[Fanfic] - Any Other City - January
Title: Any Other City - Chapter 8
Rating: PG-15?
Characters: Ensemble
Pairings: France/Spain, Austria/Liechtenstein, Germany/Japan, France/Norway, England/fem!Netherlands, Prussia/fem!Romano, Norway/Japan, Germany/America
Summary: Derpy AU where the nations are hipsters.
In This Chapter: Feliks arranges a blind date for Ludwig, Hjortdonner finds a drummer, Roderich and Lili go on date #2, Matthew gets a visitor at work, a crew gets together for a snowball fight.
Warnings: Language, drinking, drugs, mild sexual situations, pretentious conversations and stuff.
1) This chapter is absurdly long. Go get some popcorn or something.
2) I apologize for Ludwig - I gave him a line or two of architecture to talk about and he just ran away and started monologuing on me. Apparently he hates postmodern things far more than I thought he did. And then the person he was talking to got entertained by his ranting and started egging him on! The pretentiousness levels of this fill are over 9000 now thanks to you two!
---
JANUARY
---
“I dunno know why you’re so surprised. I told you he was, like, totally into you,” Feliks sighed at his friend’s thickheadedness.
Alfred shrugged. “Well, whatever, we’re all cool now - you know anyone he could date? I told him I’d ask ya.”
“Whoa, wait a sec,” Feliks started, raising an eyebrow at Alfred. “You want me to set Lud....” he trailed off, looking like he’d just been hit in the head with a heavy object. “Oh. My. God. Alfred, I am retarded.”
“What?! No you’re not - you’re on the honor roll or -”
“No,” Feliks snapped. “I mean I should’ve thought of this back in, like, the fall.”
“Wait - does that mean you know someone?!”
“Oh, I am on this, Al.”
“Aww c’mon, tell me!”
“Psh, no way. You can’t keep your big mouth shut, and I can’t have you totally blabbing my fabulous plan all over the place.”
---
“Alfredo, we need a drummer,” Gilbert announced over coffee in the living room.
Alfred looked over. “Why’s that?”
“Well, our band is awesome,” Gilbert began, “but it’d be even more kickass with a drummer. You’re good with all of that Ableton shit, and I am a guitar god, but we would sound even harsher with some drums.”
“Yeah, okay!” Alfred nodded. “But you’ve gotta find one - I’m kinda busy with school and all right now.”
“Eh, sure. I’ll ask Sadiq if he knows anyone.”
---
Natalia was at a basement house show when she spotted Nils making his way outside, presumably to smoke. She quietly left her friends and slipped out, throwing on her coat on the way - it had been below freezing for nearly three weeks now, and wasn’t showing any signs of letting up. She stepped out and there he was, leaning against the side of the building, smoking and watching it drift through the air and up to the cloudy sky.
“Hey,” she called. She said it quietly, but it seemed loud over the noise of cars on one of the larger streets nearby.
He looked over at her and nodded, then returned to smoking.
She walked up and stood beside him, only resuming her speech when he turned to her again. “I just wanted to apologize. For hitting you, I mean.”
“Um...” he started. He looked really surprised for a moment before his expression slid back into its usual nonchalance. “I was kind of a bastard. I remember thinking I deserved it right after you did it.”
“Yeah, you kind of did,” she smirked.
“Still. I had a valid point,” he sighed and rubbed a gloved hand through his hair before turning and looking up at the sky, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “We should try this again,” he finally said. “So. Tell me about yourself. I already know you like kickass music.”
“Hm,” she frowned and shivered, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Damn, but it was cold. “I go to the university. I’m a sculpture major, dance and business minor. I volunteer at the animal shelter once a week.”
“I go to the university too - mythology,” he nodded. It was quiet for a moment and they both stood there, frowning and shivering, before he added “You dance?” with a raised eyebrow. He tossed his finished cigarette to the side and tried to imagine this girl, cold as ice, unlocking her body long enough to dance. The image wouldn’t come.
“My parents started me in ballet classes when I was really young,” she replied with a dark smile. “I met Bella there, and she pestered me to stay in it all through high school. I like it enough, but I’m not too passionate about it.”
He just hmm’d and lit up a new cigarette.
“So, what else do you do?” she demanded.
“I work part-time for Francis - a clothing store called Ombre.” She shot him a curious look at that but he continued. “I like hiking and fishing. When it’s warm at least,” he took another drag. “And lame horror and b-movies.”
He finished up and they went back inside, unspoken truce sealed when he stayed with her group of friends rather than moving to his previous corner.
Eirik glared at the newcomer. If that bastard so much as thought about hitting on Natalia after hurting her like that, oh, there would be a reckoning. She deserved much more than some too-cool-for-school, older hipster douche who didn’t treat her properly.
Nils raised an eyebrow, then went back to watching the show.
Eirik looked back and forth between them before frowning and doing the same. Okay, and he may have stepped closer to Natalia.
Natalia and Nils didn’t say anything else the rest of the night, just nodded goodbye once the show was over.
---
Roderich sat at a small table in his favorite cafe and looked at his watch. Lili was a bit late. He sipped his French-press coffee and wondered if he should go ahead and order something for her. He knew she liked hot chocolate, at least.
She came in with a bluster of cold air, saw him immediately, gave a small wave and went to the counter to order.
“I saw that picture of you on Neon Shark,” she smirked, sitting down with a cappuccino and a pastry in hand. He blushed immediately. Ohhh, he wanted to sink through his chair. “It was hot,” she laughed, then winked at him while trying her drink.
Oh, goodness, new topic, before he passed out from blood loss due to his blush. “I- I’ve been meaning to ask - you attend the university... “ She nodded. “What is your major?”
“Hmm, well, I haven’t decided yet,” she grinned. “Probably English, or maybe teaching.”
“Ah...” He decided to just bite the bullet. “How old are you, exactly?”
“Eighteen.”
A strangled noise escaped his throat. “Eight- eighteen?”
“Yeah,” she smiled, white flashed for a moment. “Why, how old are you?”
“I’m, ah,” he blushed, “twenty-three.” Oh God, oh God, he was a pedophile, wasn’t he? He’d thought of her in an indecent manner, and now was as bad as Humbert Humbert, and she was his nymphet, and goodness, Lili even sounded close to Lol-
Her laughter interrupted his internal freak-out. “Huh, you look younger than that. I’ll bet you get carded all the time,” she smiled, tapping his nose.
---
“Ivan,” Roderich sighed, holding his head in his hands, “she’s eighteen.”
Ivan raised his eyebrows a bit and gave a chuckle, pouring them both some tea before sitting down at the kitchen table. “You sound upset,” he noted.
“Wha- yes, of course I sound upset. She’s eighteen!”
“That is the legal age of consent, yes? I do not see a problem.” He took a sip of his tea and tried not to show his amusement with the situation. It was much fun to watch Roderich freak out.
“You sound just like Francis!” he wailed. “Oh, how lovely for you, darling, “ he waved around exaggeratedly, voice a disarmingly accurate imitation of Francis’, “you have a young, nubile, cute little thing to play with! I’m just so happy for you, beautiful, truly, you two would make quite the sight.” Roderich scowled. “And he winked after that, Ivan. Winked!”
“That sounds like Francis,” Ivan agreed.
“And you do not see a problem with this? Eighteen,” he hissed again. “I am twenty-three.”
Ivan schooled his face into one of surprise. “No. I see no problem.”
Roderich’s head hit the table with a loud thunk. Ivan’s smirk went unseen.
---
Feliks had told him to be in front of the Henry Moore sculpture in front of the city’s Modern Art Museum at 6:30 for his date. Ludwig swallowed heavily, looked at his watch, and tried not to fidget too much. 6:25. He looked down at himself - did he look okay? He’d never really been on a date. Especially a blind date. He frowned when he saw that a button was loose on his peacoat. Why had he let Feliks talk him into this?
Oh, yes, because it was impossible to argue with Feliks when he got an idea into his head. Even Alfred, in all of his idiot stubbornness, didn’t stand a chance.
He looked at his watch again (6:27:32) and let out a breath that sent a giant cloud out into the recent darkness. He shuffled - it had gotten so cold, recently - and looked at the sculpture. Even if it was a played-out thing, he really liked Henry Moore. It was so...simple..but earthy too, he supposed. He was trying to place what it was, exactly, when a hand tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped before turning around.
“Ya Ludwig?” was asked in a low rumble. Ludwig looked up. Wow, his voice was really low. And quiet. There was something strange about it, but Ludwig decided he liked it. Ludwig straightened, trying to make himself seem taller, and nodded, holding out a hand.
The man tilted his head and the streetlight lit his face - not that Ludwig could see much of it behind hat, beard, and glasses. Still, it gave Ludwig pause and caused the handshake to falter for a moment. He was really intimidating.
“’m Berwald,” the man informed. Okay, then. Berwald was really intimidating.
Ludwig swallowed and unstuck his throat enough to give some standard greeting. Berwald just nodded back. “Uh, so, do you know Feliks?” he tried, placing his hands in his pockets. Another nod. Did this man talk? “Um. How?” There, an open-ended question.
Berwald looked at him for a second and then nodded to the entrance and turned, walking toward it. Ludwig jerked a bit, confused, and then trotted to catch up. Berwald didn’t say anything until they were almost to the stairs, then said “Paul’s Bar” by way of explanation.
“You met him at a bar?”
More silence as they climbed the steps, then Berwald tilted his head and said “Kinda.” Ludwig dearly hoped the rest of the evening wasn’t like this. Getting this man to talk was like pulling teeth. Maybe they should go to a bar first.
Oh, but they were already in and Berwald had two tickets. Ludwig wondered if that was Feliks’ doing or if Berwald bought them. It would be unlike Feliks to pay for them; he didn’t know about Berwald. He thanked Berwald, just in case, and only got a nod. They went to coat check and pulled off hats, gloves, scarves, and coats, and left them there.
Ludwig looked over and did a double-take. He’d seen Berwald before, a few times - at noise shows. He told him so, and only got back a shrug and a “Prob’ly.”
God damn it.
Back in the main hall, they both stopped in front of a banner advertising a new exhibit on rotation - mid-century modern furniture.
Ludwig stood for a minute and stared at the sign, and then swore that he would do whatever crazy thing Feliks wanted him to next time he asked - weird face paint, dress up for Rocky Horror, help him and Alfred graffiti dOptimus/dx onto something, whatever - just in thanks. Even if his date didn’t say another word, Ludwig now had enough fodder to talk for the entire time if he had to.
“Did’ya know this was hap’nin’?” Oh. So he did speak. Ludwig nearly smiled.
“No, I didn’t. However, I would guess that it’s why Feliks insisted upon this museum.” A stare and a quirked eyebrow. “He - er - he knows I enjoy furniture.”
Berwald’s eyebrows went up above his glasses. “Y’do?”
Ludwig blushed and couldn’t help it. It had never seemed nerdy to him before. “Um. Yes. I’m in school for industrial design...I spend a lot of time designing furniture, and, well, other products.”
Berwald nodded and almost looked pleased at that, then tilted his head toward where the sign was pointing.
---
They had gone through rooms of chairs - Wassily, Barcelona, Egg, Ant, S - and designers - Saarinen, Wright, van der Rohe, Arne Jacobsen, Finn Juhl - and Ludwig was explaining everything with textbook accuracy to a nodding and hmm-ing Berwald, a smile in his voice: how the chairs were made, new production techniques used, how they fit in with the modernist movements of the time, how they had impacted contemporary design, disagreements between designers, whatever came to mind. He felt like he thought Alfred must, just saying whatever came to mind.
They were in front of “The Chair” (and Ludwig was fairly certain it was making his mouth water) when Berwald, out of nowhere, said “Betcha love Dieter Rams.”
Ludwig’s eyebrows shot up for a split second. This was unexpected. “Yes. His products are amazing, even in this era. In my opinion he was one of the most important designers of the 20th century, let alone among functionalist designers.”
“What’d he say? ‘Good design’s less design’, or somethin’?”
“Good design is as little design as possible,” Ludwig quoted, immediately. Dieter Rams was his idol. “Or, ‘Less, but better’ is more commonly quoted, I believe.” He looked over; Berwald’s eyes were smiling, but his mouth continued to do its own stoic thing.
“Dunno if I believe that. Th’ functionalism, I’mean. People can’t be happy jus’ because somethin’ works flawlessly.”
“What do you mean?” Ludwig asked. Truthfully, Ludwig knew what he meant, but he wanted to hear more and figured a straightforward request to elaborate might not work.
“Mm.” Berwald stood there a minute and Ludwig thought that maybe that was the end of the conversation. “Like, ‘n architecture. Y’could make a house as perfect an’ efficient as y’want, but that doesn’t make it a home.
Ludwig felt the corner of his mouth lift up, just a little. “I guess that means that you don’t like modern architecture?”
“Don’t like an’ don’t agree’re two differ’nt things,” Berwald said, cryptically.
He was still talking. Amazing. Ludwig decided to try again. “So. Er. You don’t agree with modern architecture?”
“Don’t agree with modernism, gen’rally. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it,” Berwald replied, lifting one shoulder, barely, in what might have been a half-shrug.
