soothing sounds he created while seated upon that stool made him feel sleepy again, it always did help him to relax, to sort problems out, to focus…

Suddenly a pale hand waved in front of his vision, bringing him back to reality. With this, came the sight of a pair of glinting ruby eyes surrounded by alabaster hair and the sound of a whispered urgency. "Specs, snap out of it, it is just a piano."
Blink, blink. Roderich adjusted his glasses for something to do as his cheeks flushed. "My apologies, I...do not know what came over me." After seeing the albino's confused expression he felt elaboration would be helpful, "I am a pianist, you see."

Immediately, Gilbert began to chuckle. "A penis?"

Purple eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. How could this man speak so, so rudely? "N-no! Not a p - do not be silly. I said a pianist, you fool."

With a hand clamped over his smirking mouth, the taller man swallowed his laughter, turning to leave the room. "Sure. Let's go before your pianist thoughts take you again."

Roderich briefly wondered whether he should clout the man about the head with the oil lamp, but rejected the idea on the grounds that without said oil lamp, he was blind in the darkness.

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A light switch.

How had they not first decided to find a light switch? This thought came to Roderich as he felt around a wall for one - click - the hallway they were standing in was filled with dim light from overhead bulbs, casting colour into the previously grey paintings surrounding them.

Gilbert, he noticed, shielded his eyes from the light with a forearm, squinting. "Good idea, but now my eyes are burning." Roderich gave him a withering look. "Now you do not need me to stay with you. Good night, Herr Beilschmidt."

"Wait -"

Before Gilbert could finish his sentence, Roderich tripped on the hem of his gown; the carpeted floor rushed up to meet him and he gave a yelp of pain when his jaw hit -

- the oil lamp went flying, smashing onto the ground, flame catching on fabric and canvas alike, burning -

"Edelstein!" Gilbert dove towards him, grabbing his shoulders and hauling him to his feet, "Are you alright?"

"I am -" The dancing yellow tendrils caught their eyes, as the fire climber up the wall and began to eat the nearest painting, a beautiful oil-picture of a lake. "Oh no."

"Shit!" Gilbert tore off his over-shirt, batting at the fire with it as Roderich heard running footsteps in the distance.

"Out of the way," Came a commanding voice as both men looked down the hallway where a figure was striding up to them, bucket in hand. Roderich and Gilbert complied as the bucket was upturned and the water silenced the fire before it could catch onto the next painting.

The remains of the art piece hissed, the burned edges curling inwards like serpents.

His back pressed against a section of wall, Roderich lifted his head, pushing up his glasses to define the person in front of him.

Cloth trousers covered strong legs; a loose nightshirt draped over a - pair of breasts? Bringing his eyes further up, Roderich gaped as he noticed long mousy brown hair cascading over thin shoulders. That wavy head of hair bore an incredibly annoyed expression, creasing pretty features.

"Who are you?" She asked in that same dominant tone. Roderich was too stunned to speak. Trousers, on a woman? The audacity!

"I am awesome, that's who I am," Interrupted Gilbert, drawing her green-eyed glare, "who are you, Miss?" She scoffed. "Miss? Do not patronise me, if it weren't for me this building would already be in ashes by now. My name is Erzsébet Héderváry."

Roderich's brow furrowed, noticing the now-empty bucket in her hands. "Where did you get the water from?"

Erzsébet cocked an eyebrow. "The canteen kitchen, of course. It is only a few doors down from here. Now tell me, why are you two trying to burn down this building?"

"We're not-"

"That is incorrect," Began the Austrian, dusting himself off and striding over to the woman. She was an inch or so taller than him, but that did not serve as a deterrent. "I tripped and fell, so my oil lamp broke on impact."

Again, that condescending tone and look. "What made you think that carrying an oil lamp around in the dark, in a highly flammable area, was a good idea? You're lucky the paint fumes did not encourage the flames."

Before Roderich could think of a defence, Gilbert chimed in, a smirk on his lips as he held his toasted shirt close. "Actually, the funny thing is, he tripped after the lights came on. Nightgowns are a pain, aren't they, Specs?"

The brunette's face became hotter by the second as he shot a warning glance to the white-haired German.

Erzsébet seemed surprised by this revelation, and was that a tinge of pink upon her cheeks when she noticed Roderich's attire? Surely there was nothing wrong with a nightgown.

Roderich cleared his throat, desperate to return to his room. "Yes, well. This mess shall no doubt be sorted in the morning. For now, Beilschmidt, Erz - Erse -"

"Just call me Elizaveta, it is easier to pronounce," She advised.

"Goodnight." As he turned to finally leave this catastrophe, he heard Gilbert ask Elizaveta to show him to the canteen, and fought down the growl in his stomach.

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When he awoke early that morning, and unlocked his door, Roderich found a small sandwich wrapped in clingfilm by his door. A note was attached to it:

Here you go, Specs. Don't want you to starve. -G

Then Roderich heard the commotion coming from a floor or so down, and remembered how he had accidentally destroyed a precious art piece on one of those walls….

I am in a lot of trouble.

Thoughts? Feelings? Evaluation? I shall read them all -Otaku2