[Fanfic] - Any Other City - August
Title: Any Other City - Chapter 1
Rating: PG-13
Characters: America, Belarus, Iceland, Belgium, Sweden, Prussia, Norway, Austria, France, Hungary, Canada, England, Spain
Pairings: France/Spain, a lot of onesided things
Warnings: Uh. Drinking, smoking, cursing, mild violence, kissing.
Summary: AU where the nations are hipsters and get into pointless pretentious dumb shenanigans.
This is kind of a cross between two prompts - the other asked to base a story on the nations where their relationships have nothing to do with their cannon relationships (just to see how they get along based on personality alone). Eirik is Iceland and Nils is Norway - those seem to be among the most common fandom names so I just went with it. And we’re just gonna say that the drinking age in this pretend city is 18, or maybe the younger kids all have fakes. This will probably trace the next year in their lives - or at least the school year.
---
AUGUST
---
An extremely drunk guy with glasses and one of those annoying mustache finger tattoos hit the bar beside Natalia with a loud thud. “You...yuh...y’are smokin’ girl.”
She had to cut off Eirik’s rant about how he wished he could’ve been alive to take part in some avant-garde performance troupe (Elbow something?) to send a scathing glare the intruder’s way. All she got was a rather lopsided, but still blinding, smile and a proffered hand. “M’name’s Alfrrred,” the blond smiled. “Wussyurs?”
God, how annoying. He might’ve been cute sober. And with better glasses. And without those dumb skate shoes. And without that fucking dumbass tattoo.
She scowled, flipped her hair behind her back, observed her nails - a nice color of Jade green, today - and then sent a look that idiot’s way that had made better men cry.
---
God this babe was hot....so hot. There were probably no hotter babes...in...yeah. Uh, in...well none nearby, definitely. Yeah she was hot. And he was cool! Yeah...hot babes...go with cool dudes, yeah? That made sense...maybe...
Oh yeah, she was looking right at him. She was kinda scary like that...but still really hot. Charm it up, Alfred! Let her know you’re a cool dude! Hot and cold, ya know? They gotta go together!
“Baabe, you didn’t...d’n’t tell me yer name....but stilllll...I will totes buy ya a PBR. You arrre, like, so hot. Hotterrr than...th’n Alexa Chung, or somethin’. ‘n that girl is...she...she’s’ot.”
“How cliché,” was murmured by that - that really blonde dude - like, uh.... Dude that dude is really blond.
“Duuude,” Alfred slurred out, “y’r hair - you..are..rrreally blond. Your hair’s like....your hair’s like white. S’white blond. S’like an albino? M’roommate’s’n albino.”
“Charming,” the hot girl said, “now go away, hipster scum.”
“Heeeey, ‘m not’a hip...hipsterrr!”
The blond dude was making some noise, and some lipstick girl by him was laughing maybe...Alfred should probably be offended by that noise...but the hot girl! He’s gotta let her know...he’s not...er. Wait. Let her know how cool he was? There seemed to be something he was forgetting.
“I don’t care,” dream girl announced. “Go away.”
God, she was gorgeous. Alfred took the time to observe her cute flowered romper, cable-knit cardigan, and gross grandma flats as his face sank its way closer to the bar’s counter.
“D’ya ride a’bike? Betcha’d...ya’d look rrrreal cute on a bike...”
“Go away before I punch you in the face. Or get the bartender.”
“Wha’no! Barrrtendr’scary! S’all quiet...n’has’a bearrrd n’glassesss...n grunt...grunts.”
Alfred decided that the hot girl was ignoring him now...or...she was talking to really blond guy and giggle-lipstick girl again... Gotta let her know he’s cool.
“I skate ya know...n...do otherrr cool stuff...ya like movies? Orrr music....yeah...m’friend...I think I toldya ‘bout th’ roommate....we’reinna band. Kinda like the Black Lipsss...but...with like...some kraut...krautrock, yeah. Should see us.”
Yeah, she was looking at him again! Kinda...uh...murderously.... Oh shi-
---
“Hey, bartender?”
“S’Berwald. Told ya a dozen times.”