Ludwig normally considered himself to be fairly intelligent - so why couldn’t he wrap his brain around that statement? “That...” he frowned. “..doesn’t make sense.”
“I think ever’one should be able t’ think what they want ta.” Berwald shrugged, fully, this time. “I don’t think my opinion on modern architecture makes it better ‘r worse.”
Ludwig didn’t really know how to reply to that. “Does that mean you like postmodern architecture?” Please don’t let him like postmodern architecture, Ludwig thought. Or if so, please let him like Santiago Calatrava and not Peter Eisenman. Just not Eric Owen Moss. Anyone but Eric Owen Moss.
“Dunno,” Berwald replied. “M’only versed’n a few architecture movements. That’s not one of ‘em. Got some examples?”
Ludwig was a bit thrown that he’d received a question in return, rather than a one-word answer, so he spit out the first name that came to mind. “Er. Michael Graves?”
Berwald shook his head.
Hm, who else was - oh, of course - “Frank Gehry.”
“Does th’ shiny wavy stuff?”
“Yes, that’s him,” Ludwig replied, and tried not to chuckle at such a succinct description.
“Hm. S’pose so. Hm, oh, I know - place called th’ Hundertwasser House. Saw that’un when I was a kid,” Berwald smiled - actually smiled - for a fleeting second. One blink-and-you’ll-miss-it second.
Ludwig made a choked noise. “The floors are...they...they undulate.”
“Yeah. I ‘member there were tree branches comin’ outta the buildin’. Really wanted t’live there when I was a kid.”
Ludwig knew his childhood self would have found that thought even more miserable than his current self did. And his current self found that pretty miserable. So miserable he automatically responded with “The building may appear intriguing, aesthetically, but it’s very impractical. There are trees growing inside, the flooring is uneven, and it is very likely that all of your furniture would have to be custom-made. It would be like living in an art exhibition. Or a children’s museum...or maybe a funhouse. Which is a major problem with most postmodern architecture,” he frowned. “People don’t live in funhouses. Similarly, it has the problem that it’s frequently impossible to distinguish what type of structure the building is in the first place- ”
He realized he’d probably just offended his date as soon as that was out of his mouth, but when he looked at Berwald he was shocked to find a semi-permanent grin. “Er, I’m sorry, that was inappropriate,” he said, blushing.
Berwald just shook his head, still with a smile on his lips, and then goaded him with “Hm. Ya gotta point. But ya gotta admit it’s got character. Every modern building I’ve ever seen looks th’ same. Coulda been built now‘r fifty years ago.”
Ludwig raised an eyebrow and frowned. Was he supposed to debate back? That argument wasn’t hard. “That’s because modern architecture is timeless. Not as in lasts forever,” he clarified, “as in, it is appropriate for any era. Modernist philosophy generally rejects history.”
“Y’mean it jus’ ignores what’s actually goin’ on in th’ world,” Berwald replied, voice neutral and face straight.
“No, no. That is not it at all,” Ludwig sighed. “What was that quote?” he murmured. “Ah. Something along the lines of ‘to make something new you have to forget the old’? It might be destroy the old.”
Berwald gave Ludwig a searching look for a minute, wondering which direction he should take in his reply, and finally said “But history’s ev’rywhere in the present. Ya’d hafta forget th’ world.” He stood there a moment, and when Ludwig seemed to be seriously turning over what he’d said, he added “Think y’can escape history jus’ because you don’t have one?”
---
Ludwig was studying between classes in the Science and Engineering Library when Feliks covered his eyes and asked “Guess who?”
“Er, hello.”
“Nuh-uh,” Feliks sang. “I said guess who. You gotta, like, guess.”
“But I know it’s you, Feliks,” Ludwig frowned.
“Jesus,” Feliks sighed, removing his hands and flopping into a chair across from Ludwig. “God forbid you ever have kids or something.”
“I think that is unlikely, given my sexuality.”
Feliks just stared and wondered if he should get up, walk out, and start this whole conversation over again. Nah. Too much effort. “Well,” he clapped and leaned in. “About that! How was the date with your strong ‘n silent hunk?”
Ludwig frowned. “Silent is very accurate.”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s quiet, cry me a river. I did send you somewhere you both could talk.”
“Both?”
“Uh, duh? God, both of you blabber on about furniture so much - it’s hilarious, you’d never think it, you know, looking at you.”
“He didn’t say much about furniture,” Ludwig sent a confused look at Feliks. “He did have a lot to say about postmodernism.”
Feliks laughed and some girls nearby glared at him. He lowered his voice before continuing with “Ha, what a kooky guy. Well, Lud, your man-hunk is, like, totally into building and restoring furniture.”
“He....did not mention this.”
“Huh, well that’s silly. Okay, so, other than the quiet thing,” Feliks waved his hand like he was brushing the subject out of the air between them, then blew a bubble with his gum, “What’d you think? Totally hot, yeah? I mean, he’s all manly, but you’re into that,” he winked.
Ludwig shrugged.
“Oh don’t give me that! He is, like, your type, all the way.”
“I don’t like beards,” Ludwig admitted, blushing.
Feliks snorted. “You know, beards aren’t permanently attached, hun. Just ask him to shave. You think he’s super-hot besides that, yeah?”
Ludwig blushed further and looked around before giving the most miniscule of nods. Feliks laughed. “But...” Ludwig continued, “he’s too serious.”
“Nuh-uh! This one time we got smashed and went to this gross tranny bar - we spent the entire night laughing our asses off. He’s hilarious!” Someone walked by and sent the two an odd look upon overhearing the conversation. Feliks rolled his eyes and flipped them off once they’d walked past. “So, yeah, you guys should totally get drunk together. It’d be a blast,” he concluded with a smirk and stood up.
“Gotta go to class - call him up and go get shitfaced,” he ordered, finger pointed. Then he blew a kiss at Ludwig and laughed at the blush that followed before heading out.
Ludwig wondered what the proper protocol was for asking someone if they would go out and get “shitfaced” with him.
---
Roderich pulled on an ice skate and looked at the park’s rink, wary. “Are you sure...?” he trailed off, looking up at Lily, framed by a cloudless winter sky and wisps of their visible breaths.
“Yes, yes - it will be fun!” she smiled. “I can’t believe you’ve never been ice skating before. Or hiking. What did you do your entire childhood?”
“Er,” he thought, lacing up his skate. “Played violin and piano, I suppose.”
“Oh, you play piano too?”
He nodded and looked up at her - shining eyes and a light flush in the bright, crisp winter air. He probably had a childishly goofy grin on his face, but, oh well.
“You also danced, right?”
Ack, he was blushing again. “Y-yes, I did. I certainly wasn’t one of the cool kids, as it were.”
“Well!” she laughed and clasped her gloved hands together with a muffled clap. “You should be fine then!”
“Why is that?”
“Because, you’ve spent your life dancing-” wonderful, more blushing on his part - “so you should have no problem keeping your balance on the ice. I’m sure you’ll be great!”
He stood up and wobbled a bit - he kind of doubted that logic. He was graceful given a dancefloor, or an instrument, but he could be a bit of a klutz other times. He’d accidentally pulled a pile of boxes down upon himself in the storage room just the other day, in fact. Francis heard the crash and came back to find him sprawled on the floor, covered by boxes and stray clothing items. Then he laughed so hard he started crying.
She grabbed his arm with a grin under the pretense of steadying him. Oh, well, perhaps this wouldn’t be quite as bad as he thought.
---
She had been right. After an awkward, overly-blushy start - made more awkward because half of his concentration was on the young lady pressed against his side - he got the hang of moving on the ice. It turned out he was very graceful, and soon, the two were weaving in and out of people, her laughing and trying to teach him more complicated things - how to skate backwards, twists and turns. He picked it up fairly quickly for the most part.
He fell once trying to turn, but his embarrassment faded away when he saw how worried she was over him - immediately she gasped and slowed to his side, kneeling down. He sat up through light chuckling at her excessive concern and his eyes flickered over to her face. Before he could second-guess himself, he quickly moved in and pecked her on the cheek and drew back, eyes down, full blush, small smile.
She wrapped him into a hug with a sound of delight and pulled him up, laughing the entire while. They spent a long time gliding around the ice, Roderich secretly happy he had found a physical activity he didn’t despise, other than dancing of course, and outwardly happy with his company.
---
They had returned their skates and were walking through the park, arm-in-arm, Roderich steeling himself to kiss her once they got to the subway station, when she let out an “Oh!” and jerked him toward the playground. She bounded off as soon as they got close, swinging across the monkey bars and clambering up to a tower before he’d even reached the structure. He watched her for a moment with a grin and decided to play tic-tac-toe against himself until she came down.
“Hey!” she shouted, leaning over the railing and looking down. “What are you doing down there? C’mon!”
She vanished before he could say he’d rather not and he stood there a moment, looking up, confused and mouth open. “O...kay...”
He climbed up, carefully, wary of tripping or slipping - he really was a klutz - and frowned. He didn’t really like these plastic playgrounds. Not that he was into playgrounds in the first place, but, ugh, these plastic ones... Where did Lili go? He looked around and didn’t see her - maybe the tunnel? He leaned down and peered into it, but, alas, no Lili. “Lili?” he called, turning around.
“In here!”
“Er...where, exactly...?”
“The bottom of the slide!”
Oh. There was a tunneled slide close by. He stuck his head in and asked “This one?”
Laughter from the tunnel. “Come on down,” she called up.
He looked at the entrance and frowned. He could fit, quite easily, but...er... “Are you serious?”
“Yes!”
He sighed. “Okay, then, look out,” he called down and settled himself in, before pushing off as gently as he possibly could. To no avail - the slide was slick from thousands of uses and he spiraled down, fast, and let out a surprised, disoriented shout before crashing right into her at the bottom - which was apparently planned, because she just hugged him and laughed out a “Gotcha.”
He jolted up in surprise, hitting his head on the slide and throwing his body right into hers. “Oww,” he groaned, rubbing his head with one hand while his other arm curled around her to return the hug.
She giggled and he looked over at her - and, oh, if he didn’t kiss her now he would never be able to live with himself - she was nearly in his lap. He leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek, let them move down a moment, cool and lingering against her flushed skin; then he pulled back, eyes drawing a slow line from her lips up to her eyes.
They both looked down and moved toward each other, meeting, finally, and it was - well, a little cool. Cool lips touching and cold noses bumping and flushed cheeks and scratchy gloves and warm breaths, the both of them moving slowly, carefully, very reserved. Her tongue grazed across his bottom lip, barely; a warm, delicate flicker. He tilted his head a bit more, fit their lips together a little more precisely.
And then a little kid slammed into his back.
---
It was a reaaaally slow Tuesday night at Paul’s Bar when the door burst open and Berwald’s reading was interrupted by “Berwald, dear, you must tell us all about this date of yours!”
He closed his book (really hoping that Francis wouldn’t see it was about 20th-century architecture) and was about to head toward the wine when he heard Roderich’s voice ask “Date?”
Oh. Roderich didn’t seem to stick to one thing. Nevermind.
Berwald walked over and looked at the two of them. He almost laughed - Francis looked - excited and impatient was the only way to describe it. Childlike rather than his usual relaxed elegance. “Whatcha drinkin’?”
“I will take cider, if you please,” Roderich said.
Francis tapped his fingers on the counter for a moment, considering. “Perhaps...Irish Coffee.”
Berwald raised an eyebrow. “Tha’s diff’rent.”
“It is dreadfully cold out there. Roderich has the right idea in ordering something warm.”
While Berwald was making the drinks he could overhear Francis saying “Yes, a date! Feliks set him up with Ludwig, isn’t that splendid? I can’t believe it never occurred to me - it’s so obvious.”
Berwald returned in time to see that Roderich had quirked an eyebrow at the last statement. “I believe the two of you just enjoy matchmaking a bit too much,” he sighed.
Francis ignored him in favor of asking Berwald about the date once more.
“Hm. ‘e’s too serious.”
This made Roderich burst out into quiet laughter and Francis’ face fall.
“Intelligent though. Had a good debate. Actually he’s kinda intimidatin’ly intelligent.”
Francis rolled his eyes. “Not this again. You know education doesn’t mean anything, dear,” he waved.
Roderich disagreed with that statement but knew better than to say anything in front of Berwald. He just sipped his cider.
“Ah - and he’s so cute!” Francis exclaimed, leaning forward on the bar counter and raising an elegant eyebrow at Berwald. When Berwald didn’t do anything he prompted, “Don’t you think so? He’s startlingly attractive.”
Berwald sighed and nodded, wishing he had something in his hands to distract himself with.
“Mm, did he wear something that showed off his arms? It is winter, so probably not,” Francis sighed and took a drink. “Well, no matter, I will tell you that he has the most wonderful arms. I have no idea how that is - if he works out or something, I mean -”
“He builds furniture, Francis,” Roderich interrupted, lightly. He was mostly trying to avoid being stuck at a bar listening to Francis ramble on about men. Goodness knew he already heard about Antonio enough.
“Oh?”
