Please don't break. Please don't change.
Jun. 9th, 2013 09:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ich_bin_awesome posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
little_box_of_horrorsTime: Present time
Place: Roderich's house in Vienna, Austria
Characters: Roderich and Gilbert
Rating: EMA for Even More Angst
If he's being completely honest, Gilbert has no idea what time it is.
It's... the middle of the night! Yeah! It's so late that it's probably, you know, early. And it's so early that Gilbert probably should have been in bed hours ago. But he couldn't. Because he was busy.
Busy getting drunk, that is. As drunk as he possibly could get. And considering his recent humanity, that was actually a lot easier than it had been before. He'd been at the bar for hours, ordering drink after drink and putting the entire thing on West's tab. After all, West was a part of the government. He was goddamn fucking Germany. He had the money to spare. He could pay for Gilbert's binge drinking habits, especially after the fight the two of them had recently had.
You see, Gilbert lived at Ludwig's house. That was an undisputed fact. They'd always lived together. They were West and East Germany, of course they shared a fucking house. Gilbert raised West, taught him how to be a human, how to be a nation, how to be a solider. He went out of his way and helped West gain his independence. Practically gave it to him on a silver platter. And then they were separated by a goddamn wall regulated by fucking Russia and America whom, by the way, he also helped gain independence.
Somewhere along the way, people upped and forgot who he was and what he'd done. And it wasn't after he became a fucking human.
And then he actually became human and yeah, that royally sucks but that does not give West the rights to kick him out of his house. The house Gilbert helped him into. All because he was mortal now and everyone seems to think that makes him a fucking invalid. Just because he's actually going to die doesn't mean he doesn't know how to take care of himself. He's the Goddamn Prussian Empire, thank you very much.
So he stormed out of the house swearing he'd never return, slammed the door behind him and gotten so plastered the bartender threatened to call someone to pick him up. And since he'd rather not be interrogated on the way home, he left.
But not to West's. To Roderich's. For the sole reason that Gilbert hadn't taken anything with him when he left and he knows he left some of his things at Roderich's.
And so here he is, maybe five in the morning, drunk off his ass, trying to pick the lock to Roderich's house. He knows he can do it - he's done it numerous times before - but he can't seem to get the tools to work properly in his hands. He's trying to decide if he's frustrated or amused when suddenly the door opens by itself and Gilbert has no choice but to think he's a wizard.
At least, until he looks up and sees Roderich standing in the doorway. He laughs, falling onto his ass and grins. Did you see it, Roddy? He opened the door with his mind.
Yeah. He's a little drunk.
Place: Roderich's house in Vienna, Austria
Characters: Roderich and Gilbert
Rating: EMA for Even More Angst
If he's being completely honest, Gilbert has no idea what time it is.
It's... the middle of the night! Yeah! It's so late that it's probably, you know, early. And it's so early that Gilbert probably should have been in bed hours ago. But he couldn't. Because he was busy.
Busy getting drunk, that is. As drunk as he possibly could get. And considering his recent humanity, that was actually a lot easier than it had been before. He'd been at the bar for hours, ordering drink after drink and putting the entire thing on West's tab. After all, West was a part of the government. He was goddamn fucking Germany. He had the money to spare. He could pay for Gilbert's binge drinking habits, especially after the fight the two of them had recently had.
You see, Gilbert lived at Ludwig's house. That was an undisputed fact. They'd always lived together. They were West and East Germany, of course they shared a fucking house. Gilbert raised West, taught him how to be a human, how to be a nation, how to be a solider. He went out of his way and helped West gain his independence. Practically gave it to him on a silver platter. And then they were separated by a goddamn wall regulated by fucking Russia and America whom, by the way, he also helped gain independence.
Somewhere along the way, people upped and forgot who he was and what he'd done. And it wasn't after he became a fucking human.
And then he actually became human and yeah, that royally sucks but that does not give West the rights to kick him out of his house. The house Gilbert helped him into. All because he was mortal now and everyone seems to think that makes him a fucking invalid. Just because he's actually going to die doesn't mean he doesn't know how to take care of himself. He's the Goddamn Prussian Empire, thank you very much.
So he stormed out of the house swearing he'd never return, slammed the door behind him and gotten so plastered the bartender threatened to call someone to pick him up. And since he'd rather not be interrogated on the way home, he left.
But not to West's. To Roderich's. For the sole reason that Gilbert hadn't taken anything with him when he left and he knows he left some of his things at Roderich's.
And so here he is, maybe five in the morning, drunk off his ass, trying to pick the lock to Roderich's house. He knows he can do it - he's done it numerous times before - but he can't seem to get the tools to work properly in his hands. He's trying to decide if he's frustrated or amused when suddenly the door opens by itself and Gilbert has no choice but to think he's a wizard.
At least, until he looks up and sees Roderich standing in the doorway. He laughs, falling onto his ass and grins. Did you see it, Roddy? He opened the door with his mind.
Yeah. He's a little drunk.