A flat look. Berwald shifted a flannel-clad shoulder in a suggestion of a shrug, and looked unimpressed behind his manly beard and plastic frames. For some reason, Eirik and Bella were cowering.
“That kid,” Natalia pointed to the guy KO’d on the floor, “needs to leave.”
---
“Rise and shine, Alfredo! Check out our new addition!”
Ugh, noise. Alfred groaned and rolled over in his bed, only to be stuck in the back by something sharp. “What the fuck, Gil?!” He looked up at his roommate blearily, but all he could make out of the cackling albino without his glasses was that he was wearing the same thing he always did (skinny jeans, tall combat boots, an “artfully large” tee from Francis-via-Nils that showed off half his chest and collarbones - all in black), had one booted foot up on his bed, and had something massive and pointy shoved right toward him.
He sat up and groped around for his glasses - and, Jesus, his head hurt. “Drank too much,” he croaked out.
“I’ll say dude - I got to the bar and you were passed out in the front!”
Huh, wonder how that happened. Last thing Alfred remembered was seeing that total babe. “Thanks for getting me - “
Gilbert tossed his glasses at him and cut in with “Hey, you owe me! Free booze! Or weed! Maybe both man. Or my rent next month.”
“Darn freeloader,” Alfred grumbled, and then “holy crap is that a deer?!”
Gilbert started up his crazy laugh and hiked up the mounted deer head underneath his arm. “Sweet right? Found it at the Salvation Army this morning, gonna put this in the common area!”
“Er, okay,” Alfred drawled out. How could his friend be so cheerful in the morning anyway? He had a hangover from hell.
Gilbert scoffed. “There is nothing that is not awesome about this deer. You’re just a fuckin’ prissy-ass moron obsessed with proper ~design~ and ~use of space~, Alfredo.” He swung the deer head around to look it in the eye as he addressed it with the utmost seriousness. “They brainwash the little design fags until they can’t see truly inspiring design right in front of their noses, eh, Bambi?”
By now Alfred had burrowed back into the covers. “We need a better name for it. ‘nd I’m in architecture.”
“Psh, only technically. You design bus stops and shit. Coffee’s brewing, babe, get your ass up. Gonna go show Nils the new housemate - he’ll like it more than you anyway, he’s into mythology and goddamn harsh noise and blood and awesomeness. He’ll dig it.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t rad! I’ve just got the worst headache of my life! And you gotta let me help you name it!”
“Yeah, fine, don’t get your fancy AA panties twisted. And come to breakfast, it’s already noon, lazy ass.”
---
Alfred made his way into the common area (still in his AA briefs, just as a nice “screw you” to Gil) with minimal incident, considering that the world spun with every step he took. Gilbert was perched on the broken-down sofa, juggling coffee, his cigarette, and the deer under his arm; Nils had temporarily abandoned his breakfast on the coffee table to put on a record - probably some kind of noise-drone thing.
“Nils,” Alfred whined, “don’t make it something harsh. Hangover.”
Nils glanced over at Alfred before a quiet inquiry of “Stars of the Lid?”
“No,” Gilbert interrupted, “nothing happens, boringest shit ever.”
Nils made a noise of disapproval. Alfred suggested Can’s Future Days. “B-side?” Nils asked.
“Is that Bel Air?” A nod. “Fuck yeah! Ow, dude, my head.” Nils laughed at Alfred’s stupidity under his breath.
“Ya know, I don’t get it,” Gilbert started. Alfred groaned - not this again. “Nils, you like kickass noise and punk, blah, blah, blah, but then you listen to cutesy ambient crap.”
“What happened to your face, Alfred?” Nils asked instead, completely ignoring Gilbert.
“Yeah Al!” Apparently Gilbert’s curiosity was enough to ignore the brush-off. “You look like you got decked or something!”
---
Roderich listened to his boss recommend a few dresses for the girl in the dressing room, and sat at the cashier’s desk, tapping his fingers to some half-remembered song.