“Yes. He also plays soccer, when it’s warm.”
“How do you know these things?” Francis asked.
“The first time I ever met him was at Nils’ place...a young woman named Natalia came in and they spent a long time discussing hobbies.”
“’N he’s in school for furniture design,” Berwald added.
“Wh- that’s so wonderful!” Francis exclaimed. “You two could live together and it would be the most gorgeous house - well, perhaps gorgeous is the wrong word, but it would be a very attractive house. I can just imagine it. And you would have a dog, of course.”
Roderich rolled his eyes.
“Mm,” Berwald chuckled. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Yes, do. Don’t be like this poor man,” he snorted and gestured to Roderich, “and not make a move for four months.” He turned in his seat to Roderich and frowned. “You are very lucky she didn’t find someone else, you know - she’s a charmer.”
“Yes, yes, you’ve told me,” Roderich sighed.
“Then again,” Francis grinned, “this fellow probably gave his date a proper goodnight kiss, unlike someone.”
“I kissed her this time!” Roderich squawked.
“Congratulations, dear. It only took ages. Berwald,” Francis said, serious again, “you did kiss him goodnight, yes?”
Berwald shrugged and said “On th’ cheek.”
“Are you serious?! Why does no one know how to go on a proper date these days?!”
“He looked like ‘e was gonna have a heart attack jus’ from the idea of a kiss. Was cute, but I didn’t really wanna do ‘im in.”
“Well, anyway,” Francis huffed, “you should call him if you haven’t yet.”
“Call ‘im?”
“Yes. Has he called you?”
Berwald shook his head no.
“Then yes, you should call him. Oh - ask him on a date for Valentine’s day! It’s a bit soon, but you should get to him before someone else does,” Francis smiled.
“I seriously doubt he will mind making plans earlier than necessary,” Roderich interjected with a gentle smirk.
“And you!” Francis turned and pointed. “What is it that you are doing with our darling Lili?”
“Ah, actually,” Roderich shifted in his seat, “I was going to ask for your help with that.”
The way Francis’ face lit up at that statement, Roderich mused, was somewhat terrifying.
---
“Why are we going to her place?” Alfred whined. “It’s so hard to find!”
“Because, Sadiq said she didn’t want to take the drum kit anywhere, and that she was a total bitch and we shouldn’t piss her off,” Gilbert smirked and rolled his eyes. She couldn’t be that bad, but whatever.
Alfred looked at him like he was crazy before pointing to an apartment building and exclaiming “That’s it!”
The place was unlocked and they huffed and complained up the stairs, gear in hand, to 4C - Alfred pounded on the door with a huge grin on his face while Gilbert sat his amp down.
The door opened with a bang and the next thing they knew a plate was flying toward them while a female voice was yelling that they were late. They dived out of the way, the plate crashing to the wall between them and shattering. They got a look at her while she paused and scowled at them. A second one hit Gilbert in the shoulder, but he didn’t even flinch. They were both frozen, too shocked to do much, because - “Oh no way, you’re that girl!” Alfred exclaimed.
“What,” the girl said, low, looking close to throwing another - something, Gilbert couldn’t tell if it was a bowl or a plate.
Alfred looked at him with a grin. “You know, the-” Gilbert slapped a hand over Alfred’s mouth. “Nothing, he’s just a fucking idiot,” Gilbert said, loudly, then whispered “I want to keep my balls, Alfredo,” and dearly hoped she didn’t hear.
It was that fucking steampunk babe from Halloween. And apparently she was a slender, hot little package of rage and craziness. And a drummer. And didn’t seem to remember him, or at least didn’t know who he was.
Gilbert felt like Christmas had come around again.
---
She - Lovinia, her name was Lovinia, it wouldn't be wise to forget that - lived by herself in a clean but cluttered studio, which had pottery, photographs, and baskets of fresh food everywhere. In one corner, near a rumpled futon-bed hybrid, was the drum set.
“So. What should I play?” she demanded, throwing herself down on the stool.
“Play me “Delta ‘88” by The Party of Helicopters,” Gilbert jokingly ordered.
She did. His jaw dropped. “Whoa, that’s an obscure one,” Alfred whistled appreciatively. Gilbert picked up his guitar, plugged it in, and started playing along. Alfred, rather than go to the trouble to get out his computer, began singing.
They actually worked well together.
“How’d ya get so good at drumming?” Alfred asked once they stopped.
“My parents said I had anger management issues or some shit,” she scowled. “Gave me a drumset one year.”
“Yeaaaah,” Alfred trailed off and fidgeted with his sleeve.
Anger management issues, Gilbert thought, had never looked so hot.
---
The temperature still hadn’t made it above freezing. In fact, it had only gone down significantly and then hovered there for the past week. Everything was frozen solid - even the bright sunlight, cutting through the cold air, reflecting off of every surface and staining objects in sharp, white-gold panes, had no effect. A few inches of snow had fallen and refused to budge, and then out of nowhere an overnight storm dropped nearly a foot more on top of it.
Of course school was out and he still had to work, Matthew grumbled to himself. Who even needed to come in for bike repairs in this weather? Only bike messengers, that’s who. But they were crazy anyway.
Ah well, more time to read, he supposed.
After an hour or two spent reading, the door opened and he looked up from his book, curious as to who in the world would be in the shop - and nearly fell off his chair when he saw it was Elizabeta, fixie in tow.
“Hello?” he called - she didn’t hear him. He walked up to her and tapped her, meekly, and scampered back when she jumped. “Ah, sorry!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, hi!” she breathed. “I didn’t see you at all.” She looked at him and was obviously trying to place him.
“Uh, I’m, er, Matthew,” he held out his hand. “I think we met on New Year’s?”
She gave him a huge, relieved smile. “That’s where you’re from! Well, I’m Eliza.”
Successfully swallowing down his “I know,” again, he looked at her bike, curious. “It’s really bad out there...” he started. “Why are you even out? Oh, shit, I’m - er, I shouldn’t say things like that, forget I said that word - but, not that I meant you shouldn’t be out or-”
Her laughter stopped him. “I need something for my tires in this snow,” she sighed, looking down at them. “I don’t know...do you have snow tires?”
Matthew looked at the tires as well. “Hm, we do,” he began, and started leading her to where they were, “but they’re kind of expensive. We could probably improvise something...uh, hold on, here are our tires, I’ll be right back.”
He rummaged around the desk, and - perfect! Cable ties.
He returned to her side, a bundle of light blue cable ties in hand and a huge grin on his face. “Since you don’t have caliper brakes or anything, we could just put these around your tires and cut off the excess - it’ll work for a little bit, but it’s not a permanent solution or anything. If the snow sticks around...” he trailed off and looked out the window. Wow, so much snow. “Well, you might be better off just buying the tires. Or using transit or something,” he shrugged.
“Yeah, let’s try it! If it doesn’t work I can just come back.”
They spent the next twenty minutes fitting and trimming cable ties and making sure they didn’t interfere with the spinning of the wheel, mostly keeping discussion to bikes and transit. That was perfectly okay with Matthew - they were both genuinely interested in the topics.
She thanked him going out the door - and remembered his name! Take back everything he said about having to work today!
He decided to lock up early - the afternoon sun hitting the snow just looked too inviting. Everything was doused in champagne light out there and he wanted to feel it. As he was locking up, he got a call from Kiku.
“It seems that Nils and his roommates are meeting in Gateway Park for a snowball fight. You are welcome to attend. I am going with them, and I believe Berwald and Ivan will be there as well.”
“Hey, sounds fun,” Matthew replied, excited to see his hockey buddies. “Gateway Park - that smallish one, kinda out of downtown a bit? Yeah? Near Baker? Okay, be there in fifteen.”
---
He got to the park, late afternoon sun streaming down through the snow-laden trees, to see that there were more people than he thought there were going to be - and they were already deciding on teams.
“Ivan and Berwald need to be on different teams, they’re huge!” Alfred was loudly proclaiming. They both turned and frowned at him, but either he didn’t notice or wasn’t as afraid of them as most people were. “And then,” he continued “howbout the smallest two go with them, ya know, one each - so Nils, you go with Ivan, Kiku, you go with Berwald.” Alfred didn’t seem to realize he’d just made his team the first target of both teams.
Matthew moved to Kiku and Berwald, seeing as he knew both of them and was intimidated by Nils. No one commented. Ludwig noticed and moved to Ivan and Nils, which left Alfred, Gilbert, and Feliks on the last team.
“Okay, girls,” Gilbert said, slapping an arm over Alfred’s shoulders, “you’ve got ten minutes to make the most awesome fortifications you can before the three of us rain down snowfire upon you and make you cry for mercy!”
Feliks raised an eyebrow. “Um, snowfire, Gil?”
“Shut up, you’re undermining our thunder, jeez,” Gilbert snapped.
“Yeah so Ludwig!” Alfred yelled over their bickering, “you time it and yell when we can start, okay?” Ludwig nodded and set his watch. Alfred grinned his biggest grin yet, then announced “Annnnd go!”
---
Before the ten minutes were even up, the sounds of a battle between Feliks and Gilbert broke out, and then Alfred’s boisterous laughter and silly insults joined. Kiku let out a small laugh, shaking his head at their antics. Matthew glanced up from making snowballs for a second, confused, but when Berwald just continued to build up their wall he returned to his task.
Ludwig called out that it was time to begin, and Kiku began darting out, launching snowballs at the other crew, and keeping an eye on everything. Between shaping snow, Berwald and Matthew tossed a few snowballs themselves - Matthew with concerned concentration, and Berwald with unadulterated joy. A snowball came down over the wall and hit Matthew on the shoulder. “We should’ve brought our hockey gear, Berwald,” Matthew laughed. Berwald grunted in agreement before haphazardly throwing another, eyes crinkled in a smile.
“That would have been nice,” Kiku grimaced, “because it appears that Ivan brought his.” Both Berwald and Matthew’s gazes snapped up to find a semi-armed Ivan in mid-charge - “Ivan, you fucker!” Matthew yelled across no-man’s land.
Nils and Ludwig passively watched Ivan go and wreak havoc on the enemy camp. “I think he’s got it covered,” Nils commented.
Ludwig nodded, and both watched the destruction for a moment. With the gear, Ivan was unstoppable.
Nils fumbled with his gloved hands to light a cigarette, then looked at Ludwig and asked if he wanted to watch a less predictable battle, nodding at the infighters.
Ludwig twitched an eyebrow, said “Okay,” and helped Nils up. They trudged over to a stand of trees near Alfred, Gilbert, and Feliks’ half-finished fortification and watched as Gilbert and Feliks pummeled Alfred, who only managed to dodge a few of the snowballs that came his way.
Alfred caught Ludwig’s eye, and next thing Ludwig knew, he was spitting out snow. Instantly he launched himself into the fray, somehow ending up on Alfred’s side and proving far more adept at dodging snowballs. The fight continued and the tide turned back and forth, alliances being made and broken on whims, changing minute-to-minute.
Ludwig turned around and got an excellent shot at Nils - right in the side of the head, where snow stuck in his hair, fell in his eyes, and dripped down his neck. Everyone paused; Nils looked absolutely flabbergasted that Ludwig would do something so spontaneous, and just stood there with his mouth hanging open while snow slid down his face. Feliks’ smirking “Betcha didn’t know he was capable of something like that - Ludwig’s, like, totally got a wild side!” was almost drowned out by Alfred and Gilbert’s hysterical laughter. Alfred dropped to the ground and rolled around, and Gilbert used the opportunity to pelt him with more snowballs.
Nils’ face snapped into an angry, predatory glare and he scooped up some snow, slinking toward Ludwig. Ludwig simply stuck his tongue out at him, and using Nils’ shock at that, threw another that hit Nils square in the chest.
Kiku and Berwald were near some trees on the side opposite of where Nils was, and had been there for the entire exchange, silent spectators in the shade. The sun was going down, and everything cast long, purplish shadows whose patterns were at odds with the sunlit-gold sparkling snow. The noise of the city could be heard over the trees, but muffled, distant; white noise that went away when you weren’t paying attention and drifted back in during silences.
They could hear the sounds of Ivan and Matthew playing hockey through the underbrush. It seemed that Ivan came that day to play hockey moreso than to play in the snow, and brought all the gear he and Matthew needed. It didn’t take much convincing - half a minute and the two had gone off to play on the tiny pond nearby.
Berwald leant down and made a small snowball, then nodded to Kiku and stalked around the edge of the trees and paused, observing the battlefield. Alfred was doing silly James Bond-esque rolls and dives in the snow and not getting many hits in. Feliks and Gilbert alternated between hitting each other and using Alfred for target practice. Ludwig and Nils were still in the middle of a fierce war - both appeared deadly serious and proved to be exceptionally skilled at both dodging each others’ projectiles and those thrown out of the blue by either Gilbert, Alfred, or Feliks.
Ludwig ducked, missing not only Nils’ snowball, but another from either Gilbert or Alfred, and straightened up - only to get hit hard in the back of the head. He turned around to see where that had come from, Nils barked a sinister-sounding laugh behind him, and Feliks hit him in the side with a snowball.
