Post by Königreich Preußen on Sept 28, 2010 14:52:20 GMT -5
A soft string of curses poured from Gilbert's lips in a mix of his old native tongue1 and French2 as he sprinted down the rain-soaked streets of Germany. Water was pouring down on and around him in heavy sheets, the storm far bigger than the reporter had claimed on the television hours before. "Stupid unawesome weather person," he grumbled under his breath as he rounded a corner, nearly calling face-first into the marble ground as he slide skidded forward several feet. "Fuck..."
Slowly his pace, he quickly navigated his way through the streets and made a beeline toward his brother's house, slipping into an alleyway to make the run shorter. By the time he arrived at Ludwig's home, he was completely soaked to the bone. The white t-shirt he'd been wearing was completely transparent and his black slacks stuck to his legs like a second skin. His boots made squelching noises as he made his way down the hallway, and they were quickly abandoned atop a small throw-rug along with his socks and slowly made his way up the stairs. His head had started to throb sometime during the run there, but he was too tired to care. Right then, he wanted nothing more than to curl up under his blankets and go to sleep.
And that was what he did. Upon reaching his own personal bedroom, Gilbert stumbled inside and kicked the door shut, falling onto his bed in a heap. His arms weren't in favour of working for him and he simply opted for curling up in as tight a ball as he could before passing out completely, still dressed in the heavily soaked clothes.
The next morning, a string of weak and raspy coughs filled the room the albino was abruptly awoken by the earning morning sun. His eyes burned under the light and he whimpered softly, burring his face in the pillow as he fought back another onslaught of coughs that burned his throat and ended in a gag. "...f-fuck..."
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1 - Gilbert's old native tongue is Prussian, obviously. Which is a language... >> Slightly different than German. Almost like Mexican Spanish versus, uh... the Spanish used in Spain.
2 - Frederick the Great preferred to speak French as opposed to German, so it is easy to assume that Gilbert would be fluent in the language and use it without realising it.
Ludwig sighed, going around the kitchen in an attempt to make breakfast. Gilbert hadn't come home until late the night before, leaving the blond restless until he heard the loud slam of a door opening and closing. Yes, he was quite used to his older brother coming home extremely late--even after asking him to come home earlier and save him from worrying--but Gilbert was always someone who didn't listen very well.
The Prussian hadn't even left his room yet which was usually not a good sign. For someone who complained about how early he woke himself up, Gilbert could be an early riser himself when he felt like it and was always up by at least noon.
Blue eyes glanced up the stairs in a vain hope that his brother would simply come running down the stairs, laughing about how he was "just messing" with him. Of course, no such luck. Worry continued to tug at Ludwig's chest while he continued making Gilbert's breakfast choice every morning; pancakes. Once they were finished, he turned off the stove and set them aside before moving to the medicine cabinet.
Germany knew Prussia all too well; he was definitely sick...no sound from him all morning, coming home late during a rainstorm the night before, and he most likely just went to sleep with his wet clothes on too. Ludwig was used to this scenario playing over and over again, even though both he and Gilbert knew he had a weakened immune system.
After retrieving the medicine he moved to the pancakes, putting them on a plate and covering them in syrup just as Gilbert would normally. He picked up both items, heading upstairs and standing in front of the older German's room. Using his foot to knock quietly, he managed to open the door shortly after, peeking inside to take in Gilbert's condition.
"You came home late again last night, Ost. You've been doing that a lot recently." He spoke, frowning at Prussia's state before entering the room completely. "Here, I made some pancakes for you and..." A quick glance at the medicine in his other hand. "I know you don't like it, but bitte...just...take it without fighting me this time." The younger of the two didn't bother trying to hide the worry in his voice, hoping Gilbert would cooperate with him this time.
Each knock that emitted from the door rang like a gong in Gilbert's ears, making his head throb worse with each one. Another whimper tumbled from his lips and he pushed himself further into the pillow, shivering as he felt his--still soaked--clothes cling to him awkwardly. The blankets beneath him had taken on a great deal of water as well, which left him with little dry fabric to lay on with a body too tired and sluggish to make an attempt to move toward the lesser damp fabric. Fucking rainstorm... he thought bitterly.
Hearing his brother's voice, the Prussian turned slowly in bed to stare at the other, squinting as the morning light filtered in. The light, despite being faint and blocked mostly by clouds, made his eyes sting and a wave of nausea rushed through him. He groaned again and shut his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to stop before opening them again and fixed Ludwig with a bank look. His brain vaguely registered the words 'home late' and something about taking 'it' without a fight, but his gaze had fallen on the plate of food clutched in the other nation's hand.