He was bored. All of the new clothes had been unpacked and brought to the front of the store, he’d cleaned, there wasn’t anything to do until a new customer came in. Or Nils came in and he got off of work for the day. Though he still had a tutoring session later - and was tonight that performance? He should check his calendar. He whipped out his phone to see, and then the door chimed.
“Hello,” he called from the back of the small space. Sound carried pretty well, what with the hardwood floors and minimal interior. He walked up to the front to greet the young woman who had come in. “Welcome to Ombre, have you been in? I’m Roderich.”
She seemed taken aback by his presence and he sighed internally. He was better at addressing men’s clothing needs; the women always seemed skittish around him.
“I’m actually here to see Francis?” she squeaked. “I think he said he was the owner?”
“Ah, er, yes,” Roderich replied. “He’s helping someone out now, but -”
“Hello dear,” Francis pranced over and into the conversation, “were you the one who was looking for the Alexander Wang last week?” Before she could do more than nod, Francis grabbed her by the arm and whisked her to the women’s side of the store, going on about the pieces he’d bought at the fall trunk shows this year, and there was some new A.P.C. and Vena Cava in...
Half an hour later the shop was empty but for the two of them. Roderich sighed. “I don’t get it. Women come into the shop and go straight to you. Women meet us at a gallery opening and go straight to you. You come to my performances and women go straight to you.”
Francis gave a light laugh. “You need something more distinguishing when you’re with the likes of me,” he winked at Roderich, who was so used to it by now it didn’t register. “You dress nicely, of course - I wouldn’t let you work here if you didn’t - that vest looks fantastic, by the way, navy suits you - but...you do lack a little...something, in your appearance...” Here Francis leaned back and scrutinized him like a painting he was trying to understand while Roderich tried not to fidget under his gaze.
“You should get glasses!” Francis exclaimed at last, clapping his hands.
“Glasses? But I don’t need glasses,” Roderich frowned.
“Ah, they would look so good on you, come here, let us find you some,” and Roderich was whisked to the computer to find some exemplary glasses online.
The door chimed and they both looked up, only to find Nils coming in for his shift.
“Nils, beautiful, come here and help Roderich and me pick out a pair of glasses. Don’t you think he would look fantastic with glasses?”
Nils shrugged. Francis draped himself over the smaller man’s shoulders. “You cannot say you have no opinion - I know you know style. Look at this,” he picked at Nils’ shirt, “it’s a simple t-shirt with some straps, but you carry it so well. And it matches the straps and buckles on your boots,” here his hand ran down Nils’ upper arm, “so...what do you think?” he breathed against the man’s ear.
Nils looked to Roderich and mumbled a “nothing too bulky.”
Francis sighed. “It’s like hitting on a brick wall,” he deadpanned over toward Roderich.
---
This was it. Matthew took a deep breath to steady himself. His dream girl, the girl he’d had a crush on for two years now, the girl who had started the University’s community gardens, and the Vegan and Vegetarian alliance, and the campaign for bike lanes on campus, and, and - Oh, God, everything about her was perfect - except she had only noticed him a grand total of two times. Once was when they were on a hike with the University’s Environmental Club and she’d asked him for water (he kept the canteen in his desk drawer, still unwashed), and the other was when she had almost run into him on her fixed gear.
He stood by the entrance to the fair-trade coffeeshop she worked at and admired her from the door. No one seemed to notice him, but he was used to that by now. When he was working in the local bike shop, no one really seemed to know he was there until he was right in front of them.
Okay, Matthew. Just step right up front. She’s the only one working.
He stood as authoritatively as he could in front of the counter; still, it was a few minutes before he was noticed.
“Oh, sorry about that! Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
Matthew laughed a little. “That usually happens when I’m here - er, I mean, no one notices me, not, er, I mean you’re fine - I mean, the customer service is fine -” Oh God he was blushing terribly, he just knew it.
“...ah. That's good. So...what would you like, sir?”
“Matthew,” he said.
“Huh?”
“I mean, my name’s Matthew.”
“Oh. Ah, yeah, my name’s Elizabeta.”
Matthew just barely refrained from saying “I know” immediately. She stood there waiting on his order and he stood there blushing, before she asked “So...you come here a lot then?”
