#german funerals are too small and quiet and leave too much room for conversations that are not concerned with mourning

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 2

Lily of the Lamplight by George deValier

Gilbert sat on the hard, bare bed, rubbing his swollen jaw and staring impatiently at the locked door. The night had passed fairly quickly, thanks to a quiet room and a near concussion. Strangely enough, locked in this provisional cell with a battered face, an aching back, and a death sentence, Gilbert had slept better than he had in months. But now the cold Russian sun filtered lazily through the wood-barred window, reality started to set in, and Gilbert sat waiting to be thrown into a prison truck and sent to his final posting. He almost laughed. Four years. Four years he'd survived the war in Europe. Four goddamn years of killing Brits, killing Russians; of avoiding bullets and dodging bayonets; of pissing off every superior officer who came his way. Four bloody, tiring, sickening years Gilbert had survived; and one damned hour after meeting that prissy Austrian, he was sentenced to a prison unit.

Gilbert normally wouldn't have given a shit about some soldiers staring and gossiping about a new recruit. Hell, if he were bored he probably would have joined them. Whether fortunately or unfortunately however, it was hard to forget a face like that, and Gilbert immediately recognised the beautiful Austrian sitting alone and wary in the mess hall. He had no idea what a rich, upper class musician could have done to end up in a German base on the front lines, but Gilbert felt immediately furious about it. After everything Elizaveta had done to protect this fool, after the man had been lucky enough to hide his Jewish heritage and avoid a work camp, he'd gone and gotten himself sent to the Russian Front. Gilbert was pretty damn sure Eliza had not given this man her name and fled to Switzerland so he could die at the hands of the Russians.

Gilbert sighed wearily, tapped his foot on the ground, and peered around the window bars to see how high the sun was in the sky. It was no use. Dark grey clouds obscured most of the light overhead. Impatience and boredom ate at his mind where perhaps fear and anxiety belonged. But he'd been in worse situations than this, and fear had long ago given way to indifferent acceptance. He could only imagine how Roderich was handling it in the cell next door, however. He almost felt glad at the thought. All right, sure, the Austrian hadn't asked for those filthy, gutless bastards to attack him, but he had been stupid enough to wander off alone on the base. Gilbert could see that protecting this little prince, even for Eliza's sake, was going to test every ounce of patience that he just didn't have.

Gilbert's sigh turned to a growl. "Hurry up, you lazy bastards," he muttered. When the hell would the guards come to handcuff them and… Gilbert blinked in sudden realisation. Handcuffs… He quickly dug around in his front pocket, past a small bag of supplemental candy rations and the last packet of coffee he'd been saving, until his fingers closed around the tiny metal pin he always carried. He tucked the pin into his sleeve, smiled smugly to himself, and silently thanked Francis for the one useful thing the depraved Frenchman had ever taught him.

.

"Right, time to go, Héderváry." Roderich's head snapped up at the words, and the cold dread he had spent the night suppressing fell like a rock in his stomach. He swallowed dryly, his head swimming. He started to nod, but instead held his head high as he got to his feet, praying his legs would not give way beneath him. The military guard marched across the small cell, grabbed Roderich's wrists roughly, and snapped the cold metal handcuffs around them. Roderich focused on breathing deeply and keeping the fear from his eyes. I am better than them. They will not see me afraid. I am better than them. Roderich repeated the words in his head like a mantra as the guard grasped his arm and led him from the cell.

Roderich did not know where he was going. He had no idea what was happening, no idea what to expect. He had barely slept; the entire restless night spent replaying the colonel's words in his head… They'll be heading on to the prison unit stationed at the next village… The charge is perpetration of illicit activity… Congratulations, Beilschmidt. You're now a walking dead man. And still, none of it made sense. Roderich did not even know what a prison unit was. He had thought he was in the most awful place on earth; but apparently, there was somewhere worse.

The guard pulled him through the hallway and into the square outside, where a large military transport vehicle sat idling in the nearly empty street. Everything was suddenly both too real and strangely dreamlike. Roderich blinked slowly, the street spun around him, and for a brief moment, he sincerely feared he would be physically ill.

"Morning, Héderváry. Sleep well?" Roderich turned his head sharply, both stunned and annoyed by the sweeping feeling of relief that rushed over him. Gilbert stood confidently beside him, smiling brightly despite the handcuffs on his wrists and the guard's rough hand on his arm. Roderich did not have time to respond before they were both abruptly dragged to the back of the truck and practically thrown through the open doors.

The dozen or so soldiers in the truck stared silently as Roderich stumbled into the vehicle behind Gilbert. They all looked to be regular army, of various ranks, and all had their hands handcuffed before them. Another wave of angry fear settled in Roderich's stomach. Why did everyone out here keep staring? He straightened his shoulders, forced himself to keep his face impassive and his head held high. I am better than them. They will not see me afraid.

The truck door slammed shut with a condemning thud, leaving just enough light from the high windows to see dimly. Roderich's breath caught in his throat, but he calmly followed Gilbert into the truck. He wanted nothing to do with any of these uncivilised people. But the brazen German had come to his aid the night before, and for some unfathomable reason, he seemed to be somewhat concerned for Roderich's safety. Roderich told himself he did not need the man's help, but was all too aware it was a lie. It made him intensely angry that he had no choice but to trust this loud, brutish soldier he did not know.

Gilbert pushed a few men aside on the narrow wooden bench that ran the length of the truck. Roderich wondered if he even noticed the men's angry mutters. From what Roderich had gathered so far of this brash German, Gilbert did not seem to care much about aggravating people. But doing it in this situation was just asking for trouble.

The truck took off almost the second Roderich took a careful seat at Gilbert's side. Another row of soldiers sat opposite them, and Roderich raised his eyes to stare past them. Surely if he just stayed silent, no one would even notice…

"Morning, boys! Pleasant day for it, am I right?"

Roderich's stomach fell and his eyes snapped sideways. The soldiers glared silently, but Gilbert just continued merrily, a broad grin on his face. "Summertime in Russia. Can't beat it for a drive through the countryside. Cheer up, lads, you look like you're going to a funeral."

"Gilbert." Roderich spoke as quietly as he could manage, disturbed and alarmed. These did not look like the type of men to make idle conversation with. "What do you think you're…"

"Think you're funny, do ya, Private?" snarled a man sitting opposite, an angry looking sergeant with a bloodstained collar and a large scar across his face. Roderich's eyes widened and his skin turned cold. Gilbert, however, seemed to bite back a giggle.

"I'm hilarious, I know, there's really no need to point it out."

The sergeant leant forward, his hard, focused eyes boring into Gilbert's in a blatant attempt at intimidation. In the dim light Roderich could just make out the name on the man's jacket. 'Hesse.' "You know, I really don't think I'm in the mood for this shit."