And there was Berwald, grin in his eyes, tossing another snowball up and down in challenge. Ludwig wasted no time and soon Berwald was dodging a volley of snow.
Nils was packing more snow when he looked over to see Kiku standing above him, passive. “Yeah?”
Kiku looked at him, then at Alfred, Gilbert, and Feliks, and then pointedly to Berwald and Ludwig. Nils followed his gaze, stood and turned to him, and brushed off his knees, muttering “Well, okay, what about it?”
“Ivan and Matthew are playing hockey,” Kiku murmured with a small smile.
Nils gave a huff of laughter and nodded, then ran over to Gilbert and Alfred, who had teamed up against Feliks for the moment.
“Hey. Kiku says Matthew and Ivan are having a death match hockey game over there,” Nils pointed to the pond. Gilbert and Alfred immediately looked over to the two figures flitting around and yelling on the pond. They instantly headed there, turning it into a race to be there first and trying to trip one another, though the deep snow was doing a good enough job of that itself. Kiku followed with a leisurely walk. Feliks rolled his eyes and leant down to scoop up another snowball, then realized exactly who was still having the snowball fight, and straightened and smirked at Nils, gesturing for him to come along.
He slung his arm around Nils’ shoulder and leaned in, chuckling a quiet “I am, like, so proud of you.”
---
Neither Berwald nor Ludwig noticed that they had lost the rest of their crew - their snowball fight was intense, and the world had narrowed down to just the two of them and the cold, snowy battlefield.
Berwald was certainly at an advantage when it came to dodging, Ludwig noted dully. His legs were exceptionally long and slender, making the depth of the snow less of a hindrance, but they had enough power in their sinewy muscles to be able to propel him to wherever he needed to be, and fast. And despite his large size, it seemed he had great control over his body; he could duck and twist and not lose his footing, once.
On the other hand, though, Ludwig had the advantage when it came to throwing. He was built - broad chest and shoulders, long arms, thick, powerful muscle pulled taut over all of it. Berwald may have had longer arms and possibly larger hands, but Ludwig could put the speed and force behind every projectile. And he normally had devastating accuracy, but - agh - Berwald was just too quick!
They were at a stalemate. As fast as Ludwig could throw them, Berwald could dodge them. Ludwig was throwing them too quickly for Berwald to have enough time to make any himself, but - damn, almost got him - Berwald let out a low laugh and it caused a hitch in Ludwig’s throwing - he wasn’t hitting Berwald either.
Ludwig realized that if he could get Berwald off of his feet, he’d get the advantage. He groaned, mid-throw; Berwald was almost certainly faster than he was, with those legs. Then again..it was likely that Ludwig had more stamina. He’d try wearing him out first, and then charge.
Which is exactly what happened. Evening descended and Berwald became more breathless, slowed down enough for Ludwig’s snowballs to start skimming his body instead of missing by miles. One hit - finally! - and Ludwig let out a loud burst of laughter and charged. Berwald stopped for a second, stunned or surprised or something, Ludwig didn’t know, but it made him smile. Berwald snapped out of it and scooped up some snow, throwing it right into Ludwig’s face in a burst that created a cloud of silver sparkles in the lamplight nearby, then danced off while Ludwig took a half-second to recover.
They ended up in the small grove of trees - some pine, some birch and maple, an obscure part of Ludwig’s brain noted as he dodged behind one - throwing snow at each other and using the trees to hide.
Ludwig paused at the edge of the grove and strained his ears for sound while simultaneously trying to quiet his thundering breaths. All he could hear was the hockey game nearby - and - was that Matthew? He sounded like a hellion. Granted, he’d just met Matthew at New Year’s, but, still - Ludwig twisted around to look through the trees, brow furrowed, and, yes - Matthew roared and smashed into Ivan, stealing the puck and sending him flying. Ludwig’s jaw nearly dropped. Where Ivan was cold, calculated, with smooth and powerful movements, Matthew was a demon, with a seemingly limitless supply of furious energy.
Ivan recovered gracefully and moved toward Matthew, trying to get the puck; Matthew let out what could only be described as a snarl -
“Wha - oof!” Ludwig exclaimed, falling face first in the snow, a solid weight behind him. He got loose and half-twisted before more snow was thrown in his face and Berwald pinned him back down and leaned over him, with a low laugh and a grin behind the beard. “Matt’s pretty crazy, yeah?” he chuckled. “Knocked me out th’ first time I played against ‘im.”
Ludwig tried to shake off the snow and his blush; Berwald moved a sleeve up to wipe it off and Ludwig used the opportunity to flip them and get an advantage.
Berwald’s eyes widened, surprised, and he realized that while he was lean and long, his overall frame larger than Ludwig’s, Ludwig was built, strong, compact. Berwald remembered their date - noticing Ludwig’s musculature under his clothing at the museum - as those muscles pinned him down.
Ludwig half-smiled, half-smirked down at Berwald behind his scarf, and reached over to grab a handful of snow to retaliate. Berwald leaned up and nuzzled against the side of Ludwig’s face, and cautiously put a gloved hand on Ludwig’s side. Ludwig froze and snapped his gaze to Berwald’s; Berwald pulled back and started chuckling at Ludwig’s shocked stare, using his hand to pull him just a little closer.
They both looked at each other, a little flushed, before Ludwig minutely cleared his throat and quietly asked “Do...um...do you want me to kiss you?” before ducking his head a bit.
Berwald chuckled, a low, rough sound. Ludwig liked that sound. He felt it resonate from deep in Berwald’s chest, spread out through their clothing and then into his own chest; he thought it was kind of like the noise-music version of a lullaby.
“Tha’d be nice,” Berwald answered, huskiness and hoarseness from the cold making his voice even deeper than it normally was.
Ludwig took a breath and nodded, and pressed their lips together - he thought they’d be cold, but they weren’t, really. The beard was strange, different, far softer than he was expecting, and the thin lips beneath it melded to his so easily it left him breathless. He shifted against Berwald’s body, tilted his head. Berwald brought a wet, gloved hand up behind his head and guided him a little more.
Ludwig idly noted that the hockey game must have ended - the only noise he could hear over the sound of their fabric rustling together was the buzz of a nearby streetlamp and the dulled roar of the city.
This was so...strangely natural, Ludwig mused. Calm, almost, except for his exhilarated heartbeat. He could see no problem with doing this all evening. He opened his mouth and Berwald immediately met his tongue, but it was lazy and tender. Ludwig swallowed and shifted so that he was draped over one side of Berwald, supporting himself on one elbow instead of two - he wanted to touch, even if it was just Berwald’s coat, or a gloved hand, whatever.
Berwald moved a lean thigh between his legs, and, oh fuck, the feeling of one of those legs -
Ludwig pulled back with a gasp and a flush, and moved to sit at Berwald’s side with a depreciating laugh. Berwald pulled himself up on his elbows and looked at Ludwig with a frown and a bit of confusion.
“Sorry,” Ludwig huffed a small laugh again. “I, ah, I liked it. A lot.” He blushed.
Berwald tilted his head and scrutinized him. “’kay. Why’d ya stop?”
“Er, because...I...” Ludwig looked away, at the sky, at the trees, anything, “..please don’t make me say it...” he trailed off.
He got back a puzzled stare before it appeared to click and Berwald’s laughter - real, no-holds-barred laughter - boomed over the trees. He took a minute to calm down. “Yer a funny one,” Berwald nodded, then sat up and pulled Ludwig over by the waist. Ludwig grinned awkwardly and chuckled along with Berwald for a moment, before Berwald leaned in and said, low, “S’only natural.”
At Ludwig’s noise of embarrassed surprise he let out another round of laughter while Ludwig tried not to stick his face into his knees and just hide.
“I like your laugh. Very much,” he admitted, quiet.
“Mm? M’laugh?”
“Yes. You...you should attempt to laugh more often,” Ludwig stated.
Berwald had to resist the urge to laugh at the language Ludwig used. That was probably rude. “Hm, maybe ya should get me drunk. M’always more prone t’laugh when ‘m drinkin’. “An’ jokin’ too.”
Hm, that’s exactly what Feliks said to do, Ludwig thought. He teetered on the edge of taking Feliks’ other bit of advice. “If I were to get you drunk,” he started, “would you shave?”
“...shave?”
“Yes. I like your laugh, but I don’t like beards.”
Ludwig got to hear Berwald’s laughter for a third time that evening.
---
Gilbert was walking down a slushy street in a semi-shady part of town early in the evening, whistling a tune and making no effort to muffle his loud bootfalls to the pavement. He’d just gotten off of work and was fully intending on dropping by Arthur’s just for the hell of it.
Until he saw a familiar-looking figure walking his way.
“Heeey,” he stopped and shot a cocky grin at Lovinia. “A cutie like you shouldn’t be out this late. Need a strong, good-lookin’ man to walk you home?”
“It’s 7:30 you dumbass,” she spat, and before he could come up with some other dumbass-type reason, she added “So no, and tough shit, I’m not going home anyway.”
He stepped closer to her and cocked his head, looking at her again. She just scowled more. “Hey, why do ya have a backpack?” He dug his hand into a strap on the side - “Oh, is that a flashlight?”
Click.
Lovinia saw that his dumb bastard creepy face was looking at her now, sneering, glow of the flashlight below it casting it into bright white and deep shadow. She snatched it back and hit him with it over the head, hard. “I like old buildings, alright?” she yelled over his loud “Ouch, what the fuck!? So uncool!”
Then he seemed to process what she’d said. “Eh? The fuck do buildings have to do with anything?”
She sighed, rolled her eyes, and tapped her foot - all three were ‘go away already’ signals in her book. They weren’t getting through. “I’m going to an abandoned theater nearby. You know, urban exploration,” she grit out, then turned around and continued on her way.
“Oh hell yeah, this is gonna be awesome!” he exclaimed, turning around to follow her. “Gimme the flashlight, the amazing me will prot - shit that hurts! Stop! Jesus Christ, woman!”
“Go away!”
“What, no! You can’t tell me where I can go!”
“If I let you come along for this, will you go away after?”
“Ugh. Yeah, sure, whatever babe. Sure you don’t want me to - shit, okay! You’re gonna knock me out with that goddamn nightstick of a flashlight!”
“I hope so.”
“Jeez, you’re a bitch.”
---
AUTHOR’S NOTES + A BILLION LINKS
---
Oh, Ludwig, whai so repressed?
Anyway, architecture links:
Santiago Calatrava is a fuckin’ BAMF and has too many awesome buildings to link just one, so go here - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santiago_Calatrava
Peter Eisenman is a leading Deconstructivist - (I am 500% sure that Deconstructivism as an architectual style drives Ludwig up a wall. Or maybe into a wall. Head first. Repeatedly.) - http://www.bluffton.edu/~sullivanm/ohio/columbus/wexner/eisenman.html
Eric Owen Moss is Ludwig’s mortal enemy (or at least tied with Morphosis) - http://www.you-are-here.com/modern/beehive.html
also - http://www.kmpfurniture.com/designer-news/eric-owen-moss-creates-art-for-architecture_120.html
Frank Gehry - he does the “shiny wavy” things - http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SPBBS3_kljk/SwLXd0Z-ZaI/AAAAAAAABRA/dswgBFUPsAc/s1600/walt_disney_concert_hall_sg020808.jpg
Hundertwasser House - this place RULES if you’re a giant kid at heart - http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4ywW40GLcHQ/SwDe01WEiOI/AAAAAAAAByg/v7-Y7DNCn78/s1600/hundertwasser-house-vienna-art-deco_01.jpg
Other links:
If you think Berwald isn’t deep and philosophical, then you crazy - check this strip out http://aph.starry-sky.com/2009.html
Conversely, if you think Berwald isn’t playful, you still crazy - http://aph.starry-sky.com/seakun.html (Hahah WTF, Berwald?)
Ah, and the epic whitetext that is Eirik’s life begins in this chapter, yo.
February Part I, tune in next Thursday. Eeee February is my favorite so far. It’s Spain’s birthday. And Valentine’s. These things are obviously synonyms for “gratuitous smut”. Plus, Gilbo does Valentine’s. It...is....uh...awesome is the word he wants me to use here.
---
JANUARY MIXTAPE + SKETCHES
---
Natalia and Nils sorta make nice:
Sun Kil Moon - Tonight in Bilbao
Ludwig’s blind date:
Deerhunter - Spring Hall Convert
Club 8 - The Next Step You’ll Take
Death Cab for Cutie - The Sound of Settling
Roderich and Lili’s second date:
Phil Cordell - Red Lady - THIS SONNNNG. If you download nothing else this entire fic, make it this song.
Hjortdonner finds a drummer:
The Party of Helicopters - Delta ‘88
Matthew is stuck at work:
Atlas Sound - Cold and Golden
Snowball fight:
Atlas Sound - Walkabout (w/Noah Lennox)
Snowball fight --> makeouts:
The Appleseed Cast - Fishing the Sky
(Wow, my Deerhunter fangirl is showing with this one.)
Mixtape Link: http://www.me diafire.com/?60jdeg 2r22tdv
Lovinia
http://i55.tinypic.com/e0ojk6.jpg
Roderich!