“Erm, kinda,” was the reply. “Though, I’m not going to be around next semester...I’m studying abroad in Fr-”
“ELIZA!” drowned out whatever Matthew was going to say. Elizabeta’s attention was diverted to the fellow in ripped jeans, nose piercing, oddly chopped hair, and large eyebrows marching toward the counter.
“Arthur!” she chirped. “Glad to see you’re alive - when I left the show you could barely stand.”
Matthew was forgotten in the banter between the two friends.
---
“Antonio,” Francis murmured as he grabbed the strap to the other man’s tank top, “why do you have to wear such atrocious things? You would look so nice in a button-up.”
Antonio just laughed as Francis sat down on the couch and threw an arm around his shoulders. “This is comfortable. I don’t need to look fancy.”
Francis let the arm around Antonio’s shoulders pick at the strap again, while his other began pushing up the fabric covering Antonio’s stomach. “But it’s so nice when you do look, as you put it, fancy.” Antonio just hummed, so Francis continued. “And I am the owner of Ombre, it wouldn’t be hard to give you a discount...”
At this Antonio laughed cheerfully. “I work at a CSA - I don’t need to look fancy at all!”
Francis let his hand ride up underneath the shirt and leaned in to nuzzle Antonio’s neck, placing a soft trail of kisses down it. “Regardless, I don’t want to see you in this any longer.”
Antonio gasped and then let out a breathy “Oh. Okay.”
---
---
A/N: For September we’ve got a bunch of folk coming back into town for school! Peoples’ ages are, for the most part, the cannon ones. But here’s a handy-dandy list:
Alfred: 19
Natalia: 19
Eirik: 18
Bella: 19
Gilbert: 21
Nils: 21
Roderich: 23
Francis: 26
Matthew: 20
Elizabeta: 22
Arthur: 21
Antonio: 25
Lastly, sketches of Alfred and Gilbert!
Alfred: http://i35.tinypic.com/33mn9rn.jpg
Gilbert: http://i34.tinypic.com/2412o9k.jpg
Rating: PG-13
Characters: America, Belarus, Iceland, Belgium, Sweden, Prussia, Norway, Austria, France, Hungary, Canada, England, Spain
Pairings: France/Spain, a lot of onesided things
Warnings: Uh. Drinking, smoking, cursing, mild violence, kissing.
Summary: AU where the nations are hipsters and get into pointless pretentious dumb shenanigans.
This is kind of a cross between two prompts - the other asked to base a story on the nations where their relationships have nothing to do with their cannon relationships (just to see how they get along based on personality alone). Eirik is Iceland and Nils is Norway - those seem to be among the most common fandom names so I just went with it. And we’re just gonna say that the drinking age in this pretend city is 18, or maybe the younger kids all have fakes. This will probably trace the next year in their lives - or at least the school year.
---
AUGUST
---
An extremely drunk guy with glasses and one of those annoying mustache finger tattoos hit the bar beside Natalia with a loud thud. “You...yuh...y’are smokin’ girl.”
She had to cut off Eirik’s rant about how he wished he could’ve been alive to take part in some avant-garde performance troupe (Elbow something?) to send a scathing glare the intruder’s way. All she got was a rather lopsided, but still blinding, smile and a proffered hand. “M’name’s Alfrrred,” the blond smiled. “Wussyurs?”
God, how annoying. He might’ve been cute sober. And with better glasses. And without those dumb skate shoes. And without that fucking dumbass tattoo.
She scowled, flipped her hair behind her back, observed her nails - a nice color of Jade green, today - and then sent a look that idiot’s way that had made better men cry.
---
God this babe was hot....so hot. There were probably no hotter babes...in...yeah. Uh, in...well none nearby, definitely. Yeah she was hot. And he was cool! Yeah...hot babes...go with cool dudes, yeah? That made sense...maybe...
Oh yeah, she was looking right at him. She was kinda scary like that...but still really hot. Charm it up, Alfred! Let her know you’re a cool dude! Hot and cold, ya know? They gotta go together!