Roderich felt his entire body tense. This 'Hesse' was bigger, taller, and a hell of a lot angrier than Gilbert. Just what did this stupid German think he was doing? Roderich glanced at him warningly, but Gilbert simply smiled benignly at the sergeant. It took a few moments for Roderich to realise that he was also twisting his cuffed hands slowly and almost imperceptibly against his stomach.

"Just having a friendly conversation about the weather, friend." Roderich felt frozen in place. It was almost like Gilbert was trying to provoke the man. But for God's sake, why?

Hesse spat loudly on the floor by Gilbert's foot. Roderich recoiled in disgust. "That's what I think of your 'friendly conversation.' Friend."

The soldiers watched the exchange with interest, those on the end of the benches leaning forward for a better view. Roderich was reminded unpleasantly of a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. Gilbert nodded pointedly at the spit on the floor, his smile unrelenting. "That's a filthy habit, Sergeant Hesse. You almost got my boot."

"Maybe that's what I was aiming for," growled Hesse threateningly.

"Really, it was?" Gilbert's hands continued to twist and Roderich formed the smallest suspicion in the back of his mind. But no… surely Gilbert wasn't that stupid… "If so, you've got terrible aim. I bet you're popular with the Russians." Hesse snarled, snorted, then spat again. Roderich could not hold back a small noise of revulsion when a large globule of saliva landed directly on Gilbert's left boot. Gilbert glanced at it indifferently, his hands went still, and he stared directly into the sergeant's steely eyes. "Come on then, on your knees and finish the job. You look like the type used to licking a man's boots."

Hesse squared his shoulders, raised his chin, and Roderich's heart seemed to stop in his chest. Gilbert had gone too far. Sure enough, Hesse rose to his feet, handcuffed hands extended, and hurled himself towards Gilbert. Roderich shrunk back instinctively. But instead of being crushed by the man's hurtling weight, Gilbert reacted. He tossed his handcuffs to the ground before reaching up, grabbing Hesse's bound wrists, and twisting them until the sergeant stumbled. Gilbert didn't pause. He used his foot to drive the man's ankles out from under him, pushed him face-down to the floor, and dropped to his knee onto Hesse's back. It was done in a matter of seconds. Gilbert spoke immediately in a pleasant, friendly tone. "Well, goodness me, now that was just rude! Here I am, having a friendly conversation about the weather, and you go and…"

"Who the f…" Gilbert cut Hesse off with a swift thump of his head to the ground. Roderich's head felt unclear as his ears rung with shock. Had Gilbert planned this the entire time? For what possible reason? Did all soldiers act like this, or was Gilbert simply insane? Gilbert just laughed and rolled his eyes at the quietly observant soldiers.

"Do you see what I mean? Rude!" Gilbert turned his attention back to the struggling sergeant. "As I was saying – and you might want to stop twisting like that because you'll hurt yourself – when someone starts a friendly conversation you do NOT go and spit on their boot! Did your mother never teach you anything?"

"I'll teach you something, you goddamn son of a…"

"Uh-uh." Gilbert smacked Hesse's head to the ground again, a little more forcefully this time. "Don't interrupt! Now I'm going to give you one chance to let this go and be nice, because I'm reasonable like that. Before you make your decision, however, I suggest you think very hard, and very carefully." Gilbert dug his knee deeper into the man's back and dropped the friendly tone. "Do you really want me as an enemy?"

The silence in the truck was absolute. The soldiers' surprise seemed to mirror Roderich's own. He could even tell what they were thinking: how had Gilbert removed his handcuffs so quickly? How had he so easily sent this man to the floor? Roderich's heart stammered again when Gilbert's eyes unexpectedly met his own. In the dim light, just like in his anger the night before, they appeared to glow red. Roderich felt his eyes widen with astonishment and his lip curl with disgust. It was just as he thought: this man was nothing but a violent, uncivilised brute. Roderich's heart sunk at the realisation. If he couldn't trust Gilbert now, what did he have left?

Gilbert's crimson eyes turned back to the man trapped beneath him. Hesse obviously realised that he did not have much of a chance in handcuffs, and grunted in reluctant surrender. "Let's just forget it."

Gilbert released Hesse instantly. "I think that's a wonderful idea!" He stood quickly and offered the sergeant his hand. Hesse just glared at it before pulling himself back onto the wooden bench.

"Suit yourself." Gilbert shrugged cheerfully, picked up his discarded handcuffs, and sat back down beside Roderich. Roderich carefully edged away. "Now where was I… oh yes! Summertime in Russia. Now, I thought winter in Berlin was cold, but for the middle of August this weather is just fucked. Shit, friend, aren't you freezing?"

Gilbert directed to question to the corporal beside him, but the man didn't answer. Instead he asked warily, "So how did you end up here?"

Gilbert's smile fell, he narrowed his eyes, and the corporal leant away. Gilbert pointed his thumb at Roderich then spoke in a slow, stern voice. "Someone messed with him."

The truck fell silent again. Gilbert just smirked smugly to himself. Not for the first time, Roderich wondered just what Gilbert could possibly be thinking. He had undone his handcuffs, provoked the biggest man in the truck, effortlessly crushed him to the floor, and then… Roderich paused, blinked, and tilted his head as he remembered.

Every year, Roderich competed in the prestigious Austrian Music Competition. He would turn up to the hall each day during the week beforehand, take out his violin, and practice onstage. Word quickly spread of his incredible skill. Other contestants would come to listen, then talk amongst themselves. And every single year, at least a quarter of contestants pulled out before competition even began. Roderich studied Gilbert through narrowed eyes. Of course Gilbert had planned this. He wanted these soldiers to see what he was capable of. He wanted them to know it was a bad idea to mess with him. Yes, there were only a dozen men in this truck. But a dozen men could spread a story very quickly.

Gilbert met Roderich's calculating eyes and gave him a tiny wink. Roderich slowly looked away, his heart still racing and his skin still cold. Maybe he had underestimated this German soldier.

.

Gilbert clicked his handcuffs into place just in time to have them removed by a military guard as he followed Roderich off the truck. The sound and smell of revving engines and shouting men was both suffocating and familiar. He blinked in the clouded sunlight and took in the view around him. Another small village, almost identical to the last; almost identical to all the tiny villages he had passed through over the years. A narrow road, piles of sandbags and weaponry, battered looking wooden buildings. One place blended into another after a while. A small assemblage of trucks and vehicles crowded along the street and military guards shouted at the men as they disembarked. The prisoners wore a diversity of different uniforms. Most were regular Wehrmacht - army, navy and Luftwaffe - but there were also some foreign units, even a few filthy SS. Gilbert kept close to Roderich and followed the row of soldiers down the village road.