Rating: PG-15?
Characters: Ensemble
Pairings: France/Spain, Austria/Liechtenstein, Germany/Japan, France/Norway, England/fem!Netherlands, Prussia/fem!Romano, Norway/Japan, Germany/America
Summary: Derpy AU where the nations are hipsters.
In This Chapter: Feliks arranges a blind date for Ludwig, Hjortdonner finds a drummer, Roderich and Lili go on date #2, Matthew gets a visitor at work, a crew gets together for a snowball fight.
Warnings: Language, drinking, drugs, mild sexual situations, pretentious conversations and stuff.
1) This chapter is absurdly long. Go get some popcorn or something.
2) I apologize for Ludwig - I gave him a line or two of architecture to talk about and he just ran away and started monologuing on me. Apparently he hates postmodern things far more than I thought he did. And then the person he was talking to got entertained by his ranting and started egging him on! The pretentiousness levels of this fill are over 9000 now thanks to you two!
---
JANUARY
---
“I dunno know why you’re so surprised. I told you he was, like, totally into you,” Feliks sighed at his friend’s thickheadedness.
Alfred shrugged. “Well, whatever, we’re all cool now - you know anyone he could date? I told him I’d ask ya.”
“Whoa, wait a sec,” Feliks started, raising an eyebrow at Alfred. “You want me to set Lud....” he trailed off, looking like he’d just been hit in the head with a heavy object. “Oh. My. God. Alfred, I am retarded.”
“What?! No you’re not - you’re on the honor roll or -”
“No,” Feliks snapped. “I mean I should’ve thought of this back in, like, the fall.”
“Wait - does that mean you know someone?!”
“Oh, I am on this, Al.”
“Aww c’mon, tell me!”
“Psh, no way. You can’t keep your big mouth shut, and I can’t have you totally blabbing my fabulous plan all over the place.”
---
“Alfredo, we need a drummer,” Gilbert announced over coffee in the living room.
Alfred looked over. “Why’s that?”
“Well, our band is awesome,” Gilbert began, “but it’d be even more kickass with a drummer. You’re good with all of that Ableton shit, and I am a guitar god, but we would sound even harsher with some drums.”
“Yeah, okay!” Alfred nodded. “But you’ve gotta find one - I’m kinda busy with school and all right now.”
“Eh, sure. I’ll ask Sadiq if he knows anyone.”
---
Natalia was at a basement house show when she spotted Nils making his way outside, presumably to smoke. She quietly left her friends and slipped out, throwing on her coat on the way - it had been below freezing for nearly three weeks now, and wasn’t showing any signs of letting up. She stepped out and there he was, leaning against the side of the building, smoking and watching it drift through the air and up to the cloudy sky.
“Hey,” she called. She said it quietly, but it seemed loud over the noise of cars on one of the larger streets nearby.
He looked over at her and nodded, then returned to smoking.
She walked up and stood beside him, only resuming her speech when he turned to her again. “I just wanted to apologize. For hitting you, I mean.”
“Um...” he started. He looked really surprised for a moment before his expression slid back into its usual nonchalance. “I was kind of a bastard. I remember thinking I deserved it right after you did it.”
“Yeah, you kind of did,” she smirked.
“Still. I had a valid point,” he sighed and rubbed a gloved hand through his hair before turning and looking up at the sky, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “We should try this again,” he finally said. “So. Tell me about yourself. I already know you like kickass music.”
“Hm,” she frowned and shivered, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Damn, but it was cold. “I go to the university. I’m a sculpture major, dance and business minor. I volunteer at the animal shelter once a week.”
“I go to the university too - mythology,” he nodded. It was quiet for a moment and they both stood there, frowning and shivering, before he added “You dance?” with a raised eyebrow. He tossed his finished cigarette to the side and tried to imagine this girl, cold as ice, unlocking her body long enough to dance. The image wouldn’t come.
“My parents started me in ballet classes when I was really young,” she replied with a dark smile. “I met Bella there, and she pestered me to stay in it all through high school. I like it enough, but I’m not too passionate about it.”
He just hmm’d and lit up a new cigarette.
“So, what else do you do?” she demanded.
“I work part-time for Francis - a clothing store called Ombre.” She shot him a curious look at that but he continued. “I like hiking and fishing. When it’s warm at least,” he took another drag. “And lame horror and b-movies.”
He finished up and they went back inside, unspoken truce sealed when he stayed with her group of friends rather than moving to his previous corner.
Eirik glared at the newcomer. If that bastard so much as thought about hitting on Natalia after hurting her like that, oh, there would be a reckoning. She deserved much more than some too-cool-for-school, older hipster douche who didn’t treat her properly.
Nils raised an eyebrow, then went back to watching the show.
Eirik looked back and forth between them before frowning and doing the same. Okay, and he may have stepped closer to Natalia.
Natalia and Nils didn’t say anything else the rest of the night, just nodded goodbye once the show was over.
---
Roderich sat at a small table in his favorite cafe and looked at his watch. Lili was a bit late. He sipped his French-press coffee and wondered if he should go ahead and order something for her. He knew she liked hot chocolate, at least.
She came in with a bluster of cold air, saw him immediately, gave a small wave and went to the counter to order.
“I saw that picture of you on Neon Shark,” she smirked, sitting down with a cappuccino and a pastry in hand. He blushed immediately. Ohhh, he wanted to sink through his chair. “It was hot,” she laughed, then winked at him while trying her drink.
Oh, goodness, new topic, before he passed out from blood loss due to his blush. “I- I’ve been meaning to ask - you attend the university... “ She nodded. “What is your major?”
“Hmm, well, I haven’t decided yet,” she grinned. “Probably English, or maybe teaching.”
“Ah...” He decided to just bite the bullet. “How old are you, exactly?”
“Eighteen.”
A strangled noise escaped his throat. “Eight- eighteen?”
“Yeah,” she smiled, white flashed for a moment. “Why, how old are you?”
“I’m, ah,” he blushed, “twenty-three.” Oh God, oh God, he was a pedophile, wasn’t he? He’d thought of her in an indecent manner, and now was as bad as Humbert Humbert, and she was his nymphet, and goodness, Lili even sounded close to Lol-
Her laughter interrupted his internal freak-out. “Huh, you look younger than that. I’ll bet you get carded all the time,” she smiled, tapping his nose.
---
“Ivan,” Roderich sighed, holding his head in his hands, “she’s eighteen.”
Ivan raised his eyebrows a bit and gave a chuckle, pouring them both some tea before sitting down at the kitchen table. “You sound upset,” he noted.
“Wha- yes, of course I sound upset. She’s eighteen!”
“That is the legal age of consent, yes? I do not see a problem.” He took a sip of his tea and tried not to show his amusement with the situation. It was much fun to watch Roderich freak out.
“You sound just like Francis!” he wailed. “Oh, how lovely for you, darling, “ he waved around exaggeratedly, voice a disarmingly accurate imitation of Francis’, “you have a young, nubile, cute little thing to play with! I’m just so happy for you, beautiful, truly, you two would make quite the sight.” Roderich scowled. “And he winked after that, Ivan. Winked!”
“That sounds like Francis,” Ivan agreed.
“And you do not see a problem with this? Eighteen,” he hissed again. “I am twenty-three.”
Ivan schooled his face into one of surprise. “No. I see no problem.”
Roderich’s head hit the table with a loud thunk. Ivan’s smirk went unseen.
---
Feliks had told him to be in front of the Henry Moore sculpture in front of the city’s Modern Art Museum at 6:30 for his date. Ludwig swallowed heavily, looked at his watch, and tried not to fidget too much. 6:25. He looked down at himself - did he look okay? He’d never really been on a date. Especially a blind date. He frowned when he saw that a button was loose on his peacoat. Why had he let Feliks talk him into this?
Oh, yes, because it was impossible to argue with Feliks when he got an idea into his head. Even Alfred, in all of his idiot stubbornness, didn’t stand a chance.
He looked at his watch again (6:27:32) and let out a breath that sent a giant cloud out into the recent darkness. He shuffled - it had gotten so cold, recently - and looked at the sculpture. Even if it was a played-out thing, he really liked Henry Moore. It was so...simple..but earthy too, he supposed. He was trying to place what it was, exactly, when a hand tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped before turning around.
“Ya Ludwig?” was asked in a low rumble. Ludwig looked up. Wow, his voice was really low. And quiet. There was something strange about it, but Ludwig decided he liked it. Ludwig straightened, trying to make himself seem taller, and nodded, holding out a hand.
The man tilted his head and the streetlight lit his face - not that Ludwig could see much of it behind hat, beard, and glasses. Still, it gave Ludwig pause and caused the handshake to falter for a moment. He was really intimidating.
“’m Berwald,” the man informed. Okay, then. Berwald was really intimidating.
Ludwig swallowed and unstuck his throat enough to give some standard greeting. Berwald just nodded back. “Uh, so, do you know Feliks?” he tried, placing his hands in his pockets. Another nod. Did this man talk? “Um. How?” There, an open-ended question.
Berwald looked at him for a second and then nodded to the entrance and turned, walking toward it. Ludwig jerked a bit, confused, and then trotted to catch up. Berwald didn’t say anything until they were almost to the stairs, then said “Paul’s Bar” by way of explanation.
“You met him at a bar?”
More silence as they climbed the steps, then Berwald tilted his head and said “Kinda.” Ludwig dearly hoped the rest of the evening wasn’t like this. Getting this man to talk was like pulling teeth. Maybe they should go to a bar first.
Oh, but they were already in and Berwald had two tickets. Ludwig wondered if that was Feliks’ doing or if Berwald bought them. It would be unlike Feliks to pay for them; he didn’t know about Berwald. He thanked Berwald, just in case, and only got a nod. They went to coat check and pulled off hats, gloves, scarves, and coats, and left them there.
Ludwig looked over and did a double-take. He’d seen Berwald before, a few times - at noise shows. He told him so, and only got back a shrug and a “Prob’ly.”
God damn it.
Back in the main hall, they both stopped in front of a banner advertising a new exhibit on rotation - mid-century modern furniture.
Ludwig stood for a minute and stared at the sign, and then swore that he would do whatever crazy thing Feliks wanted him to next time he asked - weird face paint, dress up for Rocky Horror, help him and Alfred graffiti dOptimus/dx onto something, whatever - just in thanks. Even if his date didn’t say another word, Ludwig now had enough fodder to talk for the entire time if he had to.
“Did’ya know this was hap’nin’?” Oh. So he did speak. Ludwig nearly smiled.
“No, I didn’t. However, I would guess that it’s why Feliks insisted upon this museum.” A stare and a quirked eyebrow. “He - er - he knows I enjoy furniture.”
Berwald’s eyebrows went up above his glasses. “Y’do?”
Ludwig blushed and couldn’t help it. It had never seemed nerdy to him before. “Um. Yes. I’m in school for industrial design...I spend a lot of time designing furniture, and, well, other products.”
Berwald nodded and almost looked pleased at that, then tilted his head toward where the sign was pointing.
---
They had gone through rooms of chairs - Wassily, Barcelona, Egg, Ant, S - and designers - Saarinen, Wright, van der Rohe, Arne Jacobsen, Finn Juhl - and Ludwig was explaining everything with textbook accuracy to a nodding and hmm-ing Berwald, a smile in his voice: how the chairs were made, new production techniques used, how they fit in with the modernist movements of the time, how they had impacted contemporary design, disagreements between designers, whatever came to mind. He felt like he thought Alfred must, just saying whatever came to mind.
They were in front of “The Chair” (and Ludwig was fairly certain it was making his mouth water) when Berwald, out of nowhere, said “Betcha love Dieter Rams.”
Ludwig’s eyebrows shot up for a split second. This was unexpected. “Yes. His products are amazing, even in this era. In my opinion he was one of the most important designers of the 20th century, let alone among functionalist designers.”
“What’d he say? ‘Good design’s less design’, or somethin’?”
“Good design is as little design as possible,” Ludwig quoted, immediately. Dieter Rams was his idol. “Or, ‘Less, but better’ is more commonly quoted, I believe.” He looked over; Berwald’s eyes were smiling, but his mouth continued to do its own stoic thing.
“Dunno if I believe that. Th’ functionalism, I’mean. People can’t be happy jus’ because somethin’ works flawlessly.”
“What do you mean?” Ludwig asked. Truthfully, Ludwig knew what he meant, but he wanted to hear more and figured a straightforward request to elaborate might not work.
“Mm.” Berwald stood there a minute and Ludwig thought that maybe that was the end of the conversation. “Like, ‘n architecture. Y’could make a house as perfect an’ efficient as y’want, but that doesn’t make it a home.
Ludwig felt the corner of his mouth lift up, just a little. “I guess that means that you don’t like modern architecture?”
“Don’t like an’ don’t agree’re two differ’nt things,” Berwald said, cryptically.
He was still talking. Amazing. Ludwig decided to try again. “So. Er. You don’t agree with modern architecture?”
“Don’t agree with modernism, gen’rally. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it,” Berwald replied, lifting one shoulder, barely, in what might have been a half-shrug.
