{ Fic } 11. Animal
First of hopefully 64 drabbles in total!
Characters: Gilbert Weillschmidt (Prussia), Gilbird..?
Rating: T
Warnings: Prussia's mouth, my lame attempt at something hopefully resembling fluff, or at least something other then angst.
Summary: Germany kicks Prussia out so he can really clean the house, our favourite Prussian grumbles, swears, reminisces with an old friend. (AKA: Horrible, horrible, wannabe fluff.)
Prussia (Gilbert Weillschmidt) & Hetalia copyright to Hidekaz Himaruya
***
11. Animal
Today was going to be another fucking awesome day. Well, awesome because he was Gilbert, another because it was the same as the last.
Shrugging, he slipped off the coat his brother had thrown at him out the window after the Prussian was out the door. It wasn't as if the brothers had a fight; more ritual than anything. The habitual throwing of the elder sibling out whenever the house was in need of a true (as West liked to call it) cleaning.
The Prussian had no room to be offended, his room was starting to smell like corn chips and ass, and his daily abuse of air fresheners wasn't helping the situation any by this point.
So Gilbert walked on, making sure to avoid the parts of town he, Antonio and Francis had last been to. They were often banned for months from restaurants, bars, clubs, cafes-- anywhere they went, just because they tended to have more fun than the places liked their patrons to have. Sucked balls, but that was life. And he, because of his red eyes and platinum (closing in on white) hair, had the worst luck as it was a hard combination to forget.
So, town was out. Gilbert groaned and shifted his route to the park, making his strides slower, taking the longest, most winding route there. Because what was more faggy than a full grown man going to the park by himself?
Dammit.
The albino stalked somewhat angrily into the fairly suburban park. The hell was this? Swings, jungle gyms and hobos. Some fucking park. It was all screeching children, short, perfectly trimmed grass and a few beds of cornflowers. Gilbert snorted, ignoring the odd looks he received and roamed farther into the sad excuse of 'preserved wildlife'.
As he strode farther away from the main area of the park, the foliage was still just sparse, but at least it was quieter. He took a seat on an empty bench, heaving a heavy sigh and leaning his head back, squinting as it actually was a nice day out. Pulling an arm up to shade his face (Gott knows he’d burn to a crisp in less than five minutes), he glanced at his watch and groaned. Half-a-fucking-hour. It took West at least a day to get the house done to his anal-retentive standard of cleanliness.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit!"
Gilbert growled. Time always had to pass so goddamn slowly when there was nothing to do, didn't it?
He bent down again to get up off the bench, find something a least a bit more entertaining to do for the day when he noticed the shrill cry of a fairly perturbed bird next to his hand. The Prussian blinked; his expression softening quickly, only to snap back to glance around himself quickly to make sure no one was close enough to see him. When his assessment was over, he grinned down at the small, frail animal, offering his hand to it.
The albino softened (once more) when the bird pecked him, but that was to be expected. He had almost crushed the thing with his palm seconds beforehand. Crooking his fingers up, he made a makeshift nest out of his hand; And, as expected, the tiny animal made itself comfortable there.
Heh, he was always told that he had a sort of animal magnetism about him, in the most literal of senses.
Gilbert couldn't help as the memories bubbled up; Hungary laughing at him when the were younger for the way animals of all sorts would follow him around. Or members of the Order smiling at him, patronizing him when they saw how he coddled the small animals.
But they didn't get it. Faggy as it was, they probably knew more about him than anything; saw a lot more of his personality than the parts he gave to other people. He used a finger to lightly trace the wing of the small bird-- Gott they were so fucking fragile. Press too hard and he'd crush it easily; unknowingly.
The albino's grin softened when the bird chirped back in response. "Yeah?"
Well damn. Now he looked crazy, and he was old enough that his childhood habit of talking to animals was no longer endearing. He lifted the hand to shoulder height; And without the spoken command it hopped up to his shoulder; It's feet digging into the fabric of his shirt to gain good purchase, eventually giving up with an indignant squawk and fluttering up to nestle in his hair.
Gilbert smiled and scratched his neck as he rose from sitting once he was sure the small bird was comfortable, making sure to swipe the discarded coat from the bench for fear of what other restrictions his brother would place on him for yet another lost garment.
He then took a path in the opposite direct he had come from, hands in his pockets with the coat flung over his shoulder; Gott knows how much time he still had to waste, but it didn't really matter at this point.
"Hope you’re fucking comfortable, because I've got a helluva lot to say."
The Prussian laughed out into what anyone else would assume to be nothing; but he knew the day was about to get a hell of a lot more awesome.