Gilbert breathed the cold, oil-scented air. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind at all - he could do this. This was nothing. He'd been shafted to a hundred different regiments, been sent to a hundred different towns. He'd been in worse situations than this. But glancing sideways at the pale, silent, aristocratic man beside him, Gilbert felt a strange, nagging anxiety he was utterly unfamiliar with. This was completely different to the hopeless situations he had easily survived. This was so much worse. "Stay beside me, okay?"

Roderich looked utterly out of his depth, staring around wide-eyed behind his glasses, rubbing his wrists where the handcuffs had cut into the skin. He looked sick, and he looked scared, and he looked like he was trying really damn hard to hide it. "I don't know what to do."

Gilbert groaned softly. Oh, for God's sake… "Just do what you're told, and call everyone 'sir.' Some get real pissed when you don't do that. All right?" Roderich did not answer. Damn it, the guy looked like he was about to fall over. Gilbert closed his eyes briefly. "Hey, when was the last time you ate something?"

Roderich's forehead furrowed slightly. "I don't remember."

Gilbert gritted his teeth and choked back a growling, frustrated sigh. Keeping this silly little prince alive was not going to be easy. He reached into his front pocket to check what rations he had stashed away. "Do you even want to survive? What did I tell you last night about eating?"

Indignant anger quickly replaced the fear in Roderich's eyes. He almost seemed to come back to himself. "Don't speak to me like that…"

"And you can stop with the bratty aristocrat act. There are men gonna speak to you a hell of a lot harsher than I do, but you're gonna shut up, and you're gonna listen - if you want to see another day, that is. Now here." Gilbert pulled his last candy ration from his pocket and pressed it into Roderich's hand. "Fruit candy. It's packed with sugar so you won't keel over for a few hours at least."

Roderich looked down at the candy for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he raised his chin and glared. "I don't need your charity. You're nothing but a thug."

Gilbert snorted. "Damn straight. A thug who quite literally saved your arse last night, and got sent to this hellhole for the privilege." Roderich winced in distaste. "And a thug who's gonna see to it that you make it through this mess alive."

Roderich's eyes clouded with doubtful confusion. "Why?"

"Why?" Gilbert paused. Because the only woman I ever loved risked everything for you, and I'll be damned if her sacrifice will be for nothing. Gilbert smirked. "Because I'm such a nice guy, that's why."

Roderich's leant forward as they walked, his expression proud and suspicious. "I don't believe you."

Gilbert just grinned back at him. "You don't have a choice, little prince."

Roderich's indignant response was promptly disrupted as they reached the tiny town centre. Military guards lined the broken and bullet-riddled buildings that surrounded the little cobblestoned square. Gilbert stayed determinedly by Roderich's side as the armed guards shouted and jostled the soldiers into rows. Roderich looked appalled and affronted at the slightest touch, until Gilbert found himself growling and glaring at anyone who came too close. He was practically ashamed of himself - reduced to being a damn guard dog for a precious little prince.

Thankfully it did not take long before the surging rabble assembled into a few haphazard lines. Surprised at the speed of assembly, Gilbert realised that there were only about fifty men standing at various states of attention. Somehow, in the commotion, it had felt like more. Gilbert and Roderich ended up in the front row between two blond soldiers, one short and one tall, both in unfamiliar uniforms. The tall blond wore a strange side-buttoning blazer with no medals and held a rifle by his side. Annoyance rose swiftly in Gilbert's chest. He'd been stripped of his rifle, his pack, and his treasured pistol the night before. Why the hell was this enormous bastard allowed his rifle? He was just about to broach the subject when a roaring shout rang out. "ATTENTION!"

Gilbert's eyes snapped front and he felt Roderich tense beside him. From the battered little building before them, between a line of guards, marched a short, scowling officer with a captain's insignia on his green jacket. His hair was shaggy and blond, his movements swift and precise, his expression cold and severe. There were two rifles strapped conspicuously to his back and a pistol at his hip. Gilbert almost laughed. He knew this type - a short little man compensating for something with too much firepower. Oh hell, this would be fun.

The captain snatched a folder from a guard and marched to the front of the line. As he passed, he happened to glance sideways at Roderich. He stopped, blinked, and his blank demeanour broke for just a second. Almost before Gilbert registered it however, the captain's face turned unemotional and he motioned over a guard. After a few muttered words, the captain's eyebrows shot up and he looked straight from Roderich to Gilbert. Roderich shifted on his feet. Gilbert stared the captain evenly, warily, in the eye.

Gilbert knew what was coming. He'd been lined up and yelled at countless hundreds of times, by sergeants, lieutenants, a dozen different commanding officers. Gilbert knew how this worked by now. Stand straight, keep a blank face, answer when you're spoken to. Gilbert wasn't too good at all that, though. If there was one thing he had in common with Roderich, it was that he didn't like being told what to do. Gilbert just didn't know how to accept authority. He did know that you shouldn't laugh, you shouldn't talk back, you shouldn't roll your eyes, and you really shouldn't ash your cigarette on an officer's boots - as three months on latrine duty had taught him all too well.

The captain marched before them, piercing eyes travelling along the disorganised lines of men, then stood still and silent. When he spoke, it was not with the deafening pitch Gilbert was used to, but just a deep and steady tone of command. "As of this moment, you are stripped of your rank. I don't give a damn if you were a corporal, a sergeant, or a goddamned colonel. Congratulations - each and every one of you is now a private. You're in my unit now. My name is Captain Zwingli, and you answer to me."

Gilbert chanced another glance around. A captain in charge of fifty prisoners? What had this guy done to get such a shitty assignment? The captain continued, his voice heavily accented. It was clear he was not a German.

"I don't know what you all did to end up here. Frankly, I don't much care." Captain Zwingli surveyed the row of condemned soldiers coldly, his hands clasping the folder behind his back, his eyes hard and narrow. Standing shorter than every man in line before him, he still managed to exude an aura of intimidation and utter authority. "This is the end of the line. You have been sent here to die. You can try to put it off as long as you like, but in the end, it won't matter. None of you will see the end of the war."

The foreign captain let silence fall, let the words sink in. His sweeping gaze fell upon the tall blond beside Gilbert, and he marched to stand before him. The soldier just stared down calmly. "Oxenstierna, wasn't it?" barked Zwingli. He looked down briefly at the folder in his hand. "Known as the 'Lion of the North.' Volunteer to the Finnish front, originally of the Svenska Frivilligkåren." The Swede stayed silent, only inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. Zwingli looked the man up and down. "What's this on your rifle, soldier?"

"'s'a picture," the Swede mumbled, his voice deep and detached.