Ludwig normally considered himself to be fairly intelligent - so why couldn’t he wrap his brain around that statement? “That...” he frowned. “..doesn’t make sense.”
“I think ever’one should be able t’ think what they want ta.” Berwald shrugged, fully, this time. “I don’t think my opinion on modern architecture makes it better ‘r worse.”
Ludwig didn’t really know how to reply to that. “Does that mean you like postmodern architecture?” Please don’t let him like postmodern architecture, Ludwig thought. Or if so, please let him like Santiago Calatrava and not Peter Eisenman. Just not Eric Owen Moss. Anyone but Eric Owen Moss.
“Dunno,” Berwald replied. “M’only versed’n a few architecture movements. That’s not one of ‘em. Got some examples?”
Ludwig was a bit thrown that he’d received a question in return, rather than a one-word answer, so he spit out the first name that came to mind. “Er. Michael Graves?”
Berwald shook his head.
Hm, who else was - oh, of course - “Frank Gehry.”
“Does th’ shiny wavy stuff?”
“Yes, that’s him,” Ludwig replied, and tried not to chuckle at such a succinct description.
“Hm. S’pose so. Hm, oh, I know - place called th’ Hundertwasser House. Saw that’un when I was a kid,” Berwald smiled - actually smiled - for a fleeting second. One blink-and-you’ll-miss-it second.
Ludwig made a choked noise. “The floors are...they...they undulate.”
“Yeah. I ‘member there were tree branches comin’ outta the buildin’. Really wanted t’live there when I was a kid.”
Ludwig knew his childhood self would have found that thought even more miserable than his current self did. And his current self found that pretty miserable. So miserable he automatically responded with “The building may appear intriguing, aesthetically, but it’s very impractical. There are trees growing inside, the flooring is uneven, and it is very likely that all of your furniture would have to be custom-made. It would be like living in an art exhibition. Or a children’s museum...or maybe a funhouse. Which is a major problem with most postmodern architecture,” he frowned. “People don’t live in funhouses. Similarly, it has the problem that it’s frequently impossible to distinguish what type of structure the building is in the first place- ”
He realized he’d probably just offended his date as soon as that was out of his mouth, but when he looked at Berwald he was shocked to find a semi-permanent grin. “Er, I’m sorry, that was inappropriate,” he said, blushing.
Berwald just shook his head, still with a smile on his lips, and then goaded him with “Hm. Ya gotta point. But ya gotta admit it’s got character. Every modern building I’ve ever seen looks th’ same. Coulda been built now‘r fifty years ago.”
Ludwig raised an eyebrow and frowned. Was he supposed to debate back? That argument wasn’t hard. “That’s because modern architecture is timeless. Not as in lasts forever,” he clarified, “as in, it is appropriate for any era. Modernist philosophy generally rejects history.”
“Y’mean it jus’ ignores what’s actually goin’ on in th’ world,” Berwald replied, voice neutral and face straight.
“No, no. That is not it at all,” Ludwig sighed. “What was that quote?” he murmured. “Ah. Something along the lines of ‘to make something new you have to forget the old’? It might be destroy the old.”
Berwald gave Ludwig a searching look for a minute, wondering which direction he should take in his reply, and finally said “But history’s ev’rywhere in the present. Ya’d hafta forget th’ world.” He stood there a moment, and when Ludwig seemed to be seriously turning over what he’d said, he added “Think y’can escape history jus’ because you don’t have one?”
---
Ludwig was studying between classes in the Science and Engineering Library when Feliks covered his eyes and asked “Guess who?”
“Er, hello.”
“Nuh-uh,” Feliks sang. “I said guess who. You gotta, like, guess.”
“But I know it’s you, Feliks,” Ludwig frowned.
“Jesus,” Feliks sighed, removing his hands and flopping into a chair across from Ludwig. “God forbid you ever have kids or something.”
“I think that is unlikely, given my sexuality.”
Feliks just stared and wondered if he should get up, walk out, and start this whole conversation over again. Nah. Too much effort. “Well,” he clapped and leaned in. “About that! How was the date with your strong ‘n silent hunk?”
Ludwig frowned. “Silent is very accurate.”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s quiet, cry me a river. I did send you somewhere you both could talk.”
“Both?”
“Uh, duh? God, both of you blabber on about furniture so much - it’s hilarious, you’d never think it, you know, looking at you.”
“He didn’t say much about furniture,” Ludwig sent a confused look at Feliks. “He did have a lot to say about postmodernism.”
Feliks laughed and some girls nearby glared at him. He lowered his voice before continuing with “Ha, what a kooky guy. Well, Lud, your man-hunk is, like, totally into building and restoring furniture.”
“He....did not mention this.”
“Huh, well that’s silly. Okay, so, other than the quiet thing,” Feliks waved his hand like he was brushing the subject out of the air between them, then blew a bubble with his gum, “What’d you think? Totally hot, yeah? I mean, he’s all manly, but you’re into that,” he winked.
Ludwig shrugged.
“Oh don’t give me that! He is, like, your type, all the way.”
“I don’t like beards,” Ludwig admitted, blushing.
Feliks snorted. “You know, beards aren’t permanently attached, hun. Just ask him to shave. You think he’s super-hot besides that, yeah?”
Ludwig blushed further and looked around before giving the most miniscule of nods. Feliks laughed. “But...” Ludwig continued, “he’s too serious.”
“Nuh-uh! This one time we got smashed and went to this gross tranny bar - we spent the entire night laughing our asses off. He’s hilarious!” Someone walked by and sent the two an odd look upon overhearing the conversation. Feliks rolled his eyes and flipped them off once they’d walked past. “So, yeah, you guys should totally get drunk together. It’d be a blast,” he concluded with a smirk and stood up.
“Gotta go to class - call him up and go get shitfaced,” he ordered, finger pointed. Then he blew a kiss at Ludwig and laughed at the blush that followed before heading out.
Ludwig wondered what the proper protocol was for asking someone if they would go out and get “shitfaced” with him.
---
Roderich pulled on an ice skate and looked at the park’s rink, wary. “Are you sure...?” he trailed off, looking up at Lily, framed by a cloudless winter sky and wisps of their visible breaths.
“Yes, yes - it will be fun!” she smiled. “I can’t believe you’ve never been ice skating before. Or hiking. What did you do your entire childhood?”
“Er,” he thought, lacing up his skate. “Played violin and piano, I suppose.”
“Oh, you play piano too?”
He nodded and looked up at her - shining eyes and a light flush in the bright, crisp winter air. He probably had a childishly goofy grin on his face, but, oh well.
“You also danced, right?”
Ack, he was blushing again. “Y-yes, I did. I certainly wasn’t one of the cool kids, as it were.”
“Well!” she laughed and clasped her gloved hands together with a muffled clap. “You should be fine then!”
“Why is that?”
“Because, you’ve spent your life dancing-” wonderful, more blushing on his part - “so you should have no problem keeping your balance on the ice. I’m sure you’ll be great!”
He stood up and wobbled a bit - he kind of doubted that logic. He was graceful given a dancefloor, or an instrument, but he could be a bit of a klutz other times. He’d accidentally pulled a pile of boxes down upon himself in the storage room just the other day, in fact. Francis heard the crash and came back to find him sprawled on the floor, covered by boxes and stray clothing items. Then he laughed so hard he started crying.
She grabbed his arm with a grin under the pretense of steadying him. Oh, well, perhaps this wouldn’t be quite as bad as he thought.
---
She had been right. After an awkward, overly-blushy start - made more awkward because half of his concentration was on the young lady pressed against his side - he got the hang of moving on the ice. It turned out he was very graceful, and soon, the two were weaving in and out of people, her laughing and trying to teach him more complicated things - how to skate backwards, twists and turns. He picked it up fairly quickly for the most part.
He fell once trying to turn, but his embarrassment faded away when he saw how worried she was over him - immediately she gasped and slowed to his side, kneeling down. He sat up through light chuckling at her excessive concern and his eyes flickered over to her face. Before he could second-guess himself, he quickly moved in and pecked her on the cheek and drew back, eyes down, full blush, small smile.
She wrapped him into a hug with a sound of delight and pulled him up, laughing the entire while. They spent a long time gliding around the ice, Roderich secretly happy he had found a physical activity he didn’t despise, other than dancing of course, and outwardly happy with his company.
---
They had returned their skates and were walking through the park, arm-in-arm, Roderich steeling himself to kiss her once they got to the subway station, when she let out an “Oh!” and jerked him toward the playground. She bounded off as soon as they got close, swinging across the monkey bars and clambering up to a tower before he’d even reached the structure. He watched her for a moment with a grin and decided to play tic-tac-toe against himself until she came down.
“Hey!” she shouted, leaning over the railing and looking down. “What are you doing down there? C’mon!”
She vanished before he could say he’d rather not and he stood there a moment, looking up, confused and mouth open. “O...kay...”
He climbed up, carefully, wary of tripping or slipping - he really was a klutz - and frowned. He didn’t really like these plastic playgrounds. Not that he was into playgrounds in the first place, but, ugh, these plastic ones... Where did Lili go? He looked around and didn’t see her - maybe the tunnel? He leaned down and peered into it, but, alas, no Lili. “Lili?” he called, turning around.
“In here!”
“Er...where, exactly...?”
“The bottom of the slide!”
Oh. There was a tunneled slide close by. He stuck his head in and asked “This one?”
Laughter from the tunnel. “Come on down,” she called up.
He looked at the entrance and frowned. He could fit, quite easily, but...er... “Are you serious?”
“Yes!”
He sighed. “Okay, then, look out,” he called down and settled himself in, before pushing off as gently as he possibly could. To no avail - the slide was slick from thousands of uses and he spiraled down, fast, and let out a surprised, disoriented shout before crashing right into her at the bottom - which was apparently planned, because she just hugged him and laughed out a “Gotcha.”
He jolted up in surprise, hitting his head on the slide and throwing his body right into hers. “Oww,” he groaned, rubbing his head with one hand while his other arm curled around her to return the hug.
She giggled and he looked over at her - and, oh, if he didn’t kiss her now he would never be able to live with himself - she was nearly in his lap. He leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek, let them move down a moment, cool and lingering against her flushed skin; then he pulled back, eyes drawing a slow line from her lips up to her eyes.
They both looked down and moved toward each other, meeting, finally, and it was - well, a little cool. Cool lips touching and cold noses bumping and flushed cheeks and scratchy gloves and warm breaths, the both of them moving slowly, carefully, very reserved. Her tongue grazed across his bottom lip, barely; a warm, delicate flicker. He tilted his head a bit more, fit their lips together a little more precisely.
And then a little kid slammed into his back.
---
It was a reaaaally slow Tuesday night at Paul’s Bar when the door burst open and Berwald’s reading was interrupted by “Berwald, dear, you must tell us all about this date of yours!”
He closed his book (really hoping that Francis wouldn’t see it was about 20th-century architecture) and was about to head toward the wine when he heard Roderich’s voice ask “Date?”
Oh. Roderich didn’t seem to stick to one thing. Nevermind.
Berwald walked over and looked at the two of them. He almost laughed - Francis looked - excited and impatient was the only way to describe it. Childlike rather than his usual relaxed elegance. “Whatcha drinkin’?”
“I will take cider, if you please,” Roderich said.
Francis tapped his fingers on the counter for a moment, considering. “Perhaps...Irish Coffee.”
Berwald raised an eyebrow. “Tha’s diff’rent.”
“It is dreadfully cold out there. Roderich has the right idea in ordering something warm.”
While Berwald was making the drinks he could overhear Francis saying “Yes, a date! Feliks set him up with Ludwig, isn’t that splendid? I can’t believe it never occurred to me - it’s so obvious.”
Berwald returned in time to see that Roderich had quirked an eyebrow at the last statement. “I believe the two of you just enjoy matchmaking a bit too much,” he sighed.
Francis ignored him in favor of asking Berwald about the date once more.
“Hm. ‘e’s too serious.”
This made Roderich burst out into quiet laughter and Francis’ face fall.
“Intelligent though. Had a good debate. Actually he’s kinda intimidatin’ly intelligent.”
Francis rolled his eyes. “Not this again. You know education doesn’t mean anything, dear,” he waved.
Roderich disagreed with that statement but knew better than to say anything in front of Berwald. He just sipped his cider.
“Ah - and he’s so cute!” Francis exclaimed, leaning forward on the bar counter and raising an elegant eyebrow at Berwald. When Berwald didn’t do anything he prompted, “Don’t you think so? He’s startlingly attractive.”
Berwald sighed and nodded, wishing he had something in his hands to distract himself with.
“Mm, did he wear something that showed off his arms? It is winter, so probably not,” Francis sighed and took a drink. “Well, no matter, I will tell you that he has the most wonderful arms. I have no idea how that is - if he works out or something, I mean -”
“He builds furniture, Francis,” Roderich interrupted, lightly. He was mostly trying to avoid being stuck at a bar listening to Francis ramble on about men. Goodness knew he already heard about Antonio enough.
“Oh?”
“Yes. He also plays soccer, when it’s warm.”