“Baabe, you didn’t...d’n’t tell me yer name....but stilllll...I will totes buy ya a PBR. You arrre, like, so hot. Hotterrr than...th’n Alexa Chung, or somethin’. ‘n that girl is...she...she’s’ot.”
“How cliché,” was murmured by that - that really blonde dude - like, uh.... Dude that dude is really blond.
“Duuude,” Alfred slurred out, “y’r hair - you..are..rrreally blond. Your hair’s like....your hair’s like white. S’white blond. S’like an albino? M’roommate’s’n albino.”
“Charming,” the hot girl said, “now go away, hipster scum.”
“Heeeey, ‘m not’a hip...hipsterrr!”
The blond dude was making some noise, and some lipstick girl by him was laughing maybe...Alfred should probably be offended by that noise...but the hot girl! He’s gotta let her know...he’s not...er. Wait. Let her know how cool he was? There seemed to be something he was forgetting.
“I don’t care,” dream girl announced. “Go away.”
God, she was gorgeous. Alfred took the time to observe her cute flowered romper, cable-knit cardigan, and gross grandma flats as his face sank its way closer to the bar’s counter.
“D’ya ride a’bike? Betcha’d...ya’d look rrrreal cute on a bike...”
“Go away before I punch you in the face. Or get the bartender.”
“Wha’no! Barrrtendr’scary! S’all quiet...n’has’a bearrrd n’glassesss...n grunt...grunts.”
Alfred decided that the hot girl was ignoring him now...or...she was talking to really blond guy and giggle-lipstick girl again... Gotta let her know he’s cool.
“I skate ya know...n...do otherrr cool stuff...ya like movies? Orrr music....yeah...m’friend...I think I toldya ‘bout th’ roommate....we’reinna band. Kinda like the Black Lipsss...but...with like...some kraut...krautrock, yeah. Should see us.”
Yeah, she was looking at him again! Kinda...uh...murderously.... Oh shi-
---
“Hey, bartender?”
“S’Berwald. Told ya a dozen times.”
A flat look. Berwald shifted a flannel-clad shoulder in a suggestion of a shrug, and looked unimpressed behind his manly beard and plastic frames. For some reason, Eirik and Bella were cowering.
“That kid,” Natalia pointed to the guy KO’d on the floor, “needs to leave.”
---
“Rise and shine, Alfredo! Check out our new addition!”
Ugh, noise. Alfred groaned and rolled over in his bed, only to be stuck in the back by something sharp. “What the fuck, Gil?!” He looked up at his roommate blearily, but all he could make out of the cackling albino without his glasses was that he was wearing the same thing he always did (skinny jeans, tall combat boots, an “artfully large” tee from Francis-via-Nils that showed off half his chest and collarbones - all in black), had one booted foot up on his bed, and had something massive and pointy shoved right toward him.
He sat up and groped around for his glasses - and, Jesus, his head hurt. “Drank too much,” he croaked out.
“I’ll say dude - I got to the bar and you were passed out in the front!”
Huh, wonder how that happened. Last thing Alfred remembered was seeing that total babe. “Thanks for getting me - “
Gilbert tossed his glasses at him and cut in with “Hey, you owe me! Free booze! Or weed! Maybe both man. Or my rent next month.”
“Darn freeloader,” Alfred grumbled, and then “holy crap is that a deer?!”
Gilbert started up his crazy laugh and hiked up the mounted deer head underneath his arm. “Sweet right? Found it at the Salvation Army this morning, gonna put this in the common area!”
“Er, okay,” Alfred drawled out. How could his friend be so cheerful in the morning anyway? He had a hangover from hell.
Gilbert scoffed. “There is nothing that is not awesome about this deer. You’re just a fuckin’ prissy-ass moron obsessed with proper ~design~ and ~use of space~, Alfredo.” He swung the deer head around to look it in the eye as he addressed it with the utmost seriousness. “They brainwash the little design fags until they can’t see truly inspiring design right in front of their noses, eh, Bambi?”
By now Alfred had burrowed back into the covers. “We need a better name for it. ‘nd I’m in architecture.”