"Well, I can see that clearly enough. Who is it of?"

Oxenstierna's expression was almost terrifying in its complete lack of emotion. "M'wife."

Zwingli raised an eyebrow. "Your… wife?" The Swede nodded and Zwingli stared again at the photograph taped to the rifle by the man's side. "Oxenstierna, either your wife is a rather unique looking girl who has cut her hair short, grown an Adam's apple and, judging by the uniform, joined the Finnish army, or marriage customs in northern Europe are rather different from what I had been led to believe." The captain waited silently, but Oxenstierna did not reply. Zwingli shot a pointed glare directly at Gilbert. "Wonderful. Looks like I've been given the homosexual unit."

Roderich stiffened and Gilbert's indignant response was prematurely cut off. "Oh, thank God," piped up the little blond soldier beside Roderich. "Do you know, I was totally starting to worry I'd been sent to the wrong place."

Zwingli snapped his head sharply at the words, turned on his heel, and marched the few steps to stand before the little blond. From the corner of his eye Gilbert saw the soldier take a step backwards.

"Stand steady, Private!" barked Zwingli.

"Okay, yeah, right. I mean, yes. Sir. Um."

Zwingli looked the soldier up and down then glanced down at his folder. "Feliks Łukasiewicz." His head shot up, his eyes narrow and slightly puzzled. "That sounds suspiciously Polish."

"I am Polish, sir."

Gilbert turned his head in surprise. He could hear a few low murmurs from behind. Zwingli just nodded once. "Now this I am interested in. How the hell did you end up here?"

Łukasiewicz let out a short giggle. "Well, come on, I didn't exactly volunteer now, did I?"

"You've been fighting for the Germans?"

"No, man, I tell you, it was crazy, yeah? One minute I'm in Berlin - I'm a singer in a cabaret, you know - living with my boy - my part - my, uh, my friend, Liet… well, his name is Toris, but I call him Liet, because he's Lithuanian, right?" The murmurs grew louder. Łukasiewicz didn't seem to notice the looks and just kept chattering obliviously at the bemused looking captain. "I mean, everything was fine until, like, a war happened, or something. And then, Liet and I… well…" The Pole broke off for just a second before continuing. "Well, he went home to Lithuania. Not, you know, like I care or anything, because I totally don't. So I said to myself - 'Feliks,' I said, 'If there's a war, you should go and, you know, fight, or something.'"

Gilbert could barely restrain himself from bursting into laughter. A brief sideways glance showed that, surprisingly, Roderich looked like he felt the exact same way. Tiny smiles broke on both their lips before they looked away. Gilbert expected the captain to stop Łukasiewicz, but Zwingli made no move to interrupt the prattling Pole.

"So I went into town and I asked, you know, where the Polish unit was." Gilbert felt the laughter die in his chest as an unpleasant suspicion formed in his mind. He knew where this was going. The little blond continued. "But the unit they put me in, it wasn't Polish. Like, they all spoke Polish and that, but they weren't… well…" Łukasiewicz broke off again. When he spoke, his voice was softer. "They weren't very nice. I mean, I didn't realise we would be fighting for the Germans. The things they said, and the things they did to our own..." Łukasiewicz shook his head firmly. "No. Those men weren't truly Polish. So, I asked to leave."

A rather confused silence fell. Roderich sighed almost inaudibly; Gilbert snorted softly. Poor, stupid Polish bastard. Zwingli gave the Pole a look that clearly stated he had never met anyone so simple in his entire life. "You joined the Polish division of the Waffen-SS, and you asked to leave?"

Łukasiewicz lowered his head. "I asked nicely."

"And now here you are. Fighting for the Germans after all."

Łukasiewicz looked at the ground and scuffed his boot in the dirt. "The way I choose to look at it, sir, is that I'm fighting against the Russians."

Zwingli widened his eyes, exhaled an exhausted sounding breath, and turned away, shaking his head. His focused stare turned directly to Roderich. Gilbert straightened, immediately on guard. This time, Zwingli did not look at his folder before he spoke. "Roderich… Héderváry." Gilbert clenched his fist. He did not like the way Zwingli said Roderich's surname… almost suspiciously.

Roderich did not seem to notice, however, as he replied. "Yes." Gilbert cleared his throat. Roderich paused. "Sir."

Zwingli raised his chin appraisingly and tapped his fingers on the folder. "You don't look like much of a soldier."

Roderich shrugged almost undetectably. "I am not a soldier."

"What are you doing in my unit, then?"

"I don't really know."

Zwingli's eyes were too bright, too discerning. "A composer from Austria, with a Hungarian name. Did your music displease the wrong person?"

Roderich spoke quietly, but firmly. His dignified air never once wavered. "Rather, it pleased them too much. There are certain things I will not be associated with. Nor let my music be associated with."

Zwingli's eyebrows shot up. "So we have a political dissident, do we?"

"No." Roderich breathed out sharply, sadly. "I'm just a musician."

"And you are of no use to this unit." Zwingli moved along the line. "You, however."

"Sir." Gilbert used his superior height to look down at the captain. He had long learnt how to appear intimidating without being outwardly insubordinate. Insubordination generally followed fairly quickly, however... he couldn't seem to help it.

Zwingli read from the folder. "Gilbert Beilschmidt." He looked up, interest and amusement in his intense, green eyes. Gilbert held his gaze easily. "No relation to the pilot, Ludwig Beilschmidt?"

Gilbert felt the entire unit's gaze on him and rolled his eyes. Oh, here we go... If he was asked that one more time… "Yes. He's my little brother. I'm the bad one." He glanced around pointedly. "Obviously."

"So, Private." Zwingli stopped and tapped his chin. "Hmm. Private. Your younger brother is a Lieutenant, isn't he?"

Gilbert gritted his teeth. Scathing little bastard. "Like I said. I'm the bad one."

Zwingli nodded, his expression carefully dispassionate. "Interesting. Tell me. How does it feel to be standing in a prison unit on the Russian Front while your little brother brings glory to the Reich from the West?"

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. He was all too aware of Roderich listening to this exchange, and wondered why the hell that bothered him. "What is this, you interviewing me for the newspaper?"

"Just having a 'friendly conversation.'" Zwingli leant forward and flashed Gilbert a sly, tiny smile. "Friend."

Gilbert snorted, his heated anger replaced by a sense of accomplishment. Oh, how quickly twelve men could spread a story. "Ah. I see, sir."

"Well." Zwingli started to walk away. "At least we have one German in this pathetic little company."

Gilbert grinned and shouted after him. "Actually, I always considered myself Prussian, sir."