“How do you know these things?” Francis asked.
“The first time I ever met him was at Nils’ place...a young woman named Natalia came in and they spent a long time discussing hobbies.”
“’N he’s in school for furniture design,” Berwald added.
“Wh- that’s so wonderful!” Francis exclaimed. “You two could live together and it would be the most gorgeous house - well, perhaps gorgeous is the wrong word, but it would be a very attractive house. I can just imagine it. And you would have a dog, of course.”
Roderich rolled his eyes.
“Mm,” Berwald chuckled. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Yes, do. Don’t be like this poor man,” he snorted and gestured to Roderich, “and not make a move for four months.” He turned in his seat to Roderich and frowned. “You are very lucky she didn’t find someone else, you know - she’s a charmer.”
“Yes, yes, you’ve told me,” Roderich sighed.
“Then again,” Francis grinned, “this fellow probably gave his date a proper goodnight kiss, unlike someone.”
“I kissed her this time!” Roderich squawked.
“Congratulations, dear. It only took ages. Berwald,” Francis said, serious again, “you did kiss him goodnight, yes?”
Berwald shrugged and said “On th’ cheek.”
“Are you serious?! Why does no one know how to go on a proper date these days?!”
“He looked like ‘e was gonna have a heart attack jus’ from the idea of a kiss. Was cute, but I didn’t really wanna do ‘im in.”
“Well, anyway,” Francis huffed, “you should call him if you haven’t yet.”
“Call ‘im?”
“Yes. Has he called you?”
Berwald shook his head no.
“Then yes, you should call him. Oh - ask him on a date for Valentine’s day! It’s a bit soon, but you should get to him before someone else does,” Francis smiled.
“I seriously doubt he will mind making plans earlier than necessary,” Roderich interjected with a gentle smirk.
“And you!” Francis turned and pointed. “What is it that you are doing with our darling Lili?”
“Ah, actually,” Roderich shifted in his seat, “I was going to ask for your help with that.”
The way Francis’ face lit up at that statement, Roderich mused, was somewhat terrifying.
---
“Why are we going to her place?” Alfred whined. “It’s so hard to find!”
“Because, Sadiq said she didn’t want to take the drum kit anywhere, and that she was a total bitch and we shouldn’t piss her off,” Gilbert smirked and rolled his eyes. She couldn’t be that bad, but whatever.
Alfred looked at him like he was crazy before pointing to an apartment building and exclaiming “That’s it!”
The place was unlocked and they huffed and complained up the stairs, gear in hand, to 4C - Alfred pounded on the door with a huge grin on his face while Gilbert sat his amp down.
The door opened with a bang and the next thing they knew a plate was flying toward them while a female voice was yelling that they were late. They dived out of the way, the plate crashing to the wall between them and shattering. They got a look at her while she paused and scowled at them. A second one hit Gilbert in the shoulder, but he didn’t even flinch. They were both frozen, too shocked to do much, because - “Oh no way, you’re that girl!” Alfred exclaimed.
“What,” the girl said, low, looking close to throwing another - something, Gilbert couldn’t tell if it was a bowl or a plate.
Alfred looked at him with a grin. “You know, the-” Gilbert slapped a hand over Alfred’s mouth. “Nothing, he’s just a fucking idiot,” Gilbert said, loudly, then whispered “I want to keep my balls, Alfredo,” and dearly hoped she didn’t hear.
It was that fucking steampunk babe from Halloween. And apparently she was a slender, hot little package of rage and craziness. And a drummer. And didn’t seem to remember him, or at least didn’t know who he was.
Gilbert felt like Christmas had come around again.
---
She - Lovinia, her name was Lovinia, it wouldn't be wise to forget that - lived by herself in a clean but cluttered studio, which had pottery, photographs, and baskets of fresh food everywhere. In one corner, near a rumpled futon-bed hybrid, was the drum set.
“So. What should I play?” she demanded, throwing herself down on the stool.
“Play me “Delta ‘88” by The Party of Helicopters,” Gilbert jokingly ordered.
She did. His jaw dropped. “Whoa, that’s an obscure one,” Alfred whistled appreciatively. Gilbert picked up his guitar, plugged it in, and started playing along. Alfred, rather than go to the trouble to get out his computer, began singing.
They actually worked well together.
“How’d ya get so good at drumming?” Alfred asked once they stopped.
“My parents said I had anger management issues or some shit,” she scowled. “Gave me a drumset one year.”
“Yeaaaah,” Alfred trailed off and fidgeted with his sleeve.
Anger management issues, Gilbert thought, had never looked so hot.
---
The temperature still hadn’t made it above freezing. In fact, it had only gone down significantly and then hovered there for the past week. Everything was frozen solid - even the bright sunlight, cutting through the cold air, reflecting off of every surface and staining objects in sharp, white-gold panes, had no effect. A few inches of snow had fallen and refused to budge, and then out of nowhere an overnight storm dropped nearly a foot more on top of it.
Of course school was out and he still had to work, Matthew grumbled to himself. Who even needed to come in for bike repairs in this weather? Only bike messengers, that’s who. But they were crazy anyway.
Ah well, more time to read, he supposed.
After an hour or two spent reading, the door opened and he looked up from his book, curious as to who in the world would be in the shop - and nearly fell off his chair when he saw it was Elizabeta, fixie in tow.
“Hello?” he called - she didn’t hear him. He walked up to her and tapped her, meekly, and scampered back when she jumped. “Ah, sorry!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, hi!” she breathed. “I didn’t see you at all.” She looked at him and was obviously trying to place him.
“Uh, I’m, er, Matthew,” he held out his hand. “I think we met on New Year’s?”
She gave him a huge, relieved smile. “That’s where you’re from! Well, I’m Eliza.”
Successfully swallowing down his “I know,” again, he looked at her bike, curious. “It’s really bad out there...” he started. “Why are you even out? Oh, shit, I’m - er, I shouldn’t say things like that, forget I said that word - but, not that I meant you shouldn’t be out or-”
Her laughter stopped him. “I need something for my tires in this snow,” she sighed, looking down at them. “I don’t know...do you have snow tires?”
Matthew looked at the tires as well. “Hm, we do,” he began, and started leading her to where they were, “but they’re kind of expensive. We could probably improvise something...uh, hold on, here are our tires, I’ll be right back.”
He rummaged around the desk, and - perfect! Cable ties.
He returned to her side, a bundle of light blue cable ties in hand and a huge grin on his face. “Since you don’t have caliper brakes or anything, we could just put these around your tires and cut off the excess - it’ll work for a little bit, but it’s not a permanent solution or anything. If the snow sticks around...” he trailed off and looked out the window. Wow, so much snow. “Well, you might be better off just buying the tires. Or using transit or something,” he shrugged.
“Yeah, let’s try it! If it doesn’t work I can just come back.”
They spent the next twenty minutes fitting and trimming cable ties and making sure they didn’t interfere with the spinning of the wheel, mostly keeping discussion to bikes and transit. That was perfectly okay with Matthew - they were both genuinely interested in the topics.
She thanked him going out the door - and remembered his name! Take back everything he said about having to work today!
He decided to lock up early - the afternoon sun hitting the snow just looked too inviting. Everything was doused in champagne light out there and he wanted to feel it. As he was locking up, he got a call from Kiku.
“It seems that Nils and his roommates are meeting in Gateway Park for a snowball fight. You are welcome to attend. I am going with them, and I believe Berwald and Ivan will be there as well.”
“Hey, sounds fun,” Matthew replied, excited to see his hockey buddies. “Gateway Park - that smallish one, kinda out of downtown a bit? Yeah? Near Baker? Okay, be there in fifteen.”
---
He got to the park, late afternoon sun streaming down through the snow-laden trees, to see that there were more people than he thought there were going to be - and they were already deciding on teams.
“Ivan and Berwald need to be on different teams, they’re huge!” Alfred was loudly proclaiming. They both turned and frowned at him, but either he didn’t notice or wasn’t as afraid of them as most people were. “And then,” he continued “howbout the smallest two go with them, ya know, one each - so Nils, you go with Ivan, Kiku, you go with Berwald.” Alfred didn’t seem to realize he’d just made his team the first target of both teams.
Matthew moved to Kiku and Berwald, seeing as he knew both of them and was intimidated by Nils. No one commented. Ludwig noticed and moved to Ivan and Nils, which left Alfred, Gilbert, and Feliks on the last team.
“Okay, girls,” Gilbert said, slapping an arm over Alfred’s shoulders, “you’ve got ten minutes to make the most awesome fortifications you can before the three of us rain down snowfire upon you and make you cry for mercy!”
Feliks raised an eyebrow. “Um, snowfire, Gil?”
“Shut up, you’re undermining our thunder, jeez,” Gilbert snapped.
“Yeah so Ludwig!” Alfred yelled over their bickering, “you time it and yell when we can start, okay?” Ludwig nodded and set his watch. Alfred grinned his biggest grin yet, then announced “Annnnd go!”
---
Before the ten minutes were even up, the sounds of a battle between Feliks and Gilbert broke out, and then Alfred’s boisterous laughter and silly insults joined. Kiku let out a small laugh, shaking his head at their antics. Matthew glanced up from making snowballs for a second, confused, but when Berwald just continued to build up their wall he returned to his task.
Ludwig called out that it was time to begin, and Kiku began darting out, launching snowballs at the other crew, and keeping an eye on everything. Between shaping snow, Berwald and Matthew tossed a few snowballs themselves - Matthew with concerned concentration, and Berwald with unadulterated joy. A snowball came down over the wall and hit Matthew on the shoulder. “We should’ve brought our hockey gear, Berwald,” Matthew laughed. Berwald grunted in agreement before haphazardly throwing another, eyes crinkled in a smile.
“That would have been nice,” Kiku grimaced, “because it appears that Ivan brought his.” Both Berwald and Matthew’s gazes snapped up to find a semi-armed Ivan in mid-charge - “Ivan, you fucker!” Matthew yelled across no-man’s land.
Nils and Ludwig passively watched Ivan go and wreak havoc on the enemy camp. “I think he’s got it covered,” Nils commented.
Ludwig nodded, and both watched the destruction for a moment. With the gear, Ivan was unstoppable.
Nils fumbled with his gloved hands to light a cigarette, then looked at Ludwig and asked if he wanted to watch a less predictable battle, nodding at the infighters.
Ludwig twitched an eyebrow, said “Okay,” and helped Nils up. They trudged over to a stand of trees near Alfred, Gilbert, and Feliks’ half-finished fortification and watched as Gilbert and Feliks pummeled Alfred, who only managed to dodge a few of the snowballs that came his way.
Alfred caught Ludwig’s eye, and next thing Ludwig knew, he was spitting out snow. Instantly he launched himself into the fray, somehow ending up on Alfred’s side and proving far more adept at dodging snowballs. The fight continued and the tide turned back and forth, alliances being made and broken on whims, changing minute-to-minute.
Ludwig turned around and got an excellent shot at Nils - right in the side of the head, where snow stuck in his hair, fell in his eyes, and dripped down his neck. Everyone paused; Nils looked absolutely flabbergasted that Ludwig would do something so spontaneous, and just stood there with his mouth hanging open while snow slid down his face. Feliks’ smirking “Betcha didn’t know he was capable of something like that - Ludwig’s, like, totally got a wild side!” was almost drowned out by Alfred and Gilbert’s hysterical laughter. Alfred dropped to the ground and rolled around, and Gilbert used the opportunity to pelt him with more snowballs.
Nils’ face snapped into an angry, predatory glare and he scooped up some snow, slinking toward Ludwig. Ludwig simply stuck his tongue out at him, and using Nils’ shock at that, threw another that hit Nils square in the chest.
Kiku and Berwald were near some trees on the side opposite of where Nils was, and had been there for the entire exchange, silent spectators in the shade. The sun was going down, and everything cast long, purplish shadows whose patterns were at odds with the sunlit-gold sparkling snow. The noise of the city could be heard over the trees, but muffled, distant; white noise that went away when you weren’t paying attention and drifted back in during silences.
They could hear the sounds of Ivan and Matthew playing hockey through the underbrush. It seemed that Ivan came that day to play hockey moreso than to play in the snow, and brought all the gear he and Matthew needed. It didn’t take much convincing - half a minute and the two had gone off to play on the tiny pond nearby.
Berwald leant down and made a small snowball, then nodded to Kiku and stalked around the edge of the trees and paused, observing the battlefield. Alfred was doing silly James Bond-esque rolls and dives in the snow and not getting many hits in. Feliks and Gilbert alternated between hitting each other and using Alfred for target practice. Ludwig and Nils were still in the middle of a fierce war - both appeared deadly serious and proved to be exceptionally skilled at both dodging each others’ projectiles and those thrown out of the blue by either Gilbert, Alfred, or Feliks.
Ludwig ducked, missing not only Nils’ snowball, but another from either Gilbert or Alfred, and straightened up - only to get hit hard in the back of the head. He turned around to see where that had come from, Nils barked a sinister-sounding laugh behind him, and Feliks hit him in the side with a snowball.