***
1/64
Characters: Gilbert Weillschmidt (Prussia), Gilbird..?
Rating: T
Warnings: Prussia's mouth, my lame attempt at something hopefully resembling fluff, or at least something other then angst.
Summary: Germany kicks Prussia out so he can really clean the house, our favourite Prussian grumbles, swears, reminisces with an old friend. (AKA: Horrible, horrible, wannabe fluff.)
Prussia (Gilbert Weillschmidt) & Hetalia copyright to Hidekaz Himaruya
***
11. Animal
Today was going to be another fucking awesome day. Well, awesome because he was Gilbert, another because it was the same as the last.
Shrugging, he slipped off the coat his brother had thrown at him out the window after the Prussian was out the door. It wasn't as if the brothers had a fight; more ritual than anything. The habitual throwing of the elder sibling out whenever the house was in need of a true (as West liked to call it) cleaning.
The Prussian had no room to be offended, his room was starting to smell like corn chips and ass, and his daily abuse of air fresheners wasn't helping the situation any by this point.
So Gilbert walked on, making sure to avoid the parts of town he, Antonio and Francis had last been to. They were often banned for months from restaurants, bars, clubs, cafes-- anywhere they went, just because they tended to have more fun than the places liked their patrons to have. Sucked balls, but that was life. And he, because of his red eyes and platinum (closing in on white) hair, had the worst luck as it was a hard combination to forget.
So, town was out. Gilbert groaned and shifted his route to the park, making his strides slower, taking the longest, most winding route there. Because what was more faggy than a full grown man going to the park by himself?
Dammit.
The albino stalked somewhat angrily into the fairly suburban park. The hell was this? Swings, jungle gyms and hobos. Some fucking park. It was all screeching children, short, perfectly trimmed grass and a few beds of cornflowers. Gilbert snorted, ignoring the odd looks he received and roamed farther into the sad excuse of 'preserved wildlife'.
As he strode farther away from the main area of the park, the foliage was still just sparse, but at least it was quieter. He took a seat on an empty bench, heaving a heavy sigh and leaning his head back, squinting as it actually was a nice day out. Pulling an arm up to shade his face (Gott knows he’d burn to a crisp in less than five minutes), he glanced at his watch and groaned. Half-a-fucking-hour. It took West at least a day to get the house done to his anal-retentive standard of cleanliness.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit!"
Gilbert growled. Time always had to pass so goddamn slowly when there was nothing to do, didn't it?
He bent down again to get up off the bench, find something a least a bit more entertaining to do for the day when he noticed the shrill cry of a fairly perturbed bird next to his hand. The Prussian blinked; his expression softening quickly, only to snap back to glance around himself quickly to make sure no one was close enough to see him. When his assessment was over, he grinned down at the small, frail animal, offering his hand to it.
The albino softened (once more) when the bird pecked him, but that was to be expected. He had almost crushed the thing with his palm seconds beforehand. Crooking his fingers up, he made a makeshift nest out of his hand; And, as expected, the tiny animal made itself comfortable there.
Heh, he was always told that he had a sort of animal magnetism about him, in the most literal of senses.
Gilbert couldn't help as the memories bubbled up; Hungary laughing at him when the were younger for the way animals of all sorts would follow him around. Or members of the Order smiling at him, patronizing him when they saw how he coddled the small animals.
But they didn't get it. Faggy as it was, they probably knew more about him than anything; saw a lot more of his personality than the parts he gave to other people. He used a finger to lightly trace the wing of the small bird-- Gott they were so fucking fragile. Press too hard and he'd crush it easily; unknowingly.
The albino's grin softened when the bird chirped back in response. "Yeah?"
Well damn. Now he looked crazy, and he was old enough that his childhood habit of talking to animals was no longer endearing. He lifted the hand to shoulder height; And without the spoken command it hopped up to his shoulder; It's feet digging into the fabric of his shirt to gain good purchase, eventually giving up with an indignant squawk and fluttering up to nestle in his hair.
Gilbert smiled and scratched his neck as he rose from sitting once he was sure the small bird was comfortable, making sure to swipe the discarded coat from the bench for fear of what other restrictions his brother would place on him for yet another lost garment.
He then took a path in the opposite direct he had come from, hands in his pockets with the coat flung over his shoulder; Gott knows how much time he still had to waste, but it didn't really matter at this point.
"Hope you’re fucking comfortable, because I've got a helluva lot to say."
The Prussian laughed out into what anyone else would assume to be nothing; but he knew the day was about to get a hell of a lot more awesome.
***
1/64