Zwingli laughed humourlessly. "There ain't no difference anymore, soldier. MEN!" Zwingli stood again before the assembled unit, his chest puffed out and his hands behind his back. "I suggest you get some rest. We will be pushing out tomorrow behind the regulars. You will be armed in the morning. I'll be giving you your orders soon, and I can assure you, you aren't going to like them. I wouldn't worry about it too much, however. Half of you will be dead before the week is over. Fall out!"

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[deadwestrp-blog]

DOV HEVELSOHN. FORTY YEARS OLD. THE STEADFAST.

Dov was described by family and friends as a steady and reliable man; a man with the same strength as a bear and the same quiet resilience of an ox. Dov's younger brother Levi put it best: “You're a G—ddamn bore, Dov.” And Dov was perfectly fine with being that. Levi was the more eccentric sibling and Dov believed there was not enough room for too many of those. Levi was a real dreamer and spontaneous man. Dov put it best: “He's a flake, always off  with the damn fairies.” Dov, Levi, and their father, Hevel, had immigrated from Germany to follow the promise of ‘riches’ and a ‘new life’ in the States. At least, that's what brought Levi. Their father, Hevel, refused to let the youngest son go alone and Dov refused to leave their father alone in Europe as their mother had recently passed. So all three men decided to leave.

Dov worked the land, worked menial construction jobs and kept a small, simple home for himself and his family. Too elderly to truly work, Hevel spent his time telling tales of the old country and whittling small toys that he'd sell to locals for a pittance. It was mainly to keep himself busy and to feel useful, Dov appreciated everything his father did for them even if it was mere pocket change at the end of the day. It was the sentiment that mattered to Dov. Levi on the other hand couldn't find any work. Or he couldn't find any work that was ‘him’ or that ‘fulfilled’ him. He was taken so often with promise of riches or big 'opportunities' that never panned out he rarely did much beyond drain Dov’s hard earned money rather than add to the family pot. It took a toll on their relationship but the ever reliable and ever steady Dov never gave up on his brother, even when he packed up his belongings, a third of the family’s wealth and said he was going to find gold. Dov laughed. Told him to be back for shabbat, that they’d have a plate ready for him. Levi did not return that friday evening or the one after that. Dov remained stoic as ever despite mounting concern. Hevel grew ill and Dov couldn’t do his usual routine of chasing down his younger brother and bringing him back to a telling off from their parents.

So he had to try and forget about Levi. To focus on making enough to pay the doctor to visit his ailing father, to focus on convincing Hevel to put down his knife and wood and to rest. It was both a sudden descent into illness and an agonizingly slow death. Hevel passed away on the porch one hot afternoon. Dov quietly arranged his father’s funeral and found a few locals coming to mourn for the sweet but eccentric old German man who used to give them wooden toys. It was the first time anyone saw Dov do anything but scowl as he weeped, quietly, on the sidelines.

A month after Hevel’s death, a letter arrived from Levi. He had lodgings further West than he had planned, wrote about some strange adventures and stranger people he was going into ‘business’ with. It was five pages long, read more like a novel than a letter. Dov returned only a single page long letter, plainly stating their father had died and Dov asking if he should go visit Levi, saying there wasn’t any reason for him to stay in the small town anymore.

The letter was sent but never arrived.

There was an odd illness sweeping through the town and the nearby St. Clemens but Dov kept his head down and wasn’t concerned. He never got sick, his father was dead, and Levi was far away. Dov was out in town, shopping for some groceries, when everything went wrong. An unkempt man stumbled into the general store, gargling with his head hung low. It happened so quickly Dov barely even saw what actually happened. A young woman frowned, then screamed, as the unkempt man dug his teeth into her neck. Dov ran to her aid until she turned and attacked the woman next to her.

Dov high-tailed it out of there, in a panic he stole a wagon and a pair of horses, managed to only grab a young woman and her pimply teenaged son from the fray, the three of them simply wanting to run fast and hard from the people suddenly turning onto each other. Dov barely got to know these people’s names when they finally rode the horses hard and fast out of town, into the middle of the desert. After hours of riding they sat exhausted round a quick campfire Dov set up for them. The woman dozed off. Dov began to make conversation, finding the young man scared but brave enough to look after his momma. He jut out his chin and puffed his shoulders up, wanting to look tough. Dov laughed. His mother woke and ripped out her son’s throat. That was how Dov learned it took a clean blow through the skull to drop the un—dead and how he learnt not every person bitten turned straight away. He kept riding, spent many weeks along pushing through the desert, deciding to try his luck and maybe find Levi. Maybe.

For once, steady and reliable Dov didn’t really know what to do. He was used to looking after people, not just himself. One morning, when Dov saw a sign pointing out some tiny one-horse town, he decided to try his luck, heading straight for Janestown. If it were overrun with the un—dead, he could easily run away, but he hoped dearly, that he’d find some living folks.

SKILLS.

Constitution; Five.      ◆◆◆◆◆◇◇◇◇◇ Strength; Seven.      ◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◇◇◇ Intelligence; Three.      ◆◆◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇ Perception; Three.      ◆◆◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇ Charisma; Six.      ◆◆◆◆◆◆◇◇◇◇ Luck; One.      ◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

[seriestrash]

The Story of Us

PROLOGUE || 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 || 11 || 12 || 13 || 14 ||

✮ Epilogue ✮

Word Count: 2,348

✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮

10 years later…

It had been ten years since Rhiannon and Jedediah remarried. A union that would sadly only get until Christmas that year but their love would last long after both of them passed. It was only a few short weeks later that the Matthews returned to New York with a few hearts broken in the process.

Although her inevitable return to the city happened it wasn’t the last time Riley would twirl her way through Hillford Creek. A few events over the years would draw the brunette back into town, mostly happy reasons but some brought on by sad circumstances. Despite the reason, good or bad, Riley found it harder each and every time it came for her to leave.

Now, nearly four years since her last visit Riley sits on on a near empty bus. Her gaze fixated out the window, a small smile resting on her face as she admires the scenic drive into town. Her nostalgia building with every mile behind her.

Riley trips on the last step off the bus in her true klutzy fashion. Quickly she steadies herself and has a quiet laugh at the same sorry excuse of a bus stop she first arrived at all those years ago. The brunette inhales deeply, with a smile on her face she walks towards the sign that reads;

‘Welcome to Hillford Creek
, Austin Texas’

There’s no question in Riley’s mind about where she wanted to go first. The moment she reaches the outskirts of the main town Riley veers off in the direction of the old inn. The road now free of overgrown foliage and clearly signed, a contrast to the trees and bushes she’d weave through as a teenager.

Riley walks up to what was once an abandoned inn, now a beautifully repaired home. The last time Riley was here there was a sign out front with a newly placed ‘sold’ sticker. In it’s place now stands a sign that reads ‘Hillford Creek Veterinarian Clinic’. With a soft smile, Riley reflects on something that was once quiet chatter on the floor of a burnt out room, now a beautiful reality.