Normally, the idea of pancakes would have sent him into a fit of joy. Whenever he wanted the delicious food, he'd have to beg or make it for himself, but the idea of eating made his stomach lurch violently and a hand flew to his mouth in an attempt to calm himself down. The sweet smell of maple was overwhelming and it made his stomach do awkward flips that made the taste of bile in his throat increase as his gag reflex twitched. On the other side of the room was the trashcan, but he knew that he'd never be able to make it in time. He'd barely had the strength to turn himself over to stare at his brother. Walking across the room was not going to happen.
Gagging quietly, Gilbert lurched forward and leaned over the edge of the bed, his face taking on a slight green hue while at the same time managing to go paler than normal. A shudder ran through his slim form, and another noise rippled from his throat as the hand over his mouth pressed closer to his lips, trying to hold the foul-tasting... something that had risen in his throat from pouring out, praying silently that his brother could understand that he needed the can to release it all. Now.
Almost as soon as the last sentence was uttered, Gilbert threw himself forward, a hand covering his mouth. It didn't take a genius to foresee what was about to happen. Quickly, Ludwig shoved the two items in his hands on the dresser and went to grab the trashcan from the opposite side of the room. He held it under the sick nation, eyebrows furrowed in concern.
Were those...the same clothes he had been wearing last night? Ludwig's frown deepened upon realizing they were completely soaked. "So that's why you're so sick..." He muttered, mostly to himself more than the man on the bed.
Whatever he had this time seemed terrible, more so than the same cold that kept coming back multiple times a year. It had never been this bad before; not since... 'No.' Ludwig thought, shaking his head. He wasn't about to go back to that time, not going to relive what kind of condition Gilbert had returned from the wall in.
That had been so much worse, but this ranked up second in his book; the look in his eyes, the sickly color of his skin, everything seemed desperate just as it had back then. And undoubtedly he would have to clean up everyday. Just as he had back then as well, anything to make the elder feel better in some way.
First this was first however, once this bout of stomach sickness had passed he needed to get Gilbert out of those clothes. Some warm pajamas--which still had not been worn despite them being bought so long ago upon Ludwig's insistence--would help the problem at least a bit.
For only the second time in their lives Germany would have to tend to everything for Prussia. He didn't mind that thought...paying back the once so tall nation who saved him from imminent death and after an awkward confession became his lover many years later. No, he didn't mind it one bit.
Each heave of his shoulders made Gilbert's throat and eyes burn just a little more. Between each gag he would make a desperate gasp for air, but this only seemed to worsen things and a fresh round of shudders would rush though his body and more would be dumped into the rubbish bin below him. The minutes passed by slowly and soon the Prussian was left with nothing but dry heaves and tearing eyes as he tried to calm himself down. His stomach and body were roaring in protest, trying to get rid of the virus that plagued it in one swoop but there was nothing left to release, and the pained gasps finally died down for the time being. The smell of pancakes and maple were still overwhelming, but the scent-endued nausea had died down once everything that had been in his stomach was gone.
Whipping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, the Prussian clumsily pushed himself into a sitting position, nearly sending himself off the bed in the process. His face was ghostly pale, but his cheeks heavily flushed with fever as his eyes glazed over with a distant look. The crimson orbs were clearly unfocused as the older nation tried to focus on his little brother, but it just wasn't happening. Ludwig was too close to the window for his liking at the moment and the sunlight was making the migraine worse than the already splitting pain that it was.
A groan tumbled from his lips once again as he fell back against his pillows, realising just how cold his rain-soaked clothes were. Goosebumps had formed on his arms sometime during the night and, now that he was awake, his body began to shiver violently in an attempt to keep itself warm. The trembles rose to his face where his teeth chattered loudly, the soft clicks of teeth coming faster than the rapid fire of a mini-guns ammunition. "W-West..." Gilbert murmured in a raspy tone, his voice no more than a rough whisper. "F-fuck... it's... f-freezing..." The statement itself was innocent enough, but it was the middle of summer and, despite having the AC on, the Prussian's room was quite warm from the sun that poured in through the window. "Why the hell... is it so c-cold?"
More shivers, followed by a string of coughs that send Gilbert to his side. His shoulders had resumed their earlier shuddering as the violent releases of air shot up from his throat. The little colour that had been left in his face that wasn't a feverish flush had drained away, leaving him with little more than the appearance of a ghost.
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Just a note... you'll want to get him out of that bed. It's as soaked as his clothes are.
(MOVED FROM ANOTHER FORUM TO BE CONTINUED HERE.)