“Psh, only technically. You design bus stops and shit. Coffee’s brewing, babe, get your ass up. Gonna go show Nils the new housemate - he’ll like it more than you anyway, he’s into mythology and goddamn harsh noise and blood and awesomeness. He’ll dig it.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t rad! I’ve just got the worst headache of my life! And you gotta let me help you name it!”
“Yeah, fine, don’t get your fancy AA panties twisted. And come to breakfast, it’s already noon, lazy ass.”
---
Alfred made his way into the common area (still in his AA briefs, just as a nice “screw you” to Gil) with minimal incident, considering that the world spun with every step he took. Gilbert was perched on the broken-down sofa, juggling coffee, his cigarette, and the deer under his arm; Nils had temporarily abandoned his breakfast on the coffee table to put on a record - probably some kind of noise-drone thing.
“Nils,” Alfred whined, “don’t make it something harsh. Hangover.”
Nils glanced over at Alfred before a quiet inquiry of “Stars of the Lid?”
“No,” Gilbert interrupted, “nothing happens, boringest shit ever.”
Nils made a noise of disapproval. Alfred suggested Can’s Future Days. “B-side?” Nils asked.
“Is that Bel Air?” A nod. “Fuck yeah! Ow, dude, my head.” Nils laughed at Alfred’s stupidity under his breath.
“Ya know, I don’t get it,” Gilbert started. Alfred groaned - not this again. “Nils, you like kickass noise and punk, blah, blah, blah, but then you listen to cutesy ambient crap.”
“What happened to your face, Alfred?” Nils asked instead, completely ignoring Gilbert.
“Yeah Al!” Apparently Gilbert’s curiosity was enough to ignore the brush-off. “You look like you got decked or something!”
---
Roderich listened to his boss recommend a few dresses for the girl in the dressing room, and sat at the cashier’s desk, tapping his fingers to some half-remembered song.
He was bored. All of the new clothes had been unpacked and brought to the front of the store, he’d cleaned, there wasn’t anything to do until a new customer came in. Or Nils came in and he got off of work for the day. Though he still had a tutoring session later - and was tonight that performance? He should check his calendar. He whipped out his phone to see, and then the door chimed.
“Hello,” he called from the back of the small space. Sound carried pretty well, what with the hardwood floors and minimal interior. He walked up to the front to greet the young woman who had come in. “Welcome to Ombre, have you been in? I’m Roderich.”
She seemed taken aback by his presence and he sighed internally. He was better at addressing men’s clothing needs; the women always seemed skittish around him.
“I’m actually here to see Francis?” she squeaked. “I think he said he was the owner?”
“Ah, er, yes,” Roderich replied. “He’s helping someone out now, but -”
“Hello dear,” Francis pranced over and into the conversation, “were you the one who was looking for the Alexander Wang last week?” Before she could do more than nod, Francis grabbed her by the arm and whisked her to the women’s side of the store, going on about the pieces he’d bought at the fall trunk shows this year, and there was some new A.P.C. and Vena Cava in...
Half an hour later the shop was empty but for the two of them. Roderich sighed. “I don’t get it. Women come into the shop and go straight to you. Women meet us at a gallery opening and go straight to you. You come to my performances and women go straight to you.”
Francis gave a light laugh. “You need something more distinguishing when you’re with the likes of me,” he winked at Roderich, who was so used to it by now it didn’t register. “You dress nicely, of course - I wouldn’t let you work here if you didn’t - that vest looks fantastic, by the way, navy suits you - but...you do lack a little...something, in your appearance...” Here Francis leaned back and scrutinized him like a painting he was trying to understand while Roderich tried not to fidget under his gaze.
“You should get glasses!” Francis exclaimed at last, clapping his hands.
“Glasses? But I don’t need glasses,” Roderich frowned.
“Ah, they would look so good on you, come here, let us find you some,” and Roderich was whisked to the computer to find some exemplary glasses online.
The door chimed and they both looked up, only to find Nils coming in for his shift.
“Nils, beautiful, come here and help Roderich and me pick out a pair of glasses. Don’t you think he would look fantastic with glasses?”