The city born girls thoughts are interrupted when she’s nearly tackled to the ground by an excited dog. 

“Oh Otis,” Riley pats the dog that has two paws pressed up against her stomach. “You remember me don't you, boy?” Riley sratches the German Shepard as he pants excitedly. 

A quiet giggle escapes her, Riley looks up and around to see where the dog came from, to see if he was there. Then, through the glass of the first story bay window Riley finds him. Lucas. The Texan is already staring out at her, his attention spiked when he heard his dog barking. 

Lucas sits there frozen in place, a mixture of awestruck and sheer shock controls him. Riley too stays in place, her hand continuing to lightly scratch Otis’ neck, a smile creeping wider with every second passing under the gaze of Lucas. Finally the brunette raises a hand giving him a gentle wave. The Texans shocked expression cracks with a smile as he mimics her greeting. 

Lucas stands and heads for the front door, Riley moves too, like a magnetic pull bringing them closer. They meet on the front porch, both at a lost for words. 

“Hi.” Lucas exhales loudly, finally breaking the silence.

“Hey.” Riley giggles nervously. A sound Lucas had missed.

“Do you want to come inside?” Lucas sheepishly motions towards the door. 

Riley gives him a small nod and follows close behind as he leads them in. Now over the threshold Riley lets the duffle bag on her shoulder slip off and hit the floor with a gentle thud. 

“Wow.” Riley says letting her eyes dance around the entrance. Riley finds it difficult to believe that this beautifully renovated building was once the eerily abandoned inn she had visited many times in the past. “This place is... Spectacular.” Riley’s eyes fall back upon Lucas’. 

The Texan just bashfully shrugs a shoulder. 

“Is it finished?” Riley questions. 

“Technically, I guess.” Another dismissive shrug of his shoulder. 

“Technically?” Riley raises a brow. 

“It’s just one of those things, ya know?” Lucas lets out an embarrassed laugh. “You build something up in your head then its hard for it to ever live up to the expectations.” 

“You’re not happy?” Riley frowns. 

“No I am.” Lucas shakes his head. “It’s just not... complete. Not yet.” 

“Did you do everything you planned?” Riley asks. “Clearly you added the clinic,” Riley motions to the front desk, “But you live here too?” 

“Yes Ma'am.” Lucas nods. “Would you like the grand tour?” 

“Absolutely.” Riley beams. “But I wanted to give you something first. A very late house warming gift.” 

Lucas watches as Riley crouches by her duffle bag. She stands again with a framed photo in her hand. “I found it when I packing up a few of my grandmas things.” Riley explains. 

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral.” Lucas frowns. 

“Don’t worry you have your hands full with the clinic.” Riley gives him a small smile. “I got your flowers.” The death of Rhiannon was still fresh for Riley and ached to think about too much. 

“May I see?” Lucas holds a hand out for the photo. Riley lets out a laugh realising she's still clutching it to her chest. 

“Of course.” She passes the black frame to Lucas and watches as he inspects the photo. 

“Is this...Is this from the day they all met?” Lucas looks up from the photo with knitted brows and a slight smile. 

Riley nods, taking another look at the photograph that could possibly be pinpointed as to what spurred this unannounced visit, one of the reasons at least. A photo of Jed, Rhiannon, Joe and Mae all standing out front of the inn. Each pair had their individual couple photos that Riley saw during her stay in Hillford as a teenager, this photo was from the same moment, just of them all together. “My grandma had told me that she had more photos from this day but I forgot about that until I went through her things.” 

“There’s more?” Lucas asks. 

“Yes. I found a whole album from her whimsical trip around the country as a young adult.” Riley explains. “I brought a couple with me from her very short stay in Hillford... If you wanted to see them.” 

“Of course I want to see them.” Lucas says genuinely and it makes Riley smile to think that all these years have passed and it can still feel like they're two excited teenagers uncovering their intertwined pasts. “How about I show you around the place and then we can sit down, look at the photos and catch up?” 

Riley thinks that sounds wonderful. Lucas starts to give Riley the grand tour. One half of the first story to the left of the stairs is a living and dining area, there’s also a kitchen and main bathroom. To the right of the stairs is the bay window turned little library, they only pass through that to make their way into the clinic section of the home. Riley is amazed at how profession it all looked and she presses Lucas about his business whilst commending his efforts and expressing her wonder in him achieving all he has. Then Riley does something that she hadn't in all the times she visited the inn, she went upstairs. 

Lucas explains how the second story used to consist of six smallish rooms considering it’s a small town and not exactly touristy. Riley finds that he’s renovated to four grand rooms. The main bedroom, Lucas’ room, has an ensuite attachment and there’s also a smaller communal bathroom upstairs too. 

At the end of the hall is the second bay window Lucas had mentioned in the past. One Riley could only see from outside of the building. Riley slowly walks towards it, now leading herself in this tour. Her knees lightly brush the edge of the seat cushion as she gets a good look out the glass. This window overlooks the yard area. Riley didn’t spend much time out the back of the building because of how overgrown the surrounding grass and foliage was but now it’s cleared completely. The old barn that was affected from the fire too has been restored to its full potential. 

All the nostalgia and astonishment building within Riley started to become overwhelming and began to resonate negatively for reasons she couldn’t really explain. 

“Riley, are you alright?” Lucas asks noticing Riley’s deflated mood. 

“Yeah.” Riley says and it feels like a lie. “It’s just- Living in LA these past few years, kinda makes me feel like I’m missing out...” 

Lucas instantly remembers her saying the same thing about coming from New York. “You know, not a lot of people would be disappointed about living in LA.” 

“I’m not a lot of people.” Riley almost snaps but lets out a sigh. “I’m not disappointed, I’m uninspired..” 

“How about we go downstairs?” Lucas nudges his head towards the stairs. 

Riley follows Lucas back down and instinctively Riley goes towards the bay window. Lucas leaves Riley be for a moment whilst he makes his way to the kitchen to fetch them two coffees. 

Now alone Riley takes in her surroundings since they only brushed past this room on the tour. Maybe that was because of the conversations they shared as teens, maybe it was because of the sweet stolen kisses leading up to her departure. Whatever it was, Lucas seemed just as bashful as Riley when they first entered. 

Riley smiles at the bay window seat itself. It had been upgraded again since Lucas first renovated it over ten years ago but still had the same feel it did back then. Riley looks at the shelves of books, this was literally a conversation they had as teenagers come to life. As Riley’s gaze is wandering around the small room she stops when something catches her eye nearly knocking the breath out of her. She steps towards the chest height book shelf but whats captivate her attention is hanging above it. Riley’s eyes remain fixated on the single item framed up on the wall. 