And there was Berwald, grin in his eyes, tossing another snowball up and down in challenge. Ludwig wasted no time and soon Berwald was dodging a volley of snow.
Nils was packing more snow when he looked over to see Kiku standing above him, passive. “Yeah?”
Kiku looked at him, then at Alfred, Gilbert, and Feliks, and then pointedly to Berwald and Ludwig. Nils followed his gaze, stood and turned to him, and brushed off his knees, muttering “Well, okay, what about it?”
“Ivan and Matthew are playing hockey,” Kiku murmured with a small smile.
Nils gave a huff of laughter and nodded, then ran over to Gilbert and Alfred, who had teamed up against Feliks for the moment.
“Hey. Kiku says Matthew and Ivan are having a death match hockey game over there,” Nils pointed to the pond. Gilbert and Alfred immediately looked over to the two figures flitting around and yelling on the pond. They instantly headed there, turning it into a race to be there first and trying to trip one another, though the deep snow was doing a good enough job of that itself. Kiku followed with a leisurely walk. Feliks rolled his eyes and leant down to scoop up another snowball, then realized exactly who was still having the snowball fight, and straightened and smirked at Nils, gesturing for him to come along.
He slung his arm around Nils’ shoulder and leaned in, chuckling a quiet “I am, like, so proud of you.”
---
Neither Berwald nor Ludwig noticed that they had lost the rest of their crew - their snowball fight was intense, and the world had narrowed down to just the two of them and the cold, snowy battlefield.
Berwald was certainly at an advantage when it came to dodging, Ludwig noted dully. His legs were exceptionally long and slender, making the depth of the snow less of a hindrance, but they had enough power in their sinewy muscles to be able to propel him to wherever he needed to be, and fast. And despite his large size, it seemed he had great control over his body; he could duck and twist and not lose his footing, once.
On the other hand, though, Ludwig had the advantage when it came to throwing. He was built - broad chest and shoulders, long arms, thick, powerful muscle pulled taut over all of it. Berwald may have had longer arms and possibly larger hands, but Ludwig could put the speed and force behind every projectile. And he normally had devastating accuracy, but - agh - Berwald was just too quick!
They were at a stalemate. As fast as Ludwig could throw them, Berwald could dodge them. Ludwig was throwing them too quickly for Berwald to have enough time to make any himself, but - damn, almost got him - Berwald let out a low laugh and it caused a hitch in Ludwig’s throwing - he wasn’t hitting Berwald either.
Ludwig realized that if he could get Berwald off of his feet, he’d get the advantage. He groaned, mid-throw; Berwald was almost certainly faster than he was, with those legs. Then again..it was likely that Ludwig had more stamina. He’d try wearing him out first, and then charge.
Which is exactly what happened. Evening descended and Berwald became more breathless, slowed down enough for Ludwig’s snowballs to start skimming his body instead of missing by miles. One hit - finally! - and Ludwig let out a loud burst of laughter and charged. Berwald stopped for a second, stunned or surprised or something, Ludwig didn’t know, but it made him smile. Berwald snapped out of it and scooped up some snow, throwing it right into Ludwig’s face in a burst that created a cloud of silver sparkles in the lamplight nearby, then danced off while Ludwig took a half-second to recover.
They ended up in the small grove of trees - some pine, some birch and maple, an obscure part of Ludwig’s brain noted as he dodged behind one - throwing snow at each other and using the trees to hide.
Ludwig paused at the edge of the grove and strained his ears for sound while simultaneously trying to quiet his thundering breaths. All he could hear was the hockey game nearby - and - was that Matthew? He sounded like a hellion. Granted, he’d just met Matthew at New Year’s, but, still - Ludwig twisted around to look through the trees, brow furrowed, and, yes - Matthew roared and smashed into Ivan, stealing the puck and sending him flying. Ludwig’s jaw nearly dropped. Where Ivan was cold, calculated, with smooth and powerful movements, Matthew was a demon, with a seemingly limitless supply of furious energy.
Ivan recovered gracefully and moved toward Matthew, trying to get the puck; Matthew let out what could only be described as a snarl -
“Wha - oof!” Ludwig exclaimed, falling face first in the snow, a solid weight behind him. He got loose and half-twisted before more snow was thrown in his face and Berwald pinned him back down and leaned over him, with a low laugh and a grin behind the beard. “Matt’s pretty crazy, yeah?” he chuckled. “Knocked me out th’ first time I played against ‘im.”
Ludwig tried to shake off the snow and his blush; Berwald moved a sleeve up to wipe it off and Ludwig used the opportunity to flip them and get an advantage.
Berwald’s eyes widened, surprised, and he realized that while he was lean and long, his overall frame larger than Ludwig’s, Ludwig was built, strong, compact. Berwald remembered their date - noticing Ludwig’s musculature under his clothing at the museum - as those muscles pinned him down.
Ludwig half-smiled, half-smirked down at Berwald behind his scarf, and reached over to grab a handful of snow to retaliate. Berwald leaned up and nuzzled against the side of Ludwig’s face, and cautiously put a gloved hand on Ludwig’s side. Ludwig froze and snapped his gaze to Berwald’s; Berwald pulled back and started chuckling at Ludwig’s shocked stare, using his hand to pull him just a little closer.
They both looked at each other, a little flushed, before Ludwig minutely cleared his throat and quietly asked “Do...um...do you want me to kiss you?” before ducking his head a bit.
Berwald chuckled, a low, rough sound. Ludwig liked that sound. He felt it resonate from deep in Berwald’s chest, spread out through their clothing and then into his own chest; he thought it was kind of like the noise-music version of a lullaby.
“Tha’d be nice,” Berwald answered, huskiness and hoarseness from the cold making his voice even deeper than it normally was.
Ludwig took a breath and nodded, and pressed their lips together - he thought they’d be cold, but they weren’t, really. The beard was strange, different, far softer than he was expecting, and the thin lips beneath it melded to his so easily it left him breathless. He shifted against Berwald’s body, tilted his head. Berwald brought a wet, gloved hand up behind his head and guided him a little more.
Ludwig idly noted that the hockey game must have ended - the only noise he could hear over the sound of their fabric rustling together was the buzz of a nearby streetlamp and the dulled roar of the city.
This was so...strangely natural, Ludwig mused. Calm, almost, except for his exhilarated heartbeat. He could see no problem with doing this all evening. He opened his mouth and Berwald immediately met his tongue, but it was lazy and tender. Ludwig swallowed and shifted so that he was draped over one side of Berwald, supporting himself on one elbow instead of two - he wanted to touch, even if it was just Berwald’s coat, or a gloved hand, whatever.
Berwald moved a lean thigh between his legs, and, oh fuck, the feeling of one of those legs -
Ludwig pulled back with a gasp and a flush, and moved to sit at Berwald’s side with a depreciating laugh. Berwald pulled himself up on his elbows and looked at Ludwig with a frown and a bit of confusion.
“Sorry,” Ludwig huffed a small laugh again. “I, ah, I liked it. A lot.” He blushed.
Berwald tilted his head and scrutinized him. “’kay. Why’d ya stop?”
“Er, because...I...” Ludwig looked away, at the sky, at the trees, anything, “..please don’t make me say it...” he trailed off.
He got back a puzzled stare before it appeared to click and Berwald’s laughter - real, no-holds-barred laughter - boomed over the trees. He took a minute to calm down. “Yer a funny one,” Berwald nodded, then sat up and pulled Ludwig over by the waist. Ludwig grinned awkwardly and chuckled along with Berwald for a moment, before Berwald leaned in and said, low, “S’only natural.”
At Ludwig’s noise of embarrassed surprise he let out another round of laughter while Ludwig tried not to stick his face into his knees and just hide.
“I like your laugh. Very much,” he admitted, quiet.
“Mm? M’laugh?”
“Yes. You...you should attempt to laugh more often,” Ludwig stated.
Berwald had to resist the urge to laugh at the language Ludwig used. That was probably rude. “Hm, maybe ya should get me drunk. M’always more prone t’laugh when ‘m drinkin’. “An’ jokin’ too.”
Hm, that’s exactly what Feliks said to do, Ludwig thought. He teetered on the edge of taking Feliks’ other bit of advice. “If I were to get you drunk,” he started, “would you shave?”
“...shave?”
“Yes. I like your laugh, but I don’t like beards.”
Ludwig got to hear Berwald’s laughter for a third time that evening.
---
Gilbert was walking down a slushy street in a semi-shady part of town early in the evening, whistling a tune and making no effort to muffle his loud bootfalls to the pavement. He’d just gotten off of work and was fully intending on dropping by Arthur’s just for the hell of it.
Until he saw a familiar-looking figure walking his way.
“Heeey,” he stopped and shot a cocky grin at Lovinia. “A cutie like you shouldn’t be out this late. Need a strong, good-lookin’ man to walk you home?”
“It’s 7:30 you dumbass,” she spat, and before he could come up with some other dumbass-type reason, she added “So no, and tough shit, I’m not going home anyway.”
He stepped closer to her and cocked his head, looking at her again. She just scowled more. “Hey, why do ya have a backpack?” He dug his hand into a strap on the side - “Oh, is that a flashlight?”
Click.
Lovinia saw that his dumb bastard creepy face was looking at her now, sneering, glow of the flashlight below it casting it into bright white and deep shadow. She snatched it back and hit him with it over the head, hard. “I like old buildings, alright?” she yelled over his loud “Ouch, what the fuck!? So uncool!”
Then he seemed to process what she’d said. “Eh? The fuck do buildings have to do with anything?”
She sighed, rolled her eyes, and tapped her foot - all three were ‘go away already’ signals in her book. They weren’t getting through. “I’m going to an abandoned theater nearby. You know, urban exploration,” she grit out, then turned around and continued on her way.
“Oh hell yeah, this is gonna be awesome!” he exclaimed, turning around to follow her. “Gimme the flashlight, the amazing me will prot - shit that hurts! Stop! Jesus Christ, woman!”
“Go away!”
“What, no! You can’t tell me where I can go!”
“If I let you come along for this, will you go away after?”
“Ugh. Yeah, sure, whatever babe. Sure you don’t want me to - shit, okay! You’re gonna knock me out with that goddamn nightstick of a flashlight!”
“I hope so.”
“Jeez, you’re a bitch.”
---
AUTHOR’S NOTES + A BILLION LINKS
---
Oh, Ludwig, whai so repressed?
Anyway, architecture links:
Santiago Calatrava is a fuckin’ BAMF and has too many awesome buildings to link just one, so go here - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santiago_Calatrava
Peter Eisenman is a leading Deconstructivist - (I am 500% sure that Deconstructivism as an architectual style drives Ludwig up a wall. Or maybe into a wall. Head first. Repeatedly.) - http://www.bluffton.edu/~sullivanm/ohio/columbus/wexner/eisenman.html
Eric Owen Moss is Ludwig’s mortal enemy (or at least tied with Morphosis) - http://www.you-are-here.com/modern/beehive.html
also - http://www.kmpfurniture.com/designer-news/eric-owen-moss-creates-art-for-architecture_120.html
Frank Gehry - he does the “shiny wavy” things - http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SPBBS3_kljk/SwLXd0Z-ZaI/AAAAAAAABRA/dswgBFUPsAc/s1600/walt_disney_concert_hall_sg020808.jpg
Hundertwasser House - this place RULES if you’re a giant kid at heart - http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4ywW40GLcHQ/SwDe01WEiOI/AAAAAAAAByg/v7-Y7DNCn78/s1600/hundertwasser-house-vienna-art-deco_01.jpg
Other links:
If you think Berwald isn’t deep and philosophical, then you crazy - check this strip out http://aph.starry-sky.com/2009.html
Conversely, if you think Berwald isn’t playful, you still crazy - http://aph.starry-sky.com/seakun.html (Hahah WTF, Berwald?)
Ah, and the epic whitetext that is Eirik’s life begins in this chapter, yo.
February Part I, tune in next Thursday. Eeee February is my favorite so far. It’s Spain’s birthday. And Valentine’s. These things are obviously synonyms for “gratuitous smut”. Plus, Gilbo does Valentine’s. It...is....uh...awesome is the word he wants me to use here.
---
JANUARY MIXTAPE + SKETCHES
---
Natalia and Nils sorta make nice:
Sun Kil Moon - Tonight in Bilbao
Ludwig’s blind date:
Deerhunter - Spring Hall Convert
Club 8 - The Next Step You’ll Take
Death Cab for Cutie - The Sound of Settling
Roderich and Lili’s second date:
Phil Cordell - Red Lady - THIS SONNNNG. If you download nothing else this entire fic, make it this song.
Hjortdonner finds a drummer:
The Party of Helicopters - Delta ‘88
Matthew is stuck at work:
Atlas Sound - Cold and Golden
Snowball fight:
Atlas Sound - Walkabout (w/Noah Lennox)
Snowball fight --> makeouts:
The Appleseed Cast - Fishing the Sky
(Wow, my Deerhunter fangirl is showing with this one.)
Mixtape Link: http://www.me diafire.com/?60jdeg 2r22tdv
Lovinia
http://i55.tinypic.com/e0ojk6.jpg
Roderich!