Nils shrugged. Francis draped himself over the smaller man’s shoulders. “You cannot say you have no opinion - I know you know style. Look at this,” he picked at Nils’ shirt, “it’s a simple t-shirt with some straps, but you carry it so well. And it matches the straps and buckles on your boots,” here his hand ran down Nils’ upper arm, “so...what do you think?” he breathed against the man’s ear.
Nils looked to Roderich and mumbled a “nothing too bulky.”
Francis sighed. “It’s like hitting on a brick wall,” he deadpanned over toward Roderich.
---
This was it. Matthew took a deep breath to steady himself. His dream girl, the girl he’d had a crush on for two years now, the girl who had started the University’s community gardens, and the Vegan and Vegetarian alliance, and the campaign for bike lanes on campus, and, and - Oh, God, everything about her was perfect - except she had only noticed him a grand total of two times. Once was when they were on a hike with the University’s Environmental Club and she’d asked him for water (he kept the canteen in his desk drawer, still unwashed), and the other was when she had almost run into him on her fixed gear.
He stood by the entrance to the fair-trade coffeeshop she worked at and admired her from the door. No one seemed to notice him, but he was used to that by now. When he was working in the local bike shop, no one really seemed to know he was there until he was right in front of them.
Okay, Matthew. Just step right up front. She’s the only one working.
He stood as authoritatively as he could in front of the counter; still, it was a few minutes before he was noticed.
“Oh, sorry about that! Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
Matthew laughed a little. “That usually happens when I’m here - er, I mean, no one notices me, not, er, I mean you’re fine - I mean, the customer service is fine -” Oh God he was blushing terribly, he just knew it.
“...ah. That's good. So...what would you like, sir?”
“Matthew,” he said.
“Huh?”
“I mean, my name’s Matthew.”
“Oh. Ah, yeah, my name’s Elizabeta.”
Matthew just barely refrained from saying “I know” immediately. She stood there waiting on his order and he stood there blushing, before she asked “So...you come here a lot then?”
“Erm, kinda,” was the reply. “Though, I’m not going to be around next semester...I’m studying abroad in Fr-”
“ELIZA!” drowned out whatever Matthew was going to say. Elizabeta’s attention was diverted to the fellow in ripped jeans, nose piercing, oddly chopped hair, and large eyebrows marching toward the counter.
“Arthur!” she chirped. “Glad to see you’re alive - when I left the show you could barely stand.”
Matthew was forgotten in the banter between the two friends.
---
“Antonio,” Francis murmured as he grabbed the strap to the other man’s tank top, “why do you have to wear such atrocious things? You would look so nice in a button-up.”
Antonio just laughed as Francis sat down on the couch and threw an arm around his shoulders. “This is comfortable. I don’t need to look fancy.”
Francis let the arm around Antonio’s shoulders pick at the strap again, while his other began pushing up the fabric covering Antonio’s stomach. “But it’s so nice when you do look, as you put it, fancy.” Antonio just hummed, so Francis continued. “And I am the owner of Ombre, it wouldn’t be hard to give you a discount...”
At this Antonio laughed cheerfully. “I work at a CSA - I don’t need to look fancy at all!”
Francis let his hand ride up underneath the shirt and leaned in to nuzzle Antonio’s neck, placing a soft trail of kisses down it. “Regardless, I don’t want to see you in this any longer.”
Antonio gasped and then let out a breathy “Oh. Okay.”
---
---
A/N: For September we’ve got a bunch of folk coming back into town for school! Peoples’ ages are, for the most part, the cannon ones. But here’s a handy-dandy list:
Alfred: 19
Natalia: 19
Eirik: 18
Bella: 19
Gilbert: 21
Nils: 21
Roderich: 23
Francis: 26
Matthew: 20
Elizabeta: 22
Arthur: 21
Antonio: 25
Lastly, sketches of Alfred and Gilbert!
Alfred: http://i35.tinypic.com/33mn9rn.jpg
Gilbert: http://i34.tinypic.com/2412o9k.jpg