“Oh that.” Lucas laughs nervously as he reentered the room and spotted Riley’s staring. 

“Is that...?” Riley turns to face Lucas, her voice almost a whisper. 

“You told me to keep it forever.” Lucas matches her soft tone. 

Riley turns to take another look at the the item. A single fallen leaf that floated into her lap ten years beforehand, one she passed onto Lucas, now framed and hung in a room that held such dear memories for her. 

Impulsively Riley spins back around and engulfs Lucas in a hug. He’s surprised at first thus making him a little stiff but quickly warms up as he wraps his arms around Riley’s back, still a little awkward as he holds two coffee cups in hand but it still felt nice for them both. 

When the two finally part they sit in the bay window, each with a hot coffee in hand. 

“So what brings you back into town?” Lucas finally asks the question thats been pressing in his mind since he first noticed her through the window. 

“Mabel’s shower is in a few weeks.” Riley sips at her hot beverage. 

“You came three weeks early for that?” Lucas questions. 

“Well that’s not the only reason I came back.” Riley laughs nervously. 

“No?” Lucas asks. 

“My publisher has been pressing me about a new book.” Riley explains.

“I’m not surprised.” Lucas says. “You’ve released two best sellers for them already.” 

Riley smiles that Lucas has kept up to date with her life even though their contact tapered off significantly after they parted ways last time. “I released a sequel to the first book because they asked but making it a trilogy just doesn’t feel right.” 

“You have to stay true to yourself and produce something you’re happy with.” Lucas says. 

“It took me a little while to come to that realisation myself but I did.” Riley says proudly. “Inspiration sparked in unsuspecting time. So I told my publishers that I would write them another book but only one that meant something to me.” 

“They were okay with that?” Lucas questions. 

“They were a bit shocked with my outburst but they were alright with it in the end.” Riley nods. “I tried to write in LA and even though I knew exactly what I wanted to write I was just uninspired where I was, so I told my agency that I wanted some time away to write this book.” 

“So you came here?” Lucas asks. 

“I couldn’t draw inspiration of a tiny town living in LA now could I?” Riley asks coyly. 

“I’m intruiged.” Lucas matches her playfull demeanour. “Do I get to know more about this story?” 

“There’s three stories actually,” Riley clarifies, “They’re all intwined into one. There’s a love story about about a foreign ballerina and a lowly stable boy.” 

Lucas sucks back a breath but doesn’t interrupt. 

“And another about a man who moves two thousand miles away from home to feel closer to the woman he let go.” Riley continues. “A story of how they met and how they found their way back to each other.” 

“And the third story?” Lucas’ voice wavers. 

“The story of two teenagers uncovering these two stories and finding out how they were connected before they were even born.” Riley says with a small smile. 

“Are there happy endings all round?” Lucas swallows hard. 

“I’m still trying to determine is that’s possible.” Riley chews on her bottom lip. “What do you think?”

“Sounds inevitable to me.” Lucas says, a crooked smile plastered on his face. 

Riley lets out a breath she was holding in. “Yeah?” 

“Sounds, epic.” Lucas says still smiling. “Does this story have a title yet?” 

Riley nods, bites down on her bottom lip and delivers her words with a hopeful smile. “The Story of Us.” 

End Notes: IMPORTANT. 

There is ONE more part coming after this. A bonus chapter titled ‘The Missing Years’ which I will give you key information about important events of ALL characters in the past ten years. 

This story is almost over and as always, it’s been a pleasure my loves !! :)

[cursed-saphire-hart]

sweetredbeans

Title: New Kid Pairing: N/A Au: St Sea Angel Word Count: 2,359 Rating: K Summary: It's hard enough going to a new school, on top of that, it's even harder to suddenly get enrolled by a boarding school out of the blue.

He felt a little weird about the situation he had been put in. Going to a new school all of a sudden, on top of that a boarding school that sounded a little religious by it name, would be weird enough, but that hadn't been the weirdest part.

One day out of the blue near beginning of the school year there was a knock at the door. It had been around supper time and Ryan had been the one to answer the door and before him stood a man with a suitcase. The man was dressed in black and the way he carried himself seemed pretty odd. Though he didn't really have a "Men-in-black" feel to him, he actually seemed more like a man dressed for a funeral. Despite the odd feeling about him, Ryan let the man inside when he asked to speak to his mother, which she agreed to.

As weird as it felt, he remembered that a week before his mother had received a letter in the mail from a boarding school that was a few towns away. And apparently the man was here to discuss about said letter and the contents within it.

St. Sea Angel's boarding school for boys and girls was a pristine school that had stood for 150 years, and had a habit of reaching out and inviting students to attend, social standing and academic achievements had nothing to do with it though, it was just the way the school was, or so it said in the letter. He hadn't really thought about it since getting the letter, so he wondered why the man was there. Maybe he was there to verify something.

The discussion lasted a short time, and for whatever reason, his mother agreed to the terms, and Ryan was soon enrolled in a school he knew nothing about other than the basic information that came with the letter, and that a car would come to pick him up in a week and that he was allowed to bring his cat, Peaches, as well as whatever luggage he needed.

It felt like something out of a movie, the letter, the man's sudden appearance, and now he was riding in the back of a black car to a place he never heard about. The green eyed teen just hoped this wasn't a plot for a horror movie, because that's what it kinda felt like. Even if he wanted to go home, he was too anxious to ask the driver anything, the man driving was a little creepy, he didn't look it, but Ryan just felt creeped out nonetheless. So he just sat quietly as he stroked his cat's fur as she slept in his lap, reading the letter over a few times while waiting for the long car ride to end.

After about 4 hours of driving, the school came into view.

The school itself did seem a lot different than most schools, for one it was a lot bigger. It was a school that had grade school all the way up to college within it, and dorms that separated them all, the school building and the dormitories had a older style than what Ryan was use to on the outside. Students of all ages were hanging around on the school grounds, there was a small park in the middle of the school too. It really did seem like he was on a set for a movie, it really didn't seem real, and it added to the question, out of anyone they could have reached out to, Ryan wondered why it was him.

The car drove up and stopped in front of one dormitory, the hult of the car snapping the teen out of thought and making him more aware of what was going on outside of the car. There was a young man dressed in the schools uniform waiting on the stepped of the old building, and once the car stopped the young man stood up and walked over to the car as Ryan got out.

"Afternoon," he greeted in a calm voice. Needless to say, close up, the young man was a little intimidating due to the sheer size of him, he looked like he could bench press a full grown cow. "H-Hi..." the smaller teen stuttered slightly. Ryan took a moment to take in the other teens appearance, he had long black hair that was pulled into a ponytail, and unbelievably blue eyes and pale almost white skin, and despite his size, the teen had a gentle atmosphere about him and the way he he smiled.

"Your Ryan right? I'm Otis," the teen greeted keeping his friendly smile, "I'm here to show you around."

The smaller teen nodded, "It's nice to meet you."

After the small exchange Ryan followed the taller teen around the campus, telling him they're take his luggage up to his room, and that his cat would have to stay in his room until everything was verified with the main office, apparently Peaches needed a special tag attached to her collar.

Otis showed him where everything was and how to find his way around, there were signs around the stone trails that went through the campus, showing which way to go when trying to get around, like where the campus shops were, which way to certain buildings, and so on. Ryan asked questions small and Otis answered without a problem. Ryan decided he liked this guy, Otis seemed like a big brother type, and the whole time was friendly and nice in a way that was too genuine to be faked.

Soon he was taken to the main office in the main building for the highschoolers, Ryan was given a class shedule, a dorm key, and that month's allowance, which was given in the form of a student ID that could either be hung around his neck or attached to something like a key chain. The lady warned him not to loose it because it would take a week or so to replace and that he could call to see how much was left on it.

A few other things were explained on they're way back to the dorms, like how dorm hours worked, the rules of the campus, and just the jist of what there was to know.

Ryan was pretty relieved for the most part, other than a few things that still bugged him, the school seemed pretty nice, and it was apparent he had already made a rather helpful friend which was made official when they exchanged numbers. "Ok, that's about it, today's a free day, so you're free to roam around." Otis said pretty much wrapping everything up when the dorms came into view, "You ever need a hand with anything, just let me know, kay?"

"Sure," Ryan agreed happily, but just when the other teen was about to say something a small girl ran up to him and hugged him. "Hi Otis!" she chirped happily up at the tall teen, "Hello Desi, I'm glad to see you," he picked the little girl up, "But what are you doing here? You're supposed to be with Tzili." and almost on que, a teenaged girl with purple dyed hair ran up as a another young girl and what looked like a black german shepherd pup followed close behind, "Sorry!" she shouted catching up, "She saw you and ran off." For a moment Ryan was a little put off by how red the girl's eye coloring was, it seemed a little unnatural to him, but he tried not to judge, she seemed to know Otis pretty well with how well they're small chat flowed so comfortably.

"Otis I'm hungry," Desi chimed in, "Sorry, I tried to feed her earlier, but you know how she is..." Tzili sighed a bit annoyed. "Yea, I know, don't worry about it." Otis turned to Ryan who had been quiet during they're short conversation, "What about you? You hungry?" he asked and the green eyed teen nodded, now that he thought about it, he hadn't eaten since breakfast, and it was already around 2 in the afternoon. "Yea, kinda," he answered a bit shyly.

"Than c'mon, I'll make us something to eat." and without much convincing, Ryan followed the group down a different path.

It didn't take him long to notice that the path they were taking didn't lead to the high school or even the college dorms, which Ryan thought was a bit weird, than he wondered if maybe Otis lived off campus somewhere near by. But the longer they walked, the more he noticed that they weren't leaving the campus, just going somewhere else on it.

"We're going to the special dorms," Ryan flinched as his unasked questions were answered out of the blue, he looked over to see the purple haired girl looking at him over her shoulder, she didn't seem very friendly to be honest. "At this school there are a few special kids who all live in one dorm, which includes me, Otis and the two little ones and a few others." she explained as she looked forward to keep walking.

At one school he attended to when he was younger, he remembered something called the SLP class which was for kids who needed a little extra help, and he guess that's what the special dorms was, though the group ahead of him didn't seem all that needing of special help, well except for the two little girls who seemed to be only in elementary school at the most. But he brushed it off and kept walking until they came up to an old brick building which seemed to be in an area all it's own compared to the other dorms. Again, Ryan found this odd.

The dorm didn't give off a creepy vibe like you would get if you were entering a dangerous place, so he tried not to worry. He had watched a few horror movies, and he didn't get the feeling of danger like when the monster or serial killer was going to pop out at any moment.

Once inside the dorms the two girls darted off down one of the halls as Otis shouted for them to wash up before lunch.

"I hope you don't mind Japanese food, it's sorta a go to thing for me." Otis mentioned as he showed him to the dinning room, Ryan had offered to help make whatever was on the menu, and the other teen accepted the help. "I don't mind, though I cant say I've eaten a lot of it."

"That's fine," Otis handed the smaller teen an apron and the two washed they're hands, "We'll be making a chicken cutlets, rice, with egg on top, and potates and sausages on the side, it's really good and it's one of the few meals I can get the little one to eat willingly."

Ryan followed all of Otis' directions, the older teen showed him how to easily put cheese in the middle of the chicken cutlets before they were breaded and fried. Oddly enough the teen didn't jump back or flinch when the oil popped, but he figured Otis just had thick skin.

Before the cutlets, they made a few other things, like mini sausages with potatoes to go with the steamed rice and cutlets.

After the cutlets were done and cut up, after putting them on the bowls of rice they made some cooked eggs to go on top, while the outsides of the bundles of eggs were cooked well, the side, once cut into so it could cover the top, it was gooey and soft, and looked really good. Needless to say, Ryan had never had something like this, but it had made him twice as hungry as before just looking at it.

After bowls and plates of food were set out Otis reminded the girls that it was hot, and the small group ate they're lunch together.

It was odd, he hadn't been there for very long, but the teen already felt at home. The whole ride he worried about not fitting in and eating alone his first week, but now if felt like a huge weight had disappeared. The meal was hot but really good, and they talked about nothing special, and the chatter flowed so easily too, like they did it everyday. It was a nice feeling.

The rest of the day Ryan hung out around the special dorms with Otis and the two girls, while there he met a few other teens who lived there, one of the first being Otis' roommate, Zero, who gave off the potential bully vibe, but was nice enough Ryan wasn't in fear of being picked on by him, thankfully. Though there was one teen that gave him chills, a teen named Thomas, and from the way he and Otis looked at each other, the two had history, but he didn't ask.

In general, it was a good day, and after it started to get late, Otis walked Ryan back tot he dorms a bit before dinner time.

The two said goodbye for the day and Ryan walked to his dorm room, the smile he had been wearing most of the day still spread across his face.

After all of that, he wasn't sure how his day could get better.

He unlocked his room door, which locked automatically, and entered the room. Peaches had been alone all day, but had been given food and water, so he hadn't worried about her, and while he had been expecting her to trot up to him when he got home, he was greeted by someone else.

"Hello," Ryan blushed as a blond teen around his age smiled at him, "I'm Britton, your roommate."

Today just got better.